The Altian Plague - DM Arnold (reading tree .txt) 📗
- Author: DM Arnold
Book online «The Altian Plague - DM Arnold (reading tree .txt) 📗». Author DM Arnold
“I love you, too.”
“Give Andra my love.” The vidisplay went dark.
Nyk stepped from the tubecar onto the platform and rode the lift to the 353rd floor. He approached the door to Senta's Floran City apartment.
The doorscan showed the privacy code was set. Nyk scanned his wrist and the doorscan replied, entry denied.
He pressed the doorchime. He pressed it again. And again. Come on, Senta -- I know you're in there. He pressed it again.
The door unlatched and slid open. He looked into Senta's green eyes. “Nykkyo! What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?” She stepped aside. “I'm sorry to disturb you but this is important. I need you to do me a favor, Senta.”
“Why should I do YOU a favor?”
“Not me, personally -- the ExoAgency.”
“Why should I do the Agency a favor?”
He glanced toward the bedroom. “Do you have company?”
“Yes, but don't worry -- they're sound sleepers. Just keep your voice low if you don't mind.”
“They?”
“If you must know -- it's the Arodsu twins.”
Nyk rolled his eyes. “Senta... sometimes...”
“I'm sure this emergency visit isn't to criticize my social life. That could wait 'til morning. What favor?”
“What do you know of viruses?”
“Viruses... A virus is a strand of genetic material in a protein wrapper. They can't reproduce on their own, but can by invading a cell and co- opting its own reproductive system.”
“What do you know of viral genetics?”
She shook her head. “Not much. Nyk, what are you getting at?”
“We had an ExoAgent die today of an Earth infection.”
“And you must think that infection is headed here?”
“It IS here -- he died at ExoAgency headquarters. We believe it's been contained, and the medics are calling it an isolated incident. The whole thing bothers me, though.”
“How?”
“Our medics were unable to match the virus with any known Earth specimen.”
“That doesn't surprise me. They can't know every Earth virus.”
“We know quite a few.” He withdrew the datacel from his xarpa. “This contains the genetic sequence of six viruses we isolated in his body. I was wondering if you...”
“ME? Do you think I know more about viruses than Agency specialists?”
“I think you know more about genetics. Senta -- you have the finest mind I know on the subject.”
“You don't know everyone.”
“Don't attempt modesty, Senta. It doesn't become you.”
Senta picked up the datacel and poked it into a vidisplay. She rubbed her eyes and tucked some unruly red locks behind her ear. “Yes -- they are sequenced in the conventional way.”
“I was hoping you could try matching it against the Agency database. Maybe you can find a relationship they missed. Do you have access to Agency viral sequences?”
“I don't know. I probably can get it if I don't. As Food Service director in charge of genetic sequencing, I should have carte-blanche access to all genetic material.”
“That sounds like the Senta I used to know.”
She looked up and smiled. “This is going to take some time. Where are you staying?”
“I was going to get a room at the hostel.”
“At this time of night? Nyk -- you can use the guest room. You have to promise me one thing.”
“What's that?”
“That you'll stay in there until I come get you in the morning. Katha and Ratha are rather shy.”
“They never looked shy.”
“Looks can be deceiving. I've worked hard to reach this stage with them. You mess this up for me and I won't help you. I'll throw you out on your ear.”
“I'm too exhausted for any juvenile games, Senta. I'll see you in the morning.” Nyk stepped into the guest room, slid the door shut and stretched out on the bed.
A shaft of orange sunlight fell across Nyk's eyes and waked him. He could hear chatter and laughter coming from the kitchen. The talking quieted. A rap came on the door. “Come,” he said.
Senta slid the door open. “You can come out now. They've left.”
“Good thing. I need to use the commode in the worst way.”
“Oh, just tie a knot in it.”
Nyk smiled and headed for the apartment's lavatory. Then, he stepped into the kitchen.
“There's some tea left,” Senta told him.
He poured a cup and opened a breakfast cake. Senta sat scooping from a warm packaged meal. Nyk glanced at her right shoulder and saw a faint, dime-sized scar on her deltoid. “You had your crest removed,” he said.
“Yes. Now that the divorce is final, I thought it was appropriate. I've also reverted to using my maiden name.”
He turned sideways to her. “I'm keeping mine,” he said pointing to the small tattoo on his deltoid.
“Oh, stop pouting, Nyk. You wanted the divorce and you got it.” She switched on a tabletop vidisplay and gazed into it as she sipped from her teacup.
“Did you make any progress?” Nyk asked. Senta continued to stare at her screen. “Senta?” She looked up. “Must you?”
“I'm sorry, Nyk. Since I've been living alone I've become accustomed to looking at the news at breakfast.”
“What's in the news?”
“Mostly the usual. Here's an item: The Seven have delivered, via an unwitting courier, their latest set of demands.”
“The Seven?”
“It's what the independence faction on Altia are calling themselves these days.”
“What are their demands?”
“They want the immediate dissolution of the New Altian Senate, the removal of High Legislature observers, the return of old order officials who've been detained... The usual sorts of things.” She switched off the vidisplay. “What were you asking me?”
“I was wondering if you made any progress last night.”
“With the twins? I should say I did.”
“No -- with the virus.”
“Oh... No, Nyk. I'll look at it today. I have some meetings with other Food Service directors. I'll look at it between sessions.” Nyk looked down. “I'll look at it today, I promise. Don't give me the long face. Why is this so important to you?”
“Marxo wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't supposed to get sick. This virus gives me a bad feeling in my gut.”
“Are you sure you weren't exposed to it?” Nyk looked daggers at her. “Just a thought. Nyk -- if you'd like I could turn this over to one of my assistants. I'd go so far as to dedicate a mod's worth of time to it. I'd call it a government project.”
He shook his head. “For now I want to keep this between the two of us. Seymor chides me for wasting time with things outside my domain of responsibility.”
“This man was one of your direct reports, wasn't he?”
Nyk nodded. “Yes, he was.”
“I'd say that makes it your domain of responsibility.” She put her hand over her mouth and suppressed a laugh.
“What's so funny?”
“The thought of YOU with direct reports...” She shook her head. “I hate to admit it, but Earth has been good for you. You'll get your answers faster if you let Kovina do the work. I'm very busy.”
“Kovina?”
“Yes -- she's my intern -- a third year student in genetics at Sudal University.”
“All right -- let her do the grunt work. Tell her to keep it quiet. I wouldn't want to start a panic by letting slip we've been exposed to an incurable, lethal virus.”
“I'm off to my meetings,” Senta said. “Will you be here tonight? I'll authorize your ID on the doorscan.”
“No -- I'm meeting with the oversight chair and then heading home. I'll call in a day or so to check on Kovina's progress.”
“Good seeing you, Nykkyo,” said a middle-aged man wearing official insignia.
“Illya, I wish it were under happier circumstances.”
“How's that wife of yours doing?”
“Suki? She seems to be settling in and happy in Sudal. I understand you pulled strings to get her registered as a native. Thank you for that.”
“Yes -- since she can't return to Earth I saw no reason why she couldn't be a productive member of our society. Besides -- she'll prove her worth.”
“You have plans for her -- don't you, Illya?”
He smiled. “I have ideas. We'll let her get settled and comfortable and then we'll see if any of my ideas bear fruit. Now -- as to your visit today.”
“We've lost an Agent -- Marxo Wellans.”
“I read the report.” He closed his eyes. “Miserable stuff.”
“Seymor thinks there's to be an inquiry.”
“This looks fairly routine to me.”
“It's hardly routine,” Nyk replied. “Floran Agents are not supposed to succumb to illness like that.”
“Nyk -- we can't provide one hundred percent protection one hundred percent of the time. These things do happen. He fell victim to an Earth illness.”
“This is a very odd illness.”
“Have there been cases reported on Earth?”
Nyk pondered. “I don't know -- I've been away.”
“Check the news and see if others have succumbed. If so, the answer is clear. Marxo happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and contracted a virus for which we have no protection. It's a risk all Agents face -- yourself included.”
“I hadn't thought of it that way. I suppose you're right. New viruses emerge and we can't deal with them instantaneously.”
“You're not going to stay up late and worry about it, are you?”
“Me? Of course not. Still... something about this bothers me. Oh, well - - I know what Seymor will say. I should stick to my own domain of responsibility.”
“That domain doesn't exclude thinking about things ... or reading about them,” Kronta replied. He smiled and gave Nyk a wink. “Your report and this interview will suffice to close the Marxo Wellans case. Have a good transit, Nyk.”
Nyk paid the cabby and walked up the steps to the house in Queens. He had parked the bubble shuttle on the roof of Seymor's penthouse and taken a cab from Midtown. Treading softly he slipped his house key into the lock and opened the door.
He heard the sound of the TV in the living room. Yasuko was asleep in her robe, sitting in an arm chair. “Yasuko,” he whispered. “Yasuko ... Yasuko...”
She opened her eyes. “Nick -- you're back. What time is it?”
“One in the morning.”
“I must've dozed off.” She stood and stretched. “I think I'll go sleep in my bed -- it'll be better for my back.”
“Good night Yasuko.” He watched as she headed for the master bedroom.
Nyk turned to the television. It was tuned to a news network. He reached to switch it off but the news report stopped him.
Health authorities have reported the thirty-fourth case of the mysterious Tulsa virus. Of the other thirty-three cases, twenty-five have died and the other eight are in critical condition...
He sat and watched the news report and learned that the symptoms were identical to Marxo's; that no treatment slowed the illness's advance; that death inevitably came from multiple organ failure. Well, he thought, Kronta was right. Marxo was in the wrong place at the wrong time...
He reached for the remote and again paused as a bit of new information came his way. Scientists at the Center for Disease Control had traced the outbreak to a passenger on a flight from Tulsa to Kansas City. Eight passengers on the Tulsa to Dallas/Fort Worth leg had been infected -- those sitting in seats 13D, E and F, 14D and F and row 15 had all succumbed. In addition, two who had flown on a connecting flight from DFW to Kansas City had become ill.
Now the authorities were looking for one passenger who had been on both flights -- a passenger named Brian Wilson. Nyk pondered. Marxo's Earth name had been Brian Altman. Wilson had sat in row 14 on the flight to Dallas, and in seat 8C to KC. The newscaster referred to him as Passenger 14E.
Nyk switched off the television, sprinted upstairs to the apartment and placed a phone call. He heard it ring. “Hello?” a groggy voice answered.
“Grynnya! It's Nykkyo.”
“Oh, Nick...”
“Who is it?” he heard a muffled man's voice.
“It's my boss in New York.”
“I thought your boss was at the hospital.”
“I do consulting for an outfit in New York. Nick! This had better be important. Do you know what time it is?”
“Around midnight in your area... is
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