“Maybe there’s something to it,” Malotto hazarded when he heard Delaney and Slezansky’s account of their experiences below. “I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t like the sound of this.”
Horrocks rallied himself enough to retort, “What kind of troopers do you call yourselves, getting jumpy over a few lights and some puffs of smoke? Haven’t you ever been down a cave before? I’ll believe it when we start coming down with the plague that the lunatic out there was raving about.”
Delaney thought about it, then nodded decisively. “Yeah.” He had chirped up noticeably since being back in daylight and among familiar faces. “Yeah,” he said again. “I go along with that too.”
An hour later, Major Cobert came back from the Mule and announced that its occupants weren’t feeling or looking very good at all. Every one of them, including the flight crew, were complaining of nausea, fever, and diarrhea. Cobert described their appearance as “seasick.”
* * *
A little under three miles away, Kieran and the others had followed Cobert’s dialogue with Banks and the other Zorken people via the bugs planted inside the Mule. The tap on the external antenna line brought an outgoing message to Asgard describing the latest developments. Shortly afterward, Kieran, bypassing Banks, called Cobert in the military scout vehicle directly, citing his position as the archeological team’s doctor, whom he decided to christen Kineas O’Toole. Making free use of military jargon from his own previous experience, he stated that he had heard via the medical grapevine that the Mule’s occupants were afflicted by a sickness. Cobert was flabbergasted. “But Banks only reported it back to his management within the last half hour,” he protested.
“The medical community takes pride in the efficiency of our communications,” Kieran agreed modestly. He went on to recite the symptoms; Cobert confirmed them.
“What is it?” he inquired gravely.
Kieran mustered his most studied professional look. “Probably pulmonary lenticular encolitis—otherwise known as closed-cabin infection,” he replied. “I’ve seen a lot of it out in the Belt and on long-duration trips. It’s a microbe that gets into the bloodstream via the lungs, caused by an unbalance in the chemistry of closed recirculation systems. Very infectious.”
“How serious is it?” Cobert asked.
“Disfiguring and debilitating, but not permanently. They’ll look bad for a while, though. . . .” Kieran paused, as if considering a delicate matter. “Was anyone from your unit over there recently—in the Mule?”
“I only just got back myself . . .” Cobert’s voice trailed off as he saw what Kieran was implying. “Do you think I might have brought it back here?”
“It’s very likely.”
“Oh no!” The major’s face fell. He groaned.
“But there’s a chance I could stop it—if we move fast. It incubates in no time.”
“How?”
“I’m an old space medic. I carry the right antibiotics. If I get over there and give you and your men a shot right away.”
“Sounds good. I’ll clear it with Banks.”
“Why?”
“He’s the Zorken chief here.”
Kieran made a face. “I would prefer not to lose any time, Major. You know what corporate bureaucracies can be like. He probably can’t wipe his nose without permission from head office. Better to keep it between ourselves. Anyway, who’s in command of the unit there—you or him?”
A pained look crossed Cobert’s face, but he took the point. He nodded. “Very well, Dr. O’Toole. Get over here as quickly as you can.”
And so, Kieran drove back to the Troy site on one of the Juggernaut’s “scooters,” approaching the two military flyers on the blind side of the Mule. For good measure, Harry and Dennis back in the Juggernaut timed more interference and some spectacular communications effects just as he arrived, to provide a distraction.
The “preventative” that Kieran administered contained, of course, a measured amount of Pierre’s concoction in each dose. Zorken’s military force was thus set up to be rendered ineffective whenever the moment suited.
And the plan was advanced that much further, accordingly.
16
Justin Banks looked ghastly. His face had a greenish, gangrenous hue and was mottled with purplish, warty blotches. He looked something like a corpse that had clawed its way out from under a tombstone in a horror movie. Even Kieran was impressed as he took in the unhappy visage framed in an image window on one of the Juggernaut’s screens. The codes that he and Dennis had figured out from the information supplied by Pierre had worked well enough indeed—and then some.