CHAPTER 7

Shocking news reached them in less than traditional ways. The exterminators simply came into the ship uninvited, and told them they were to close off their vessel immediately until further notice. Food would be supplied to them, and water if needed, but that was the only time the crew was to leave the ship.

"Why?" John asked the obvious question for them all.

"Because several passengers in this bay have fallen ill. Gravely ill. We are unsure if this was something they carried in from their home world or if the tribbles have caused the problem. Nevertheless, you are to remain here and isolate yourselves no matter what happens."

"Is there a staff doctor checking on this?" Maureen asked.

The alien grunted. "No, but the ship is awaiting a replacement. There was an altercation a few days ago between the Limnat and the Drokani. Don't ask about what specifically; I have no idea, though it did get back to the news vids on my home world. Rumor had it that it was over mining rights on some third world they both laid claim to. But who knows? They are always fighting over something."

"Anyway, the doctor got caught in the middle of it when the battle carried over into the sick bay, and he was hurt. They shipped him off to the hospital soon after."

Smith looked a little nervous. "And are these beings still on the ship?"

"No. All of them were told to leave and they haven't been back, so you needn't worry about your safety in that regard."

Looking relieved, Smith leaned back against the bulkhead.

"I will have a crew come in within one standard hour to remove these pests. Please follow my instructions in the meantime. And the Gaelorian Gem thanks you for your patience." His spiel having been recited, the alien left.

As anticipated, several aliens of various races entered and began the clean up. They were professional and efficient, and within four hours all the tribbles had been removed from every conceivable part of the ship and every inconceivable part as well. It was amazing where the little creatures had hidden and bred.

But the quarantine didn't lift that day. One additional alien in the landing bay had gotten sick. Two had died, and one more was close to death. The exterminators said it was a horrible way to go. They were delirious, and moaning in agony.

"How horrible!" Smith gasped, imagining it only too well. As a young doctor he'd seen his fair share of illnesses, especially in people who waited until the last possible minute before seeking medical assistance.

"You're a doctor, Dr. Smith," Will blurted out as he was listening to this. "Can't you do something to help them?"

"William!" Smith yelled suddenly. Catching himself, he whispered in a hissing voice, "I'm a doctor for humans, not a xenobiologist."

"Still, I'd think some things are similar, aren't they? Maybe not how their bodies work, but planning strategies might be the same, don't you think?"

"No, William, I certainly do not!"

The alien, who could hear a pin drop with his huge ears, rounded on him in a heartbeat. "A doctor? Is that so? Maybe you'd be of use at that."

"Oh joy, William, now you've done it," Smith moaned, holding his head. "They're going to put me in the midst of some horrid plague and I'll likely die of it long before I figure out the cure!"

The alien, in a vaguely female voice, wasn't about to play games. She dragged Smith by the arm, man handling him in a rather abrupt way, which elicited growls and groans of protest from the struggling physician. She was bigger and stronger than Smith, however, and she rather unceremoniously heaved the still protesting man over her broad shoulder. Smith howled his indignation. It got cut short as she began bouncing down the steps. The air was forced out of his lungs by the way her bone ridged shoulders dug into his unprotected gut.

Once on the surface of the bay, she asked, "Will you walk or do I need to drag you?"

"How dare you, madam! I'll have you know I'll file a protest. As surely as my name is Zachary Smith, you shall pay for the indignity you are putting me through."

Fortunately for him, he didn't hear the laughter of the younger children or see the sober look on the faces of the older crew members. All he could think about as he walked over to the group gathered by one large, sleek vessel was that he was probably going to die. He didn't know the first thing about alien physiology, and while his knowledge of infectious diseases was adequate, it certainly wasn't at its best. He was no communicable disease specialist. Sure, he could handle the common colds and flu, and even the odd rare disorder. But this was well beyond his skills. He repeatedly tried to tell the beings standing around in the white coats those facts. They weren't listening.

Two beings started to walk toward the gangway leading up to the nearest ship, and gestured for Smith to follow. He hung back and someone rudely shoved him from behind.

"Wait!" he shouted, holding up his hands. "I refuse to go in there with protective equipment. Surgical gloves and a mask, at the very least. In fact, I shall require an entire protective suit."

"Very well, Dr. Smith. I shall have your shipmates locate these items and one of my fellows will return with it."

Smith slumped in resignation. Then he brightened "Bring that bubble headed cargo bearer with you."

"What for?" the leader asked suspiciously.

Smith thought fast. "He's a machine and therefore immune to anything in there. Also you won't need to worry about him spreading the infection. He can carry messages. Besides, I have need of his services to record any data I discover."

"Very well, I will have him fetch what you need." With a quick jerk of his half moon claws, he signaled another being to do his bidding.

When the Robot returned, Smith took the gown, surgical gloves, mask, cap, booties and glasses, donning each one slowly.

"Hurry up!" the alien growled, knowing procrastination when he saw it.

"Bah!" Smith spat back, slowing still further. He knew the jig was up but pushed the limits anyway. Finally he couldn't stall anymore. He took a few hesitant steps up the gangway. Looking back, he saw that the aliens had effectively blocked any avenue of escape.

Slowly, he entered the portal and looked around. A white garbed being with a rectangular clear covering over his snout, signaled for him to follow. He passed a room with a bloated and obviously dead body on the bed. Then he went into another stateroom, this one very plush and ornate. In the middle of a large velvet covered bed was an enormous beast, identified as N'las. The creature looked a bit like a platypus. Its mounded belly was quivering with pain and its billed mouth opened and snapped shut with almost every breath.

It moaned, a very human sound. Gradually Smith approached the being and looked at it carefully. Its triple purple eyes were large and ringed with white. He had no idea if that was normal or not. Its fur was cherry red, short, coarse, and very thick. Again, he didn't know what was normal. The same went for its respiration rates. He counted 40 in one minute. For a human that was exceedingly fast, but for this creature? Who knew? He took his stethoscope from the Robot and placed it on the alien's chest. Nothing definitive, only a distant thumping.

Well, so much for that, he thought ruefully. He moved it around the entire torso and found a pounding beat high in the upper right chest and another down in the lower belly region. Both pulsed about a half second apart.

Too slow, Smith told himself. At least I presume so.

"This isn't working," he stated to the Robot and the alien. "I repeat what I've already said. I have no knowledge of this creatures' psychology. By the time someone educates me, they could all be dead."

The alien in the meantime moaned louder and clutched his gut as if in agony. Smith, shifting into his professional mode, made a serious attempt to find anything that might stand out as unusual. He palpated many organs and was forced to admit that everything seemed unusual. Even through his gloves he could tell that the patient was extremely warm.

"I don't suppose anyone knows what the normal body temperature for this creature is supposed to be?" he asked sarcastically.

"What measurement do humans use?"

"Fahrenheit or Celsius."

"Never heard of them."

Smith rolled his eyes. "Figures."

The alien handed him a doctor's bag, the one from the Jupiter 2. From it he pulled an ear thermometer. Inserting it into the one naked ear canal of the creature, he waited for the three beeps to tell him it was ready. With great trepidation, he scanned the results.

Looking at the Robot, he rolled his eyes for emphasis "It hit the top end. We'd be better off with an oven thermometer."

There was a rattle of metal as someone ran down the hall. It skidded to a stop on six heavily clawed feet. "Two more dead," it stated in a non human voice. "Three more sick."

"How are the tribbles?" Smith asked suddenly, acting on a hunch

"Almost all dead. Why?"

"I'm wondering if it's possible these beings have picked up something infectious from the tribbles." Oh God, he shivered. Dear William, Penny, Judy...they could all be infected.

He flopped into a nearby chair that was much too large for him. It made him look small helpless, which was precisely how he was feeling.

The man who wanted to take no responsibility for anything suddenly wished he could instantly absorb the alien medical texts so he could figure this thing out. Not just because his own life now depended on it, but because everyone's life depended on it...and on him.

No matter what happened now, he decided he didn't want to just sit back and watch. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. And after all, he WAS a gambler at heart.

Time to up the ante, he told himself, as he stripped off his protective gear and hurled it into an empty metal trash bin. To the others he said, "Somehow I've got to get to the Gem's sickbay. Bring some of the tribbles for analysis."

"Dr. Smith," the Robot stopped him. "Perhaps the two strings of deaths are unrelated. Maybe the tribbles died of something else."

"That is indeed a possibility, but my intuition is telling me there is a link somewhere."

"I hope you are right, because for every minute you waste studying the tribbles, others may be getting sick or dying."

Anger shot out like flames from Smith's eyes. The veins in his temples throbbed. The Robot was so shocked by this genuine display of hostility that he shut his sensors down and backed up, his bubble dropping with a loud "clunk".

"Don't you think I realize that?" Smith snarled. "I'm not a fool, though you all treat me like one." He started to calm down. "Robot, it is quite convenient and pleasant for me when I keep out of the Robinsons way. But I derive no enjoyment from seeing these creatures suffering. Therefore I shall do my best to render assistance even if my aid is far from successful. You, my stalwart sentinel, will stand guard over me. Finally, you are hereby ordered to keep your voice module shut about whatever you see or hear."

"Why?" the Robot asked automatically.

"Because I have a bad image to maintain, that's why!" Smith then chuckled as if he were thinking of some private joke, and strolled out of the room. But not before giving his first patient a very worried look first.

The Robot followed him, his sensors picking up some very strange vibes from his "friend", mentor and antagonist. "May I inquire what you are planning to do?'

"Nothing definite, but I have an idea I'd like to follow up on." Smith marched on, displaying unusual energy, as if his idea would evaporate if he didn't act on it quickly enough. Striding toward the lead being of the crew, he asked, "What's the likelihood of our gaining access to the Gem's sick bay?"

"Depends," was the gruff answer. The alien crossed his crustacean like pincers. "What do you plan on doing there?"

"I'd like to access some of the medical equipment."

"I thought you wouldn't be able to use it."

"With the assistance of this computerized chatterbox, I just might be able to utilize its information. It's worth a try, don't you agree?"

"Agreed," the alien replied, after a minutes' deep thought. "Let me talk to my superior, however, and see if he has any objections."

"Excellent! Meanwhile, why don't you also inquire about the state of affairs elsewhere on this ship. Try to ascertain if this disease has spread elsewhere?"

"I'll do that, doctor."

That said, Smith wheeled and half jogged to the Jupiter 2. Once there he yanked out a large basket and began hauling out scalpels, the small microscope, slides, stains and dyes in a small rack, and an assortment of other medical supplies.

Don, sitting nearest the lab section of the ship, heard Smith muttering something about "giving his eye teeth for an electron microscope". But West didn't have time to ask any question, and after a great flurry of activity, the doctor vanished again.

Smith wasted no time in getting back to the crew chief. "Well?" he shouted as he approached. "What news do you have for me?"

The alien calmly awaited this irritating human's arrival. "The news is not good. As you must have clearly suspected, the disease has spread from this bay and others have fallen sick. Not many, but the general symptoms are the same. Some of those beings are in their staterooms; others, like those here, were trapped in the bays during the initial quarantine."

"If it weren't for them coming back here to dispose of their unwanted guests they too would have been in their staterooms," Smith stated. "But that's neither here nor there. If this disease is tribble borne as I suspect, then anywhere the tribbles go, people could get sick."

"Not every being in contact with them is sick," the leader pointed out, his mandibles clicking loudly in confusion.

"Due to physiological differences," Smith said, with more assurance than he felt. "Which reminds me. I will require blood samples from each species that has fallen ill." That said, he further inquired, "Now, what about my gaining access to the sick bay?"

"It has been approved, but the authorities would rather you do your research here as much as possible. The patrons are scared enough as it is, and if they got ill for some reason and found you doing their studies in there, it might panic them further."

Smith shrugged. It would be inconvenient to move the equipment to the Jupiter 2, for instance, but if they did the leg work for him, he didn't much care. In fact, the purple eyed platypus had a rather grand lounge area on his ship, and that would, with tables set up, suffice as a work area. Besides, it was easier for the Robot to come and go from there.

"Fine, let's make haste and see what's in there first. If possible, supply me with something to tag the necessary equipment, then all you'll need to do is find someone to transport it here." He then outlined where he wanted the equipment set up.

"Come along, booby," he waved at the Robot. "Time's awastin', as they say."

As they moved to the portal, an invisible signal was sent out that only the Robot's sensors could detect. Soon the door opened and they traversed the empty hallways. Clearly the area had been cordoned off from the rest of the ship, even though the disease had spread to other parts of the ship, including some of the bays they were currently passing by.

The lobby too was nearly deserted, aside from a few brave souls with an apparent death wish, and the staff, who were loyal to the end.

When Smith entered the sickbay, he gasped at the wide array of medical equipment set out before his awestruck gaze. The enormity of what he was about to undertake sucked the breath from him. He was trying to tackle the impossible already, but here was equipment clearly beyond his ken.

The Robot, however, was more comfortable around machinery, even things as complex as this. He went over to a panel and began tapping at it with his red claws.

"What are you doing?" Smith inquired, leaning around the Robot's round torso.

"Uploading language information first," was the succinct reply.

"And then?"

"I hope to supply you with names for the equipment. I might, if this works, also be able to tell you something about how to operate it."

"Splendid." Smith nearly crowed with joy. "Actually, I don't think I'll need a great deal if we can locate what would be comparable to an electron microscope."

"What are you hoping to find with it?"

"Viruses, most likely."

The Robot disconnected from the computer link up system. "What if that reveals nothing?"

"Well, there is always the possibility that it's a bacteria. If it's anything other than that, I have no idea where to start looking or how to recognize it even if I find it."

He crossed his arms and hugged himself as if cold. He took a very deep, shaky breath. "Robot, I am feeling very overwhelmed," he said in a hushed whisper. "I know you don't believe it, but I was a better than average physician. That's why I wound up on the Jupiter project to begin with. However, etiopathogensis is not my strong suit."

It didn't take a being as perceptive as the Robot to tell this admission was causing Smith some considerable discomfort. It hurt Smith to admit his shortcomings, that was obvious, but not for the standard reasons of pride or self protection.

"I'm out of my element," he finally acknowledged, stating the obvious. "Had I been back on Earth I probably could have figured out the problem by accessing databases or exotic disease texts after running tests on diagnostic devices I'm quite familiar with. But out here, with no medical resources and mainly primitive diagnostic tools, I worry that the difficulty of this task is far above my ability to conquer it."

Slowly, the Robot rolled over and gently patted Smith's shoulder. The doctor reached up and tapped the claw with chilled, moist fingers. "You've been too good to me, my faithful friend," Smith said. "Perhaps, between the two of us, we can solve this mystery and help save some lives."

"I will endeavor to serve you in every way I can, Dr. Smith."

"Well, let's get to it, shall we?" He walked to the first console. "What's this?"

"I don't know, Dr. Smith. I'm sorry to say that when I tried to upload information, the ships' computers rejected my attempts to access it."

Throwing up his hands in despair, Smith growled, "Wonderful! Just my luck, which I don't mind tell you has been rotten lately!" Forcing himself to calm down and think rationally, he stated, "Enough of this for now. Let's get back to our bay. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"Old fashioned way?" the Robot inquired.

"Dissection, manual examination, tissue biopsies. We have the dyes to stain cells after the tissue has gone through a microtome, which incidentally we do have. It's a slow, tedious process to do it all by hand, but it can be done. I'll need to locate some paraffin to set the tissue into before I can set the specimen on the slides, however. Maybe you can do that for me. If the Jupiter 2 was equipped with all the other things, then surely they thought to pack paraffin."

"Affirmative. I'll get right on it as soon as we get back."

The extermination crew walked the dejected duo back to the massive landing bay. They were all greeted by scared or angry yells. Demands for information hurled around the room like thrown "dodge balls". The crew set up a protective barrier around the human and robot as they walked back to the alien ship's newly designed laboratory.

Blood and hair specimens were already waiting for them. Some were labelled as being from the other hanger bays. Smith sat down with a pencil and paper and began to record information, giving each vial a number. He sent all the newly labelled specimens to the Robot, with orders to send them through DNA testing back at the Jupiter 2.

"And be careful not to mix any of them up," he admonished.

"Never fear, Robot is here," was the reply.

"Very funny, you clattering comedian," Smith mumbled, with a half hearted growl.

Once the Robot had gone off to do his duty, Smith approached the crew leader. He reported their inability to access any information from the sickbay. The crew leader wilted a bit. Air formed in a foggy patch on his protective mask. Smith wondered if that would be sufficient to protect them.

Finally the doctor made his request. "Bring me a dead tribble. Better still, bring me several of them."

"That shouldn't be too hard!" was the hissed reply.

The deceased specimens were in his hands almost before he could return to his lab. Carefully he laid one in a clean pan. Washing his hands, he slipped on surgical gloves and went to visit his ailing patient. After judging that little was different aside from the patient's labored breathing, he returned to the lab and began his revolting task.

In short order he had the simple internal organs of the tribble bared to the light. Much of what he'd suspected was laid open to his probing. The NMR scanner at the Jupiter 2 had been quite efficient. However, the digestive tract of the creature looked unhealthy. As if many capillaries had ruptured. Most of the internal organs looked enlarged and stressed. And angry purple gray in color. Any first year med student could have told that this animal didn't die easily or painlessly.

"Gross examination reveals massive tissue necrosis," the told the robot, who dutifully recorded the information.

Pulling out his surgical tools, Smith selected a bowel section and sliced a paper thin sliver out of it. He placed it on a slide and slid it under the microscope. He saw signs of tissue damage everywhere. On higher magnification, he saw ruptured cells. Which could have been consistent with a virus which used the host cell for reproduction then burst the cell membranes in its fight to get out. Then again, a bacteria could do similar damage from the outside in.

The Robot returned with the small paraffin supply. In minutes he'd lit a candle under it and waited for it to soften. Then he took another sample of tissues and dropped a tiny blob of it into the heated wax. Both were removed from the heat. Once it had become firm, he put the specimen in the microtome and started slicing out square pieces barely thicker than a layer of cells. The tissue thin pieces began to curl, and Smith worked quickly to lay them on a slide, place a cover over them, and set them in a rack.

Soon after, a second and third tribble's digestive tract biopsy specimen joined the first. Setting them up for staining, he mentally set his watch.

Exhausted more from his mental rather than physical exertions, Smith sank into a nearby chair and laid his weary head on his upraised palm. He sat still, but didn't sleep. The doctor's concern for his patients was keeping him from doing anything but thinking about the tasks and decisions ahead.

While he sat, the Robot returned with the genetic scan printout. Jerking to full alertness, Smith snatched it away. "So sorry," he mumbled, apologizing for his abruptness.

"Forgiven," the Robot replied.

Smith spent the next few minutes scanning the results. Seeing the Robot waiting, patiently, expectantly, the doctor said, "Not much of a surprise here. Much of the DNA chains are in unusual patterns. The nucleotides are in some ways similar to ours and in other ways totally ... alien. Much like the tribbles, in fact. Which doesn't surprise me. Some of the DNA of the sentients may have similarly sequented strands to that of the tribbles. That may explain who gets sick and who doesn't, at least in terms of general susceptibility."

Then the doctor pushed a loud, slow wave of air from his lungs. "I think it might be wise to do a quick scan of hair from the Robinsons and West just to see how different our DNA patterns actually are."

"Do you think that would help?"

"No, not really, but it would be a good reference point. One thing we do know so far is that it's endemic. It only appears to be striking certain aliens so far. But why? And how is the disease passed? By touch? Or through the air? Or in the water or food supply?"

He checked his chronometer and removed the stained slides. Putting them under the microscope he set about trying to find something that looked unusual. Unfortunately, as with the gross examination, everything looked either vaguely unfamiliar or totally unfamiliar. Some cell structures seemed similar to those of humans. He looked them over. Then he looked for how those cells died, but came up with no conclusive answers. The stain didn't show much. Then he went to the next slide, and again didn't see much of use.

When he got to the third series of slides, which was bathed in the third type of stain, he was already wondering if he would recognize a problem when he saw it. The cells looked the same, but suddenly he saw a few of them surrounded by dark, rounded blotches. They appeared to be attacking the cells.

"Bacteria!" he yelled, as he jumped to his feet, startling the Robot. "Eureka! These cells have been decimated by a bacteria of some sort." He did a quick little jig, not because he was proud of himself as much as relieved that he had gotten some sort of answer. He now knew one thing for certain. These tribbles had apparently been infected with some sort of bacteria that invaded the gut area.

"Robot, I don't care how you do it, but you must get an analyzer running in that sick bay! I need to find out if the bacteria is just killing them by destroying the cells or if they are killing the tribbles by other means."

"I am not following you, Dr. Smith," the Robot replied.

"It's quite simple, you brainless bucket of bolts. Not all bacteria kill directly. Sometimes they cause, as I suspect in this case, inflammation of the digestive tract. They burrow into the lining of the walls of the gut, where blood supplies are copious. Like E. Coli, for instance. Most strains don't hurt humans, but a few are quite virulent and will pump toxins directly into the blood stream."

"Do you suspect that such invasion and inflammation is happening to the other aliens as well?"

"Could be very possible. Yes, indeed it could," Smith stated proudly. "But we must find out if their digestive tracts have the same bacteria."

"I suppose that means we must make a trip to the ..."

"... the morgue. Yes, I'm afraid so."

"I was afraid of that," the mechanical man said glumly.