The plague's eleventh wave proved to be the deadliest to date. With nearly thirty thousand coming down and then succumbing to it, medical professionals were now sure that a pandemic was underway. All signs were pointing to one happening—the symptoms that patients were coming in with; the alarming die-off of people who came in with disturbing, and non-treatable, illnesses; the discoveries of folk who died at home, who seemed to of succumbed to the same thing that the ones who entered the hospitals had; hospice care professionals not being able to put a name to what was killing their patients; and the peculiar in-flow of patients, which seemed to increase each week to two weeks. Even though this was all known, and spoken of during the recent medical board meeting, nothing was exposed to the public. Before a report could be made, several of the ones who held the top positions in the medical field came down with, what they called, a mild cold that, almost overnight, became nearly pneumonic. The ones who came down with this illness tried to document their symptoms; it wasn't long before they became so sore, and then so weak, that they couldn't lift a pen or pencil, much less write down what they were experiencing. At around the thirty-six hour mark, an alarming new symptom joined the ones that they were experiencing: protuberances of the darkest, smelliest, and most painful sort formed on their necks, armpits, and groins. The people who held the top positions in their medical fields made one last ditch effort after the protuberances appeared to document their symptoms; of the twenty who tried to do this, only two tried to get to a hospital.
Twelve hours after trying to push themselves to write down their symptoms, all of them died. As was custom, everything that they touched was carted out and then burned—so to prevent spreading of what they came down with. If their notes were saved, or looked at and then noticed for their valuable information, the populace of the M-51 Galaxy would of gotten a warning about what was happening. Since the people who did the burning just dumped everything that was given to them in the fire, the papers were lost.
Unlike the previous ten waves, the eleventh had a sustained length of two weeks. The Surfeit family, like many others on the planet, was hit particularly hard in them weeks—six members came down and then succumbed to the plague that was just recognized by the medical field.
"Papa's quite tired right now." ShaamVile thought while doing as he was at his desk, then tuning in to see if what he heard was real or not.
Unbeknown to ShaamVile, his father felt drained by the time the eleventh wave ended. RaalVile spent all of twelve hours at his brother's place; worrying and fretting about both the man and his daughters. RosolVile dressed himself as speedily as he could after hearing his brother's yell. After getting dressed, he tore down to retrieve his daughter from his brother's arms; he then went to the room that his lived-in personal physician worked in. Vataka was seen by the man's physician right away. At first, a bad infection was diagnosed, then, two hours later, a new diagnosis of a bad cold was made. Vataka was moved to her bedroom chamber, where she remained for the rest of her life. RosolVile, a man who only just got through being talked to and set straight, stayed with her from the time she was noted as being sick to when she took her last breath. Little VatakaVile Klacksi Surfeit, who was born a week after her due date, and had a caul around her head, died exactly twelve hours after coming down with her illness. The tombstone that was placed in the cemetery had the date of October 31, 3,855,221,109,002 on it. Everyone who attended the funeral had wept over that tombstone, and the new grave that wasn't there three weeks ago. While Heviha, who was just as badly effected by her sister's passing as the rest of them, was taken inside at the funeral's conclusion, her father plain refused to leave the cemetery for a few hours. Vataka was buried to the left of her mother; the spot that she was put in wasn't picked by her father. Her uncle was the one to make the decision on where she was to be buried—while RosolVile picked out the coffin, and did the funeral preparing, he was too grief-stricken when the time came to pick the spot where she was to be buried in. By the time RosolVile came in, he was drenched from head to foot—it was raining at the time of his daughter's burial; his family thought the weather fit the occasion that they were involved in.
The pain that the family felt after Vataka's passing, and then burial, was only upped a few days later. RaalVile decided to pay the only sister of his that he hadn't heard from—Saroka was fine, she was just too busy to answer the phone, and so was Axtegae, who only just returned home after visiting friends who lived a distance from her. He decided to pay his, and his brothers', older sister a visit after hearing from Saroka and Axtegae... and a further five calls were made and not answered. The man was shocked after arriving to the apartment where NihirVile Kheentanya Dolgog, and her husband of many thousands of years, Stogku Dolgog, lived in. Not only was the door locked but no one answered when he knocked on it; when he asked two of the neighbors about his sister and brother-in-law, they claimed to of not heard anything from them for nearly a week. RaalVile did the only thing he could think of—he busted the door to bits then walked in on something that'd haunt him for years.
The apartment, where his childless sister and brother-in-law lived in, was freezing cold when he went in. After seeing how cold it was, he went to see if his sister and brother-in-law's vehicles were in the parking lot. Only after finding that they were did he get serious. He did the only thing that he could think of doing after finding the two vehicles in the parking lot—go back to the apartment then search it.
All of Nihir's pet fish were dead. The dog, that his sister received as a recent anniversary present, was missing. And four of Nihir's five cats were also dead. The discovery of Nihir and her husband, stark naked in bed, and nearly covered in blood from the protuberances that were on their necks, armpits, inner thighs, and groins exploding, had caused the man to damn near faint.
RosolVile had looked a mess during Nihir and Stogku's burial, while his only surviving daughter looked far worse. As was custom, Nihir and Stogku were buried side-by-side; the epitaph on their conjoined tombstones said Forever in our hearts. The two were autopsied by a doctor a few days before the burial; the man claimed that they died four days ago, so the date on their tombstone said November 4, 3,855,221,109,002.
The death of Nihir and her husband came to be all but forgotten by ShaamVile after Heviha passed away. His uncle, who obviously slipped after losing his wife, their unborn baby, and Vataka, was trying to make a comeback to normal living when his oldest daughter was discovered in her bedroom chamber. Like Nihir and Stogku, she was covered in blood from head to foot. The man's personal physician was called immediately; sadly, nothing could be done to save the child. According to RosolVile's physician, Heviha contracted the cold that her sister had; she, who was born so healthy, and hadn't a thing wrong with her, had battled it for all of a week and a half before succumbing to it. While RosolVile showed up to the funeral, he stayed far back until everyone left; his parting words were expressed for all of six hours before his swift exit of the cemetery was done.
The passing of ShaamVile's youngest sister, VlalaVile Gemalia Surfeit, was taken even harder. RaalVile, who had yet to get over his grief over losing his sister, brother-in-law, and nieces, had made the trek to see her after she stopped answering his calls. Unlike Nihir and Stogku's apartment, Vlala's was found to be both stuffy and blisteringly hot. RaalVile didn't have to search far for his daughter—she was all stretched out on the living room couch. Her body was pocked with rashes and protuberances; the doctor who did the autopsy said that an infection of some sort, and pneumonia, was the cause behind her death. Vlala was buried near the middle of the cemetery; her tombstone read November 13, 3,855,221,109,002.
The final one of the family to succumb to the plague's eleventh wave was away on business when he came down with his illness. Paegslar Gotaela, the husband of OliaVile Klahie Surfeit, and the father of four month old ShovotVile Zvoth Gotaela, was noticed by a member of his business firm. The man who checked on him had become concerned after he missed six scheduled meetings; the poor soul would be admitted to an asylum soon after discovering what lie in Paegslar's rented apartment.
Paegslar wasn't identifiable. His whole body was riddled in protuberances, which had all burst, and he was also half-covered in rashes and bruises. Olia was most inconsolerable after being told about her husband's decease; everything that her father did to comfort her was met with unsuccess. While Paegslar's body was discovered on the 14th of November, the autopsy claimed that he died a week earlier. November 7, 3,855,221,109,002 was what was put on his tombstone; Olia had to be coaxed away from the cemetery two hours following her husband's funeral.
With what was to come, ShaamVile wouldn't be surprised over forgetting some of the deaths that happened in the month of November. The eleventh wave of the plague was only a small taste of what was to come; if anyone in his family had known of the events there were to come, they would of done more than find a hole, or underground bunker, to hide in. A speedy boarding of one of the available spacecrafts that were owned by either he, his father, or uncle would of been done; they would of gone to a different galaxy, where they would be safe from plague-contamination, and further heartbreak. Since no one knew of what was going on, they stayed where they were. Everyone stayed vulnerable, and put themselves at risk of contracting the next few waves that were soon to hit the galaxy.
"Must be hearing things." ShaamVile thought after going back to what he was doing.
It was three days past Paegslar's burial. Even though ShaamVile didn't want to do it, he found himself as compelled to; when the phone rang, he went to answer it. At first, he thought it was Trobrencus—the man's cellular was rung countless times, and several text messages were sent to him, telling him about the untimely passing of his sister and in-laws. No one had heard from him in a long time and, as far as everyone knew, he was still in his underground bunker. When ShaamVile answered the phone in his office, he received a shock. Instead of his caller being the second oldest of his uncles, he found that it was none other than his father-in-law—Lorboriann Shaar.
With his just losing Nihir and her husband, Heviha, Vataka, Vlala, and Paegslar, he came close to slamming the receiver to the base unit then ripping the cord from the wall. Speaking to Lorboriann, and hearing his torrent of negative words, was the last thing he needed right not. It took a considerable amount of effort to not do that. Instead of slamming the phone down, then ripping its cord from the wall, he cleared his throat then addressed the man.
"Lorboriann," ShaamVile said. "Wh—"
"It's about damn time! I've been calling you for two weeks now!" his father-in-law sang.
"What is it you want?" he asked.
"What do you think I want you Oaf? You're more than two months late in sending us pictures of our grandson. Where are they?" Lorboriann snapped.
"Thought you and Amjufaria wanted nothing to do with Duru." ShaamVile said.
He had heard not a word from the Shaar's since the event that occurred in the park on the ninth of July. With their silence, he had figured that their interest in wanting anything to do with his son was satiated and then discarded. He wasn't sure if Lorboriann's claim of trying to call him was correct or not; with all of what he and his had gone through in the last few weeks, he wasn't able to stick around home or concern himself with the task of answering the phone. None of his staff had made a memo about Lorboriann calling him; that went double for anyone coming up and then saying that the man was placing calls to his number for the last two weeks.
Attending funerals, and the receptions that were held after them; looking after the members of his family that were having a difficult time in dealing with their sorrow; looking into the care of his galaxies while trying to not succumb to the aches that he felt over the losses that happened in his family that year; and the general care given to his son, who seemed to be doing fine with all that was going on that month, was what he concerned himself with the most.
"Whoever put that thought in that head of yours needs to be shot and fast," Lorboriann snickered. The man was silent for a few minutes; ShaamVile was about to hang the phone up when he spoke again. "I take it that you've been giving him "lessons" on how to destroy worlds, and the lives of others, during the last few months?"
"No. With the exception of the depressing events that he's been attending these past few months, his routine is very much the same." ShaamVile answered.
"I take that as a confession to your already starting him down the path of destruction." Lorboriann said. "Egla would be most displeased with this knowledge."
He and Egla had actually spoken at length about what his family did during their first, official date. While she was shocked over learning that his family eked out a living by going to war with other realms, and conquered distant galaxies and planets, she didn't say anything adverse or highly negative about it. While Egla sounded sympathetic to the folk of the realms that he and his family conquered, she didn't say anything about their needing to stop, or how cruddy they were. She just asked a few questions pertaining to how they went by looking after the folk who were unscathed by the wars and battles that took place in their galaxy, and how they went by tending to matters in the governments of the realms that they took over. After becoming a real, official couple, he discussed with her about what he wanted their offspring to do with their lives.
He had never forced Egla into doing something that she didn't want to do. Instead of saying that she was to let their offspring follow in his footsteps, and that she had no say on whether they became conquerors, he just talked to her about that happening. He just said that he didn't want their children to be of the lowly sort—the type that just woke up then did a boring routine that garnered them no benefits. He also said that he didn't want them to put waste to their lives. Egla, as always, had listened to him then, after he was done in speaking his mind on the subject, she expressed her feelings, and fears, over what was expected of their children.
While Egla disclosed an interest in wanting their children to have a good, safe life, she didn't say a thing against their following in his footsteps, or being sent to schools that'd teach them how to be conquerors. Naturally, she was fearful of their offspring getting hurt during their campaigns, and of one, or more, being killed while in battle; he had comforted her, and told her that she had a right in fearing that, then he told her that he had plans to teach each and every one of their offspring the tricks on how not to get killed while on the battlefield. Injuries were bound to happen, he told her, but there were a good many of ways to keep yourself from getting fatally injured, or killed, during battle; with his history in being a conqueror already known to her, she felt assured that he'd do all he could to ensure their offspring's safeties during their conquering days.
"What happens if they don't want to become conquerors?" he remembered her asking him one day. "What if they want to be normal?"
The answer to that question was simple: nothing would happen. If one, or more, of their offspring showed an interest in not being a planetary or galactic conqueror, he'd not bat an eyelash or grow tempered with them. He'd continue being a parent to them, and he'd continue loving them; his family, he had assured her, would do the same thing. That had closed that subject.
"No, nothing of the sort." ShaamVile said. "He just wakes up, eats, plays, craps and/or pisses his diapers... he's just having a normal toddler's life."
"And yet you mention his attending depressing events—that's quite contradicting to what you just said." Lorboriann sounded so proud of himself. He rolled his eyes. "Pray tell me, what "depressing" events has that child, who, as you just said, leads a normal life, become involved in?"
"Funerals, Lor." he replied.
"Funerals?" a normal person would gasp, and then experience their spine stiffening, and then pupils contracting, after hearing that word; he pictured Lorboriann doing the exact opposite of that. Lorboriann was probably standing normally or, if he was sitting, just slouching in a chair. Lorboriann had sounded mildly interested in the word, but not in the way a normal person would be.
"Yessir—a few of mine have perished over the last few months. As of this month, we've had s—" he started to explain.
"The great cloud of Karma comes to yours with a ravenous vengeance," Lorboriann laughed.
"No. While we don't know what's going on, we're sure that no one's out to get us, or that we've done anything to attract—"
"Amjufaria! Looks like the Surfeit family's getting their way past-dues!" Lorboriann suddenly yelled. "People been dropping for no reason in that clan."
"Good! Let them learn that their dastardly ways come with a dire consequence!" Amufaria's yell reached his shocked ears loud and clear.
"That's the reason I'm being fed behind our not getting any further photographs of Duno." Lorboriann said loudly.
"Likely story." Amjufaria must be close to the phone—not only did she speak normally but he was able to hear her. "Not good enough. Have at him and good, Lorboriann. I want them photographs."
While his temper wasn't as bad as his grandfather's, he felt it soaring and gaining both heat and altitude in his body. Just hearing the Shaar's get a cheap thrill from his family's misfortunes was as infuriating as it was shocking. No one in his family had deserved to die; no one had done a thing to gain the searching eye of "Karma". The members of his family had still continued to go to church, normal routines were exercised, normal entertainments were experienced, no galactic or planetary conquerings occurred for nearly thirty years... everyone was happy, healthy, and enjoying life up to real recent.
His brother, who he once paired up with to snatch bags full of Oysters from the seafood restaurant that was still in Falaroni, the town that he and his full-siblings were raised near, didn't deserve to die. Not only had he done nothing conquering-wise for years but he was as religious as him—every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday, without fail, he'd show up for mass. It didn't matter if he had a full schedule, was expected to be in for a medical appointment, or wasn't feeling well; once them days of the week came around, he and Suha would dress themselves in their best then head off to church for a few hours.
Ofnavat didn't do anything to be put in the ground. He was just a two-month old baby for crying out loud! All he cared about was getting fed, having his diaper changed, having his toys around, and being around the ones who loved and cared about him. His parents, while not as religious as he and Zaal, had still gone to church every Monday and Sunday. Corran was a housing representative, and Olia was a stay-at-home wife and mother... they didn't do anything to gain the death of their son.
While Axzah wasn't very religious before marrying his uncle, she turned to being one after the two exchanged vows. She didn't have any involvements with her husband's conquests, or other-world dealings... She was just a very much loved housewife and mother of two. She, like his brother and Ofnavat, didn't deserve to die. Axzah's unborn daughter didn't deserve to die either; she was still in the womb... just an innocent, unborn baby who was waiting to be born to parents who loved children and wanted more than anything in the whole wide Universe to have them.
Heviha and Vataka were as healthy as could be, and definitely didn't do anything to attract the attention of Death. Oh, the two had their moments where they were unruly, and where they drove their parents up a wall and back, but they didn't do anything to ask to be put in the ground. The two were children, nothing more or less; they were as innocent, and as sweet, as can be.
While Nihir had a troubled childhood, she didn't ask for Death to come knocking on her door. Nihir had spent around twenty thousand years in-and-out of rehab centers for her drug addictions, and abuses; she spent half of her adult life living under her father's roof until finally finding the strength to get over her addictions—which happened right when she met her husband, who his grandfather accepted as her partner right away. Nihir was an especially Gods Fearing Lass; church every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday for her... Every event that happened at the church that she and her husband went to was attended by her... The Good Book was devoutly carried by her everywhere, and was also read and adhered to. The only issue that Nihir had in her life was the sterility thing—the drugs that she did had caused her reproductive organs to stop working. Regardless of her inability to have children, Nihir still went by life well and continued loving her husband and religion.
Paegslar might of had a very rough childhood but he turned out alright and, even better, he found the right Lass to make happy and spend time with. From what he was told, Paegslar's parents made the decision to get rid of him at the seven-month mark of the pregnancy; the man was ripped from his mother's womb in a back alley, then thrown in a dumpster. If not for his cries, he wouldn't of been found or taken to the hospital. He spent all of his childhood going in and out of foster homes and orphanages. Like Nihir, he also dabbed in drugs but, unlike Nihir, he stopped doing them before they got a good hold on him. He might not of been a regular at church, but he was religious. Like his brother and Suha, Ofnavat, Axzah, Sola, Heviha, Vataka, and Nihir and Stogku, he didn't deserve to die.
His baby sister might of been a bit of a loon, and might of spent a lot of her early years following this and that musical act from one venue to the next, but she didn't ask for or deserve to die. Vlala was a free-spirit... An especially independent individual who wore her heart on her sleeve; no drugs, no sex escapades, little to no alcohol consumption, no smoking... She was just a fine Lass with a good perspective on life, and who practiced good habits. Like with his brother, he was going to miss his free-spirited sisa.
"You know, you two are a real hoot. A bonafide hoot. I do hope that what happened with mine this month doesn't happen with you or any of yours." ShaamVile said. The phone was dropped to its base unit; with his anger being what it was, he'd not find himself a bit surprised over discovering that its cord was ripped from where it was.
It took him over an hour to calm down from his insult-given fury. During that time, he took care of matters that revolved around one of his conquered realms. The Lyrae Galaxy was the latest galaxy that he took to his control; even after seventy-six years, the civilians that resided on its forty planets had yet to accept him, and his rule, which meant that he had to keep near-constant watch of them and their activities. He had tried half of what he knew to gain their trust and acceptance: raise benefits; increase pay in certain jobs; create more than a thousand jobs in fields that the galaxy's former rulers didn't give much mind or care towards; create a system where low-income families, or folk who were incapacitated by physical or mental ailments, would gain a certain amount of monies each month; drop crude oil prices, and the price of certain items that were sold in stores; and, of course, drop all them silly, or unneeded, laws that their former rulers imposed on them. So far, no go. He was now putting a tough approach to the situation—if being pleasant to gain the respect that he wanted from his people did nothing then being rough, tough, and mean would.
He only had to pull the extreme rough, tough, and mean aspect of being a conqueror out once during his career. The people of the GG-135 Object were a bit of a vicious bunch, who just refused to accept that their old rulers were felled by him and that he was their new ruler. Being pleasant didn't hit it off with them. Being half-pleasant didn't hit it off with them. Being of the normal mean and rough and tumble sort didn't faze them. He was forced to put half of one planet's populace in work camps, a third of another's population in prison, instill a strict curfew to four other planets, imply heavy taxes to twenty other planets, and threaten to drop any and all monetary assistance programs, and programs that assisted one in their education, on the rest of the planets. Only after promising to do worse had the people of that galaxy accepted him and his rule. He had learned a lot from conquering that galaxy, which, at the time, was only the second one that he took to his control.
Only after affixing a stop to certain goods being sold and/or traded, and then increasing the daily cost of living, to the galaxy that's denizens were causing him grief did he look at the clock that was on his desk. It was nearing three in the afternoon. His son was in his playroom all day; except for that one time, where he thought he heard something coming from that room, he hadn't really heard much from him since going to his office to deal with the situation that was happening in the Lyrae Galaxy. He placed all of what he just did in a folder, which was swiftly put by the fax machine that was to the left of the room's casement, double-paned, windows, then stood from his chair; he went to the room that his son was in after doing this.
"Duru?" ShaamVile said after entering the room that his son was seen in last. His son, who was busy with making a series of red, yellow, orange, and green circles on a piece of paper, looked up after hearing his voice. It was instantaneous that the crayons were dropped; his son ran to him as fast as he could.
"Pubba!" DuruVile said.
His father had said something around the area of his son looking for him all during the week that he was stuck in Gordub Hospital. Duru had gone from one room to the next, and dragged his grandfather from one part of the house to the other... he only stopped doing this after coming upon a photograph of him—which he promptly grabbed and then refused to put down. His father also said something about Duru saying the word 'Pubba' constantly; an attempt was made to get him to say something other than that with no success... even the attempt to get Duru to put the letters G-R-A-M-P in front of Pubba didn't work.
The events that occurred after Axzah's passing were quite speedily done. He, his mother, and Malakay were told to follow two nurses to a room about five minutes after Axzah was declared as deceased. The room that they were taken to was separated in tiers of three by thick plastic; after reaching the room, then going to their appointed "quarters", they were told to remove all of what they were wearing—thanks to there being no curtains in his given tier, the act of undressing himself was a bit troublesome. All of what they were wearing was removed, then put in bags; a normal hospital gown was given to them about an hour later. A full day went by before any testing was done on them.
He was perfectly fine with his appointed nurse taking samples of his saliva, skin, hair, and blood. Unlike his mother and stepmother, who were forced to endure three days of this type of testing, he was only bothered on day two and three of his quarantine for them. It was the urine and semen collecting that bothered him—he never wanted another catheter put in him again! Having that damn piece of hollow plastic shoved up his urethra was bad enough... the nurse wasn't slow in doing it, nor was she sympathetic to the pain that he felt during the process of her shoving it in. Having the thing removed wasn't pleasant either—not only was it ripped out but it also burned like hell! He did more than bite his lip when the call was made to remove the thing from his body. His appointed nurse was also rough during the process of collecting his sperm—she did it hurriedly... so much so that he came close to thinking that she was trying to tear it off during the collection of that sample.
Needless to say, he pretty much ran from the hospital after the week of quarantine came to a close. All of what he was wearing on the day that Axzah passed away was returned to him; he donned it then left the hospital. A very happy Duru was collected about thirty minutes later. Seeing home after being away from it for a whole week was nice... as was his having a more than decent meal.
"What say I take you outside?" ShaamVile said to his son, who he missed oh so much during the week that he was hospital-stuck. "Have you put on your horse, then led around in a series of circles, or have you run around... Get some fresh air, play a bit, and expel some energy in the process."
"Otee," DuruVile said after being picked up, then held close.