BLOOD & WATER

CHAPTER ONE

"Tyridian plague."

It had started with complaints of a headache. Then fever and a grating cough. Ten hours later, and Vila had been insensible. After that, his condition had deteriorated rapidly and when fluid had started gathering in his pleural cavity, his breathing had to be assisted. The Liberator's medical unit could only keep him stable. Finding outside intervention had become a priority.

A medical facility on the neutral planet of Vanguard in Sector Three had offered to help. Except, now they had the diagnosis, even with the best that the Liberator and the facility had to offer, there was nothing they could do. Tyridian plague, a manufactured disease developed for biological warfare, had been designed to kill, quickly if not cleanly. Federation scientists had not bothered finding a cure.

"I'm sorry," said the doctor. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

"We understand," said Gan. "I'm sure you did what you could."

"We can treat the symptoms," the man went on. "Of course, it would be different if we had a family member."

Blake had only been half-listening to the conversation. Standing at Vila's bedside, he was turning the last twenty hours over his mind, trying to think what they had missed.

A relatively simple operation to cripple the Federation's weapon supply, Vila had mounted his usual protestations when he was told his particular skills were needed to infiltrate a development unit on Corstanix. In and out, with an overload in the primary energy systems left to finish what they had started and then back to the ship. An hour later, Vila's symptoms had started. So far, none of the others had shown any signs of infection. How he had contracted the disease was a puzzle. There had been no reports of an epidemic on the planet. It was a contained unit with its own decontamination protocols in operation. Yet somehow Vila had managed to fall ill.

Tyridian plague killed within forty hours. Vila's time was running out.

"What difference would a family member make?" Blake asked absently.

"Gene therapy," explained the doctor. "The plague causes damage at the cellular level. Put simply, we have had some success in the past by replacing the mutated genes with healthy copies. However, we need an undamaged gene on which to base the copy. A close relative usually provides the best match."

"Does Vila have any family?" asked Gan.

"None that I know of," said Blake.

Truth was, Vila had never said. In the short time Blake had known him, he had formed a decent opinion of his character, but beyond the barest details of what Vila had told him, his background was a mystery. He could have had brothers and sisters by the score, but finding them in time was going to be impossible.

"There must be something," asked Gan. "We can't do nothing, Blake."

The doctor looked uncertain. "It's a long shot, but it might be worth testing the members of your crew to see if anyone is close enough to be suitable. Any match, however distant, might help."

A very long shot, thought Blake. But it was worth a try.

"Very well," he agreed. "Gan, you go first. I'll tell Avon and Jenna to teleport down."

The response was predictable.

"Insulting us by implying that we have anything in common with Vila is not going to help him," came Avon's voice through the communicator. "The odds that we are a match must be 1 in a trillion."

"Just come down," said Blake.

"What about Cally?"

"Probably not close enough. Oh, and Avon, make it quick. He's fading."

"Any news?" asked Jenna.

Blake shook his head. Several hours had passed without word from the medics on Vanguard. The samples had been given and then it was a case of waiting. Gan had remained behind and could only report back that Vila's condition had worsened and the tests were still progressing. It was not encouraging.

"Too much to hope any of us were a match," she said.

"At least we tried," said Blake. A headache had settled solidly behind his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose did little to dispel it. "Did he have any family?"

Jenna gave a light shrug. "He never said. I had the impression he was on his own."

"There must be someone who should be told."

"Someone who cares, you mean."

He returned her slight smile. "Perhaps they already know."

The communicator suddenly chimed. Jenna held back and let Blake answer it. He tried to give her a reassuring look, but saw from her expression that she was bracing herself for the worst possible news.

"We have a match," said the medic from Vanguard, much to Blake's surprise. "We'll begin the treatment immediately. We are hopeful that he should make a full recovery."

Jenna let out an audible sigh of relief.

"That's encouraging," said Blake. "Who was the match?"

There was a pause before the medic answered. "Look, I don't know how to tell you this, since I assume from what you said you aren't aware of it yourself."

"Aware of what?"

Again, the man hesitated. "The fact is, you were all suitable matches. It seems you share a common relative, a father most likely. In short, you are all half-siblings."