Have a Bad Day: Seven Stories of Sickness Sin and Psychopaths Page 4

  “Well that’s good. What about him? What can we do for him?” 

  The doctor grimaced. “Your history books didn’t explain how they wiped out Pharrat, did they? Nobody was ever able to find a cure. In the end the government simply quarantined every planet with known or suspected cases and let the planetary municipalities handle the details until they were convinced everyone with the disease was dead. Usually the people in charge simply locked all their doors, covered their ears, and waited for the situation to handle itself. It was a pretty nasty affair.” 

  The captain paled a little at the thought. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the problem at hand. “So, how certain are we that nobody else was infected?” 

  The doctor bit his lip, thinking it over. “Well, this does have all the signs of being type three, but there were a few instances where researchers suspect a victim became contagious early. There’s also a chance that somebody was playing with the genetic structure and we’re dealing with a new strand. I’d say I’m seventy to eighty percent sure we’re safe.” 

  The captain raised an eyebrow. He was not especially knowledgeable about Pharrat. All he knew was what he had learned in school. It was one of the six great plagues that mankind had encountered in its exploration of the stars. The effects had been devastating. Millions upon millions had died. He had not been aware that there was no cure for it, but now that he was . . .

  “That isn’t good enough. Is there any way we can test the crew for it, any preventative vaccine we can give?” 

  “There is no vaccine. There are tests, but none we can give with the computers down. Really the only thing we can do is wait and see if anyone starts to develop symptoms.” He watched the captain for a moment. “A nasty situation. How do you plan to handle it?” 

  Captain Bennat shook his head. “I don’t want to be the man responsible for starting another epidemic. We’re going to set down somewhere uninhabited to make repairs. I want to be a hundred percent sure nobody is infected before we finish this trip.” 

  “Aye, sir.” 

  “Also, we don’t want a panic on board. Nobody outside of you and me is to hear a word about this. And I mean not a word.” 

  “That is something of a given, Captain.” 

  *** 

  “Do you want the good news or the bad news first, sir?” Jenson looked like a grown man in a three year old’s chair. The Captain had considered special ordering a seat for him, but it was the sort of thing that was rather easy to move to the bottom of the shopping list when the budget got tight, as it always did. Fortunately the giant was accustomed to living in an inconveniently small world. 

  “Let’s start with the bad.” 

  “The regulator room may as well have been ejected into space. Almost nothing in there is even salvageable. The company is going to be very, very angry about this. We’re looking on spending two trips worth of profits on the repairs when we reach our next port.” 

  The captain grimaced. “And the good news?” 

  “We do have the supplies on board to rig up makeshift regulating units for the two most important systems: the heating and the air recyclers. And we’re less than two days away from a habitable, Type 1 planet.” 

  “What do we know about the planet?” 

  “Not a lot. Currently it’s uncolonized. So far only a prelim team has visited it; they had very encouraging remarks. The word ‘paradise’ came up more than once. A secondary research group is supposed to be starting a more intensive examination prior to colonization. The atmosphere and gravity are both near Earth’s. Flora and simple fauna are already flourishing, the microorganisms have no discernable effect on humans, and the water supply appears to be drinkable. Ideal.” 

  “Well then. It sounds like the perfect place to make repairs.” 

  The Captain dismissed his command crew with a nod, quietly tucking away the report Laea, had given him just before the meeting. According to her, they would be able to make it to their destination quite easily, though not in perfect comfort, without the assistance of any of the secondary systems, except of course heating, which could be rigged in about a day. Bennat was confident that the quiet woman was not planning on sharing that little tidbit with anyone else. Shoan had her own copy of the report, but she had been working with him long enough to know when not to ask questions. 

  The medical facility, like all of the other systems, had been shorted out. Their substantial database had been lost, and all of the equipment had been rendered useless. Thankfully, Captain Bennat was able to find a handheld library he had brought on board years before. He spent the duration of the trip locked in his office, studying everything he could about Pharrat. He was, after all, a military man, and military men like to know their enemy. The more he knew, the less he wanted to know. 

  They made landfall in the middle of a flat, and beautiful field. The area was in full bloom with low-lying, white flowers stretching as far as the eye could see. It was as close to heaven as the captain could ever remember being. He had half a mind to arrange for another mechanical problem on the way back, just to visit the place again. Actually, he might want to do more than visit. 

  “It is lovely. But somehow I don’t think you can afford enough of it to retire on.” 

  The Captain turned around, “You know, Shoan, you’ve really got to stop doing that.” 

  “Sneaking up on you, or reading your mind?” 

  “Both, either, whatever.” 

  She smiled. Shoan was no psychic, but as much time as she had spent under her captain, she didn’t have to be to figure him out. Some of the crew joked that they were like an old married couple. 

  “Repairs are under way. They think they’ll be able to get most of the systems up and running, but permanent repairs will have to wait till we put into port.” 

  The captain nodded, “Well, it’s not that important. Just make sure that everyone stays busy till the doctor can confirm no symptoms.” 

  In point of fact he had not informed her of the details of their situation. But he was confident she had a good idea. Besides being intuitive she was one of the most intelligent officers who had ever served under him. 

  “How long will that be?” 

  “As best as the doctor has been able to calculate, it took right about at fifteen days for the ensign’s symptoms to show up. We’ve had him in quarantine for the last three days, so just to be on the safe side, we should probably give it, say, two and a half weeks.” 

  The first officer nodded, “I’m sure our buyer will be upset, but there are worse things. Are you going to want to oversee the repairs?” 

  “No. I trust you. Besides, it’s been years since I stopped to smell the flowers, and there are a lot of flowers here to smell.” 

  The first officer smiled. She was planning to spend some time out in the fields herself. They were just too lovely to pass up. The fields themselves would actually help with protracting the work until the deadline. As much as there was to be done, she knew quite well that it wouldn’t take more than a week to finish it at the usual work rates. But nobody would complain or question a more relaxed schedule when there was such rare beauty to be enjoyed. 

  ***

   The captain winced at the sudden realization that he was scratching his arm again. His skin was not quite so red or raw as that of most of the crew, but he was still in pain. Everyone was; even the stoic Laea’s face was a constant grimace of discomfort these days. 

  “Well, I guess there’s no question now.” 

  The doctor was gnawing on his lower lip, though whether it was simple aggravation or an attempt to alleviate an itch there while his arms were busy clawing at each other was questionable. 

  “No, not really.” 

  “About how long until the dementia begins to set in, doctor?” 

  “I don’t know . . . days, I suppose. I wish there were something we coul
d do. Anything. I destroyed the ensigns body as soon as he died, so there’s no chance the infection occurred after . . . I’m afraid we must be dealing with a new strain.”

  “Communications are still down. They tell me there’s something broken that we can’t fix, so we can’t warn anyone off.” The captain forced himself, through sheer force of will, to put his hands at his sides and leave them there. 

  “And we can assume that a crew was sent after us as soon as they realized we’d changed our course. That gives us, what? Four days until another ship shows up?” the doctor asked.

  “More like five or six. Still . . .” 

  “By then whoever is left will be completely demented, and by the time they figure out what’s going on they’ll be infected. And depending on how long they take to head back to main port . . .” 

  An old resolve found foothold and stood up inside the captain. “We can’t let that happen.” 

  The doctor nodded a depressed consensus. “Does the crew know?” 

  The captain shook his head. “No, they know something’s going on, but they have no idea what. It’s not like Pharrat comes up in casual conversations these days. According to Shoan, more than a few think we’ve picked up some sort of virus here. They’re not aware of the physiological incompatibility of our bodies to the native microorganisms. Well, Laea is, but . . . she hasn’t brought it up.” 

  “What are we going to do?” 

  “Well . . .” the captain contemplated. “The most important thing is that we need to handle the situation now. We’re already dead; we just need to make sure we don’t take anyone else with us. I will not be responsible for an epidemic.” 

  They sat in silence for a few moments, both coming to grips with the realization of their inescapable doom. 

  The doctor nodded sadly. “I guess there’s no other way.” 

  “No. Any ideas how?” 

  The doctor considered. “Actually yes, I know just the thing. We’ve got a stockpile of chemicals in the medical supplies. I can mix a few together into an odorless gas; a few drops in the ventilation system and we’ll all drift off to sleep and never wake up again.” 

  The captain sighed. “That’s probably our best option.” 

  The stood in awkward silence for a few moments. “It’s been a privilege serving with you doctor.” 

  “You too, sir.” 

  ***

  To: Fleet Commander Micca Callus 

  

From: Investigative Team Coordinator Rella Victor 


  Re: Fate of June Skipper 



  Sir, after a month long, intensive investigation, we are still not completely certain as to the reason for the loss of the June Skipper. It does appear that the captain was involved in the death of the crew; however, the fire that resulted when the combustible gas used to kill the crew was ignited destroyed most of his diary. 

 The senior members of the team petition five members to two to close and file this case, as we do not believe any further progress can be made. 

  

Post Script: 

Re: The colonizing potential of the planet 



  The planet is gorgeous and quite livable, as determined by preliminary teams; however, please attach an addendum to the file that while the planet is mostly a paradise, the pollen of a particularly abundant flower here has a slight toxicity to it which results in a terrible itch.

  ***

  Return to Table of Contents

  Desperate Times

  I paused in front of the house, my heart beating out of my chest. This was the point of no return. I had a choice to make: to remain a law abiding, if rather broke, citizen, or to cross the line in the sand and join the ranks of criminals and thieves. Tonight I would find out who I was.

  After a deep breath, I asked my flask for his opinion. The whiskey put forward his two cents, and, properly motivated, I stepped forward.

  Surprisingly, the world didn’t shift beneath my feet. Floodlights didn’t come on; police didn’t swarm; and Satan didn’t reach up from the pits of hell to drag me down to my damnation.

  The porch light was off, thankfully. At this time of night, it probably didn’t matter. It was unlikely that anybody was up, and if they were up, they weren’t likely to glance out the window and see me.

  Lock picking had been a hobby of mine for years. It’s a neat party trick. It’s also useful if you’re the sort of person who loses keys from time to time. I’d never intended to turn it into a career. Even after I’d been fired, after my unemployment ran out, after I’d sold half my furniture, I didn’t expect to end up here.

  I’d avoided it for as long as I could, but I was in debt up to my eyeballs, and nobody seemed to be interested in hiring a guy who wasn’t bilingual or computer savvy, no matter how reliable he was.

  Damned economy.

  The lock wasn’t impressive. I had it open in less than a minute. The deadbolt would have been a bigger challenge, but apparently the occupant didn’t think deadbolts were important.

  I could only hope that this would change his mind.

  The house was as dark as the porch. I checked that my gloves were on securely and pulled up the hood on my jacket.

  I closed the door behind me, grateful for how quiet the house was. The person who’d hired me for this job, whoever he or she was, told me that the owner would be out for most of the night, but plans change, and people do unexpected things. I wanted as little noise as possible, just in case. And this house was ideal for that. The carpeting was thick enough to muffle footsteps, and the stairs, which I climbed as slowly as I could, didn’t creak or groan.

  At the top of the stairs I paused. The moon and street lamps had lit the downstairs enough for me to see, but here the darkness was as thick as a blanket.

  The third door on the left led me into the study.

  The room was tidy. Organized enough to make me wonder if the owner of the house was obsessive compulsive. I walked over to the shelf behind the desk, reaching behind the books. Sure enough, the box was there. I smiled as I pulled it out and set it in front of me, staring for a moment before I opened it.

  The box was empty.

  My smile melted. I ran my fingers along the inside of the box. The coins weren’t there. The coins my buyer had wanted me to steal. The coins that would pay my rent for three months.

  I turned, still staring into the box clutched in my hands as I headed for the staircase, where the moonlight would confirm my failure.

  I barely had time to register the figure moving in the darkness when something hard and heavy made contact with the back of my head, and the world went black.

  ***

  I opened my eyes, groaning. My head felt like a swollen ball of nerves. The rest of me was just cold. I was lying on concrete. Cold, hard concrete. And I was naked.

  The house. The box. The attack. It came tumbling back into me like a bad dream.

  He had hit me, then . . . then . . . what? Was I in prison? If so, why was I naked?

  I started to stand, but my head hit something hard and I collapsed back onto the ground, into an unpleasant, squishy pile of what I suspected was either my own vomit, or excrement. Both, by the smell.

  Again, it took me several seconds to force myself off the ground.

  The only lights in the room were two glowing light switches. One at the top of the stairs and one a few feet away from me. It wasn’t enough to give me a clear view of the room, but I could make out a few things.

  I was in a cage. The sort of thing you’d expect to see a wild animal in. The bars were thick and set close enough together that even if I could have gotten my hands on what I’d need to jimmy the lock, I wouldn’t be able to reach through to unlock it.

  There were stairs leading to a door. From the look of it, I was in a basement. Was I being kept here for the police? Were they already on their way?

  A fear rose in my belly, twisting around and around, tying my intestines into one giant kno
t, and making my heart race so fast I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t afford to go to prison. Getting a job without specialized skills was hard enough, but getting a job with a rap sheet?

  I twisted around and kicked the front of the cage, kicked it over and over again, ignoring the pain in my feet, ignoring the feel of the filth and sickness around me. Ignoring everything until I had exhausted myself. Until I was too tired to be afraid.

  It was a while afterwards that the door finally opened. I couldn’t say how long. Being alone in the dark has a way of stripping away any meaning time might otherwise have.

  The man walked down the stairs, ignoring the glowing light switch. He moved silently, except for the soft jingling of keys. I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel him watching me.

  There was very little hope. But I had to try. “I’m sorry.”

  The man didn’t respond.

  “I wasn’t here to hurt you. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I just . . . you were supposed to have some coins. Some rare coins. And I needed the money. That’s all. I shouldn’t have done it; I know that, but I was desperate. I can’t find a job, and I’m literally a week away from being evicted. I panicked. I went online and this guy . . . this guy offered me some money, really good money to steal some coins from you, and I figured, you know, if you had enough money for the coins and a house to keep them in, then maybe you could afford to lose the coins.”

  The man didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

  “It’s an excuse, I know, but it’s all I have. I wouldn’t have done this, but he told me that nobody would be home. That nobody would get hurt. He told me I’d be in and out in ten minutes, and I’d be looking at nearly a thousand bucks.”

  “I know.”

  I blinked and stared. The man hadn’t moved, and for a moment I thought maybe I hadn’t heard him speak.

  Then the lighter flared. He was in his late fifties, maybe older, with graying hair and wrinkling skin with a cigarette held between his teeth. He looked normal. Completely normal. Like a man I’d passed on the street a thousand times and never noticed, and maybe I had. But he’d never been looking at me like that before. I would have remembered that smile. That vicious, angry smile.