An epidemic was something every captain feared. In such a small, enclosed community, even a few hundred deaths could lower the population beyond recovery point.
The founders of the Endurance had taken lessons from the eight failed generation ships that had preceded the Endurance. They had put in place safeguards for every possibility they could think of. The quickening of children and a controlled population was a guard against dwindling numbers.
Children could be born as rapidly as the artificial wombs could generate them, replacing a diminished population. However, the absence of too many adults and a large number of children would put stress on the life cycle of the ship, which depended upon the maintenance and upkeep provided by its human crew to continue on its thousand year flight.
But for the first weeks of the outbreak, no one spoke of epidemics. Greyson learned of the disaster when Master Baki Hart contacted him, asking for time to discuss emergency measures regarding the eruption of illness. “Next week, if you can possibly spare the time,” Master Hart said. “I know how busy you must be with a child, as well.”
“I don’t want to wait until next week,” Grey told him. “You can’t speak of emergency measures then delay for four days to explain yourself. Within the hour, if you please, Master Hart.”
Hart nodded. “Within the hour,” he promised.
When he arrived, Emma walked him into Grey’s office and settled next to him.
Hart looked startled. “But…surely you have other duties to attend?” he asked her.
“Victoria is being cared for right now,” Emma assured him. “I am more interested in this emergency you spoke of. Why are you, the Accouchement Master, dealing with routine illnesses?”
“I don’t believe this is a routine illness,” Hart said. “There are not many general medics on the ship, you know. We are a healthy and robust community, in general. It is customary for anyone with medical training to turn their hand to general practice when times call for it.”
“And times call for it now?” Grey asked. “Why are we just hearing about this?”
Hart held up his hand. “It was not considered an emergency until a few hours ago,” he said primly. “At first, Medic Lucetta Brassington, from the Capitol Fourth Wall area, thought she was dealing with a particularly virulent outbreak of simple influenza.” He waved a languid hand. “Influenza has been resisting medical attempts to stamp it out since human history began. We are quite used to seeing a new strain of the virus every ten years or so. I believe it shifted more frequently on old Terra, so perhaps we are winning the war after all. But still, it does break out every now and again in a new form, just to test us.”
Grey didn’t like the joviality in Hart’s tone. “There was an epidemic when Yuli was a small child.”
“It wasn’t influenza and this is not an epidemic,” Hart said shortly and quickly. “That is not a word you want to use lightly, Captain. It has frightening connotations.”
Grey nodded. “Very well. Explain to me about this current outbreak.”
“It has been quite a while since influenza affected more than a small fraction of the Endurance. You might say we are overdue for one. Mostly, the crowded living quarters in the Capitol encourage flare ups, every few years. But they are generally contained within the area and die away after a few weeks.”
“But this one isn’t?”
Hart shook his head. “Three walls are reporting cases now. Medic Brassington reached out for nursing assistance last week. She thought at the time it was a variation of influenza.”
“But now you don’t think so?” Emma asked.
“We are not entirely certain, no.”
“How can you not be certain?”
“A virus like influenza can change from outbreak to outbreak,” Hart said patiently. “Most people have trouble distinguishing it from a common cold—another virus we have completely failed to eradicate—and influenza very often invites secondary infections and complications that mask the initial disease. The only way to fully determine the disease itself is to compare the symptoms.”
“You mean, you wait and watch how ill people get,” Emma concluded. “How far science has evolved!”
Grey shot her a warning glance and she sighed and sat back.
“You would be surprised by how effective the older methods can be,” Hart replied serenely. “It takes training in the dedicated sciences to really understand the pros and cons of discrete methodologies.”
“The outbreak…?” Grey prompted.
“Yes. Let me see. The first wave happened about three weeks ago now and was considered simple influenza. A second outbreak occurred ten days later, in the third wall district of the Capitol. It was still primarily regarded as an influenza strain. Yesterday a third wave began in the first wall district and three hours ago, the first fatality occurred.”
Ice formed in Grey’s chest. “Fatality,” he breathed.
“We’re controlling the news,” Hart said quickly. “It was a man past his century mark, a vulnerable demographic. He died from complications, by the way, not from the disease itself.”
“A disease you no longer think is influenza?” Emma said, shepherding him along.
“We can’t be certain,” Hart said pedantically. “But there are worrisome indications it may not be.”
“The indications?” Grey asked.
“Five of the people involved in the care of the sick have developed symptoms in the last few hours and are now sick themselves. This is despite precautions against cross-infection.”
“Who is the man who died?” Emma asked.
“I doubt you know him. He was a simple mechanical engineer.”
“I know simple mechanical engineers, Master Hart. I was childhood friends with one.”
“Oh. Oh dear. Umm….” Hart fumbled and withdrew his notebook and opened it to a bookmarked page. “A Burt Mochain,” he read off.
Grey knew the name. He had never met the man. He made a note. He would send a message to the family when he had a spare moment. “And the medics who have now been affected?” he asked.
Hart read from his notebook. “Barrett Alesini. Tiberius Lund. Carmen Moses. Lark Bousaid. Ravid Oppenheimer.”
“I know some of those names,” Emma murmured. “I mean, I’ve heard them all before, of course. But Tiberius Lund and Lark Bousaid…I’ve heard them together somewhere.”
“That would be most unlikely,” Hart said in his fussy way. “Mr. Lund is an organic coder. Lark Bousaid is a master farmer who was simply helping out with nursing duties when she took ill. It is possible the pair know each other via social networks. Their work does not interact at all.”
“Ultimately, everything on the ship interacts, sooner or later,” Grey replied. The man’s funneled thinking was mildly irritating. So was the way he kept dismissing Emma’s contributions.
Emma wasn’t listening though. She was staring through the screen and right through Grey, too. Something was nagging her. He had seen that look before. “Emma?”
“I have seen those two names together before,” she said, her tone distant. “Master Hart, is Mr. Lund a master?”
“A minor one, I believe.” Hart’s tone dismissed the man’s minor status.
“Both masters, then,” Grey said, trying to help her properly uncover the connection she could see from the corner of her mind. “They have that in common, at least.” He did not look at Hart as he said it. The man wouldn’t understand the irony, anyway. “What else do masters have in common?”
“Apart from a willingness to drop everything and help with nursing and medical duties in their district, as needed?” Emma asked, her tone dry. “Masters usually make policy decisions about their profession. They supervise staff, help with training…” She sat up. “Mentoring,” she said flatly.
Grey waited.
“I don’t understand,” Master Hart said. “Mentoring is a common duty for masters of a profession.”
“Both of them have protégés,” Emma replied.
Hart gave a small laugh. “You can’t possibly know. Not every master or senior professional has a protégé. There are not that many children on the ship.”
Grey was already searching for the information.
“Don’t bother,” Emma said quietly. “I know exactly where to find it. Nine years ago, there were one hundred and twenty-three mentors assigned within five days of each other.” She looked at Hart. “Captain Durant was just the first. Tiberius Lund and Lark Bousaid were both assigned to protégés in that week. It’s possible the other three temporary caregivers you mentioned, Master Hart, were also mentors.”
She looked back at Grey. “This might be the disaster the AI anticipated,” she said softly. Her face was drawn. “Master Hart did say the virus regenerates every few years in a new, stronger version.”
“I was speaking of influenza,” Master Hart said stiffly. “We don’t know what this outbreak is, yet. Besides, there has only been the one fatality.”
“So far,” Grey said. He had the long list of one hundred and twenty-three mentors up on the screen now and was scrolling through it. He saw Tiberius Lund and Lark Bousaid on the list, just as Emma had remembered. “Ravid Oppenheimer is also a mentor,” he added, as the man’s name rolled past. “He’s a senior herdsman.”
“There are more than one of them?” Hart asked, startled.
“There are five,” Emma told him.
“But, we print all our protein….”
“Biodiversity is an endless circuit,” Emma told him. “Sometimes energy must pass through a live bovine to accumulate the by-products we need.”
It was a very neat way of saying cow manure was an essential element in the life cycle of the ship. Grey didn’t feel like smiling, though. He’d reached the end of the list, where his name was.
Emma was watching him. “It could be purely coincidental,” she said. “There are no deaths, except for the one older man.”
“Master Hart came to see us because he’s worried,” Grey pointed out.
Master Hart nodded. “If this is influenza, then it has a form and a power we’ve never seen before. It is highly communicable. These mentors who are ill are secondary infections. That puts the infection rate up near the ninety percent mark, which might mean the pathogen has shifted to another form.”
“In normal language that means….?” Grey asked.
Hart sighed and pressed his fingers together. Lecture mode. “Centuries ago, influenza was an airborne pathogen. You could catch it simply from breathing in the air around an infectious carrier of the disease. Then the geneticists started tinkering with the virus and were able to limit the pathogen—the route of infection—to direct contact only. You had to exchange bodily fluids or come into direct contact with a carrier to contract the disease yourself. It is the reason the influenza outbreaks diminished to every decade or so, instead of every year, as they once were.”
“You think it might have reverted back to airborne?” Grey asked.
“Oh, it can’t revert back,” Hart said prissily. “But it might have mutated into an airborne pathogen simply through the miracle of life, which has a tenacity that often astounds us. A ninety percent infection rate is usually associated with an airborne pathogen.”
Emma’s face was pale. “If it is in the air, then it will spread across the entire ship. The air scrubbers can’t eliminate something as small as a virus.”
“Indeed,” Hart said, beaming at her as if she was a prized student.
“You’re describing an epidemic, even if you aren’t actually using the word,” Grey pointed out.
“The disease is currently restricted to most of the Capitol district,” Hart replied. “If it is only influenza, then it is unlikely to cause many deaths. Medics are much more efficient at dealing with secondary infections and complications these days. But it will drain many of the ship’s resources dealing with even a contained outbreak like we are facing. That is why I am here. The science contingent aboard the Endurance, which naturally includes the medical professionals, will need Bridge help and your access to resources in order to combat this localized and non-fatal outbreak.”
A message with a red flag pinged for Grey’s attention. It was from Paulie. He took down the display and opened the message on his desktop, where Hart could not see it easily.
Grey’s chest tightened as he read it. “I think we should starting speaking of epidemics,” he told Hart. “There are ten Aventine residents reporting ill.”
Hart dismissed it. “An infection like this one does not abide by district borders. The first wall area of the Capitol is right next to the Aventine. It is perfectly natural for a few Aventine residents to be infected.”
Grey shook his head. “Tiberius Lund died, twenty-one minutes ago.” He closed the message with a jab of his finger. “He was only thirty-one years old.”