Ten minutes in, and already the day was not going well for Simon Roderick. He had eschewed taking over President Strauss's ceremonial office for the Third Fleet's tenure on Thallspring. That would be too clichйd, he felt. In any case, it was General Kolbe who was the official Z-B liaison to the planetary executive; he should be the one visible to the public. So while the hapless general tried to placate a bitter and resentful press and populace, Simon had found himself a comfortable office in the East Wing of the Eagle Manor, ousting the flock of presidential aides who had clustered around their chief, offering advice, analysis and general chicanery.
The Eagle Manor itself was situated on a slight rise at the center of Durrell, which provided Simon with a broad view out across the city. Normally, the mornings brought a brilliant sunshine beating down on the impressive buildings and lush squares of the capital. Today, thick, dark cloud was clotting the azure sky. A weak drizzle smeared the wide panes behind his desk, blurring the crisp lines of the distant skyscrapers. Vehicles on the circular highway ringing the Eagle Manor's expansive grounds were all using their headlights, nova-blue beams shimmering on the wet tarmac.
As soon as he arrived, his personal AS produced the summaries he used to monitor the state of life in the capital. Overnight, production at the factories designated for asset acquisition had fallen several points. That corresponded to a high number of staff failing to show up for their shifts and reduced supplies of raw material. Even traffic within the capital was light that morning, though when he glanced out of the window at the radial of wide avenues leading away from Eagle Manor's circular highway he couldn't notice any decrease in the volume. There were still lines at every junction. Then the indigo script of the medical alert file scrolled up.
He sat perfectly still in his high-backed leather chair as he read the reports. "Tuberculosis?" he asked incredulously.
"That is the diagnosis," his personal AS replied. "And there is little margin for error. Seventy-five cases have been identified in Durrell already; the projection is for double that by the end of the day, and rising after that. Reports of possible contagion are now arriving from outlying districts and other provinces across the planet. The strain appears to be a particularly vigorous one."
"Do they have a history of it here?"
"No. There has been no recorded case of tuberculosis since first landing."
"Then what the hell is the cause?"
"The preliminary conclusion by local doctors and public health officials is that we are the source of the infection."
"Us?"
"Yes. After conferring with our medical AS, I agree the conclusion is logical."
"Explain."
"This particular strain is the product of several hundred years of combating the disease with increasingly sophisticated medical treatments. Every time human scientists developed a new and stronger antibiotic to treat the tubercle bacillus, the bacillus evolved a resistant strain. By the early twenty-first century tuberculosis had evolved into one of the so-called superbugs; it was effectively resistant to all antibiotics."
"Which if I remember correctly was countered by the new metabiotics."
"That is correct. Metabiotics held the superbugs at bay for nearly a century. Eventually, of course, they developed resistance even to them. By that time, genetically engineered vaccines were readily available. They have provided an effective treatment ever since. For every new strain the bacillus evolves, we can simply read its genetic structure and provide a specific vaccine. This has produced a stalemate in terms of widespread contagion."
Simon stared out at the wet city with the somber realization of where this was leading. "But we still haven't eradicated the bacteria."
"No. That is not possible. Earth's cities remain a fertile breeding ground. Local health authorities are constantly alert for the emergence of new strains. When such cases are discovered it is possible to manufacture a vaccine within thirty hours. In this way, epidemics have been averted for two hundred years."
"And prevented on the colonies as well?"
"Colonists were rigorously screened for a broad spectrum of diseases before departure. If any of them were infected, they would be vaccinated. In all likelihood, the tubercle bacillus was never transported across interstellar space, at least not in an active state."
"So they don't have the same kind of health program in operation here?"
"No."
"In other words, we did bring it here."
"It is the obvious conclusion. The most probable scenario is that one of our personnel was exposed to an advanced bacillus, and was himself immune through vaccination, or he could have received germline v-writing, in which case his immune system would be enhanced and highly resistant. But he would still be carrying it. If that is what happened, then it was spread around the entire starship he was traveling in. Everybody on board will now be carrying and spreading the infection."
"Don't we screen everybody before a mission?"
"Not for specific diseases. Such a screening schedule was deemed too expensive given that the fleets were no longer used to found colonies. The platoons undergo constant medical monitoring from their Skin suits. So far, that has been considered adequate."
"Shit" Simon let his head sink back onto the seat's rest. "So it's not just tuberculosis, it's a superbreed of tuberculosis, and nobody on this planet is going to be immune."
"The medical AS believes the section of the population that received germline v-writing will prove resistant."
"Percentage?" he snapped.
"Approximately eleven percent have received germline v-writing, of which half are under fifteen years old."
"Okay. What does our medical AS recommend?"
"Immediate production and distribution of a vaccine. Isolate all confirmed cases and begin enforced medication treatment."
"Is it curable?"
"There are precedents. The medical AS has templates of metabiotics that have proved successful in the recent past. We can also combine that with lung tissue regeneration virals. Such a procedure will be neither cheap nor quick."
"Estimated time?"
"For full recovery: two years."
"Damn it. What about the time it will take to implement the vaccine production?"
"Production can begin within twenty-four hours once you issue a priority authorization. To produce it in sufficient quantities to inoculate the entire planetary population will take three weeks."
"What the hell will that do to our asset-production schedule?"
"An appraisal is impractical. There are currently too many variables."
His desk intercom bleeped. "President Strauss is here, sir," his assistant said. "He's demanding to see you immediately."
I bet he is, Simon thought. "Show him in."
"Sir."
"And ask Mr. Raines to come in as well, please."
When it came to someone who would soothe the way for asset realization and make sure Z-B's staff integrated well with the planetary legislature and civil service, President Edgar Strauss was not your man. The usual threats and coercion seemed to have almost no effect. He was rude, stubborn, uncooperative and in some cases actively obstructionist. Simon had even refrained from using any of his family for collateraclass="underline" if they took after him they would probably welcome martyrdom.