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XANDER
I’m sending a group of new patients your way,” the head physic tells me over the miniport.
“Good,” I say. “We’re ready for them. ” We have empty beds now. Three months into the Plague, things are finally tapering off, thanks in large part to the increase in immunizations provided by the Rising. The scientists and pilots and workers have all done their best and we’ve saved hundreds of thousands of people. It’s an honor to be a part of the Rising.
I go to the doors to let the transfer medics inside. “Looks like we had a minor outbreak in one of the suburbs,” one of the medics says, pushing his way in and holding on to one end of a stretcher. Sweat drips down his face and he looks exhausted. I admire the transfer medics more than almost anyone else in the Rising. Their work is physical and exhausting. “I guess they missed their immunizations somehow. ”
“You can put him right over here,” I say. They move the patient from the stretcher to the bed. One of the nurses begins changing the patient into a gown and I hear her exclaim in surprise.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The rash,” the nurse says. She points to the patient and I see red stripes running across his chest. “It’s bad on this one. ”
While the small red mark is more common, now and then we see the rash extending all the way around the torso. “Let’s turn him and check his back,” I say.
We do. The rash extends to the patient’s back. I glance down at my miniport to enter a notation. “Are the others like this?” I ask.
“Not that we noticed,” the medic says.
The medics and I examine the rest of the new patients. None of them exhibit the acute rash, or even have the small red marks.
“It’s probably nothing,” I say, “but I’ll call in one of the virologists. ”
It doesn’t take the virologist very long to respond. “What do we have?” he asks, his tone confident. I haven’t had much interaction with him, but I know him by sight and reputation as one of the best research medics in the Rising. “A variation?”
“It looks that way,” I say. “The acute viral rash, formerly small and localized, is now manifesting on dermatomes all around the torso. ”
The virologist looks at me in surprise, as if he didn’t expect me to use the right language. But I’ve been here for three months. I know which words to use and, more importantly than that, I know what they mean.
We’re already gloved and masked, as per procedure. The virologist reache
s into a case and pulls out a cure. “Get me a vital-stats machine,” he tells one of the other medics. “And you,” he tells me, “draw a blood sample and get a line running. ”
“It’s nothing we didn’t anticipate,” the virologist says as I slide the needle into the man’s vein. The head physic watches us from the main port on the wall. “Viruses change all the time. You can see different mutations of a single virus showing up in different tissues, even in the same body. ”
I hook up the fluid-and-nutrient bag and start the drip.
“For a mutation to flourish,” the virologist says, “there would have to be some kind of selective pressure applied. Something that made the mutation more viable than the original virus. ”
He’s teaching me, I realize, which he doesn’t have to do. And I think I understand what he’s saying. “Like a cure?” I ask. “Could that be the selective pressure?” Could we have given this new virus the opportunity to flourish?
“Don’t worry,” he says. “What’s more likely is that we have an immune system responding uniquely to the virus. ”
He looks at the patient and makes a notation in the miniport. Since I’m attending, it pops up on my miniport as well. Rotate patient every two hours to prevent skin breakdown. Clean and seal affected areas to inhibit the spread of infection. The instructions are the same as those for all the other patients. “Poor fellow,” he says. “Maybe it’s best he stays under for a while. He’s going to hurt before he heals. ”
“Should we quarantine the patients from this transfer in a separate part of the center?” I ask the head physic over the port.
“Only if you’d prefer not to have them in your wing,” he says.
“No,” I say. “We can quarantine later if necessary. ”
The virologist nods. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have the results from the samples,” he says. “It may be an hour or two. ”
“In the meantime, start them all on the cure,” the head physic tells me.
“All right. ”
“Nice work drawing the blood,” the virologist says as he leaves the room. “You’d think you were still a medic. ”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Carrow,” the head physic says, “you’re long past due for a break. Take one now while they’re running the sample. ”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’ve already extended your shift once,” the head physic tells me from the port. “The nurses and medics can handle this. ”
I’ve started taking all my breaks in the courtyard. I even bring my food out there to eat. It’s a little patch of trees and flowers that are starting to die because no one has time to take care of them, but at least when I’m out there I know whether it’s day or night.
Also, I figure if I stay in the same place most of the time, there’s more of a chance I’ll see Lei and we can talk about our work and what we’ve noticed.
At first, I think I’m out of luck because she’s not in the courtyard. But then, right when I’m finishing my meal, the door opens and Lei comes out.
