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Temporarily?
I still haven't figured out how to get rid of the damned things. We're trying
to modify a surgical shunt into a blood filter to both mechanically remove the
parasites from the patient's bloodstream, and chill the blood to a controlled
degree before returning it to the body. I think I can make the parasites
respond selectively to an applied electrophoresis gradient across the shunt
tube, and pull them right on out of the bloodstream.
Won't that do it, then?
Clogston shook his head. It doesn't get the parasites lodged in other
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tissues, reservoirs of reinfection. It's not a cure, but it might buy time. I
think. The cure must somehow kill every last one of the parasites in the body,
or the process will just start up again. His lips twisted. Internal
vermicides could be tricky. Injecting something to kill already-engorged
parasites within the tissues will just release their chemical loads. A very
little of that micro-insult will play hell with circulation, overload repair
processes, cause intense pain - it's... it's tricky.
Destroy brain tissue? Miles asked, feeling sick.
Eventually. They don't seem to cross the blood-brain barrier very readily. I
believe the victim would be conscious to a, um, very late phase of the
dissolution.
Oh. Miles tried to decide whether that would be good, or bad.
On the bright side, offered the surgeon, I may be able to downgrade the
biocontamination alarm from Level Five to Level Three. The parasites appear to
need direct blood-to-blood contact to effect transference. They don't seem to
survive long outside a host.
They can't travel through the air?
Clogston hesitated. Well, maybe not until the host starts coughing blood.
Until
, not unless
. Miles noted the word choice. I'm afraid talk of a downgrade is premature
anyway. A Cetagandan agent armed with unknown bioweapons - well, unknown
except for this one, which is getting too damned familiar - is still on the
loose out there. He inhaled, carefully, and forced his voice to calm. We've
found some evidence suggesting that the agent still may be hiding aboard this
ship. You need to secure your work zone from a possible intruder.
Captain Clogston cursed. Hear that, boys? he called to his techs over his
suit com.
Oh, great, came a disgusted reply. Just what we need right now.
Hey, at least it's something we can shoot
, another voice remarked wistfully.
Ah, Barrayarans.
Miles's heart warmed. On sight, he confirmed. These were military medicos;
they all bore sidearms, bless them.
His eye flicked over the ward and the infirmary chamber beyond, summing weak
points.
Only one entry, but was that weakness or strength? The outer door was
definitely the vantage to hold, protecting the ward beyond; Roic had taken up
station there quite automatically. Yet traditional attack by stunner, plasma
arc, or explosive grenade seemed... insufficiently imaginative. The place was
still on ship's air circulation and ship's power, but this of all sections had
to have its own emergency reservoirs of both.
The military-grade Level Five biotainer suits the medicos wore also doubled as
pressure suits, their air circulation entirely internal. The same was not true
of
Miles's cheaper suit, even before he'd lost his gloves; his atmosphere pack
drew air from the environs, through filters and cookers. In the event of a
pressurization loss, his suit would turn into a stiff, unwieldy balloon,
perhaps even rupture at a weak point. There were bod pod lockers on the walls,
of course. Miles pictured being trapped in a bod pod while the action went on
without him.
Given that he was already exposed to... whatever, peeling out of his biotainer
suit long enough to get into something tighter couldn't make things any worse,
could it? He stared at his hands and wondered why he wasn't dead yet. Could
the glop he'd touched have been only a simple corrosive?
Miles clawed his stunner out of his thigh pocket, awkwardly with his mittened
hand, and walked back through the blue bars of light marking the bio-barrier.
Roic. I want you to dash back down to Engineering and grab me the smallest
pressure suit you can find. I'll guard this point till you get back.
M'lord, Roic began in a tone of doubt.
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Keep your stunner out; watch your back. We're all here, so if you see
anything move that isn't quaddie green, shoot first.
Roic swallowed manfully. Yes, well, see that you stay here, m'lord. Don't go
haring off on your own without me!
I wouldn't dream of it, Miles promised.
Roic departed at the gallop. Miles readjusted his awkward grip on the stunner,
made sure it was set to maximum power, and took a stance partly sheltered by
the door, staring up the central corridor at his bodyguard's retreating form.
Scowling.
I don't understand this.
Something didn't add up, and if he could just get ten consecutive minutes not
filled with lethal new tactical crises, maybe it would come to him.... He
tried not to think about his stinging palms, and what ingenious microbial
sneak assault might even now be stealing through his body, maybe even making
its way into his brain.
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