Fourth Vector Ch. 19

"I wasn't that upset in hindsight. I knew he was going to pass soon. His health had been atrocious in the last two years before he died, but when the crown was placed on my head, I thought I could follow in his footsteps. That one day, the people would talk about the great King Aedan and all that he'd done for Picardy. Of how the king loved his people and how they loved him back." Aedan closed his fist and then slowly opened it. "What a fool I am."

"You're not a fool," insisted Ciara. "Naive? Yes, but not a fool. I'm sure your father had his own period where he had to learn to rule as well. He finally got the hang of it. Why can't you?"

"He had forty years to make his mark," said Aedan. "I've been on the throne less than four, and they hate me. And you know what the worst thing about it is? I don't blame them. I'm a terrible king."

"You're too hard on yourself, Aedan."

"I'm too weak. I can't make the hard decisions that he did." Aedan placed his hands against his face. "I feel helpless."

Before he could say another word, Ciara launched herself forward and embraced him eagerly. He felt her soft body press against his own, her very pregnant stomach pushing against his chest. Her hands gripped his jaw and her soft green eyes focused on his. "You haven't disappointed me nor do I think you're weak, Aedan. You love your people. I see how you suffer now every day, especially when you get the casualty report from the previous day. You only do what you think is best for Picardy, but it isn't your fault that we live in hard times."

"It has to be my fault," he whispered. "I'm the one in charge."

"All that we can do is choose how we react to it, my love," she whispered back sweetly, before kissing him lightly. "Your father was notorious for finding his way out of even the trickiest of situations. That same blood runs inside you, Aedan. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"I have to, Ciara." Aedan's hands went to her stomach. "For our child's sake, more than anything. I can't let anything happen to him."

Ciara smiled. "I know you won't. I believe in you."

Aedan swallowed heavily. She placed a lot of trust on his shoulders, especially when he felt so undeserving of it. But he couldn't fail now. He had to find a way to deescalate the situation. If not for Ciara, if not for the country, then for the little unborn life resting under her heart.

"I'll do everything I can," he finally whispered, earning another magnificent smile from his wife.

"I knew you would. Let's start thinking of a way out of this, all right?"

Aedan nodded as Ciara resumed her place in the seat next to him. She beamed at him as his shoulders pushed back, feeling the confidence slip back into his body. In that moment, he'd never been more thankful for his wife. Even when everything seemed dark and hopeless, Ciara was the missing link that helped to pull him back to the light. He shuddered to think what he would do without her.

She was both his spine and his heart, equally important, and for which he couldn't last long without.

The two of them talked for the next twenty minutes as they went over their options. He decided to issue a call out to their own army units that he stationed within a weeks' march from the capital city and have them move closer. If the worst case scenario came to pass, he wanted Picard troops to rely on, not Swabian ones.

He just prayed that the task force that was at this moment sailing to Carinthia would make all of this a moot point. The last thing he wanted was more spilled Picard blood, no matter the cost.

*****

It was the second morning on their way to Carinthia when Greg woke up for the fourth time that night. He was cold once again, finding himself a shivering, teeth-clattering mess as he reached for a heavier blanket to wrap his body. It was a marked change from the last time he woke up, when he was almost burning up because he was so warm. The drastic changes in his body temperature were an inconvenience more than anything, but it did get him thinking.

He hadn't felt quite like himself since yesterday, finding his normal daily actions making him feel much more weak than he normally would have. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he got tired from the simplest of tasks, and Greg spent the majority of the day held up in his quarters, thinking enough rest would do the trick. It was this new worrying development that had him wondering if something was truly wrong.

He couldn't stop going back to the elephant in the room. The plague back in Picardy was taking over a thousand lives a day, and he'd come dangerously close to the source. Not that he wasn't used to putting his life on the line, but death from a bullet was much preferred over the long, lingering death of the Picard pestilence. Greg shut his eyes and willed himself to go back to sleep. Perhaps he'd feel better in the morning.

Unfortunately, the morning light brought no relief to his already suffering body. In fact, he felt worse. His joints were achy, his neck was stiff, and his head felt like it was cauldron left too long near a roaring fire. Ripping open some medication, he downed it quickly before returning to bed and trying to walk through his actions in the last few days. His worst fear played on his mind.

If this is the plague, how could I have gotten it? I didn't go inside the warehouse, and I was only in the city briefly.

He hadn't even come anywhere close enough to go inside, even if it was an airborne transmission. The Swabians had the place locked up tight, and there was no doubt if he attempted to get inside, he'd alert every single one of them.

So how did I get it?

His brain replayed the scenario from when he jumped on the truck and followed it to the marketplace. He remembered watching the amusing interaction with the trader and his cursing of the Swabian clothing. That robe he purchased had felt so cheap in his hands and so foul in smell that it—

Greg sat upright in a hurry, his eyes darting to the piece of threadbare Swabian fabric on the opposite side of the room. Everything started to click at once. The smell, the start of the pestilence in the marketplace, the Swabian presence—all of it. Suddenly, it made sense. Jack was right about the source of the problem but not the transmission.

The Swabians didn't need sick people in their warehouse. The issue was clothing.

It all clicked for him just now. It was the reason why it started in the marketplaces not long after the Swabians arrived. The goods were tainted. His eyes returned to the fabric, wanting to throw it overboard at the first opportunity. He had a brief moment of happiness when he realized it was confined to his room, and he might possibly be the only one that was sick, but then his stomach dropped upon another memory.

The sight of Vera picking up the cloth. Putting her nose close to inhale the foul scent.

The last thing he wanted was to have knowingly infected someone like Vera. Sweet, innocent Vera, the girl who made his heart smile with one happy look from her face.

If I've infected her, I'll never forgive myself.

He had to find out. He hadn't seen her since they last met with Jack shortly before leaving Picardy, but that was mostly due to him not feeling well enough to leave the room. Greg swung his legs out from his bed and firmly planted them on the floor. Even the cool steel beneath his feet wasn't enough to distract him from the warmth of his head.

He quickly walked over to the Swabian rag, looking around for a bag or something to cover it with so he could pitch it overboard. Even though the damage was done, he still didn't want any part of it touching his skin, or worse, infecting anyone else. Finding an old shirt that had a hole in it, he used it to wrap the foul garment, holding it slightly away from his body as he made his way out of his room toward the nearest hatch.

The rest of the marines greeted him upon sight, but Greg took care not to get too close and to keep his mouth covered. Many of them looked at him with confusion for his odd movements, although he knew he could answer questions later for those that were baffled.

That is, if he lived.

Once he was on the main deck, Greg gave a heavy toss to the offending robe and watched as it landed in the sea with barely a disturbance. The first task of his mission done, he decided to make his way below deck again, needing to check on Vera. He prayed that she would be all right and her usual chipper self, escaping any possible infection. As he neared her door, he felt his heart race in panic, but he wasn't sure if that was from his concern for Vera or from the effects of the plague as it worked its way through his body.

His heart dropped as she called out for entry. Inside, Vera looked like a mess. Her blonde locks were tangled around her head as she laid in bed, a pack of cool water resting on her forehead. She turned to look at him upon entry, her weary eyes already confirming his suspicion.

"Hey, Greg," she said weakly, managing a small smile despite her turmoil. "I'm sorry, I would've answered the door, but I just feel terrible lately."

He hobbled inside and shut the door behind him. "Are you achy? Feverish? Have the chills?"

Vera sat upright slowly as her eyes went wide. "Yes . . ."

Greg shut his own painfully. "We need to go to the infirmary now."

Vera gasped and covered her mouth. "You don't think that we're . . . that we're . . ." She couldn't even say the words out loud. For that, he couldn't blame her. With an infection so deadly as the plague, it could be hard to suddenly face the thoughts of your own mortality. Greg had enough practice doing just that over the years and after enough battles, knowing that any one could be his last, but it still never got easier.

"I think so," he said with a heavy nod.

"But how? I haven't left the ship," she protested as she swung her legs out of bed.

Greg swallowed heavily. "It was me," he croaked. "It's all my fault."

He took the next few minutes to explain his suspicions. Vera's expression went from one of confusion, to shock, to finally sadness as the realization of the infection path dawned on her. He worried about telling her, wondering her true reaction when she found out. Perhaps she would be furious with him? Perhaps she'd resent him for his unknowing transmission, and the brief period of warmth in their recent relationship would ice over just as quickly.

Vera put on a brave face however. A real sense of pragmatism showed in her eyes, and Greg reminded himself that she was of Jack's blood. A long line of kings, and those that didn't give in or give up so easily. With a firm look on her wary face, she pushed up from the bed.

"Just us two then?"

"So far," he said with a nod. "We should get down to the infirmary and separate ourselves. No need for anyone else to get this. Have you been in contact with anyone else?"

Vera shook her head softly. "I've felt too terrible to go beyond my room the last day."

"Me too. If we're lucky, it just might be us. I feel rotten enough to have given it to you, but I couldn't stand it if I got the entire task force sick."

Vera grabbed some heavier clothing and wrapped it around herself. For a brief moment, Greg lamented not being able to see the soft curves of her body, the only indication that this infection hadn't taken away his masculinity entirely. At least, not yet.

Once she was ready, Vera had no sooner opened the door before she turned to look at him. "We need to tell Jack. At least, we need to warn him."

"We can do that once we're in the infirmary. The only thing we need to do right now is separate ourselves before we get anyone else sick. Dr. Kendall can pass along a message to Jack once we're down there," he said.

Vera nodded reluctantly as she covered herself. Together, they both placed a spare cloth against their mouths and made their way below deck to the infirmary. With no recent action or battles, the infirmary on theDestiny was a ghost town, for which Greg was truly thankful.

Dr. Kendall took one look at the both of them and knew instantly that something was wrong. It was to his credit as a doctor that he knew the severity before they'd even so much as said a word.

"Come with me, both of you," said Kendall, moving toward a secure room. The doctor then grabbed a face mask and gloves, quickly donning them. "How did it happen?"

"The clothing," said Greg quietly. "The clothing is how they infected us."

"More importantly, who else have you been in contact with?" he asked. "We need to move quickly if we are to save the rest of the ship."

"We've been stuck in our rooms the last day," insisted Greg. "About the only other person we've been in contact with is . . . "

"Jack," finished Vera. "Just Jack."

Kendall nodded. "You two lay down. I'm going to get you some medication. Until I say so, you are not to leave this room, and you are to have no visitors. We can't let something like this spread out to the rest of the task force. I will keep a watch over you and provide treatment until we can kick this."

"What are our odds?" asked Vera with an anxious expression. "There are so many dead back in Picardy. What chance do we have?"

Kendall swallowed visibly. "I'm not sure we should go there right now. But I will do the best that I can."

Greg didn't bother with a response, already fearing the worst. It was the answer he never wanted to hear.

"I'm going to get a message up to Jack," said Kendall as he made for the door. "Both of you, try to get some rest. I'll be back shortly." Kendall disappeared to the other side of the room and quickly left, leaving the two of them alone.

Greg let out a heavy sigh, breaking his fist down on the sterilized table beneath him. It made enough of a noise to make Vera jump. "I should have figured it out sooner. The fucking clothing. That's how they did it. It was so simple, and I didn't see it."

Vera turned her head to look at him. "It's not your fault, Greg. We're not even sure yet that it was the clothing to begin with."

"It's the only thing that made contact with the both of us. Enough to pass along whatever was contained within the fabric," he said. "It's the only explanation that fits. My stupidity has ruined the both of us."

Surprisingly, she reached across from her table and grabbed his hand. "No good is going to come out of thinking like that. What's done is done. Let's just pray we haven't infected anyone else, and then let's focus everything we have on beating this. It can be done."

Greg felt a lump in his throat begin to form. He looked back into Vera's lovely blue eyes and prayed that his actions hadn't signed their own death warrants. Well, maybe his own, but definitely not Vera's.

You can have me, but please spare her. She doesn't deserve this.

He squeezed her hand wordlessly. Vera returned the gesture without question.

"It's just you and me right now," she said with a small smile. "I kind of hope it stays this way."

"You and me both," he agreed. "I don't want to infect anyone else."

"No, I meant beyond that," she said quietly. "I don't mind one bit that I'm here with you. It might be worse with just about anyone else, but it's comforting in an odd sort of way to have you here with me."

He locked eyes on her. There was that subtle flirting again, the kind he'd witnessed a few nights before. Vera squeezed his hand once more. Her message was clear. He just hoped that one day he could make good on all those silent promises.

If death didn't take them first.

The rest of the day only got harder. Kendall started the both of them on a round of medication, but Greg swore it didn't have any effect on the way he was feeling. His head was still warm to the touch, and it didn't help matters when he developed a piercing headache that afternoon. He was thankful that Vera was able to sleep, but as hard as he tried, it never quite came for him. Instead, he kept his one hand draped over his forehead while he alternated between staring up at the ceiling and keeping his eyes closed.

He was able to get a few messages out though, mostly in regards to his duties as a marine. For one, he placed Dustin in charge for the duration of the time that he was stricken with the plague, knowing the man would make an excellent replacement and a fine leader while he was in the infirmary. If there was the possibility of action on the horizon, he wanted the men in capable hands.

It was that evening when they got to see Jack for the first time since they were admitted to the infirmary, however, the doctor would only allow Jack to view and speak to them through a windowed separation. He wore a face mask for protection after Kendall's insistence but his eyes were set deep and his expression was hollow.

"How are you both feeling?" asked Jack as his eyes swept between the two of them.

Greg managed a brave smile. "Like shit. Did Kendall tell you everything?"

Jack nodded. "I never would've guessed that. People I can understand, but clothing? That's taking it to a whole new level."

"That's assuming that I'm right," said Greg with a feeble cough. "But it makes the most sense of all the evidence."

"Those crates were full of infected clothing, not people," said Jack. "And here I've gone and infected my second-in-command and my sister to boot."

Vera placed her hand on the glass partition between them. "Try not to worry about us, Jack. We're in good hands here. The doctor will look after us."

"I certainly hope so. But with everything that's going on . . ." Jack dropped off, no doubt finding the following words too difficult to bring to life.

Greg couldn't let him go there. "Too many people have tried to kill me over the years and haven't succeeded. I'm not going to let something small like this infection take me so easily."

Jack didn't look so easily convinced. "What do we even do with this information now? Send it back to Aedan? What proof do we have?"

"We have none," said Greg before gesturing to his clothing. "I tossed the infected robe overboard, but I'm sure if we can get word to Aedan about the source, he can do his own investigation into the Swabian goods at the market. I'm sure he'll come to the same conclusion."

"And possibly break the hold the Swabians have over him," added Jack. "It will be tricky though. We'll need to get word through before the Carinthians push this dispute into a full-blown war."

"Otherwise the Picards are going to get pinched in a conflict between two enemies," said Greg. "Not the best position for them to be in."

"Especially if we want them as allies," said Jack. "All right, I'll get word back to Aedan as soon as possible." Jack then looked over to Vera. "As for you two, promise me you'll get lots of rest? Take whatever Dr. Kendall prescribes you, okay? I know you're in good hands with him, but I won't take any risks with your lives."

Vera nodded. "We'll do all we can, Jack. I promise you."

Greg started to nod as well. "At least we don't have to worry about infecting anyone else. No more rag, no more possibility."

"It does bring up a good point though," said Jack. "I was also in the room when you got it back. What if I'm infected too?"

Greg shook his head. "I have to think if you were, you'd already be showing symptoms. This hit the both of us rather quickly. You were in the room with us but you don't seem to look like we did. I would think you'd be safe."

"And if I'm not? Then what?"

Greg shrugged. "That might be a better question for the doctor."

Jack gave him a pained look. "Perhaps I should stay locked up in my quarters. At least until we're sure I haven't contracted it."

"Have you been in contact with many people since that night in Greg's room?" asked Vera hesitantly. "Could you have spread it?"