[Achele]

Synopsis: Margo is given information that she must decide to use or ignore.



The Decision

Margo Ford reached out a brown forefinger and touched the heart monitor. The alarm ceased and silence washed over the room like an ocean wave. Margo took the body’s hand; once white and graceful, now discolored by the plague.

She remembered the first time she had taken that hand. It had been strong and gentle, like Bella herself. The older woman had smiled at her, a beautiful smile, which immediately warmed all whom she bestowed it upon. Bella had been so full of life. The iron of her will was unmatched in her determination to be the voice of the plague refugees. A tear dropped on to the molted flesh, and Margo wiped it with her thumb, wishing she could wipe away the mark of the sickness with it.

“Good-bye Sweet Bella.” Margo breathed as the blue sheet was drawn-up, over the lifeless face. She watched the orderlies reverently transfer the body to a gurney and then slowly wheel toward the door.

The first orderly backed into the semi transparent membrane stretched across the entrance. It bowed slightly, resisting the pressure for one valiant moment, before ripping; reluctantly allowing the procession through; snapping back whole with an ugly sucking, slapping sound.

The arms that had held her in loss and triumph would never again consol or congratulate. Margo stood by the empty bed, a tear and a sniffle was all she would allow to show of the iceberg of her emotions. She had never felt so empty, so lost, and so frustrated.

The plague, called Miner’s Pox, because it’s first out break occurred in the Lithium mines, was very similar to Teluv’s Black Death. For that there was a cure, QR-7. But the antigen was lost some time after the last batch was produced over a hundred years ago. By the time it was identified, millions could be dead; the entire population of the colony could be wiped out.

“I’m sorry Margo.” Grant Now, Chief of staff, put a hand on her shoulder as she finished the required twenty minutes in the decontamination chamber. “Take the rest of the day off. I don’t want to see you around here till afternoon tomorrow.”

It took an hour to drive to the refugee camp at the edge of the Free Alliance Zone. 30,000 refugees displaced by the plague had come to the Free Alliance in hope to escape the United Coalition of Planets’ Quarantine Camps.

Margo parked her all terrain vehicle in the staff lot and picked up her “go-round,” a little cart powered by a combustion engine, with fat tires, that staff used to zip around the 30 square miles of the temporary habitat.
As she was driving, her hospital communicator chimed, Margo touched the ear bud to open the channel. “Dr. Ford,” she said briskly, wondering what sort of emergency could have voided Grant’s mandate of her leave.

“Hi Space Violet, how you holding up?” The last voice she had expected to hear rumbled gently over the channel.

In her surprise, Margo almost missed a jog in the dirt road. “Old Man,” The sweet familiar sound of his voice threatened to melt the iceberg of her emotions. Slammed on the break and put the cart in neutral. “It’s so good to hear your voice!”

“I just called to tell you, remind you, we love you.”

Tears were flowing freely down Margo’s face, “Thank you, Old Man.” There were so many questions, so much to tell. She wanted so much to curl up in one of the quant over stuffed chairs by his fire place and sip brandy while he smoked his fragrant pipe. “I miss you.”

“Say the word baby girl, we’ll come get you.”

“I’m needed here Old Man, Send all, my love.” Margo said, wiping tears from her face and embraced as she sniffled.

“Your not alone, Margo.” The sweet, fatherly voice rumbled, like white water, and then the line clicked off.

It was five minutes before the tears stopped; she would never know how he had managed to patch the call through the hospital communication channel. She had ceased to be amazed at Esteban’s technological feats a long time ago; money could get some amazing results. His uncanny knack for “being” in the right place at the right time, she would never stop marveling at that.

The intake tents were in between groups when Margo arrived. Refugees were placed in a holding queue on arrival and security personnel did background checks to screen out murders, rapists and child molesters. These were sent to the Chahil Camp or jail if they were on the run.

Next the refugees were asked to shower and given a choice between purple and blue scrubs. Any belongings they had were disinfected and tagged. Eventually, it would be reunited with the owners.

“Margo.” Charlie froze half out of her chair, stuck in uncertainty about how to act.

“Charlie,” Margo smiled, she understood, sometimes it was easier with dieing or bereaved patients. People often developed scripts for the standard variations of situations. But scripts didn’t work with people you knew.

“What do we have to day?”

“Twenty came through this morning; another 12 are in the showers now.” Charlie began rattling off. “I heard about Bella. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Margo touched the younger woman’s shoulder giving her an understanding smile. “Who’s the Soc on duty?” “Soc” was short for Social Worker.

“Mike Bernard.” Charlie answered, taking inventory of supplies. “He’ll be back with coffee.”

Margo closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks. Mike was Social Worker Extraordinary; Margo aspired to be like Mike.”

The refugees began to file into the tents. As if on cue Mike showed up with the coffee. “I’m sorry, Margo.” Margo could smell the hazelnut through the cap and inhaled deeper as she took it to savor the aroma.

“Bella sent her love and encouragement.” The two clasp hands, sharing their grief for a moment before duty called. No she wasn’t alone, and with that she turned to care for her first patient.

They were sisters, that much was obvious, with their flaxen hair and brown eyes. “What’s your name sweetie?” Margo asked the younger one. The little girl just looked at her with lost eyes.

“Her name’s Ami.” the older girl answered. “Miss, she hasn’t talked in days.” the girl, really a child, looked like she was holding it together by a thread. “It’s not right, Ms.”

Margo had completed the examinations of Ami and her older sister Alma and the two had been sent to the end of the intake tent to eat. “Well,” She asked Mike, referring to Ami’s muteness.

“Shock, maybe PTSD,” Mike replied, his brown eyes were carrying more luggage than most airlines checked and his skin looked off color.

“How are you Mike?” Margo hadn’t seen him since Bella was admitted to the hospital four days ago.

“The Council’s the issue of the camps on the next ballot.” Mike redirected Margo’s attention.

The public’s opinion of the camps had plummeted since the singular out break of the plague in Haulbur, a town within the Free Alliance Zone. And now with Bella gone, the strongest voice of reason was silenced.

“If the camps are disbanded…” Mike’s voice trailed off.

Charlie came back with the lab results, the look on her face said it was not good. “The little girl.” was all she said as she handed the Margo the charts, Ami’s was on top.

Margo looked at it and drew a breath, “Stage two,” she reported. It wasn’t hopeless, but it wasn’t good. 51% chance of survival. “Travis,” she called to the admitting nurse as she made notations on the sisters’ charts. “Admit the little girl to the children’s quarantine ward, set her sister up a room in the hospital near her.” Margo ordered handing Sheila Travis the charts. The others were healthy at the moment, and would be admitted into the holding tent where there blood would be drawn and analyzed for five days before they would be admitted into the camps general population.

“You should go talk to Charlie,” Mike prompted gently.

Margo knew he was right, but it was task she generally avoided. Charlie was what Margo termed “Gooey.” She cried; a lot. And Margo would bet a months salary, Charlie was crying now.

“Go on, that’s what they pay you the big bucks for.” Mike shooed her.

Margo snorted in her coffee, a freight loader mad more than they did. Both of them sacrificed a lot when they responded to Crisis Zones like this. She tried not to look at him, but it was pointless, the man was a magnet and he could crack her up with a look. “I’m going.” Margo put the coffee down and pushed off the rough plank table with her hands.

Margo found her where she expected, in the staff tent. Charlie was sitting by herself in a corner. A desert of empty tables lay between her and the other groups. Tears were a private thing here; to openly display them was inviting ostracism.

Margo pressed her lips together and began the marched over to her subordinate. Charlie caught sight of her approach and, for an instant; Margo thought she saw an expression of impending doom cross the girl’s face.

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry.” Charlie said quickly, making a vain attempt to erase the signs of her tears.

Margo didn’t say anything because what was in her head to say just didn’t sound very comforting. “Suck-it-up, or “It’s ok,” it wasn’t ok, nothing was ok! And suck-it-up, that just seemed so hypocritical.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad!” Charlie said defensively as she forced to wiped tears from her face again. She folded her arms tightly across the yellow scrubs she wore, “I’m crying because I’m frustrated,” she sniffed as she raised her chin defiantly, “and because I’m angry.” Another wipe and sniffle. “I’m angry because the Coalition could do something and they’re not.”

While it was agreed the United Coalition of Planets could do better than they were, Margo doubted they could miraculously swoop in with a cure.

“They have QR-7.” It was like Charlie had detonated a bomb wiping out all existence except for right there, right then, the table, their coffee, she and Charlie. That was all that continued to exist for Margo.

“That’s impossible.” Margo fought to cling to reality, but the crushing wave of possibility was looming over her, threatening to crash down on her and sweep away rational thought.

“I know you think I’m--squishy. But I know what I saw. It’s not like QR-7 can be mistaken for anything else.”

“Gooey,” Margo corrected, buying time for her brain to possess the earth shattering revelation. It was true QR-7 could not be mistaken for anything else. The color of mercury, it remained translucent and anything viewed through the liquid appeared green.

“I know it’s crazy,” Charlie’s excitement had dammed up her dripping, “But I came here because I thought it was an opportunity to work with antigens, to work on a cure. I thought they would come, why wouldn’t they…” the dam was threatening to spring a leak again.

Lithium was the answer. If the colony died out, the UCP could start over and make this a state colony rather than a private venture. And if it was a state colony, the mines would be government run. There by relieving the Coalition’s lithium shortage.

As far as the Coalition had strayed from its founding democratic ideals, Margo was hard pressed to believe that it would condone the death of 1.5 million people for an element; albeit Lithium, the back bone of UCP’s space travel.

“You don’t believe me, do you?!”

“You admitted yourself, its crazy.”

“Margo, you of all people… You alone have the power to act.”

Margo drew away from Charlie’s touch; the girl’s fervor was quickly crossing the line between misguided and downright delusional. That is unless Charlie knew about Old Man.

“I’m telling you the truth Margo. Take it or leave it.” Charlie stood to punctuate her resolve, “There is enough QR-7 on Earth to solve our problems.”

Earth, she might as well have said down the rabbit hole, it would have been easier than breaching the Coalition’s galactic headquarters “You’re going to have to do better than that Charlie.”

“United Coalition’s Pharmaceutical Labs,” Charlie said before turning on her heals and leaving Margo with the bag.

Margo lifted her cup, only to find it was empty and set it back down. She hated this, having information like this. Charlie had just handed her the cure for the plague, but it was rapped in apparent lunacy and apparent truth. She could infact act, maybe the only one capable of doing anything worthwile. Charlie did her residence at United Mercy College, the teaching hospital that shared UCPL‘s campus.

But how had Charlie guessed she had once been part of the most notorious mercenary fleet in the UCP’s history. Meaning that with one call she could put before the mastermind himself, his most challenging mission. If anyone could pull this off, it was the Old Man, Brock, Tonia, and Zach. And if there was anyone that would be more in danger on Earth it was Brock, Tonia and Zach.

Guts and instinct, no books, not data, no lab results, these were the kind of decisions that kept Margo up at night. But the decision had to be made. Four people she loved, or 1.5 million she had never met. A tear slid down her cheek as she touched her communication link.

“Oness Entertainment Corporation,” a human voice answered in a pleasant manner.

“Mr. Brown, please,” Margo spoke the code slipping out of the staff tent.

“One moment please” A computerized voice chirped followed by rapid computer beeps as the line was sanitized and secured.

“Go.” Old Man intoned.