"a long wait for a train don't come"
Serenity is two days off Bernadette when River starts to shiver, but it’s another three days before Zoe recognizes the symptoms of tardive ‘flu. Simon will never forgive himself for the oversight, even though everyone assures him a dozen times that it’s not his fault. The ‘flu is fiercely contagious, but so rare these days that it’s only heard of it in MedAcad case studies: no reason he should have recognized it. So rare that, though a vaccine was developed during the War, only the most advanced members of the Alliance-people whose survival is perceived as essential to the survival of the New Worlds-are still inoculated. For anyone else, the expense and inconvenience of the vaccine outweigh the likelihood of their ever needing it. A lucky person could live his whole life without ever meeting someone who carried the virus. River is not lucky.
Zoe summons Mal calmly enough-“Cap’n, something here you should see”-but he takes just one look at River, glassy-eyed and trembling with fever, before bodily hauling Simon out of the infirmary.
“Hey! Mal, what do you think you’re…?!”
“You ever had the ‘flu?” Mal demands, so fiercely that Simon only considers lying for a moment.
“No, but-”
“Well, then, doctor, you’re in violation of the quarantine.”
Simon goggles. “What quarantine?”
“The one I’ve just set up to protect my gorram boat.”
“What about protecting my sister?” Incandescent with rage, Simon tries to shove past Mal, to get back into the infirmary, to get back to River. “You can’t just shut her away!”
Mal pushes right back. “Reckon I just did.”
* * * * *
Mal decrees that no one without prior exposure to the ‘flu should be come into contact with it now. The contagion risk is too high. He sends a wave to Inara, advising her to stay on Beaumonde, and summons the crew to the galley. Simon takes blood cultures to determine who has immunity. He, Kaylee, Wash, and Jayne come up clean. Kaylee looks almost heartbroken to find out that she’s perfectly healthy; Jayne, oblivious to the solemn atmosphere, cheers his own good luck (“just goes to show," Zoe growls, "those meant to hang…”). Only Mal and Zoe’s blood samples turn green when dipped in the thulium solution, revealing that they have the antibodies to protect themselves from the disease. Zoe contracted the ‘flu while living as a displaced combatant in an internment camp after reunification. (Hearing this, Wash goes so pale-the medical treatment in the camps was worse than nothing-that Simon draws his blood for another culture, just to make sure he’s not infected). “Childhood exposure,” Mal says, shortly, and it is the only time Simon ever hears him refer to life before the War.
The doctor tests his own blood four times, always with the same result.
“I don’t care,” he tells Mal flatly. “River is my sister-and even if she weren’t, I’m the only doctor on board. It’s my duty to-”
“I figure it this way,” Mal cuts in, musing aloud. “You’re on my boat, so you’ll live by my rules. Can’t see as anyone would find me keeping my one and only doctor out of harm’s way all that unreasonable. Now-” he holds up a hand against Simon’s sputtered protests, “you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay. Won’t have anyone on this boat don’t want to be here. We’re near halfway between Bernadette and Beaumonde; I’ll drop you and your sister off whichever one you choose. How far,” he eyes Simon speculatively, “how far you think you’ll get with a sick girl, Alliance or no?”
“I can’t see that you leave me much of an alternative,” Simon retorts.
“Alternative? Didn’t I mention the alternative? Your sister stays there,” Mal nods toward the infirmary, “and you stay here,” he jerks his head toward the guest quarters. “You tell me and Zoe what treatment she needs, we’ll do our honest best by her. But, I find you’ve been breaking the quarantine,” Mal looks to each member of his crew in turn, “I leave you both on the first space rock we pass. Tardive ‘flu ain’t to be trifled with.”
Simon is seething. “And is that your medical opinion, Captain? If you knew the first thing about tardive influenza,” he spits, “you’d realize caring for River will be too much work for just two people. It requires constant monitoring; you’d be on twelve-hour rotations. And that’s assuming nothing comes up that needs your attention, no criminal opportunities, nothing to steal. I won’t have my sister’s care cheapened by your refusal to allow adequate-”
“Would three people be an acceptable compromise?”
Book’s innocent question brings Simon up short. “...medical care despite the advice of a fully-trained trauma-wait, what?”
“If Zoe and the captain and I were to divide River’s care, that would be three eight-hour shifts. An average day’s work. With you overseeing that care, of course, doctor.” The Shepherd’s tone is mild, but his use of titles is carefully calculated to smooth ruffled feathers.
“You had the ‘flu, preacher?!” Jayne hops up from where he’d been lounging next to the Shepherd, like the air between them might suddenly have gone toxic.
“I’m in no danger of contracting River’s illness, and," Book adds persuasively, "I have some nursing experience from my time at the Abbey.”
“Oh, Mal, didja hear that? Isn’t that just-” Kaylee bursts forth, looking anxiously between Mal and Simon. Mal's glance is enough to hush her.
“You’ll settle to be tested, then, Shepherd?” Mal asks, suspicious. Mal likes things to be smooth; its been his experience that things too convenient to be true are near-about always...not smooth.
“Naturally.” Book smiles beatifically, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a prudent man, Captain Reynolds?”
* * * * *
Mal squints at the Shepherd, but Book seems to be serious. He puts down his breviary and rolls up one sleeve and Mal figures there must be something to that old-time religion, after all, because it takes a brave man to let Simon come at him with a needle, mood the doctor’s in right now. Or might be the preacher's just plain foolish.
Shepherd Book had been their last passenger four months ago at Eavesdown when they’d taken on Simon and that Alliance fed. Mal had taken him on mostly to balance out those other two, who looked a bit shifty. (And considering how that turned out…well, who says looks are deceiving?) Besides, they were in sore need of some cold, hard coin, and if you couldn’t trust a preacher to pay for his ticket, then you surely were in a sorry state. Even so, Mal doesn’t know much about the man-has taken good care not to ever fall into conversation with Book. Religious folk are a botheration and if there is an afterlife, Mal’s greatest consolation is that they probably won’t be bunking in his neck of the woods no more.
Still, Mal must say, it was pretty steady of Book to offer to look after River. As Serenity’s lone paying passenger (Simon’s crew, now, ship’s doctor, and River…well, any ship worth her steel needs a stowaway), he could have just stayed in his seat, reading his breviary, and let the crew take care of crew’s business. Yes, indeed, steady of him to offer. And smart of him to concede to the antibody test. A less politic man-not to name names, Simon-might have tried to push Mal on that issue. In fact, Mal had been a little surprised the Shepherd hadn’t pulled one of those holier-than-thou, the-Lord-is-my-rock, I-need-no-protection-but-my-faith arguments.
But no, the preacher sat himself right down and even now Simon is titrating the blood into the thulium indicator, giving it a practiced swirl and-
“Holy…” Jayne starts, and then Zoe elbows him. “Goodness. Holy goodness,” the mercenary mumbles unconvincingly. Not that anyone is paying him any mind. They’re watching the thulium solution turn a slow but inevitable green. Tardive antibodies.
“Guess we’ve got ourselves another nursemaid,” Zoe mutters to Mal.
Wash is solicitously asking after the Shepherd’s health, “So, uh...did you have a bad case, then?”
Book settles himself back in his regular chair, opens his breviary to a well-worn chapter. “Oh, no. Goodness, no, son," he chuckles. "I never had the influenza. I was inoculated.”
{Part 2}