The Vindication of Marcus Narvaez

[jammi]

There was commotion all over the estate. Marcus' Scimitar had re-entered Malta's atmosphere, and was now drifting home on autopilot. It was blaring a generic distress signal. Ernest had pinged the ship as soon as it had come within range, using patriarch level access codes to force-broadcast the flight manifest; point of origin, Kirkwall base in Orkney. The autopilot had taken control shortly after the jump into Alpha. Marcus himself had not spoken since the initiation of autopilot and was not responding to hails. A medical team was scrambled from the nearby town of Certaldo, with a call for help going out to Don David's personal household in Firenze.

12 minutes later, the Scimitar touched down. Teams ran to it as the dust cleared, hauling back the canopy and calling Marcus' name. A wave of hot, rancid air rolled out, bringing with it the acrid stench of vomit. Inside, the pilot was lolling forward in his seat, helmet-encased head limp. The rebreather had been hastily torn off, probably before he had lost consciousness. A cry of alarm went up as the medical teams surged back to pull on rebreathers of their own. Frantic cries of "piaga!" went up - plague, the death from the stars. Calls to Don David's physicians were redoubled.

Tentatively, the newly masked team moved back to the cockpit, reaching in to uncouple the flight harness, disconnect the datafeed cables and sever pilot monitor links. They pulled him out and hastily moved him down to a nearby stretcher. His flight suit was stained by vomit. Even now, he would occasionally convulse between feverish shivers. One removed his helmet. His hair was matted with sweat, and his face was pale and swollen. He shuddered and shook as an evil fever burned inside him, radiating an unbelievable heat. The paramedics went down their checklist as they rushed the stretcher to an awaiting Dromedary - listing symptoms, looking for lesions - not finding any.

Ernest stood by and watched them take his son, vowing reward to those who could cure him and terrible wrath to those who failed. His message noted, the Dromedary lifted off and turned to speed to the east to take Marcus to the secure wing of Firenze's Porte Sante Hospital. Anger and confusion abounded afterwards, with arguments between Ernest, Maria and their two remaining daughters continuing long into the night. How had Marcus had come by his ailment? How long would it take for him to heal? Would he heal at all? Most ominously... who was to blame?

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