This SFR Galaxy Award winning book is ON SALE for $.99 right now!
The story:
She saved countless soldiers in the wars … but does she have the weapons to fight an outbreak?
Dr. Emily Shane, veteran of the Sector Wars, is known as “The Angel of Fantalar” for her bravery under fire as a medic. However, the doctor has her own war wounds–severe PTSD and guilt over those she failed to save.
Persuaded to fill a seemingly frivolous berth as ship’s doctor on the huge and luxurious interstellar cruise liner Nebula Zephyr, she finds the job brings unexpected perks–a luxe beach deck with water imported from Tahumaroa II, and Security Officer Jake Dilon, a fellow veteran who heats her up like a tropical sun.
However, Emily soon learns she and Jake didn’t leave all peril behind in the war. A mysterious ailment aboard the Zephyr begins to claim victim after victim … and they must race against time and space to find the cause and a cure! Trapped on a ship no spaceport will allow to dock, their efforts are complicated by a temperamental princess and a terrorist–one who won’t hesitate to take down any being in the way of his target. If anyone’s left when the disease is through with them…
The excerpt:
“We have a dead passenger,” the ship's AI said, speaking
louder as the door chimed.
So much for minor ailments. Keying the
portal to open, Emily came face-to-face with Red, in uniform, a discreet security
badge on his jacket.
“Sorry
to meet again so soon under these circumstances,” he said. “Jake sent me—”
“Yes,
the ship told me you were coming.” She let the portal close behind her and set
off at a rapid pace toward the nearest gravlift. The corridor was deserted at
this time of “night.”
“Someone died?”
Glancing
around to make sure there wasn’t anyone close, Red nodded. “Passenger Edvar
Groskin, in his cabin.” He allowed her to precede him into the gravlift. “Groskin
hadn’t been seen for a day or two, missed an appointment for dinner with some
prospective clients who reported not being able to reach him. Had the do-not-disturb
signal on, but the chief stewardess was concerned, so she asked Maeve to check.”
Red leaned closer. “Passenger privacy is of utmost concern on the CLC Line, but
there’s a point where we have to intrude.”
“You
must be positive he’s deceased, not to have called the ship’s emergency
response team.”
“Yeah,
we’re sure.” He flicked a glance at her. “Not a pretty sight.”
“No
doubt I’ve seen worse.” Emily clenched one fist where he couldn’t see, nails
biting into her palm in hopes the tiny spurt of pain would forestall a flashback
to some of the horrific scenes she had endured. Now wasn’t the time for an
incident, and echoes of the earlier nightmare lingered. “Suicide?”
“Doubtful.”
Red didn’t appear to notice her preoccupation. “Groskin was a hanger-on with the
wealthy crowd. He used to be a minor celebrity, some kind of athlete. Always had
a dozen schemes and scams going on. Upbeat guy, from what I’ve been told. He
was going to the big surfing competition on Sector Hub.”
“I
treated a surfer today. Got washed off his board and cratered on the bottom of
the beach deck sand,” she said. “Poor guy had a broken arm, scrapes and
bruises.”
“Yeah,
we’re running our own competition on the starboard side of the beach, trying to
tie into the big event.” Red shook his head. “I had beach duty yesterday. Made me
nervous watching passengers try to act like extreme athletes. Of course, Maeve
doesn’t generate the big waves.”
They’d reached the late
passenger’s cabin, where the portal was half open.
Jake
was waiting in the foyer. “Sorry to wake you, Doc. Guy’s on the floor in the
bedroom. We’re not sure what he had.”
Emily
stepped into the room. The bed was in disarray, and the passenger had obviously
been quite ill in his last hours. Clothed in synthsilk pajamas, the body was
already in the first stage of rigor mortis. Activating the sterile barrier on
her hands, she ran her scanner over the man, noting the readings, especially in
the heart and lungs. Sitting on her heels, she said, “Heart attack, probably
brought on by pneumonia, is my initial diagnosis.” She looked at Jake. “Without
an autopsy, we won’t know for sure, and I should warn you I’m not a
pathologist.”
“We’re
not set up to do autopsies anyway,” Jake said. “The unpleasant job’ll be for
the authorities at the next port of call. I need you to sign the provisional
death certificate and state there was no crime involved as far as we know at
this time. Different regulations kick in if there’s any evidence of foul play.”
Emily
raised her eyebrows and checked the body again. “Nothing to indicate any kind
of crime.” She leaned closer. “Odd.” Pointing at the corpse’s upper chest,
revealed by the gaping shirt, she said, “See those purple splotches?”
“Like
spider bites.” Jake shifted position to get a better view. “Something to worry
about?”
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