I swear by Apollo Healer, by Asclepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea, and by all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will carry out, according to my ability and judgment, this oath and this indenture.

Doc chuckled. Indenture.

Sometimes being a flight surgeon was a rewarding profession that gave her opportunities to care for some of the finest aviators on the planet. But, most times, it was akin to being tasked with keeping a group of drunken toddlers alive. Fortunately, they hadn’t had their first port call yet, so she still had a relatively high opinion of most of them. But she didn’t know Andy all that well at all.

Doc turned down the darkened cross-passageway and ducked into the CAG staff’s spaces where she kept her stethoscope. She snatched it off her desk and turned for the door but not before the Safety Officer spotted her.

“Everything okay?”

Doc shrugged. “You know pilots.”

The lieutenant commander didn’t reply and went back to one of the many reports he was required to prepare for CAG, and Doc stepped back out into the darkened passageway and made for the ladder that led down to Sleepy Hollow. After passing through several knee-knockers, she reached the ladder and climbed down into an even darker and quieter part of the ship where several of the air wing’s pilots were berthed.

She squinted at the bullseyes above each door, comparing them with the one she had written down. When she found the right one, she knocked, and Goldy opened the door.

“Where is he?”

Greg pointed at the rack against the far wall, and Doc walked over to where the COD pilot writhed in agony atop his sheets.

Bit melodramatic, she thought.

“Hey, Andy,” Doc said. “How you feeling?”

Andy rolled over and looked up at Doc with a pained look on his face. “Not good.”

Even through the stateroom’s dim red lighting, Doc could tell the pilot was pale and sweating. “Where does it hurt?”

Andy pinched his eyes shut and clutched at his stomach, though he was mostly in a supine position. Doc slipped the earpieces of her stethoscope into her ears, then pressed the diaphragm — the larger flat side of the drum — over Andy’s right lower quadrant and immediately heard an abnormal increase in gurgling and rumbling sounds made by the movement of fluid and gas in the intestines.

“Hmmm,” Doc said, removing the earpieces and letting the stethoscope dangle around her neck. “What are you experiencing? Diarrhea?”

Andy nodded.

“Vomiting and nausea?”

Again, he nodded.

“Obviously stomach pain.”

Andy winced.

“What have you eaten?”

“Nothing yet,” Andy said. “We just flew on tonight.”

Doc gave a little shake of her head. “From Iwakuni?”

“Yeah.” Andy pinched his eyes shut. “We’re supposed to fly back tomorrow.”

“Any drinking?”

“Not last night.”

Doc turned and walked over to the sink next to the door and washed her hands, pulling up her sleeves to scrub her forearms. “You should probably be okay. Could be food poisoning, or maybe even norovirus. But both will resolve themselves within one to three days. My guess is you’ll feel a lot better tomorrow. Just make sure you stay hydrated.”

Greg seemed skeptical. “He was fine when we flew on just a couple hours ago.”

“It can take anywhere from twelve to ninety-six hours for symptoms to present themselves. He’s going to be just fine. But if it gets any worse, he can go to sick call in the morning.”

Greg nodded. “Thanks for coming, Doc. Sorry to waste your time.”

“Not a waste,” she replied, glancing at her watch to decide whether it was worth heading back to the ready room and catching the end of the roll ’em.

Maybe it was a waste after all.

22

The door flew open and caused a few of the more timid rodents to scatter. The daring ones continued their pursuit of finding morsels littering the filthy concrete floor where she huddled. Lisa’s stomach knotted in pain, and she squinted, unable to focus against the brilliance of light streaming in.

“Get up,” the guard commanded.

She closed her eyes and ignored the rat crawling across her legs in a hasty retreat from the advancing brute. But she didn’t move. She found the soft pattering of rodent feet on her skin far preferable to the way her captors touched her.

“Get up!” the guard shouted, his voice cracking into a high-pitched shriek that made her question his age. But her idle curiosity vanished when he kicked her in the stomach.

She grunted but didn’t move. She had eaten nothing in days and allowed the rats to have their fill of the putrid food served to her on plastic trays. The last time she had braved eating, the food quickly ran its course through her system, and she ended up soiling the floor with explosive diarrhea.