Steve Sodemier stared blankly towards the sea as another craft was hauled from the makeshift assembly line into the calm current of the protected artificial cove. This would be the twenty-fifth craft they’d completed since the initial prototype. A dozen changes had been made since the first version, but for the most part the design stayed the same.

The first and second ships had been kept as a test platform as well as for quality assurance purposes. But the third was gifted directly to Captain Odin and his crew.

This simple gesture to the friends they’d made in such unfortunate circumstances, was partially a symbol of goodwill. But more importantly it was marketing.

Perhaps it sounds heartless to call a gift, marketing. But the result is all that matters. And they’d seen the intended result in spades.

Interest around the sail-less ships had become instant once the sailors of Port Irias witnessed them during the rescue operation following the Demon’s attack the month prior.

They’d secured ten sales sight-unseen and once the first ships were delivered, more sales began flying in. Initially when the idea of selling the boats had first been suggested, Steve had been hesitant due to his assumption that they’d need to convert them to sailing ships. After all, how would they supply an entire fleet of boats with fuel and maintenance.

But the issue wasn’t as dramatic as he had feared. A type of lantern fuel commonly used in coastal regions turned out to burn nearly as well as diesel once properly diluted. It wasn’t cheap, but the economy seemed to work out for the merchants, as they clamored to reserve a boat before the waiting list became too long.

A small fortune had begun amassing under the careful operations of Steve and the Union representatives. Food imports had become their largest expense, but even that accounted for less than a percent of their revenue.

Salaries had of course been converted into payments in the local currency, so loads of workers could often be found in the bars and seedier alleys of Irias.

“Hey Boss,” A voice calls from Steve’s radio, pulling his thoughts away from the memories infesting his mind. “We’ve got a situation at the clinic.”

Sighing, he grips the small handset and returns a response. “Alright, I’ll be down there in a few.”

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Turning towards the golfcart and stepping into its cab an unwanted response stops his action.

“No. Don’t.” The voice abruptly explains, pausing to allow the knot in Steve’s stomach to grow larger. “It’s the kind of situation where coming down here is the last thing we need.”

“What’s happening?” Steve repeats with an added tinge of concern.

“We’d heard about it from local medicine-men and shamans, but we weren’t sure how it would pan out.” The voice calmly explains, only adding to Steve anxiety. “Here they call it ‘Nettle itch’, it seems to be a respiratory virus spread by contact with certain livestock. We’d documented it as a potential concern, but it seems like we underestimated how infectious it’d be.”

“How serious is this?” Steve asks unable to gauge it from the typical pompous tone of Chad’s voice.

“I’ve locked down the Clinic for now.” Chad explains as casually as possible. “Until I know the full effects of the virus I’m not taking any chances.”

“How many patients are infected?” Steve asks with a grimace. Shutting down the clinic entirely would be extremely perilous, as much as he trusted the brash med-school dropout, the idea of having no medical facility was a hard pill to swallow. “If we can quarantine them into a section of the clinic its possible…”

“Sir, you’re still thinking the same way we were a few days ago.” Chad laughs into the walkie with an audible shake of his head. “I’ve already identified it in samples of my own blood. My entire staff are awaiting results as we speak but the odds are slim.”

“…” Steve began to respond but the words didn’t come. He couldn’t accept the situation. It always lingered in the back of his mind as a possibility, but his faith had kept him moving until now. Powerlessly he released the button on the walkie talkie as he came to terms with the realization that nothing he said could change anything.

“Don’t write us off too quick” Chad’s voice replies to the empty air. “Find Sarah Rawlin and Hank Thurston, they had this week on-call. I’ve already told them the situation here, so they’ll be handling any emergencies until we can reopen the clinic.”

Swallowing his thoughts roughly, Steve nods as he tightens his grip on the walkie. “Sounds good. Enjoy your time off.”

“Heh!?” Chad's voice challenges without giving Steve even a single moment to smirk. “I’ll be expecting time and a half plus hazard pay.”

“Right, right we'll have to discuss it at tonight’s meeting. Your rep can bring it up if he shows.”

Awaiting the response to his joke with a lighthearted smirk, a different tone answers him from the radio.

“Sir, I know I’m not the one to make the choice, and even suggesting this isn’t easy for me considering what we all went through once already. But if I were in your shoes. I don’t think I would even be hosting a union gathering tonight. In fact, I’d call for all gatherings to be canceled, all work-shifts to be paused, and all travel to Irias to be halted outright until we can be positive this is contained to the clinic.”

“Chad,” Steve begins, releasing the switch after the other words don’t arrive in time.

“Dad, we’ll probably be alright. Just keep everyone out there safe for me, ‘kay?”

“You got it.” Steve says, snorting back his loosening emotions and pressing his foot against the pedal of the golfcart forcefully.

He could do at least that much.