"Rise and shine, boys!" Skipper shouted to wake his men at precisely 0600 hours, the beginning of another day at the penguin HQ. "I'll see you all topside in three minutes."

Kowalski rubbed his eyes. "Three minutes, sir? You're not giving us any time for breakfast this morning before training? Not even for a little coffee?"

Skipper laughed. "You think when our doughboys were awakened by an enemy assault during the First World War that they reached for their bagels before their bayonets? For their Folgers before their firearms? We have to be prepared for anything at any time. The enemy just isn't going to sit around and wait while we butter our biscuits. And that's why we're going to get right into the action today." He then took a glance at the clock. "Make that two minutes till topside, boys. Up, up."

Kowalski quickly emerged from his bunk, with Rico soon following his lead. As Rico began heading for the ladder, Kowalski waddled over to Skipper. "How come you get to have coffee this morning?" he asked as he gestured to the mug Skipper was holding.

Skipper smiled before taking a sip. "Such is a luxury of being the skipper. Now off you go."

As Kowalski exited, Skipper looked across the room to the bunks to see that Private was still in bed. "Come on, Private, you don't want to be late," the commander called over to him.

"Um, Skipper, I'm not feeling very well this morning," Private replied quietly. "Do you think that I could skip this morning's training? I promise I'll make it up."

"Negatory," Skipper said. "I'd be happy to get you a Pepto-Bismol or whatever else you need to get on your feet, but I'm still going to need you topside."

Skipper then moved a few steps closer to Private and saw just how weak and worried his soldier looked. Concerned, he set his coffee mug down and went up to the bunks. "This isn't a run-of-the-mill upset stomach, is it?" he asked as he placed a flipper on Private's forehead.

Private shook his head.

"Well, there's no sign of fever," Skipper said. "How do you feel, exactly?"

"I can't describe it, but I sure don't like it," Private replied. "It's like something I've never felt before, or rather like some part of me is missing altogether. I'm scared, Skipper, I really am."

The only time Skipper had seen Private anywhere near as nervous was when he was having one of his badger-induced panic attacks, and even those seemed pale in comparison. Private wasn't one to ever fake an illness to avoid duty, so it was clear to Skipper that Private was truly feeling ill. And severely at that.

"Forget what I said earlier about the training," Skipper said after a moment. "There will be none at all today, in fact. Just give me a minute to go get Kowalski and Rico and I'll be right back to help you any way I can."

"Thanks, Skipper," Private said as he smiled.

Skipper waddled away toward the ladder and ascended it. Once at the top of the habitat's iceberg, he went over to his other two men. "Change of plans this morning, boys," he said. "Private's come down with something, and we all need to look after him until he's feeling better. Kowalski, I'm going to need your help to figure out what Private's illness even is. I'm worried about the little guy, I really am."

"He didn't try to take another shot for you, did he?" Kowalski asked as he, Skipper, and Rico began to head back into the HQ.

"Not that I know of," Skipper replied. "He still has only one head, at least as far as I can tell."

Once back inside, the three waddled up to their ill teammate in his bunk. Kowalski pulled out a thermometer from thin air and gestured that he was going to take Private's temperature. "Don't worry, Private, this is an oral thermometer—we're not barbarians here," he said as he placed the glass instrument in Private's beak.

"I already felt his forehead and didn't think he was feverish at all," Skipper said.

"You may be right, Skipper, but it couldn't hurt to check with a more accurate indicator."

After a few minutes had passed, Kowalski withdrew the thermometer and read it. "Right where a penguin should be," he said.

"Well, what do you think it could be, then?" Skipper asked. "Mercury poisoning?"

Kowalski shook his head. "Doubtful, considering that we all eat from the same fish supply. Speak up if you've detected any greater tang of the hydrargyrum variety lately, but I haven't."

"Bird flu, perhaps?"

"A scientist properly refers to it as influenza A virus subtype H5N1, but since there's no fever, I do not believe that to be the cause either."

"Well, if you know what it isn't, can you say what it is?" Skipper asked.

"To be honest, I'm drawing a blank at the moment," Kowalski replied. "However, I'm fairly certain I can eventually figure out the problem by conducting a series of tests. It might take a while, though."

"Then get on it," Skipper said. "Private shouldn't have to feel the way he does for even a minute longer than he has to. Operation: Make Private Feel Better and Feel Better Quickly is our only priority today."

And so, after getting some supplies and equipment from his lab, Kowalski began a thorough battery of tests, some more unpleasant than others.

— § —

Hours later, after methodically analyzing all the data he had collected, Kowalski called Skipper into his lab.

"What is it, Kowalski?" Skipper asked.

"Not good," Kowalski replied in a serious tone. "I've determined the cause of Private's symptoms. I normally wouldn't share anyone's private medical information without consent, but I don't think Private would care that I'm bending the rules a little. You might want to sit down for this one, sir."

"Just give it to me straight, Kowalski," Skipper said as he waved a flipper to dismiss the suggestion. "No use beating around the bush."

"All signs point to his liver failing," Kowalski continued.

Skipper placed his left flipper into his right and massaged the end of it as he absorbed the news. His right eye twitched a bit with worry. "But ... he'll live, right?" he asked after a moment had gone by.

"For now," Kowalski replied. "Months, at least, which gives us a long enough opportunity to take action."

"Kowalski, how are we ever going to help him through something like this?" Skipper asked as he covered his face with his flippers, his eyes becoming more than a little damp. "The vets are not going to be of any use to us here; he's just a penguin to them. Even Shawna would probably put him down without even trying anything."

"True, but there are a lot of penguins at zoos and aquariums all over the country, Skipper, many within a few hundred miles of here," Kowalski said. "Besides us, there are penguins at the Bronx Zoo, Philadelphia Zoo, Maryland Zoo, Pittsburgh Zoo, Mystic Aquarium, Boston Aquarium, and the National Aviary, just to name a few."

"What does that matter?" Skipper asked.

"Well, given that there aren't too many cadaveric penguins out there who once indicated on their driver's licenses that they wanted to be organ donors, our only alternative is live donation," Kowalski continued. "Liver tissue has a remarkable ability to regenerate itself. What we need to do is find another penguin who is a suitable blood and tissue match with Private who would be willing to donate a portion of his or her healthy liver. Then I'd perform the necessary surgeries myself."

"You? Playing around with vital organs? I thought Albert was your middle name, not Frankenstein."

"There just aren't any other options, Skipper," Kowalski replied as he flipped his clipboard around for Skipper to see. "This is the one and only."

"Short of turning to the black market in Denmark, but they'd never help anyone connected to me," Skipper said. "All right, Kowalski, let's start local. I want every penguin in a five-hundred-mile radius tested for compatibility. Even us. If we find a match who's altruistic, great. If they need a push, bribe them with anything and everything. If they need a shove, well, that's what we've got Rico for."

"I'll get right on it," Kowalski replied. "Only one thing that has to be done first."

Skipper sighed. "I know," he said. "We have to tell Private."

Kowalski nodded. "I think he'll take it a little less hard knowing that the two of us are there with him," he said. "Not that it doesn't shatter my heart or yours to have to do it, though."

The two exited Kowalski's lab and made their way over to Private, who had found the strength to get out of his bunk to watch a little Lunacorns on TV. Skipper shut the TV off before sitting down on the floor next to his youngest soldier.

"Skipper, that episode was an all-new—" Private began to object, only to stop when he felt Skipper's flipper on his back.

"Private," Kowalski said, "all those tests I ran on you this morning have led me to conclude the cause of your symptoms. Unfortunately, you're not suffering from something simple. Your liver is failing."

"My what?" Private said, shocked, as he looked over to Skipper and then back to Kowalski. "Why?"

"That I wasn't able to conclude," Kowalski continued. "Your case seems to be idiopathic: without any explainable cause."

"Will I die?"

"Skipper and I are going to stop at nothing to ensure that you have every chance possible."

"But what are the odds, Kowalski?"

Kowalski pulled out his abacus and slid a few of its beads around for a moment before stopping abruptly and tossing the ancient calculating tool aside. "That was just cold," he said sadly. "I can't believe I just did that, and I'm truly sorry."

"It's OK, Kowalski, you didn't mean anything by it," Private replied. "But could you leave me alone with Skipper for just a moment, please?"

Kowalski nodded. "Sure," he said as he started to waddle across the room to give Skipper and Private some space.

"Will I die, Skipper?" Private asked. "What does your gut say about my chances?"

Skipper must have asked his gut thousands of questions over the years, but he couldn't remember the last time he had to consider one this important. It certainly wasn't one to be taken lightly, so Skipper thought it over until he literally felt something click. "You know, there's an interesting feeling inside of me right now that I can't describe too well, but it's sending me strong signals that you're going to pull through," he said. "You can't die, Private, you're just too responsible for maintaining a certain level of the joy and innocence in the world."

"That's touching, Skipper," Private said, "though perhaps a bit out of character for you."

"Kind of like you worrying about death is," Skipper replied. "Don't dwell on it, Private. Just trust your own gut and it will never let you down. And neither will I."

About the title: Hepatic is a medical term used in reference to the liver. It is derived from the Greek word for liver, hepar. You've probably heard of the liver ailment hepatitis—this is where the name of the condition comes from.