by Stella Cassy
Rothren comes wandering in and sits down to watch me.
"Is this water potable?" I ask.
"It is not precisely the same mixture as found on your planet, but it is very close. Yes," he answers.
He sounds so defeated already. Those that are ill lose hope so fast. I flash him a smile but he doesn't bother to return it. Instead, he sits with his head in his hands and stares at the floor. I can't begin to imagine what he's thinking. Losing patients to incurable diseases is bad enough--I've seen what this line of thought does to them. Someone who believes themselves dead is already halfway there. It's why so many hospitals try to keep the patient hopeful until the bitter end.
Though it may not be the most honest approach, I pour a bit of water into a beaker and set it to boil before I come over to him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him another hug, something to reassure him.
"We'll have to try this out first," I tell him. "But it'll be okay. We'll figure something out."
"The madness will take me any moment and yet you sit here upon my lap as if I am a docile beast, willing to please you," he sighs.
"Madness?" I frown.
"Most males afflicted by this disease lose their minds to a stiff madness within the first two days of visible infection. They stalk, stomp, attack, even defile females and other males to subsist in a world that has condemned them."
It takes me a moment to pick through his arch, carefully chosen words, to realize that he means they turn into sex-driven rapists. Or at least, I think that's what he's talking about. Perhaps they have another word for it in their language. It's not as if it's something he'd run into particularly frequently in ours, where rapes are hushed up and spoken of infrequently by all but reporters.
I somehow doubt his home planet gets WGF7.
"We'll give you a sedative to keep you relaxed and try to stop this 'madness' from affecting you, okay?" I give him a gentle scritch on his chest, but he pushes my hand away.
"I intend to lock myself in a holding chamber. There are bars. Should you be successful in your brews, it is simple enough to release me once again. I will walk you through it prior to landing. If not, the autopilot will have a very rough landing and I would advise you strap yourself tightly to something," he says, voice dull.
That done, he gets up and leaves me in the laboratory. I watch him go, shake my head and go to work. If nothing else, the ship isn't so big that I'll have trouble locating the cells. That's good, right?
Work is hard. I grind, boil, heat, reduce. I watch as one attempt ends and another begins, brewing things that run a high risk of killing him as much as curing him. I would never do this to a human being, why am I doing it to him?
Because he's dead if I don't. He may be dead even as it stands with what I'm making, but there's nothing that I can do about that. I'm his only hope. And it's not that it's the first time I've been in this position, lots of other patients have made me their last call. I'm especially good at prescribing herbal medications for pain when there is no hope. Yes, it may hurt their kidneys, but those kidneys are the healthiest thing on their body right now. They can take a hit for the pancreas that is about to go in a week and alleviate their sorrows, give them a good death.
I want more than that for Rothren.
I don't know if I can give it to him.
Hours? A day? Innumerable time passes and I completely lose track of eating or drinking. My stomach rumbles but I ignore it. The medications are almost finished and I need to go test these. I wish I had another subject other than Rothren. It isn't fair to poison him if I've made a wrong calculation on this, just because he's the only one here.
It's then that I catch sight of those weird lime green millipede things. Are they his pets? I don't think they are. I wonder if they're like their version of lab rats?
There is a tiny pink bump on one's carapace. It's almost too small to see, but it gives me hope. I grab an eyedropper and a pair of tweezers. We are going to get to the bottom of this without hurting Rothren, if possible.
I snatch the one with the pink bump and pick it up to look at it. It screams in a shrill, tiny voice and I nearly drop it. Does everything here have to be some kind of weird thing?
When I recover, I drip a few drops of the first medication on that bump then plop it back into the tank. It skitters around, waving its many little legs in the air. I spend hours watching it. Though it doesn't die, there's no positive change, either. The bump doesn't respond to the root treatment. I let out a faint hiss and go grab the next medication.
This one has an immediate effect. The bug-like thing rolls around in agony, screaming at the top of its lungs. I draw back, horrified. I like animals. The day I had to dissect a frog in class was a terrible one. I cried for weeks when the cat before my current one died. Seeing this poor bug flail is awful.
Then it hops right up and scurries off, running to hide from big, mean me. The spot is gone, though the insect appears to be smoking slightly. I'm not entirely sure how that's going to affect a mammal. Is Rothren a mammal? He's certainly built like one and it is a question that I should have asked quite some time ago. I go searching for his cell block. The door next to the laboratory is open so I stick my head in.
"You smell of all the wonders in the world," a tired, drunken voice grumbles out at me.
"It's not usually nice to tell a lady that she stinks," I say as I step in.
Losing track of time, I don't know how long he's been suffering. Drool coats the walls, along with several fang marks on the bars. His nails are all cracked and bleeding. The tip of one horn has been ripped from its home. While I've been frying bugs, he's been in here trying to cope with this the best he can. I reach a hand in to stroke the horn closest to me. He jerks away, hard at first but quickly losing momentum.
"I could hurt you if you are not careful," he pants out.
"You'd never hurt me," I argue. "We may have a cure. It made the bug thrash around and scream, but it worked. I'm not sure about mammal usage. We can try it, Rothren. It's probably going to hurt a lot."
He lifts his head enough to look me in the eye. A single nod is all he can manage. I nod in return and run off to grab my concoction. If this does work, I've written down the combination based on the marks on the packages. Expert though I am, even I'm not positive about some of these containers. I think it's a mixture with elderberries, but if it's something native to his planet I'd never know it. My translator has locked himself in a cage to keep from hurting me.
I really hope none of this is poisonous.
With no warning, I throw the medicine on him. Like splashing a drink in his face. Thank God I'm a pro at that. He recoils, silent for a second. Then he roars, clawing at his face and dancing away from the bars. Steam rises from his skin as it begins to peel. My heart pounds in my temples. Great. I killed him. How could I have been so stupid? So careless? I can't stand here and watch him die.
I know I'm a coward. I'm sorry for it, but I can't watch him start rolling around like that bug. I run away, tail between my legs, off to the cockpit. A quick glance at the panel tells me nothing--it's all in Rothren's language. Far in the distance I hear him gurgling. It's a horrible noise, one that I'm well acquainted with. It's the sound that people make when they're fading. Some call it a death rattle, but I've never really thought of it that way.
Sitting in his chair, I put my hands over my ears and try not to think about it. I'm home alone with my cat. She meows and we go to get her favorite treat from the cupboard, a nightly ritual. We go back to the couch and lie down, sprawled, watching some new internet sitcom that's cheering on a political agenda or something. Half the audience has no idea what they're watching. It's too subtle. I laugh along with them, not really caring. Of all things, I am certainly not political.
Another gurgle creeps in and I tighten the hands over my ears. Now I'm at the beach house with my sister. We're little kids again. Mom, Grandma, Grandpa--they're all there, making sure we have a blast. I'm terrified of school afte
r the vacation is over. The kids have never been as nice to me as they have Jessie and-
His voice echoes through the halls in a wail I'd swear is from a banshee. I look over my shoulder to see the walls dripping from the amount of steam coming from him. Have I melted him? I can't fathom this much fluid coming from a body and still existing. This is horrible. What have I done to him? I should have just let the poor fuck die, maybe shot him to expedite the process for him. No, instead I've made his last waking moments some sort of nightmare.
That's about when the door flies across the hallway and pings off the metal wall. It's half melted and I realize some of that steam may have been coming from the bars themselves. Did I make an acid that's rendered him unrecognizable? I entertain that for a moment, but then how would he have been able to fling the door like that?
Another thought hits me. Maybe he's not just in pain. It may be that he's pissed off at me for what I've done to him. I sink a little lower in the chair and put my hands back over my ears. If he's coming to kill me for trying to help him, I don't want to see it coming.
7
Rothren
I have never felt anything so painful in my life. She wished to cure me. I hold no ire to her for such a splendid wish, but I had given up. I knew I was dead. Nothing stops the Neff, nothing slows it.
The spot is gone.
I saw it in the reflection of the door. With all the smoke from the melting metal, I had to fling it across the room just to relieve myself of my incarceration. Marie certainly wouldn't have been able to release me. She ran the moment I began to scream. Who could blame her?
And Marie, intelligent and beautiful in her own way, has given me a second chance at life.
I sneak around the front of my chair, looking down upon this trembling creature. The cure she has discovered burns, yes--I will be weeks in healing the scars this has placed upon me. At least I will be alive to enjoy those weeks.
"Marie," I say softly.
"Bumble, bumble, bumble bee," she whispers, her hands clenched tightly to either side of her head.
My head tilts. What is a bumble bee?
"Marie?" Is she ill?
Her eyes crack open and she lets out a shuddering breath. I reach for her and she recoils, pressing herself into the fabric as hard as she possibly can. My heart breaks for her. She thinks I want to hurt her. This is the first time she's behaved like this since... since...
Since I stole her from her home.
Regret swoops in to nudge sadness out of the way. I'm bereft as I look her over. She has done something that none of our physicians have been able to do and yet, look at all that I have taken from her. Look at where she is now, cowering beneath me as if I would ever harm a hair upon her small head. I touch her cheek with fingers as gentle as they may be. Those same gorgeous eyes snap closed once more and she braces for the impact of... what?
"Landing initiated," purrs my wife's voice from the autopilot.
I glance back at the console and sigh. There is no time for gentle reassurances. I strap Marie down as quickly as I can, trying not to frighten her all the more. She is so delicate, so terrified. I place a kiss upon the top of her head and sink into a stationary chair beside her. The belts are so simple that I could do them in my sleep.
She peeks at me from her chair, her brow creased. It's such a thoughtful look on her that I almost smile. Adorable. Instead, I try to keep my eyes on the view below. Everything is sand, rough and darker than I remember. How lucky are the humans to have a well-lit planet all their own?
We sink toward my home and I take a deep breath. I've never enjoyed landings, but I can cope with them far better than I once did. As a youngster, in my father's ship, I threw up across our living room floor once. I was only four--
Only four.
She was only four.
How long has it been since my little girl died? Now, already, I spend any time at all not thinking of her? What a monster I am, to spend my hours thinking of anything else but Eilari. I realize this is natural. As one passes through the many stages of acceptance, we find ourselves considering that which placed us in this motion less and less. A lesser concern than finding food or mating, for instance. It simply seems too soon to me. Perhaps the illness has ruined some part of me. Perhaps it has affected my emotional core.
Yet when I look at the sneaky creature peeking at me, I know this is not true. My chest fills with warmth and it takes all of my concentration not to smile at her. She is a sly one, a nervous one. If I have condemned her to my planet, I must try to make her the happiest that I can.
It helps that it seems that she likes me as much as I enjoy her. I realize things are early, but I have not felt this way toward any female of my own species for so long.
She saved me. Who else could have done that?
I have no doubt she will go on to save however many of my people are left. As many as she can. She strikes me as the type. Despite her disorientation, look at what she has managed so far. She is a wonder and a delight, a magnificent specimen of her species for all she has no horns.
A quick glance at her forehead makes her disappear entirely. No horns, but quite a pretty lot of strange, silky hair.
"If you came to kill me, can you get it over with?" she asks, her voice quivering.
"My dear Marie, I would never harm you," I say.
That gets her head up to look at me. Her eyes widen and I motion for her to put her head back down. It is less than safe to sit as she is sitting upon reentry. Things can get bumpy and I cannot abide her being injured by such a minuscule event.
And miniscule it is. We enter the atmosphere easily enough, careening toward the ground at breakneck speed, as always. Reverse thrusters slam in and we're slowing down as we approach my home... and at least a dozen of the monarchy's guard.
Oh, dear me. I forgot about that.
"When we land, stay in the ship," I tell her, frowning at the crowd I've drawn.
Do they know where I've gone? I made certain to avoid logging the data. Perhaps they suspect. When the ship touches down, it chirps happily that we have arrived home. I ignore this, unbuckling myself and exiting the ship. Akthoses, long poles with laser chopping edges at the end, are thrust in my face.
I was wrong. This is not just a guard group. Serethas, our monarch, stares down at me imperiously. She is a tall female with eyes like lanterns, stiff-backed and proud. She glitters with wealth and is covered by far less than any of the rest of us. It dates back to a time when we were a far more tribal people. To walk nearly nude through the streets and those to maintain a respectful distance, a reverent gaze, is true power.
My knees sink to the ground and I lower my head, prostrating myself before my ruler.
"You brought one back, Ket," Serethas sighs. "Why would you do this? You were a respected linguist. You were a well-to-do male. You will be again when our physicians outrun the Neff."
"With all due respect," I say, without lifting my head. "My physician has already done so."
The guards around me shuffle, uncertain. I doubt they believe me. Were I in their shoes, I certainly wouldn't believe the crazed renegade on the ground.
"He has a spot," one of the guards, a male, says. "He has the Neff."
"The color is wrong," argues another. "Gray, not pink."
"She cured me," I say, looking at the first guard. "She saved my life. She will save all of us, if given a chance."
"Bring this female to me," Serethas orders.
The guards are gone before I can protest. There's a shriek from within my ship and a few of the guards remaining outside merely look amused. One of them chuckles. I want to strike him down.
For her part, Serethas merely looks impassive. Were this human female not responsible for the first potential cured Neff case in all of our history, I would think Serethas were bored. In truth, she may still be. Our monarch is an impressive creature, though now that I know Marie, I must wonder how Serethas would cope with a situation in which she was thrust onto a stran
ge planet and accosted by armed men. I cannot imagine she wouldn't scream as well.
Marie is dragged out to meet our monarch. She looks at me, down here in the dirt, and frowns. I nod for her to join me, but she ignores me. A guard grabs her by the shoulders and slams her into the ground. I snarl, on my feet before I know it, flashing fangs and standing over the fallen human female.
"Peace, Rothren Ket. Kolory, be gentle with this delicate species," Serethas chides.
"As my monarch commands," the brute replies.
I still wish to bite him. Though nothing will come of that. I will have to settle this another time, another place. I will remember that name. Kolory. A strange name. There can only be so many of those left.
Marie grabs the arm I offer and I assist her to her feet. I will no longer collapse before a monarch who allows this female my sweet human to be treated in such a way.
"You say the human cured you? How? Does she speak our tongue?" Serethas asks.
"A potion, of sorts. I became ill in flight. She saved my life. She will save the rest of us, given time and ingredients. She has a list, a recipe. In her home, she is a physician," I answer. "She does not yet know our tongue. She can learn it."
"If she can save us, I will allow you to live, Rothren. For I, too, am afflicted with the Neff. Most are," Serethas states, lifting her arm and showing me several pink bumps along her wrist.
"If not, you both die."
"This female is untested," the brute, Kolory, grumbles. "Who will carry out the sentence if she poisons us?"
"Silence," Serethas says, gentle but giving him no ground.
"Listen to me," I whisper to Marie. "You must remake your cure. If it has saved me, it will save others like me."
"I'm supposed to throw acid on your queen?" she whispers back.
"Precisely."
