Tomorrow, I'd enforce the counseling requirement. Would document the medical necessity. Would begin the intervention whether she wanted it or not.
But tonight, I stood in the medical bay beside a being we couldn't save, and wondered how many patients Bea had lost before this one. How many deaths she carried in that carefully controlled exterior.
"She needs help," Pel'vix observed quietly.
"I know."
"Will she accept it?"
I looked at the empty doorway where Bea had disappeared. "Not willingly. But I'll find a way to make her."
Because that's what healers did. We helped people whether they wanted it or not. We forced care on those who'd forgotten how to care for themselves.
Even when it meant becoming the villain in someone else's story.
The Krellian's body lay still on the medical bed, regeneration field dark, monitors silent. Another life lost to the universe's indifference. Another reminder that medicine couldn't save everyone.
But maybe I could save one brilliant, broken human woman from destroying herself.
Even if she hated me for trying.
Chapter
Three
BEA
The emergency klaxon cut through the medical bay's sterile quiet like a knife through flesh.
I was elbow-deep in a Krellian's thoracic cavity, figuratively speaking, since the regeneration field did most of the actual repair work, when the alert sounded. Three sharp bursts that meant all hands, immediate mobilization, no exceptions.
Pel'vix's lavender skin paled to almost white. "Colony distress call. Outbreak protocol."
My hands didn't shake. They never did during a crisis. That was the beautiful thing about emergencies, they required nothing but competence, no emotional bandwidth wasted on introspection or self-doubt. Just problems and solutions, cause and effect, diagnosis and treatment.
"Stabilize him," I said, already moving toward the supply cabinets. "Increase cellular acceleration to compensate for reduced monitoring. He'll be fine for six hours."
"You're volunteering." Not a question. Pel'vix knew me well enough after two months.
"Someone has to." I pulled open the storage unit containing quarantine gear, started mentally cataloging what we'd need. Unknown pathogens meant full isolation protocols, aggressive treatment options, potentially experimental therapeutics if standard approaches failed. "Get word to Zorn. He'll want to coordinate teams before?—"
"I'm already here."
His voice came from behind me, deep and steady as bedrock. I didn't turn around, kept pulling equipment from shelves with methodical precision. Hazmat suits, portable scanners, emergency medications, sterilization fields. The familiar ritual of preparation, turning chaos into order through sheer organizational will.
"Colony outbreak on Veridian Station," Zorn continued, moving into my peripheral vision. His forest-green skin looked darker under the medical bay's harsh lighting, gold healing markings tracing the powerful muscles of his forearms. He'd rolled up his sleeves already—he always did before mobilization, claimed it was practical but I suspected it was psychological preparation. Battle readiness for a different kind of war. "Unknown pathogen. Sixty-three confirmed infections, symptoms progressing rapidly. Respiratory distress, neural inflammation, three critical."
"Fatalities?"
"Not yet. But without intervention, projections are grim."
I pulled down another case of medical supplies, stacked it with the others. My mind was already running through differential diagnoses, treatment protocols, triage categories.Unknown pathogens with respiratory and neurological involvement suggested either viral hemorrhagic fever analogue or possibly a parasitic infection affecting multiple systems. We'd need broad-spectrum approaches until we could isolate the specific?—
"Bea."
Zorn's hand appeared in my field of vision, gently taking the supply case I'd been about to add to the growing pile. I looked up, had to, given our height difference, and found his golden-brown eyes fixed on me with that particular expression I'd learned to recognize. Concern mixed with determination mixed with something softer that made my chest tight.
"I'm assigning teams," he said quietly. "You're with me."
