The relief I felt at that realization was disproportionate to the situation.
"Works for me," I said, already mentally prepping triage protocols.
"Bea." Zorn's hand found mine where it rested against the seat restraint. Large and warm and impossibly gentle for something that could probably crush my bones without effort. "We're going to fix this. Together."
The wordtogetherfloated in the air between us, carrying weight beyond professional collaboration.
I should have pulled my hand away. Should have reinforced boundaries, maintained distance, and protected the careful walls I'd built. But his grip was steady and sure, and for just a moment I let myself feel the comfort of it. The reminder that I wasn't alone in this fight, even if admitting that scared me more than any pathogen ever could.
"Together," I repeated, and hoped he couldn't hear how the word shook.
Veridian Station looked like hell.
We docked at the medical quarantine bay, the only area they'd managed to seal off from potential contamination. Through the airlock windows, I could see the chaos inside. Beings of at least seven different species slumped against walls, curled on makeshift beds, gasping for air that didn't seem to help. Medical personnel in hazmat suits moved between patients with the exhausted efficiency of those who'd been working without rest for too long.
The station's Chief Medical Officer met us at the airlock, a Thellian woman with blue-green skin and four arms, three of which held datapads displaying patient information while the fourth operated quarantine controls.
"Dr. Zorn." Her relief was palpable. "Thank the void you're here. We've got sixty-eight infected now, five more in the last hour. Seventeen are critical. Three died this morning before we could stabilize them."
The news hit like a tornadic wind. Three dead. Three beings we were too late to save. The number burned itself into my consciousness, adding to the tally I'd carried since Earth, since the Liberty disaster, since every patient I'd ever lost.
I shoved the emotion down where it belonged. Later. I could process later. Right now, people needed me functional.
"Show us the critical cases first," Zorn said, already moving through the airlock. His professional mask was perfect, betraying nothing of whatever he felt about the deaths. "We need to stabilize them before anything else."
The medical bay was organized chaos. Someone, probably the CMO, had attempted triage, separating patients by symptom severity. But with limited staff and resources, theorganization was barely holding against the tide of deterioration.
I switched into crisis mode.
It was like flipping a switch in my brain. The emotional noise silenced. The physical exhaustion faded. The complicated tangle of feelings about Zorn and therapy and healing became irrelevant background static.
There was only the work.
"Pel'vix, with me." I headed for the critical care section, pulling on exam gloves by muscle memory. "We're going to stabilize respiratory function first, buy time for treatment to work."
The next hours blurred into a continuous stream of interventions.
A Krellian male, second lung collapsed, oxygen saturation at nine percent. I initiated the portable regeneration field, adjusted parameters, monitored until his levels climbed above fifteen. Stable. Next patient.
A human female, God, another human, neural inflammation so severe she was seizing. Anti-inflammatories, neural stabilizers, careful monitoring of brain activity. She quieted. Her breathing evened. Stable. Next patient.
A Vaxxian adolescent, all four lungs involved, cascade failure imminent. This one was bad. This one was critical. I worked faster, hands moving with precision born from decades of emergency medicine, fighting against biology and time and the pathogen that was trying to claim another victim.
"Respiratory function increasing," Pel'vix reported. "Oxygen saturation at eighteen percent."
"Not good enough. Increase cellular acceleration?—"
"Bea." Zorn's voice cut through my focus. "He's stable. You need to move on."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to stay until oxygen saturation hit at least twenty-five percent, until I was certain the Vaxxian would survive. But Zorn was right, there were other patients, other beings equally critical, and my time had to be distributed efficiently.
"Keep monitoring him," I told Pel'vix, and forced myself to move to the next bed.
We fell into rhythm. Zorn and Dr. Ko'rath worked on pathogen identification, running tests and analyses while Pel'vix and I stabilized patients. The CMO coordinated with her staff, managing resources and tracking the expanding infection. It was brutal, exhausting work with the kind that required absolute focus and left no room for personal complications.
Which meant I could stop thinking about therapy. Stop worrying about emotional exposure. Stop feeling the weight of Zorn's concern pressing against defenses I couldn't quite maintain.
There was only the next patient. The next crisis. The next life to save.
