by Shae Mills
Fremma remained silent as Korba turned on his heal and strode from the center. The young warrior released a sizable sigh and raised his eyebrows. Something had definitely happened between Korba and the woman, and Fremma knew that the Warlord's present course was a defense against whatever turmoil had occurred. Still puzzled, Fremma stepped through the doors and headed for his quarters.
* * *
Chelan awoke some time later to complete silence and a constant pain across her lower back. She went to straighten out and found that her back was the least of her problems as every muscle in her body ached. She pushed up onto the pillows, becoming unusually fatigued by the simple gesture. She felt like putty. Dull, drab, miserable putty.
Suddenly, she noticed that her gown was soaked with sweat and that she was burning up. Chelan attempted to sit upright, but her head began to throb and her world started to blacken. She flopped back against the pillows, gasping for air. She realized she was in trouble, but she was too weak to call out. Besides, it doesn't really matter anyway, she reasoned. The fever and chills would soon pass, and she closed her eyes, her mind drifting in and out of absurdity.
Slowly, the alien illness continued to insidiously consume her, stripping her of her remaining senses. It had struck at her brain first, and now it marched relentlessly throughout her body.
* * *
Korba worked hard throughout the day, remaining immersed in military strategies and seeing to the general readiness of the men and equipment. He had sent a message earlier to Ticees, deciding not to delay informing the Emperor of his suspicions and of his plans. Ticees had concurred with his Warlord's deductions and had given Korba the go-ahead to proceed as he deemed fit.
Korba had returned to his Command Center in the evening for a short shower and to change his uniform, but he had not run into Chelan. Undoubtedly, she was either sleeping or doing her best to avoid him. Regardless, it did not matter. If she changed her mind about him, she could seek him out on one of his visits.
The next morning he was looking forward to returning to his quarters, as he was meeting Dar for some sorely neglected and badly needed physical training. He strode into the Command Center and had just begun removing his shroud when the main doors again parted. Dar walked in and grinned broadly.
Korba met his smile as Dar challenged him. "Prepare to die, my friend." The blonde Warlord brushed past Korba, giving him a devilish look.
"Then may we both go down in the throes of death," replied Korba as he dropped his shroud and followed Dar into the training area.
There, Dar removed his shroud and the lazguns along his waist, placing them down gently on a bench.
"So," began Korba confidently, "how do you wish to perish?" The sword Korba wielded crashed down to the floor where Dar had just been standing.
Dar had managed to leap aside with the speed of a wildcat just in time. He rolled out of range and flipped onto his feet. He reached for the sister sword that had obviously been laid out for his use.
Dar's chest heaved as the expected, yet unexpected, move caught him slightly off guard. The two men squared off as the clanging of the heavy blades reverberated throughout the cavernous room. Time passed, and the deadly duel continued, hopelessly stalemated except for the constraints of time and fatigue.
Then, as suddenly as the two men had come together, they parted, both laying their swords to rest and smiling at one another. Normally they would have continued to work out together to the point of utter exhaustion, but today's bout had to be short as both had vast amounts of preparatory work to complete before their impending mission.
Both men reclined briefly on the training benches, deep breaths replenishing their bodies' oxygen. Dar sat up and placed his elbows on his knees, burying his face in a towel that soaked up the channels of sweat coursing down his bronze skin.
Korba swung his legs over his bench and looked at his partner. The two men's eyes locked, their stares eliciting broad smiles. Korba hung his head. "Ah, that felt good."
Dar nodded his agreement and took one more swipe at his face with the towel. Standing slowly, he dried his hands. "So my friend, you've been spending a lot of time on the Bridge, I hear." He grinned down at Korba. "Given up on your pet project, have you?" he jested.
Korba stood abruptly and stepped past Dar. "News travels fast, I see."
Dar hesitated, surprised by Korba's reaction to his intended lighthearted remark. He approached his friend warily. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
"I don't want to talk about Chelan right now." His voice was low and quiet. "I need to keep my mind on my duties."
Dar knew that was circumvention. Korba was more than capable of keeping his mind on many issues at one time. He rounded his friend and looked into his troubled eyes. "Tell me what's happened."
"Just let it suffice that I took your lecture into consideration, and you were right about the situation all around. The whole scenario is absolutely ludicrous." Korba glanced at Dar and began walking away.
Dar caught up to him. "When did this revelation take place?"
Korba glanced at Dar over his shoulder. "The night before last."
"Have you talked to her since?"
Korba stopped in front of a large display of daggers, pausing to stare at them. "No," he said, hesitating. "I haven't seen her since." He glanced over at Dar. "So who gets to shower first?" he quipped lightly.
Dar didn't speak, but studied him closely. He took a step forward. "Don't you think you should at least check on her?"
Korba sat down on a seat and began removing his knives from his boots. "No. She made it abundantly clear that she's not interested in interacting with me in any way. Besides, I don't know exactly what I intended to do with her in any case. Hopefully I will figure that one out as time goes on. So for now, she knows where everything is, and she knows how to operate the food dispensary in my quarters. Plus, she has plenty of things to occupy her." He stood and removed his boots and pants. He glanced at Dar. "Looks like you'll have to wait your turn for the shower." And he turned and headed for the wash area.
"It's okay," Dar responded quietly. "I'm heading directly back to my ship."
Korba turned toward him just before disappearing into the room. "Okay, I'll get in touch with you soon." He hesitated. "Thanks for the workout, Dar."
Dar nodded to Korba, and threw him a guarded smile. Dar still had the towel in his hands and he wrung it as he watched Korba disappear. Something was drastically wrong.
Dar let the towel drop over the bench as he stooped to pick up the rest of his uniform, donning it quickly. Grabbing his weapons, he turned to leave, but then hesitated. He looked back to the shower room and then toward the Command Center. Without thought, he began walking from the workout area and stopped just outside Korba's sleeping chambers. He held his breath and listened for sounds while peering intently up into the inky blackness. His senses told him nothing.
Cautiously, he began ascending the stairway when the smell of sickness assaulted him. "No!" he shouted, and he navigated the last few steps in a single bound, his fist slamming into the light panel. He ran to the side of the bed and stood over the motionless girl. Her face was as white as the sheets, her cheeks sunken from dehydration. Her hair was tangled and matted, crusted with sweat and vomit.
Dar crouched by her, quickly pressing his fingers into her neck, feeling with relief a faint pulse. Her skin was dry and hot to the touch. He placed a knee on the bed beside her and reached for the neck of her dress. With all his strength, he ripped the strong material the length of her torso. Dar's hand traced over her abdomen, and the faint pink patches he suspected appeared against her translucent skin.
Acting swiftly, he slipped his hand under her slender neck and raised her just enough to strip away the remains of the soiled gown from her limp body. He then whipped his shroud from his shoulders and laid it over her. Ever so carefully, he lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled back, her long hair hanging in ruin. Dar became even more alarmed at the extreme
lightness of her body and he ran with her directly to the main entrance.
As Dar exited, the guards jumped to attention. "Where's Fremma?" he snapped to the closest man. Before the guards could reply, Dar was on the move. "Find him, and send him to the private sickbay immediately!"
Dar bolted into the personal medical area, heading directly for a central examining table. "Stose!" he shouted.
Stose appeared from the next room, surprised to see the Warlord. He took one look at the urgency in Dar's face and ran to the table.
"My god," gasped Stose as he looked down into Chelan's gaunt face. Dar didn't waste any time as he tore his shroud from her body. Stose glanced over her and then looked at Dar. "Izan's disease," he whispered.
Dar nodded an affirmative.
"How long has she been like this?"
"I don't know for sure."
Stose grabbed an IV bag and tossed Dar a second one. "What did Korba say?"
Dar severed the protective covering of the bag and stared directly at Stose. "He doesn't know about her yet."
Stose began unraveling the IV line. "Why not? Where has she been staying?"
Dar shook his head. "With Korba. He last spoke to her the night before last."
A multitude of questions crowded into Stose's head, but he didn't have the time to ask them now. Carefully, he inserted a needle into Chelan's left arm as Dar followed suit with her right.
"What is this?" Dar asked, as he expertly positioned the needle.
"That one's an electrolyte solution, and this one contains nutrients." Stose pointed to her sunken, black eyes. "Judging from her looks, she's been this way for at least a full day, maybe two." Stose looked up at Dar with concern. "Why didn't she have help?"
Dar finished taping down the tube and then looked at the doctor. "I don't know... not yet anyway."
"Well," began Stose, "we have to get her fever down. That will be the next problem."
"But what about the actual disease?"
Stose's expression faded a bit. "She's pretty far gone, Commander. Izan's disease is easy to combat when it's diagnosed early. It's nearly always fatal when it's progressed this far."
Dar watched Stose prepare injections. "What are those?"
"They're her only chance for survival," whispered Stose, his eyes intent on his work. "They're antivirals, powerful ones formulated for our people. Do I have your permission to give them?"
Dar became visibly uneasy. "What's the problem with them?"
"It's not with them, Sire, it's with her. I don't know enough about her alien physiology. These drugs are hard enough to administer to our race, let alone to an alien in her fragile condition. They could kill her."
Dar had no problem with his reply. "She's going to die regardless. I trust your judgment."
Stose immediately injected the first needle deep into the side of her neck. The second one he injected into one of the IV bags.
Just then, the main doors opened, and Stose looked up as Dar swung around. Fremma approached the table slowly, his eyes wide. He stepped up to the young woman, her skin stretched tightly over her facial bones. He touched her cheek gently. His eyes moved down her emaciated body and he shuddered. He looked at Dar. "Izan's?"
Dar nodded and then turned his attention back to Stose. "What's next?"
"Her fever. Help me." Stose passed the IV bags to Fremma and then started across the room. "Bring her in here," he directed as he pointed to the adjacent room and then disappeared.
Stose began filling a vessel with a highly conductive fluid. Quickly, he measured her temperature and then adjusted the temperature of the fluid accordingly. "Here, lay her in this," he instructed.
Dar knelt down and lowered Chelan slowly into the tub as Fremma allowed the IV bags to float freely above her.
Dar looked at Stose, his eyes questioning, and Stose explained. "We will know if the antivirals are going to harm her or not within an hour. She will either stabilize or die. From that point, if she survives, the drugs will take full effect in about fifteen hours, providing she responds the way our people do." Stose hesitated as he looked directly at Dar. "That's if the drugs work on her at all."
Fremma finally spoke. "Why didn't she ask for help?"
"Maybe she couldn't," Stose said.
"What do you mean?" queried Dar, his eyes narrowing.
"The disease is also commonly known as space fever. It starts with mild, flu-like symptoms that can last for weeks, but then it rapidly infiltrates the brain, causing a moderate to severe dementia. Often this has occurred before the patient is aware that help is needed."
Dar looked intently at Stose. "I've seen it many times on other planets, but what causes it? And why doesn't any of the crew have it?"
"It's a virus that seems to endure the harshness of space. It can enter a ship's system through a leak or a faulty airlock. It simply invades warm bodies, becoming active once it's in the host's tissues. None of the crew has it because most Iceaneans seem to have a natural immunity to it."
"So is the virus on board the ship?" asked Fremma.
"No, well, not necessarily," came Stose's ambiguous reply. "She could have picked it up when we transported her from Calley. It could have been on any of the equipment. On the other hand, it could easily be on the ship. With our natural immunity, we wouldn't think to look for it. She could have been harboring it all this time, or she could have been infected recently. Either way, it works like most viruses. It's opportunistic."
Dar and Fremma's eyes met, and then they both looked back at the doctor. Stose cleared his throat. "As an alien, she would have no previous exposures or subsequent immunity. I suspect she picked it up recently and its attack has been vicious. Most people don't reach this stage this fast."
Dar moved to the end of the vessel as the clear liquid rose rapidly over Chelan's body. "Can we do anything else?" he asked quietly.
"Not at the moment," Stose replied. "We'll know more in an hour or so."
Dar stood in silence. He briefly questioned why he had decided to try and save her. He supposed that, despite whatever had transpired recently, there had been something special about the alluring woman that had captured his friend's heart, and because of that he wasn't going to simply leave her to waste away and die. He looked to Fremma. "Stay here with Stose. Help him if he needs it."
Fremma nodded, and Dar turned and strode from the room.
* * *
Korba stepped out of the relaxing shower, feeling refreshed and alert. He picked out a clean uniform, pulling on the skintight pants and smoothing them down over his slim, muscular hips. Next, he tugged on his boots and stepped out into the workout area to retrieve his knives.
As he went to sheath them, a motion caught his eye, and he looked up to see Dar standing in the entrance way. Straightening, Korba smiled. "I thought you had gone. Came back for some more, did you?"
But Dar was not smiling as he approached Korba.
Korba sobered. "What's wrong?"
Dar hesitated, wondering if it was even worth telling Korba. Maybe he really did not care about Chelan anymore. Maybe her demise would be a relief to him.
Korba stepped toward his friend. "Dar, what is it?"
Dar felt a completely unexpected stab of anger. "I feel that it is my duty as a friend to inform you that your unsupervised pet project is in sickbay fighting for her life." Dar watched Korba carefully, and he detected the sense of disbelief that hit his friend, followed by a fleeting touch of grief.
Quickly, Korba regained himself. "What's wrong with her?"
Dar's eyes cut into him. "She has Izan's disease. Stose says she's had the acute stage for at least a full day, possibly two, and was unable to call for help."
Korba whirled away from Dar and rested his hand on a piece of training equipment, a lump forming in his stomach. He hesitated for a long time. "Will she make it?" he asked as benignly as he could.
"Does it matter?"
Korba ground his jaw and squeezed his eyes tight, keeping his back to
Dar. He struggled with questions he wanted answered but dared not ask. He had assumed that she had come to the conclusion that she simply despised him. That would be totally understandable given her situation. But this presumption had fortified his determination to shut her out of his life and to forget about her completely so that he could concentrate on his command and the upcoming mission. Now he felt sick to learn that she was dying because of his unintended neglect. And to make matters worse, she was dying of an alien disease that his people had inadvertently subjected her to.
Quickly, his defenses began to take over, protecting him from his impending loss. He turned to Dar, keeping his features unreadable. "I suppose it may be for the best. She would not have survived Iceanea anyway."
Dar's reaction was explosive. "Damn you, you stubborn bastard!" he boomed. "The problem with you is that you care for her more than your cold, bloodless heart will allow you to realize. You placed a facade of protection around yourself when you should have been placing one around her!"
Dar swung away from Korba and walked briskly to the Command Center entrance. Whirling back around, he added, "And if you really want her odds of surviving, you can make the effort to get in contact with Stose yourself."
Dar was enraged, and he slammed his fist into the wall as he reeled around and left in a flurry of black. He was not sure why he found Korba's neglect of Chelan so repugnant, or why he suddenly felt so drawn to the dying woman that he had risked his friendship with Korba. But he knew one thing for sure. He did not want the fragile alien to die, and he would do everything in his power to take care of her. Absolutely everything.