“Doctor Blye! Doctor Blye!” the children shouted, running up to her as she and Velsa neared the makeshift hut that served as their outpatient clinic. Prash trailed behind them, lugging a wheeled container filled with medical supplies, while Blye laughed and dug into her pocket for the treats she brought with her on their weekly rounds. The children pressed in close, their eager hands outstretched as she passed out small candies. She kept the various sweets separated amidst her garments, ensuring no one received candy unsafe for their given species, each youngster gleefully claiming their prize before scampering off.

The adults hovered nearby, looking on with both bemusement and concern while the others began setting up shop. At least once a week, she made the trek to treat the more minor ailments of the refugees or those who were intimidated by the clinic itself. She tried to keep the visits as informal as possible, anything to put her patients at ease. Despite their best efforts, there were still those who were uncomfortable at the notion of being treated by a Terran. Even with the galaxy at war, speciesism still reared its ugly head, but she’d learned long ago that if you got the children on your side, the adults would eventually follow.

Besides, the looks on their faces as they gobbled down their hard-won prizes was a gift more precious than fissionables.

“Velsa, if you could start taking their information, I’ll see the first patient,” she told the nurse. The young Ksot medic nodded, heading towards the gaggle of waiting individuals and began sorting them out, while Prash finished unpacking their supplies and stood ready to assist. A few minutes later, an older Durzix female hobbled in and sat down awkwardly on the provided chair.

“Hello Akovaaxx,” she smiled, recognizing the insectoid alien by her coloration. “The leg is still bothering you, I take it?”

“It’s getting worse,” she complained, her movements stiff as she stretched out the injured limb for inspection. Prash brought over another chair for her to rest it on, as Blye began her examination. It didn’t take long to diagnose the problem.

“I’m afraid the leg is healing out of proper alignment,” she told her patient. “This is exactly why I told you it needed to be immobilized until the underlying tissue regenerated. We need to fit you with a cast, and you need to spend at least a month off your feet while it heals,” she explained patiently.

“And just who will take care of my family while I’m confined to a sick bed?” Akovaaxx retorted.

“We can make arrangements to see they’re being looked after…” Blye began, only to be interrupted as her patient struggled to her feet.

“I watch over my own,” she snapped, “and I don't need your charity. I won’t let a bunch of strangers take over my chores.” She turned to leave, only to have the Knight rise as well and block her path.

“You do that, and in another month’s time you won’t be able to walk at all,” Blye said firmly. “If that happens, the only course of action left involves re-breaking the damaged exoskeleton and putting you into a cast. You’ll be stuck in bed for at least three months, instead of one.” Shaking her head, she pointed at the injured area. “You said it yourself, it’s getting worse, not better. If we don’t address this now, pretty soon it will be too late to salvage what progress you’ve made since the accident. So please… let us help you. I promise we’ll see that your family is looked after.”

She held her breath while the insectoid struggled with the decision. She didn’t dare push any harder, for fear of driving her away. Finally, Akovaaxx gave her a curt nod, though it was clear she was unhappy with the compromise.

“I'll have Amar come fetch you first thing tomorrow,” she vowed, “and we’ll see that it’s done safely at the clinic. And we'll find enough volunteers to handle your chores while you’re laid up,” she smiled, gently resting a hand on the alien’s shoulder joint. “I promise, the month will fly by before you know it.”

Her patient grumbled but managed another nod before limping back out of the hut. Prash just shook his head. “Some people just won’t listen,” he said.

“Akovaaxx has her pride,” Blye told him, “and after everything she’s lost, it’s the one thing she can still hold on to. Still, let’s hope she doesn’t change her mind before tomorrow.” She took a moment to wash up and compose herself before signaling to Velsa for the next patient.

A Qi-Tam brought her infant in, worried the child was ill. “He’s not eating, and sleeps all the time,” she said nervously.

“Well, let’s take a look at him,” Blye smiled, reaching for the baby. His temperature was slightly elevated, heart rate higher than normal, and when she listened to the infant’s chest, she could tell he was congested. All common symptoms of many illnesses, but when he winced in pain as she gently probed his joints, the Knight examined his external auditory structures. The dark red spots dotting the sensitive tissue were a sign impossible to ignore. Given the other symptoms, there was only one definitive diagnosis.

“Prash, could you please get Spata Zhai on the radio, and ask him to join us?” she said calmly, not wanting to arouse suspicion.

“Is something wrong?” the child’s mother asked.

“Just a precaution,” she answered, her smile now glued to her face, while Prash made the call. Raising her voice slightly, she called out to the Ksot nurse. “Velsa? Could you come in here for a moment, please?”

The young alien stuck her head in the doorway. “Yes, doctor?”

“Are there any other Qi-Tam waiting in line?” Blye asked her.

“A few,” she confirmed.

“Could you please ask them to form up near the entrance and apologize to the others still waiting? This shouldn’t take long,” she explained.

Velsa shot the mother and child a look, before nodding and ducking back outside. She heard jostling and muttered complaints, but thankfully no one was taking issue with the new orders. A few minutes later, there was a tap on the doorframe as the Ixian officer stepped inside the hut.

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“You wished to see me?” he inquired.

“I did,” Blye told him, gently rocking the infant still cradled in her arms. “I’m afraid we have a situation on our hands.” She turned back to the mother and said, “There’s no easy way to say this, but your son has Pesychu pathosis.”

The female Qi-Tam’s hands flew to her mouth. “... No…” she whimpered, while the Ixian merely looked on in confusion.

“It’s an infection endemic to the Qi-Tam,” she explained, “quite virulent if left unchecked. Thankfully, there are no known cases of it jumping species.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “What is it you wish of me?”

“We’ll have to start quarantine procedures immediately,” Blye informed him, “beginning with these two, as well as the others outside, at least until I can test them for antibodies. I need an isolated location where they sleep and get treatment, as well as enough guards to ensure no one leaves the containment area.” She then turned to Prash. “And we’ll need to begin contact tracing, to determine who else might be infected.”

“It must have been someone who came in with the last group,” he said thoughtfully, “otherwise we’d have spotted it by now.”

“Most likely,” Blye agreed, “but let’s not make assumptions until we know for certain. It’s possible we had an asymptomatic carrier, and simply didn’t realize it.”

“But what about my baby!” the young mother wailed.

“We’ll start treatment at once,” she assured her, shifting the child to her left hand before digging around with the right in her bag. It only took her a moment to locate the vial of delavirdine and load it into the hypospray, pressing it against the infant’s thigh and injecting the antiviral. “We need to treat you as well,” she continued, holding up the injector, “and we need to know everyone you’ve been in contact with over the past seventy-two hours.”

The female Qi-Tam was still reeling from the news. “Yes doctor,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving her son.

“Prash, would you please run an IV of dextrose for the child, while I have a word with the Spata?” she asked him, handing over the baby.

“Of course,” he agreed, taking the child, as she rose to her feet and escorted the Ixian outside, away from the others. Velsa gave them a look as they moved past the waiting queue but said nothing.

“All right, just how bad is it?” Zhai asked her, once they were out of earshot.

Blye sighed. “Potentially, very bad,” she admitted. “Pesychu is a nasty bug even under the best of conditions, but here?” She swept out her arm to encompass the camp. “Unless we attack this thing now, with every tool we have at our disposal, it could sweep through the camp like wildfire.” She hugged herself, shivering in the morning air. “We could be looking at dozens of deaths, if not more.”

“I understand,” the Ixian said after a moment. “What must we do, other than keep them segregated from the rest of the camp?”

“Most of the procedures are common sense,” Blye explained. “They’ll require separate sanitation facilities, and disinfection is a must. Anyone coming into contact with one of the potentially infected should not only bathe but wash their clothing as well. Even though non-Qi-Tam can’t be infected, the virus can potentially hitch a ride and spread to those who can be. I’ll send you a complete list of all the necessary measures and monitor the situation until the virus has burned itself out.”

“Somewhere isolated…” the Ixian said thoughtfully. “At the moment, the only location that comes to mind is where we discovered the artifact,” he said, with obvious distaste.

“Perfect!” she said with enthusiasm. “Not only is it in a secluded location, you already have guards posted to keep others away. All we need to do is come up with some protection from the elements, throw together a shower, and dig a couple of latrines.”

Spata Zhai growled with revulsion. “The point of posting guards was to keep the refugees away from the site, and now you wish to house them there?” he said, incredulous.

“We don’t have a lot of options here,” she reminded him. “I understand you find the site unsettling, but there is absolutely no evidence there is any danger. That bunker has lain here dormant since your species and mine were little more than single-celled organisms, with no signs of potential hazards. We can’t even open it,” Blye reminded him. “Now, if you have proof there’s danger here, I’m happy to listen, but I’m not willing to ignore the best quarantine site we have available to us based on nothing more than superstition. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

Blye kept her tone pleasant, but firm. She respected the Ixian warrior, but she wasn’t about to let his uneasiness over the ruins interfere with running the camp.

The blue-skinned alien muttered something the voder around his neck didn’t bother translating. “... very well,” he said at last, “I will make preparations.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Unless we can get a handle on this thing quickly, hundreds of Qi-Tam could be at risk.”

He nodded, taking that in. “How deadly is this disease?” he asked. “If one hundred Qi-Tam are infected, how many will die if untreated?”

“... Sixty percent,” she said softly, “but if we can get to them in time, those numbers drop significantly.”

The Spata looked back to the hut. “And that child?” he pressed. “What are his odds?”

She’d been trying very hard not to think about that. Epidemics weren’t kind to Patient Zero. “Seventy, seventy-five percent,” she admitted.

“Which is merely another way of saying there is a one in four chance that mother will bury her son,” he said tersely. Blye looked up sharply at that, earning her a shrug. “The Ixi do not shy away from death,” he informed her. “Instead, we face it squarely, without fear.”

“We need to work on your bedside manner,” she sighed. “I respect your position regarding mortality but keep it to yourself. It’s not the sort of thing a grieving parent needs to hear.” Blye paused for a moment, cocking her head. “If you truly believe that, if you accept death as a natural part of life, then why does that bunker frighten you?”

For a long time, the Spata didn’t answer. Blye began to turn away, back towards her patients, when he finally spoke.

“... what we know of those ancient beings is little more than legend,” he said quietly, “tales told to young children on cold winter nights. They are fragments, scattered bits and pieces, but what they do tell paints a horrifying picture. They speak of other relics, scattered across the cosmos, artifacts of unimaginable power. Of worlds battling to the death to possess them, entire civilizations laid to waste for those who dared provoke the gods.”

“They weren't ‘gods’,” she said in gentle reproof. “Incredibly advanced, yes, but mortal, like you or me.”

His nostrils flared. “When one has the power to unmake reality… what is the difference?”

“Wait, what?” she said in shock. “What do you mean, unmake reality?”

The Ixian gave another shrug. “So the legends claim. Perhaps they were mortal, as you say, but if that is so, they stood as far above the Troika as the Troika does above insects… or even microbes. And yet, despite all of that, fools still chase after their legacy. Thousands have died, attempting to breach their homeworld’s defenses. Or even tens of thousands.” He shook his head. “After a billion years, who can say?”

“Perhaps they had good reason,” Blye said quietly, earning her a sharp look in reply, followed by a long, slow nod.

“So. You Terrans have been infected by the madness as well,” the Ixian said dolefully.

“You try spending two hundred years without a home,” she fired back. “Eventually, you’ll do almost anything to find one… even if that means taking risks others might see as mad.”

The warrior sighed. “I would think even your race told tales about the dangers of tempting fate,” he said, before shaking his head once more, departing to start work on the containment area.

Blye watched him leave. “... we do,” she said finally, too softly for him to hear.