“What does he have?” Denys asked, standing up on his tiptoes as he tried to glance over Chisari’s shoulder. Being three-foot-eight, it didn’t work. Turning around, she gave a small grin, before washing it away and putting on what she dubbed her ‘nurse face’.

“It’s cancer of some kind,” she stated, her voice as emotionless as the machine behind her. “Likely induced by radiation, which is causing apoptosis of his respiratory system.”

“So like anti-cancer?” Denys asked, tilting his head to one side. Cancer usually involved uncontrolled cell growth, not death. Chisari knew it too, and tilted her hand in a so-so gesture.

“As far as I can tell,” she said. “I’ve tested the captain for radiation and he’s come up clean. Should we order shipwide tests?”

Denys chewed his upper lip.

“The engineers haven’t reported anything unusual,” he began, pacing across the room to check the stem cell cultures. The last shift had slaved over them, and was rewarded by what looked like, and essentially was, pinkish snot. In about half an hour, they’d have enough to tell whether the cells were fit for use.

“That surge went right through the whole ship, and only the captain had a reaction,” Denys murmured. “Check his quarters I guess. Maybe he has some medical history we don’t know about.”

His gaze slid over to the captain. Luckily, the other lung hadn’t collapsed yet; that was about the only good news. The deterioration had continued up his trachea until it was nearly in his mouth. It did seem to be progressing more slowly than it had before, which was a stroke of luck that Denys intended to capitalize on.

His communicator chirped, shattering his train of thought. Sighing in annoyance, he fished the remote-like device out of his pocket and answered it.

“Denys, I’ve got an idea for you,” Polk, his voice reduced to a robotic rasp by the comm. “Get to the bridge as soon as you can.”

“Alright, I’ll share what I have when I get there,” Denys replied, smoothing down his feathers with his free hand. Then he clicked the comm off and checked the cultures one last time before heading to the bridge.

Polk was at the helm when Denys stepped onto the bridge. The man seemed relaxed at his normal station, his fingers occasionally twitching as they made slight course adjustments without any conscious effort. Not wanting to break his concentration and potentially crash the ship into something, Denys waited near the entrance with his arms crossed behind his back.

“How’s your stomach?”

Denys blinked a few times.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Polk flicked the helm controls to autopilot, then swiveled his chair around to face the reptilian medic. Denys had time to notice that his face seemed paler, with bags under his eyes and skin that hung loosely off his cheekbones. He looked like Casillo did, Denys realized, even on the captain’s good days.

“I asked you how your stomach was, sir,” he reiterated, giving a wan smile. He glanced around the bridge, then gestured for the medic to come closer.

“Fine,” Denys replied, raising an eyebrow as he walked over. “You?”

“Ever since this whole mess started, it just hasn’t felt right,” Polk murmured back. “I don’t know, it might just be nerves, but--

“Captain!” the comm officer shouted. “Another transmission incoming.”

“Patch it through,” Polk ordered, visibly holding back a sigh. Denys shook his head a little. Adrenaline was a beautiful thing, until it wore off. Polk had to be experiencing that now.

“Polk, can you read me?” Asadi, without a doubt. Denys couldn’t help but smile. The Commander reminded her of a cockroach, able to survive near-death situations and walk away with a smile. He’d never said this, because some small part of him felt she’d take the comparison the wrong way.

“Loud and clear Commander,” Polk replied, giving another tired smile. “Loud and clear. What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got trouble,” Asadi said, her voice cutting through Polk’s attempts at light-heartedness. “According to Corradi, there’s a faction of the locals-- they’re called Honraxi, by the way-- that aren’t very hospitable to outsiders.”

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“I could’ve told you that,” Polk pointed out. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind of trouble that made me wish I’d brought my disruptor,” Asadi replied. “So far they’re just sending us threats over the comm systems, but Corradi says a group of them are on their way. By the way, did Corradi’s--”

“We checked some old records,” Polk replied. “That, combined with our analysis of the wreckage in orbit, gives weight to his story. There was a Percheron, and it did contain one Commander Mark Corradi, and was sent into this area of space and never heard from again. Beyond that however, we’re not sure. Anything else?”

“Just something interesting,” she said. “The majority of these aliens… they seem to be in stasis tubes of some kind. I don’t know whether this is an isolated thing or not, but I thought it was worth noting.”

“Noted,” Polk said. “Galaxie out.”

A comm click confirmed the end of the transmission. Polk closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to Denys. Compared to other species, Denys found humans easy to read. It helped when there wasn’t a dedicated counselor onboard, but often told him more than he wanted to know.What the Sarvolyan saw was an expression of desperation, composed of a determined steel buried underneath layers of guilt, stress, and anger.

“We have to go get her,” Polk said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “We can’t leave her there, to face god knows what. We have to help her.”

“I agree,” Denys said, shrugging his shoulders. “How are we getting past the spheres?”

“No idea, we’ll figure it out later,” Polk replied, waving the question away. Denys blinked a few times, wondering what in the world Polk was thinking. It wasn’t really a question that the helmsman could just wave off, especially in front of the crew. His multifaceted eyes already could see some raised eyebrows and concerned looks flying across the room.

“May I speak with you for a minute?” Denys asked, pitching his voice low enough so the rest of the bridge crew couldn’t hear him. Polk nodded, then slid out of his chair and accompanied Denys to the hallway outside.

“I know I know,” Polk began, nodding and raising his hands. “It wasn’t a good answer. But I honest-to-God don’t know what to do. Half of me wants you to take the reins, and the other half is just scrambling around trying to stop stuff from exploding. I’ve never done this before!”

Denys shook his head.

“You don’t want me to take command.”

“Can’t fuck it up any more than I have,” Polk retorted. Denys drew himself up in response, probably getting ready to stare Polk down again. Then the reptilian subsided with a sigh, his mohawk of feathers deflating a little.

“During… my time in the Hegemony,” he began, his voice sinking to a whisper. “We were told to disregard the safety of individual crewmembers if it meant accomplishing the mission. If this was a Hegemony ship, we’d already be gone. If Asadi was lucky, we’d return with a fleet, only to bomb her and the rest of the planet into molten glass for attacking us.”

Denys paused for a moment to let it sink in. The Sarvolyan Hegemony, for all its domestic inefficiencies, could be ruthless when it needed to be. A single crewman was too small a reward for too great a risk. However, the Hegemony couldn’t happen again, and therefore needed to teach the offenders a lesson they wouldn’t forget. Understandable logic. Twisted, Denys now knew, but still understandable.

“But that’s not how we do things,” Denys finished. “We don’t leave people behind, and for good reason. You understand that better than I ever could.”

“I’m not even sure if I’m medically fit to serve,” Polk insisted. “My stomach-

“That’s a normal stress reaction,” Denys answered, brushing his concerns aside. He gave a mental sigh of relief at the change of subject; he could talk about medicine all day long. Talking about the Hegemony was… complicated.

“Happens to all new captains,” he continued, easing into his familiar rhythm. “As I recall, Casillo had it worse than most. He was chewing antacids daily for the first few missions I was with him.”

“Really?” Polk asked, his voice incredulous. Denys gave a slow nod in response, which seemed to calm the helmsman down a little.

“You’re doing what you can,” Denys replied, giving a small shrug. “That’s all anyone can ask. That, and showing a little confidence.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Polk said, sinking to a whisper. “Doing what I can… it might not be enough.”

Denys had no answer to that apart from another shrug. Already, Polk was getting more command experience than he’d ever get from academy coursework. And judging from his reaction, the medic realized Polk didn’t like it. Not that he would either, to be fair.

“When was the last time you slept?” Denys asked instead, trying to steer the conversation into something he had more authority over.

Polk licked his lips and stared at the floor, which was all the answer Denys needed. If the Sarvolyan wasn’t three-foot eight, he’d have put a hand on the helmsman’s shoulder. As it was, he gave a supportive smile and gestured down the hallway.

“Get a relief helmsman up here and sleep for a few hours,” he said. “That’s an order.”

“Yes sir,” Polk said, his lips twisting into a half-smile. He nodded his thanks, then stepped back onto the bridge.

When the doors to the bridge hissed shut behind Polk, Denys finally allowed himself to relax. Being emotional support was just as exhausting as twelve-hour surgery; at least, he’d always thought so. Now however, he could get back to his main job. He reached into his coat pocket for his communicator, keying for the medical bay when he had it.

“Denys here,” he said. “How do the cultures look?”

“They look good,” Chisari said. “I’d like your opinion of course, but I think we can use them.”

“I trust your judgement,” Denys said. “Get the rest of the staff down there. Once we do that, prep the captain for surgery.”