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SELENE

I staggered back at the sight before me. The medical ward—a hastily repurposed storage facility—reeked of fear and fever. Bodies lay across every available surface, some thrashing against makeshift restraints, others unnervingly still.

"You didn't tell me it had spread this far," I said to Phillips, who'd walked me from the settlement perimeter.

He wiped sweat from his brow. "It's accelerated in the last twelve hours. Nothing like I've ever seen."

Blue-black veins crawled across exposed skin in grotesque patterns that reminded me of the silver markings on my wrists—except these branched with malevolent purpose, carrying infection rather than healing. I tugged my sleeves lower instinctively.

"Dr. Carter." Hammond's voice cut through the moans of the sick. "I see you've decided to grace us with your expertise after all."

I turned to face him. The commander maintained his impeccable uniform despite everything, his posture stiff as ever. But new lines etched his face, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

"I came as soon as I heard," I said, moving toward the nearest patient. "How many?"

"Forty-three cases. Eight—" His voice faltered for a fraction of a second. "Eight dead since yesterday."

My stomach plummeted. "I need to examine them all."

Hammond nodded once. "Dr. Frakes has documented the progression. Coordinate with him." He remained at my side as I approached the first bed.

The patient—a woman from hydroponics—burned with fever. Her skin scorched my fingertips as I checked her pulse. Rapid, thready. The blue veining across her neck pulsed with each heartbeat.

"How long since symptoms appeared?" I asked, checking her pupil response.

"Thirty-six hours from first reported fever," Hammond answered before anyone else could. "The veining manifested approximately twelve hours after initial symptoms."

I frowned. "You've tracked this meticulously."

"This represents a potential security threat, Doctor." His voice hardened. "I monitor all threats to this colony."

Dr. Frakes approached, datapad in hand, his face gaunt with exhaustion.

"Temperature holding at 103.8," he reported. "Unresponsive to standard antipyretics."

"What treatments have you tried?" I asked, retrieving diagnostic tools from my pack.

"Everything available. Broad-spectrum antibiotics, antivirals, anti-inflammatories. Nothing affects it."

I pulled out a small vial of blue liquid. "This might reduce the fever at least."

Hammond seized my wrist. "What is that?"

"A tincture from a local plant with antipyretic properties." I met his gaze directly. "Unless you prefer watching your people cook from the inside out."

"Something from your alien friends?" His fingers tightened.

"Yes. And it might save this woman's life." I didn't flinch. "Your choice, Commander."

After a tense moment, he released me. "Proceed. Document everything." His eyes tracked every movement as I administered the medicine.

For three hours, I moved from patient to patient with Hammond shadowing me like a persistent shadow. The symptoms remained consistent—high fever, blue veining spreading from extremities inward, progressive neurological deterioration. Some patients raved in delirium, others lay in coma-like states.

Dr. Frakes worked alongside me, his initial skepticism gradually yielding to desperate cooperation as I shared what remedies I could.

"These compounds," he murmured as we examined slides under a microscope. "I've never encountered anything similar."

"They come from native plants," I explained quietly. "The Nyxari have used them medicinally for generations."

And they came from him. The memory of his voice, steady and patient as he walked me through each preparation, felt like a tether keeping me grounded while the rest of this world spun out.

"The aliens taught you this?"

"We've been collaborating." I glanced over my shoulder. Hammond stood several feet away, deep in conversation with security. "They understand this planet's biology in ways we can't."

Frakes's expression closed. "Hammond won't approve."

"Hammond's approval matters less than saving lives," I replied sharply.

Around midday, I noticed Frakes collecting patient samples—blood, tissue, even scrapings of the blue veining.

"What's that for?" I asked during Hammond's brief absence.

Frakes shifted uncomfortably. "Commander's orders. He wants to determine if this is... deliberate."

"Deliberate?"

"Biological warfare," Frakes whispered. "He suspects the Nyxari engineered this."

I nearly dropped my vial. "That's absurd."

"Is it?" His gaze flickered to my covered wrists. "They've already altered some of our people."

Hammond's return cut our conversation short.

By late afternoon, my back ached from bending over beds, my throat parched, but something nagged at me—a connection I couldn't quite grasp.

"I need access to my notes," I told Hammond.

"What notes?" Suspicion flared instantly.

"Medical records I've compiled from oral histories." I kept my tone professional. "Some symptoms seem familiar."

Hammond crossed his arms. "Familiar how?"

I chose my words with care. "Similar to historical cases documented in Nyxari medical history."

"So they've seen this before." His eyes narrowed. "Convenient."

"Knowledge isn't conspiracy, Commander." I rubbed my temples. "If they've encountered this pathogen before, that information could save your people."

Even as we argued, fragments connected in my mind—Kavan showing me ancient records on vashkai tablets, reading a passage with mentions of a sickness with similar traits... blue markings, fever... could it be related?

“The symptoms... they remind me of something in the records,” I murmured, trying to place the fleeting connection. “Could it be…?”

"What did you say?" Hammond demanded.

I looked up. "I need to see your food supplies. Anything harvested recently."

"This isn't about food."

"It might be exactly about food." I straightened with renewed focus. "Do you really know exactly how everything interacts with humans here? If it affected the Nyxari, it may well have affected us as well."

For the first time, Hammond appeared interested rather than suspicious. "And they survived it?"

"Some did." I didn't soften the truth. "With proper treatment."

His jaw worked as he considered this. After a long moment, he turned to a guard. "Take Dr. Carter to storage. Full access."

The storage units confirmed my suspicion. A recent foraging expedition had brought back several varieties of mushroom-like growths from the western forest. They appeared harmless—pale, umbrella-shaped caps with delicate stems—but I recognized them from Kavan's botanical drawings.

"These need to be destroyed," I told Hammond when he joined me. "All of them."

"They've been part of our diet for weeks without issue."

"There are Nyxari records of fungi causing delayed symptoms—they called them 'ghost dreams," I explained, hoping my hunch was right. "If this is similar, the toxin could accumulate gradually. It's the only lead matching the symptoms and the historical accounts."

Hammond ordered the fungi destroyed, but his suspicion lingered. As we returned to the medical facility, he questioned how I'd recognized the source, how convenient it was that the Nyxari possessed this knowledge.

As we passed a secured building with armed guards, I overheard one murmur, "The marked woman in isolation keeps asking for more water."

I stopped abruptly. "Claire?"

Hammond's head snapped toward me. "That's classified security protocol, Doctor. Focus on your assignment."

"Any patient falls under my medical responsibility," I countered.

"Your responsibility extends only to those currently in the medical ward," Hammond replied coldly. "Nothing more."

I wanted to press further but knew it would only strengthen his resistance. Instead, I channeled my energy into developing treatment based on Kavan's records.

Hours blurred together. The blue tincture reduced fevers, but addressing the neurological symptoms proved challenging. I combined Nyxari knowledge with our medical science, pushing myself as patients continued deteriorating around me.

By evening, exhaustion dragged at my limbs. I sat alone at a makeshift desk, studying cellular samples when Hammond approached. The ward had quieted—not from improvement, but because many patients had slipped into unconsciousness.

"You should rest," he said, surprising me.

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"Even miracle workers need sleep, Doctor."

I looked up, trying to read his expression in the dim light. For once, the hard mask of command had slipped, revealing something almost human beneath.

"I don't care where the cure comes from if it saves these people," he said quietly, the admission seeming to cost him. Then his expression hardened again. "But that doesn't mean I trust your alien friends."

"They're not the enemy, Commander."

"That remains to be seen." He straightened. "I've arranged quarters for you. A guard will escort you when you're ready."

I nodded, too tired to argue. Hammond left, and I returned to my microscope, determined to work longer.

Later, I sensed someone standing beside me. I looked up, expecting Dr. Frakes, but found a woman in a security uniform. Dark hair pulled severely back, watchful eyes.

"Dr. Carter," she said softly. "I'm Zara. I'll escort you to your quarters."

Something in her manner alerted me. She glanced around carefully, then leaned closer.

"Not here," she whispered. "Wait until we're alone."

Curious but cautious, I gathered my things and followed her from the medical ward. Instead of taking the main corridor, she led me through less-traveled passages.

In a small alcove far from populated areas, she stopped abruptly. With one fluid motion, she pulled down her uniform collar.

Silver markings traced delicate patterns across her throat.

I gasped. "You're?—"

"Yes." She quickly covered the markings. "One of the lucky ones, according to you. Not lucky by Hammond's definition."

"How have you hidden it?"

"Carefully." Her eyes never stopped scanning our surroundings. "But I'm not alone. Others hide in plain sight."

"What about Claire?"

Zara scowled. "She's alive. In isolation. Hammond's moved beyond simple 'decontamination' surgeries."

My heart pounded. "What do you mean?"

"The artifacts he took during the raid on the Nyxari camp. He's found more." Her voice dropped lower. "He's testing them on Claire, seeing how the markings respond. And he won't let you leave once the epidemic is contained. You're too valuable for his experiments now."

Cold dread washed over me. "He's using alien technology he doesn't understand?"

"Exactly. And he's convinced it will give him control over what he calls the 'contamination.'" Her jaw tightened. "Claire was just the first. More will follow."

"How do you know this?"

"I serve on his security team. I hear things." She glanced down the corridor. "We need to move. They'll question why it's taking so long to show you to your quarters."

As we walked, she added, "Be careful what treatment you develop. If it comes too directly from Nyxari knowledge, he'll use that as proof of collusion."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it for more than just the warning.

Zara nodded once, her expression returning to professional neutrality as another guard passed by.

Inside my sparse room, I sank onto the narrow bed. My thoughts raced despite my exhaustion. The disease itself I could handle now that I understood its origin, but the deeper infection of suspicion and fear that Hammond cultivated—that posed a far more insidious threat.

And somewhere in this compound, Claire waited in isolation, imprisoned for the crime of being marked. How many others lived in fear, like Zara?

I stared at the ceiling, my silver markings tingling beneath my sleeves. The irony struck me—I'd come to save lives, yet my own freedom dangled by an increasingly frayed thread.