Page 7 of Stellar Drift (Central Galactic Concordance)

The midday sun beat down with unusual intensity, turning the humid air into a thick, wet blanket.

A constant buzz of insects formed a low thrum in the background, punctuated by the shrill calls of exotic birds.

Sairy paused to adjust the bug net under her collar, then gave Kyala’s harness a reassuring pat.

As always, she’d parked her airsled a good kilometer away in the dense rainforest and hiked in, taking a different route from her last visit.

In the first couple of years after her arrival, she had only visited the river towns out of necessity, keeping her schedule as unpredictable as possible.

Lately, she’d allowed herself to show up more often for festivals and trading days.

She told herself it was a longing for simple human contact, but a more honest part of her admitted it was the chance she might run into Ranger Houyen Albasrey.

Today, however, that same part hoped he was anywhere but here.

Five days apart was not enough time for any fever-dream memories he might have of her to fade into fantasy.

A new, two-story building frame rose starkly from the jungle, but the sounds of construction were absent. As she drew closer, she realized the wide access path leading to the town’s center was just as silent. An uneasy quiet had settled over Axolotl Bend.

She pinged Elkano, then subvocalized her question, her jaw barely moving. “Today isn’t a scheduled festival or trade day for Axolotl Bend, is it?”

Elkano’s voice was a private murmur in her earwire. “No. Do you want me to check their published calendar?”

“No need,” she replied. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

The reason became grimly apparent as she and Kyala entered the town circle.

Several businesses were shuttered, their doors sealed with the telltale signs of a self-imposed quarantine.

The crudely drawn open-ended figure eight on a few door signs made it clear that the reason was infinity fever.

She hoped the outbreak was milder than the one that had swept through Irakat Collective a ten-day ago.

The outbreak that had almost certainly caught Houyen.

Sairy hesitated, weighing her options. Visitors were the last thing anyone wanted during an outbreak, unless they wore Planetary Health Service uniforms. She snorted with dry amusement.

That was about as likely as one of the moons crashing into the reserve.

And that assumed the town had even notified the PHS in the first place, and that they’d risk a jurisdiction fight with the Citizen Protection Service.

The determinedly self-reliant residents of the Makaan Nature Reserve had several good reasons to avoid that kind of trouble.

Her appointment to trade a healing salve she’d compounded for a crate of subcircuit dots wasn’t critical, but they had no way to reschedule except in person.

She didn’t have a local pingref because she couldn’t afford to be visible on the planetary net.

That meant rescheduling would require another trip anyway.

Since she was immune and not a carrier, a quick, careful visit to the general store shouldn't pose a risk to anyone.

But the deserted paths and sealed buildings suggested this outbreak was worse than she’d feared. A few minutes later, her suspicion was confirmed. The general store was locked up tight, and across the circle, the town’s multi-use community hall had been converted into a makeshift sick ward.

As she was deciding on the quickest path for her retreat, the man she was simultaneously hoping and dreading to see spotted her.

Houyen strode toward her, his face etched with stress and fatigue.

“Sairy. I don’t know what your plans are for the day, but…

” He took off his hat and wiped a sleeve across his sweat-beaded forehead.

“When I got here this morning, I found everyone I was supposed to meet was sick. Over a dozen cases in the last two days, and more developing fast. The medic, Fimvord, was delirious. They put her in the town’s only autodoc. ”

Before she could form a reply, a frantic shout came from the direction of the town’s main office. “Sairy! Can you help us?” Robel Petros, the town administrator, hurried toward them, his movements jerky with anxiety. “Our medical supplies are about to run out.”

“I only have an airsled,” Sairy said, her mind racing. Luckily, she hadn't stopped to pick up any incalloy debris on the way here. “But it can carry a load from Irakat. What do you need?”

Houyen shook his head, frowning at the administrator. “No, they’re already on the way. You called, remember?” He turned his focus back to Sairy, his gaze intense. “What we really need is help. Robel says you have a medical background?”

Sairy’s defenses went up. How could Petros possibly know that? “I had some training years ago,” she said, letting her tone convey her doubt in her own skills.

“It’s better than what we have right now,” Houyen insisted.

He gestured between himself and Petros. “We’ve been trying to coordinate care and prevent a panic, but I’m out of my depth.

” He lowered his voice slightly. “And I can’t stay much longer.

I’m not supposed to be doing this kind of work.

Especially not if it involves infinity fever. ”

She didn’t understand his last statement, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Revealing what she knew about the fever was a risk.

They would ask how she knew, and what lie could she possibly offer?

But the alternative — pretending ignorance while people suffered from an illness her own ship might have caused — was untenable.

The guilt that was her constant companion twisted in her gut. She couldn’t walk away.

“First,” Sairy said, her voice firm, “you need to isolate anyone who is sick. Bring them all to the community hall if you can. Don’t let them stay home. People who have had the fever before are probably immune, so they don’t have to stay away.”

“Immune? How do you know that?” Petros asked, his voice shrill.

Sairy scrambled for a plausible answer, but Houyen unexpectedly saved her.

“Wakaman Shire’s medic told me that nine months ago,” he said, his expression steady and his tone soothing. “They had an outbreak a few years back. He said after that, it only hits people who haven’t had it before.”

“Oh. Uh, okay,” Petros said weakly. “I think I had it last year.”

Sairy realized that if she was going to help, she needed to take charge.

Her Captain-Pilot persona settled over her like a familiar subroutine.

“Good. We need an emergency operations and comms center to coordinate supplies and handle questions. Administrator Petros, can you set that up somewhere at least a hundred meters away from the hall? You’ll need power and lighting.

Plus a table, some chairs, and comps that can reach the planetary net. ”

“Yes, I can do that,” he said, already turning. Giving him a concrete task seemed to steady him, and with any luck, it would keep him from spiraling into panic again.

She turned back to Houyen, who already looked relieved. “What medical supplies do we have on hand, and what exactly is coming from Irakat?”

The supplies from Irakat Collective had arrived on a cargo flitter a little over an hour after Sairy had taken charge.

Now, four hours later, the neat stacks of fluid pouches, fever reducers, and sterile cloths were half-gone.

At Sairy’s suggestion, Administrator Petros had rigged a makeshift decontamination booth at the entrance to the community hall, a frame-and-tarp affair with a sanitizer spray that smelled faintly of citrus and ozone.

It was a flimsy defense against an invisible enemy, but it was better than nothing.

Inside the hall, a controlled chaos reigned.

Sairy and Houyen had fallen into a surprisingly efficient rhythm.

He had a gentle, steadying way with the frightened children, distracting them with quiet stories or a simple puzzle on his percomp while Sairy checked their vitals.

It was a side of him she hadn't seen, a reminder that she knew almost nothing about how he lived beyond his ranger work in the reserve.

Maybe someday, in a different life, she could ask.

Kyala, however, was the undisputed star. She moved from cot to cot, resting her broad, heavy head on a patient’s mattress, her rumbling vocalization a soothing balm. Her sweet, affectionate nature belied her terrifying appearance, keeping patients calm and distracted from their misery.

During a rushed break for a hot sandwich and iced kaffa — a meal some kind soul had organized for the volunteers — Houyen managed a tired smile. “Your gargoyle missed her calling,” he murmured, watching Kyala gently nudge a crying toddler’s hand. “She should be a professional therapy pet.”

“She’s in heaven. But she’d demand a very high salary in ear scratches and premium food,” Sairy replied. The easy banter was a momentary comfort in the pressure-cooker of the sick ward.

When no one was looking, she’d turn her back and subvocalize to Elkano.

He’d been an invaluable resource, feeding her information on outbreak protocols from his hypercubes of data and warning her about potential supply issues.

By monitoring ambient conversations through her earwire’s mic, he anticipated questions, allowing her to have answers ready.

It was effective, but it made her seem preternaturally knowledgeable.

One volunteer had even asked if she was a filer, with the talent for perfect recall.

She’d been able to honestly say she wasn’t, but being memorable was an uncomfortable feeling.