The human was sick and running a high fever. The Alliance had never dealt with a very sick human like this before. -- Anon Guest
If you want to survive the Edge Territories, you need a friendly Human. Unfortunately, Deathworlders are largely forbidden from the Alliance and finding a Human is a trial. Some find Humans before they were lost. Which resulted in the ever-growing manual of Human care and maintenance.
It also resulted in a lot of posts starting with the word 'help'. Often with multiple exclamation points.
Rescue Humans had psychological issues, but this case was one for the health section. The Spouting Quest had just one Ship's Human, who claimed they "picked up a bug" before a slow collapse into an alarming state.
Human Lor was only wearing their Skins. Laying under the air cycling outlet on a mattress they had pulled from their sleep niche. They were leaking fluid all over their true skin, and their Skins were soaked with the same substance. Their breathing was labored, and punctuated with meaningless vocalisations. They shifted position randomly, but did not seem to rouse.
Companion Sul went through the protocol of announcing their presence, since Lor tended to lash out when they were startled. "Human Lor? It is Sul. Your friend. I am thinking all is not well."
Lor forced their eyes open with a, "Huh? Yeah. You're right there. This bug is kicking my butt."
Sul scanned the immediate area, puzzled. "We have no insects on board, and they are too small to harm you physically."
Lor closed their eyes and changed position again. "It's not an insect. It's slang. I've got some kind of virus and my body's going through..." they paused, searching for words Sul could understand. "...a whole lot of bad things to get rid of it. Sometimes... kill or cure is a close line."
Sul was already on the infonets composing a post that began with, HELP!!! as Human Lor lapsed back into unconsciousness. This was alarming. Humans could tolerate such temperatures, but they weren't meant to exist in them. Sul gave the infonets all the relevant information as fast as they could.
The response was... recipes? Ludicrously simple courses of action. How to prepare cold packs. Advice about painkillers. Cold drinks. Nutritious broths. How to put air circulation under a feverish patient's mattress, if things got that bad. All from Humans in various locations.
Most of it distilled into "rest and fluids".
Well. Lor had the "rest" part well in hand. It was up to Sul to provide the fluids and comfort. And find out whatever the flakk "aspirin" was. Or acetaminophen. They gave that job to the ship's Medik.
On to soup and Deathworlder medicinal toxins. Sul suited up before entering the confines of the Deathworlder kitchen. All the ingredients were clearly labled, and the instructions from the infonet were clear. Sul could bumble their way through creating ginger ale mocktails and fifteen-garlic chicken soup.
Offerings carefully brought to Lor, who had cold packs from Medik Linsh, and a cooling rig under their mattress from Engineering.
Lor mumbled into consciousness and looked at Sul's offerings with a kind of adoring helplessness. "Made one of everything, huh?"
"I did not know which one you would like," said Sul.
"Y'r good friends," Lor sighed. "It's gonna take me a while to get through all this."
"We understand. You spend your effort on the battle."
[Photo by Max Griss on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
Send me a prompt [12 remaining prompts!]