I pressed my forehead against the cool window that looked into the Quarantine. I took several deep breaths to calm myself and stepped away from the window. 43S7 had managed to save the General. I felt both relief and gratitude. I walked around the corner, wiping my face. The assistants stood beneath the sterilizing spray, then raced away. I had imagined that 43S7 would also come out, but he remained inside.

I returned to the window and looked in. The assistants returned with a large device. It was a box on wheels.

As 43S7 opened and prepared the device, the two assistants stripped the General of his clothing. Taush was lifted into the box and the cover was closed over him. Only his head was visible. While 43S7 busied himself with the device, his assistants sterilized the cot and left. The box was rolled against the back wall, and 43S7 came out.

I immediately ran around the corner to meet him. He stopped my questioning with an upraised hand as the sterilizing spray covered him. He stepped toward me and removed his head covering. 

“The General is stable. I have placed him in a dialyzer to filter his blood. At this point, all we can do is wait.”

I stammered without really saying anything. I did not know how to ask, how do I wait? The medic took my arm and turned me away from the quarantine. “Go home,” he said. “I will call you when there is news.”

I watched the medic walk away, then returned to the large window. I gazed in at the man who had saved my life. His eyes were closed; there was no movement to encourage me. Images of the man flashed in my mind.

I turned and headed down the bright hall. I walked from the quarantine area into the makeshift clinic on the Sartare. Many beds were in the open still, while workers prepared private rooms. I stood and watched the trainees attend the ill. I saw 43S7 leading attendants from bed to bed in the open area. I walked through slowly and spoke with the patients. They were happy for a visitor to stop by as there seemed to be little to do in the clinic but stare at the ceiling.

Toward the main exit, where the workers were erecting walls for privacy, I met Imabelai as she came from a private room. She carried soiled cloths in a large basin. We stopped in surprise and stared into one another’s eyes. I glanced down and noticed brown blood stains on her thighs. She followed my eyes and responded to my alarm.

She smiled as she said, “It is the blood of the Tracci. He just delivered. A proud father of six. Go in and see him while I clean up and go off shift.”

I turned to watch her walk away. As Imabelai left, 43S7 approached. “Come in,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”

I followed the medic into a small room. The Tracci was suspended in a pouch on the back wall. Tubes and blinking devices were overtly attached. Depending from a side wall was a row of connected pouches under a heating bar. I could not see the young but I saw the pouches twitch. 43S7 checked his patient and turned.

“Lord Jaizu,” said the medic. “Evanith.”

I stepped up and smiled. “Evanith,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

I studied the face that reminded me of the late Chief Legal. The mouth tissue fluttered as the Tracci answered. “Your Majesty. I am well. I am happy. I am tired.”

I said, “There is no better care than that of 43S7. Rest,” I said. “Whatever you need, we will provide.”

43S7 said to the Tracci, “I will return with food and medicine.” The medic took my elbow and ushered me from the room. Closing the door, he said to me, “He is weak,” and walked away.

I watched him go. I looked at the patients and medical assistants. Everyone was in their place except me. I turned to the exit. As I walked into a busy hallway, looking down at my sandals, I stopped short at the sight of someone’s shoes in front of me. I looked up and found Imabelai smiling at me.

“My first birth,” she said happily.

I smiled back and said, “You seemed very competent.”

Her gaze turned to the ceiling, then fell back on me like a fine rain. She said, “They moved me to a small room close by. Will you walk with me?”

I agreed with undisclosed gladness. At times, we walked slowly side by side. When people passed, I stepped behind my sister to make room. I enjoyed a certain guilty pleasure in those moments, as I admired her physical attributes. Her white jumpsuit left little to the imagination.

“Here we are,” said she. “Come in.”

I followed into her front room. There was a table with two chairs before a standard food storage wall unit. There was an unadorned couch. The walls were bare except for several jumpsuits hanging from hooks behind the couch. Imabelai took down a light blue jumpsuit and turned in the door to her bedroom.

“Wait while I change,” she said.

She closed the door partially behind herself as I sat on the couch. I called through the door. “There is an opening in Hope.”

She called back, “That’s wonderful. When may I move in?”

“Any time,” I answered.

I looked through the cracked door as she walked to the water closet. She turned in the water closet to meet my eyes. “Will you take me?” she asked.

I held her eyes as I considered some grand response, but all I could manage was a docile, “Yes.”

As we walked through Hope toward the herb gardens, I carried her jumpsuits across my shoulder. Passersby smiled and saluted. We did not hurry, and we did not speak. Imabelai looked from building to building contently. My sister’s inner calm impressed me; she was a changed person. She turned and caught me watching her and smiled. We stood before her new dwelling. 

She took a breath and exclaimed, “Jeez, it’s huge!”

She looked in happy disbelief between me and the cabin. I was pleased with her reaction. “I had it built,” I said, caught up in her joy. “All the others were too small for tall people. Come,” I said, taking her hand.

I pulled Imabelai in through the cabin door. The front room smelled of freshly cut wood. There was room enough for Imabelai to walk around in wonder. She pulled the drapes aside and looked out through the large front window. Turning to me with a broad smile, my sister ran happily into the bedroom. I dropped the jumpsuits and followed to find her testing the bed. She grinned, bounced, and stood. She ran to the closet and disappeared inside. 

“I’ll need more clothes,” she called from within.

Next, she raced to the water closet. I heard her gasp from inside. She peeked out and said, “So much room.” She pulled the window drapes by her bed and spun on her toes. Then, she ran suddenly from the room. I followed her to the food prep and dining room. She pulled her hand across the counter, opened and closed cabinets, and sat at the table, smoothing the surface with her palms.

“You did all of this for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “Come and look.” I beckoned child-like.

I took Imabelai through the back door and turned her. She puzzled at the small extension to the cabin. With her hand on the door, she turned to me; I smiled and nodded. When she opened the door to look inside, her breath caught; she looked at me with wide eyes.

“Your own tree,” I said.

Imabelai turned to me and placed her hands on my shoulders; she looked deep into my eyes with a lingering smile. She bent close and kissed my cheek. Then, Imabelai stood back and changed her face. Dropping her smile,

my sister regarded me with narrowed eyes. “Why so much?” she asked.

I shrugged.

The corners of her lips curled into a returning smile. She poked a finger into my ribs, and asked lightheartedly, “Do you like me?”

I said, “Settle in. Let me know if you need anything.”

The mind wanted to say more but the occasion would not allow it. I felt myself in danger of an encroaching blush, so I simply shifted away. I sat on the bed in my apartment and rued my awkwardness. I felt inept before my sister, immature, and ashamed of my fawning so soon after Zotha’s death. I would have brooded for a turn had not my

personal node chimed. I had been called to the Ravana. There, I was ushered to the private hospice. Formerly, it had been an elite service; Oliphareans only. It was large and maze-like, with row after row of trees side by side. 

I was led deep into the hospice by two silent techs. When, at last, we reached our destination, I stood before the alien being. I saw that the device he slept in had been connected to one of our trees. To that tree, a console had been attached. The techs busied themselves there. As they worked quietly, I studied the alien. It was Huim-like with long black hair. The nose was two narrow slits, as in some of the reptilian races. The eyes rested under ridged brows, and the lips were full. The skin was a glossy brown with two light spots, one by either ear. The face was attractive but I could not discern the gender as the body was covered.

Crish suddenly stood by my side. He said, “Forgive me my lateness.”

I turned and studied The Olipharean. Like Bha Huda, Crish had a Huim appearance. His blue skin was untroubled by facial hair and seemed effeminate. Unlike Bha Huda, his short hair had been treated to appear yellow. His slender frame was wrapped in loose-fitting apparel colored yellow and red.

“You said there was news?” I prompted.

“Indeed.” With an outstretched arm, Crish led me to a sealed compartment. On my admittance, I noticed the room was a laboratory that contained surgical equipment. An alien body lay on a table beneath bright lights. The chest had been opened and pulled back. When I peeked inside, I saw nothing comprehensible. I noted the cadaver had male genitalia.

Crish spoke as he moved to the opposite side of the table. “The species is part animal, part vegetable; an unlikely symbiosis. Internal organs are layered. We thought, at first, they had none, but we have determined there to be thirty.”

I asked, “Can you tell me how they died?”

“Yes,” said Crish. “A fungus infiltrated the blood system and caused coagulation. I went to the GM for help, but the markers remain unidentified.”

“I appreciate your efforts in this matter,” I said. “Please send all information on the fungus to 43S7. Let me ask, do you think you can wake the survivor?”

“We are hopeful,” answered Crish, “but I hesitate to answer with any certainty.”

I faced the door, but I turned back and said, “Please convey my regards to Bha Huda.”

I shifted back to my apartment. The node had unanswered messages, but I ignored them. I decided, rather, to sit by the GUF. I removed my sandals and placed my forehead against the cool surface. I missed father’s voice and longed to hear from him. I had pulled my pendant out with the intention of touching it to the GUF, but as I rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, someone stepped from the lift. I looked up to see Imabelai in her blue jumpsuit.

She sat beside me with a smile and crossed her legs. “I didn’t want to be alone,” she said apologetically. “What are you doing?”

“I come here to speak with father,” I replied. I replaced the pendant and returned my sister’s smile. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but I dared not.

“I never got to say I’m sorry for your loss,” said Imabelai.

I replied, “There is no loss, actually. It has been a while, but sometimes father speaks to me.”

“Seriously?” she asked. I nodded.

I sighed as Imabelai turned away to consider my words. They must have seemed strange to her. I remembered trying to convince Khamuel and Barachiel. I expected a condescending reply like the response from my guards, but when Imabelai turned back to me she seemed to accept me at my word.

She asked, “What does he say?”

I answered, “He warned me that LUC would attack. That was the last time he spoke.”

Imabelai reached out and placed her hand on mine, and to our mutual surprise, father spoke.