from my personal device, attempting to analyze the Ikma’s and my argument from the perspective of the public.
I saw two formerly hale women stooped with illness and besieged with coughing fits. If our heated argument didn’t instill concern for the diarchy, surely our failing health would. I needed my strength to address the people once more and defend my actions.
Flooded with determination, I changed to my light armor and stepped into my exercise room, planning to do forms until my breathing was controlled. As soon as I put on my helmet, I heard Raxthezana.
“BoKama,” he said. “There is concern that your body fights the same infection that plagued the humans. Will you submit to a medical scan?”
“Of course, but … you’re safe,” I said, my voice hoarse. “What about—the other?”
“She is safe as well,” he said with simple grace.
“You found your heart mate,” I breathed, but he didn’t respond as I expected.
“One moment,” he said, and my helmet was quiet for several jotiks. “Here is VELMA,” he said. “I beseech you to listen to her.”
“Do I have your permission to run diagnostic tests on your Sister-Queen,” VELMA asked. “As she falls under the purview of close kin suffering from likely mental instability?”
Cocking my head, I cleared my throat. “The Ikma and I had a violent falling out. You may review the recent scans found in the medical chamber, but she will not submit to rigorous testing at my request.”
After several long rotiks and in the middle of my fifth form, VELMA’s voice returned.
“It is advisable that you visit the infirmary with haste,” she said. “Results indicate the Ikma Scabmal Kama suffers from an advanced stage of the cyanobacterial infection first identified in humans on Ikthe. It is likely that you are infected as well.”
“She has cast the blame for the illness on the humans,” I said, my mind racing along with my pulse. “If you can heal us, that will lessen their perceived threat. At least for my people, once we tell them of the humans’ existence.”
“I sent you a file of compounds I need to manufacture an antidote,” she said. “You may use it at your discretion. Should you decide to administer it to the Queen, it is not necessary to tell her what medicine is being administered. History shows she does not question the maikshel. But the humans request that you take it and heal yourself.”
Emotion nipped at my heels at VELMA’s words. The humans requested I take the antidote? I had not expected kindness from that quarter, and it gave me pause.
I feared another altercation with the Ikma, but when I entered the medical room, it was unoccupied. I laid on the exam table and submitted to the scans and pokes. I felt a trickle of blood from my nose but needed to wait. Within jotiks, VELMA’s diagnosis was confirmed, and I gathered the materials I needed from the maikshel’s supply cache, including a vial of the Holy Waters of Shegoshel.
Filling the injector with the appropriate dose, I administered my own antidote and prepared a second injector, placing it in the basket assembled for the Queen’s evening ablutions.
When the head maikshe entered the infirmary, she narrowed her eyes at me.
“What do you in this place?” she asked.
Removing my helmet, I showed her my bloody nose. “Do you have a compress?”
She softened at once and rushed to a cabinet. She handed me a sweet-smelling compress, and I dabbed my nose.
“My apologies, BoKama,” she said. “With the Queen’s illness, I am beside myself. Her latest symptoms are nothing like the previous madness. My counselor tells me to administer this herb; the star-advisor tells me to try that tea.”
“Thank you for the many ways that you heal my Sister-Queen,” I said and placed my hand over my heart home. “Would you like me to take her evening basket?”
The maikshe gave me a deep bow. “Thank you, BoKama. I am behind in mixing the star tea blends.”
“Of course,” I said and dipped my head.
My walk slowed as I approached the Queen’s bedchamber. Our previous fight replayed in my mind. Your silence shouts into our hearts!
“VELMA,” I summoned her. “I am astonished to have contracted the same deadly illness. How is this possible?”
“Amity theorizes there may be an aspect to the infection qualified by gender,” she said. “There is also the possibility that proximity to the hunters increases the risk of infection, however it may be that the Ikma’s sole visit to Ikthe resulted in her contracting the illness. If her system was already compromised from her pre-existing illness, then she was susceptible in spite of the shorter duration of exposure.”
Recalling the violence of her cough, I realized that her death could be as near as my own reluctance to administer the antidote. What possible ramifications could there be in allowing her to waste away from Ikthe’s own breath?
These many months had her unbalanced tantrums plagued us all, not to mention her deadly fascination with the human she’d hidden from an entire planet, let alone me: her supposed closest confidante.
Staring at the milky liquid in the injector, my steps slowed to a crawl.
My responsibility was to our people.
But she was my Sister-Queen.
I stopped outside her door.