Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 28,

…

Fathom appears to have slept through the night, and even now he continues to slumber. His vitals appear steady, though I have no data on what a healthy dragon might look like.

Fathom did mention that injured dragons slept deeply, so I'll leave him be for now. In the meantime I'll stockpile as much food as I can; it is strange that wildlife appears to be abundant around Fathom's home, but it certainly makes the task easier.

I've had some time to wonder about Ighen, who as an invader I've nicknamed 'Pathogen' for now. This individual accidentally caused the death of Fathom's mate, and has since been challenging Fathom to repeated non-lethal fights.

I know next to nothing about Pathogen's motivations…perhaps Fathom can tell me the whole story when he wakes up.

If Pathogen is truly as reprehensible as Fathom claims, then he might be trying to kill Fathom by infection – the repeated fights make sense if that is his motivation. Dragons might not be aware of germs, but they do believe sickness is caused by decomposing matter. While this is obviously false, it is not impossible for Pathogen to have figured out that infection can be caused by dirtied talons.

The problem with this hypothesis is that Pathogen has been challenging Fathom for well over a decade now. If he were truly employing this method then he should have succeeded…unless he has rarely ever wounded Fathom, which seems unlikely; he has bragged as much, though those claims may be part bluster.

I'm not yet sure of what I am going to do. It would be difficult to find and communicate with another dragon without Fathom's help, and it's not as if I can just leave him here.

It seems the only thing I can do is to wait for him to recover.

…

Vital signs:

Respiratory rate: 5 bpm
Temperature: 38.02° Celsius*
Major heart rate: 33 bpm
Upper minor heart rate: 6 bpm
Lower minor heart rate: 6 bpm
Hydrogen heart rate: 5 bpm

Note:
I've decided to name the heart rates major, upper minor, lower minor, and hydrogen, for reasons that I believe are self-explanatory.

*TL Note: The units of temperature have been translated for ease of reading, but Mainland humans use 'Degrees Centragrade' for temperature. Like the Celsius scale, water freezes and boils at 0° and 100° respectively, but due to this planet's thicker atmosphere the boiling point of water is actually 111.9° Celsius, meaning that 100° Centragrade = 111.9° Celsius.

[Expedition Day 28]

Pryce sighed as he knelt down to take Fathom's temperature. Were he a human, Pryce could simply stick the thermometer into his mouth, but Fathom's serrated teeth would easily shatter the fragile glass tube. The dragon didn't have ear holes either, and it also seemed like a bad idea to stick a long tube up his nostrils while he was unconscious.

In the end Pryce took the first measurement by laying the thermometer in the groove between Fathom's gums and his cheek, and he moved to lift Fathom's upper jaw as he prepared to-

"What arr you do-ing?" Fathom slurred, his eyelids and flight membranes sliding open.

"You're awake?" Pryce exclaimed, jumping backwards in surprise.

"No, I am sleeping," Fathom grumbled sarcastically, and slowly raised his head.

"Do you feel good? Bad?" Pryce anxiously asked as Fathom glanced back on his bandage-covered body.

"I feel tired. And warm. And cold. And hungry," Fathom grumbled, sniffing at the bandages. The dragon's wings made it impossible to use bandages in the conventional way, so Pryce was forced to use grey tape to keep the dressings attached to the Fathom's torso. It worked quite well, though the result was rather patchwork and ugly.

"Don't move very much, you will make wounds worse," Pryce warned.

"You…fix my wing…?" Fathom asked in uncertain tones as he stared at his bandaged wing.

"I do not know if it will heal good, but yes, I fix your wing."

"It…look good. Thank you," Fathom said, bowing his head gratefully. "I do not know if my wing will heal good, but I will finish heal in one month. Maybe less."

"That is very fast," Pryce said, truly surprised by this timeframe. A broken arm would take a human months to heal at the very least.

"What is this?" Fathom asked, sniffing at the bandage on his broken wing.

"That is bandage. Bandages protect wound from dirty things."

"Hrrm," Fathom rumbled, then gingerly pushed himself up.

"Wait, don't move so much! Where are you going?"

"Need to make inside things go outside," Fathom grumbled, silencing Pryce before hobbling off to do his business.

"What is this?" Fathom asked, returning several minutes later.

"Meat," Pryce candidly replied.

"I know this is meat," Fathom said, clicking in irritation. "This is from large animal. How you get this?"

"I hunt with rifle."

Fathom blinked, apparently taken aback at this. "...Rifle can do this?"

"Yes, why?"

"...You show me later," Fathom quietly rumbled, looking perturbed by the rifle's capabilities. He didn't even comment on the meat which Pryce had seasoned with plenty of 'exotic' spices, though the pain of his wounds may have been dulling his appetite. "...Thank you, food is good," he grunted upon finishing his meal.

"You're welcome," Pryce replied automatically.

"I am welcome? What is welcome?" Fathom asked as he curled himself up on his pile of furs.

"Welcome is…thing you feel when you say 'thank you'," Pryce shrugged, struggling to define the word.

Fathom tilted his head. "I just tell you 'thank you'. Why are you telling me what I am feeling?"

Pryce shrugged. "Human thing."

Fathom snorted as he laid his head down on his bed. "I sleep now."

"Yes, sleep," Pryce agreed. "I will change bandages tomorrow," he said, but the dragon was already asleep.

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 29,

Fathom's wounds appear to be doing as well as could be hoped. Some of his injuries show signs of mild infection. I've continued to clean and treat them as well as I can. With luck, they won't get any worse.

Cleaning and re-bandaging his wounds went well, though I had to be careful with removing the grey tape.

…

Vital signs:

Respiratory rate: 7 bpm
Temperature: 39.13° Celsius*
Major heart rate: 35 bpm
Upper minor heart rate: 7 bpm
Lower minor heart rate: 7 bpm
Hydrogen heart rate: 4 bpm

[Expedition Day 29]

Pryce looked up from his journal, his brow creased with worry as he observed the slumbering dragon. Fathom's body temperature was a little high, but he wasn't human, and Pryce wasn't sure what was normal for him. Even so, all life relied on the same proteins, so thirty-nine degrees was a bit concerning. The fever was probably a sign of infection, but it wasn't serious yet. Hopefully Fathom's immune system would do its job, but if not…

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Pryce sighed, and got to work on some back-of-the-envelope calculations.

"Here, eat this," Pryce said, offering Fathom a pill of penicillin. "This is penicillin. You try this so I know if it is poison to you."

"This is…very small," Fathom said, raising his head to sniff at the pill. "Smell is strange. Why you give this to me now?"

"You are a little sick. If you get worse, I need to know if I can give you more."

"...Understand," Fathom nodded. The dragon somewhat awkwardly swallowed the pill with a few gulps of water, and waited. After a few minutes where nothing happened he began to relax, and soon afterwards he fell straight back to sleep.

Pryce was relieved to see that Fathom had no major reactions to the drug, though he continued to monitor the dragon for several hours afterwards to ensure that nothing was wrong.

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 30,

Vital signs:

Respiratory rate: 7.5 bpm
Temperature: 39.39° Celsius*
Major heart rate: 37 bpm
Upper minor heart rate: 6 bpm
Lower minor heart rate: 7 bpm
Hydrogen heart rate: 4 bpm

…

Fathom's fever has gotten worse, but he has yet to show any of the usual adverse reactions to penicillin. I will continue to gradually increase the dosage in an attempt to treat his infection, and in two days I will give him a 'full' dose (assuming he can be treated as a 266 kilogram human).

I hope this will work.

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 32,

Vital signs:

Respiratory rate: 11 bpm
Temperature: 40.39° Celsius*
Major heart rate: 45 bpm
Upper minor heart rate: 8 bpm
Lower minor heart rate: 8 bpm
Hydrogen heart rate: 3 bpm

…

Fathom's wounds are healing well, but his sickness has continued to worsen over the course of the last two days.
I'll be giving him a full dose today, but so far the medicine appears to be having neither positive nor negative effect.

Penicillin generally takes two or three days to kick in, so there's no way for me to immediately know if my dosage is correct or not. Even so, Fathom has been ingesting doses for four days now, which leads me to believe that the drug isn't doing anything at all.

As for why, there could be any number of explanations for this. It may be that dragons require a higher dose than I expected, but it's also possible that the bacteria responsible for this infection is gram-negative, meaning penicillin would be largely ineffective against it. If this is the case, then there is nothing I can do to help.

[Expedition Day 32]

"How are you feeling?" Pryce asked. "Fathom?" He gently nudged the dragon, which didn't work either. Only with persistent prodding did Fathom wake, and he only did so with great reluctance.

"I still feel...not…good," Fathom replied, his voice oddly altered by his runny nose. The dragon's condition had deteriorated over the course of the last two days, and his webbed spines had visibly darkened with blood as his fever rose. Even his scales had begun to sag, which Pryce assumed was some way for the body to get rid of the excess heat he was generating. "Why is penicillin not healing sickness?" Fathom sluggishly asked as picked at his dinner.

"I don't know," Pryce sighed. "Maybe bacteria that make you sick is not the type of bacteria that penicillin can kill. You are not feeling itchy, yes?" Rashes were one of the most common symptoms of penicillin allergies, and Pryce had asked Fathom that question many times over the last few days, much to the dragon's growing annoyance.

"No, I am not…feeling itchy," Fathom murmured in mild irritation. "I feel weak, and hot, and cold, and I want to sleep more."

"Eat first, and eat more penicillin," Pryce urged. It took a bit of coaxing, but Fathom eventually pushed himself up to eat and drink.

"Mmh," Fathom murmured weakly as he swallowed the last of his dinner. "Food is easy to eat like this…No bones."

"...Wait, is it normal for dragons to eat bones?" Pryce urgently asked as realization dawned upon him.

"Yes…some bones. Why?" Fathom asked, breathing a little heavily.

"I have an idea – I'll be back!"

"What is this?" Fathom asked, several minutes later.

"Your body has liquid in your stomach that can break food into small pieces," Pryce explained. "This liquid is called 'acid', and I think dragon stomach acid is stronger than human stomach acid – and that is why the medicine isn't working, because your stomach acid is breaking the medicine!"

Fathom squinted at Pryce as he tried to understand what the human was saying. "But why you give me this other medicine?"

"This make stomach acid weaker, so penicillin will be less destroyed."

Fathom stared uncertainly at the pills for a moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed the pills. "I eat penicillin now?"

"Wait one minute, then you eat penicillin," Pryce corrected. "If this works, you should start to be better in two or three days."

Fathom only weakly rumbled in response before collapsing back down on his bed.

[Expedition Day 33]

Pryce woke up to the sound of something rummaging through the cave, and he sat himself up to see Fathom chewing on…something.

"What are you eating?"

"I was hungry, and you was asleep," Fathom wheezed, sounding the slightest bit defensive. "This is dry cooked meat. And sweet thing insects make."

Pryce rubbed his eyes as he examined Fathom's snack; it seemed to be some sort of honeyed jerky, which the dragon must have kept in his ceramic containers. "Does this mean you feel better?"

"No," Fathom mumbled through a mouthful of jerky. "I still feel very bad. But I am hungry now too."

"Oh," Pryce said.

Fathom did still look haggard and somewhat wilted, but a returning appetite was still a great sign.

"Do you have more food?" Fathom hopefully asked.

"Yes, I have more food." Pryce chuckled. "Just let me change your bandages first."

Fathom fidgeted as Pryce took off the old bandages and cleaned the healing wounds, which were already well on their way to healing. "Your wounds are healing well. I think I'll take the stitches out in five more days, but you'll need bandages for a few more days after that."

"Oh, this is good!" Fathom said, brightening considerably as Pryce finished replacing the last of the bandages. "Can we eat now?"

"Yes, we can eat now," Pryce chuckled.

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 33,

…

Fathom seems to be on the mend, which is a great relief. He still has a fever, and is extremely lethargic, but his appetite has returned in full force.

Food isn't an issue; the ship has more imperishables than Fathom can eat, and I can always hunt the occasional animal.

…

Vital signs:

Respiratory rate: 9 bpm
Temperature: 39.38° Celsius*
Major heart rate: 38 bpm
Upper minor heart rate: 6 bpm
Lower minor heart rate: 6 bpm
Hydrogen heart rate: 3.5 bpm

…

[Expedition Day 36]

"You look like you're doing better," Pryce commented.

"Yes," Fathom said, bobbing his head in satisfaction. "Thank you, my healing is going well. I should be healthy before Ighen can try to fight me again."

"Right, I wanted to talk to you about that…" Pryce trailed off as he took a moment to organize his thoughts. "You said that a fight to the death needs to be watched by other dragons, right?"

Fathom nodded. "That is correct."

"But your injuries were bad, and you almost died."

"That fight was…different," Fathom said, flattening his spines. "I don't know why, but Ighen was more aggressive than before. He usually gives up easily."

"I see…" Pryce murmured. "And you always won those fights, right?"

"Of course," Fathom snorted, then sighed. "The only time I lost to Ighen is when he…when Anvyr-ǂ died."

"Right, sorry," Pryce muttered. "While we're on the subject, I do have something I want to ask of you: I need your help. I don't know when, but another ship will come looking for me. I need your help to talk to others before that ship arrives, but we won't be able to do that if you fight Ighen again."

"He will not fight me again so soon. I think." Fathom tilted his head as he mulled over the possibility. "I can promise you that I will not try to fight him if you need my help," he said, bobbing his head in acquiescence.

"Good, thank you," Pryce said, relieved.

"But if he attacks me then I will fight. It might be better to kill him, if he tries to be a problem for us," Fathom immediately added, swiftly deflating Pryce's hopes.

"Well…of course you should fight back, but I don't think you should kill him."

"What? Why?!" Fathom hissed, his spines flattening with rancor. "He almost killed me, and you almost died because of that!"

Pryce sighed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tried to express himself without insulting Fathom. "His motivation doesn't make sense to me. The way he keeps challenging you makes him sound desperate, but he's also too scared to fight you to the death."

"I don't care what his motivations are," Fathom said, snorting disdainfully. "I'm not going to avoid killing him."

"But I thought you couldn't kill him because he doesn't accept duels?" Pryce asked, resorting to his last option.

"Of course rules are important, but he cannot be trusted, and I will not allow him to hurt you," Fathom earnestly replied. "And, we need to make sure there is peace between dragons and humans, right? If Ighen gets in the way of that, then he needs to be removed before he becomes a danger to us and others."

"You…have a good point," Pryce admitted, faintly surprised by Fathom's protectiveness. "But won't others punish you for breaking the rules?"

"Gah, no one will really care if it's Ighen," Fathom snorted, shifting his unbroken wing dismissively.

"What? Why not?"

"He is…well, he killed Anvyr outside of a fight, so no one will care if I kill him the same way he killed Anvyr," Fathom explained, though Pryce noticed that Fathom didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Well…alright. We can talk about it later," Pryce sighed, deciding to drop the subject for now. "Let's get something to eat."

"Oh, yes, can I have more soup?" Fathom asked, apparently distracted by his new favorite food. "Like the kind I had yesterday."

"Sure," Pryce shrugged. The ship had enough food to last fifty crewmen several months, so he had more than enough to feed Fathom. "Have as much as you want."