NOVEL NEXT Chapter 13, Day 38 – 44: Research
[Expedition Day 38]
Pryce removed the stitches as gently as he could, though Fathom's tail flicked on occasion in apparent discomfort. Still, the dragon made no audible noises of pain, and when they were done he took a moment to relish in his newly regained freedom of movement. Fathom was healing well, as per usual, but his blue hide had noticeably grown desaturated over the last ten days, likely as a result of not eating any blue lizards since he was injured.
"Come back, I need to put new bandages back on."
"Do I need bandages?" Fathom asked plaintively, his voice having returned to normal since his nostrils had cleared up. He seemed reluctant to relinquish his newly regained freedom of movement, but after some coaxing he was convinced to sit back down for Pryce to dress his wounds.
Changing the bandages had become a bit of a routine for them over the last ten days or so, and Pryce had gotten good enough at the task that his mind had begun to wander as he worked. With Fathom on the road to recovery they would need to start making plans soon, and-
"Your scent is different," he gravely rumbled, before Pryce could voice his confusion.
"What?" Pryce asked, blindsided by the bizarre statement. "Is that…bad?"
"Yes," Fathom chuffed, as if this were very obvious. "Scent change like this is never good. You are sick," he said, sounding rather concerned.
"Oh," Pryce said. His head and body both ached more so than they did yesterday, but he wasn't sure what to do with this information. "Humans can't smell things like this. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Change in scent is a little like a sickness I know, but…this is hard to answer. Humans are very different," Fathom said gravely. "If this sickness is same, you will be sick for maybe three or five days."
"Okay…do you know what causes this sickness?"
"I do not know," Fathom said, shrugging his unbroken wing. "Sickness is called 'bad air' because some think bad air can cause this, but this is probably wrong."
"'Bad air'," Pryce murmured. That didn't narrow things down by much. "What do dragons think is 'bad air'?"
"Places that do not have much wind. Like forests. Places with good air is mountains."
Pryce frowned. Forests were naturally full of bacteria, so that information didn't help much. "I do not feel sick, but I will eat penicillin. Maybe that will keep me not sick."
"I can make medicine to help this sickness," Fathom said, his spines flattened against his neck. "But I do not know if it will help humans."
"We can try that if I get very sick," Pryce nodded. He was a little wary of any medicine that dragons might have, but at the same time it wasn't unheard of for traditional medicine to have real benefits.
"That makes sense," Fathom nodded. "I have a question. Why you not teach me words to describe scents?"
"Human sense of smell is not good like dragons," Pryce explained. "We have words to say 'this smells like that', but not words to describe smells."
"Oh," Fathom said, and scratched around a bandage. "You do not have words to describe scents because you cannot smell good…that is interesting."
"It is," Pryce nodded, agreeing heartily. He was no linguist, but the Draconic language would be fascinating to study…even if it would be difficult for dragons to define these words in Murian. "I think we should both rest today."
"Good, sleep now," Fathom murmured as he curled himself up to rest. Pryce wasn't sure how much sleep dragons needed to function, but it seemed that Fathom could sleep however much he wanted to, even if he had spent the entire night before fast asleep. It was a rather mundane ability compared to other aspects of his biology, but it made sense from an energy saving perspective.
Pryce laid back down as he tried to go back to sleep. Unfortunately for him, humans had no such ability, and after some tossing and turning he decided to get back up to do some light work.
[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]
…
Day 38,
Fathom seems to have mostly recovered from his sickness today, but now he claims that something is wrong with my scent, and that I am sick. I don't feel anything unusual at present, but I'll take a bit of penicillin anyway in case that will help.
I can't afford to fall ill right now, not without anyone else around to help treat me. Well, I'm sure Fathom would be willing to help, but his ability to do so is limited to say the least.
[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]
Day 39,
I am definitely sick.
I'm going to spend today resting.
[Expedition Day 41]
"Are you okay?" Fathom asked as wracking coughs shook Pryce's body.
"...No," Pryce groaned. His illness had swiftly worsened over the last two days, manifesting as a host of symptoms that made him absolutely miserable. It took far more effort than it should have just to push himself up, but he was still ambulatory…at least for now.
"You are more sick," Fathom said gravely.
"I know," Pryce coughed drily. It seemed that the penicillin had limited effectiveness against this disease, though. "Can you give me my backpack? I need to eat food and medicine."
Fathom did as he asked, with only a minor limp. He seemed quite concerned, as he hovered over Pryce while the latter forced down some canned stew.
"You…will be okay?" Fathom asked.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"I don't know," Pryce sighed. "I hope I will."
"Hope?" Fathom asked, blinking at the unfamiliar word.
"Hope is emotion you feel when you want a thing to happen."
"...Understand," Fathom murmured, his head lowering in thought. "Is there…thing I can do to help you?" He sounded oddly uncertain.
"I don't think so. Dragons have some medicine, but humans are different."
"I…know this," Fathom replied, his spines drooping despondently.
"It will be hard to think when I am more sick," Pryce said. "We should make plans if I die."
"No."
Pryce blinked in surprise. "...What?"
"You are a crafter," Fathom said, as if this meant anything. "You have amazing tools and medicine, you cannot die like this."
"Many things kill humans," Pryce coughed. "And I cannot fix sickness that I do not know. More humans will be here in the future, maybe two months from now. If I die, you will heal, and you will need to tell the other humans what happened."
"I…understand," Fathom quietly rumbled.
"Good," Pryce nodded. "Now, you should know-"
"Wait," Fathom said, abruptly raising his head. "I have idea. You can use microscope, see bacteria that is making you sick, yes?"
Pryce shook his head. "That is not a good idea. Body has very many good bacteria. Is very, very hard to find bacteria that is causing sickness. Finding bacteria also does not mean you know how to kill it."
"This does not mean you can not try," Fathom hissed in frustration. "Why do you want to do nothing and die?!"
"I'm not doing nothing," Pryce said, wincing as a fierce stab of pain pulsed through his head. "I'm eating medicine and resting."
"You said you do not know if medicine will work!" Fathom pointed out indignantly.
"There's nothing I can do!" Pryce shot back. "And why are you mad? You can talk to other humans when they get here!"
Fathom drew his head back as he fell silent. "...I do not want you to die," he admitted, his spines falling forlornly. "You danger self to help me. You are friend now."
Pryce abruptly paused, taken aback by the unexpected admission. "Oh…" he said, rubbing his neck. "...I can try to use microscope if you want, but I do not think I will find anything."
"Yes! Try!" Fathom encouraged, visibly brightening at this. "Go use microscope now?"
"Okay," Pryce sighed, and pushed himself up onto his feet. His legs wobbled, but he was still able to walk. "I'll get the microscope."
"I want to see," Fathom said, after five minutes of nobly attempting not to interfere with Pryce's work.
Having expected as much, Pryce merely stepped out of the way to allow Fathom to look through the microscope. "The red things are 'red blood cells'. They are things in the body that move food and air around."
"Understand…what are the bigger things?"
"Those are white blood cells. They help the body kill bacteria."
"...White?" Fathom asked in confusion. "This is not white. Looks like no color."
"Their name is white blood cells, but they have no color."
"Strange," Fathom murmured. "Why can sickness happen if white blood cells kill bacteria?"
"White blood cells are always fighting inside of your body, but sometimes they lose," Pryce said, simplifying things. "White blood cells need to learn how to fight a new type of bacteria before it can kill it; that is why the first time you get sick is always the worst, because the second time your body remembers how to kill it."
"Interesting…" Fathom murmured, stepping aside to allow Pryce access to the microscope. "Body does many things that I cannot see."
"Yes, it does," Pryce said, focusing on a new section of the slide, this one from a mouth swab. "Different parts of the body have different types of bacteria. I'll need to look in many places to see."
[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]
Day 41,
I began searching for the cause of my sickness today, mostly upon Fathom's insistence. I don't have the resources to expect this endeavor to be successful, but I'll try my best.
Even if I were to die, the information that I can gather might someday prove useful.
[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]
Day 42,
My sickness has continued to worsen.
The illness Fathom suspects me to have is common and minor among dragons, but that doesn't mean their medicine will work on me. Even so, I might not have a choice.
I may consider resorting to Fathom's medicine if I can't find the cause of my disease in the next few days.
[Expedition Day 43]
Pryce panted as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It seemed that the antibiotics were ineffective in slowing the progression of the disease, and his fever had only gotten worse over the last few days.
"You use microscope for long time. Maybe you rest now?" Fathom tentatively suggested, in an apparent reversal to his stance the day before.
"I look a little longer," Pryce said. "I-"
"...You what?" Fathom asked, raising his head to peer at the human, who kept his eyes trained on the microscope's eyepieces.
"I think I found something," Pryce murmured as he observed the odd squiggling shape that wormed its way between his blood cells. He panned around to see a few more of these oddities, and his blood ran cold as he recognized the pathogen infecting his body.
"What is it?" Fathom asked impatiently.
"I do not know what this is…I think it's a parasite," Pryce murmured. The creatures in question somewhat resembled plasmodia, a genus of unicellular eukaryotes. "Parasites are living things that live inside another creature," he elaborated, seeing Fathom's confusion.
Fathom flattened his spines in confusion. "This is like bacteria, no? Why you call this parasite?"
"Parasite is different. It can only survive inside of another creature," Pryce explained distractedly. Now he almost certainly knew what was making him sick, but how had he been infected? All of his food was cooked, so it couldn't have been that, and he hadn't been wounded… "Ah, parasites come from insects," Pryce groaned in realization. "Insects bite me, give me parasites. This is why dragons who live in mountains do not get this sickness as much!"
"Strange…" Fathom murmured. "Can you kill it?"
"I have medicine that can kill things like this, but I do not know if it will work."
"But you will try, yes?"
"Yes, of course. Antibiotics do not work on parasites, so this is why penicillin is not working. I need to get new medicine." Pryce groaned as he stood himself up, then stumbled as he fell to his knees.
"I help," Fathom said, allowing Pryce to lean against him.
The human was in no condition to refuse, and Fathom walked him to the door of the ship, where he could no longer follow.
"I be back soon," Pryce panted, nodding gratefully before stepping into the ship's corridors. He slowly made his way through the ship, using the walls to support himself.
"How long this medicine take to heal?" Fathom asked when Pryce eventually stepped back onto the deck, bottle of quinine in hand.
"Parasites are hard to kill. Maybe five days, maybe ten days. Maybe more, if this parasite is very different," Pryce murmured as he ingested his new medication. "I go sleep now, okay?"
"Yes, sleep," Fathom encouraged. Pryce had brought out a small pile of imperishable goods a few days ago, so Fathom would have enough to eat for at least another week.
"Good, you rest too," Pryce murmured, feeling quite faint. He all but collapsed onto his sleeping bag, but instead of falling asleep he tossed and turned feverishly throughout the night, never quite fully resting.
[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]
Day 44,
It is difficult to know if the quinine is working. It is common for this medicine to take at least two weeks to kill the plasmodia, or even an entire month. In the meantime I'm faced with the possibility that the medication is doing nothing at all.
Fathom's traditional medicine is always another option, but for now there's nothing left for me to do but to tough it out.
I also took off Fathom's bandages today. He seems happy to be free again, though I was unable to remove all of the sticky residue left by the grey tape.