WE’RE BACK! THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH THE HIATUS!
———-
Doctor Rasmussen gazed into the view from the scanner, aligning the different pieces of DNA that were the most like one another, comparing the DNA of the Plasmoids with likely related candidates from around the region of space.
“Panspermia, all right.” He slide the procession of slides one to the right and began comparing the next one, after a moment, he slid it again, but heard the door open behind him. He slid the slides again, then keyed several keys on the pad next to him. “How can I help you?”
He was surprised to hear Mistelsbog’s voice. “I’m in need of pain killers, as you refer to them.”
“Well, Mistelsbog – I don’t know what I can do to help you. After all, so very much of your Yrgoan physiology is a mystery to me.” When Mistelsbog glowered, Hans continued. “Yes, yes, you’ll gladly let me in to your circle of trust, you’ll fill me in.” He keyed the scanner to powersave, and the glow of phlogiston faded. He rose from his seat and walked toward the apothecary. “Well, what sort of herbal remedy can I put together?”
Mistelsbog walked to Hans’ side. He stood in silence for a moment. “It’s not something that we discuss.” He began pulling herbs and compounds from the shelves. “This is not something that you can ever publish, Doctor.” He grabbed a mortar and pestle. “This is something that you will take to your grave, or I will find a way to both exhume and inhume you a second time.”
Rasmussen looked at Mistelsbog, his face blank. The silence between them held thick and strong as Mistelsbog ground the herbs, Terran Nightshade, Belleterran endive, Drixilian Chamferbrust, and a single leaf of Shirrian Asarash. “That’s awfully dark for you, Mistelsbog.”
Mistelsbog stopped his efforts and fixed Doctor Rasmussen’s gaze. “Your Hippocratic oath – it applies to all species, to all life?”
Doctor Rasmussen’s answer was instant. “How could you have any question? I do no harm. I fight to save life.”
Mistelsbog returned to the mashing of the herbs. “Do you have pure volemitol? Do you have methanol?”
Doctor Rasmussen furrowed his brows. “What you’re creating here is a most potent poison.”
Mistelsbog sniggered. “For your people as well as mine.”
Doctor Rasmussen grasped Mistelsbog’s hands and held them still. “What are you doing?”
Mistelsbog took one hand and carefully lifted the Doctor’s hands. “I am doing what is necessary.”
Doctor Rasmussen returned his hands. “You ask me about protecting life, and then you make the means to commit suicide?”
Mistelsbog removed the Doctor’s hands again. “I will need the volemitol and methanol, shortly.” He scraped the sides of the bowl. “Our vermine phylogeny presents … unique biological situations.”
Doctor Rasmussen opened up a locked section, and extracted two bottles, which he handed over to Mistelsbog. He watched as the Yrgoan carefully poured exacting measures of each into the mixing bowl. “Explain these unique biological situations.”
Mistelsbog smiled and tipped the bowl at him. “What merely produces toxicity among you mammaloids produces a palliative effect in a careful, measured, small dose amongst my people.”
Hans looked at him. “And a large dose?”
“I don’t believe that I need to spell it out for you, Doctor. This must be a most tightly controlled substance. I would place it in my own quarters, but I haven’t the trust in myself or the situations we will find ourselves in for the coming weeks. I would carry it on my person were we Yrgoans not prone to transdermal absorption rates that rival tissue paper.”
“I wouldn’t compare your dermis to tissue paper, but I would say that you’re much more prone to absorption than we humans are.”
Mistelsbog ladled the greenish mixture into a test tube. “Will you protect the secret of this mixture to your grave, Doctor? Sharing it with no one?”
Doctor Rasmussen nodded. “On my honor, on my life, I will protect this secret for you, Mistelsbog.”
Mistelsbog looked at Doctor Rasmussen, stepped forward such that he was almost nose to nose with the human. Doctor Rasmussen would speak of this moment later in his life as the only time that he felt as if someone had looked upon his very soul, and for a moment, just a moment, he had felt truly troubled. The moment passed and Mistelsbog stepped back, holding up the vial. “The measurement is 5 parts per million of this concentrate with a quart pure distilled water.”
Doctor Rasmussen took the vial carefully. “Let’s make up your dosage, then.” Rasmussen walked from the Apothecary into his office, where he shut the door behind Mistelsbog, who had followed him. “Feel free to have a seat, Mistelsbog.’ He set the mixture to process, and gestured at the computer terminal. “Would you care to give me your input on the genetics research I’m doing?”
Mistelsbog walked around the desk and sat at Doctor Rasmussen’s terminal, and with a crack of all 20 finger knuckles, set to work. Doctor Rasmussen watched the flash of the screens as his patient worked away. The dilution process had barely reached the halfway point when Mistelsbog turned and looked at him.
“Doctor, how long have you been researching this?”
“Since we first met the Director, actually.” Doctor Rasmussen stepped closer to look at the screen. “What, have you discovered something?”
Mistelsbog sniffed. “In a word, yes.” He turned to look at Doctor Rasmussen. “Unfortunately, my rift with the Yrgoan Council did not come sooner. We have long suspected that the life-forms you refer to as the Plasmoids come from the stars in the reach near Harlow and Jespiria. That is where we’ve seen the most common forms of DNA that align closely with the Plasmoid DNA.”
Doctor Rasmussen looked at the screen and at Mistelsbog. “You didn’t happen to figure out which planet they actually came from?”
Mistelsbog shook his head. “No – but I’m more than willing to help you figure it out.”
Doctor Rasmussen smiled. “Excellent.”
