He sat on the edge of his bed, staring attentively at the cannon in his hands. The event that took place only several days before still played over in his mind. The only thing he could think about was how much he had feared such a thing would happen. From the very beginning when she insisted to stay at his side, when she insisted to become a friend of his, he dreaded she’d fall victim to the fate so many others he knew had fallen victim to.

  A black cat, black as the mouth of the cannon he held. So dangerous. A feline infested with fleas, and if one were to pet it the vermin would infest them as well. For so long he searched tirelessly to find something to counter such a disease buried deep within his fur.

  An effort to stop it was the best he could come up with. But they still slipped from him. And the instant he found out she had slipped also, he could not take it anymore. A host to a virus that had no cure.

  But there was a cure. And there it lay, cradled in his fingers. A cannon with an enormous amount of power. He had taken a large amount of time to think it through. It only made sense: eliminate the host, eliminate the virus, and prevent any more from falling victim.

  His hand quivered as he raised the machine to his temple. The muzzle was cold, though not nearly as cold as the outpost itself. Not nearly as cold as the entire ice planet of Icecubia, even. It stung his skin with such an icy touch, but it was the cannon’s way of sympathetic affection, and he knew it.

~*~

  The doctor walked down the hall toward her room. In the corner of her eye she caught a glance of the room that belonged to her most frequent patient and friend. The room with the neatly made bed and slightly cracked mirror still wrenched at her heart, but the pain wasn’t as severe as it had been the past few days. The door beside it was closed, as it usually was.

  She walked up to the door quietly and knocked softly. “Luka?”

  From within the room he froze. His finger hadn’t yet touched the trigger, and remained halfway between being curled around the handle and resting on the smooth curve of the only thing that made the cannon come to life. He hesitated, and there was another soft knock at his door.

  “Are you alright, Luka?” Her voice called gently.

  “I’m-. . . I’m f-fine. . .” his own voice brittle from days of not being used, except to spare a few words.

  “But your door’s closed again.”

  There was no answer. She cautiously opened the door and stepped in. The instant she saw his figure sitting on the edge of his bed with such a deadly device held up to his head she involuntarily froze. Her eyes widened in shock.

  His own muscles refused to respond when he tried to move his finger. His eyes were fixed on the doctor before him. He hardly had a moment to take another breath when she suddenly rushed toward him. In one blurred moment his name was called in desperation, the machine left his hand, and arms found themselves wrapped around him.

  When it all cleared he found himself standing with the doctor, and locked tightly in her embrace. He found it difficult to breathe. Every breath he stole shook him so hard. His arms quivered and he could not feel his legs. Was he even standing? The instant the thought floated into his mind his legs folded underneath him and he collapsed.

  The doctor had no time to catch the Irken before he hit the floor. She could only act fast to kneel beside him. Then carefully she lifted him in her arms and sat down on the edge of his bed where he had been only moments before. In her gentle, hardworking arms she cradled him.

  Since the instant he hit the ground his eyes had closed. Blind now to the world around him, he could only feel the presence of the doctor. He reached up with one hand and grasped her arm. He continued his struggle to breathe, hardly able to feel the tears streaming down his face.

  He had no idea why such tears came. Perhaps it was the subconscious disappointment that the doctor had saved a menace. A sorrow that an infected host had just been kept from being eliminated. He was infected. He was a host.

  A host to a virus that had no cure.