In The Name of Progress

[Erril Winterhold]

A long, slow sigh of frustration escaped the weary Jedi's body. He didn't feel well. And he had an immense distaste for feeling unwell. But this was his decision, and he reminded himself of that for the hundredth time as he sipped on hot binoberry tea - so the berry had been called for the botanically enthusiastic young Jedi who had discovered its consumability a year and a half or so ago.

The binoberry tea was hardly the remedy Erril wished for, though. He wanted to settle deep into his mind and body, single out the RNA strands of the virus that was currently plaguing his constitution, and tear each of them to shreds with the passion of a vengeful Sith. But he couldn't do that.

The virus that Erril had contracted was a strand that Jedi of the valley's medical team had designated Xenovirus 2, just to differentiate it from the more mild strain of seasonal viral infection - designated Xenovirus 1 - that seemed to make its rounds at roughly the same time. By now though, most of the valley's inhabitants had just taken to calling them Z-1 and Z-2, which bothered Erril more than he was willing to admit, but he wasn't willing to admit it because he knew that he was probably one of four or five people who had seen it written down.

Up to this point, the Xenovirus 2 had baffled them somewhat. This was the third winter they had been on this planet, and it was the third year that they had been scrounging to triage and differentiate one group of victims from the other. The lesser virus fit easily into the common seasonal category, but the second was potentially lethal if left unaddressed, and by the time it revealed itself to be the more severe virus in a particular patient, it was already progressing at an alarming rate. Treating it through conventional means was impossible in their current 3rd world conditions, so they were back to the drawing board. They needed more data.

In a search for more and better data, Erril found himself occupying what he would theoretically consider to be quite a fortunate niche in terms of skill combinations, but in reality it was the proverbial short straw. He had been a healer for more of his life than not at this point, and he had also learned the Art of the Small in tandem with his training in the healing arts. These two skills made Erril remarkably useful in any infirmary, but he also possessed a slightly rarer talent, which was the ability to bring these skills to bear on his own body. He had never indulged in a great degree of speculation as to why the talent was rare, but he suspected it would become more common in future generations as healers once again became commonplace in the Jedi Order. Academics aside, the reality was that Erril could self-monitor, and even self-administer treatment of the most exacting sort if it became necessary.

Having no need for another healer to monitor or tend to him made Erril the perfect choice to study the virus up close and personal. He could observe it from start to finish in his own body, and note its exact behaviors and mechanisms. And so, Erril had purposefully infected himself with the Xenovirus 2 as soon as they'd turned up a case of it among the Z-1 cases. It was now his job to sit in his and Mission's little hut, disgruntled and uncomfortable, keeping himself well-nourished and tending to his own immune responses with exacting precision to prevent anything else from synergizing with the Z-2 while it ran its course.

It was cold, and Erril was feverish, and his binoberry tea seemed to cool off faster than he could drink it. It had only been an hour since he'd last taken stock of the virus' progress, and he'd decided on a 4-hour interval, so there was little to be done right then, except sip tea and try to avoid pondering the dangerous game he was playing by using his body in lieu of a culture disk and microscope.

Erril's hut felt a bit less homey without the little redheaded sprite who normally enchanted it there to prattle on about her friends and make art out of everything. That was perhaps the most punishing aspect of the duty he'd elected to undertake, and it reminded him in unwelcome fashion of the before times. He wondered how many days he'd spent on the greater good that he could have spent on his daughters. At least he could make some amends for all of that with Mission now. Talmai would have to wait her turn, but he resolved not to squander those chances when they were made available to him once again... if they ever became available again.