A Human has caught a bad cold, a variant not yet indexed into the immunoflu, and is miserable. They're coughing, they're tired; and yet, they don't want to make others do their work for them. Fortunately, they have friends that are a bit insistent on making sure they eat properly, and rest in a nice, comfy, bed. - Anon Guest
Their Human was exploding. But since this was a Human, they seemed to be surviving the process. The mask was a dead give-away that there was something amiss. The Fluvium Mask[1] allowed for maximum functionality whilst impeding anything that could possibly infect anyone else[2].
Other signs were the comfy uniform, and the generally slow pace of Human York as ze shuffled towards hir work station. Then there was what the crew had come to know as a 'zombie moan'.
The scans had an answer. Human York had caught a cold. Ze needed rest, palliative care, and perhaps some treats for the emotional boost. Upon hearing this news, Human York managed, "Nah, fam. I c'n still walk, so I c'n... still.... HATSHOOO! Work."
Companion Xorg had dealt with this before. Rescue Humans, they were all the same. "Tell me of the Human phrase, Walking Wounded if you please?" she asked. It usually worked. They'd get most of the way through and stop to have an epiphany.
"That? That's the folks missing fingers or limbs who can still get around. They do the stuff they can for lower wages and they're lucky to earn a meal a day. They're all hoping they can win the medical care lotto while they're busy dying. It's sad."
Okay, maybe they weren't all the same. Xorg changed tactics on the fly. "And how did they become wounded?"
"Not bein' careful. Coming in sick an' not stopping to sneeze. 'Course y' got docked f'r stopping so... bad timing? I'm okay. None of my work involves moving parts any more."
Dereggers... Xorg almost failed to stop rolling her eyes. Almost. "What happens when you make a mistake at your new work?" she cooed.
"Well, it's all about your safety so... y'all'd be in dan-- Oh." York stopped hir steady and determined shuffle. "I'm bein' a dummins, aren't I?"
"Just enough to be worrying. We need you to look after yourself so that you can look after us. And when you... miss a step... we have to look after you."
Another zombie moan, "But I don' wanna be a burd'n." It wasn't so much a whine as a creak.
"Not a burden," insisted Companion Xorg, now steering Human York back towards hir personal habitat. "We like having you around and we want to make sure you last longer. Pio has made some soup, Lori has added pillows to your comfy chair, and there are new episodes of the entertainments you like. You must ingest at least five hundred CC's of the ginger-garlic soup, and two fifty CC's of hot chocolate. Stat."
The mockery of the Voice of Authority worked to put a smile on York's face. "Yes mom," ze creaked.
[1] A mask that encapsulates an infected cogniscent's face. Mostly a clear, semi-flexible surface that melded with the skin, the "business end" is a triangular prism containing the best filters that science can devise, including a fine silver mesh to literally tear apart anything that made it through the other filters.
[2] Unfortunately, there are still people who view wearing one of these as a violation of their rights.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Elwynn]
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