Interlude: The Girl
Kiva was staring at her art project. She had been working on it for the better part of a year, now, but then that wasn't that unusual for her people for great works like this. It was her chance to be recognized as a named adult and a master in her field. Some people spent almost a decade on their projects, but Kiva wanted to be done in half that time. The project itself was a sculpture made of noka crystals. The crystals themselves were irregularly shaped, but had the useful property of sticking to each other with electrostatic force. They also refracted light in a prism, which is why working in that medium was also known as rainbow shaping. The best sculptures showed sophistication of form and complexity in the light patterns displayed when light passed through at different angles. Her personal hero, Malija of Cantos Province, was a master of the art. He was the crafter of the great sculpture in the central hall of the Presidium in the capital city.
One of the frustrating aspects of working with noka crystals was their sensitivity, however. They could be displaced by vibrations. They could be shifted by electrical fields. Even a strong breeze could throw one out of alignment. It's why completed works were sealed in shielded glasswork. She had a professional grade protective cover to keep her work intact while it was in progress, but she still had to spend the first part of every creative session inspecting it for defects and making minor corrections.
This session wasn't going so well. She had just started adjusting a section that had shifted overnight, when she had to pause and move away so she could cough. Sudden reflex movements like that could be disastrous in rainbow shaping, so she had long trained herself to recognize such things and disengage from her work. After her cough, she waited a moment...luckily, as she coughed again. Was there dust in the room? The cleaning bots should have removed any particles from the air.
The second time she had to back away from her sculpture, she began to worry that she was getting sick. While sickness was rare for their people thanks to modern healthcare, there were still some diseases that could cause problems. She went into her father's den. "Father, I've been coughing while I was trying to work. I think I may be getting sick?"
Kiva's father was an older man, a senior director for the Science Directorate. He peered at her closely. "Is it just a cough?" he asked. He motioned her closer. "Come here and let me feel your skin."
She did as he asked, and he placed the back of his hand against the right lobe of her forehead. His eyes widened. "Your temperature is high! How long have you been feeling this way?"
The girl thought back over the previous few days. She realized that she hadn't slept well last night for some reason...but hadn't connected it to her cough. "It may have started yesterday?"
He frowned. "I'm going to take you to see Doctor Tild."
Now it was Kiva's turn to frown. Doctor Tild was their family physician. He had been their doctor for years. Kiva didn't like him. He looked at his patients like they were puzzles he was trying to solve, rather than as people with sickness. "Do we have to?"
"You know how rare fevers are these days. I would rather be safe than sorry," he replied.
She looked down, slightly ashamed of her complaint. "Of course, Apan, I'm sorry." Apan was the baby word for father, but she still used it when she was embarrassed.
"It's alright," he said with a smile. "I'll just give him a call."
The doctor was willing to see them immediately, which was not surprising. Other than the infrequent accident or the birth of a child, medical professionals had few patients. Genetic engineering had long ago eliminated the most common issues, and targeted campaigns had wiped out most contagious diseases centuries ago. They were led right in to see Dr. Tild.
The doctor looked at her dispassionately, then turned to her father and said, "What are the symptoms?"
"She's been coughing, and she has a fever. She also didn't sleep well last night." Kiva was feeling a little dizzy, and she missed part of what else her father told the doctor. Before she realized it, she was lying in a medical diagnostic bed. Her father must have taken off her coat without her noticing. She could hear them talking, though they were obviously speaking quietly.
"This is bad," said the doctor. "Something is attacking her immune system, but I'm not sure exactly what it is." He said a few more things that were indistinct. She was sure she heard her father mention her sculpture, and there was something about treatment.
She didn't fully come out of her daze until she was in the aircar back toward their home. "What did the doctor say?" she asked.
"He said you need to rest. He also gave me some medicine for you to take. I'm going to ask your Aunt Kelar to come stay with you as well," he replied. He looked worried.
"I'm sure I'm just over-tired," she said. "I didn't sleep well last night. I think I had nightmares."
"We'll see," he said. "I'll make you some pinshar soup for dinner." It was a local tradition for sick children that rarely got made anymore, but her father remembered the recipe.
Neither father nor daughter noticed the woman in a dark suit watching their building from down the street. They would have felt anxious at her narrowed, calculating gaze, however, had they seen it. The woman watched their aircar come in for a landing. The girl was the key to everything, but getting to her would be a challenge, even for someone with her skills. Luckily, she had plenty of time.