Medicines for the Consilium

2300 inhabitants, very few. And that doesn’t even count the pets or the mannequins from Pioneer Supplies. 2300 inhabitants in a backwater place that the mighty Consillium seems to have forgotten. My role in all this? Deliver meds to the miners around here to contain an epidemic before it spreads throughout the galaxy.

May 21, 3309 – The Forgotten of the Consilium

LHS 105 is a godforsaken hole with just one planet and Vinge’s Claim, the lone outpost in the area. In the evenings, miners gather there to drown their loneliness in Brandy. The waitress, Cherry, knows them well, making her rounds in the bar early in the evening with a tray for customers to drop off their weapons. It’s not out of altruism, but more out of fear they’ll end up killing each other, jeopardizing her clientele. With 2000 souls, customers are kings… and precious!

With only 2300 inhabitants, they’ve somehow managed to stir up an epidemic! It was reported to Consilium in Munfayl, but nothing seems to have been done. So, MediCorp deployed a fleet carrier and organized an operation to halt this disease by delivering medicine. My cargo hold is filled, shuttling back and forth between the Hippocrates and Vinge’s Claim. At some point, we’ll have delivered more meds than there are people in this forsaken place! But that’s the job. Medicorp is here. We’ll do everything for the few inhabitants of this desolate hole.

On my last rotation, they handed me a special package containing blue pills. On it was written: deliver to those old geezers at the BBC with our congratulations and encouragement so they can relive the nights of their youth.

I don’t ask questions. I deliver. As I said, it’s the job.

May 26, 3309 – The aftermath

The outbreak is contained. The stench of vomit lingers throughout the outpost, but the residents seem to be recovering. They’re still as pale as milk, but at least they’re on their feet.

Some thanked me, but many advised me to leave quickly. I sense the winds of rebellion blowing through this forsaken system. Graffiti has appeared on the walls of Vinge’s Claim. “Down with dictatorship,” “Death to those who abandoned us,” “Let’s skewer those filthy birds.” I’ll spare you the more vulgar ones.

Faced with this unrest and the emerging riots, Medicorp, with thanks from the governor of Vinge’s Claim, will leave the system in a few hours. I’ll touch down quickly because I have no desire to witness the events that will unfold here. We came to help, and we fulfilled our mission. Perhaps we’ve also opened some eyes to what they endure, the abandonment by the higher-ups during this epidemic, and the fact that they are just interchangeable and silenced “subjects.”

As for me, it’s not my concern. I’m a medic. Politics is not my job.