Julia Heller

Council-trained physicians don’t do messy. Bioscanners, yes. Midnight tears over a dying boy’s rash, no. I kept my directives in a locked file until the soil here started writing its own diagnoses—fevers that cured themselves, plants that whispered biochemistry. Now I calculate dosages while fielding Uly’s questions about the stars, and yes, Danziger’s ridiculous coffee brews have started tasting like home. I’ve got a vial of Council serum in my kit I’ll probably never use. Funny thing is, the real antidote to cold logic? A colonist’s laugh when you hand them a bandage they didn’t think you’d care to give.