The storm howled across the frozen peaks of Draxer Prime. But inside the stone hall, a different kind of tempest raged. Veric, pack leader of the Thraxian clan, stood over the small form of his daughter. Watching her chest rise and fall in shallow, labored breaths. Her silver fur, once lustrous and thick, had dulled to ash.

 Her amber eyes, when they flickered open, held no recognition. The fever burns hotter, whispered Kelra, the clan’s elder healer, her ears flat against her skull. I have tried every remedy in our archives. The rot in her blood. It defies our understanding. Faric’s claws scraped against the stone floor.

 For three cycles, he had watched his only cub fade. The Thraxians were warriors, conquerors of 17 systems, feared across the outer rim. Yet all his strength, all his power meant nothing against the invisible enemy consuming his child from within. There must be something, he growled, his voice breaking. Someone, Kelra hesitated. There is a human on the trade station.

They say she practices medicine, though not the kind we know. A human? Veric’s lip curled. Humans were the newest species to join the galactic community. fragile, short-lived creatures who had barely escaped their own star system before making contact. What could they possibly know that the ancient Thraxians did not? But as he looked down at his daughter’s trembling form, pride became meaningless.

 Bring her. Dr. Allah Quinn had been enjoying a rare moment of peace in the station’s observation deck when the Thraxian warriors arrived. Six of them, each standing nearly 8 ft tall, their predatory grace unmistakable even in the artificial gravity. The lead warrior, scarred, gray furred with eyes like molten gold, approached her directly.

You are the human healer, he stated. Not asked. Ara sat down her coffee. I’m a doctor. Yes, Dr. Quinn. Can I help you? My daughter is dying. You will come. It wasn’t a request. Ara had dealt with enough alien cultures to recognize desperation beneath the command. She studied the warrior’s face, the tightness around his eyes, the way his clawed hands trembled slightly at his sides. Tell me her symptoms.

 The pack leader hall was unlike any medical facility Lara had ever entered. No sterile lights, no monitoring equipment, just stone, fire, and the scent of herbs she couldn’t identify. But when she saw the patient, her training kicked in immediately. The cub couldn’t have been more than seven or eight in human years.

Septic shock, if the modeled skin visible beneath the fur, the rapid breathing, the altered consciousness, all classic signs. How long has she been like this? Claraara asked, kneeling beside the makeshift bed. Three cycles, Varic replied, standing behind her like a mountain of barely contained violence. Our healers say there is poison in her blood that kills our medicines.

 Ara pulled out her scanner, a device that looked primitive compared to Thraxian technology, but humans had learned to specialize. May I? Veric’s nod was barely perceptible. The readings confirmed her suspicions. A bacterial infection aggressive and resistant. The Thraxian remedies had likely been sophisticated anti-inflammatory compounds, maybe even targeted genetic therapies, but they’d missed the fundamental problem.

 “It’s not poison,” Allah said quietly. “It’s bacteria. Microscopic organisms that are multiplying in her bloodstream. Your medicines were too advanced. They targeted the symptoms, but not the cause. Can you stop it?” The pack leader’s voice was raw. All reached into her medical kit and withdrew a small vial.

 Inside was a clear liquid synthesized from one of the oldest weapons in humanity’s medical arsenal. Penicellin, she said. We discovered it almost 400 years ago. Grew it from mold on rotting fruit. Kelra made a sound of disgust. Mold? You would treat the pack leader’s daughter with rot. But was already preparing the injection, her hands steady despite the hostile audience.

 Your species evolved differently than mine. Your immune systems are incredible, stronger, faster, more adaptive. But that means you never needed to develop resistance to simple bacterial infections. You evolved beyond them. She looked up at Veric. Humans didn’t. We’re weak, so we had to get creative. For centuries, infections like this killed millions of us.

 We learned to fight them with anything we could find, including the very mold that grows on our food. And this penicellin will save her if we’re lucky and if the bacteria haven’t progressed too far. Ara met his eyes. But I need your permission. I need you to trust me. The hall fell silent except for the cubs labored breathing.

 Varic stared at the vial at this primitive medicine from a species the Thraxians had dismissed as barely civilized. Then he looked at his daughter’s face. Do it. The change wasn’t immediate. All stayed through the night monitoring the cub’s vitals with her handheld scanner while the Thraxian healers watched with barely concealed skepticism.

She administered two more doses, adjusted the cub’s position to ease breathing, and explained everything she was doing in patient detail. As dawn broke over Draxer Prime’s frozen landscape, the cub’s breathing deepened. The modeling on her skin began to fade. When her eyes opened, they were clear and focused for the first time in 3 days. “Papa,” she whispered.

 Veric dropped to his knees beside her, a sound escaping his throat that Arara suspected no one in his clan had ever heard. A sob of pure relief, his massive hand capable of crushing steel, gently stroked his daughter’s face. Ara quietly began packing her equipment. Kelra approached, her expression unreadable.

 “How did you know this would work?” the elder healer asked. I didn’t not for certain, ara admitted. But humans have been fighting infections with whatever tools we could find for millennia. We’re not the strongest or the fastest or the most advanced, but we’re stubborn. We survive. Veric stood, his daughter now sleeping peacefully.

 He turned to Lara and slowly, deliberately placed his clawed fist over his heart. The Thraxian gesture of deepest respect. The human healer saved my cub with ancient medicine, he said, his voice carrying to every warrior in the hall. Let it be known across all packs. Humanity’s weakness is their strength. They learned to fight when they had nothing but rot and determination.

Ara smiled. We prefer to call it resourcefulness, but yes, that’s pretty much humanity in a nutshell. As she left the hall, the pack leader’s daughter stirring awake behind her. All reflected on the irony. The galaxy’s newest species, armed with centuries old medicine, had just earned the respect of its fiercest warriors.