The Smallest Patient of Gor

    I remember the shock. The forest had been silent for days, the only sounds the rustle of Gor's unique foliage and the distant cries of the creatures. Finding a human infant...it was like stumbling upon a stardust fragment in a field of granite. As told before, my instincts kicked in over disbelief and so, Elara came home with me, to a dwelling usually accustomed to solitude and the hum of diagnostic equipment.

    Now, she stirred, a tiny whimper escaping her lips. I reached in, my fingers dwarfing her minuscule hand as she instinctively grasped my index finger, her grip surprisingly strong. Her eyes, still that beautiful azure blue, fluttered open, blinking against the subdued glow of the room. A smile, more of a reflexive stretching of her lips, bloomed on her face, and my own lips mirrored it. It was a familiar ritual, this awakening.   

    “Good morning, little one,” I whispered, my voice gentle and soft. I lifted her gently, supporting her head, the scent of fresh infant milk and warm skin filling my senses. The synth-crib’s internal diagnostics had been humming all night, monitoring her sleep patterns, oxygen saturation, and subtle shifts in temperature. All green. Perfect.

    The first few days had been a blur of frantic adjustments. My medical bay, designed for complex surgical procedures and advanced physiological analyses, had to be rapidly reconfigured. Nutrient solutions for adult humans or even Gor’s indigenous species were useless. I spent nearly an entire cycle in my lab, cross-referencing ancient Earth pediatric databases, running simulations, and synthesizing a formula that would mimic human mother’s milk. The Gorean bioscanner, usually used to detect cellular anomalies or viral loads, became my primary tool for monitoring Elara’s growth and development. Every gram she gained felt like a personal victory, every coo a profound validation.                                                                             

    I carried her to the main living area, a space dominated by panoramic picture windows with a view of Gor’s tri-moons hanging low over the jagged, sapphire mountains. My usual morning routine of reviewing patient logs was put on hold. First, Elara and I settled into my over stuffed recliner, adjusting the environmental controls to a slightly warmer setting, better suited for her delicate thermoregulation.

    Her feeding was a slow, deliberate process. I used a specialized bio-feeder, its automated sensors ensuring the precise flow and temperature of the synthesized milk. As she latched on, her small body pressed against mine, a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the room’s climate. It was a warmth that had been absent for a long time, a void I hadn’t even consciously acknowledged until it began to fill. My life as Physician of Gor was one of scientific rigor, detached observation, and precise intervention. I healed, I researched, I maintained. I rarely “nurtured”.

    “Who are you, little star?” I murmured, tracing the delicate curve of her ear. There had been no sign of a vessel, no distress beacon, no data-pad, nothing that could give me a clue to her origins. The energy field around her had been unique, unlike any power source I recognized. It had simply… faded. I’d run every scan conceivable, cross-referenced every known human genetic marker, every registered vessel, every colonial registry. Nothing. She was a ghost, a mystery woven into the very fabric of Gor’s wild heart.

    My work had always been my singular focus. The endless pursuit of knowledge, the satisfaction of alleviating suffering, the quiet triumph of understanding the intricate dance of biological systems. But Elara had shifted my paradigm. Now, a substantial portion of my processing power, my analytical mind, was dedicated to her well-being, her future. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and terrifying.

    The ethical questions had gnawed at me in the beginning. Should I announce her presence? Seek out authorities, if any truly existed for such an anomaly? But Gor’s established human settlements were sparse, primarily research outposts or resource extraction hubs, each with their own strict protocols and limited infrastructure. A lone infant would be a burden, a medical impossibility for most. And deep down, I couldn't bring myself to part with her. She was "mine", in a way nothing else had ever been.

    After she finished feeding, I gently burped her, feeling the small tremor of her body against my shoulder. She smelled of sweetness and innocence, a stark contrast to the sterile scents of my clinic or the earthy dampness of the forest. I placed her on the nutrient-mat for a quick diaper change, the auto-sterilizer preparing the discarded waste for decomposition. Her tiny legs kicked joyfully as I cleaned her, a gurgle of delight escaping her.

    This was my life now. The Physician of Gor, whose hands could perform microscopic surgery, now changed diapers. The woman who analyzed complex xenobiological data now sang lullabies—ancient Earth ones I’d dredged from forgotten cultural archives—to a baby who couldn’t understand the words but responded to the rhythm and tone.     

    I dressed her in a fresh sleep-suit, the soft material specially woven from Gorean plant fibers, hypoallergenic and breathable. As I settled her back into her crib for her morning nap, she looked up at me, her azure blue eyes wide and earnest. For a moment, a spark of recognition, a genuine connection, seemed to pass between us. She reached out, her tiny hand brushing my cheek, a gesture so simple, yet so profound.