Why one should always be wary of participating in local culture

[Mu Satach]

The YT-1930 freighter flew along the deep space trade route. Inside Mu stared at a spot on the ceiling of her sleeping berth. It took all of her energy to focus on the hum of the Starry Nights engines as TC-18 in the cockpit monitored the course she plotted to get them home. Nothing fancy, nothing near any known skirmishes, a nice and slow boring journey... she hoped.

She held her arms and legs extended as far away from her body as possible. If she could have levitated herself she would have, the less that touched her skin the better. Shifting slightly, fire shot through her veins with a visible red glowing pluse.

A gasp of air sucked in quickly through clenched teeth, she forced herself to return again to staring at the spot. A few new blisters formed. She fought down the panic rising in her mind, the desire to rip her flesh off, to run screaming through the ship like a lunatic.

The thought of TC-18's reaction to the last mental image caused her lip to smirk. She breathed in and out. Closed her eyes and began drifting through the corridors of her mind.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do." said the medical officer.
"What?" Mu resisted the urge to slam the Dr. up against the bulkhead. Physical exertion only spread the fire in her veins.
"The poison has been engineered to react with all known treatments. Anything we do, will only complicate the healing process and could result in dementia, loss of limbs, or even death."
Mu looked at the trails of red forming across her body.
He continued, "If you can manage to stay calm and immobile while the body naturally works the toxins out of your system... you should be fine."

Her eyes opened and fixed on the spot again, but one phrase ricocheted through her brain.
you *should* be fine...
you *should* be fine...
you *should* be fine...