Blood & Ice 05 - Revelations
BLOOD AND ICE
by Soledad
Author's note:For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
The medical explanations in this chapter are probably utter nonsense. I tired to make them as plausible as I could without actual knowledge; if I failed, I apologize.
Many thanks to stevie_carroll for providing the details about zombification. *g*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE - REVELATION
In the IsoLabs of the Enterprise, Doctor Selar was growing increasingly frustrated. Granted, frustration was an emotion, and a very human one at that, therefore unbecoming of a Vulcan and a scientist; but working with Doctor Crusher during a crisis was a hard trial for the collected, methodical Vulcan.
They had conducted numerous tests on the rapidly decaying body of poor Hodel, without getting any closer to the cause of his condition. What bewildered Beverly most was the alarming quickness of the decay, while the unconscious body was still displaying life signs.
“How could the mummification process advance at such a rate?” she kept repeating, slightly more hysterical every time.
Selar practiced herself in the unparalleled Vulcan virtue of patience.
“This is not your average corpse, buried in a twentieth-century Terran graveyard, Doctor, where the close proximity of other corpses would slow down the rate of decay considerably,” she pointed out. “It is a known fact that decomposition releases fat from the body, forming adipocere; which is the reason why corpses decay more slowly in traditional graveyards, than when buried well away from other corpses.”
“But Ensign Hodel is not dead yet,” Beverly argued. Selar nodded.
“True; the fact that decomposition would set on well before the ceasing of brain activity indicates the presence of a particularly aggressive virus or other pathogen. One that can affect brain activity and behaviour, as the Away Team has seen in the case of the earlier victims.”
“Like the rabies?” Beverly asked doubtfully.
“That is an apt comparison, yes,” the Vulcan agreed.
“But Ensign Hodel doesn’t show any behaviour modification,” Beverly reminded her. “In fact, he’s slowly but inevitably slipping into a deep coma.”
“Theoretically, it would be possible that the pathogen, whatever it is, keeps the brain functions running until the transformation process is complete,” Selar theorized. “If you remember, Ensign Carli could not read any neural activity from the fully transformed Captain Ahrens - and yet the dead captain attacked Commander Ryker and nearly killed Ensign Baldor.”
“The infection seems to spread very quickly, though,” Beverly said, “and with a very short incubation period, compared to any viruses we currently know to Federation medical science. Also, it’s apparently blood-borne, which means that splatter as well as bites could spread the condition.”
“And claw wounds,” Selar added grimly. “Even though we must keep in mind that the pathogen could be airborne as well. We still do not know how exactly it is spread. Right now, I am not aware of any virus with such aggressive potential. Unless…” she trailed off, which made Beverly very nervous.
“Unless what? Selar, talk to me!”
“Unless we are not dealing with just a simple virus,” the Vulcan said slowly.
“What else could it possibly be?” Beverly snapped.
“A parasite,” Selar replied. “A very complex, very resilient parasite that feeds on haemoglobin - and on iron-based haemoglobin exclusively, or else we would have Ensign Baldor lying on a biobed also.”
“Is that one of your theories or do you happen to know of such parasites?” Beverly demanded. Virology was not her forte.
“There is only one such parasite that I could think of,” the Vulcan answered. “And if it is what I think it is, then we have a more serious problem than we thought.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Regulan bloodworms?” Picard repeated in stunned disbelief. “How on Earth did Regulan bloodworms get aboard the Copernicus? There hasn’t been a case of infection reported since the quarantine established over the Regulan system for the past century and a half!”
“That is correct, Captain,” the Vulcan replied. “And yet we are definitely dealing with a bloodworm infestation.”
“If that’s the case,” Picard said, “then why doesn’t the victim simply die when the bloodworms have completed eating his or her blood? That used to be the best-know symptom of the bloodworm infection - people were dead within six hours, if I remember correctly. Entire planets were completely depopulated in mere days.”
“Indeed,” Selar said. “However, the bloodworms that we have detected in Mr Hodel’s bloodstream show a genetic alteration, compared with the original micro-organisms categorized in the medical database.”
“What kind of alteration?” Picard asked, having the glum feeling that he was not going to like the answer.
“We are still running tests,” Selar answered, “but the preliminary theory is that the modified organisms destroy the area of the brain that directs conscious thinking as well as conserve the body itself beyond brain-death, to serve as host and in order to spread the infection.”
“Leaving us with a bunch of hungry zombies,” Picard summarized sarcastically.
“With animated corpses directed by the thought impulses of the parasite; if we can call their instinctual behaviour thought impulses,” the Vulcan corrected.
“Is that possible at all?” Picard frowned. “For low-level life forms to control an organism as complex as the human body? Even if that body is dead?”
“The results are a little awkward,” Selar allowed, “but, as we can see it, workable. Until the infection has run its course, that is; after which he body would decompensate, releasing a new generation of spores.”
“But why would anyone wish to alter the genetic make-up of Regulan bloodworms, of all species?” Picard was still too shocked to think as methodically as was his wont.
“Perhaps,” Beverly’s eyes acquired that manic gleam as always when she was coming up with one of her far-fetched conspiracy theories, “perhaps somebody wanted to create an ultimate doomsday weapon…”
“Using bloodworms?” Picard found that a little hard to believe. “What good would it do to anyone? Nobody can annect a planet that had been infested with bloodworms. There’s a reason why the entire Regulan system is still under quarantine. The little buggers don’t just die when they run out of people to eat. They hibernate - only to wake up as soon as any warm-blooded creature with iron in their blood gets close to them.”
Beverly shrugged. “Well, it’s just a theory. It’s possible that we’re dealing with a spontaneous mutation, after all.”
“Which still does not explain how the bloodworms found their way aboard the Copernicus,” Selar said. “Unless the crew violated the quarantine order and entered the Regulan system, of course, but I see no logical reason for them to do so. The risks for themselves would be too high.”
“We can discuss the whys and wherefores later,” Picard said. “What I want to know is how we can cure our people.”
“There is no known cure for bloodworm infection,” Selar told him laconically. “Not for the original form of the parasite, and even less so for this new, mutated version. I am sorry, Captain.”
“Well, then it’s time to find one,” Picard returned. “I’m not giving up on my crew just yet. We can’t keep up the repulsor field forever; and once it fails, the spores will find their way into the Enterprise, seeing that they are spaceborne and all.”
“I must admit, Captain, that I am at a loss how we could solve this problem,” the Vulcan confessed.
“I do have an idea that might work,” Beverly said, shooting the Vulcan a disapproving look. “But I’m not sure that there’s enough time to carry it out.”
“With such a short incubation period, the Away Team will have about two hours before the bloodworms take effect,” Selar told her bluntly. “They have all breathed in the spores - or got them through an open wound. Currently, Commander Data is the only one who can be considered immune.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Needless to say that Ryker was deeply shocked by their commanding officer’s answer to his beam-out request.
“What do you mean you can’t?” he demanded. “These… zombies are doing their best to get through the door between them and the Away Team, and it’s just a matter of time till they’ll get lucky.”
“I’m truly sorry, Number One,” Picard replied, “but it seems that you’ve all been infected by Regulan bloodworms - well, except Mr. Data, of course. And as a Klingon, Mr. Worf may have some natural immunity. But these bloodworms seem to have mutated somehow, which means that not even Worf is completely safe.”
“And what are we supposed to do now?” Ryker demanded. “Should we just roll over and let them kill us?”
“I’m afraid the problem is more serious than that, Commander,” Carli said unhappily. “If we are infected, the transformation has already begun. In less than two hours, we’ll start attacking each other - those with a faster development rate will fall over the less infected. We’ll all become zombies,” s/he added and began to cry, softly, quietly.
“But how did the worms get aboard the Copernicus to begin with? Daro wondered, squatting down next to their medic and laying a comforting arm around hir thin shoulders.
Ryker shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Ensign.”
“Actually, there is no need to guess, Commander,” Data interrupted, tapping his forehead with a finger. “The medical logs seem to indicate that the Copernicus broke a one hundred and fifty-seven-year-old quarantine by entering the Regulan system. As for why they would make such an unreasonable step…”
“Wait, Data,” LaForge interrupted, scratching his itching hand absent-mindedly. “Can you hear that?”
The android looked at him in blank confusion. “Hear what, Geordi? You need to be more precise; all I can hear are the normal, functional noises of the life support system. Admittedly, they are not working at peak efficiency, but…”
“Exactly,” LaForge interrupted him again. “Everything has become very silent, all of a sudden.”
“You’re right,” Ryker realised. “Now, where have the damned zombies gone? What are they up to now?”
“Perhaps they’ve given up,” Worf growled doubtfully.
“That’s unlikely,” LaForge shook his head. “They were pretty determined to get to us and kill us. They’re planning something - and we’re not gonna like it.”
He began to scratch himself furiously again, until the back of his hand was criss-crossed with deep scratch marks, the one or other of which deep enough to bleed.
“Geordi,” Data warned, “you should not do that. Injuring yourself is contraproductive; plus, the smell of blood will only attract the infected people.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t help it,” LaForge complained. “I itch terribly, all over.”
“Now that you mention it…” Ryker began to scratch himself, too, and didn’t seem able to stop. Neither did Carli.
“This is not good,” s/he said worriedly. “If I remember correctly, the itching is the first symptom of the disease.”
“Then why don’t Worf and Ensign Daro have it?” Ryker asked, almost accusingly.
“Klingons have a natural immunity,” Data reminded him. “They can even drink fully developed bloodworms as a delicacy in their bloodwine.”
“But the captain said that these are mutated worms,” LaForge pointed out. “So Worf might not be immune, after all.”
“Theoretically, he might not,” the android allowed, “but Klingon physiology is extremely redundant. The possibility that Lieutenant Worf may be affected is under ten per cent. He might act as a carrier, though, so Captain Picard cannot afford to beam him back to the Enterprise, either.”
“And what about Daro?” Ryker asked, eyeing the completely unfazed Rigelian enviously.
“Well, as a Vulcanoid, Ensign Daro has a blood chemistry based on copper, rather than on iron,” Data replied. “The bloodworms only attack species with red blood.”
“Which is why they simply killed Baldor, instead of trying to turn her into one of them,” Daro added. “They knew she would not be compatible; and neither would I.”
The perspective didn’t seem to comfort him, though, which was understandable. Baldor’s death had been anything but simple, after all.
“Unfortunately, iron-based haemoglobin is one of the most frequent traits among humanoid species,” Data said. “Consequently, aside from Klingons, Vulcanoids and Andorians, practically everyone in the known galaxy is endangered.”
As if wanting to prove his words, Carli suddenly released a high-pitched shriek and rolled into a ball on the floor, clutching hir flank as if in pain. The howls s/he produced didn’t even sound vaguely human.
Ryker frowned. “What’s his problem?” he asked Daro, not bothering with the right pronouns.
The Rigelian shrugged, petting the little alien’s hair soothingly.
“I don’t know, sir. S/he seems to be in a great deal of pain; perhaps s/he has injured hirself and had not realised it until now. Lieutenant,” he looked at Worf,” would you help me to remove hir tunic, so that I can check hir for injuries? It appears that the source of hir pain is under hir arms… both of them.”
While Carli kept howling in pain like a wounded animal, the Klingon and the Rigelian - both having a more relaxed attitude towards nudity than the average human - did their best to remove hir tunic without causing hir any more distress. It was not easy to peel hir hands away from hir sides, and as soon as the tunic was out of the way, s/he hugged hirself in despair again.
Ryker could not help but ogle a bit; this was the first time that he’d seen the little alien without a uniform. The torso thus revealed was long, thin and pale, the breasts too flat to be those of a woman yet too soft to be the pecks of a man; the chest was also completely hairless. He wondered if there were any physical changes when Carli got in the heat, as s/he was known to put it… an occasion that happened quite regularly, if one could trust the rumour mill.
“We must take a look at the affected area,” Daro growled in the meantime, blissfully unaware of their commanding officer’s improper thoughts. Which was fortunate for Ryker, as the Rigelian was quite fond of the little alien medic, and he knew at least twenty-seven different ways to kill a man without a weapon.
Carefully as not to break Carli’s thin bones, Daro once again peeled those surprisingly large hands off hir flanks - and then all but Data backed off a step in utter revulsion.
Under the soft, pale skin of the little alien worm-like creatures were moving, wriggling themselves upward - most likely heading for the brain. Their movement must have caused extreme pain, if Carli’s high-pitched shrieks were any indication.
“Can’t we give hir something to ease the pain?” Daro asked anxiously; his sensitive Vulcanoid hearing found the howls hard to endure. “We can’t just let hir suffer while being eaten alive!”
“Unfortunately, I have no idea what we can or cannot do at this point,” Data admitted. “Perhaps we should consult Doctor Crusher…”
“What we should do is to kill hir on the spot,” Wolf growled. “It would be the merciful thing to do. Can’t you see it, Commander? S/he’s becoming one of them!”
“So we should just put hir down like a rabid dog?” Daro demanded angrily.
Worf shrugged his heavy shoulders. “You’ll see, Ensign, that there’s no help for hir. Letting hir suffer and turn into a mummy is something a friend,” he emphasized the word, “should not subject hir to.”
At this point Carli mercifully passed out, and the room fell eerily silent after hir bone-shattering screams. Ryker was just about to contact the Enterprise again when he realized that the sealed door was slowly, unstoppably bulging inward.
The zombies were about to break through!
He hit his comm badge with slightly more force than it would have been strictly necessary. “Ryker to Enterprise. Captain, the zombies are almost upon us. Could you have us beamed inside that repulsor field, here on the Copernicus?”
“Just a second, Number One,” there was a short pause while Picard consulted the transporter chief. “Mr. O’Brien says yes. Prepare for extraction.”
“We are ready, sir, whenever you are.”
“Very well,” Picard’s voice became less focused as he turned away from the comm unit. “Chief O’Brien, energize!”
They could see the door finally give in and splinter into sharp pieces of metal, as the nightmarish creatures - not so long ago their fellow Starfleet officers - stormed the room. Then there was that familiar, tingling feeling, and the transporter beam pulled them away, just in time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Doctor, tell me you’ve got good news,” Picard said when Beverly contacted him a moment alter.
“I think so,” Beverly replied smugly. “I think we’ve found a cure. If you’d come down and take a look?”
“On my way,” Picard stood, tugged down his uniform tunic and looked at the conn officer. “Mr. Haskell, you have the bridge,” he said before stepping into the turbolift and ordering it to take him to sickbay.
Down in sickbay, he found a proud and excited Beverly and Doctor Selar, wearing such a blank face as only a very concerned Vulcan could.
“Congratulations on finding a cure so quickly, Doctors,” he said, but Selar shook her head.
“It is not a cure, Captain. It is an emergency measure only; one that is probably more dangerous than the plague itself.”
Beverly scowled at her. “You are exaggerating, Selar!”
“No, I am not,” the Vulcan stated calmly. “I am merely pointing out the possible risks this emergency measure could mean for the entire crew.”
“Let me take a look at this cure of yours first,” Picard said placatingly. “Does it really work? If yes, we can argue about whether or not we should risk using it.”
“Of course it works!” Beverly replied indignantly. “Look at it, Julien.”
She turned around the monitor screen, which showed the strongly magnified image of two worm-like creatures, one of which was devouring the other.
“I’ve created an anti-bloodworm,” she announced proudly, “which feeds on bloodworms exclusively. I got the idea from an old Earth game we used to play as children. It’s called Pac-Mac; perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
Picard shook his head; not that he’d been the slightest interested in what Beverly had wasted her childhood with.
“How are you planning to stop the anti-worms from getting out of control?” he asked.
“She cannot,” Selar injected icily. “The anti-worms are stronger, more resistant than the bloodworms themselves. Spontaneous mutations can be neither foretold now prevented. She could release a plague, compared with which the bloodworms would appear positively harmless.”
“No, I won’t!” Beverly waved off her warnings impatiently. “As soon as the bloodworms are neutralised, a poison will be administered to the victim; one that is harmless to the host but kills the anti-worms.”
“Or so you hope,” Selar commented dryly.
“I know it will work,” Beverly insisted.
Picard, having his doubts about the outcome of the idea, looked at Selar, who seemed close to rolling her eyes - under normal circumstances not a typical Vulcan reaction.
“What do you suggest, Doctor?” he asked. “Should we try it? Is it doable?”
“We can try it, of course,” Selar replied, weighing her own words carefully. “It will certainly deal with the bloodworms. I am not certain about the aftermath, though; that we could eliminate the anti-worms safely, without killing the host in the process.”
“I see,” Picard sighed. “Unfortunately, this is the only action we can choose at the moment. We simply don’t have the time to look for other methods before the Away Team, too, would turn into a horde of zombies. All right, Beverly; we’ll beam the cure over and have Data administer it; at least he won’t be endangered.”
“Oh, no!” Beverly protested. “Data isn’t qualified to handle a medical emergency of this magnitude. I’ll go!”
“That would be highly illogical, Doctor,” Selar said. “It is I who should administer the cure. I am every bit as qualified as you are, and I have a natural immunity as a Vulcan. There is no reason for you to put yourself at risk - and others, should this cure not work as it is supposed to.”
“It will work,” Beverly declared stubbornly. “And I’m the chief medical officer of this ship; it’s my responsibility.”
“There is also such thing as delegating responsibilities,” the Vulcan pointed out. “Logic dictates that the person best suited to perform a task should be assigned to that task. And in this case, I am the person best suited, as I would be the one taking the lesser risk. It is that simple.”
“Don’t come me with that twisted Vulcan logic of yours,” Beverly snarled. “This is my sickbay, my cure and my responsibility. And that’s why I’ll go,” she glared at Picard defiantly. “You can’t hinder me, Julien, and you know it. In cases of medical emergency I outrank you.”
“Oh, so we are having a little power struggle?” Picard asked sarcastically. “Strange; until now I had the - apparently mistaken - impression that we are trying to stop the deadliest plague know to Federation history.”
“Touché, Captain,” Selar commented sotto voce.
Her face mirrored one of the many Vulcan non-expressions; currently one that clearly showed just a touch of schadenfreude. Which was unbecoming of a Vulcan perhaps, but even her endurance had its limits. Being a logical people, Vulcans did not suffer fools gladly.
Before the indignantly spluttering Beverly could have thought of an answer, the turbolift doors wooshed open, admitting the tall figure of Ensign Hodel.
Or rather the desiccated mummy that had been Hodel only a couple of hours earlier.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PS: Just for the record: personally, I don’t find Beverly a particularly strong character. Or Riker, for that matter; but that’s my personal opinion. Feel free to disagree.
Chapter 06 - Conspiracies
by Soledad
Author's note:For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
The medical explanations in this chapter are probably utter nonsense. I tired to make them as plausible as I could without actual knowledge; if I failed, I apologize.
Many thanks to stevie_carroll for providing the details about zombification. *g*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE - REVELATION
In the IsoLabs of the Enterprise, Doctor Selar was growing increasingly frustrated. Granted, frustration was an emotion, and a very human one at that, therefore unbecoming of a Vulcan and a scientist; but working with Doctor Crusher during a crisis was a hard trial for the collected, methodical Vulcan.
They had conducted numerous tests on the rapidly decaying body of poor Hodel, without getting any closer to the cause of his condition. What bewildered Beverly most was the alarming quickness of the decay, while the unconscious body was still displaying life signs.
“How could the mummification process advance at such a rate?” she kept repeating, slightly more hysterical every time.
Selar practiced herself in the unparalleled Vulcan virtue of patience.
“This is not your average corpse, buried in a twentieth-century Terran graveyard, Doctor, where the close proximity of other corpses would slow down the rate of decay considerably,” she pointed out. “It is a known fact that decomposition releases fat from the body, forming adipocere; which is the reason why corpses decay more slowly in traditional graveyards, than when buried well away from other corpses.”
“But Ensign Hodel is not dead yet,” Beverly argued. Selar nodded.
“True; the fact that decomposition would set on well before the ceasing of brain activity indicates the presence of a particularly aggressive virus or other pathogen. One that can affect brain activity and behaviour, as the Away Team has seen in the case of the earlier victims.”
“Like the rabies?” Beverly asked doubtfully.
“That is an apt comparison, yes,” the Vulcan agreed.
“But Ensign Hodel doesn’t show any behaviour modification,” Beverly reminded her. “In fact, he’s slowly but inevitably slipping into a deep coma.”
“Theoretically, it would be possible that the pathogen, whatever it is, keeps the brain functions running until the transformation process is complete,” Selar theorized. “If you remember, Ensign Carli could not read any neural activity from the fully transformed Captain Ahrens - and yet the dead captain attacked Commander Ryker and nearly killed Ensign Baldor.”
“The infection seems to spread very quickly, though,” Beverly said, “and with a very short incubation period, compared to any viruses we currently know to Federation medical science. Also, it’s apparently blood-borne, which means that splatter as well as bites could spread the condition.”
“And claw wounds,” Selar added grimly. “Even though we must keep in mind that the pathogen could be airborne as well. We still do not know how exactly it is spread. Right now, I am not aware of any virus with such aggressive potential. Unless…” she trailed off, which made Beverly very nervous.
“Unless what? Selar, talk to me!”
“Unless we are not dealing with just a simple virus,” the Vulcan said slowly.
“What else could it possibly be?” Beverly snapped.
“A parasite,” Selar replied. “A very complex, very resilient parasite that feeds on haemoglobin - and on iron-based haemoglobin exclusively, or else we would have Ensign Baldor lying on a biobed also.”
“Is that one of your theories or do you happen to know of such parasites?” Beverly demanded. Virology was not her forte.
“There is only one such parasite that I could think of,” the Vulcan answered. “And if it is what I think it is, then we have a more serious problem than we thought.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Regulan bloodworms?” Picard repeated in stunned disbelief. “How on Earth did Regulan bloodworms get aboard the Copernicus? There hasn’t been a case of infection reported since the quarantine established over the Regulan system for the past century and a half!”
“That is correct, Captain,” the Vulcan replied. “And yet we are definitely dealing with a bloodworm infestation.”
“If that’s the case,” Picard said, “then why doesn’t the victim simply die when the bloodworms have completed eating his or her blood? That used to be the best-know symptom of the bloodworm infection - people were dead within six hours, if I remember correctly. Entire planets were completely depopulated in mere days.”
“Indeed,” Selar said. “However, the bloodworms that we have detected in Mr Hodel’s bloodstream show a genetic alteration, compared with the original micro-organisms categorized in the medical database.”
“What kind of alteration?” Picard asked, having the glum feeling that he was not going to like the answer.
“We are still running tests,” Selar answered, “but the preliminary theory is that the modified organisms destroy the area of the brain that directs conscious thinking as well as conserve the body itself beyond brain-death, to serve as host and in order to spread the infection.”
“Leaving us with a bunch of hungry zombies,” Picard summarized sarcastically.
“With animated corpses directed by the thought impulses of the parasite; if we can call their instinctual behaviour thought impulses,” the Vulcan corrected.
“Is that possible at all?” Picard frowned. “For low-level life forms to control an organism as complex as the human body? Even if that body is dead?”
“The results are a little awkward,” Selar allowed, “but, as we can see it, workable. Until the infection has run its course, that is; after which he body would decompensate, releasing a new generation of spores.”
“But why would anyone wish to alter the genetic make-up of Regulan bloodworms, of all species?” Picard was still too shocked to think as methodically as was his wont.
“Perhaps,” Beverly’s eyes acquired that manic gleam as always when she was coming up with one of her far-fetched conspiracy theories, “perhaps somebody wanted to create an ultimate doomsday weapon…”
“Using bloodworms?” Picard found that a little hard to believe. “What good would it do to anyone? Nobody can annect a planet that had been infested with bloodworms. There’s a reason why the entire Regulan system is still under quarantine. The little buggers don’t just die when they run out of people to eat. They hibernate - only to wake up as soon as any warm-blooded creature with iron in their blood gets close to them.”
Beverly shrugged. “Well, it’s just a theory. It’s possible that we’re dealing with a spontaneous mutation, after all.”
“Which still does not explain how the bloodworms found their way aboard the Copernicus,” Selar said. “Unless the crew violated the quarantine order and entered the Regulan system, of course, but I see no logical reason for them to do so. The risks for themselves would be too high.”
“We can discuss the whys and wherefores later,” Picard said. “What I want to know is how we can cure our people.”
“There is no known cure for bloodworm infection,” Selar told him laconically. “Not for the original form of the parasite, and even less so for this new, mutated version. I am sorry, Captain.”
“Well, then it’s time to find one,” Picard returned. “I’m not giving up on my crew just yet. We can’t keep up the repulsor field forever; and once it fails, the spores will find their way into the Enterprise, seeing that they are spaceborne and all.”
“I must admit, Captain, that I am at a loss how we could solve this problem,” the Vulcan confessed.
“I do have an idea that might work,” Beverly said, shooting the Vulcan a disapproving look. “But I’m not sure that there’s enough time to carry it out.”
“With such a short incubation period, the Away Team will have about two hours before the bloodworms take effect,” Selar told her bluntly. “They have all breathed in the spores - or got them through an open wound. Currently, Commander Data is the only one who can be considered immune.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Needless to say that Ryker was deeply shocked by their commanding officer’s answer to his beam-out request.
“What do you mean you can’t?” he demanded. “These… zombies are doing their best to get through the door between them and the Away Team, and it’s just a matter of time till they’ll get lucky.”
“I’m truly sorry, Number One,” Picard replied, “but it seems that you’ve all been infected by Regulan bloodworms - well, except Mr. Data, of course. And as a Klingon, Mr. Worf may have some natural immunity. But these bloodworms seem to have mutated somehow, which means that not even Worf is completely safe.”
“And what are we supposed to do now?” Ryker demanded. “Should we just roll over and let them kill us?”
“I’m afraid the problem is more serious than that, Commander,” Carli said unhappily. “If we are infected, the transformation has already begun. In less than two hours, we’ll start attacking each other - those with a faster development rate will fall over the less infected. We’ll all become zombies,” s/he added and began to cry, softly, quietly.
“But how did the worms get aboard the Copernicus to begin with? Daro wondered, squatting down next to their medic and laying a comforting arm around hir thin shoulders.
Ryker shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Ensign.”
“Actually, there is no need to guess, Commander,” Data interrupted, tapping his forehead with a finger. “The medical logs seem to indicate that the Copernicus broke a one hundred and fifty-seven-year-old quarantine by entering the Regulan system. As for why they would make such an unreasonable step…”
“Wait, Data,” LaForge interrupted, scratching his itching hand absent-mindedly. “Can you hear that?”
The android looked at him in blank confusion. “Hear what, Geordi? You need to be more precise; all I can hear are the normal, functional noises of the life support system. Admittedly, they are not working at peak efficiency, but…”
“Exactly,” LaForge interrupted him again. “Everything has become very silent, all of a sudden.”
“You’re right,” Ryker realised. “Now, where have the damned zombies gone? What are they up to now?”
“Perhaps they’ve given up,” Worf growled doubtfully.
“That’s unlikely,” LaForge shook his head. “They were pretty determined to get to us and kill us. They’re planning something - and we’re not gonna like it.”
He began to scratch himself furiously again, until the back of his hand was criss-crossed with deep scratch marks, the one or other of which deep enough to bleed.
“Geordi,” Data warned, “you should not do that. Injuring yourself is contraproductive; plus, the smell of blood will only attract the infected people.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t help it,” LaForge complained. “I itch terribly, all over.”
“Now that you mention it…” Ryker began to scratch himself, too, and didn’t seem able to stop. Neither did Carli.
“This is not good,” s/he said worriedly. “If I remember correctly, the itching is the first symptom of the disease.”
“Then why don’t Worf and Ensign Daro have it?” Ryker asked, almost accusingly.
“Klingons have a natural immunity,” Data reminded him. “They can even drink fully developed bloodworms as a delicacy in their bloodwine.”
“But the captain said that these are mutated worms,” LaForge pointed out. “So Worf might not be immune, after all.”
“Theoretically, he might not,” the android allowed, “but Klingon physiology is extremely redundant. The possibility that Lieutenant Worf may be affected is under ten per cent. He might act as a carrier, though, so Captain Picard cannot afford to beam him back to the Enterprise, either.”
“And what about Daro?” Ryker asked, eyeing the completely unfazed Rigelian enviously.
“Well, as a Vulcanoid, Ensign Daro has a blood chemistry based on copper, rather than on iron,” Data replied. “The bloodworms only attack species with red blood.”
“Which is why they simply killed Baldor, instead of trying to turn her into one of them,” Daro added. “They knew she would not be compatible; and neither would I.”
The perspective didn’t seem to comfort him, though, which was understandable. Baldor’s death had been anything but simple, after all.
“Unfortunately, iron-based haemoglobin is one of the most frequent traits among humanoid species,” Data said. “Consequently, aside from Klingons, Vulcanoids and Andorians, practically everyone in the known galaxy is endangered.”
As if wanting to prove his words, Carli suddenly released a high-pitched shriek and rolled into a ball on the floor, clutching hir flank as if in pain. The howls s/he produced didn’t even sound vaguely human.
Ryker frowned. “What’s his problem?” he asked Daro, not bothering with the right pronouns.
The Rigelian shrugged, petting the little alien’s hair soothingly.
“I don’t know, sir. S/he seems to be in a great deal of pain; perhaps s/he has injured hirself and had not realised it until now. Lieutenant,” he looked at Worf,” would you help me to remove hir tunic, so that I can check hir for injuries? It appears that the source of hir pain is under hir arms… both of them.”
While Carli kept howling in pain like a wounded animal, the Klingon and the Rigelian - both having a more relaxed attitude towards nudity than the average human - did their best to remove hir tunic without causing hir any more distress. It was not easy to peel hir hands away from hir sides, and as soon as the tunic was out of the way, s/he hugged hirself in despair again.
Ryker could not help but ogle a bit; this was the first time that he’d seen the little alien without a uniform. The torso thus revealed was long, thin and pale, the breasts too flat to be those of a woman yet too soft to be the pecks of a man; the chest was also completely hairless. He wondered if there were any physical changes when Carli got in the heat, as s/he was known to put it… an occasion that happened quite regularly, if one could trust the rumour mill.
“We must take a look at the affected area,” Daro growled in the meantime, blissfully unaware of their commanding officer’s improper thoughts. Which was fortunate for Ryker, as the Rigelian was quite fond of the little alien medic, and he knew at least twenty-seven different ways to kill a man without a weapon.
Carefully as not to break Carli’s thin bones, Daro once again peeled those surprisingly large hands off hir flanks - and then all but Data backed off a step in utter revulsion.
Under the soft, pale skin of the little alien worm-like creatures were moving, wriggling themselves upward - most likely heading for the brain. Their movement must have caused extreme pain, if Carli’s high-pitched shrieks were any indication.
“Can’t we give hir something to ease the pain?” Daro asked anxiously; his sensitive Vulcanoid hearing found the howls hard to endure. “We can’t just let hir suffer while being eaten alive!”
“Unfortunately, I have no idea what we can or cannot do at this point,” Data admitted. “Perhaps we should consult Doctor Crusher…”
“What we should do is to kill hir on the spot,” Wolf growled. “It would be the merciful thing to do. Can’t you see it, Commander? S/he’s becoming one of them!”
“So we should just put hir down like a rabid dog?” Daro demanded angrily.
Worf shrugged his heavy shoulders. “You’ll see, Ensign, that there’s no help for hir. Letting hir suffer and turn into a mummy is something a friend,” he emphasized the word, “should not subject hir to.”
At this point Carli mercifully passed out, and the room fell eerily silent after hir bone-shattering screams. Ryker was just about to contact the Enterprise again when he realized that the sealed door was slowly, unstoppably bulging inward.
The zombies were about to break through!
He hit his comm badge with slightly more force than it would have been strictly necessary. “Ryker to Enterprise. Captain, the zombies are almost upon us. Could you have us beamed inside that repulsor field, here on the Copernicus?”
“Just a second, Number One,” there was a short pause while Picard consulted the transporter chief. “Mr. O’Brien says yes. Prepare for extraction.”
“We are ready, sir, whenever you are.”
“Very well,” Picard’s voice became less focused as he turned away from the comm unit. “Chief O’Brien, energize!”
They could see the door finally give in and splinter into sharp pieces of metal, as the nightmarish creatures - not so long ago their fellow Starfleet officers - stormed the room. Then there was that familiar, tingling feeling, and the transporter beam pulled them away, just in time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Doctor, tell me you’ve got good news,” Picard said when Beverly contacted him a moment alter.
“I think so,” Beverly replied smugly. “I think we’ve found a cure. If you’d come down and take a look?”
“On my way,” Picard stood, tugged down his uniform tunic and looked at the conn officer. “Mr. Haskell, you have the bridge,” he said before stepping into the turbolift and ordering it to take him to sickbay.
Down in sickbay, he found a proud and excited Beverly and Doctor Selar, wearing such a blank face as only a very concerned Vulcan could.
“Congratulations on finding a cure so quickly, Doctors,” he said, but Selar shook her head.
“It is not a cure, Captain. It is an emergency measure only; one that is probably more dangerous than the plague itself.”
Beverly scowled at her. “You are exaggerating, Selar!”
“No, I am not,” the Vulcan stated calmly. “I am merely pointing out the possible risks this emergency measure could mean for the entire crew.”
“Let me take a look at this cure of yours first,” Picard said placatingly. “Does it really work? If yes, we can argue about whether or not we should risk using it.”
“Of course it works!” Beverly replied indignantly. “Look at it, Julien.”
She turned around the monitor screen, which showed the strongly magnified image of two worm-like creatures, one of which was devouring the other.
“I’ve created an anti-bloodworm,” she announced proudly, “which feeds on bloodworms exclusively. I got the idea from an old Earth game we used to play as children. It’s called Pac-Mac; perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
Picard shook his head; not that he’d been the slightest interested in what Beverly had wasted her childhood with.
“How are you planning to stop the anti-worms from getting out of control?” he asked.
“She cannot,” Selar injected icily. “The anti-worms are stronger, more resistant than the bloodworms themselves. Spontaneous mutations can be neither foretold now prevented. She could release a plague, compared with which the bloodworms would appear positively harmless.”
“No, I won’t!” Beverly waved off her warnings impatiently. “As soon as the bloodworms are neutralised, a poison will be administered to the victim; one that is harmless to the host but kills the anti-worms.”
“Or so you hope,” Selar commented dryly.
“I know it will work,” Beverly insisted.
Picard, having his doubts about the outcome of the idea, looked at Selar, who seemed close to rolling her eyes - under normal circumstances not a typical Vulcan reaction.
“What do you suggest, Doctor?” he asked. “Should we try it? Is it doable?”
“We can try it, of course,” Selar replied, weighing her own words carefully. “It will certainly deal with the bloodworms. I am not certain about the aftermath, though; that we could eliminate the anti-worms safely, without killing the host in the process.”
“I see,” Picard sighed. “Unfortunately, this is the only action we can choose at the moment. We simply don’t have the time to look for other methods before the Away Team, too, would turn into a horde of zombies. All right, Beverly; we’ll beam the cure over and have Data administer it; at least he won’t be endangered.”
“Oh, no!” Beverly protested. “Data isn’t qualified to handle a medical emergency of this magnitude. I’ll go!”
“That would be highly illogical, Doctor,” Selar said. “It is I who should administer the cure. I am every bit as qualified as you are, and I have a natural immunity as a Vulcan. There is no reason for you to put yourself at risk - and others, should this cure not work as it is supposed to.”
“It will work,” Beverly declared stubbornly. “And I’m the chief medical officer of this ship; it’s my responsibility.”
“There is also such thing as delegating responsibilities,” the Vulcan pointed out. “Logic dictates that the person best suited to perform a task should be assigned to that task. And in this case, I am the person best suited, as I would be the one taking the lesser risk. It is that simple.”
“Don’t come me with that twisted Vulcan logic of yours,” Beverly snarled. “This is my sickbay, my cure and my responsibility. And that’s why I’ll go,” she glared at Picard defiantly. “You can’t hinder me, Julien, and you know it. In cases of medical emergency I outrank you.”
“Oh, so we are having a little power struggle?” Picard asked sarcastically. “Strange; until now I had the - apparently mistaken - impression that we are trying to stop the deadliest plague know to Federation history.”
“Touché, Captain,” Selar commented sotto voce.
Her face mirrored one of the many Vulcan non-expressions; currently one that clearly showed just a touch of schadenfreude. Which was unbecoming of a Vulcan perhaps, but even her endurance had its limits. Being a logical people, Vulcans did not suffer fools gladly.
Before the indignantly spluttering Beverly could have thought of an answer, the turbolift doors wooshed open, admitting the tall figure of Ensign Hodel.
Or rather the desiccated mummy that had been Hodel only a couple of hours earlier.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PS: Just for the record: personally, I don’t find Beverly a particularly strong character. Or Riker, for that matter; but that’s my personal opinion. Feel free to disagree.
Chapter 06 - Conspiracies