Deltans and Vampires Don’t Mix Like Rum and Coca-Cola

[Gage Silver 0]

Deltans and Vampires Don’t Mix Like Rum and Coca-Cola

by Calestorm, T'Aral, & Gage

 

 

Sleeping through a major crisis had its perks. Waking in the middle of one generally turned out like a nightmare. It really caught your attention once the medical staff felt it necessary to strap you to your bed for an incident that you were still trying to figure out. When T’Aral called Shavra a ‘dangerous patient’, Gage listened despite not having the faintest clue why.

 

Patiently submitting to his restraints, the uneasiness written on his face scarcely did his underlying state of mind justice. Gage honestly couldn’t decide which was worse: that a Deltan had been in his head or that she’d been in his head uninvited. Despite briefly, successfully pulling the mental wool over his eyes, the things Shavra had conjured in his dreams hadn’t been all bad. The tale she'd fed him, image by image, of a damsel in distress who needed rescuing, had been more than convincing. Honestly pleasant for a fantasy, and he wouldn’t be Gage Silver if he didn’t partially wish he could go back to sleep right now.

 

But he couldn’t ignore Shavra's apparent intentions and his unwitting part in a situation that had everyone acting like he was the next John Dillinger. Forget the dreams; bottom-line: he’d lost control when Shavra mentally ambushed him in his sleep. She’d used him and that pissed him off. Maybe he was safer as an insomniac.

 

It’d pissed him off more when T’Aral ignored his questions and walked away without listening to him or explaining the situation. First, T’Aral coldly lectured him until he clammed up; then acted like it was his fault he didn’t feel like playing ‘Lucy and Charlie Brown’ with her. Blame him for throwing the Homecoming game, but she’d given him every reason to believe she was incapable of understanding the memories that were keeping him awake at night.

 

Now this. Her bedside manner left Gage wondering if she remotely understood the concept. What could be more exigent than: hey, your ‘dangerous patient’ is telepathically brainwashing members of the crew into freeing her? Why was Shavra ‘dangerous’ and what had everyone paranoid? What in the name of every misfit, juvenile and godlike entity had he missed?

 

“Doc,” he snapped in T’Aral’s direction as she returned from her office. “At least tell me what...is going on. Please...?”

 

T’Aral turned to Ensign Silver, the tension of the last several hours showing only briefly. “Members of the crew have contracted a virus, Ensign. The pathology of this virus mutates an infected person into a potential threat to others. Your … encounter … with Lieutenant Shavra has presented an additional symptomatic pattern which has not been previously observed.”

 

“Now, if you will excuse me.” She paused to examine Ensign Ellis, who had been recovering from Silver’s attack. Fortunately she was not severely injured, and T’Aral had already put aside any thought of pursuing an investigation of the attack. While facts were limited they readily suggested that Ensign Silver was not in command of his faculties, and therefore was not responsible for his actions. Resting as he was on a bio-bed, the monitors had an encephalograph of the Ensign prior to the incident. The results were most revealing.

 

Calestorm entered the main medical bay, the entry door shutting behind her; the middle-aged officer stayed where she was, just inside the entryway. The rebreather mask covered the lower half of her face, although anyone close enough had only to glance at her eyes; the eyes were always a window to the soul. And the mood.

 

Light green eyes took in the situation and her body language was tense and ready as the threat level of the area was assessed. The infected patients were either restrained or unconscious or delirious with fever. The odd coloring to the eyes, the fangs...Cale found this upsetting on an instinctual level.

 

The medical personnel working with the most severe cases wore full HAZMAT gear; located behind the quarantine glass in the emergency section of medical, nothing would get out of that section short of a nuclear detonation.

 

She moved towards the section where Silver, TAral, and Shavra were located.

 

“Skipper,” Gage called out in mild relief. T’Aral’s brusque explanation had left him squirming in the dark; maybe Calestorm would be more forthcoming. “What’s goin' on?”

 

“A mess of trouble Ensign. Heard you had a close encounter with Lt. Shavra?”

 

Gage looked bewildered. “Sir, I honestly donno what that means. All I know is Shavra was in my head and I couldn't think straight. Thought I was dreaming. Next thing I know, I’m tied to my bed and doc here’s sayin’ Shavra’s ‘dangerous’; sick with some kind of virus. And can someone please tell me why Katsuragi’s talkin’ about vampires?”

 

“Easy Ensign...we got some weirdness going on is all. Science and Medical are workin' on it."

 

Her gaze rested briefly on the unconscious form of the Deltan female before winging towards T’Aral, to which Cale asked, “What’s up Doc?”

 

T’Aral responded to the Captain’s inquiry with the same even gaze worn by most Vulcans, even in the most trying of times. “You may remove the rebreather, Captain - it is unnecessary. While Lieutenant Belo has been examining the virus to determine genus and species, I have been examining it as an independent organism. I have investigated its mode of operation, biofunctions, strengths, and weaknesses.

 

“We are dealing with a mutagenic virus which is both hemotoxic and neurotoxic. Its primary form of transmission is through bite, which it facilitates by altering the mandibular structure of an infected individual. It also progressively suppresses higher brain functions; the patient becomes increasingly primitive, encouraging behaviors which facilitates the transmission of the virus."

 

The captain squinted one eye.

 

“As the disease progresses in the body, it damages the oxygen-carrying blood cells native to the infected host. It is a most adaptive virus: it has proven compatible with blood hemoglobin based on iron, copper, and cobalt. Put more simply - any member of the crew can become infected. Blood chemistry is not an effective deterrent."

 

Her eye unsquinted and an eyebrow raised toward her hairline.

 

“The virus does have one limitation: it cannot exist outside of a living host. I have not yet ascertained the specific mechanism involved as test specimens have not survived long enough to subject them to testing. However: there is some element in the ambient environment which is lethal to the virus. In order to survive, it must be directly transferred. I am currently developing test conditions which should provide answers."

 

Cale pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

 

“In the meantime, it is vital that we keep infected patients away from other members of the crew. Because the virus cannot exist outside of a living body, we can contain it so long as infected crew members are isolated immediately.”

 

“Wait, wait, whoa;” Gage cut in, understanding more of what T’Aral said than he wanted to and feeling more unsettled. 'Easy Ensign' was easier said than done. “You mean this virus turned Shavra into a...vampire? Literally?” Shavra had neglected to mention that in his dreams and learning about it now made his skin crawl.

 

“Not literally, Ensign.” T’Aral turned to face Silver directly. “The ‘literal’ vampire is supposed to be an ‘undead’ being. Our patients are very much alive. Any resemblance of an infected person to a literary device indigenous to Earth’s folklore is entirely coincidental.”

 

“But if she’d bit me, I would’a turned into one of those things like her, right? She tried to trick me with her siren mind games,” he comically gestured around his head; “into freeing her and letting her bite me. What else do you call a ‘vampire’?”

 

T’Aral’s eyebrow lifted in brief irritation. “Lieutenant Shavra is still the same person she was four days ago - she is not a thing. If you were bitten, you would become infected; that is all. The concept of ‘vampire’ carries with it additional connotations which do not apply in this situation. We are dealing with a virus, Ensign - nothing more.”

 

“Nobody said vampires can’t start with a virus,” Gage grumbled to himself.

 

“Your speculation notwithstanding, your encounter with the Lieutenant has provided additional information which is important to consider. Apparently the mutagenic properties of this virus can accelerate certain biological factors. An infected person may be stronger, faster, or more durable than they were previously. Also, as is apparently the case with Lieutenant Shavra, minor traits such as the relatively weak telepathic abilities of Deltans can be enhanced to the point of becoming significant.” T’Aral stepped over to a terminal and began to type. “We must note that.”

 

“Yeah, you should,” he shot back out of unease. “But enhanced? Thought Deltans could already put, uh, suggestions in your head. Y’know, as part of their mating ritu--” Gage faltered, wearing a look like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar after sleepwalking.

 

“Never mind,” he lowly retracted with a cringe.

 

T’Aral’s eyebrow arced higher, the tension on her face growing. “You seem remarkably well informed regarding Deltan biology. Perhaps your talents are wasted in Engineering - I wonder that you didn’t pursue a career in medicine.”

 

“Was a medic on the teams for a while," Gage answered, his old mental defenses finally kicking in with a shrug. Indifferent to the doctor's biting sarcasm, he began to smirk at the overhead as his mind went to places that were scarcely academic and involved a lot of inappropriate humor. "And I’ve known a few Deltans.”

 

“Indeed? Then perhaps you should be researching a cure for this virus, while I examine the impulse engines.” T’Aral turned away suddenly. “If you will excuse me, Captain.”

 

“Ah don’t recall dismissing you, Doctor.” She called to the retreating back of the Vulcan. “And don’t make me come over there...”

 

T’Aral paused, her will clutching at her mind to regain control. Few people knew how much of a myth it was that one couldn’t anger a Vulcan. Through training and discipline a clean facade was maintained and logic was used as the center of their focus in order to prevent the inefficiency of hostile outbursts. Yet emotions still existed: always needing to be repressed, and always awaiting the right catalyst to reveal themselves.

 

“You,” she pointed to Silver, “keep the smart comments on low stun. You’re not exactly a diplomat...” and as TAral moved back towards them, Cale spoke in that same soft tone, “...pull back on your comments as well...you ain’t exactly a diplomat either.”

 

Gage stifled any further asinine remarks, scrutinizing the Vulcan doctor as she obediently returned. Vulcan has a wedgie, he mused and he couldn’t fathom what had her Vulcan undies in a knot. He only said he presumed Deltans were naturally capable telepaths; the possibility of repeat incidents worried him more than correcting the expert. But T’Aral had apparently mistaken his confusion and discomfort for an intellectual challenge. That T’Aral cared who was right or wrong to the point of feeling affronted, struck Gage like a childish overreaction, if not uncharacteristic for a Vulcan. Something was eating her. But, at the moment, one detail weighed more on his mind than smoothing T’Aral’s feathers: Shavra had done to him exactly what the doctor believed she couldn't. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or dead wrong. Scratch that: dead mattered. But he wouldn't forget those mental images any time soon and the longer they replayed in his head, the more he wished he could burn them. What he’d give to take a piece of steel wool to his brain.

 

Crash had removed her rebreather, letting it dangle around her neck. “We’re all a little tense, a little scared, a little under the gun. And, now that I’ve established that we’re not the Diplomatic Corps, let’s try this conversation again shall we? Bless both of your little hearts...”

 

“Mister Silver, how do you feel right now and why were you here in the first place?” She glanced at his neck. “You weren’t bit, right?"

 

“Don’t think so,” Gage answered warily, but checking was a bit outside his reach at the moment. He briefly looked down at his restraints and then pulled them taut as he raised his open hands to show that he was not a threat. He couldn't hide the frustration and discomfort from his voice. “Skipper, how long do I have to stay tied up? Came down here ‘cause I haven’t got a decent night’s sleep in two weeks. Doc gives me a sedative, tells me to sleep it off here, and this happens. No offense to the host,” he nodded at the doctor; ”but I don’t feel like hangin’ around in sickbay right now.”

 

Relaxing the tension on his restraints, Gage let his head drop to the pillow and frowned. “Feel like taking a shower and drinking a metric...ton. Of coffee.”

 

The captain glanced at TAral. “Doc. Shavra - meaning her infection - got to him once; stands to reason she could again hijack Gage mentally, correct? If she’s close enough and he’s sedated?”

 

From the look on his face, Gage didn’t like the sound of that.

 

“The potential that Lieutenant Shavra may unduly influence those around her may be greater than you have stated. It is my intention to classify her as an environmental and security hazard, which would mean establishing tighter security and quarantine protocols for those having to deal with her.”

 

Or that. Coming from T’Aral, Gage definitely didn’t like the sound of that.

 

“As for Ensign Silver, he is free to leave. His insomnia will continue to be a concern, both for his own well-being as well as the safety of the ship and his co-workers. However; the Medical Bay facilities and resources need to be applied to the viral infestation. Non-emergency care is being redirected, and the Ensign’s needs can be addressed in the relative comfort of his own quarters.”

 

"And Mister TAral, for now, are things as under control as your Medical staff can handle? And you’ve been coordinating with Sciences?”

 

T’Aral considered the questions briefly. It was probable that the Captain would not like her response to the second point, so it was best to be as optimistic as possible regarding the first. “If the number of cases do not significantly increase the situation is managable. I will be requesting additional security officers as time goes on if I cannot identify a means to halt the mental deterioration produced by the virus. The safe containment of this outbreak continues to be our greatest concern and challenge.

 

“With regards to co-ordinating with Sciences: they are focusing on identification of the viral strain. If the genetic strain can be successfully identified it may be possible to develop an effective anti-viral protocol. The Medical department has been focusing on examining the virus as an independent entity. We have developed an understanding of its function, life cycle, environmental needs, and all observable effects it has on a host body. Our goal is containment and symptomatic treatment until such time as an effective cure - or other permanent solution - can be established.” T’Aral hoped that the Captain wouldn’t seek an elaboration; there was no possible way that she would approve of T’Aral’s current ‘permanent solution’.

 

The captain glanced around, taking in the bustling medical personnel, the sedated patients; Crewman Salvatore thrashed about, snarling. A med tech jabbed a hypo into the man’s neck and he quieted again. Permanent solution, huh? Like a trip to the airlock or euthanize? Cale banished that darker thought, not expressing it out loud. Tried not to think that way, at least.

 

She nodded towards the doctor. “Okay. For now, let’s stay the course of action. I’ll be checking in with Lieutenant Belo directly. TAral, keep your people as safe as you can...if it becomes necessary to evacuate the area...” Her voice trailed off, her thoughts again going dark.

 

Then she abruptly deflected the conversation, directing a wan smile to Ensign Silver. “Gage? Guess I don’t need to tell you to make like a pair of old jeans and fade?”

 

“No, sir!” Gage answered readily; and just as an aide released the restraint on his right hand, he swiftly tore off the others. He had a few permanent solutions of his own in mind after his encounter with Shavra and they were nothing short of vindictive.

 

“Time to GTFO,” he remarked, ire still straining his voice as he leapt from the bed. In seconds flat he was through the exit and that almost wasn’t fast enough.

Edited March 31, 2012 by Gage Silver