Chapter Text
Captain’s log, stardate 2263.67: the Enterprise has been tasked with collecting a rare medicinal plant, rory-rua, from Iblimi 6 and transporting it to the Omicron Settlement where a pandemic has broken out. Doctor McCoy has been in contact with Federation scientists at the Galbraith Station on Omicron, who are coordinating planetary efforts to combat the pandemic. It is hoped that rory-rua will provide the missing element needed for a treatment and/or vaccine.
The Omicron Settlement was founded on the principles of sustainability and harmony with nature. Those principles have been aided by the presence of the eponymous radiation in the atmosphere, which creates serious communication issues with the outside world. The founders used the planet’s isolation to create an Edenic retreat where nothing is wasted, and everything recycled.
It is my hope that the natural communication difficulty is to blame for the lack of contact as we approach, and not a complication of the pandemic.
I’m leading a landing party — in a shuttle, omicron radiation also makes beaming impossible — with specially enhanced comms. The landing party will keep in contact with the shuttle, who will relay our reports to the Enterprise.
Lieutenant Chekov has an uncle at Galbraith Station. I’ve asked him to pilot the shuttlecraft to give them a chance to catch up.
—
“You can open your eyes, Bones.” The Captain drawled. “We’re on the ground.”
“Funny.” The doctor said (opening his eyes.) “You’re funny, Jim.”
“Zhe landing vas zo perfect, you did not ewen feel it, Doktor.” Chekov said in his earnest way, his voice pitched only for McCoy to hear.
Surprised, McCoy snapped at Chekov. “Is that supposed to be a joke, Lieutenant?” He hid his wince. It wasn’t his best moment — he hadn’t felt the landing. He should be thanking the kid.
Chekov appeared unphased. “Of course not, Doktor. Russians do not joke.” He deadpanned.
Jim, the jerk, laughed. “He’s got you there, Bones.” He turned to Spock. “Everything in order?”
The science officer had finished the scans he’d been taking on the trip down. “It appears so, Captain.”
“Chekov, let Sulu know we’ve landed safely. We’ll check in in two hours.”
“Yes, Keptin.” The Lieutenant opened a channel on the shuttle’s communications system. Scotty had boosted its function to pierce the atmospheric radiation around the Omicron Settlement. They all listened as he hailed the Enterprise. The link sounded staticky to McCoy. He didn’t like it. As soon as they left the shuttle, they would be out of contact with the ship.
“Ensign Laufferty?” McCoy sighed under his breath as Jim leered at the young communications specialist.
“Captain?” Laufferty had blond curls in a complicated updo around his pretty face, and his legs looked long and shapely in the short red dress and black boots. Exactly Jim’s type.
“You’ll stay in the shuttle.” The Captain brandished his communicator. “We’ll be able to contact you here, and you can relay any messages to the ship.”
McCoy rolled his eyes — Jim said it like the Ensign hadn’t been briefed at length by Uhura, and then sat in at the official briefing.
“Of course, Captain.” The Ensign smiled sweetly at Kirk. It gave the Doctor a toothache. A glance at Spock told him nothing of course, but Chekov met his disapproving glare with a hint of exasperation. McCoy hoped Kirk had never gone after the young Russian — he wasn’t seventeen anymore, but he was still way too young for an old dog like Jim.
McCoy knew he wasn’t being fair. As attractive as Chekov was, Jim mostly responded to the invitation — the invitation that Laufferty was issuing in spades.
With a brusque, “Well then!” the Captain addressed the two security crew at the back of the shuttle. “Are we ready?”
“Yes sir.” Crewman Strong answered. She was a squat, densely muscular Human from a high-gravity world. McCoy had seen her wrestle in the sparring gym — it was impossible to knock her off her feet. He’d made more than a few credits betting on her during their last shore leave. She liked good bourbon too, he remembered.
“Let’s go.” The Captain said.
“Hold your horses.” McCoy exclaimed. “Hazard suits and bio-filters. There’s a pandemic on this rock and I’d rather not bring it back to the Enterprise in our bloodstreams.”
“Fine.” The Captain pouted. He didn’t care for the look of the hazard suit — it was a form-fitting gray over-suit with a clear helmet. The bio-filter attached to the helmet and — ideally — filtered out all pathogens. It also filtered sound — each helmet was equipped with microphone and receiver. He’d be hearing Jim’s voice in a jar.
McCoy tossed Jim his suit kit and began to open his own.
It was all contained within the helmet. McCoy pulled the bio-filter out and attached it to the back of the helmet then placed it on his head. He felt for the activation button and when he found it, the gray suit extended from the helmet and covered his blue tunic, black pants and boots entirely.
“Comms check McCoy.” He said and everyone lifted a hand to indicate they’d heard him.
“Comms check Kirk” “Comms check Spock” “Comms check Chekov.” …
When they were all suited up and had confirmed the communications links, Chekov triggered the door and the back of the shuttle opened revealing the breathtaking beauty of Omicron. The shuttle was on a vibrantly green landing pad, surrounded by a meadow of long blue grasses dotted with wildflowers that swayed in the breeze. A forest of trees with leaves varying from deep navy to lavender edged the meadow and snow-capped mountains loomed behind the violet trees. Tiny, butterfly-like mammals flitted from flower to flower. It was gorgeous.
It was also brisk. Doctor McCoy slipped on the jacket he’d been issued for the trip over the gray hazard suit — and wished it had come with gloves. Grumbling, he hoisted the container of rory-rua and slipped the strap over his head and across his body, to wear the unwieldy thing on his hip. Anywhere else, he’d have an anti-grav sled, but non-sustainable conveniences like the sled weren’t allowed on Omicron — even if he would have taken it right back to the Enterprise.
Only spaceships and shuttles and certain small personal items carried by interstellar visitors were given dispensation from the rule of sustainability.
The Doctor made sure he had his medical tricorder strapped to his other hip and watched as Chekov fastened his own jacket and holstered a phaser — both items they were allowed to carry with them, along with their communicators — then he followed the Captain out into the bright, slightly blue, sunlight.
The landing pad was attached to a woven bamboo-like walkway leading to a domed prefab welcome center. The area appeared to be deserted, not a soul in sight. It was eerily silent.
“Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of welcome party?” McCoy asked. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention in the briefing — he’d had enough to do preparing for the pandemic — but he knew planetary dignitaries and scientists were going to meet them at the shuttle. “Doctor Flevin was eager enough for this.” He thumped the heavy container on his hip.
“Yes, there was.” The Captain sounded more curious than irritated — even with the slightly muffled quality from the helmet. He gestured and they followed him to the welcome center. He opened the door and stepped into the single large room lit by skylights. There was soft furniture and a reception area, all empty. Jim tapped his helmet activating the broadcast mode. “Hallo?” The Captain’s voice echoed in the chamber.
“Fascinating.” Spock had his tricorder out and was scanning outside of the center. “There are life signs everywhere — thousands of them — just as there were when we landed.”
“Where is everyone?”
He turned in a slow half-circle. “In the forest. In the buildings. Farther in the city.”
McCoy stared at the forest — it seemed to move, to writhe. It was just the wind in the leaves, but it was unnerving. It made his skin crawl.
The Captain tapped the side of his helmet again, switching to a hailing frequency. “Laufferty, can you get Governor Peb on the line?”
“Just a moment, sir.” They waited, listening to the young Ensign hailing the Governor over and over. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no answer.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Keep trying.”
“Yes sir.”
“Come on.” Tapping his helmet harder than was strictly necessary to end the link, Kirk led them past the welcome center to a series of the pod buildings for which Omicron Settlement was famous, several of which appeared to be beginning to disintegrate, the graceful arcs at the top withering and collapsing. Their footfalls were muffled, the tall pod structures absorbing sound.
“I don’t like this.” McCoy said as they walked along.
“I see someone!” Crewman Shirr, the other security guard, exclaimed. The big Andorian’s antennae were twisting around inside his helmet almost like radar. “There, in those trees.” He pointed at a small copse of trees with thick, blue foliage.
Spock held up his tricorder. “There are a number of humanoid life signs in that area.” He confirmed.
“Wait.” McCoy snapped before Jim could go skipping headlong into trouble again. “We should avoid anyone acting strangely. I’d say lurking in the trees is strange.”
“The Doctor is correct.” Spock said. “We should proceed directly to Galbraith Science Station.”
“I want to talk to one of these people, Bones.” The Captain said with that mulish look he got when he wasn’t going to talked out of something. “I’m wearing the suit.”
“The suit can be damaged.” McCoy muttered.
“Keptin!” Chekov called from the entrance of a building that he’d been examining. “Look at zhis!”
Responding to the urgency in the Lieutenant’s voice, they all went to see what Chekov had found. The door to the building had been broken in, long knife cuts — or maybe the claw marks of a large animal — carved in its surface, and lay in shriveling pieces. “Zhat ees blood. A lot of blood.”
Spock’s tricorder was providing confirmation, but Doctor McCoy’s experienced eyes didn’t need confirmation — there were splatters of dried blood all over the doorway to the pod. And more of the knife cuts.
“There is evidence of blood on many of the buildings… and on the walkway.” Spock told them, making McCoy shift his feet nervously, looking for the gore underneath them.
“We should take a sample — it’s probably infected with the virus.” McCoy sighed. “Doctor Flevin said victims bleed from their orifices — which ain’t a nice way to go.”
“Indeed, Doctor.” Spock confirmed. “Yet there are thousands of life signs in the forest and thousands upon thousands in the city… strange...” He drew his eyebrows down in what passed for a frown. “You are aware of the Omicron Settlement’s dedication to sustainable practices.”
“Yeah, we’re all aware.” McCoy said, with only a small eye roll.
“Everything manufactured, including the buildings, are designed to disintegrate when they have outlived their usefulness. When the skin cells that humanoids shed drop below a certain level, it triggers a recycling process. You can see, many of these buildings have begun that process.” Spock pointed out the withering roof of a nearby pod. “This suggests that many of the buildings are not being used. Yet there are hundreds of thousands of people in the city.”
“More questions for the science team.” Kirk said. “And the governor.” He turned in a slow circle, examining the buildings, the trees, the mountains and sky — the beauty — all around them. “I think we should split up. Spock and I and Crewman Shirr are going to go to the Settlement City Governmental Hall to talk to the planetary Governor. The situation on the ground has changed and we need to get a handle on how. Bones, you and Chekov take Strong and head to Galbraith Station. Spock, check in with Laufferty, have him relay your findings so far.”
As the Vulcan tapped his helmet, McCoy took the Captain’s arm. “Jim,” he said pressing his helmet against the Captain’s, so they could have a private conversation. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to split up? Doesn’t take a genius to know something really ain’t right here. Maybe we should all go to Galbraith Station together.”
“I need to talk to the Governor, Bones.” The Captain told him, sounding especially tinny in McCoy’s helmet. “About more than just the pandemic. But you’re right, something strange is going on here — that’s why I brought our two best security officers. Strong will get you to the Station. And with Shirr, Spock and I can’t fail.” His boyish smile said trust me, but that didn’t work on McCoy anymore.
“Just don’t forget, if you catch this thing, Captain or not, you’re stuck here bleedin’ out of your ass. No one’s bringing this virus onto the Enterprise.”
“Isn’t that what this is for.” Kirk flicked the heavy container on McCoy’s hip.
“Who knows?” McCoy snapped. “It’s promisin’, but it’s not panacea. There’s no guarantee it’ll work. Don’t be cavalier about this disease thinkin’ there’s a silver bullet. There ain’t.”
“Your accent comes out when you’re upset, Bones.”
“Means you should listen to me!”
Kirk nodded and for a second McCoy thought the Captain was taking him seriously. Then he pulled away and asked, “Spock, are you ready?” And McCoy knew his warnings had fallen on deaf ears.
“Keep him out of trouble, Spock.” McCoy said desultorily.
“Of course, Doctor.” The Vulcan replied. McCoy could never tell if Spock took his warnings to heart or thought he was foolish for offering them.
It was moot now. McCoy watched the Captain walk away with Spock and the big Andorian security officer trailing him, then he turned to Chekov with a sigh. “You know the way to Galbraith Station?”
“Yes, Doktor.” The Lieutenant said, holding out his tricorder. “Eet ees zhis vay.”
With a grim smile at Strong, McCoy followed Chekov directly towards the afternoon sun. The white-blue glare reflected on his helmet and dazzled McCoy’s eyes.
It was a longer walk than McCoy expected. As much as he disliked beaming, he appreciated how often they were able to beam down to a spot close to their destination. Omicron Settlement only allowed ships and shuttles to land in certain areas. If they’d been met, presumably there would have been some sort of conveyance to the science station — something like the elevated tram lines that arced over their heads... or the hover car crashed into the tree that lay across the road.
“Zhis has been here for several days, at least.” Chekov said, after waving his tricorder over the impact point. “Look. More blood.”
McCoy looked. There was splatter inside of the hovercar. In the back seat, he could make out a child’s soft toy, brown and matted with dried blood.
There was more dried blood splatter on the trunk of the fallen tree.
“This doesn’t look like a pandemic.” Strong said.
McCoy glanced at her — she didn’t say much, speaking only when she felt it necessary. “What does it look like?” He asked, though he knew what she would say.
“Spree murder.”
Chekov looked between them uneasily. “People do all sorts of zhings vhen zhey are desperate.” He muttered. McCoy and Strong followed him over the tree trunk.
McCoy felt unsettled. The kid was right — all sorts of desperate things had happened here.
The deeper they walked into the city, the more evidence of that desperation they found — a street with deserted cars and trucks as far as they could see. Abandoned suitcases. Household items strewn from the door of a pod home across the walkway. Many buildings with the doors and windows hanging open or lying in shriveled pieces. A wheelbarrow with a replicator in it, cables trailing behind. A cricket bat. And everywhere, blood. Some of it fresh.
The knife cuts were everywhere — so ubiquitous, they couldn’t be knife cuts. McCoy would say they were claw marks… but from what?
Fewer of the buildings were deteriorating in this neighborhood. And maybe it was McCoy imagination, but the shadows were moving. He’d see it out of the corner of his eye — the shadow of a pod building changing shape. But when his head snapped around, it was still. Not that he took a closer look. As far as Doctor McCoy was concerned, the faster they were inside Galbraith Station (and he could put down this blasted heavy container of rory-rua!), the better.
Finally, Chekov lowered his tricorder and announced, “Eet should be just up here.” McCoy had never heard more beautiful words.
The station was right where Chekov said it would be, fully intact — and locked up tight. The windows were shuttered and there was no answer to the bell. After a minute, McCoy stopped bothering with the bell and knocked, well, pounded, on the door.
He couldn’t say he was very surprised. Despite all the life signs, they hadn’t seen a single person.
“Is anyone in there?” McCoy asked Chekov, unstrapping the ridiculously large and heavy container of rory-rua and setting it on the ground. With a stifled groan, he stretched his back and shoulders. He was a doctor, not a pack mule!
“Da — yes, Doctor. Zhere are zhree humanoid life signs een zhe station.”
“Three?” There were over two hundred Federation scientists at Galbraith Station. “Let the shuttle know our situation.” McCoy directed. Strong tapped her helmet at once and her lips began moving.
McCoy set his helmet to “broadcast” and pounded on the door again. “Hey! Galbraith Station!” He yelled. “It’s Starfleet! With your delivery! The miracle cure! Hey!” He turned back to Chekov with an impatient huff and switched the helmet back to normal mode “Can you reach your uncle?”
“Let me try.” Chekov tapped his helmet and used his tricorder to scan for frequencies. “Lieutenant Chekov of the Enterprise, calling for Doktor Lev Romanovich Chekov of Galbraith Station… repeat. Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov for Doktor Lev Romanovich Chek —”
…Pasha! Vhat are you doing here!?…
“Uncle Lev! Ve are outside of zhe Station. Ve haf zhe medicine, zhe rory-rua…”
…You are outside!? Nyet! No! Pasha, you cannot!…
As McCoy was listening to the conversation, the sun began to dip rapidly below the distant mountains, lengthening the shadows in the city. One of Omicron’s moons sat ruddy and small overhead.
Strong finished speaking with Laufferty in the shuttle and looked around, frowning at the sudden dusk.
“Ve are here, Uncle. Can you let us een?”
A long stream of staticky Russian flowed from the communicator. McCoy had the distinct impression Uncle Lev was swearing a blue streak.
“He vill open zhe door.” Chekov told him, tapping his helmet to break the connection. “He ees... frightened.”
“Maybe he can tell us what on God’s green earth happened here.” McCoy muttered.
“Sir!” The alarm in Strong’s voice had both McCoy and Chekov’s immediate attention. “Look.”
McCoy looked. The shadows were definitely moving now — and making noise, an unsettling click-clacking sound. He could make out figures shuffling forwards from the darkest depths to the merely dim. They were humanoid, but their movements were jerky and tortured. Their skin was black making them difficult to discern from the shadows and from each other. As they tottered closer, McCoy saw that they were bald and mostly nude, what clothes they wore disintegrating like the abandoned pod buildings. They had no visible sex characteristics, unlike most humanoids, their smooth torsos marred only by trails of blood. The worst were their faces, where blood flowed freely from large, entirely black eyes, and slack mouths showing bloody teeth.
“Vhat are zhey?” Chekov asked, his voice tinged with horror.
“I believe,” McCoy said grimly. “That we are looking at the pandemic — at people infected with the virus.”
“Chekov’s eyes opened wide. “Zhat!? Zhat ees vhat zhe wirus does!?”
“Holy fucking hell.” Strong muttered and McCoy agreed wholeheartedly. This wasn't just bleeding from the orifices — this was… this was something else entirely!
“Think we can convince ’em we don’t want any trouble?” McCoy asked.
Strong set her helmet to “broadcast.” “Stand back.” She commanded the tottering figures. “Don’t come any closer.”
They ignored the warnings, not missing a step.
“This is what the hazard suits are for.” McCoy said. “Keep your helmets on and your air filter in place. We don’t know how this virus is passed. Whatever you do, don’t touch anyone.” McCoy watched them coming. He hoped there was something he could do for them.
“I don’t think they hear us, Doctor.” Strong said. “They aren’t stopping.”
They clacked and chattered their teeth together and reached out with long claws.
Claws!
“Sir, what do we do if they don’t stop?” Strong asked.
McCoy swore out loud. “Phasers on stun — warn them that we will shoot if they don’t keep their distance, but no lethal force. We don’t want to kill anyone that could still be cured.”
“You zhink zhey can be cured?!” Chekov asked, his horror evident.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant.” McCoy said with authority. “But if there’s a chance, I want them to have it.”
His tone penetrated, Chekov snapped to attention. “Yes sir.”
The crowd of black figures — and it was a crowd, they were pouring into the street from the shadows as far as they could see — had shuffled closer, all their attention on the trio outside Galbraith Station. They showed no sign of hearing their questions or warnings.
“Do not come any closer.” Strong’s voice carried down the street. “We will shoot. We do not want to hurt you. This is a warning, do not come any closer.”
When the first few were two meters away, Strong aimed and fired and the figures dropped. She had set her phaser on ‘wide.’ Chekov hurried to adjust his phaser to the same setting and dropped three coming at them from the side.
McCoy hadn’t even seen them! He picked up the container of rory-rua and, ignoring his complaining muscles, strapped it across his body again. He put his back to Galbraith Station and pulled his medical scanner. He wanted to learn as much as he could about the disease. Up close, McCoy saw that their skin wasn’t black, but a very dark purple, as if blood was trapped under their skin. It was inflamed, the darkened skin, angry-looking, and when they fell their blood splashed and poured out over the pavement. It was difficult for McCoy to keep a clinical mindset — the part of him that wanted to shriek, and shudder was close to breaking out.
Strong was shooting almost constantly, Chekov picking off the steady stream emerging from a narrow alley on their left. McCoy had hoped that seeing the vanguard being shot would stop the rest. It did not. They maintained a single-minded focus on reaching the three from the Enterprise. Even the bodies of their fellows did not hinder the oncoming horde — their jerky movements were surprisingly agile, and their slow but steady pace never changed.
“Where is your uncle?” McCoy shouted at Chekov.
“I do not know, Doktor.” Chekov said. “He knows zhat ve are here.”
McCoy huffed impatiently. “Does he know that they’re here?! Shit!” Two had got past Strong’s phaser and were grabbing for her with clawed hands. “Don’t let them touch you!” McCoy cried and rushed up with the container of rory-rua held high and used it to repel one of the attackers, pushing them to the ground where Strong shot it. The other was still clinging to her other arm, clacking their teeth together unpleasantly until she shot it point blank.
The few seconds that took was enough for a dozen more to bear down on them. Chekov was still shooting, but there were too many! McCoy retreated to the doorway of Galbraith Station, dragging Chekov with him. “Get behind me, Lieutenant.” He ordered, holding up the unwieldy container as a barrier between them and the infected horde. Chekov continued firing at the jerky, black figures emerging on their flank.
Strong was fighting hand to hand, using the phaser when she could, throwing them back bodily when she couldn’t. She was effectively keeping them away from McCoy and Chekov, but that couldn’t last long. McCoy shoved another with the container, and they squelched on impact, blood and fluids splattering as they fell back. They immediately came at him again and McCoy shoved it again. Carrying the goddam container had been hell, but he was glad to have it now!
“Pasha! Pasha! Hurry!”
“Doktor! My Uncle ees here!”