242005.18 | JL: Dr Fytherix & 1Lt Razer
Cry For Help
Location: Medical Tent, Colandis V
=/\= Medical Control Tent, Colandis V
“Here,” Fytherix huffed as he shoved two cases and a stack of PADDs into a hapless private's arms. He patted his chest, then ran his three-fingered hands down the length of his torso. A concerned look crossed his face, before he turned back to the private and found what he was looking—his lab coat. He snatched it swiftly from the young man's hands, then shooed the poor kid off. “Take this to the CMO's station, and tell 'em to leave it the hell alone until I get there.”
As the kid ran off, the doctor glanced lazily around. Once he'd gotten his jacket on, lit a cigarette, and smoked half of it while reading over another PADD he tapped his COMM badge. “Doc Fyth to Lieutenant Razor: I just got to the Medical tent. Are you within the safe zone?”
Robert was in the Command and Control Tent, at his desk with his head on his desk... overhearing Dr Fytherix. “I am in my Command and Control Tent, Doctor,” as he continues to listen ...
“I'll take that as a yes, then,” the Tellarite replied. “I'm heading your way,” he added before closing the channel abruptly.
It wasn't difficult for Fytherix to locate the Lieutenant's office, and the brief journey gave him an opportunity to make a few observations about the situation they were in. For one thing: it was oppressively hot within the allegedly atmospherically controlled system of structures and star craft that comprised the command center.
A few moments later the doctor was approaching a tall, exhausted-looking human. The insignia on his collar matched the rank of the individual he'd spoken with moments prior, and his posture easily explained that tone in his voice. “You must be Razor,” the short Tellarite announced. “I'm Doc Fytherix.”
Robert stood suddenly, changing his expression as best he could. “Welcome... welcome Doctor Fytherix. my apologies for my rudeness; the death of XO has not really treated me well. There has been a lot of unfinished paperwork and emails that have been flooding my inbox. With this mission I've been getting pulled between both... so please accept my apologies.”
Robert walks around from within the ships and onto the main floor. “Welcome to out little Command and Control tent. This is where we take monitor of all action throughout the planet... We monitor the health of the original teams that landed and collect all the data to try and figure out what is going on with the planet, it's people and the environment. We have collected a lot of information, but sadly we been stretched thin lately. It's been hard for us to find a spare body to began breaking down the information.”
As Robert was speaking he pointed to the different stations and tables that were stacked with PADDs containing extensive information... Various screens showed maps with different dots on the map of the location and various charts displayed. “How rude of me: would you like some coffee? We have food synthesizer aboard the ship if you'd like anything,” indicating the replicator.
“Losing a friend and colleague is what it is: fuckin' awful...” the Tellarite grumbled. “Trying to manage the impending death of a planet and assume the XO's job at the same time is just fuckin' ridiculous.” Without pretense, Doc fished a flask out of his lab-coat pocket, took a swig, and offered it to the young Lieutenant.
Robert accepted the flask and took a swig. “Good... good stuff...” he managed to say between coughs. He quickly moved over to the replicator to get a coffee which he hoped would help the burn, and after a sip he turned back to the Doctor. “Thank you,” he added.
While Razor's back had been turned Fytherix had lit another cigarette, so when the Tellarite waved his hand with a dismissive grunt in response a bit of ash spilled on the floor. Using his other hand he took a second sip from the flask before depositing it back into his lab coat pocket, then withdrawing a PADD in the same motion.
“Don't thank me yet, Junior,” the doctor grumbled. “I've been goin' over your reports since I got to the ship, and so far your recommendation to rescue this colony is risking twice as many lives as it has the possibility of saving. Is there something you know down here that I don't?”
Robert thought nothing of the cigarette ashes and went to a desk that contained a bunch of graphs. “Do you think that I have not realized that? This thing's had me up for days.. I've been playing congressman with a bunch of idiots--speaking frankly--that do not want to listen to reason. “For some reason our medical staff that was here before you arrived is suspecting foul play...” Robert picked up a pad and handed it to Dr Fytherix .
“Here's a PADD that is constantly being updated with everything the team is working on... You've probably already look at some of this information, but this virus is like nothing ever seen before. Medical information has any information on it.. I believe we found a new.. strand? ...of some sort.” Robert went back to his desk, and took another sip of his black coffee.
Nodding as he accepted the PADD, Fyth glanced over the information as he spoke. “You are correct that this virus—if you could call it that—has some very strange, and clealrly artificial properties. You see, it's more prions than an actual virus, meaning that it invades cells within the body and directs it's own duplication, thereby creating isolated proteins on the fly. The funny thing in this case, is in the simulations I ran on the ship the virus actually adapted over time, so if a person who'd previously been infected took the cure it's possible for them to become reinfected with a mutation created within the cells of an infected patient they came into contact with.”
“Long story short: if anyone who is infected carries their own personalized mutation of the illness, we won't be able to lift quarantines until literally every person, animal, and plant on the planet is cured,” the doctor concluded. “There's no possible way this illness was not manufactured.”
Robert stood there silently for a moment, thinking to himself about all the people he witnessed through the streets.. the children running about the markets.. and the dead bodies displayed as they carried the dead to be burned.
“Thank you for that, Doctor, but how could we cure so many people? It's not possible, right? We literally do not have enough crew to support such operation...”
Robert went back to his desk and sat down. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the desk and poured 2 glasses. He pushed one to the other side of the desk, offering it to Fytherix and drank his quickly before saying anything else. “Think, Robert...think...” he muttered to himself a moment later.
“Once we find a cure we should be able to disperse it in a gaseous form with the use of atmospheric torpedoes. Then, to be on the safe side we'd just need to add the same cure to the water source,” the Tellarite said with certainty.
Robert grabbed the PADD on the table and started inputting data, trying to verify that it could work. “I'm sorry Doctor, I am trying to see if I could find any variables using this method. We don't have many chances left, and we cannot risk everyone's lives just like that,” he announced as he continued to input more data into the system.
“How can we be certain the weather conditions--or the colonists, for that matter--will even work with us doctor?
"Depends on our jurisdiction here," the Doctor replied with a shrug. "We can either beg forgiveness, or ask permission to distribute the cure for a relentlessly fatal disease." The tone of his voice had switched to an almost sarcastic tone. Considering the impact of the virus up to this point, it wasn't likely that any attempt to cure it would leave anyone in worse shape--unless they died, of course. "In either case, almost any type of weather would only serve to further distribute the cure. Hell, I'm hoping for rain."
Robert took a seat. “Well that could work... At this point you're the only one that has come up with a solution..and we are running out of options. Just tell me what you need and I'll get the teams out here working towards the solution. Hopefully it works or else it's our asses are on the line...” Robert concluded as he sat back and looked at the ceiling.
Taking that as a sign that their meeting had come to an end, the Doctor nodded curtly. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You'll be hearing from me again soon.”
=/\= Doctor Fytherix
Chief Medical Officer, USS Sanctuary
=/\= First Lieutenant Robert Razor
Acting Executive Officer, USS Sanctuary