IKC FHew 7C6110
Cabin Fever – Finding a cure
by HoD Ro' Matlh & Soghla' HIchop Matlh & Soghla' Jared & Sogh Germite Ephilom
Post Details
With Mike called away to give a lecture, it had fallen to Germite to conduct what research he could. Unfortunately Germite was a field medic and not a virologist, but the only other semi qualified medic was HIchop and he was a glorified Porter. He had set the computer to try and find a way to cure the disease, but now could do little more than what it stream data to the screens so fast he could barely follow. Jared, far more experienced with getting good responses out of the computer was looking on but seemed distracted.
There was a tone and the screens stopped flashing and returned to the symbol of the KDF.
"I have completed the requested task and now await further instructions," it informed the pair. "Having navigated 15,879,235 possible paths to achieving a cure for the Klingon viral afflictions, and filtering them by time, resources and probability of success I have determined the primary approach, with a 13% chance of success."
Jared, working at a terminal, practically ignored the feedback. He had never been one to totally rely on the shell ghost AIs, and was neck deep in the data. The virus was... brilliant. And he only really understood half of how it worked at this point. But there HAD to be a solution. He was going through the basics again, trying to find some way to...
"You're never going to get it like that," said a voice beside him.
Jared glanced around. A familiar figure sat on the crate behind him, dressed in nondescript black garments. Not the impressive black of an elite soldier or security officer, but the sort of black that looks like it's been worn long enough to fade. Forgotton-in-the-back-of-the-wardrobe black.
He sighed.
"You," he grunted.
He glanced around at Germite, who seemed to be paying no attention - apparently unaware of Jared's companion. But of course, he would be.
"Those counteragent strains aren't going to take," the man told him, pointing to the screen. "Those ones on the left and the bottom right are too far from the base-pair sequence of the disease. The one on the middle right would only affect the longer one-two-one strains, so it'd only knock out maybe three in 1000 viral cells. And the top right... unless I miss by guess you'd run a good risk of giving it a new delivery mechanism."
"Did I ask for your help?" Jared snapped irritably. "You're hardly in the business of saving people from deadly diseases. Practically the opposite!"
"I've picked up a few things about plagues over the years," the man replied in a helpful way.
"How on earth would 251 give it a new delivery mechanism? It doesn't have..."
Jared paused a moment. He squinted at the proposed counteragent on the top-right of the screen. After a moment he frowned and glanced irritably at his companion. Then he tapped a few keys and deleted the top-right icon.
After a moment's further thought, he gave a grunt and deleted the icons along the left. Then a moment later he deleted the remaining icons.
He gave the nondescript man a look of annoyance.
"Fine. I'll start again. I thought you weren't doing business with me any more!"
"I didn't change our relationship, Jared. You did. And just because you're not a client any more doesn't mean I can't show an interest. You're not going to solve this in the lab here. You don't have the time or the resources. And you don't have terribly long before you won't be able to reason properly."
"I don't... I... what?" Jared managed.
"The plague will soon be impairing your ability to think straight."
"Now I know you're just winding me up," Jared snapped. "This disease can't affect me. My biology isn't compatible. I don't have the biological mechanisms it uses."
"I'd have a look at what the trace particulates of infected biomatter are doing in your blood, if I were you."
Jared gave his companion an annoyed look, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. After a short period of glowering, he picked up a scalpel from amongst the lab equipment on the counter, and poked himself in the palm. He matter of factly grabbed a microscope slide and smeared a little blood on it, before slotting it into the micro-scanner, and switching it into analysis mode.
After a moment, he sat up in surprise. He initiated a few more detailed scans, eyes widening at the results.
"You're... right," he said uncomfortably.
"You see it?"
"Yes," Jared nodded, looking shocked. "Trace particulates from other races, leeching toxins into my plasmodic system. I can't be infected by the disease, but I can have infected material in my system, acting as a factory for toxins that DO affect me."
The other man nodded.
"Not enough to be lethal, but this stuff is pretty potent, and your system will take a long time to filter it. You'll be suffering hallucinations and paranoia pretty soon, and you'll most likely be able to work within a few hours. Probably last for a week or two, until well after these Klingons are all dead. Longer, if you suffer continued exposure to infected humanoids."
Jared looked at the screen. He really was drawing a blank on any way to fix this.
"So that's why you're here?" Jared asked with a tone of frustration. "You're here for the Klingons, and you just thought you'd drop in and say hi?"
"You know I don't do spoilers like that, Jared," the man replied. He nodded at the screen.
"You're gonna need help."
"There is none," Jared said bluntly. "There's no one to help. Klingons don't do medicine like this. Hardly anyone does medicine like this. The people that worked on this disease are either in a secure bunker laboratory somewhere, or possibly in prison. Or a Psyche ward."
"My... haven't we gotten fatalistic in recent years?" the other commented with a wry smile. "I seem to remember you being the one who was all about 'Assume there's a solution until you're actually dead!' That was your words, wasn't it?"
"There's no-one aboard who can fix this. Not even Jeeves, and he's built for problems like this."
"Not on the ship, no. But that's not the only help at hand."
Jared looked at him with a cynical expression.
"Rag-tag space pirates aren't going to know the first thing about genetics and bio-warfare."
"You'd be surprised. Great place to hide out, this station. There's one or two hidden among the populace that have kept me... rather busy in the past."
Jared gave an exasperated sigh.
"And should I bump into any passing germ warfare geniuses on the station, what should I tell them? That I was chatting to death, and he told me I should look you up?"
Death shrugged.
"You assume I'm not on speaking terms with them as well! But no, I'd probably avoid that. It'd sound an awful lot like you were already starting to hallucinate."
Jared gritted his teeth. He grabbed the mug off the desk beside him.
"Well... that's very helpful," he managed with barely suppressed anger. "Well I'm glad we've had this chat. But for now I was wondering if you could just LEAVE ME ALONE!"
He turned suddenly and hurled the mug directly at where death was...
...at the empty crate behind him. It smashed against the metal, and splashed dark caffinated fluid across the crate.
He looked at the empty space behind him, and shook his head. He needed to keep it together. Couldn't be getting angry at hallucinations...
Germite was looking at him funny. Jared gave him a nod, and he went back to what he was doing.
"Are you alright?" Jeeves politely asked.
"I'm fine!" Jared snapped.
"Who were you talking to?" Jeeves prompted gently.
"An old... no-one. It doesn't matter."
Jared began to look over the notes on the disease again.
"I... wouldn't normally ask," Jeeves continued, apparently not content to drop the matter. "You have been known to talk to yourself on occasions. I only ask because in this case the person you were speaking with seems to have been rather... well informed."
"Hmm?" Jared grunted in query.
"Well... I could only hear your end of the conversation, but they were correct about counteragent 251. My analysis suggests it could give rise to an airborne, self-replicating variant of the disease. They also, judging by their advice about the disease's effect on you, seem to understand an awful lot about Vetus biology."
"Nothing I couldn't have worked out myself," Jared said dismissively.
"They're also correct, if they were implying there might be someone that could help on the station" Jeeves added.
"I'm sure it's just... What??"
"I've been looking for helpful information on the station's computers. It... seems there might be someone with an... unusual level of expertise in the field of biological warfare staying on the station."
"They'd have to have an extraordinary knowledge of biological warfare to be able to help here," Jared replied.
"They... apparently do."
Jared paused, thoughtfully.
"You have a name?"
"Dr Morgan Pass, Number 4 on the Federations Most Wanted list for the development and deployment of a biogenic weapon that killed half of his home planets population. He is wanted for questioning on at least fifteen other counts of suspected genocide. He also appears to be currently residing at this station."
by HoD Ro' Matlh & Soghla' HIchop Matlh & Soghla' Jared & Sogh Germite Ephilom
Post Details
| Title | Finding a cure | |
| Mission | Cabin Fever | |
| Author(s) | HoD Ro' Matlh & Soghla' HIchop Matlh & Soghla' Jared & Sogh Germite Ephilom | |
| Posted | Fri Sep 18, 2015 @ 5:05am | |
| Location | FHew Infirmary |
There was a tone and the screens stopped flashing and returned to the symbol of the KDF.
"I have completed the requested task and now await further instructions," it informed the pair. "Having navigated 15,879,235 possible paths to achieving a cure for the Klingon viral afflictions, and filtering them by time, resources and probability of success I have determined the primary approach, with a 13% chance of success."
Jared, working at a terminal, practically ignored the feedback. He had never been one to totally rely on the shell ghost AIs, and was neck deep in the data. The virus was... brilliant. And he only really understood half of how it worked at this point. But there HAD to be a solution. He was going through the basics again, trying to find some way to...
"You're never going to get it like that," said a voice beside him.
Jared glanced around. A familiar figure sat on the crate behind him, dressed in nondescript black garments. Not the impressive black of an elite soldier or security officer, but the sort of black that looks like it's been worn long enough to fade. Forgotton-in-the-back-of-the-wardrobe black.
He sighed.
"You," he grunted.
He glanced around at Germite, who seemed to be paying no attention - apparently unaware of Jared's companion. But of course, he would be.
"Those counteragent strains aren't going to take," the man told him, pointing to the screen. "Those ones on the left and the bottom right are too far from the base-pair sequence of the disease. The one on the middle right would only affect the longer one-two-one strains, so it'd only knock out maybe three in 1000 viral cells. And the top right... unless I miss by guess you'd run a good risk of giving it a new delivery mechanism."
"Did I ask for your help?" Jared snapped irritably. "You're hardly in the business of saving people from deadly diseases. Practically the opposite!"
"I've picked up a few things about plagues over the years," the man replied in a helpful way.
"How on earth would 251 give it a new delivery mechanism? It doesn't have..."
Jared paused a moment. He squinted at the proposed counteragent on the top-right of the screen. After a moment he frowned and glanced irritably at his companion. Then he tapped a few keys and deleted the top-right icon.
After a moment's further thought, he gave a grunt and deleted the icons along the left. Then a moment later he deleted the remaining icons.
He gave the nondescript man a look of annoyance.
"Fine. I'll start again. I thought you weren't doing business with me any more!"
"I didn't change our relationship, Jared. You did. And just because you're not a client any more doesn't mean I can't show an interest. You're not going to solve this in the lab here. You don't have the time or the resources. And you don't have terribly long before you won't be able to reason properly."
"I don't... I... what?" Jared managed.
"The plague will soon be impairing your ability to think straight."
"Now I know you're just winding me up," Jared snapped. "This disease can't affect me. My biology isn't compatible. I don't have the biological mechanisms it uses."
"I'd have a look at what the trace particulates of infected biomatter are doing in your blood, if I were you."
Jared gave his companion an annoyed look, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. After a short period of glowering, he picked up a scalpel from amongst the lab equipment on the counter, and poked himself in the palm. He matter of factly grabbed a microscope slide and smeared a little blood on it, before slotting it into the micro-scanner, and switching it into analysis mode.
After a moment, he sat up in surprise. He initiated a few more detailed scans, eyes widening at the results.
"You're... right," he said uncomfortably.
"You see it?"
"Yes," Jared nodded, looking shocked. "Trace particulates from other races, leeching toxins into my plasmodic system. I can't be infected by the disease, but I can have infected material in my system, acting as a factory for toxins that DO affect me."
The other man nodded.
"Not enough to be lethal, but this stuff is pretty potent, and your system will take a long time to filter it. You'll be suffering hallucinations and paranoia pretty soon, and you'll most likely be able to work within a few hours. Probably last for a week or two, until well after these Klingons are all dead. Longer, if you suffer continued exposure to infected humanoids."
Jared looked at the screen. He really was drawing a blank on any way to fix this.
"So that's why you're here?" Jared asked with a tone of frustration. "You're here for the Klingons, and you just thought you'd drop in and say hi?"
"You know I don't do spoilers like that, Jared," the man replied. He nodded at the screen.
"You're gonna need help."
"There is none," Jared said bluntly. "There's no one to help. Klingons don't do medicine like this. Hardly anyone does medicine like this. The people that worked on this disease are either in a secure bunker laboratory somewhere, or possibly in prison. Or a Psyche ward."
"My... haven't we gotten fatalistic in recent years?" the other commented with a wry smile. "I seem to remember you being the one who was all about 'Assume there's a solution until you're actually dead!' That was your words, wasn't it?"
"There's no-one aboard who can fix this. Not even Jeeves, and he's built for problems like this."
"Not on the ship, no. But that's not the only help at hand."
Jared looked at him with a cynical expression.
"Rag-tag space pirates aren't going to know the first thing about genetics and bio-warfare."
"You'd be surprised. Great place to hide out, this station. There's one or two hidden among the populace that have kept me... rather busy in the past."
Jared gave an exasperated sigh.
"And should I bump into any passing germ warfare geniuses on the station, what should I tell them? That I was chatting to death, and he told me I should look you up?"
Death shrugged.
"You assume I'm not on speaking terms with them as well! But no, I'd probably avoid that. It'd sound an awful lot like you were already starting to hallucinate."
Jared gritted his teeth. He grabbed the mug off the desk beside him.
"Well... that's very helpful," he managed with barely suppressed anger. "Well I'm glad we've had this chat. But for now I was wondering if you could just LEAVE ME ALONE!"
He turned suddenly and hurled the mug directly at where death was...
...at the empty crate behind him. It smashed against the metal, and splashed dark caffinated fluid across the crate.
He looked at the empty space behind him, and shook his head. He needed to keep it together. Couldn't be getting angry at hallucinations...
Germite was looking at him funny. Jared gave him a nod, and he went back to what he was doing.
"Are you alright?" Jeeves politely asked.
"I'm fine!" Jared snapped.
"Who were you talking to?" Jeeves prompted gently.
"An old... no-one. It doesn't matter."
Jared began to look over the notes on the disease again.
"I... wouldn't normally ask," Jeeves continued, apparently not content to drop the matter. "You have been known to talk to yourself on occasions. I only ask because in this case the person you were speaking with seems to have been rather... well informed."
"Hmm?" Jared grunted in query.
"Well... I could only hear your end of the conversation, but they were correct about counteragent 251. My analysis suggests it could give rise to an airborne, self-replicating variant of the disease. They also, judging by their advice about the disease's effect on you, seem to understand an awful lot about Vetus biology."
"Nothing I couldn't have worked out myself," Jared said dismissively.
"They're also correct, if they were implying there might be someone that could help on the station" Jeeves added.
"I'm sure it's just... What??"
"I've been looking for helpful information on the station's computers. It... seems there might be someone with an... unusual level of expertise in the field of biological warfare staying on the station."
"They'd have to have an extraordinary knowledge of biological warfare to be able to help here," Jared replied.
"They... apparently do."
Jared paused, thoughtfully.
"You have a name?"
"Dr Morgan Pass, Number 4 on the Federations Most Wanted list for the development and deployment of a biogenic weapon that killed half of his home planets population. He is wanted for questioning on at least fifteen other counts of suspected genocide. He also appears to be currently residing at this station."