Five Months Ago
Enterprise Orbiting Varia
Briefed on their incoming patient's condition via Pike's triage assessment: unconscious, airway clear, breathing shallow, pulse weak and thready, no serious visible bleeding, Phil Boyce decided the few additional seconds required for beaming Aalin into secure quarantine were permissible.
Una and Isak arrived in Sickbay. Seconds later lights began flashing visually announcing the ship's defensive status increase to level two: watchful, the stage between normal operations and yellow alert. In the crowded subsidiary information center on deck twenty-two known as the hive, additional sensor stations came online, their operators just called to duty, quadrupling the range and frequency of internal and external sweeps.
Five minutes later Pike marched into Sickbay, John lagging a couple of steps behind and jogging to keep up with his principal. Both wore a filtering mask over nose and mouth and surgical gloves, the transporter having added these protections as they materialized. The Captain nailed his approaching CMO with a glare, widened eyes silently posed the foremost question on his mind.
Boyce stopped in front of his commanding officer; the others formed a flanking half-circle behind Pike. The doctor reported, "M'Benga and Matt are evaluating Ms. Matthews. We'll know more in a few minutes." He then visually assessed Pike and John. "I see Specialist Kyle was on the ball and followed protocol. Either of you having similar, or for that matter, any symptoms of illness?"
The security officer answered, "None."
Pike shook his head then noted the lights blinking over doors and down bulkheads. "Good call Number One. Maintain this readiness condition. Isak, set up a standing link with the Varian defense ministry and have someone from your group monitor it along with communications. Offer our assistance. I know our universal transmitter is imperfect with their language, but it will have to do for now."
The security chief motioned to his subordinate. He and John moved to an unoccupied corner of the room and conferred in low voices. Una commandeered an office in order to relay orders to the bridge.
"You think this is nefarious? Premeditated?" Boyce asked.
Pike glanced around the room before quietly replying, "We don't know what we don't know. State agents and organized crime stand to lose if Varia and the Federation form an alliance." He kneaded the back of his neck, grateful for any movement in order to exorcise worry. "Admittedly most of those menaces lack organization and competent leadership. Should this prove to be a put-up job, my money's on a rival faction within the current Varian government. Regardless, purposefully injuring a Federation envoy on a diplomatic mission is an act of war. I should be able to ratchet tensions down, but if," he paused then straightened his shoulders, "If the worse happens, that gets harder."
With hands on hips and feet planted apart, the Captain stood as if prepared for and expecting battle; his eyes were hard and cold having turned steely, and stormy gray from their usual warm, friendly blue. Boyce carefully scrutinized him. Bits and pieces of rumors and conversations, as well as Chris' newfound interest in visiting the deck three mess hall every night at 11:00pm coalesced as a coherent, interconnected whole.
His hand briefly clasped Pike's upper arm conveying understanding of and sympathy for Chris' deeper fear. The physician speculated if his friend had yet consciously acknowledged this nascent affection for their guest interpreter. Likely not, he decided.
The group reassembled when M'Benga approached. "We've managed to stabilize Ms. Matthews though her vitals remain on the weak side, too low for my liking. Initial exams and test results show no harmful microbes and no foreign DNA, RNA, or other harmful substances in her body. She's not running a fever nor showing other symptoms of a virus. And there are no puncture wounds on her skin other than the self-inflicted scratches. But I'm not ready to completely rule out these possibilities."
Pike asked, "Is she conscious?"
M'Benga shook his head and glanced back to the treatment area. "Neither is she exhibiting any of the typical precursors to that. At this point, we don't know what is wrong. It's like …" his voice drifted off.
"Go on," Pike said. His words were uttered as an order.
Turning in the direction of that voice, M'Benga held his commander's unflinching gaze. "It's as if her body shut down, like a circuit when it is interrupted, or its breaker has tripped."
Spock, who had joined the group with a message for Una, raised an eyebrow. After completing his errand he quietly left.
"Next steps?" Pike queried.
"Supportive care for the patient. And dusting off our deerstalker hats and pipes. We solve this through solid detective work," M'Benga answered. "Captain and John, Christine Chapel is standing by to walk you through the past twenty-four hours starting with your beam-down to Varia through beam-out today. Since Ms. Matthews was alone most of the night in her room at the presidential palace, we can't fill in those blanks until she wakes but there is no help for that …"
Pike blinked, grimaced, and squirmed almost imperceptibly, as if uncomfortable. This went unnoticed by all by his eagle-eyed first officer.
"… what did Ms. Matthews eat? Did she mention feeling ill? Look pale or tired? No detail is too small or insignificant," M'Benga finished with emphasis.
John held up his hand. "I'll start." He and Chapel moved to a small office. M'Benga left to check on another patient. The others returned to their posts, leaving Pike and Boyce alone.
"Phil, what's your gut on this?"
"Too soon to tell." The doctor paused then shook his head, venting a slice of his own frustration. "Until we isolate the cause or causes, we can't prognosis effects. M'Benga's solid and precise, Matt's one of our best caregivers and has an intuitive sense for diagnosing, Christine is sharp and relentless, I remain convinced this is the right team for Ms. Matthew's treatment.
"May I see her?"
Boyce nodded. "But only through the window."
Pike shot him 'the look.' The one with eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly to the side. The 'I'm giving you one shot at amending what I did not want to hear' expression which turned junior officers' knees to jelly.
"Until we know more, quarantine protocols stay in place," the CMO reminded in a firm tone. "That means a full bio-hazard suit when entering her room. Access to the patient is limited to medics and, if and only if her condition is rated grave, family members. Before you protest Chris, keep in mind you are key personnel. That means you are one of the last beings on board I'll let into Ms. Matthew's room right now." Boyce paused. "Absent an override order from you, those are the rules."
"Very well," Pike conceded with a sigh then walked to the quarantine area.
For ten minutes he watched Aalin through the transparent barrier. Her skin was too pale, her body too still, the rise and fall of her chest too shallow with breaths spread too far apart. Surrounded by equipment she looked very small. Beyond her usual delicacy. Fragile. The combined effect was ethereal, ghostly. As if she is quietly, unobtrusively slipping away from us, Chris thought.
From me.
This prospect triggered more pain than he was ready to own.
His attention drifted to the gouges on her left arm and across the skin covering collarbone and sternum. Scratches she had dug into herself in those last moments of consciousness. They painted a disturbing picture of torment. He scowled at the red and purple bruises forming around those wounds.
What did I miss which allowed this to happen?
Recriminations later, first find a way to help her.
Matt stopped by his side. The torso and arms of his biohazard suit bunched around his waist. He tilted is head towards the patient and answered Pike's unasked question. "They look worse than they actually are. The scratches I mean. I'm about to treat them. No worries about scars, there won't be any." The Betazed nurse then added, "Apologies, didn't realize anyone else was back here and my barriers are down. Phil waved mind-reading prohibitions due to the circumstances. She may relive or think about … well, whatever caused this. And I can adjust her care accordingly even though she can't vocalize discomfort."
"Anything?" Pike asked with a note of hope in his tone of voice.
A negative headshake. "Nothing. But that is not a bad sign in and of itself. Since there is no physical cause we can find for her unconscious state, I'm watching monitors and listening with my senses for when she starts climbing back so we can gently help that along."
"What about Spock …" Pike began.
"No. Too much risk with little certain reward. My mind-reading talent is passive, like a radio tuner receiving and interpreting sound waves. I can hear thoughts but not memories. Vulcan mind-melds are invasive. At times uncomfortable for the initiator, always for the recipient, especially humans whose minds' instinctively recoil at what is perceived as a violation," Matt explained.
Pike murmured, "I remember. Though Vulcans are polite when they snake through your mind. Not so with other races."
"My guess is Ms. Matthew's condition is neurological," Matt said. "And if that proves accurate, of all the docs in the fleet, I'd want M'Benga on the case. He's smart and creative. So is Christine. We'll lick this."
"Keep me informed. Regardless of the time of day or night," Pike replied.
"Yes sir." Matt finished donning his protective gear and entered the room.
After a final long look, Pike resolutely shoved his feelings for Aalin, his confusion about them, and myriad other emotions and fears into a box and tightly sealed it. Then called Number One to his quarters.
ooooo
When Una arrived, she found him standing in front of the window staring at the planet below Enterprise's orbit. "Willing answers into existence doesn't work," she said in a soft voice. "I know from personal experience."
Pike turned. The bright lights in the room accentuated the tired lines around his eyes. "Yeah. Still it passes the time. And maybe one day the gods will smile on the effort and send us a few carrots. Status?"
"There's no unusual chatter. No unexpected mobilizations, the neighboring T'Chits began previously announced military exercises on schedule. Isak reaffirms their technology poses no danger to the ship. I've detailed a dedicated station for monitoring them just in case. But so far, no actions or intercepted messages point to involvement in whatever happened this evening on Varia. And there have been no aggressive moves towards us." She paused. "Any hunches?"
"Avoiding those at the moment, it's too soon. I don't want to bias my decisions," Pike answered. He gestured to the sofa in silent invitation. "Thus we wait."
"Yes." Una found her friend's capacity for nearly infinite patience sitting squarely alongside his preference bordering on physical need for action a fascinating dichotomy. Yet he had mastered the wisdom of inaction and the art of when to apply it. A struggle which continued for her. Doing nothing wasn't her style.
She sat and crossed her legs. Then asked out of the blue, knowing surprise was her best chance of getting a spontaneous answer. "So what happened last night?"
"We had dinner with President Ablick then prepared for today's plenary session," Pike replied without hesitation.
Already rehearsed, should said 'what happened between the two of you', Una silently decided before prodding, "I saw your metaphorical hiccup when M'Benga mentioned Ms. Matthews being on her own last night."
Chris shook his head. "Do you miss anything?"
"Very little. Which is why I'm so good at my job." She grinned. The expression was hidden by her precautionary mask. "And by the way, pot calling me kettle."
"Humph. Fair enough. Aalin … I mean Ms. Matthews and I shared a suite last night. It was all innocent, professional, and above board. Varian culture expects women to provide favors for their bosses, services above and beyond job descriptions. Which is abhorrent, and a practice we can judge, but cannot change except through influence and sticks. In what he viewed as a genuine act of goodwill towards me and therefore the Federation, Ablick assigned one of the palace's private accommodations set aside for these assignations. It was … curiously provisioned. Turns out the Varians are quite the romantics."
Before Una could respond, the request notification chimed. "Come," Pike called out.
Christine Chapel stepped inside. "I'm ready for you Captain."
Una stood. "I'll check-in with the bridge and the hive."
Chapel settled in the other woman's vacated seat then addressed her commanding officer. "So the way this works is you tell me what you remember and then I'll ask questions to draw out more details, that information stored in your memory but not sitting at your fingertips. Okay?"
"Start with arriving at the presidential palace for dinner?" Pike queried.
"Yes."
ooooo
Chapel strode into the small Sickbay conference room where M'Benga worked on patient notes. She held a PADD high in the air in a declaration of victory and said, "Bingo. We hit the jackpot."
"How so?"
"Ms. Matthews wasn't alone last night," she answered. "She was with someone until John arrived this morning."
"She had a roommate? And here I assumed a palace had plenty of accommodations for guests," the doctor mused. "Can we interview the roommate?"
"Already have," Chapel said.
"Well done. That was a quick trip to the surface and back."
She rolled her eyes. "Really, are you this clueless?"
Boyce stuck his head in the door. "Anything?"
Chapel motioned him inside. "We got lucky." She held out the tablet and pointed. "Start here."
Both doctors huddled over the PADD simultaneously reading her notes.
M'Benga said, "The Captain and Ms. Matthews …"
Boyce caught up, "shared a bed last night."
They traded amused looks.
"Don't jump to conclusions," Chapel interjected, her tone was playfully stern.
"Actually this is great news for our patient," M'Benga began.
"Evidently for Chris as well," Boyce commented dryly.
M'Benga continued, "And narrows things down considerably. Most likely Ms. Matthew's condition is organic to her, or the result of a substance native to Varia. I'll contact their Surgeon General."
"Unless a Varian native is working with someone off-planet," Chapel reminded.
"True," Boyce agreed. "But we have to start somewhere. Christine, find Matt and comb through Ms. Matthews medical records again. Look for any pre-existing conditions we may have missed or anything … out of place. Has our patient manifested any viral symptoms?"
"None," the other doctor answered.
The CMO nodded. "Still, best to be safe." He rubbed his chin. "What do you think Joseph? Close contact or airborne?"
"Assuming her illness is virological, I'm confident with a presumption of close contact. If this hypothetical virus was introduced on Varia, it's fast-acting, meaning half the recipients at the reception should be down with it by now. None are. That negates the case for airborne transmission. If Ms. Matthews had been infected before yesterday, we're already behind the eight ball and shutting the barn door now will make little difference."
"Concur. Christine, you've spent the most time with those returning from the surface absent Matt in his protective gear, keep the mask on in communal spaces until we sort this out. And no patient treatment. Same restriction for John. As the Captain's exposure was … ahem … very close contact, I'll inform our commander he remains confined to quarters."
"I can take care of that," M'Benga offered.
"And deprive my day of a bit of fun?" Boyce shook his head. "Rank does have its privileges."