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Chapter 10
Wormhole Café and Holotheater was packed full that evening. Nshevalth jotted down a note to make more copies of her original holonovel The Resurrection of Shuru, a mystery story that Nog and Vaughn had been recommending to everyone they spoke to, judging by the number of requests she'd gotten for it that night. She was making Prynn Tenmei's order for shfileiu tea latte, which had to be steeped extremely delicately, when a familiar voice entered her thoughts.
Busy tonight, I see. Perhaps I should return later.
Never too busy for you, my love, she thought to Burnau. If you wait five minutes, I'll make you a caramel chocolate raktajino.
You read my mind.
I thought that was your job.
Burnau smiled. The proprietress hadn't made any visual or verbal sign that she even knew he was there. Her back was to the entrance as she watched the color of the shfileiu tea. Her long tangerine hair had a silver chain braided into it which tinkled with every slight movement she made. He gazed lovingly at the back of her head for a moment before looking around for an empty seat. He spotted one across the table from Dr. Bashir and a pretty Klingon woman. They were intently reading a PADD and discussing its contents.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" he inquired politely.
He sensed irritation from both of them, but Bashir nodded and gestured to the empty seat.
"Thank you," Burnau said.
The doctors didn't even acknowledge him. They continued their conversation where they had been interrupted. Their topic, the possibility of a noncellular, maybe even nonmolecular lifeform evolving a degree of sentience sufficient to control a sentient host, was entirely beyond his comprehension. Their minds radiated fascination with the subject that almost overshadowed the practical consideration of saving the quadrant from the theoretical lifeform. Bashir had a basic assumption that whatever he came up with would be right, which he tried very hard to suppress by reminding himself of all the times he had been wrong in the past. Dr. Grek had a burning curiosity and desire to examine the lifeform, if it existed, which she believed it did. Her own abilities didn't factor in her equation at all.
Dr. Grek spoke the words "inter-atmospheric cohesion properties" seemingly randomly
Burnau, your raktajino is ready.
"Excuse me," he said quietly to the doctors before leaving the table.
They gave no indication of noticing he was gone. "This does beg the question of what the nairait needs from the host. Such dissimilar lifeforms…it's doubtful that the nairait could take any kind of sustenance from them." Bashir speculated. "Perhaps the host serves as nothing more than a vehicle for it. A mobility unit."
"Or maybe it needs something from its host other than nutrients. Bioelectric energy or heat. You did mention that lack of heat energy incapacitates it."
"But it would need something to convert metabolically to increase mass and volume. They could use hosts in order to replicate or reproduce. A way of spreading."
"A vector for dissemination. Every surviving organism has the drive to spread, even those rare organisms with mass-regulation-in-isolation capacity."
"But we can't know what it needs to achieve that goal until we figure out what it's made of," said Bashir, deep in thought.
Dr. Grek leaned against the table and looked at Bashir. "Where did you come up with the name 'nairait'? Is it a Bajoran word?"
"No…It's a little complicated," Bashir said diffidently. "I'll explain later. Right now there's something I want to check on." He stood up and left. Grek glanced down at the PADD, a look of suspicion manifesting itself in her features.
Bashir called Starfleet Medical and asked about the crew of the Fortitude, which had been quarantined after Ross's talk with Kira in case they contracted nairait on the derelict Romulan warbird. He was connected to Dr. Zehibmituzm, who was overseeing their quarantine at Deep Space Three.
"Dr. Zehibmituzm, it's been a long time," Bashir greeted the owlish Orion, horribly mispronouncing his name.
"As I told you before, 'Zehib' is fine," he said. "What can I do for you?"
"Have there been any new developments with the patients?"
"We would have contacted you if there were. The patients have exhibited no symptoms of an infection, nor has there been any abnormal behavior. The scans still show nothing unusual."
"If you don't mind, I would like you to send me the complete scan results of every patient."
"That's one hundred and thirty-six full physical exams. A lot of reading."
"Doctor Grek and I might be able to find something you haven't thought of. We've been working on theories of what…"
"Wait!" Dr. Zehib exclaimed. "Dr. Grek, from the Klingon colony of YanQoh?"
Bashir squinted at him. "Yes. She's here lending her insight on the nairait crisis."
"Doctor Bashir, you may be in terrible danger."
"Why?"
"Doctor Grek's laboratory was destroyed in an explosion over a month ago. All employees were presumed dead."
Bashir was shocked into momentary silence. "You think she may be infected?"
Dr. Zehib took a shaky breath and ran his hands over his eyes and through his dark green hair. "It's a possibility…the only one I can think of at the moment." He looked up. "Shall I alert Starfleet Security?"
"Yes," Bashir answered. "But keep it quiet. I'm going to see if I can stop Grek on my own."
"That may be a terrible idea."
"I know, but time is an issue. For all I know, she could have infected everyone on the station already. I need to find out what this thing is."
Dr. Zehib's lips tightened to a grim line. "Alright," he conceded. "But whether you succeed or fail, I'm going to have Starfleet Security keep a close eye on Deep Space Nine."
"Of course you will. Bashir out." He stared at the wall while a plan formed in his mind.
"Dr. Grek, please come to the infirmary."
Grek groaned as she pushed herself out of bed. Not that she had been sleeping; she was reading everything she could find on organisms capable of surviving in a vacuum, but it had been a long day, and Grek appreciated soft beds more than most Klingons. "I'll be a few minutes," she replied.
When she entered the infirmary, Bashir was looking at a computer screen. "Dr. Grek," he said without looking up, "there's something I wanted you to see."
He stepped back and allowed her access to the computer. At first she didn't understand what she was seeing, then she realized that it was a conglomerate of meaningless data, and turned to Bashir in confusion.
"Computer, initiate program Bashir sigma-five-one."
"Program initiated."
Grek heard the door seal, saw a forcefield flicker on around her, then felt the temperature in the room drop sharply. "Bashir, what are you doing?"
He didn't answer, only watched her closely, wondering from the look of absolute shock—perhaps even betrayal—on her face if he was wrong about her.
The temperature continued to plummet. Bashir knew that Klingons didn't tolerate cold well, and he had no idea how cold it would have to be to slow down the nairait. He wasn't completely sure it would do any good at all.
"You have no idea what you're doing," Grek said. Suddenly a pinkish-white ooze poured from her mouth and shot at Bashir. It moved through the forcefield like it wasn't there, then rose up in a spiral and latched on to his leg.
Bashir staggered back. He had planned on the forcefield containing it. He could feel it begin to prickle through his skin. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a hypospray of liquid carbon dioxide, which he sprayed on the ooze.
The nairait's movement slowed, then it contracted into a small heap and stilled. He pulled up his trouser leg and sprayed the frigid gas on his exposed skin. A scream of excruciating pain escaped Bashir's throat. Dark purple splotches formed on his skin as the fluid organism seeped out.
After putting on an environmental suit to protect himself from the sub-freezing temperature of the infirmary, Bashir put Dr. Grek in a stasis chamber. He placed the nairait in a customized sample box that kept the temperature at 150 Kelvin. Only when he was sure there wasn't a speck of nairait left in the lab did he reset the environmental controls.
"Have you had time to examine the lifeform?" Vaughn asked during the meeting Bashir had requested.
The doctor sighed. He looked exhausted. "Yes. In fact I've been up all night examining it. It defies examination."
"This thing was in Dr. Grek the whole time she's been on the station," Ro said nervously. "Who knows what kind of damage she could have caused."
"Do you have any idea how we can determine if someone's infected?" Commander Vaughn questioned.
"No. Not medically, at least." Bashir looked at Lieutenant Bez. "You spoke to Grek last night. Did you sense anything abnormal from her?"
Bez had been contemplating that from the moment he learned Grek was infected. "No. Of course, since I've never met her before I can't compare her mental signature to her norm, but I'm absolutely certain that if she was being controlled, she didn't know it. I didn't pick up anything from the lifeform itself, which isn't really surprising."
Bashir nodded. "My guess is that it takes control of the host only when it needs to, and alters the host's memory to hide itself."
"That means, of course, that any one of us could be infected and we wouldn't realize it," Ro commented.
They contemplated that sobering thought.
"Let's assume we aren't," Vaughn recommended. "Doctor, your orders are to get some rest, then figure out how we can stop this thing."