The U.S.S. Fairfax maintained a steady pace while at warp, but appeared to glide with grace equal to that of a large cetacean. Behind her, showered in a ray of blue energy, the Azurak freighter remained steady. Carried along by the tractor beam emitted from Fairfax’s stern, but devoid of power or any life herself.

Atop Fairfax’s saucer, various windows and viewports from the upper decks cast subtle highlights and cut deep shadows across her hull; the absence of anything but distant starlight and the subtle glow of the galactic plane making these areas of contrast darker than the blackest ink.

The windows of the Montpelier lounge outshone the others by a considerable margin, though this light was warmer, more relaxing than the cold, harsh standard white of the others. The space within was semi-luxurious with a well-stocked bar and plentiful seating across two tiers. The lower deck housed the main bar and social seating, complete with card tables, billiards and dartboards to pass the time off-duty.

The upper deck was suspended directly above the lower seating area. It featured a dining experience, with guests being hosted by several waiters and enjoying meaningful dinners with a stunning, unobstructed view out the forward windows.

Jorel Trask found the ascent up one of the two sweeping staircases a little more difficult than he recalled, but his empty stomach provided him all the motivation he needed as he pushed through the discomfort and planted his cane firmly at the top of the stairs.

“Good evening, sir. Will you be dining with a guest this evening?” an usher greeted him as he sighed in relief. He acknowledged the usher’s query by gently shaking his head, then followed him to one of the booths on the port side. As Jorel sat down, he stowed his cane beside him and accepted a menu from his server. Immediately, a dish caught his eye: ‘Authentic Beef Barbacoa Tacos’, he was quietly humbled by its place still on the menu, after he spent months trying to convince the Chef to include it back when he was still stationed aboard Fairfax.

Without hesitation, he made his order and sat patiently waiting for his meal. He’d been thinking a lot about the ship lately, and how he managed to go and blow up an opportunity that he’d been quietly waiting on for years; the chance for one last ride with the only ship that ever truly felt like home.

He gazed out the window for a moment, taking in the beauty of the cosmos and briefly contemplating his insignificance in the vastness of the universe. His existential voyage was briefly interrupted, however, as he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation at the table behind him. Two lovers, sharing a final meal before perhaps having to part ways when they arrived at Starbase.

“It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. After six months, I’ll be confirmed in post. And you’ll be able to put in a transfer to join me if you’d like,” Ensign Munroe explained to his sweetheart across the table. She was a young Bajoran with flowing chestnut coloured hair, wearing a gold uniform.

“I know, and I’d never try to hold you back from chasing your dream, but I just got settled in here. K’vagh is a great boss. And I need to really stay where I am if I wanna make lieutenant next year,” she responded, gently feeling the lumps of Munroe’s knuckles with her thumb as she held his hand from across the table.

Jorel was forced to remember a similar experience of his own, Clara Keystone. They were close during his tour before Fairfax. He remembered the emotional rollercoaster of finding out he’d been successful in his application for Chief Engineer, and the anguish of realising what that meant for his relationship. He then realised that he’d had pretty much the same conversation at probably the exact same table decades ago.

“It’ll be hard at first, not seeing each other every day. But I just don’t wanna lose you, and I know we can make this work—”
“Jack, we’ll be hundreds of light-years away… Even with subspace and shore leave. That’s not a relationship.”

Munroe’s expression turned from excitement to disappointment, as sorrow began to fill his heart. A curious feeling, like a physical pain in his chest, coupled with a rising feeling of tension filling his throat.

He reached for his glass of wine, brought the glass to his lips and gently tilted the glass to take a sip. The pale golden fluid washed over his taste buds, providing immediate pleasure as the fruity notes of the wine played a harmony to his palate. But as he swallowed, the feeling and the taste waned as the wine moved further and further away from his mouth, down his oesophagus towards the stomach.

As the throat relaxed and his trachea opened again, the first blast of cool air irritated the base of his windpipe, triggering a cough. The tissue was sensitive and inflamed. On the cellular level, millions of cells that lined the walls of his trachea swelled like water balloons ready to burst. The collagen in their membranes was straining under the pressure from within, weakening as the molecular bonds between the proteins began to collapse.

Like a bundle of firecrackers detonating chaotically, their membranes began to rupture, spilling their cytoplasm across the tissue like millions of tiny dams collapsing and sending a torrent of water downstream.

Behind the weakened tissue, blood vessels began to disintegrate, unable to maintain their structure as the cells around them continued to deteriorate,

Amongst the cacophony of cell debris, cytoplasm, and seeping blood plasma, a legion of newly born intruders on assignments of destruction had emerged from within the cells. Though devoid of any form of intelligence or even basic instinct. Their chemical and biological processes had evolved over aeons for one purpose – replication at any cost.

Then, seemingly as if the fabric of reality were too ruptured, they all faded from existence. Phasing like ghosts through the army of white blood cells, arriving like first responders to the scene of a major incident. They were oblivious to the invaders, as the legion found their next area of healthy cells and passed effortlessly through the cell membranes, starting the cycle again.

Munroe felt the irritation in his throat and let out a sharp, forceful cough to clear it. He felt a slight metallic aftertaste, which he washed down with another sip of wine. His body’s ignorance. Sealing his fate.