“Captain’s Log: Stardate: 79652.7

This is the third day of Fairfax’s quarantine. Doctor Harper and his team are working tirelessly to analyse the alien virus and develop a vaccine.

Unfortunately, I am saddened to hear this morning that there have been further fatalities overnight, two crew members. In addition to this, five more crew members have been transferred to isolation, suspected of having contracted the disease.

The situation is more serious than we first thought. Clearly, this disease is communicable, and it incubates at an alarming rate. It is clearly fatal in late stages, and at present, we know nothing of how it is transmitted or who is more at risk than others.

An outbreak of a deadly disease, I feel, is the most threatening and challenging situation any vessel can face. My thoughts turn to some of the deadliest pandemics and epidemics in history, and how, as recently as the 21st century, society was effectively crippled. Life for billions of early humans changed dramatically in a matter of months.

There is no comparison; we are but a crew of less than five hundred. But this fact above all else concerns me. How long can we last? How long can the ship continue to function as more and more crew members fall ill? Do we have the resources to even research a cure?

These questions and many more plague my thoughts every day. Now, the crisis involving the Azurak has fallen into obscurity. The priority at the forefront of everyone’s mind, including my own, is now our impending fight for survival.”

Alone and isolated, the U.S.S. Fairfax was herself a perfect reflection of her crew’s mindset as she remained still and silent in the inky void of space. Only the faint shine of distant starlight blessed her hull, and the glow of her Warp nacelles cast a magenta radiance to her stern. She was accented every few seconds by the rhythmic flash of crimson warning beacons igniting to her port, starboard, bow and stern. Briefly overpowering the rich blue from her field coils, turning the steady magenta blood red as the beacons resonated with the gleam of the bussard collectors, which smouldered like embers at the tips of the nacelles.

On all frequencies, a message repeated perpetually.

“Extreme Caution! The USS Fairfax is a quarantined vessel by order of Starfleet Command. Do not Board!”

It was a necessary warning, but one likely to attract scavengers this far into the frontier, like vultures drawn to the carcass of a rotting animal.

In his ready room, Captain Dubois pored over his daily reports. Life went on, despite the danger. However critical this crisis may be, he was still the Captain. The book stopped with him, and he needed to keep his ship running. His personal console displayed live feeds from across the ship; each member of his senior staff was signed in, making this effectively a conference call.
“Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for your efforts these past few days,” Alex said, raising his head out of his PADDs for a second to glance at the screen.

“Many of you will have never faced a situation like this before, but you’re professionalism thus far is inspiring.” Many of his staff began nodding through their feeds in agreement, not in recognition of themselves, but their colleagues.

“Until further notice, I have decided to take a little guidance from history, and I’m going to restrict movement and face-to-face interactions between the crew to only when necessary. Everyone is expected to report to their duty stations as usual, but if there is a task or a conversation you can complete remotely. I expect that to be the standard practice from now on, agreed?” Alex said.

In unison, everyone through the conference expressed their agreement with the captain’s orders.

“Furthermore, social spaces and holodecks are to be shut down except for official business.” Alex’s last order caused a little bit of a stir amongst his officers; he could see it in their faces as being unsavoury.

“Sir, if I may. Morale is already taking a nose dive, the crew aren’t going to adapt well to having their free time restricted like that.” Wallace voiced from behind his own desk in the X.O office.

“They’ll have to, Number One, we need to do everything we can to slow the spread of infection and buy as much time as possible for Doctor Harper and his team to conduct their research!” Alex shut him down; he didn’t like having to make a drastic decision such as this, but it was necessary. The consequences for getting this wrong could cripple the ship, or worse, they could all perish.

“I had a feeling you’d say that, so I came up with some ideas on how to keep people’s spirits up,” replied Wallace, with a tempo as if he had rehearsed his idea in the mirror.
“Are you familiar with an ancient Earth concept called a soap-opera?” he added.

Alex looked confused, envisioning an image in his head of a cleaning product performing a rendition of Les Misérables

“In the early 20th century, people began transmitting and consuming theatrical entertainment remotely. I was thinking, we could patch into a couple of holodecks and have the programs run autonomously. That way, the crew have something to keep them entertained in their off hours.” Wallace suggested proudly.

“Broadcasting a live feed from the holodecks shouldn’t be a problem, but do you really think anyone would enjoy that. How are they supposed to interact with the characters?” T’lira offered.

“They don’t, if the story is engaging enough, you don’t necessarily need to be a part of it. I’ve read that television dramas helped millions through a similar pandemic in the 21st century!” said Wallace.

“That’s a good idea. Number one, see if you can start a list of holoprograms in the ship’s library that can be easily adapted!” Alex weighed in. He liked the idea, an unusual concept from humanity’s past. The crew might actually enjoy the novelty.
“Moving on, Doc, what’s the situation down there?” he asked.

“We’ve currently got five in isolation, two confirmed cases, and I’m still waiting on results for the other three who came in this morning,” Conrad replied, looking a little exhausted with dark patches beginning to show through under his eyes.

“And the status of the research?” asked Alex.

Sovek weighed in, “I am currently assisting Doctor Harper in exploring a possible correlation in the communicability of the Virus…”

“What sort of correlation?” said Alex.

“So far, all the cases have been in humans or human hybrids. I think this virus may be specifically adapted to a human genome… or slight variations of it. Might explain why the Azurak were also infected.” Conrad added.

“I have therefore volunteered a sample of my blood to test this theory. It was Logical, as I am purely Vulcan in heritage,” pointed out Sovek.

“Very commendable, Commander, just don’t take any unnecessary risks, I can’t afford to lose my Chief Science Officer during this crisis. Speaking of which, what measures have you put in place to avoid the medical staff becoming infected?” asked Alex curiously.

“For the time being, I’ve activated the E.M.H. to conduct all physical examinations from behind a forcefield. The rest of the medical staff are wearing full protective gear. Sovek and I are staying confined to Isolation until we can ascertain if the virus is communicable across species.” Conrad replied, but with a weary timbre.
“It’s a stopgap measure at the moment, Captain. As beds fill up, the E.M.H. is going to struggle to cope!”

“In that case, I won’t delay you; get back to work, but keep me apprised of your progress, and I’ll provide your updates at any future staff meetings,” Alex said, dismissing them both. With a nod of acknowledgement, their live feeds ended.

As the meeting continued, Alex discussed several other critical topics with his senior crew, including contingency plans for power failure, alternate staffing arrangements, and tactical capability in the event of an attack. The shift in focus was clear; these meetings were now about the welfare of the ship and her crew and ensuring continued survival. As a final topic, Alex explained the response from Starfleet Command. They were on their own for now.

“…Command won’t risk infecting the rest of the fleet, I can’t say I blame ’em. We need to know more about this thing, how it spreads and by what mechanism, before we can expect any further assistance.” Alex explained firmly.

“Surely they can dispatch a frigate or an escort to support us!?” K’vagh exclaimed with disgust. He felt that leaving a ship to the mercy of the proverbial wolves was completely dishonourable and tantamount to abandonment.

“Steady, Lieutenant,” Alex interjected.
“We don’t know enough yet. It’s not a normal illness. We have no idea how it spreads or over what distances. For all we know, a virus that can phase shift might just as easily cross the vacuum of space and infect another ship. We just can’t take the risk!… Not until we know more!”

“Apologies, Captain,” K’vagh responded with remorse.

“That being said, I have already spoken with Taskforce Command and Starbase 93. It took some persuading to countermand fleet command’s instructions, but they are dispatching a few vessels… However, they’re going to maintain distance near DS-27 until we can rule out any winder risk to the fleet”

“Response time?” Wallace asked.

Alex sighed, “Not quick enough, it’ll be nearly a week before the flotilla assembles, and even at maximum warp, they’ll still be several hours away.”

“That’s a long time to wait, if we run into the Nausicans again. With the ship effectively crippled, they might just see us as an easy target for an unfortunate accident!” Wallace pointed out candidly.

“I agree, but it’s the best we’ve got. San-Fransico didn’t want to send anyone at all. I had to call on more than a few favours to get us what I did!” Alex admitted.

“I’ll put together a list of systems I think we can take offline without sacrificing our capabilities. The less we have to maintain, the better!” T’lira suggested.

“Good idea, in the meantime, everyone, stay safe. If any of you start to feel even the slightest bit unwell, isolate yourself and notify medical!” Alex concluded.

Meanwhile – Engineering

Elsewhere on the ship, morale was indeed suffering at an alarming rate. Best efforts notwithstanding, unbridled rumour and paranoia were beginning to germinate.

The Fairfax was the perfect seedbed to bear the fruit of suspicion. And, with a shower of isolation thrown into the mix, that crop was fixing to flourish.

As most of the crew tried to get on with their daily duties, whispers between friends pointed fingers of blame began to circulate. Every runny nose, every tickle in the back of the throat was a cause to stare. Primitive instincts were taking over the rational mind, leading people to believe that they were safer if they identified the threat and kept it in their sights.

A busy engineer took a moment to replicate a cup of coffee as he completed his report on a Data PADD. He remained focused on his work, didn’t make waves. The model crewmember in a crisis who got on with his job and trusted in his superiors to make decisions in his best interests. In return, he provided excellent performance and dedication to his duties.

As he sat down, he tilted the mug to his mouth and accepted his first sip. It was scalding hot, and in his immediate reaction to avoid burning his tongue, he gasped.

Aerosolised coffee sprayed the back of his throat, just hot enough to irritate the delicate tissues. He coughed loudly, choking almost, as an involuntary spasm attempted to eject the offending material from his windpipe. Repeatedly, he spewed, spraying a mist of coffee around him and onto the screen of his console.

Immediately, the engine room became focused on him, every eye, every ear, every antenna all pointing in his direction.

No one would approach, for fear of becoming infected. In fact, everyone instinctively took a step back and covered their mouths in a vain attempt to secure their own health.

After a moment, the engineer caught his breath and began wiping down his console. Here, he became acutely aware of the piercing stares he was receiving. The looks of fear and disgust on his colleagues’ faces as they no longer viewed him as a friend, but a danger, an enemy.

He raised his mug to plead his innocence, “It’s okay, everyone, Coffee was a bit hot… just kinda burned my throat, is all.” He announced with a chuckle, trying to explain a misunderstanding.

The damage was done, and the room remained silent as the grave for the remainder of the morning. Not a soul would approach him, going to such lengths as to wait for him to move to another room before anyone would walk past his console. It didn’t matter what the cause was. A cough is all it takes.