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“What’s this?” M asks, spinning around in her chair to face Lieutenant Ahna, who’s poring over her own workstation down in the Ops lower level.
“What?”
“This...cylinder thing. I think it's been laying around here for awhile. No one’s had the time to look at it, I suppose. There’s a decoder on the lid. Maybe there’s no way of getting into it?”
“Let me have a look,” Ahna says, squinting her eyes in confusion before getting up and heading over to M’s station. Ahna waits for M to hold the object out before carefully taking it from her and examining it.
“I think this was found behind some wall plating," she says. "You remember when they were renovating some of the crew quarters a few months ago? I think I remember the Major mentioning finding this. It’s left over from the Occupation. The Resistance would use these containers to send messages to each other sometimes. Or we’d hide devices in them in order to sabotage the Cardassians on the station.” Ahna turns the cylinder in her hands a few times before setting it back on M’s console, handling it as one would a bomb.
“Maybe there’s something still inside? It’s a slow night, so I think I’ll give it a try. Thanks Ahna.” M says, taking up the cylinder again. “Oh, I wanted to ask you if you’d be interested in going to the mud baths in the Holosuites with me on Friday? We could meet in Quark’s after lunch if that works for you?” Ahna barely conceals her look of surprise. M’s never invited her to the Holosuites before. M must interpret her pleased expression as hesitance, because she continues.
“It wouldn’t be like the Hoobishan baths Dax likes. I was just looking forward to swimming a bit and relaxing in some mud,” she chuckles. “No pressure. Oh! And Kira’s welcome to come too.”
“I’d like to,” Ahna blurts out, “very much. I’ll--I’ll see if Kira can join us too. Thank you.”
“Great!,” M says, “Well, I’d better get back to work. I’ve got a puzzle to solve.”
M pulls up the brief report Major Kira filed about the object when it was recovered. M scans the document, frowning when the information it contains is sparse. It’s just as Ahna said. Major Kira recognized it as being used by the Resistance to conceal and transport secret messages and/or devices used to sabotage the Cardassians. Only the intended Bajoran recipient would be given the passcode to unlock the device, which was entered on the little alphabetical combination lock on the lid of the cylinder.
M sits, stumped for a moment. The password could be anything, and Kira hasn’t given any indication in her report that she knows what Resistance cell had planted the cylinder in the wall, or even if the person who knew the password is still alive. But hadn’t there been, yes! Kira had mentioned a list of old Resistance-era passcodes she compiled along with as many other former Resistance members she could locate. Having those codes handy had saved lives more than once. It was surprising how many booby-traps and old pieces of tech had been forgotten about and then needed to be disarmed in a hurry. M located the correct file in the Bajoran Intelligence database and started entering code words into the device.
R...I...N...D. M rotated the numbered wheels, finishing spelling out the latest password “melon rind”. She’d been working for hours, and none of the words on Kira’s list had been successful at opening the mysterious cylinder. Curiosity burned in M’s chest. She’d be willing to spend an untold number of shifts if that’s what it took to learn what was inside this thing. A small click sounds from the cylinder when she enters the last letter, and M jumps a little in surprise. Hastily, she flips open the lid, extracting a small slip of rolled up paper. She looks inside--the cylinder is otherwise empty. Strange.
The paper feels dry and a little crinkled with age, but the list of Cardassian names written on it remains in thick, black ink. The paper refuses to lay flat, so M holds the paper open in one hand and types with the other, transcribing the names into Kira’s existing report. She doesn’t recognize any of them at first glance, but maybe the computer or Major Kira will. Or Ahna.
“Ahna, could you--” she begins saying, looking over to Ahna’s station and finding the day shift has begun to arrive in Ops. Ahna must have left a few minutes ago. M hurriedly replaces the paper inside the cylinder and stores it safely away. She notes the correct passcode under the list of Cardassian names in Kira’s report and goes off shift. She fails to suppress a yawn on her way to her quarters. She’ll have to ask Ahna about the paper tomorrow night. She hasn’t realized until this moment how ready she is to fall into bed.
M wakes uncharacteristically late the next morning, and busies herself catching up on personal correspondence and with reading Vulcan Love Slave . She’s read it almost more times than she can count, but the scene between Saul and T’lana in the Vulcan meditation caverns never gets old.
About an hour before she’s due to go on-shift again in Ops, she heads to the Promenade to get dinner at the Replimat. It’s crowded on the Promenade, more so than usual, so much so she has to squeeze around people in order to make it to the table she finds Robertson occupying more often than not before night shift begins. Robertson is indeed sitting at their usual table tucked away in a corner, grading their student’s homework. M decides to retrieve her dinner from the Replicators before joining them, and types in the code for one of her favorite vegetable stew recipes, with crusty bread and a tall glass of water before taking the seat across from Robertson.
“How was class today?” She asks, setting her tray down. Robertson looks up, their eyes drooping a bit at the end of a long day. They still manage a smile for her, though.
“Pretty typical. Broke up only a dozen or so squabbles over the art supplies. How about you so far? Did you start reading The Hobbit like I told you to?” M laughs, digging into her stew.
“No, not yet. I’m still reading LonglivetheBajoranResistance. DownwiththeCardassianOccupation.” M says, tearing off a chunk of crusty bread and dipping it into the stew. Robertson’s brow furrows in confusion, their hand stilling on their PADD.
“What did you say?”
M looks up, her own scrunched brow mirroring Robertson. “I said Long live the Bajoran Resistance. Down with the Cardassian Occupation.” She finishes, stilling in her seat. Robertson watches before their eyes as M grows several shades paler. Her empty hand hovers over her soup bowl.
“L-long live the--” M begins, hesitantly. She swallows, reaching a hand out for her water glass and taking a careful sip. She tries again. “Long live the Bajoran Resistance.”
“M, what’s wrong? Why do you keep saying that?” Robertson asks, leaning forward even as M seems to grow more agitated. She tries to set the water glass back down, but it slips from her fingers, shattering into several large shards on the table, water pooling everywhere. Robertson and M both jump in surprise. Robertson hastily picks up their PADDS, and without thinking, M’s hand comes down to pick up the pieces of glass, but her shaking hand catches on the sharp edge of one piece. Robertson watches as blood begins seeping from a large cut on the side of M’s hand.
“M, can you say something, please?” Robertson tries, attempting to keep calm for M’s sake, even though their own heart has started to pound. M begins eyeing the crowds of people on the Promenade. “Why don’t you sit there while I get you a bandage, hold on.”
“Long live--” M grits out, shaking her head frantically before shoving her chair back and fleeing, her injury bleeding freely. Robertson hurriedly moves to follow her, plunging into the crowd after their friend.
Get to your room. Just get to your room first. You can figure out what’s happening to you when you’re alone. Maybe no one else has noticed you’ve suddenly lost your mind? But what if you have, and it's too late.
M shuffles through the packed promenade as quickly as she can, ducking under and around as many people as possible. She has to get out of here, has to get away from all these people. Past Quark’s, past the Assay office, ducking under one of the spiral staircases leading to the second floor, she heads toward the lesser used turbolift.
“Hey, watch out!” an angry looking Bolian mother scolds her when M accidentally trods over the tail of one of her children’s stuffed Targs that trails behind them. The woman gets right in M’s face. M shrinks away.
“Long live” she mouths soundlessly, apologizing. She dodges around the family, practically launching herself into the turbolift, which is half full of people. Several give her curious looks as the turbolift soars toward the Habitat ring, but none dare approach her.
When the turbolift doors open onto the Habitat ring, M lurches out, moving past the crowd also exiting the turbolift as fast as she can. Her quarters. She needs to get to her quarters. Left. Right. Another right. Not much further now.
“M, wait up! Slow down!” Robertson calls from behind her suddenly. M turns to see them rushing to catch up with her. No. M shakes her head and starts running down the corridor. As she nears the junction close to her quarters Bond appears from around the corner along with two members of Bajoran security, two imposing male figures. M stops up short, her eyes darting frantically. No way out.
“Stop right there, Ensign,” Bond says, holding her hands up to show she’s unarmed. “We’re just trying to help you.” When Bond and the Bajorans take a cautious step forward, M shuffles backward. Behind M, Robertson has caught up at last, but keeps their distance, watching silently. Bond stops her advance when M moves away from her, observing her carefully. She catalogues M’s pale complexion and the wound to her hand that’s dripping blood onto the carpet.
“Why don’t you have a seat against the wall over there for now? You have an injury that needs looking after. Then we can sort everything out,” Bond says, watching M for some sign she understands. A moment passes in silence except for M’s labored breathing. She darts her eyes around at them all erratically a few moments before shooting forward and attempting to skirt around them all. Out of reflex, Bond and the others move in to stop her. As gently as they’re able, they grasp M by the shoulders and propel her back into the middle of the circle they and Roberston have made in the corridor, cutting off M’s escape. M cries out wordlessly at being handled, sinking to the floor and shuffling over to huddle facing the corridor’s metal plating. She begins shaking like a leaf, staring down into her lap and running her fingers through her hair. The injured hand leaves behind a trail of blood on her cheek and forehead, Robertson notes with a sinking feeling in their stomach. This isn’t the M they’re used to seeing. Bond takes in the Ensign for a moment before turning away and tapping her commbadge.
“Bond to Infirmary. Dr. Bashir and a medical team needed at Habitat ring, junction 12A.”
“Acknowledged, we’ll be right there,” Dr. Bashir responds.
Bond and the Bajoran security members hold their positions until the medical team arrives, Bond gestures for Robertson to stay too, though they seem content to maintain their distance. It seems evident from M’s body language she doesn’t wish to be approached. Robertson does what they can anyway.
“M, M? Can you hear me? Dr. Bashir’s on his way right now,” they say, hesitantly waiting for a sign M hears and understands. M gives no indication she’s heard them.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Dr. Bashir will be able to help, I’m sure.” Robertson tries, trying to inject as much reassurance into their tone as they can. They wish they had some clue as to what’s currently happening to their friend.
“Medical team reporting. What’s the situation?” Dr. Bashir says, rounding the corner behind Bond, arriving on scene along with nurse Jabara and another medical technician.
“Unclear,” Bond replies, staring at the huddled form against the corridor wall. “Robertson found me on the Promenade, said they’d been having dinner with Ensign M in the Replimat when she started acting unusually. She became agitated, cut her hand on some broken glass, and fled the scene. And now, well, you can see.” Dr. Bashir nods in acknowledgement of Bond’s report, turning his focus onto his patient.
M can hear them talking about her. Bond and the others are keeping their voices down, but she can guess pretty well what they’re saying. It’s obvious to them now she’s lost her mind. Lost her marbles. Is now a few cards shy of a full deck. And Robertson. They’re trying to help, and she appreciates it. It’s nice to feel them close by, even if their reassuring tone has no effect. It’s playing on a loop inside her head, that cursed string of words. She can’t seem to speak anything but those words, and now she can hardly think beyond the endlessly repeating phrases. LonglivetheBajoranResistance.DownwiththeCardassianOccupation. LonglivetheBajoranResistance.DownwiththeCardassianOccupation. LonglivetheBajoranResistance.DownwiththeCardassianOccupation.
“M? Can you hear me? It’s Doctor Bashir. Can you tell me where you're experiencing pain?”
“I’m not sure she can reply, Julian.”
“It’s okay Bond, let me try. Ensign? Is it just your hand that hurts? You don’t have to speak, just nod your head yes or no.” The small crowd around where Dr. Bashir is crouching next to M waits for her to respond, but she neither looks up at Bashir nor nods her head in response to his question. Robertson sees her curl her fingers tighter into the strands of hair she’s clutching.
Dr. Bashir shifts back on his feet, producing his medical tricorder and holding it within M’s eyeline. “I’m just going to scan you quickly with this before we take you to the Infirmary, alright,” he says before running the tricorder over her. Scan complete, he gestures for the rest of the medical team to come forward. M makes no protest when they grasp her upper arms between them.
“Bashir to Ops, five to transport directly to the Infirmary,” he says, tapping his commbadge.
“Five?” asks Bond.
“Robertson, I’d like you to come along as well. We’re going to need your help figuring out what’s happening to M,” Dr. Bashir says, a slightly imploring look in his eyes as he turns to look at them. Robertson nods their assent. They’ll help in any way they can, even though they’re just as bewildered as everyone else it seems.
“Ops to Bashir, transport confirmed.”
The group materializes in the main area of the Infirmary, and that’s when M seems to come to her senses. Her hands untangle from her hair, she picks her head up from her shoulders and wrestles herself free from Jabara and the tech’s grasp, lurching away from them all and toward the door.
“This way dear,” nurse Jabara says, wrapping an arm around M’s shoulders and guiding her toward the doorway leading to the private treatment rooms instead. M begins muttering something under her breath as they go, her hands shaking a little.
“What’s that she’s saying?” Dr. Bashir asks, entering the treatment room behind M and his nurse.
“I’m not sure Doctor,” nurse Jabara says, guiding M into a reclining position on the room’s Biobed. M looks sharply at the nurse, her muttering stopping abruptly. She looks around the room instead, her bloodied hands clutching the edges of the Biobed for a moment before she flinches at the pain it causes and opts to cradle the bleeding hand protectively against her chest. Julian’s eidetic memory recalls that this is another crewmember who is less than comfortable in the Infirmary.
“Jabara, could you pull up the Ensign’s medical history on the main computer please? I’ll look at it on the monitor in here,” he says, thinking that M might prefer fewer people in the room with her at the moment. Understanding, Jabara nods and leaves, sweeping the tech out with her. Robertson remains, keeping out of Julian’s way in the small room.
"Can I have a look at your hand, M?” he asks in his most soothing voice, focusing entirely on his patient even as he runs a sterilizer over his hands. It's not clear she understands what he means until he moves closer and gently takes her forearm.
"We'll clean you up in just a bit, but let's have a look at this cut first, shall we?” he begins, “Bond says you cut it on a piece of glass? Well, it's not too deep, nothing the dermal regenerator can't heal,” he says, carefully extending the arm away from M’s side and beginning to mop up some of the blood from the cut. His patient flinches a little, and opts to look away and focus her gaze on the opposite wall instead.
“I’m going to use the dermal regenerator now,” Julian warns, discarding used gauze on an instrument tray and picking up the regenerator. “You might feel a little tingling sensation, but let me know if anything hurts.” It’s still unclear whether his patient can understand him, but he tries to reassure them like he normally would anyway. M sits stiffly as he runs the instrument over the wound, healing the cut in a few short moments.
“There we are, how’s that?” he asks, moving to clean up some of the last streaks of blood from M’s fingers. M turns her head back to look at her healed hand, feeling with her other hand over where the cut was. She seems to relax into the Biobed the smallest bit.
Dr. Bashir takes a step away from the Biobed, his expression turning a little more serious. “And now we need to know whether she can understand us.” He turns to Robertson. “Rob, what happened earlier at the Replimat?” Rather than replying, Robertson hands Julian a medical PADD on which they’ve written what they know so far.
“M must’ve been there getting dinner before her shift in Ops started. I was grading some papers. We were sitting and talking like we always do. Then she started repeating the same phrases over again. It almost seems like she can’t say anything else. That’s what made her run off, I think. I don’t think she knows what’s happening either.” Bashir reads off the PADD Robertson hands him.
“What’s she been saying?” He asks, his brow creasing. He hands the PADD back to Roberston, who quickly begins typing.
“Long live the Bajoran Resistance, Down with the Cardassian Occupation.” Bashir reins his own confusion in for the moment, not wanting to alarm the occupants of the room.
“Well, I could run some neurological scans and perform a complete workup, but for the moment anyway, there’s a simpler way to tell whether M can understand verbal speech.” He turns back to his patient calmly.
"M, if you can understand us, touch your nose with your left hand." M looks silently between Robertson and Bashir, looking a little confused at the request but they do it without hesitation. A spark of hope glows in Robertsons' belly. Now, they have somewhere to start.
“Great, that’s great. Now, can you stretch both arms out in front of you?” Bashir asks, watching with Robertson as M does just that.
“Now give me a high five,” Bashir adds with an encouraging smile as M reaches up to meet his palm, giving it a gentle slap.
“Fantastic! So you can understand us all then,” Bashir grins at his patient. “Can you say something for us now, anything at all?” M shakes her head firmly, beginning to look more agitated.
“Please M, Julian’s going to help,” Robertson tries, coming a little closer to M. M seems about to refuse again before locking eyes with Roberston. Her expression seems to soften a little in defeat before she opens her mouth.
“Long live the Bajoran Resistance. Down with the Cardassian Occupation,” she says quietly, but Bashir and Robertson catch every word. M looks pained by her words, smoothing her hands over her thighs repeatedly.
“Can you try saying anything else?” Bashir ventures.
“L-long live the Bajoran. Resistance. Down w-with the Cardassian Oc-occupation,” M grits out, her hands moving to clutch the edges of the Biobed. Every line in her body suggests that she’s struggling mightily to say something different.
“Try to relax, M,” Bashir soothes, running a palm over M’s upper arm. She settles a little back into the bed. “I know you’re frightened but we’re going to figure this out. Let me just run a few scans first and then we’ll--” he’s interrupted by M suddenly springing up and heading toward the computer. Bashir moves to her side, ready to support her if she seems unsteady. M’s focused on bringing up a blank document on the monitor. She begins typing using the keyboard interface that’s seldom utilized. Robertson huddles around the monitor with Julian, watching silently as M begins typing a message.
Long live the Bajoran Resistance. Down with the Cardassian Occupation.
Long live
Long live the
Long live the Bajoran Resistance. Down with the Cardassian
M doesn’t finish the last sentence. She lets out a cry and brings her fists down onto the keyboard interface.
“Long live the,” she sobs, turning from the monitor, pushing past a stunned Julian and Robertson to pace around the small room. “Long l-live” she continues, her hands fluttering without purpose at her side.
“Try to calm down M,” Bashir soothes, “we’re going to get to the bottom of this, don’t worry. We can retrace your steps, figure out when and how this happened to you.” M seems to ignore him and increases her speed.
“Long live!” she shouts, cutting her gaze up to Bashir and Robertson quickly. “Long live! The Bajoran Resistance!” Her hands are fists again, and she’s so agitated she’s unable to prevent herself tripping over an instrument tray in her path.
“M!”
“Careful!”
Bashir quickly sets things to rights, and attempts to help M up but she’s beside herself.
“L-long l-ive,” she sobs, fighting and kicking him with all the strength she can muster. She doesn't hit him with enough force to deter him, but it is difficult to keep hold of her.
“Rob, get Jabara for me please,” Julian calls. Robertson nods once, their eyes wide, before fleeing the room.
“M, it’s alright, you’re going to be fine, trust me,” Julian says, managing to get them both on their feet again. M lets out another sob, trying to pull away from his hold around her waist.
“Doctor,” nurse Jabara enters.
“Help me get her onto the bed,” Julian huffs, dodging one of M’s kicks to his shin. She must’ve started taking some of Worf’s self defense classes. Jabara nods, and together they wrestle her back onto the Biobed.
“Hold her for me,” Julian spares a glance at Jabara before moving over to the nearest supply cart and preparing a hypospray of 2 cc’s Merfadon.
“This will just help you relax, M,” he says, holding one of M’s arms down as he administers the sedative into her carotid artery. M sniffles quietly, but doesn’t say a word as her limbs go weak. Her expression is one of defeat as sleep steals over her.
“Thank you, Jabara,” Julian says, putting the hypospray away. “I’ll be back in to check on her soon. I’ve got a bit of a mystery to solve.”
“What do we know so far about Ensign M’s activities for the past 48 hours?” Captain Sisko asks from the head of the table in the Ward Room. Seated around the table is every senior officer and crew member on the station, plus Bond, the two Bajoran security personnel, and Robertson. Robertson has already provided the Captain with a written account of everything, but they still agreed to attend the meeting.
“Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until last night, according to the reports we’ve been gathering,” Odo says, referring to several PADDS laid out in front of him.
“Everything seemed as usual until M’s shift in Ops last night,” Major Kira says. Next to her, Lieutenant Ahna tenses nearly imperceptibly. “Ahna was working with M in Ops at the time.”
“Lieutenant, report,” Sisko says.
“She called me over to ask my opinion on an object recovered during some station renovations from months back. The Major had identified a locked cylinder as being commonly used by the Bajoran Resistance during the Occupation, and I confirmed the theory for the Ensign. She was working to decode the object for the rest of shift. I left before she had managed to open it.” If I hadn’t I might’ve been able to prevent all this, Ahna thinks. And now it might be too late, unless Doctor Bashir can perform another miracle.
“And you’re certain whatever is in this cylinder is what’s causing M’s illness,” Bond asks, “are you sure it couldn’t be anything else? Maybe she came in contact with some kind of toxin or drug?”
“Did she eat or drink anything unusual that might have these effects? Maybe the Replicators are malfunctioning again,” O’Brien proposes, nodding over at Bond.
“This is highly unlikely to have been caused by malfunctioning Replicators,” Julian interjects, “no, the sort of verbal loop Ensign M’s caught in is undoubtedly the work of a highly sophisticated virus. It’s most likely the work of some incredibly talented Bajoran scientists. The virus is actually imprinted onto the paper. Someone would only have to touch it with bare skin to become infected. I think that’s exactly what happened to M when she was attempting to research the list of names.”
“The names themselves are all fakes. The point of this device wasn’t to transport information, it was meant to destabilize the Cardassian presence on Terok Nor, nothing more,” Kira adds.
“Doctor, can you tell us more about this “verbal loop” you believe the Ensign is caught in?” Sisko asks, steepling his fingers in front of him.
“The virus is somewhat similar to the aphasia virus that swept the station before. M can understand and process verbal and written speech like she’s always been able to. She’s just unable to say what she wants to, and the same with the written word. The virus is only allowing one output, so to speak,” Julian says.
“Thank you Doctor,” Sisko says with a nod, “is there anything else to expect regarding her condition before a cure is found?”
“Like the aphasia virus, I have reason to think she will also begin experiencing muscle soreness and a high fever, but I sincerely hope I’ll be able to find a cure before then,” Julian finishes with a nod to Sisko.
“Very well, Doctor, I’ll let you return to your work,” Sisko says. “Dismissed everyone.”
“Major, have you finished contacting all the members of your old Resistance cell yet?” Ahna asks Kira as they exit the Ward Room together, heading back to Ops to continue working on M’s case. “Because I’ve already contacted everyone on the master list and no one can give me any information on this particular virus.” The Major shakes her head in the negative.
“I’ve reached everyone I possibly could. Not one of them has experience of planting these viruses, much less creating them,” Kira replies, giving Ahna a sympathetic glance. Ahna looks away, entering the turbolift first.
“Well, we’ll just have to uncover more names of old Resistance fighters then. Contact them all and make sure they tell us all they can remember about that time. One of them has to know something we can use to help M,” she says, staring unseeing at the turbolift wall. Gently, Kira takes her hand.
“It’s been so long since it was planted on the station. The people responsible could be long dead at this point, so many of us died in labor camps,” she says softly, meeting Ahna’s gaze. “And if we can’t find the person who knows how to cure M, Julian will do everything in his power to save her. It’s not your fault, Ahna. You didn’t know what was inside that cylinder.” Kira watches as Ahna swallows once before looking down at her boots.
“But I should have known, I should have warned her better or something. She had no idea what she was decoding.”
“I know,” Kira says, exiting the turbolift into Ops, “But all we can do right now is keep looking for a cure and hope that Julian has the information he needs already to help M.” Ahna sighs in resignation. The Major’s correct as usual.
“Let’s get back to work then,” Ahna replies, squaring her shoulders once more and fixing a determined look on her face as she follows Kira over to the center console.
M wakes the next morning, groggy and disoriented. She’s curled up into a ball in her sleep, and she notices with a frown that she’s wearing a slightly hideous Infirmary gown, and not her uniform. She stretches her stiff legs out before sitting up and looking around. She’s not sure, not having been inside all the Infirmaries’ rooms before, but she thinks she might be in a partitioned off section of the larger ward Dr. Bashir uses only occasionally. The lights are only at half brightness while she’s been asleep, so M asks the computer to raise them.
“Repeat Command,” the computer responds with an irritated sounding beep. M deflates, laying down once again. She’s unable to stop the tears trickling down her cheeks.
In the afternoon, Lieutenant Savannah visits, edging around the cubicle wall with a hesitant smile.
“Hi M,” she says, sidling up to plop down on the Biobed near M’s feet. “I came by to fix one of the diagnostic computers so I thought I’d see how you were. Julian’s out there right now, working out how to cure you. You’re in great hands, if you didn’t know that already. Julian’s the best there is, so I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s figured out how to fix what’s wrong.” Rather than speaking, M gives Savannah a slightly helpless shrug and a nod, as if to say, I know, you’re probably right. But still…
“Hey, how about if I stop by later with a big batch of double chocolate chip cookies? I can bake them up when I get off shift.” Savannah proposes with an excited grin, bouncing on the Biobed a bit. “I know how much you love chocolate. Would that be alright?” Still struggling to keep her tears at bay, M nods once jerkily. She does love Savannah’s cookies.
“Great, I’ll be back later then!” Savannah chirps, hopping down from the Biobed and exiting M’s cubicle.
The afternoon and early evening are interrupted only by the Bajoran nurses checking up on her and bringing her food and drink (hasperat isn’t her favorite but she has few ways to communicate this) and once by Dr. Bashir, who bustles in to perform another scan and informs her he’s getting closer to discovering a cure.
At 21:00 M’s woken out of a doze by nurse Hortak entering the cubicle, followed by Savannah and Robertson. Savannah’s proudly toting a plate of cookies, and Robertson carries with them several PADDS.
“You have some visitors M,” Hortak says, smiling as she moves to help her sit up. “I’ve already informed them they can only stay for a few minutes, since you need to rest.”
“I come bearing cookies,” Savannah announces, plopping down once again by M’s feet and handing her a cookie. M raises an eyebrow.
“Of course, we need milk! I’ll get some, just a moment,” she says, hurrying out of the cubicle. In her wake, Robertson hesitantly comes closer, looking, in M’s opinion, a little relieved to see her in one piece. A wash of embarrassment rushes over M for a moment when she remembers the scenes she made the day before. Not quite knowing what else to do, M gives Robertson a little wave, which they return, and take the cue to sit down in a chair pushed over to M’s bedside.
“I brought you some books to read,” Robertson says, setting the assorted PADDS in M’s lap. “I figured you might want a little distraction.” M reads the titles Robertson has brought with them. Her cheeks redden when she spots Vulcan Love Slave, and she shoves it quickly to the bottom of the pile with an embarrassed look at Robertson, who gives her a knowing smirk. Robertson has also brought with them The Hobbit (of course), Persuasion, and a copy of a new Bajoran novel she’s been wanting to read. M gives Robertson a look she hopes coveys her thanks before Savannah returns with three glasses of milk from the Replicator.
“How is she Julian, really?” Savannah asks, emerging from the ward with Robertson. They’d met Julian coming out, Savannah and Robertsons’ expressions both turning from cheerful to serious. Julian turns to walk them out of the Infirmary.
“Her condition is stable for now, but you know I can’t tell you more than that, Savannah,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the door. “For now, you need to let me work and let the Ensign get some rest. I’ll let you know when I’ve made any breakthroughs,” he continues, adding, “and the same goes for you too, Rob.” He sees them both out the doors before running a tired hand through his hair. Back to work.
“Please, it’s of the utmost importance that I speak to the doctor, could you try contacting him one last time,” Lieutenant Ahna pleads with the administrator on the other end of the comm line. She’s been sitting at the comm station for so long she thinks her legs have fallen asleep.
“I’m sorry Lieutenant, but the doctor is currently away on leave and requested he not be contacted for any reason and I’m already in violation of his instructions as it is,” the administrator huffs.
“But it’s an emergency! You don’t--” Ahna stands from her seat, pounding her fists on the table in frustration. “Someone’s life is on the line and--”
“Excuse me, administrator, we’ll wait until the doctor has returned before contacting him. Thank you for all your help,” Major Kira interrupts, stepping in front of Ahna and wrapping up the call.
“That little--!” Ahna fumes, sinking back into the seat. Major Kira turns back to face her, her expression settling into a more neutral one. Or maybe it's just the exhaustion. They’ve been at it for hours, so many Ahna’s not sure of the time anymore. And they’ve still made little progress.
“You need to take a break Lieutenant,” Kira says, softly. “Getting angry isn’t going to help us at the moment. That’s for when we find the person who created this damn virus and they give us the cure, whether they want to or not.”
Ahna runs a hand through her now lank hair. She could really use some sleep. And something to eat, if her rumbling stomach is anything to go by. But no, she can’t let M down like this. They were all supposed to go to the mud baths on Friday.
“Okay, I’m calm now,” she sighs, turning to the monitor in front of her. “Who haven’t we tried yet?”
“Oh no, not until you’ve had a meal and a few hours’ sleep, Ahna,” Kira protests, dragging her away from the console and toward the turbolift. “Doctor Bashir says M’s in stable condition for now, so the search can wait a few hours.” Ahna’s too tired to fight off the Major’s equally exhausted insisting, so she lets herself be led into the turbolift along with Kira. Ahna only prays that in a few hours, they’ll have found someone who can tell them how to cure this virus and save M.
When M next opens her eyes, she knows vaguely that something is very wrong. She feels not quite connected to her body, which she realizes is burning with heat even though she’s only covered with one thin Infirmary blanket. As overheated as she feels, she’s also confusingly chilled where her skin meets open air, causing her to shiver.
“Doctor Bashir, you’re needed in Ward A,” nurse Jabara is leaning over her suddenly, her lips mouthing words M struggles to understand. Is it the virus making it so she can’t understand speech, as well? What a horrible thought. M blinks once sluggishly, then Dr. Bashir has joined nurse Jabara in leaning over her. He’s saying something, but he’s talking too fast for M to understand him.
“...next phase...lower...keep doing...notify me if…”
M closes her eyes.
Julian exits the ward after instructing Jabara to try to keep the Ensign as comfortable as possible as the next phase of the virus takes hold. Soon, he knows, she will also be experiencing moderate to acute muscle aches. But that’s only if he can’t synthesize a cure before then. He heads back toward the main computer station, intending to run another set of simulations. Ironically, the data he collected when the aphasia virus swept the station years before has been immeasurably useful in charting how this virus mutates and testing out various methods of irradicating it. Now, if he can just eliminate a few more possibilities.
“Computer, call up simulation 23,” he says, studying the monitor intensely.
Hours pass before Julian pushes his chair away from the console with a frustrated sigh. He’s close, he can just sense it. And yet, every simulation still fails. He needs to stretch his legs. Ward A is mostly dark when he enters quietly, intending to check on his patient. Rounding the cubicle at the end of the dark ward, he sees M resting fitfully, the monitor displaying her vital signs beeping softly. Approaching her beside, he notices the sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her slightly flushed cheeks, the damp strands of hair where they brush her cheeks. It seems Jabara’s efforts to keep her temperature down aren’t enough. He leaves the cubicle, returning with a basin of cool water and a cloth.
“Here we go,” he says quietly, setting the basin down on a nearby cart and wheeling it over to the bedside. “Let’s see if we can’t cool you off a bit more, M.” He takes a seat on the Biobed at M's hips, wringing out the cloth and begins running it over M’s left arm and hand. While he works, M’s sleep remains restless, and every so often a soft whimper escapes her lips.
“Shh, it's alright, you’re alright,” Julian coos, rewetting the cloth and running it over M’s right arm. M’s eyes flutter open when Julian begins wiping her damp forehead and cheeks, smoothing the stray strands of hair back from her face.
“Hello there,” Julian smiles reassuringly, “I’m just trying to cool you off a bit, I hope that’s okay.” M’s gaze travels from his face to his hands wringing out the cool cloth again, confused, before nodding her understanding.
“I’d like to get at your neck a bit more,” Julian says, “is it alright if I untie your gown partly?” He waits for M to nod her consent before sitting her up and reaching around her to loosen the ties at her back.
“There, that’s a little better I hope,” he says, laying her back down and running the cloth over her neck and exposed collarbones. Her dark spots stand out even more than usual against her pale skin. “It won’t be long now, and you’ll be feeling a lot better, I promise,” he continues. “I’m very close to finding a cure for you, and I’m not going to give up now, M.” He says M’s full name then, a series of long and short trilling, lilting, notes. There are very few people on the station who are able to pronounce it correctly, and Julian’s evidently one of them. Even nearly asleep, a small thrill runs through M at hearing her full name come from his lips.
“Sweet dreams,” Julian says, finishing with her neck and shoulders. He places the damp cloth on her forehead, reties her gown, and tucks M’s blanket back around her before exiting the ward.
Simulation: failed
Simulation: failed
Simulation: failed
“Ugh, not again,” Julian huffs, slamming a palm against the computer console. It’s the next morning now, and after getting a few hours’ sleep, he’s returned to work on a cure for M, with little success.
“Julian, hi,” Savannah sweeps through the Infirmary doors, coming right over to look at the monitors over his shoulder. “How’s M today? I know you said no more visitors, but Susan, Bond, and the others have been worried about her.” Julian sighs, rubbing his tired eyes. “She’s in fair condition now, Savannah,” he says, “and hopefully she’ll stay that way for a bit longer. Just until I can figure out where I’m going wrong.”
“Well, what have you tried so far that isn’t working?” she asks, studying the monitors, though Julian seriously doubts she understands even a third of the data displayed there.
“Everything, I’ve tried everything I can think of, and all the usual viral protocols are proving ineffective at stopping this virus's progression,” Julian says. “Even the data I gathered from the aphasia virus was only so much help. I’ve eliminated every possibility I can think of for a cure.” He ends, beginning to close out the last series of simulations.
“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Savannah jokes, with a wry smile. Julian turns to offer a retort, but then he sits up straight, his eyes widening.
“That’s it!,” he says, if I can just figure out a way to reset M’s immunological response, I should be able to synthesize a compound that can render the virus ineffective. It just might work,” he begins typing feverishly at the console. Savannah takes in the abrupt turn in Julian’s demeanor with a surprised but gratified expression.
“Glad I could help, doctor,” she says. “I guess I’ll come back later then when you’ve gotten that cure ready.”
“Thank you, Minister, you’ve been a big help,” Major Kira’s smile is wearing thin, but she signs off on the comm with a polite farewell anyway. Beside her, Ahna can’t hide the disappointment in her eyes.
“That was the last person,” she says, looking at Kira as she turns to face her, the smile falling from her face.
“Yes, it was, but there’s still people we could contact, medical centers on Bajor and even on Cardassia that we haven’t tried yet or there’s the Federation. I bet if we can’t help the Ensign they’ll be able to--”
“To what?” Ahna asks, her eyes growing a bit watery. “We’ve tried everything we can think of at this point.” Frantically, Ahna tries to master herself, and pushes back the tears threatening to spill. Breaking down right now isn’t going to help M. “I think I’ll head down to the Infirmary, see how M’s doing,” she says, rising on stiff legs once again and striding toward the turbolift.
“I’ll join you Ahna,” Major Kira says, looking resigned as she follows her lead. They arrive on the Promenade in silence, Ahna trying to think of avenues she and Kira haven’t explored yet. Maybe they can contact the Trill homeworld? But no, M is only part Trill, oh and hadn’t Kira already sent a message to their preeminent medical center?
The Promenade is slightly quieter than usual, experiencing a lull in between ships docking and departing the station. Ahna spots Alex in her bookstore, stocking shelves as they pass by, and observes Irena talking to one of the Dabo girls in Quarks. Not far past Quarks, Ahna and Kira are stymied by the small crowd of people outside the Infirmary. The group contains Lieutenants Hix and Savannah, as well as Roberston, the schoolteacher, but also Ari and Emma.
“What’s happened?” Kira orders, standing to attention. Lieutenant Hix turns around, raising an eyebrow.
“Hi Major, Lieutenant. Nothing’s happened, at least not yet. We’re waiting to hear about Ensign M.” Ahna’s heart seems to plunge into her stomach briefly.
“What about her?” she asks.
“Julian thinks he’s found a cure, isn’t that great,” Lieutenant Savannah comes over to stand next to Hix, a hopeful look on her face. “He said he’d send word when he’s given it to her.”
“That’s wonderful news, but how did…” Major Kira continues questioning the Lieutenants and then Robertson about how Dr. Bashir discovered a cure, but Ahna can’t focus on the details for once. She’s so utterly, unspeakably relieved, and she can’t wait to see M for herself. Hopefully, her new friend will forgive her for not warning her more thoroughly about the cylinder in the first place.
“Oh, hello everyone,” a surprised nurse Jabara appears at the Infirmary doors. It seems she hasn’t been expecting such a large group of people waiting for news. “I’ve been told to tell you all that the first round of therapy has been administered successfully, and the Ensign is already showing signs of improvement. If all goes well, she should be fully recovered in a few days.” At Jabara’s announcement, the group outside the Infirmary erupts into exclamations of relief and hugs. At the back of the group, Ahna fervently thanks the Prophets.
The following afternoon, Lieutenant Ahna finds herself pacing outside the Infirmary after her shift has ended. She’s been getting reports all day about M’s condition from the others. Dr. Bashir has barred them all from visiting, insisting that M rest while the cure he created does its job, but Ahna can’t seem to resist remaining nearby, waiting for more news.
“Lieutenant?” Dr. Bashir’s soft voice breaks her out of her thoughts. She looks up to see him standing a respectful distance away.
“Doctor, I--” she begins, not quite knowing what to say next.
“I take it you’ve been waiting for more news about Ensign M?” he asks with a knowing smile. He doesn’t look irritated at seeing her there.
“Yes, how is she?” Ahna asks, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
“Why don’t you see for yourself? She’s awake at the moment,” Bashir offers, leading the way into the Infirmary and down the hallway that leads to Ward A.
“M, Lieutenant Ahna’s here to see you,” Bashir says as they round the corner of the cubicle and M comes into sight. Ahna takes in her appearance rapidly. She seems unusually pale still, her dark spots standing out more than Ahna thinks is normal, but M still smiles when she spots Ahna behind Dr. Bashir, and waves her over. Dr. Bashir takes that as his cue to leave.
“Ahna, I’m so glad to see you,” M says, “I hope you haven’t been missing me too much in Ops,” she jokes. When Ahna tentatively puts her hand near M’s on the Biobed, M moves to put her hand over hers.
“You don’t, I mean, you’re not upset?” Ahna asks, meeting M’s gaze. M frowns in confusion at her words.
“Why would I be upset? Well, I was, when I couldn’t say anything beside those two cursed phrases, but do you mean am I upset with you?”
“Y-yes, because I’m the one that let you work on that cylinder alone. I’m the one who didn’t warn you well enough about what could be inside. I might’ve been able to prevent all this.” Ahna swallows harshly, staring fixedly ahead at the pattern on M’s Infirmary blanket. Guilt seems to swallow her.
“None of this is your fault, Ahna,” M says, quietly, determined. “None of us really knew what was in that thing. I let my curiosity get the best of me, and thankfully, Doctor Bashir was able to find a cure. It’s okay, really.” Ahna nods in assent, trying to see things from M’s perspective. It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.
“We’re still on for the holosuite mud baths then?” M asks, with a hopeful look at Ahna.
“Absolutely,” Ahna replies.