Chapter Text
She speaks with Diane, gets the update of patient-reported symptoms to compare to the scanner data, then goes back to find that Tyrell and her postdocs have completed the comparative scans. The results are a complete vindication of her suspicions; a markedly changed genome in many cells, others catching up. T’Volis stares at it for a time, the damning base-pairs highlighted, horribly aware this will be in textbooks.
“You know what this means,” says Tyrell. It’s interesting to see his response; he is clearly torn between distress and fascination.
“We are not solely dealing with a viral infectious disease,” says T’Volis. The lines of genetic code unspooling across the screen raise dread in her stomach. She makes it a policy not to react in such a way to the viruses she studies. But this is not a virus. It is a construct, with a single purpose. “This is a delivery mechanism. A delivery mechanism for genetic modification.”
“A logical outgrowth of gene therapies,” says Tyrell, fascinated and disgusted. “The dual use. Earth’s old geneticists, the ones who caused the Eugenics Wars, didn’t even take it this far. They wanted supersoldiers. But this…”
“This is a gene weapon,” says T’Volis. “It switches off the genes responsible for basic function of the human body. It starts with the lungs, hence the pneumonia, and then spreads. And even if the patient survives…”
“The germ line mutations will ensure their children will be affected by the same afflictions,” says Tyrell. “Diabolical.”
“An efficient approach for genocide,” says T’Volis. “We must counter it.”
“I can work on a therapy with a similarly rapid delivery,” says Tyrell. “But it’s going to take time to replicate and code. They altered a lot there; probably to keep someone from doing exactly that, through the sheer time that would need to be invested.” He glances at her. “We got lucky.”
T’Volis thinks of this hitting an unprepared population, one where the first patients thought they had a minor cold, or didn’t notice their fevers. A population who didn’t expect a weapon like this. One occupied with case-tracking, as the sheer volume of patients brought medical systems down, one that would think this was simply an infection. During the war, it might well have succeeded. At the very least, it would have devastated the human species, even with the long work necessary to undo the genetic modification.
T’Volis has examined Dominion bioweapons. This is meticulous, and it is strangely personal . Crafted by someone well familiar with Earth’s eugenics wars, and well familiar with the horror of genetic modification most humans have to this day. With an intimate knowledge of the human genome, and understanding of diseases now easily treated.
It does not fit the template of a Dominion bioweapon. The Dominion likes efficiency and brutality. A disease that caused hemorrhage, hypovolemic shock and dehydration, organ failure, all within a few days or a week–that would fit the profile. This doesn’t. This is slower, it is cruel, and it took a very great deal of work. No. For all it was found in a Dominion laboratory, she doubts it is actually a Dominion weapon. They have gotten it from somewhere.
That is speculation. She keeps it to herself. “You are correct,” she says. “A singular case means we can counter it by synthesizing a treatment, even if it will not be produced soon enough to aid Captain Chester.”
He frowns. “We’ll see about that.”
It makes her glance at him with some consternation. Tyrell, when she last worked with him, has seemed to be someone most interested in solving puzzles, not saving lives. The emotion she detects behind his reaction might be simple annoyance at having missed the purpose of the virus, but she suspects it is not only that. There is, perhaps, a personal investment there.
She does not want to read too much into it. She has been carefully shielding her mind since she came aboard, but it is hard not to notice the distress that pervades the ship, projected by so many undisciplined minds. It is uncomfortable. But it also seems that the people here are upset by their captain’s predicament.
In a strange way, it is heartening.
Diane takes the news as T’Volis expects her to, quietly and without outward alarm. Without much inward alarm, either. “Well,” she says, “I didn’t expect good news. And I’m glad we found this bug, though I wish we hadn’t found it with my lungs.”
An attempt at humor. T’Volis tries to school her face into mild amusement, because Diane will find that comforting. From Diane’s expression, she is only partly successful. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Unknown. The genetic conditions it is inducing had highly variable courses even when they occurred naturally. We expect that the designers of this weapon were not particularly patient, so a faster-than-natural onset is to be expected. Furthermore, there is the possibility of a second stage; further mutations we have yet to detect in our scans. Using a similar delivery mechanism to reverse the changes is theoretically possible, but the human genome is both unusually large and unusually fragile; addressing and detecting all of them will be difficult.”
“And the germ-line mutations?”
That brings T’Volis to a halt. The first response– you never mentioned wanting children before– would be incredibly inappropriate. They do not have a relationship that would make it relevant to her.
Diane answers the question for her, anyway. “I’d prefer not to close that door if I didn’t have to,” she says.
“If we can resolve the somatic mutations, there is no reason we will not be able to do so for the germ line.”
“Right. I’ll worry about living, then,” she says. She shifts uncomfortably in the chair, coughs, wet and racking. “Dr. Tyrell already knows my wishes; this is a threat to Federation security, and you–and the rest of your team–have my full permission to brief any and all parties necessary. Including my senior officers.”
“Understood,” she says. “We will schedule that as soon as possible. Afterward, I will–”
“Afterward, you will get to your quarters and get some rest,” says Diane, as stern as he can while looking like she’s going to topple over face-first. “It must be the middle of the night for you. I’d much rather you not be sleep-deprived before you start trying to save my life.”
There is a certain logic to her position. “Very well,” she says.
The briefing is worse than telling Diane. The conference room attached to Sickbay is comfortable and large, but the various people in it have all crowded up toward the head of the table, and the air is thick with anxiety. There is one other Vulcan, who introduces herself as Commander Salera, but the controlled steadiness of her mind is very little balm when compared with a tumult of people all very worried and very few of them with any concept of mental shielding. The Betazoid counselor who’s just stepped in looks queasy the moment he sits down, and he’s trying very hard to keep his own shields shored up. He’s only partially successful; there is a great bank of very personal sick fear behind them, visible if not palpable.
There’s one short human with cybernetics and a painful radiation of concern; Commander J’etris at the head of the table, looking uncomfortable in what T’Volis imagines is usually Diane’s chair; Dr. Tyrell exhausted at her right hand; a Bajoran man radiating a mixture of anger and anxiety; Commander Salera; a handful of anxious ensigns already taking notes before the meeting has started; and one Romulan Tal Shiar agent, who slides in at the head of the table at J’etris’s left hand and gives T’Volis a look of unveiled hostility and evaluation.
“Subcommander Tanek,” says J’etris, in quelling tones, “this is Dr. T’Volis of the Vulcan Academy of Sciences. She is one of the foremost experts in biogenic weapons in the Federation, and we are lucky to have her. She is also a good friend of the Captain’s.”
“Yes,” says Subcommander Tanek, staring directly into T’Volis’s face in outright threat, “I was aware of that.”
“Subcommander Tanek is our liaison officer from the Romulan Empire,” J’etris says to T’Volis. “There were territorial concerns about our activities in the Gamma Quadrant; his presence is intended to allay any suspicions that might arise that the Federation might have imperialist interests there. And, of course, ensure that Romulan interests are protected.”
“Indeed,” says Tanek. He is still staring. There is nothing but flat hostility from him.
The senior officers receive her report in grim silence. “To be clear,” she says, “the threat to us is negligible. The correct quarantine and isolation procedures followed immediately upon Captain Chester’s return served their intended function. The question that now remains is how to preserve her life.”
There is something odd about Tanek’s reaction. He’s abruptly not looking at her, not looking at anyone, but at the table.
She sets that aside to be considered later. “Obviously, one of our first approaches would be to try to use a similar vector to undo the damage that has been done to Captain Chester’s genetic material. However, rather than suppressing the immune system, the alterations have greatly increased its activity. The risk of an overreaction to the vector we use–to any vector we use–is very high, even with modern immunosuppressive treatments. That immune activity may also become damaging in its own right, if it begins to target healthy cells. We are sequencing the corrupted material now, but, as you are aware, the human genome is particularly long and delicate, and the ways in which this weapon targets its function are equally creative.”
“Does that mean you can’t do anything for her?” says the Bajoran, a pained edge to his voice. Subcommander Tanek still has not looked up.
“It means we are unsure of the best course of action at the moment,” she says. “We expect greater certainty in the next few hours.”