Cavan/Arvelion: "The Fever" Part 1
chaze...@aol.com
Lt. Cmdr. Elinor Cavan, M.D.
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Galaxy
Col. For’kel Suum-Arvelion, SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment- “The Furies”
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As the end of the year 2392 draws near, on a world on the periphery of the Federation…
Iancu Molotov stared intently at the sky above the small shuttle pad in the center of Bran, the largest settlement on the colony of New Brasov, in anticipation of a new arrival. This would be the first time they got to meet since graduation night the year prior. He hadn’t forgotten her in the slightest… his cheeks still reddening, his step an extra bit peppy, and an irresistible urge to stand a bit taller still struck him those moments when idleness allowed his thoughts to wander. And he’d gone out of his way to find reasons to be idle since coming back home.
First, the whine of RCS thrusters caught his ears; the sun and plasma envelope the descending shuttle was in kept it out of sight. But the whine grew louder, the anticipation more palpable, then the fiery plasma envelope faded away and in a minute or two the form of a Type VIII cargo shuttle came to a resting nest on the otherwise empty pad.
She was one of the first off the pad. An Orion beauty in a black cloak that matched her raven hair. Marta Khal’olush, a physicist whose incredible mind somehow made her pin-up figure even more unholy attractive. She smiled as she had when he last saw her, and as was always the case he felt his blush coming on. Standing tall, chin back, he reached out hoping she might be willing to take his arm.
He got much more than he was hoping for when she ran straight into his arms, her fingers grasping his head and rustling through his hair, and planted an impassioned kiss on his confused but waiting lips. Taken aback didn’t begin to describe it. Practically everyone at the shuttle pad that day stopped to look at the unusual public display of affection. Some with a Karen’s faux concern for decency, others with a voyeur’s intrigue.
It would be the last time they were seen together alive.
A month later, Constable Radu Stolnic wanted to die. In thirty years of serving New Brasov, he’d never been so busy. The Colony was a tranquil backwater with the only regular traffic being a freighter run every four months from Starbase 82 to collect their output for the quarter and sell whatever supplies the colonists requested. In short, everyone knew everyone, and everyone was acting a lot different than their usual selves.
Throughout the entirety of his career there were exactly four deaths in the world not attributable to natural causes. One was a drug overdose, a death they still talk about down at Merl’s, another due to a shuttle malfunction confirmed to be operator negligence, and then the other two were lost in a seismic incident down at the mines. A month ago, he’d never dealt with an actual murder.
Now, he’s had six murders and eleven missing persons.
Patrols had been on twelve hour watches since the second body was found… a young Orion woman that wasn’t from around here. He’d gotten the manifests and flight plans for the one freighter that stopped by to see if maybe they were dealing with a serial murderer, but everyone on the manifest checked out and was no longer on the planet. Still, the murders continued.
The boy’s family knew nothing. No one knew the Orion girl. The patrols found nothing. The one medical center on the world ran the normal forensics tests and kept the bodies in stasis but, really, one didn’t need a test. The Orion woman had been found with a local boy, Antonescu Kadicu, both with a multitude of stab wounds. Then came Iancu’s body… . bite wounds on his neck and a phaser burn on his chest. Justina Mikoluc and Bogdan Elescu were the two latest victims… bludgeoned to death with a blunt object in the old granary. It almost made him puke.
With no leads, nothing to go on, and the colony’s physician clamoring on about a possible alien pathogen, it was time to call in bigger guns. Radu collapsed into his seat with a huff before stabbing the outdated computer console in front of him. “Comms, get me Starfleet…”
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The comm line chirped all together far too loudly and all together violently for Ellie’s tastes. It was interrupting her flow. It was not every day that she took time for herself. Nor was it every day that she took the runner out for a bit of an unscheduled expedition as it were. Not that she would have to authorize that. Well, she probably would. It was just an ordinary salvage mission on this moonlet to a bystander— do not ask any further questions.
She removed her earphones that blared the bleating comms once more with a wince. Wiping a greasy hand across her cargo pants and slapped her palm on the view console. “Go for Cavan.”
The screen resolved into the familiar, weary face of Admiral Brennan, his office a stark contrast to her gritty cockpit. “Good Lords Raven, tell me that schmutz on your face is dirt and not something else,” Brennan paled a bit.
“It is nothing more than salvage rights Admiral,” Ellie said with a shrug, staring at the detritus on her hands. It would be a nightmare to get out from under her fingernails. She thought of the time she had to get a particularly difficult— stain-– off her hand, that went clear up to her elbow, it had overstayed its welcome for nearly a month. “And a bit of grease. How can I be of service?”
“I will pretend this is all on the books and above board,” Brennan rubbed his temples. “Your job. No more playing Lara Croft in whatever derelict dump you found yourself in. You really need a hobby. Ura is really into yoga.”
“Right… yoga will fix everything,” Ellie made a sarcastic thumbs up. “Give me the details on the job.”
“It’s New Brasov. A quiet colony on the periphery. Their biggest export is boredom. Or it was, until a month ago.” He transmitted the data packet. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the secondary screen as it populated with the grim details.
“Hot damn. Six homicides. Eleven missing. Stabbings, phaser burns, and look at that,” Ellie felt like she was looking through an insane bingo card. She tied her long black hair up. Her focus started honing in as she continued to read. “Bite wounds on the neck. The canine spacing is all wrong for a human. And this phaser burn is superficial. Not the kill shot. That is theatrical.”
“That’s why you’re tapped in Raven,” Brennan said with a bit of a cross of proud dad and please stop telling me about this tone to his voice.
“The Orion woman, Marta Khal’olush, the first victim seems to be the key… is she not? This is quite a fascinating mess.”
“It’s a diplomatic grenade with the pin pulled. The Orions are getting antsy. I need you to go in, find out what’s hunting these people, and give me a report I can send to them that doesn’t start a firefight. You’re the only one I trust not to get squeamish. You’ll have a security detail at your disposal as well, I’ll send information when I have more to give.”
Ellie looked at the half-disassembled engine laying in the middle of the runner. This was far more pressing than some derelict power core. “Have Ura send my things ahead of me. I am taking my runner. I am not doing any pressers. Furthermore…”
“There's furthermore, Raven?” Brennan steepled his fingers with amusement.
“Indiana Jones. Not Lara Croft.”
Brennan let out a honeyed laugh that rumbled even her end of the line. “Very well then. The U.S.S. Rhode Island is in the sector for logistical support, but you’re in command of the investigation. They’ve been instructed to give you whatever you need and a very wide berth.”
“Good, good,” Ellie’s fingers flew across the nav console inputting the co-ordinates. “Sending you my ETA. Tell their Constable to have the bodies secure and untouched. And to ready a secure landing pad. Maybe warn them the runner leaks a bit… out of professional courtesy.”
“Charming. Brennan out.”
Ellie put her boots up on the empty co-pilot’s chair. It had been so long since she had the runner devoid of any chatter from Ura or Reynard it felt odd to do a run solo. However, the steady thrum of the warp drive remained a comforting constant. With the course locked, Ellie had one task before arrival: homework. It would keep her mind off the fact that she was mucking about deep space all by her lonesome ownsome.
She pulled up the data packet Brennan had sent, labeled COLONY PROFILE: NEW BRASOV. It opened with a standard Federation colonial seal, and she immediately skipped the welcoming propaganda.
// COLONY PROFILE: NEW BRASOV //
// FOUNDING: 2348 //
// PRIMARY SETTLEMENT: BRAN (POP. ~12,000) //
// CLASS: L //
// GOVERNANCE: COLONIAL COUNCIL, LED BY A PRIMAR //
// CURRENT PRIMAR: ANTONESCU VADIM //
“Right, the politician,” Ellie muttered, making a mental note. The name 'Antonescu' had appeared in the victim list. A relative of the Primar? That added a layer of political pressure.
She scrolled right through the founding philosophies to the meat and potatoes bits.
// ECONOMIC BASE: //
AGRICULTURE: Tuber-based (Solanum Brasovii), high-yield grains.
MINING: DURANIUM, TRITANIUM. (Primary mining operation: 'The Veins,' southern continent).
INDUSTRY: Limited manufacturing. Primary export is raw ore and agricultural surplus via quarterly freighters run from Starbase 82.
“It is a backwater planet rife with resources,” Ellie started jotting in her notes. It was not generally her forte to be investigating all aspects of these situations; they generally fell into her lap for her to puzzle out.
The sociological notes seemed to be more curious than anything. The planet was settled by Balkan and Eastern European diaspora group descendents, which led to some interesting architectural choices and strange cultural customary ties— but nothing uncommon all things considered. It seemed more akin to something the Spock’s logs would be documenting than what she would be going and doing a sweep about.
All things considered there was a considerably low crime rate. Pre-incident reports consist of minor disputes, petty theft, and the occasional bar fight at something called 'Merl's' establishment.
The only documentation she had on personnel was about Constable Stolnic. According to his files he had been deeply integrated with the community for fifty years and a pillar of altruism. Which was saying something considering he was a flatfoot and all. Ellie translated that into, he was born there and everyone knows him, is in his business and he is equally in theirs— not to mention he probably has never encountered the strange and unusual.
The resident physician seemed to be a guy named Dr. Petru Zohan. He could set a bone and deliver a baby. Anything else was beyond his purview.
She blinked slowly, realizing that she definitely did not have an adequate amount of caffeine for this in her bloodstream. Stolnic was overwhelmed and Zohan was in far over his head.
Her finger hovered on the padd over the location of the latest double-homicide. The old grainery. It seemed to be largely unused, which made it the idyllic location for such an event. No one could hand pick a better location, unless it was already taped and tarped. She let out a breath from her nose. There were the mines that were the source of most of the off-world traffic; it could be a potential point of contamination, she noted with a quick tap. There was a shuttle pad for the whole kitten caboodle in Central Bran, the only space-to-ground she could see denoted for the whole facility, outside of using teleporters.
“Unless someone sets up interference,” she mumbled to herself, at this point making notes at a blistering pace. “Which would make sense—-”
The Computer chimed with a gentle beep. “Proximity alert, now entering the Orlov System. Time to New Brasov Colony, Two Hours, Five Minutes.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “The Orlov system? That is not foreboding in the slightest,” she said quietly. “Once again, the Raven flies into the nonsense.”
Meanwhile, back on the U.S.S. Galaxy…
The cavernous drill deck thundered with the asynchronous footfalls of a company’s worth of Marines pounding against the deck. Yes, that time of the month had come again… the sometimes beloved but most often dreaded Physical Training Evaluation. This year the Furies were set to break their prior record… the result of a peacetime rotation in which there was little to do but train and work out.
Fork stood with the other officers in the middle, keeping notes on the progress of the Marines. When he first arrived on the Galaxy, the Furies were a middle tier at best unit. Since then, they’d sharpened considerably, at least on an individual basis. The Marines still lacked the heavier firepower that they once had as a battalion.
The last Marines were about to enter the final lap of their run when his Aide de Camp ran up alongside. “Sir, incoming message from HQ. Your eyes only.”
Fork nodded without even looking up, making his last notations before passing the PADD over to Bran. “Got a call. I need to take Bran, watch our kids.” She took it without complaint, and before long the Colonel made it back to the converted janitorial closet that was his office, hopping over the relatively small work desk to get at his computer. “Computer, open channel, authorization Arvelion Epsilon Delta 797 Cairo.”
Up came the face of Brigadier General Natalya Peremont. The ‘Iron Lady’ of the Corps offered a respectful smile. “Colonel, good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Never is.” Fork joked. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“There’s a Federation Consulate and Starfleet attaché's office on the planet of New Brasov. It’s a far flung backwater, but it’s also a strategically important source of certain minerals and ores in its sector. I don’t have all the details, but apparently the planet is being placed under quarantine following a spate of unfortunate deaths. I want you to evacuate the Consulate and any Starfleet facilities of any non-essential staff. Everyone else is going to be on an enforced lockdown. You’re also going to need to maintain security over the transporter hub and the shuttle pad on the planet in order to effectuate the quarantine. Questions?”
“How big are these facilities?”
“It’s a tiny world Colonel, think maybe a few dozen personnel. The shuttle pad can handle a maximum of half a dozen craft at a time. You won’t need a huge force. Just keep the locals in check. The fleet will handle investigating and resolving whatever the quarantine is about. The U.S.S. Rhode Island is being assigned in support. Good crew but she’s Nova class, so don’t bring anything bulky.”
“Understood. By your leave, general?”
She nodded with a thin smile, always one to appreciate a quick conversation. “Dismissed. Good luck, you shouldn’t need it.”
Fork turned the screen off and took a deep breath. So much for having some time off while Koren was visiting his grandparents. Hopefully it would be easy work at least.