Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [18]
At that precise instant, Captain Archer appeared in the hatchway, a hint of a smile on his lips, despite the fact the he looked tired. “Hoshi. Anything so far?”
“Captain,” she said, composing herself at once. She rose from her chair. “Not a lot, sir, but I can give you a better translation of the warning.”
She played her tape back for him, and he listened to it thoughtfully. “Good work. Anything else?”
She nodded. “We’re in luck. Those tapes we found in the medical facility—you were right. They’re medical logs. I’m just getting started with those, but the beginning’s always the hardest part. Once I gain more facility with their language, the work will go a lot faster. Right now the logs indicate they didn’t know what was happening to them.”
It was Archer’s turn to nod, rather glumly.
“Sir,” Hoshi asked, “has Doctor Phlox discovered anything new?”
“No word so far,” Archer said. “He’s my next stop. I’ll let you know if there’s anything.”
“Thanks.” Hoshi smiled.
On his way out, Archer paused to glance at the image of the two aliens on her viewer; a look of recognition passed over his features, followed by a darker emotion that he quickly stifled. Hoshi glanced at him curiously. Months of serving together at close quarters left her sensitive to the other officers’ moods, and there had been a gray cloud hovering over the captain even before they had gone down to the doomed planet Oan.
“I wish I could tell you more, Captain,” Phlox said, before Archer had fully set foot inside sickbay. The doctor stood over a diagnostic bed where the corpse of the last female to die reposed, covered by a layer of nonpermeable film. His back was to Archer; apparently he had recognized the captain’s footfall or done a good job of guessing. “I’ve spent the entire night studying their morphology and physiology, and other than that slight difference in electrolytes I detected when we were on the planet’s surface, I’ve found nothing to account for their deaths. No microbes, no parasites, no sign of poisoning or radiation, no exposure to weaponry that we’re familiar with…” He turned to face the captain; either the lack of sleep or the frustration had made its mark on him. His normally pink features were sallow; shadows had appeared in the folds beneath his eyes. “To be quite honest, Captain, I really don’t know what further tests to perform. Short of going down to the planet’s surface, I—”
“They called themselves the Oani,” Archer interrupted. It was a non sequitur, but he could think of nothing to say in response to Phlox’s discouraging report. It wasn’t that he was worried about his crew contracting the mysterious illness—he wasn’t—but he felt he owed a solution to the Oanis. It would be simply too sad, too meaningless for an entire race to die off without that legacy he had spoken to Hoshi of.
“Oani,” Phlox repeated thoughtfully, and gazed down at the sealed corpse. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet them under better circumstances.”
Archer opened his mouth to agree, but at the last moment changed his mind and asked, “What about the male who attacked Hoshi? And the one with the contorted features? Was there insanity or rage associated with whatever killed them?”
Phlox sighed. “I wish I could speak with certainty, Captain, but at the moment, I find myself with more questions than answers. However, my best guess is that no, the apparently violent impulse that overtook the poor man had more to do with a coincidental dementia brought on by organic brain disease. As for the gentleman with the disturbing expression, he showed no signs of insanity; he was quite healthy in all respects until his death.”
As the doctor finished his sentence, T’Pol’s voice filtered through the companel.
“T’Pol to sickbay.”
The doctor moved to the bulkhead and tapped the control. “Phlox here.”
“Doctor, have you heard anything