The answer condenses out of the cloud of probabilities a few hours later.
”It’s a microorganism,” Dee Lipton reports to the captain and command staff over coms. “One of frighteningly simple purpose.”
She pauses for dramatic effect, then continues: “It’s the ultimate reducer.”
“Refresh my microbiology education, doctor,” the captain says, “a reducer?”
T’Lara takes her que: “Reducers are organisms that, via their inherent biological processes and lifecycles, break down complex organics into compounds that are more easily consumed and otherwise utilized by other organisms in the ecology. Many Terran insects serve this purpose, as do fungi, molds and other colony lifeforms.”
“What’s with the pink mist then?” Tanner Dylan interjects.
Dee is ready for the question. “That is what’s left of the crew and passengers onboard the outpost. The final life-state of the microorganism is this:” she says as she pushes captured microscopy images and video to everyone’s screens. The pink mist is a cloud of tiny bubbles, each with a morsel of organic material at its core. They float in the ambient air currents, bumping into each other. They almost look embryonic.
“After our mystery super reducer has done its work, it has created these aerosolized packages of organics. There’s no chemical activity in the bubbles; they’re not gestating or growing or anything. They’re floating inert snacks.”
“For what?” Merrith S’Roke asks, “Some other life form to come along and scarf them?”
“We’ve no idea,” Dee responds, “Something we haven’t seen yet. In most ecosystems a microorganism like this will have natural limitations: environmental factors, physical barriers, other microorganisms and so on. Without anything to prevent its functions, it runs wild and unopposed until it run out of other organics to process, then starves itself out.”
“Hell of a weapon,” Gav grumbles, “Turn it loose on your enemy, then return when it’s done and consume what’s left.”
“Is it still active? The original microorganism?” Captain Je’Ghettorii asks.
”We’re actively looking for that now,” Dee informs them and switches her image stream to a different channel. “We’ve replicated a Canary and it’s on its way into the station.”
The ‘Canary’ is in fact not a bird. It is an artificial life form, without sentience or sapience so it cannot experience pain or suffer. Designed so bioreactivity testing can be done ethically. Assembled by a replicator, it has a known lifespan which aids in detecting life-affecting situations faster. This Canary is riding exposed in a tray carried by one of the drones. Streams of data continuously update on the status of the Canary’s life signs, looking for any telltale of infection, affliction or impact upon it.
“It looks like a Tribble,” Gav comments.
Dee distinctly hears someone on the channel say: “Awwww?”
“Captain,” T’Lara speaks up, “We have internal logs from the outpost now. I have found something.” The science officer takes over the shared data window and a recorded stream from the outposts internal security sensors takes center stage.
Two figures are standing in a hallway next to a hatch to another room.
Their postures are relaxed and casual.
The woman's clothes imply command staff in their lines and cut.
The man’s clothing is more utilitarian and he has various pieces of equipment on his belt.
They appear to be conversing amiably.
It all happens very quickly:
They both pause as if they suddenly have nothing else to say.
Their postures slacken.
The woman’s head rolls back, and she begins to topple backwards, but never hits the ground as her body seems to boil into ruddy smoke that becomes a pink mist.
Her uniform crumples to the deck, empty.
The man lifts a hand up to look at it, watches it disintegrate into ruddy smoke before also collapsing in a stream of pink mist.
His clothing and gear clatter to the deck.
Sitting next to the science officer an ensign wearing the same science-blue uniform gasps, chokes and gags at the spectacle. She quickly covers her mouth with both hands and runs for the nearest disposal chute and retches violently. T’Lara watches the ensign long enough to confirm no action on her part is needed and returns her attention to the logs playing back.
The rest of the bridge crew sit silently, stunned. Dee hears Costes hiss “Dios!” From his station at the runabouts controls.
T’Lara lets the gruesome scene replay, then manipulates the focus to zoom in upon the man’s hand and face as he disintegrates. The expression on his face is vacant, almost serene, as his hand evaporates into pink mist and the reaction continues up his arm and across his body at which point he collapses to the deck before evaporating entirely. Only his clothing and items hung from his tool belt remain.
Dee struggles to find her own voice: “I’ve never seen anything move that fast.”
”It has to be something weaponized,” Gav growls, “How else could it work so quickly?”
”Doctor,” T’Lara’s calm breaks through to Dee’s stunned brain, “His expression. What do you make of it?”
Dee tries to focus, regain her clinical distance. It isn’t easy. She finally gets the gears in her head working again: ”He appears to be in a dissociative state. Perhaps our microorganism attacks the nervous system first. Neither of them appear to be in pain.”
The ensign returns to her station next to T’Lara, chagrined.
”I apologize, sir,” she stammers, “I wasn’t prepared to see something like that happen.”
T’Lara turns to face the ensign. “Science requires sufficient focus and detachment, Ensign Brandis, so as not to miss vital details or fail to apply procedures properly.”
The ensign looks down. “Yes sir,” she says.
T’Lara looks her over a moment, then says: “Mental discipline comes from facing challenges, Ensign. Let us resolve to make you stronger from this experience. I recommend you plan to meet with the ships’ counselor when time permits. Lieutenant Kerric can help you process this experience.”
T’Lara turns back to her station. ”I myself shall also be making an appointment with the ships’ counselor,” she says as much to herself as to her assistant.
“T’Lara,” the captain says, “Prioritize finding out where and how this microorganism outbreak started aboard the outpost.”
”Yes sir” T’Lara says. She and her assistant get to work scanning more of the station's logs.
The canary lived. Dee had forgotten about it while they had all watched the horrible logs of the station’s personnel dying and becoming pink clouds of pre-packaged organic micro balloons. She had half expected to turn back to the Canary’s lifesigns only to have discovered it had evaporated in an eye blink when nobody was watching.
“A watched Canary never croaks”, She quipped in her mind. It was a joke one of her teachers had made during her training.
The Canary made a complete trip through the habitat sections of the outpost, which were the ‘mistiest’ portions of the structure. Then a circuit of the command deck, then the engineering deck, then through the cavernous cargo decks. It didn’t break a sweat, feel a chill, or exhibit any signs of an infection or affliction the entire time. It expired exactly on time with its original control values. It never caught anything. It was brought back to the containment module and dissected and analyzed down to its molecular structure. It was never affected by any biological process that wasn’t expected.
“Captain,” she later announced to the command team after double checking the autopsy results, “I think it is safe to assume that there are no longer any active macro- or micro-biologicals on the station. The infection seems to have burnt itself out completely, and taken everything else with it.”
“Captain,” T’Lara calls from her station, “There is evidence that another ship was here and left before we arrived.”
The science officer again takes over the main screen of the bridge, and Dee also gets a smaller window of the view from her location on the runabout. What plays is an external sensor log, showing a ship of unfamiliar design dropping out of warp near the outpost. It spends a while there doing nothing obvious, then turns and warps away.
”Sir,” Ensign Brandis speaks up from her station next to the science officer, “I have a visual log of several cargo pallets being beamed off the outpost during the timeframe that ship was in close proximity.”
“That could have been the perpetrators, returning to recover their delivery tool for the microorganism,” Gav says to the Captain.
”Or some hapless thieves, thinking to steal while thinking nobody was home,” Captain Je’Ghettorii says, “They could be carrying the infection without knowing it.”
The captain then turns to the main view screen: “Doctor Lipton, have you got everything you can get from the outpost?”
Dee thinks furiously for a few moments. There’s nothing really else they’re going to get from the outpost. They have the station's logs, they have samples of the aerosolized organics safely stored. They could spend weeks pouring over every inch of the outpost and still not find anything useful or meaningful.
”Yes Captain, I think we’ve got all we’re going to get from here,” she tells him.
”Good. Pack up your team and prepare to evacuate. We have to destroy the outpost and pursue that ship,” Captain Je’Ghettorii says.
