Seventy-Two Minutes

Posted on Sat Jun 29th, 2024 @ 6:11pm by Lieutenant Ix

Mission: Mean Green Queen
Location: Shuttlecraft Pecos
Timeline: Mission Day 5 at 1330

"Computer," it chirped at them as they rounded the ovoid table of the common area and headed back to the cargo bay, "Recall from Starfleet Security Archives, Program LMH-1-HFA and activate it in the medical stall." Grinding, whirring, clicking, the computer brought forth the file. As Rayph took the steps from the living area and landed on the grating of the bay, a being began to materialize and phase into life near the biobed.

"Please state your medical inquiry," the hologram's mouth stated as Rayph nearly walked through them, its body gaining its final facsimiles of flesh and clothing beyond a digital wireframe.

"Starfleet Investigations is a little thinly peopled in this ass-end of space, Doc," Rayph stated, approaching the biobed. They touched several controls and a clamshell arch closed over the frozen corpse of Lieutenant Joshua Peters. "What with trying to track down evidence of this Vaadwaur-Reyclakt Hirogen Clade Cabal. So, I don't have my normal Forensics Officer on staff right now. The only thing I know how to carve is what laughingly poses as Pippius Claw on Farius Prime. So," they gestured at the body. "You're up."

The being that Lieutenant Rayph addressed appeared as a somewhat famous Starfleet doctor- dirty blonde and graying hair swept back in a conservative way, gray eyes, vaguely pointed ears and the equally vague forehead V of someone who probably had some degree of Romulan ancestry. Dr. Simon Tarsus. Yet his resemblance to the man and the aged LMH ended there. The Hologram didn't wear a Starfleet uniform so much as a black ensemble that looked both clandestine, yet medically official. His skin was paler, his eyebrows and cheekbones more... severe. He stood more rigidly than a Doctor, his hands hands into his dark lab coat.

Rayph folded their arms, waiting. "Time's ticking, Doc. This guy died for reasons other than old age or a shitty job." The LMH-like Hologram bowed a head stiffly and approached the corpse with a set of lunge-like steps.

"I'm a Doctor, not an Undertaker. This patient died of decompression sickness and is well-beyond resuscitation," the LMH-facsimile stated, straightening over the corpse, his nose flared like he had something unpleasant under it.

Rayph's shoulders dropped and they eyed their holographic compatriot, shaking their head. "Yes, I'm aware." ix's eyes opened and they gestured, "I have eyes." Ix dripped with sarcasm. They sighed testily, gesturing vehemently at the corpse with a knife-hand jut. "Go deeper, Doc. I need evidence. Access your HFA subroutines. You're being vintage LMH. This guy didn't die by spacing himself. Signs of a struggle, signs of contamination, signs of mental subversion. Chemical intoxication. Radiation damage. Tormolen-Tsiolkovsky Hydro-encephalopathy. Let's start narrowing down the cause."

They breathed in, trying to find their center. The windfall of the Malons finding them their missing officer was one thing. But it raised its own questions. Then there was being shorthanded. The LMH- and their HFA spinoffs- had their limitations. But Rayph had to work with what was at hand, even if that meant working with a legacy program that probably hadn't been activated since the Romulan star exploded.

The HFA briefly pulsed and his eyes went white. "As decay has been arrested, I cannot tell a time of death by observation. But very well. I will conduct a complete autopsy," the HFA turned briskly and sharply in a direction. "You will serve as my assistant. This will take some time."

Rayph eyed the hologram. They also were not an undertaker. With a pull, Rayph undid their over-jacket and set it aside, then their turtleneck undershirt was discarded with it. They located the industrial replicator and was soon pulling a set of black scrubs over their torso. When they returned, the HFA-LMH was already using the clamshell's myriad of surgical tools to open up the deceased's torso. Scanners pulsed, indicated by a cool blue beam of light sweeping from head to toe of the late Josh Peters.

"Fascinating," the sort of Simon Tarsus stated- he arched his eyebrow in a Vulcanesque way. Rayph stayed quiet for the moment, though on the proverbial edge of their seat they suspected the LMH would share the detail when he was ready. "This person was assaulted." The LMH made a thin line with his mouth. "I am detecting foreign biological material under his fingernails. A structure I am unfamiliar with. Also," Simon Tarsus cocked their head mechanically and reached for the frozen body's throat. The flesh crunched and flaked with his indelicate touch. "These are also not consistent with explosive decompression."

Rayph moved and peered at what the LMH was referring to. They were strange round bruises, equidistant, around the victim's throat. "One hell of a set of hickeys," Rayph muttered.

"The wounds have the same alien bio-structure within. I would like to take a sample and examine it more thoroughly. But-" Now the LMH frowned. "This is quite unusual. Look at this." In rapid motion, the LMH pinched at the data on the clamshell and flung it into a suspended hologram. The three-dimensional, slowly spinning shape was like looking at an MRI or X'Ray. There were translucent superimposed muscles and nerves, and bones. But where the brain should've been, it looked like it had been... removed. Only the medulla oblongata remained- all of the gray matter of the cerebrum and the control functions of the cerebellum were missing.

Rayph raised the corner of their mouth at the grisly nature of the image. "You're telling me whatever attacked this guy ate his brain?"

The LMH raised his brow, "Severe damage to the nasal foramen suggests his attacker entered the cranial cavity through there. I am also detecting severe arterial rupture in the thoracic cavity... complete loss of the larynx... wind pipe... severe damage to the trachea... pulmonary embolism."

"Wouldn't that be consistent with decompression?" Rayph inquired.

"It would. But this person was deceased when they were ejected into space. I am detecting the cardio-pulmonary damage consistent with the rapid evaporation of water in the body. But none of the usual damage consistent with loss of air pressure. Further the deep tissue freeze suggests he was in a deep space environment. I see no extensive cosmic radiation tissue damage consistent with exposure to space in a star system."

"That's interesting," Ix stated with a pensive nod, their eyes going far away.

"How so?" the LMH asked while he leaned again over the body and began to sample the neck wounds and then the fingernails. His nostrils were flared, either in a holographic heuristic of disgust, or else a facsimile of concentration. It wasn't a trait of the model, Tarsus, but a legacy tick of the programs originator- Zimmerman. Almost all the EMH lines had their creator's flaws of impatience and condescension.

"Just means we don't know how this thing got aboard his shuttle, if he was attacked in deep space." He squinted a dark eye, "Not that they were suspects, but it absolves the Malons that dropped him off of murder. Not that they go around eating brains and deep-tonguing their victims' trachea." They smirked while the Simon tarsus lookalike stayed deadpan. "They said they picked this guy up near one of their depots. They keep their depots near stars. They let the gravity well of stars draw in their theta-rad dumps." They grew sardonic, "The closest they get to recycling, I suppose."

Simon raised an eyebrow in the Vulcan way again, frowning. "Ah. This person was attacked by a mutagenic life form. We have the results of the bio-matter scan."

"Show me," Rayph felt their neck hairs rise. "Are we talking a Founder Changeling?"

Simon's mouth was grim and linear again while he shook his head. "Negative. The material is not consistent with the profile we have on record of that species. Neither is it a Harvongian shifter. Nor a coalescent organism."

"Hmm," Rayph frowned themself. "Something new? That'll make First Contact awkward." They shifted their weight to their other leg.

Simon-LMH blinked and puzzled, it showing on his muted face. "The life form consumed the function and memory portions of the victim's brain. It is possible it intends to carry on pretending to be this person. If it has means of reading memories and mimicking a personality."

"Shit," Rayph breathed. At once they moved away from the medical cubicle and swung down into the workstation. Their fingers in motion, Ix started scanning documents in their investigative log. "Peters was aboard the Shuttlecraft Hawkins bound for Pathfinder. But his flight path was deviated from and he never checked in at the Pathfinder Hub. The shuttle was logged as missing."

The LMH looked on, so un-emotive that it looked like he was paused.

"Computer search passenger manifests of all vessels departing Pathfinder Station in the last... three weeks." They shrugged. For an uncomfortable minute, the computer squealed, clucked and chirped.

"One log entry found. Peters, Joshua, Lieutenant Full Grade."

"Shit!" Rayph exclaimed. "On what vessel?"

"The Runabout Xiliao, Volga-class, NCC-65412R." The computer stated.

"Destination?"

"Starship Sojourner, bearing 328 mark 065, proceeding at high warp on relative course bearing 088 mark 017." The computer reported.

Rayph launched out of their chair, "Open a priority one secured channel to the Starship Sojourner and lay in a pursuit course at maximum warp." They breezed through the ship back to the cockpit. By the time they'd swiveled into the cockpit, a streak of rainbow colored stars was smearing past the shuttlecraft, bleeding into a feeling of passing through a bluish tunnel of light. "Time to intercept?"

"1.08 days at maximum sustained warp."

"Time until they will receive the subspace message?" Rayph asked.

"Seventy-two minutes."

----

A Post By:

Lieutenant Rayph Ix
Security Investigations Officer