outer_divide | Audio: Monday, Week 19

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Audio: Monday, Week 19

[Mordin's initial concern was figuring out where he was and how he got here. But he quickly realized there were greater concerns here. He knows an outbreak when he sees one. But there are things he decidedly does not know.]

Seeking medical facilities. Qualified practioner. Capable of providing [sniff] assistance. Also desire access to research facilities.

[A pause. There's a lot of other things he should check on later.]

Would appreciate general briefing at calmer moment.

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[A somewhat harried-looking fellow with sandy hair and a pair of spectacles on his nose answers after a moment.]

Any able hands are welcome-- there's a hospital near the center of town where the worst cases are held and the bulk of the research is being done. Anyone out in the streets can point you to it.

[There's a pause, as Lyall assesses the odd speech patterns, and he pushes his spectacles up his nose a bit before adding,]

Am I correct in guessing you are newly off the ship?

[Another harried human appears, although Bones appears less run off his feet than Lyall and more vastly irritated with the universe in general. The backdrop to the call is lab space, primitive by both their standards, but with a row of microscopes and stacked culture plates visible.]

I desire access to research facilities too, but if wishes were horses then I'd be able to travel this backwards planet a lot faster.

Get down here and I'll show you what we're working with. The hospital's underground at the centre of town. Tell them to point you to Dr. McCoy when you get here.

[Having found the video function, it should now be apparent that Mordin is decidedly not human]

Correct. Unfamiliar with extant biosphere, but capable of adapting.

Improvisation, then.

[He can deal with that]

Will be there as soon as feasible.

[It takes Lyall a beat to reply, as he takes in the appearance, but he has experience with Liara and a certain talking dinosaur in his past here, so it's not a long pause. He can handle noseless, giant-eyed people. He even sounds polite and amiable as he gives the fellow a quick overview of the situation.]

Welcome to Verdana, then. To warn you, there are people from a wide variety of worlds and times here-- largely Earth, but from quite a few different versions of it. There is something of a plague going on, hence the need for doctors. Someone can point you to accommodations once you're down in the city.

Oh, and do be careful what you say on this network, as it is being monitored by some rather hostile forces.

Parallel dimensions? Peculiar. Violates known physics. Requires reevaluation of paradigm.

[A quick nod]

Standard protocols in enemy territory.

[Lucky for Mordin, Lyall actually knows most of those words. He smiles a bit, hopes this alien views smiles as non-threatening, and agrees.]

I understand, mine required quite a bit of reevaluation, as well. You get accustomed to it. My name is Randolph Lyall, I'm sure you'll see me about the hospital. I help as I can, even if I am no doctor.

[Though he's picked up a lot of general practices, by now....]

[Bones' eyebrows raise slightly at getting a view of Mordin that doesn't map to any of the alien species he's familiar with.]

Well. You're something new. What system are you from?

More importantly, did the ship cough up any equipment along with you? I'm getting by with my tricorder and a field medical kit, but it would be nice to have options.

Sur'kesh.

Omnitool. Would prefer more extensive facilities, but versatile.

Dr. Mordin Solus. Geneticist, primarily. Ran a clinic during a plague. Appreciated any assistance available.

A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Solus.

[He tips his hat to the doctor.]

At least you will find the situation familiar, then. If you need anything once you get here, feel free to ask after me, and I will see what I can do.

[Considering he's the sole force of organization around here, these days, he probably is the only person to ask.]

Haven't heard of either of them.

...But I can make a few guesses. I'll trade you briefings once you get down here -- not to get too paranoid, but the local answer to the Gestapo apparently have no sense of privacy when it comes to eavesdropping.

[OOC: Switch to action tags? Or I can easily set up a log!]

[Brief nod]

Enemy territory protocols. Understood.

((Action tags are fine by me!))

Will concern myself with greater detail once crisis controlled.

You'll be waiting for a while, then, I'm afraid. This is an on-going crisis. But in the meantime... good luck with everything. We'll be glad to have you.

[He tips his hat lightly at the screen and the alien on the other end of it, ready to sign off and get back to work.]

[There may be a few thousand people in the Old City, but they're too dispersed for the hospital and its surroundings to be a visual match to Omega in plague times. For another thing, the faces are unrelentingly human ones. Still, there's a commonality in the crowding of the subterranean medical facility, stuffed to capacity with all those too ill to be treated in sickrooms elsewhere.

Even with lay volunteers, there are not enough nurses, not enough doctors, and consultations happen in small knots of movement as the parties involved meet, talk, then disperse to try and stamp out a few more fires. Or, in the service of plague control and dealing with the mounting deaths, start some.

Bones is currently the former focus of a group just dispersing, dispensing a last set of orders to a weary one of the nurses, who looks like she'd enjoy shooting him if only it wouldn't make more work for her.]

Well, sedate the husband if you have to, but right now I care less about his paranoia and more about her life. If we can't get an antibiotic course started in the next couple hours, then it'll be a waste of drugs.

[Mordin is rapidly assessing the situation. The workload level doesn't take a genius to figure out. He focuses on locating key supplies, and his contact.

And that is an attitude he can get behind.]

Dr. McCoy.

[There's a beat of silence, before a short laugh]

Mordin? Is that you?

[she knows it has to be, since there's only one salarian she knows who would dive straight for the medical facilities, and she knows that patter when she hears it.]

Shepard. Unexpected development. Much is.

[Such as waking up here in the middle of a plague.]

[The local staff would be more alarmed at the presence of an alien among them if they had the time to spare for it. As it is, it's limited to staring for as long as they can before actual work calls them away.

Bones' own appraisal is cursory, and focuses more on trying to see what gear Mordin has with him before he gives a quick nod.]

Dr. Solus. I'd shake your hand, but let's not add another possible vector for transmission.

[He's quick to jerk his head further down the hallway, where lab space is living, and sets off back into motion with the assumption the other doctor is following.]

Walk with me, I'll try and get you up to speed. What do you know about human infectious disease?

Immune to plague on Omega. Majority of Normandy crew human, accustomed to treatments. Fairly standard mammals. Levorotary protein systems.

Sounds like a similar setup to the Enterprise. All right, history lesson time, then.

Dodging them around a few gurneys that have filled the hallway as the hospital grows more and more full, he pauses at one to check a chart and nod once in approval at the trend of the (sleeping) patient's vitals before moving on, hands gesturing like a conductor as he goes.]

What we have here is an engineered version of Yersinia pestis. Bacterial disease, Gram-negative, major source of epidemics for about four hundred years of Earth's history when humans had discovered cross-continental trade but hadn't mastered germ theory. Wild-type you'd have three forms -- bubonic, pneumonic and septicaemic, with the bubonic form the most common.

This little bastard's been selected to favour pneumotropism, although I've seen a couple septicaemic cases. Quick deaths, those. Anyway, general symptoms are what you'd expect -- fever, chills, chest pain, coughing, bloody sputum, lethargy and then hypotension and shock to finish them off. Death rate's lower than you'd expect historically -- side effect of the engineering, I'd guess, although you're the geneticist.

We've been treating with antibiotics once we ID'd it. It's helped. That's the problem.

[Bones stops the lecture at that, one eyebrow cocked to a level that Spock would be proud of as he loos over his shoulder to see if Mordin's followed that so far.]

They engineered the strain so that it's got a viral genome loaded into it. Treat it with antibiotics and it dumps the virus into the patient's system. Probably stored on a plasmid, I haven't had the time or the tech to confirm it. Got a list of possible candidates from an old research facility, but I'm stuck looking at stage 2 symptoms to confirm until I can get a proper sequence done, which I would've had in a few hours if I had my damned equipment.

Yeah, no kidding. It's good to hear your voice, though. We could definitely use another doctor around here.

Necessity apparent. Convenience almost [sniff] suspicious.

[He needs more evidence, but it's an angle to keep in mind]

[He's following closely. It's pretty obvious that whoever they're up against is a force to be reckoned with.]

Very cunning. Extent of progression so far on viral component? Any recoveries for possible antibody recovery?

I've got a few vials of blood and lymph, but no joy yet. We're still too damned early for much more, but I was about to start seeing what I could pull from them. This way.

[With a last dodge, Bones takes them into one of the hospital's lab spaces. It's... primitive, by both their standards, but there are at least light microscopes and incubators and the basic tools of the medical microbiological trade.]

I've been taking notes, but recently I've been trying to sort through the data we pulled from an old research facility. What can you do with this?

Primitive, but superior to nothing. Would prefer proper genetic sequencing. Phenotyping will have to suffice.

I've got feelers out to try and find a decent lab space. There's some on the ship, I'm sure of it, but the thing's a wreck with half the levels blocked.

[Bones glowers at one of the microscopes at this, as if the innocent bit of equipment is the sole architect of his troubles.]

There's also a facility a few days' travel from here, says my captain who's off trying to keep an isolation group from getting into trouble. Faster by air. I have some ideas on that score.

In the meantime, do what you can. If you need supplies, talk to Ms. Potts on days or Professor Lyall on nights. I'll be in and out, but patients keep trying to die on me and it's damned distracting.

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Audio: Monday, Week 19

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And here's a large wall of tl;dr

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