Personal Log: Adalinde Rebecca Charinne

[cinshadis]

Begin personal log, Stardate 91618.72.
Today I got my ass handed to me by a 300-year old dead guy who'd only been awake for like 10 minutes.  In the time it takes me to to caffeinate and get moving, this guy Tain Herlak had shaken off a few centuries of stasis, incapacitated the doc, shot Commander Ka'Pow, blown up the station's comm grid, and started a massive firefight in the halls.  The biggest pisser of the day is that I was standing there leaning on my lirpa waiting for something like this to happen, but figured I was being paranoid and that I had a job to do on the Azrael.  Shoulda never left.  Feel like it's all kinda my fault.
I knew we shoulda iced the bastard when Admiral Tal'Aura wanted to.  Damn Federation protocols and Vulcan logic. The only other person in a room with a sense for the danger was that miner, Tahli.

*the sounds of a ball being bounced off of a wall rhythmically*

Sooo, this dead guy starts killin folk, and I lose comms with the base, and so I kinda figure things are going to hell, and get the great idea to stalk the docking bays with the Azrael's guns pointed at them.  That turned out to be a pretty good plan, except for the fact that the small civilian craft that finally did launch was able to fly close enough to the station to keep the Azrael from firing while they powered up their warp core. Sneaky bastards. I swear to god, if this ends up being some new giant galactic threat...or worse, if he joins up with the damn KDF, I'm really gonna regret not just going with my gut, opening fire, and risking scuffing up the station a bit.
I'm too nice.  I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.  Makes my scar itch.

Anyway, they used a desperate trick to get away, detonated a torp at their position right as they went to warp, and by the time we managed to get their vectors fished out of the goddamn radiation from this system's white dwarf, they were already light-years away. Lost the shuttle in a nebula.  And since it was a civilian craft, there's no federation transponder on the thing.  I'm gonna write a letter about that to someone who cares, don't worry.  All that's left from our trip to the wrecked vessel is a couple of those weird black spheres.  Herlak got away with one, which cant be good.  And one of them's damaged, and probably filling the station with hallucinogenic neurotoxin as we speak.  They could all be dead by now.  I dunno.  Luckily, the Azrael has a fully stocked bar of its own, and enough fuel to get back to Earth if we have to.

Other than that, things have been pretty quiet around here.

[cinshadis]

Begin Recording personal log.
*deep sigh*

Back at Orpheus station from my chase scene, stopped for some supplies on the way, but only used automated delivery systems, cuz I'm still worried about the spheres we recovered, especially with the test reports I'm getting now that contain words like "RNA" and "unsure". Punctuated in most cases by coughing.

Can't be jumping at every shadow, I know this isn't the front lines anymore, but I just don't deal in coincidence. I've got every confidence in Commander Ka'Pow and her science team, they seem like they know their way around a beaker, but until they can produce a full analysis, I've put the Azrael on all-points lockdown. No one on or off of my boat from the Orpheus, no exceptions, until I'm damn sure the station's not gonna fill up with zombies.

For now we're resuming patrols. I'll sign up for all the off-station missions I can to keep the crew occupied, and...I dunno...let em cut loose some.

Computer, replicate antacid supplement 12. Agh, and stop recording.

[cinshadis]

Begin recording personal log, stardate 91658.85.

Hallucinogenic neurotoxin. Called it.

So it looks like fate just started bending the station over a barrel. Every day they're switching more systems to automation, and the medical staff reports are getting that "we're way too overwhelmed to be dealing with these medical reports" feel to them.

The Azrael has been called back to the Orpheus to assist with the ongoing spread of the Romulan super-flu. Since I first started hearing the coughing in those reports, I've been feeding Science Officer Dalk all the station's data. A few days ago, we agreed to let the Azrael's crew in on the whole story of what's going on.
On the plus side, all the complaining about the long tours has stopped. But that din has been replaced with a smaller but much more vocal group of three on my crew who've moved family to the station. So far as I can tell, ensign Candice York's sister and chief petty officer Gorvak's children are unaffected and under station quarantine...whatever good that is in a facility breathing recycled air...but lieutenant jay-gee Almeda's wife is...not well. It may be in the best interest of the crew's solidarity if I give those three leave to go die with their family when we get in, if they choose. But no one's getting back on.

I've been sending all the station's reports on to Starfleet for evaluation, including the theory that the frozen Romulans themselves were the carriers, emphasizing just how damn important it is to catch the son of a bitch.
I've also been sending them everything I can compile on the "neural pathway breakdown" aspect of the disease, and helping to construct a timeframe from "exposure" to "Je suis Napoléon".
It's possible that Starfleet command is going to have to take every order and request coming off of the station into review, since the officers giving the orders may not know how badly they're hallucinating.

I'm going to have a long talk with captain Edzya as soon as I'm in video range, about setting up contingencies in case the station's personnel begin to eat each other. I'm fully expecting to be blockading this place before I leave it again. I've already locked down the transporter beams to outgoing only, and I'm keeping the codes in a physical container.
There's enough fear on my crew right now, keeping a hard line isolationist stance is the best thing I can do to look out for them.

The rest is in the hands of the capable men and women of 332. So long as they aren't shorting out all the keyboards with vomit, or blowing holes in windows because they thought they saw a monster.

*sighs*. Uuuuugh, what else.

I guess that's it for now. Computer - take five.

*recording ended*