Supervisor Allen walked briskly through the early morning sunshine, making his way toward the dig site. He waved to several people along the way giving each of them a smile. It was a fairly tight knit community on Peshka III, a small archaeological colony near the Romulan neutral zone, made up of the science teams and their families. Everybody knew everybody and most people got along. It helped that most of the people here loved what they did and were far enough away from the Federation bureaucracy that they could do it without being bothered.

Arriving at the dig site he gave a friendly greeting to several of the scientists working through artifacts in the general staging area before proceeding deeper into the site. They hadn’t yet figured out what culture had lived on this planet, but it was old, and the discovering was part of the fun. As he arrived at his station another man looked up and gave him a wave.

“Morning, supervisor. How’s life treating you this fine day?” the other man, Researcher James, greeted him.

“Fine day, indeed,” he returned the greeting, glancing around at the other stations. “We seem to be a little light today. Where is everyone?”

“Couple people out with something, probably just a little cold. Wright and Foster are down here together so much they are bound to pass anything back and forth between them,” James chuckled as he worked. “I’m sure Doc will get them sorted soon enough.”

Allen nodded as he settled in to reviewing scans of the current dig sector. He knew of several other people that seemed to be experiencing this cold, in fact, he had noticed a little tickle in his own throat today which he hadn’t thought much of before the report of his other colleagues. He hoped James was right, that it was just a random, minor virus that Doc, lovingly designated since he was the only one of them that had field medic training, would be able to sort out with a med kit and some bed rest.

A few moments later, a man came rushing down the pathway, breathing heavily with the effort. The supervisor looked up with concern as he saw the pale, sweat covered face of Researcher Dawson (Doc) approaching him.

“Doc? You look… are you alright?” he asked.

The man bent over, trying to catch his breath as he spoke, “Supervisor… we have a problem. I’m sure you’re aware that some people have been feeling a little under the weather? Well, it’s getting worse: yesterday there were a handful of people with upper respiratory symptoms. Today we are up to 20 people with symptoms and several of them weren’t even able to get out of bed this morning. The standard antiviral in my med kit doesn’t seem to be doing anything.”

He paused as his body was struck by a coughing fit, prompting Allen to help him over to a nearby chair to sit down. As they were getting him settled in, another man came running down the trail toward them.

“Supervisor! Doc! It’s Administrator Taylor… he’s.... well he’s dead,” the man exclaimed as he came to a stop next to them, trying to catch his breath, his own face pale and sweaty just like Doc’s.

Allen stood up straight and glanced around at the men surrounding him. He noticed it then, all of them were starting to show the same sign of paleness and the faintest hint of sweat along their brows. Just then, the tickle in his throat gave way to a slight cough, drawing looks of concern from the other men. Something out of the ordinary was definitely going on here and it was beyond their capacity to handle.

He turned to Researcher James, “James, see to the Doc. I’m going back to the administrative center… I’d better contact Starfleet.”

The Pharmacist