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Lieutenant Commander Leonard Swift
Horrors and Calm
I've lost track of time entirely by this point. Had it not been for the copious amounts of coffee that I had in my personal stores I doubt I'd be able to really function as well as I am, which is to say hardly at all by this point. I don't want to go to sleep either. I do, yet I do not. It's a difficult dichotomy. The worst of the incidents of Starbase 47 are over. Most of the surgeries and healing is done for what can be. There are still those who are without limb from loss of such due to it all. Prosthetic backorder is so harsh that even other colonies have been called to help with supplies to help make people mobile and functional again. Never before had I seen something that could so violently turn over one's health and clear thought into something monstrous and foreign to one's own body and mind.
On one hand I'm glad I had enough clear thought before my own infection had turned me toward the worst to initiate an active scan on my biological signs and in depth scans on important cellular regions. But what I've seen looking back on those scans and video relays is downright horrifying. Even now, I find myself turning nauseous at the sight of it. Bacterial in origin, the rate at which it can multiply in correct and ideal conditions - within a host - is something that legitimately terrifies me. A single cell can turn into billions in a matter of minutes. In that time, it focuses on heavy reproduction. At a certain level, it just seems to cease, but because it is within the bloodstream, it seems most attracted to parts of neurological function that as of yet, I cannot quite determine to why. But the nervous system. The brain. These are most affected. High levels and concentrations of this organism seem to disable high levels of thought in individuals and reduce them to primal and primitive instincts; that is, to feed. From what I can gather, the bacteria focuses on ways to spread and grow in number. Once a host is infected sufficiently though, others that are already succumbed to it are for the most part left alone, and can harness the thoughts and functions of the infected to function and spread it. Even more terrifying is that it can seem to function on a level of a hive mind…€… a collective.
So I spent the week engrossed by this, when not performing prosthesis grafting, or taking the occasional nap because I could not function without. My attention is also partially taken to the cure to the infection. A basis that was missing a number of components due to data corruption, but one of my head nurses and Doctor Durandus, as well as a few others I understand, finished it. Completed what was created once before and thought lost. Kennesaw's Cure. Why this information was never sent back to Starfleet is beyond me, but I made sure that it is within records. But that would not be found without Nurse Fox. Because of her, Kennesaw's notes made it to the development team. A cure was created. Our lives were saved, those of us who survived the ordeal. I need to put her in for an award. It's the very least I can do for what she did for us. I should also find the time to thank Doctor Durandus. She too was instrumental. Much better than I can say about myself. I still need to correctly regenerate the dermal tissue of my own face. As of now, it is simply scarred.
Things are at a calm though now. For which I'm glad. Most of us have taken some time to recollect ourselves. Many are in shock. Some are mentally traumatized and have night terrors. But it's calm. Quiet. To the point I'm waiting for something to happen. I grow tired by this time though. Even another mug of coffee won't suffice. I think I will turn in, get some sleep. I've hardly been able to spend time with Mila or my children because of the work. But I think I can afford it tonight.