Prompt #386 Nerve Gas ~ Sprig of Heather ~ naughty_bangles ~ Star Trek-based

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Title : Sprig of Heather - Chapter 1
Author : naughty_bangles
Fandom : Star Trek
Rating : PG13
Disclaimer : I own a few things in there, but everything Star Trek-related isn't mine.
Prompt : 386 - Nerve Gas
Notes : It's just the beginning of a silly story that came to me while I was daydreaming about Star Trek in class.  It's mainly related to Deep Space Nine, since that spacestation stole my heart and never gave it back, but may not be limited to it. The title comes from an English translation of the Apollinaire poem "L'adieu" by Florence Lautel-Ribstein, which prompted that story (among other things).

"Captain's Log, stardate 56758.4. I've just left Tauria III with the smallest load ever. It's basically a suitcase full of some kind of crystals I've never seen before. I guess they're worth a lot, since I've been offered quite a lot for a simple ride. Fly fast, don't get caught, and no questions asked, of course. I'm pretty sure there's something not-quite-legal in there, but well, a girl's got to work. And once I get the other half of the latinum, I'll be able to take a few days – maybe a few weeks – off at DS9. Maybe take a trip to Risa. I've never been there. That would be fun. Anyway, I'm off to New France to meet the client in three days. Easy as pie."

The trip had been perfectly uneventful until that point, and Virginia still didn't know what went wrong. She was getting busy on the control panel of the Moon River, desperately trying to stabilize the ship and regain full control over her course. Something had hit her, something the sensors didn't detect – which, in itself, wasn't unconceivable, since the ship and her equipement were near retirement. She had planned to upgrade some of the systems once she would have reached Deep Space Nine, when she would have had plenty of money and time to put in it. So, of course, the system had to betray her right before the upgrade. Murphy's Law at its best.

After a lot of button-pushing, lever-pulling, and occasional consol-hitting, the woman eventually got the ship back on track, at least enough for her to go and evaluate the damage the shock had provoked on the bay. Since she was the only employee of her transportation business, she had to do everything on her own, and in times like this, it sucked big time. She put the autopilot on, hoping it would work properly, and she went to the bay to make sure the cargo was alright.

The room, rather small for a cargo ship, but still the biggest place on the whole Moon River, was a mess. The shock had sent objects flying everywhere on the room, and the suitcase, even tightly fastened in a corner to prevent any fall, was damaged, having been hurt by a detached piece of the ceiling. Her client never mentioned anything about the load to be fragile, but Virginia still went to the item to check the inside, fearing the worst.

When she opened the case on the floor, nothing seemed different from the moment she had seen the content on Tauria III. Then she noted a little crack on one of the crystals.

"Oh, crap", she cursed under her breath. The default wasn't important, but she could swear it wasn't there before. She took the crystal in her hand, wondering how much she was going to loose for that crack, and if there was a way to hide it somehow – not exactly ethical, but her client could have have warned her about the dangers of a single chock on the suitcase. Maybe it wouldn't matter if the crystals had a some little defects. She contemplated the possibility to put it back under the others, rubbing sligthly the little crack, when she felt something strange coming from it. She looked at it, confused. It was like air was getting away from the crystal. Now that she thought about it, the crystal itself looked like it had lost some of its fancy color. Virginia frowned. Something was going on, and she was sure as hell that she wasn't going to like it.

She went back to the cockpit, still carrying the stone, and reached for her tricorder, the really nice and fancy one Julian got her to "make sure she wouldn't die stupidly from Zanthi fever." Like she was old enough to catch it. Yet the device had already been useful during some of her trips, and it would certainly be able to identify the content of the crystal, which was still slowly going out of its repository. Virginia opened it and run it over the crack, looking at the little display screen that would tell her everything she wanted to know.

"Unknown substance" appeared after a second, followed by a list of the compounds the tricorder had identified.

"That's not helping", she reproached the machine. She got a look at the compounds, but she didn't know more than a half of them. She reached for the consol and press a button, getting access to her database. She had plenty of data on all kind of subjects in there, and she hoped something will be helpful. She plugged the tricorder to download the results into the system.

"Computer, analyse the compounds from the tricorder, and tell me what effects their combination can produce."

"Ongoing analysis."

With nothing else to do, Virginia went back into the cargo bay and put the crystal back in the case, carefully pilling some of the other stones over it to hide it a little. She then put the suitcase in its place, and, sighing heavily, ordered a raktajino from the replicator nearby.

She was deep into the reading of an old bodice-ripper from the 21^st century when the computer completed its analysis and stated, in the clear and even voice it used for everyone of its sentences : "The compounds form a slow-working nerve agent effective on Humans, Trills, Bajorans, Denobulans, Betazoids, Ktarians, Skagarans, ..."

Virginia freezed. Chemical weapons. No wonder her client didn't tell her everything about the cargo. She would never have accepted a job with something so dangerous on board. And she had breathed it. Touched it.

"Computer, how long before I'm dead ?"

She tried to keep her voice even, willing to avoid panic and despair as long as possible. Maybe she had time. Maybe she would be able to reach a medical outpost. Maybe someone would be able to figure out a cure, or something.

"Estimated lifespan : four days."

Four days. Plenty of time.

"Computer, set a course toward Deep Space Nine, Bajoran Space. As fast as possible."

While the ship generated the warp field, Virginia grabbed back her book, and tried to get back to her story, but she couldn't concentrate anymore. She had little medical supplies on board, only the basics, nothing that could cure a nerve agent poisoning. She could certainly deal with the symptoms for a while, but she needed a doctor, and a whole medical facility. She had time. She would be on Deep Space Nine in two days and a half, three at worst, and Julian would find a cure. Preferably in time for her not to die. If only it was just a Zhanti fever ...