Main Sickbay aboard the USS Cardinal pulsed the steady vibration of life-support monitors, sterilizers, and the occasional hiss of an applied hypospray. The Nebula-class starship carried nearly seven hundred and fifty souls. For most of them Sickbay was a place they only passed through briefly. This evening, the room carried an air of unsettled tension.

Ensign Ral Moven, a young Betazoid science officer fresh out of the Academy, laid on the biobed with his hands pressed tightly to his temples. His obsidian eyes squinted against the glare of clinically brilliant light. His breathing came in shallow bursts that heaved his chest with every strained exhale.

Nurse Lisa Kelly O’Hanlon moved briskly between a rack of emergency supplies and the biobed. Her curls formed a thick tumble of strawberry-blonde waves that fell like a ruddy waterfall as she bent toward him with her medical tricorder in hand. Her voice professionally carried a note of calm reassurance. “Take deep breaths, Ensign. Focus on the rhythm of the air as you guide it through your body. In and out. That’s it. No stress. You’re doing so well.”

“I can’t,” Ral muttered, eyes pinched tightly shut. “Every time I close my eyes, it gets worse. I keep sensing dreams that don’t belong to me. I recognize some of the screaming voices. I can’t get rid of the noise.”

The tricorder trilled an erratic note. O’Hanlon frowned as she studied the readings. His temperature ran only slightly elevated, but his neural scans showed erratic patterns. It looked less like a simple migraine and more like his mind was thrashing against some unseen tide.

She tapped her commbadge. “Doctor Dowa, you’d better get in here.”

Lt. Cmdr. Binedra Dowa emerged from her office a moment later. Her cobalt-blue skin glistened along the high cheekbones of her oval face. She carried herself with the self-assured stride of someone who had patched up Starfleet crews through multiple tragedies. Her sharp, direct tone cut through the air. “Report. Tell me about the symptoms.”

“There’s a severe headache, overwhelming levels of neural disruption, and detached nightmares the patient says are constant when his eyes close,” O’Hanlon said without emotion. “His fever doesn’t quite match the intensity of his symptoms.”

Dowa gave the Betazoid a once-over. “And how long have you felt like this, Ensign?”

Ral winced as he forced out each strained word. “Since yesterday. It’s much worse today. I thought it was just stress. At least, at first.”

“Young people always think everything is stress until they’re lying flat on their back,” Dowa muttered. Her eyes slowly warmed alongside an encouraging smile. She drew a hypospray, pressed it to his neck, and delivered a mild sedative crafted from a tryptophan-lysine distillate. “That should quiet the storm for now.”

The Betazoid slumped against the biobed as relief washed through his body. His breathing slowed along with the rise and fall of his chest.

“Monitor him,” Dr. Dowa instructed anxiously.

O’Hanlon nodded. “Of course, Doctor.” She already had the monitor calibrated to keep a careful eye on his neural rhythms.

Before Dowa could retreat back to her desk, the doors hissed open again. Two more officers stumbled inside together. Both wore the gold-trimmed uniforms of the operations division. A human woman clutched her head alongside an Andorian thaan. She leaned heavily on his arm. Their faces showed the same pained grimace Ral had worn.

Dowa exhaled sharply. “Well. That didn’t take long to escalate.” She tapped the insignia-shaped communicator firmly affixed to her chest. “Sickbay to Captain Raku, we have what looks like an outbreak here. I’ll tell you when we have something specific figured out.”

“Send what you have so far to my ready room, Doctor.” The Bajoran captain sounded nervous. “Definitely keep us posted on your work.”

Sickbay filled rapidly over the next hour. Doctor Dowa ordered all medical staff to don biohazard suits. Three patients became five. Five suffering officers turned into nine. A majority of the patients hailed from the science and operations departments. All complained of brutal headaches and sleep plagued by nightmares so intense that sedatives became a necessity.

By the time the Bolian doctor stood at the central console and reviewed their scans, Sickbay felt less like a quiet ward and more like the staging ground for a crisis.

Nurse O’Hanlon joined her. She held her tricorder closer to her face to carefully analyze the illuminated streams of data that ran across the device. “Doctor, the neural patterns of our patients are showing similarities. The effect on their brain waves is not random.”

Dowa’s frown deepened. “Computer, run comparative scan analysis across all affected patients. Search known Starfleet Medical archives for matches.”

The computer’s voice responded crisply. “Analysis complete. Pattern matches Jovian Mind Flu.”

Dowa blinked. “Of course. I should have recognized the signature.”

O’Hanlon looked concerned. “I do remember reading about a disease that affects both the body and mind. It was just part of one lecture back at Mellstoxx.”

“Yes,” Dowa said. “It runs the full gamut on the body. There are raspy coughs, piercing headaches and a mild fever. The real kicker is the psychic load. Not only are there disturbances in REM patterns. There are terrifyingly realistic nightmares and even waking hallucinations. The illness can feel like your own mind is betraying you.” She tapped her commbadge. “Sickbay to Captain Raku.”

Moments later, the comm crackled with the deep voice of Captain Raku Mobra. “Raku here. Go ahead, Doctor.”

“We have a situation,” Dr. Dowa said briskly. “Multiple crew now show defined symptoms of what the computer has confirmed is a case of Jovian Mind Flu. I am starting containment procedures and will begin formulating an updated vaccine immediately.”

Silence fell for a beat before the Captain replied. “Understood. How many cases are there so far?”

“Nine and climbing,” Dowa said. “The spread looks fast. I recommend immediate Level Two biohazard protocols across all shared surfaces. It spreads primarily through touch. Our air sanitation system handles almost all airborne contaminants.”

“Agreed on the protocol,” Raku noted. His words carried the rigid tone of command, but beneath it lay concern. “I’ll have the science department investigate the source. In the meantime, keep working on that vaccine. Speaking of those, I thought Starfleet officers were immunized against the mind flu.”

“Most have been. There are a list of treatments that can help stabilize the symptoms. The counseling department will also need to play a major role, even in the weeks after things are finally contained. Healing them will take a lot of trial and error.” The doctor’s voice also carried a sense of underlying worry. “This outbreak represents a significant mutation.” Her fears grew upon a sudden realization. “We can’t let this virus spread off the Cardinal.”

“Understood, Doctor.” Captain Raku paused to swallow a tight breath. “I would sure like to hear some good news shortly.”

Dowa’s purple-tinted lips quirked. “You’ll hear from me whether you like the news or not, Captain. I’ll reach out to you soon.”

The channel closed as she turned towards a large screen of readouts. Her dark eyes darted back and forth as they read the data that flowed across the luminous display.

Ensign O’Hanlon worked to force a smile as she continued to treat the patients. She administered a second hypospray research showed was tailored to treat prior cases of the disease.

Dowa accessed a console to bring up a list of medical research files. Her fingers flew across the LCARS interface as she began constructing a vaccine model based on the latest microscopic analysis. The original Jovian Mind Flu strain had been catalogued nearly a century earlier. Viral strains never stayed static. Each mutation gradually shifted the composition of the virus. The vaccine designed to protect Starfleet officers seemed to have finally met its match.

“It looks like the last vaccine was composed nine years ago”, Dr. Dowa told Nurse O’Hanlon.

She glanced toward the rows of occupied biobeds. The young Betazoid stirred under sedation. A faint tremor crept across his eyelids as if his dreams still tormented him. Across the room, the Andorian groaned softly even while unconscious. The mental anguish this virus inflicted was more dangerous than the physical symptoms.

Dowa tapped her commbadge again. “Doctor Dowa to Captain Raku.”

“Raku here.”

“One more thing,” Dowa began. “In addition to working on a vaccine, I’ll be interviewing the patients. If this is spreading across science and operations, there’s a chance they shared exposure somewhere. It must be a lab, maybe some console, or even an experiment gone wrong. The sooner I know where it began, the sooner we can plug the leak.”

“Understood,” Raku said. “Expect several science officers to join you soon. Keep us apprised. And Doctor? Thank you once again.”

Dowa allowed herself the faintest smile. “Don’t thank me until we’ve stopped this, Captain Raku.”

The channel closed. Something about the doctor’s playful outspokenness put the Bajoran captain at ease. Apparently, the outbreak was not out of control enough to tear away her sassiness.

O’Hanlon approached with a PADD. Her eyes shifted color because of the way the subtle pinpoints of pale color within her irises reflected light. A careful observer might notice a splash of seafoam green as it slowly replaced the flat, blue-gray of her nurturing glance. “The first wave has stabilized for now. Several calls from across the ship state more patients are on the way.”

Sometimes the nurse believed her eyes turned green when she felt sad.

“I know,” Dowa said with sadness. She slid the PADD aside and corrected a slump in her posture. Her anxiety softened into hard resolve. “Let’s start digging, Nurse O’Hanlon. Somewhere on this ship, the flu found its first host. I intend to find out how before half this crew is screaming in their sleep.”

The buzz within Sickbay grew louder as another pair of officers stumbled through the doors. The burgeoning crisis had only just begun.