Those Old Scientists/Journal/Journey to Research Station 7345.2: Difference between revisions
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<div class="gd-breadcrumb">[[Those Old Scientists|Star Trek: Those Old Scientists]] <span>›</span> [[Those Old Scientists/Journal|Session journal]] <span>›</span> Journey to Research Station 7345.2</div> | |||
<h1 class="gd-page-title">Journey to Research Station 7345.2</h1> | |||
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Five hours on foot to the station. Give or take. Mostly give. | Five hours on foot to the station. Give or take. Mostly give. | ||
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End log. | End log. | ||
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Latest revision as of 12:57, 5 September 2026
Journey to Research Station 7345.2
Five hours on foot to the station. Give or take. Mostly give.
We’re moving through a rough patch of terrain toward Research Station 7345.2. The final transmission before comms went dead indicated the crew had a strong allergic reaction to something in the local flora—pollen from a species of flower with a purple hue. It acts like a virus, or at least triggers a viral-style immune cascade. Since no one objected, I’ve named the plant Rivenia virulenta. It’s got flair. Also, it might be eating people’s brains.
We found a ravine with a shallow basin—sheltered, quiet, good access to water. Perfect spot for the night. We scared off some local wildlife—eight legs, too many teeth, not interested in lingering. The camp setup went as well as it could. Phaser-warmed rocks. Cold meals. Planetary auroras would’ve been beautiful if not for the existential threat hanging over our heads. And then it got weirder.
The tricorder chirped during the second watch—life signs. Human. Except... not quite. We tracked the source and found four figures: neanderthals. Big, broad, stone-age toolkit types. But they were wearing Starfleet uniforms. Purple-dyed, and badly damaged, and one even had the emblem of the USS Lexington on the sleeve.
Then came the scuffle. They were aggressive, but not entirely feral. We managed to stun two before the others retreated. One’s unconscious, stable—for now. Uniform covered in pollen. Thoss ran scans and found some kind of biological conversion pattern. This isn’t just contamination. It might be transformation. The connection to the Lexington? No idea yet. But the implications aren’t good. We’re bringing the stunned neanderthal with us, secured to a makeshift stretcher built from the disguise cloth. It smells like root wine and shame.
If this is what the pollen does... I’m starting to think that “mild reaction” at the station was just the beginning.
End log.
