“We no longer have need of your people.”  The face of the leader of the colonists filled the screen on the bridge of the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt.  Captain Peter Crawford sat in the center chair, staring at the man.  They had been assisting in moving the large group off the Cushing for the better part of the last few days.  Conversations between the civilians and the Starfleet officers had been cordial in every way.

Crawford had wondered when the facade would drop.  “I understand you feel that our support isn’t necessary for the colony’s success, Mr. Lenaso.  Our concern is what led to the previous colony’s failure.”

“We are aware of the issue that led to the failure.  We’ve taken steps to mitigate it.  Your people need to leave.”  Lenaso’s face remained pressed, tightly wound in a fresh round of annoyance.

Crawford shook his head, “That’s not part of the agreement, process, or policies you signed on to as a part of your agreement with Montana Colonial Operations.  There’s…,”

The man growled, “They can leave alive or they can leave in body bags.  You choose.  Ten minutes, Captain Crawford.”

The channel cut, leaving Peter speechless for one second.  He acted quickly, “Notify all teams they are coming back in the next two minutes. Notify Montana Station, we’ve got a situation.”

“We know as much as you know.”  The concerned face of Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana was on the screen of the bridge.  Captains Walton of the Perseverance and Thorne of the Cushing stood behind Crawford.  “They didn’t hurt any of our people, at least.”

Walton’s eyebrows were arched, her eyes furious at the colonists.  “We didn’t test their resolve or the time.  Given the lack of weapons we provided the colonists, there’s the question of what they would use to harm our crew.  We’re running every battery of scans on the colony location and the rest of the planet.”

“Colonial Operations is considering revoking the contract and letting them operate independently.”

Crawford winced, “They’ll get what they want – no oversight and no support.  What if they’re planning something more sinister?” He watched Fontana let out a small sigh.

“We’re discussing options to place several beacons and buoys for us to be able to observe from a distance.  Colonial Operations isn’t happy at the moment, and I do not blame them.  Complete your scans, see what you can see, and stand by.” 

The channel closed, and Crawford turned to his science chief, “Lieutenant Vlokar?”

The Vulcan was working his console, eyes searching the displays.  “The planet is as expected – no change from previous surveys.  Plant and animal life within normal readings.”  He tapped at the console, “The official record regarding the colony’s abandonment is unusual.”

Crawford felt a frown tugging at his forehead, “The original colonists abandoned due to a food shortage and a rising infection rate due to an unknown virus.”

Vlokar focused his console on the report and the incoming data from the planet, shifting it to the main screen.  “The evacuation was done by a private operation due to the lack of a station at he time.  They did not complete scans or surveys before departing for a long trip back to the nearest station.  The sensors are showing a large amount of food availability, both plant-based and animal-based.  The soil in the former crop locations is reading rich in soil quality with no evidence to suggest they were ever in decline.”

Crawford looked back at Captain Walton. “Take a station—see what you can track down on the former colonists—any files, updates, traces.” She slid into a console and went to work. He turned back to Vlokar. “What about the virus?”

The science officer arched an eyebrow, “That is another layer in this increasingly curious tale.”  Another screen appeared at his command.  “The records on the infection are minimal, and the private transport operation, at the time, was not equipped for a medical inspection or investigation.  What data was transferred was indicative of a flu-like infection.  The indicators and symptoms were at odds – fevers, chills, septic developments, vision and hearing deficiencies, as well as neurological symptoms.”

Peter tapped at the arm of his chair, “Lieutenant Mika to the bridge.”  He hoped the doctor could shed some light.  “No samples were taken at the evacuation?”

“No, sir.  It was not unusual for a private operation to overlook certain details, given how far out in the rimward the colony was.”

The turbolift door at the back of the bridge flew open, admitting the chief medical officer, Lieutenant Oswald Mika, who glanced at the view screen.  “That’s probably why you called me.”  He whistled in appreciation, “That is not a naturally occurring virus – that’s certainly manufactured.”

Walton turned in the chair at her station, “That would make sense.  Peter – nearly every one of the evacuated colonists died within ten years of returning home.  It’s going to take me some time to get medical records.  There’s something else.  The original group was granted a scientific study license for infectious diseases.  I had to dig for it – it wasn’t in the original brief.”

Crawford stared at the screen, shaking his head in shock. “Doc Mika – any way to treat it?”

Oswald had moved to an empty station beside Walton, working out what he could.  “It’s a pretty violent virus – it attacks the immune system on nearly every level, but slowly.  I don’t know what they intended to manufacture, but it couldn’t have been this.  The efficacy of this bears out Captain Walton’s report – once it started its work, it wouldn’t have stopped.”

Peter remained fixated on the screen and its data.  “Update Montana Station on our progress— captains and senior staff meeting in an hour.  Captain Thorne, have Director Walker-Halsey read into the case and join us.  Bring any ideas – no matter how audacious.  Whatever we do, it’s going to need a miracle.”