Silent Witness

Posted on Wed Oct 14th, 2026 @ 9:37pm by Lieutenant Sylar

1,480 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: The Invisible Hand
Location: Sickbay, USS Thunderbird
Timeline: MD005 - 1230

Sylar stood alone in the medical laboratory, door seals in place and Doctors Petracca and Redstone briefed to disturb him only if essential (and with careful clarification of the definition of ‘essential’). Both were qualified to support an autopsy, but he had immediately decided, upon being tasked by the Captain, to perform this duty alone. The laboratory was quiet, save for the low hum of the scanners and the almost unnoticeable sound of the laboratory’s climate control. Beyond, all around the ship, the crew continued to recover from the collision; Barnes’ engineers working tirelessly to repair the damage to the ship, his medical staff focussed upon repairing the damage to crewmembers, and Bass’ security department (aided, Sylar thought dryly, by the intriguing Lieutenant Hale) would be investigating what had been a dramatic chain of events. Sylar’s duty to the ship, in support of those investigations, was to be the doctor presiding over the last possible involvement between patient and physician: the determination of cause of death.

The deceased, now identified from Federation records as a Lysa Daren, lay upon the biobed, the adaptive diagnostic field shimmering faintly over her body. Sylar’s initial examination at the site of the collision had established that her injuries were incompatible with survival; his tricorder had merely confirmed that which his eyes had observed.

His responsibility was to establish more about the woman herself.

“Computer, commence post-mortem analysis. Upload attending physician tricorder readings from incident site and pair with full-resolution molecular imaging. I require a reconstruction of the patient's physiological condition with presentation immediately prior to and after life termination event.”

A holographic representation of Daren's body appeared on the terminal next to the biobed as the computer worked to compile the reports. Sylar studied the female human form, seeing layers of tissue, vascular structures, and organ systems. He worked diligently through the systems, adjusting the displays as he progressed through the data. The computer had already compensated for the damage caused by the collision, separating the effects of the collision from abnormalities that had clearly preceded it.

One anomaly remained conspicuous.

“Computer, magnify the alveolar structures. I require a distinction between damage attributable to the impact and evidence of pre-existing medical history.”

The display shifted suddenly to focus exclusively on the lungs. Sylar studied, in silent consideration, and for some time, the two human lungs. The hologram revealed a pathology that was neither wholly degenerative nor consistent with any of the more typical conventional pulmonary infections to which humans were prone. Microscopic colonies of a self-replicating organism had established themselves along the alveolar walls, forming a fine, almost translucent lattice of material.

“Computer, compensating for the patient’s height, weight, and general physical health, assess likely symptomatic response.”

There was a quiet ‘bleep’ as the computer worked on the question. And what it produced would have been, if he had been human, heartbreaking. The growth would have initially provoked a localised inflammatory response; she would have felt stiffness, perhaps coughing, but over time the lattice had become integrated with the surrounding tissue, spreading across the pulmonary membrane and progressively disrupting the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide.

Sylar narrowed his eyes. “Run a comparative analysis against known humanoid pulmonary diseases. Include conditions for which Federation medical science has established no curative intervention.” The computer processed the request. He raised an eyebrow at the findings.

“Computer, estimate percentage confidence of diagnosis.”

“One hundred percent.”

“Your guess is that you’re certain,” Sylar quipped, recalling a phrase from one of his human acquaintances at the Academy and ignoring an almost panicked request for clarification from the computer. The findings were consistent with an advanced, progressive degenerative disorder found, usually, among poorly protected labourers on some less developed settlements along the frontier. But, and Sylar was intrigued, it was a Cardassian disease. Lysa Daren, at the moment of impact, was already dying of what the computer had translated as Cambrox Palsy. Daren’s respiratory reserve would have been severely diminished, and even moderate exercise or exertion might have produced hypoxia, tachycardia, and acute respiratory distress. Without a treatment capable of selectively disrupting the organism while preserving the lung tissue, her prognosis would have been poor.

The collision had caused the injuries that ended her young life. The disease had ensured that she possessed considerably less strength with which to survive them. Sylar reviewed the findings once more, searching for evidence that the condition might have contributed to the collision. There was absolutely no evidence suggestive of an acute hypoxic episode immediately before impact. Nor could he determine whether she knew what was causing her illness. Cambrox Palsy, as the computer readout was readily briefing, was almost unheard of in humans, although it presented in both species in precisely the same way.

His task completed, he prepared his report to the Captain and Department Heads. The cause of death was clear, and he calculated that he had found useful background intelligence on this young human’s life. Why she had made the choices she had was a question that his science could not answer. He ended with the data from her civilian Federation medical records. Lysa Daren. Formerly an agricultural engineer. Settled on a colony that had subsequently been transferred to Cardassian control. Now identified with the Maquis. Her professional history was, at least initially, flawlessly logical. A talented scientist, particularly in biology, she became a specialist in soil reclamation, crop resilience, and agricultural infrastructure. Her later association with the Maquis represented a substantial change in the circumstances of her life, though the record, logically, offered no explanation for this change.

His attention shifted to the Sickbay beyond. Doctor Petracca would likely have found the circumstances of the autopsy difficult. She was a capable physician, but her response to emergencies could be complicated by her previous experiences. The chaos surrounding the impact and the tragedy of Daren’s life might have driven an emotional response greater than her ability to manage. He speculated upon how she would process this incident. Petracca's competence was not in question; nor was her willingness to fulfil her duties. What concerned him was the possibility that she might continue working beyond the point at which fatigue and psychological strain began to impair her judgement. She had performed well, with support from the Counselor and a more empathic approach from Sylar. But would she consistently do this? He resolved to speak with her privately, without presuming that he understood the full extent of her difficulties.

Doctor Redstone presented a different question. Redstone's mixed heritage was known to him, but her understanding of Vulcan culture and the emotional constraints of Surak’s teachings appeared limited. Sylar had yet to examine whether that lack of awareness was a choice, or a circumstance. He had no basis for assuming that she wished to explore it. As a friend, at the Academy, he had welcomed, and privately been pleased, at his friends’ inclusivity and desire to learn about his culture. But as a leader, and a teacher, he had yet to be called upon to formally instruct someone with a background such as Redstone’s. And yet…

She had a logi- careful mind. She questioned, probed, analysed, and he detected in her rare moments of introspection the beginnings of questions about herself for which she had no context or foundation. He wondered whether he ought to make the relevant knowledge available to her, while acknowledging that the decision to pursue it must remain hers.

His thoughts moved, unbidden, to Seril, where was she? His self-control, momentarily weakened, reasserted itself and his intended mate was a suppressed consideration. Then another thought, the question of whether he would continue to have a place aboard the Thunderbird. Captain Norsgaard had not picked Sylar, who had been available only by his presence at the starbase while he waited for his intended ship, the Belisarius. He had been foisted upon the Captain by two Admirals, a stopgap appointment due to the sudden departure of a well-respected incumbent. The Captain had not indicated that he intended to appoint another, nor had he expressed dissatisfaction with Sylar's performance; his conduct during the crisis had been consistent with a commander focused upon the survival of his ship and crew. But Sylar was new to the ship, and his position depended upon the confidence of the command staff as well as his own professional competence. It was illogical and arrogant to presume that he had accumulated sufficient experience aboard the Thunderbird to regard his place as secure by any objective measure. And his thoughts on that required dedicated study.

His work complete, for now, he checked that the report had been dispatched to the senior officers, tidied the laboratory and, reflecting deeply (but, to non-Vulcans, imperceptibly) upon his questions, he strode with purpose into the Sickbay.

 

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