Hosting two central infirmaries, six community clinics and a smattering of labs and specialized care facilities, the Archanis Station Medical Services Unit saw more than five hundred patients through its doors each day. As its director, Captain Anna Vale was responsible for every aspect of its operation, but while her department played an important role in the lives of the twenty thousand who called it home, on most days, she felt more like an administrator than a physician.

Today was no exception. Spread across Captain Vale’s desk were no less than a dozen PADDs from equipment requisitions to shift schedules to complaint forms, each apparently in need of her urgent review or approval. In amongst them, the only even remotely clinical item was an epidemiological surveillance report related to community spread of mild virological vectors in their drifter population that inhabited the unkempt lower levels of the station. While interesting at an academic level given her background in public health, an outbreak of the Levodian flu was hardly something to write home about.

Just as her stomach began to grumble, reminding her it was well past time for lunch, her combadge chirped. She tapped it, welcoming the momentary interruption. “Doctor Vale here.”

“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you, but I think you need to come down here,” said a voice she recognized as Commander Adak Ormid, her head of community care, a Bolian physician who could do miracles with a subdermal scalpel. “We have a problem. A big problem.”

“What’s going on?” Captain Vale asked, still somewhat distracted by her grumbling stomach and the pile of administrivia on her desk.

“It’d be best if you see for yourself, ma’am,” Commander Ormid replied. She could hear panic in his voice, which was very out of character for the aged physician. With more than forty years of experience, there was little that Commander Ormid hadn’t seen. “We’re at the Promenade Clinic, and be aware, we just activated full biohazard containment protocols.”

“I’m on my way over,” Captain Vale replied as she set down her PADD and hurried out the door. The requisitions and reports could wait. That they’d activated full biohazard containment protocols at one of the community clinics was highly unusual.

The Promenade Clinic, as its name suggested, resided directly off Archanis Station’s main promenade. As opposed to the community clinics that dotted the residential and workplace levels of Canopus class starbase, the Promenade Clinic primarily served visitors who’d flocked to the station to enjoy its shopping, dining and entertainment. While it saw a great diversity of ailments and afflictions, some which prompted more severe responses than the other clinics, never before had it looked as it did as Captain Vale approached today.

A large perimeter had been cordoned off around the clinic, and in that empty space, several modular structures had been erected. By the filters and recyclers visible on the exterior, Captain Vale knew at once what they were: airtight containment units. How had all of this been erected so quickly, and why was she only finding out about it now?

A lieutenant dressed head-to-toe in a hazmat suit emerged from one of the modules. 

“Do I need to suit up?” Captain Vale asked, maintaining her distance.

“No ma’am,” the lieutenant replied. “Triage and screening has been moved out here to maintain clean spaces inside. Patients that test negative are turned away for their own safety, and those who test positive are routed straight to quarantine bays.”

“Test positive for what?” Captain Vale stammered. Certainly not the Levodian flu. What the hell was going on that was so bad that they were turning others away?

“Oh, you don’t know yet, ma’am?”

“Don’t know what?” Captain Vale furled her brow in frustration. If someone didn’t start talking straight soon, she was going to lose her shit.

“It’d be best if you speak with Doctor Ormid,” the lieutenant offered, gesturing for her to proceed into the clinic. “He’s inside going over the latest samples.” As she stepped closer, that’s when she saw it. The look in his eyes. Terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. “It’s not good, ma’am. Not good at all.”