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There is a sound of motors echoing down the stairway. Naraht soon appears riding his crawler. Those who are familiar with the Horta's contraption might notice that his driving isn't quite as smooth as it usually is. They might also notice that his skin looks different. Rather like he's been given a light coat of dust.

And Naraht feels as bad (possibly worse) than he looks. Failing to find Ray upstairs, he has come down to see if he can find any help.

He has a sinking suspicion that he's going to need it.

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"I'll venture to guess that the not-so-good one involves contagion." Ray looks grimly at the door. "The other involves someone here being able to cure you. Am I right?"

"Correct," Naraht says. "And the contagion one...that is a rather significant risk. I believe I told you earlier that silicon-based pathogens are as rare as the more advanced life. That means our immune systems don't have as much impetus to develop as you carbon-based lifeforms."

He pauses for a second as another stomach spasm ripples through him. "Aaggh...that's not fun," he gasps. "The practical upshot is...of the few diseases we can get, they tend to run in the deadly range. If that is the reason the Bar is keeping me here..."

Ray exhales massively. "We gotta find someone medical now," he finishes. "Frith on a bridge..."

"And inform Security," Naraht says grimly. "I don't believe there are any other silicon-based lifeforms here, but, if there are, I need to be isolated."

Ray nods and heads for the Bar, waving an arm overhead. "YO! Security!" he calls. "Have we got a doctor in the house? ANybody? We have a problem over here!"

Nita looks up, sitting at the Bar.

"Um. I'm a healer -- what's the problem?"

Naraht pauses at Nita's offer. "Good evening, ma'am," he says, chuffing more yellowish vapor. "I do hope you've treated silicon-based lifeforms before."

She blinks.

A fair amount.

Then with a mental shrug -- Nothing you wouldn't see at the Crossings on a daily basis -- she shakes her head. "I'm afraid I haven't, but I'll see what I can do." She looks between them as she slides off her stool. "I'm Nita Callahan. Wizard."

"Ray Stantz," says the human. "Ghostbuster. Good to meet you, miss."

Naraht starts to speak but has to stop as another spasm rips through him.

"Oh, that is not fun," he says. It's only the fact that he uses a voder for communication that it doesn't come out as an unintelligible gasp. "I fear that I've contracted a illness while visiting my friend's world. And my kind...our illnesses do not tend to run in the 24-hour flu family."

Nita nods to Ray and makes a mental note that This is a Ghostbuster! Eee! For the moment, there's work to be done.

Frowning, she bends over towards Naraht, and pulls out her manual.

"Could you tell me your species name, please? And where I can touch you."

"Anywhere," Naraht says. "Doesn't matter. I'm a Horta."

A shiver runs through his body...the feeling of cold seeping through him is growing stronger...or at least it feels that way to him. It might be psychological.

She flips through her manual and finds the section on the Horta -- no time to read it all now. The basic anatomical scheme is what she needs.

She lays a hand against -- him, for all she knows -- and closes her eyes, starting to speak. The Speech sounds, to listeners, like their native tongue, and at the same time something much different.

It's hard to tell what's going on, thanks to her unfamiliarity with the life-form, but she notes a few things that feel wrong, and pulls back.

Well, technically Naraht is an "it" since he's neuter at this point in his life cycle, but given the fact that, in English, refering to a sentient being with a genderless pronoun is considered rude...

Naraht's fringe quivers from his suppressed anxiety. "Did you find anything?"

"Maybe. . ." She brushes some hair back from her face, a little winded, as she references something in her manual.

"Your temperature -- your core temperature -- is below normal." She double-checks. "A fair amount below normal. And there's something -- I'm not exactly sure, but your digestive system is -- lacking something, maybe?"

"I've noticed the tempeature drop," Naraht says. "It was then that I realized that something was definately wrong. We don't do that unless we are either fighting infection or in extereme environments. As for my digestion...my stomachs feel like they are trying to turn inside out."

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"Hey, Ray."

Faith hops down off the barstool she'd been occupying, giving him a little wave. "What's up?"

Ray jerks a thumb at the HOrta beside him. "This is Lieutenant Dahai Iohor Naraht of the Federation starship Enterprise, and right now he's sick as a dog. Since silicon diseases are apparently pretty contagious we were kind of hoping to get him into isolation or something."

Faith looks at the Horta, then at Ray.

"In a cell?"

Naraht turns toward her slightly. "If necessary," he says, his voder somehow conveying fatigue. "I must make a small correction, however. Silicon based illnesses are highly contagious to silicon-based lifeforms. I am unware of any besides myself frequenting this place, but, if there are, precautions need to be taken."

I will not have deaths on my conscience with this, he thinks grimly.

"Um... what he said."

Faith nods, understanding.

"I don't think we have any other...but the cells will contain it, just in case. And as you haven't done anything, they'll be more comfortable for you than they would be for others."

Naraht sighs, the steam plume looking rather sickly. "I suppose we should get me in there, then," he says. "But...are there any other silicon-based beings here? There is a three day period where I could have possibly been infectious and didn't realize it."

His chagrin is obvious in his voice. "I thought it was just a long hangover."

"As far as I know, you're the only silicon-based...being...we have," Faith says with a shrug. "I'll ask around and make sure, though."

Ray exhales. "Thank you," he says soberly. He'd pat naraht on the shoulder if the Horta had them.