-
"That's why you're the right person for the job, Mr. Kylah," Graham says quietly, looking over her shoulder.
At the same time he's thinking: one, what would he have done if he were assigned to the CAG? Established a series of code word with my Security liaison in advance, he thinks, suppressing a growl of frustration.
And he's turning over what Kylah said in his mind: I'm actually having a hard time squaring this with Rangin's...style...melted communicator? Too...gauche, crude, not oh-so-clever enough... What would his angle be that would make it clever enough?
He tries to put that aside to focus on the task at hand - SI2, as well as not screwing up the fact that Kylah was willing to stop trying to go it alone...
-
All of the weekly check-ins by Lt. Cmdr. Robert "Bob" Hadley, a xenosociologist and the CAG commanding officer, have been unremarkable since the Potemkin left SI2. Hadley did not use any of the under-duress codewords provided for under Starfleet communications protocols, and did not report any particular difficulties other than what you already knew about from the briefing.
Included in Starfleet records is a roster of the other members of the CAG: Lt. Sarah Wilder, economist; Lt. JG Joseph M. Morris, historian; Ens. Beatrice Erickson, accountant; and Lt. Erich Stendahl, political scientist. All have good records and Wilder, in particular, is noted in her field.
-
Kylah sits back slowly, shaking her head. She had a feeling all along that there would be nothing to find. Lt. Thalen had listened; others had listened. She does not presume to think her abilities to detect nuance--not from a recording, and certainly not with her empathic sense, her one unique skill, so sharply diminished--exceed that of her superiors.
"I am sorry, Mr. Graham. I wish I could have helped you. If there is anything else you believe I can research, please let me know." She tries to sound professional; it will do nothing for his estimation of her capabilities as an officer if she cannot rebound from failure.
Taking a deep breath, she turns to him. "By the way, if I remember Earth's calendar and its customs correctly, today is a holiday for you, is it not? Do you celebrate St. Valentine's Day, where you are from?" After a pause she holds her hand out awkwardly. "If so, I wish you a happy day."
-
Ajay takes a breather and looks down the long list of things he is being asked to do that evening. Valentine's Day is always busy, no matter where they were in the Galaxy, it always seemed to be something that people from Earth just wanted to celebrate...in all its forms. Ajay is no different, of course, he is hoping to celebrate it with T'Var, but there are still a lot of people who looking for that little bit extra for someone they fancy.
Speaking of which, there is someone missing from the list who normally took every opportunity going, but had a few admirers with gifts for her, and Ajay pulls out a communicator to drop a message.
Hey Nia. I've got several inches of exquisite, culinary pleasure just waiting for you. And a few other things besides. Happy Valentines Day.
-
On the Bridge, the buzz of Nia's communicator tickles her lower hip. Since the Yorktown is cruising speedily along with its usual smooth efficiency, Nia feels it's safe to check to see who's contacting her. It's unlikely to be an emergency given its text nature.
The sender's name makes her eyes crinkle with a hint of a smile; the message itself nearly leads her to lose her professional composure with a chuckle at A.J.'s irrepressible humor. She controls the impulse and just shakes her head in amusement while replying.
You're currently corresponding with the woman sitting in the captain's chair, in command of the Bridge. And while she's intrigued by Johnson's much-praised inches of delight (mostly praised by himself), she'll reluctantly have to wait to give them a taste.
Happy V. Day to you, too, dearest AJ.
She sends the note, and then pauses. Oh, go ahead. Who else are you going to lean on, Bennett? Almost snorting, Nia promptly flips open her communicator again and taps out a second response:
Addendum: Actually I didn't even remember what day it was. Mr. G. said nothing about it. We were due to have A Talk later, but our plans are likely to be scuttled by the ship's upcoming mission. Be prepared: I might need some chocolate.
That accomplished, Nia slides the communicator back in place and crosses her legs, watching the stars ahead for a few thoughtful moments before asking each of the Bridge officers for their status updates.
Once business is taken care of, she continues to keep her fellow officers engaged in conversation. Her current chosen topic: whether the current non-Terran Bridge officers have any equivalents to Valentine's Day in their respective cultures.
-
Graham's about to tell Kylah she has nothing to apologize for when she extends her hand with a reminder that it's Valentine's Day, and that his--girlfriend? Is Nia a "girlfriend?" Well, whatever the word back on Earth she'd be "somebody who'd expect me to say something on Valentine's Day--is sitting on the Bridge he vacated not long ago.
"Oh...shit," Graham blurts out. "Uh, I mean..." He flushes slightly. "Yes, ah, you know Earth's holidays better than me, I guess--I'd forgotten." He clears his throat. "It's, ah, kind of a romantic holiday...."
Memories tumble together: clumsily cutting out red paper a card for Fiona as soon as he was old enough she was getting none--or at least none she wanted--from anyone else...dinners with Jane, surprise visits home...what would Nia make of a box of Valentine's Day chocolates?
"But it's for friends, too." He takes her hand, then folds his other had on top and squeezes gently, smiling slightly. "I wish you a happy day, too."
-
The Yorktown continues speeding on its way; status reports from each Bridge station show that all is well. Sasok raises an eyebrow, smiles ever-so-slightly and says, "You will not be surprised to learn that there is no Vulcan equivalent to 'Valentine's Day,' Lieutenant."
Ten minutes before the mighty starship is to enter the Sigma Iotia system, the Captain returns to the Bridge.
-
The talk of Valentine's Day makes Collins smile as she thinks about what she and Cooper will be up to later, or after the mission. I'd better let him know. She composes a message to her paramour We might have to postpone dinner "and". We'll be at Sigma Iotia II soon and I still don't know if I will be in the landing party, but if I am, I may not be back aboard by dinnertime. Hugs, Jer.
-
Kylah inhales sharply when Mr. Graham clasps her hand with both of his. There is something that passes from him to her. Strangely it is not an emotion, exactly, but a color that flashes in her mind: Red. Of course her first thought is blood--he is a Security officer and he was recently injured, and there have been deaths in his past. But the red is warm, comforting, affectionate. It is not the angry color of violence.
She almost wants to remain here, in this position, to see if she can gain any more insight to what she is sensing from him. Kylah suddenly remembers that this is how she first began experiencing the emotions transmitted from others when she was very, very young: she saw them as colors, or even vague shapes. It was back when she was pre-verbal, or at least had a very limited vocabulary, and thus had no way to express or comprehend what she felt when people touched her or were merely nearby.
It has been almost a week since she touched anyone other than Dr. T'Var. And Kylah cannot sense anything from Vulcans, not with their emotions so tightly controlled. Too, Kylah has stayed away from almost everyone during this time. So it is no wonder that this new development was noticed only just now. The effect is remedial compared with how vividly Kylah has often been barraged with the feelings of others.
Somehow she must find a medium between emptiness and overwhelming chaos. But then, that has been the chief challenge of her entire life thus far, and she has yet to master it.
Now, instead of keeping her hand where it is, she squeezes Mr. Graham's large hand in return, nodding in gratitude by his sentiment before letting go. "Thank you, sir. I suppose I should return to the Communications Center. We are likely almost at our destination." Kylah pauses and chews her lower lip again. "Sir, doubtless I will not be participating in the mission. As I said before, I have heard nothing, and I cannot see how I would be of value. Not after my past--"
She is not sure how to complete that sentence, so she starts again. "That is... Dr. T'Var once told me she would ensure I did not put a mission at risk due to my... instability. I would not be surprised if she has done so by now. I do not blame her. I expect I will not be trusted, that I will have to earn the responsibilities I wish to take on. Maybe I am wrong, but... I just... I do not expect people to forget the trouble I have caused so soon."
Kylah shakes her head and tries to hold her chin up. "So--so I just want to say that, if you do go on this mission, I hope you will be careful, and wish you the very best. And--if there is anyone along who--" Again she pauses. There is little use in being so delicate; they both know whom she means. Inhaling, she rushes forward: "If Mr. Rangin is there, you will try not to say anything about... anything? I am sure you will be too busy with the mission goal to think of me, but I do know that he has the ability to--well, the both of you have the ability to get underneath each other's skin. Do not let him."
-
"You won't say anything...anything!"
Lizzy is looking up at him, chin held high, adamant and worried at the same time.
But I don't like the guy, he thinks. But under her gaze--both imploring and withering at the same time--he can't bullshit himself, let alone her.
Would you ever like any guy trying to date your daughter? The galaxy's greatest braniac wouldn't be strong enough. Some Security goon like you wouldn't be smart enough. And anybody with any purpose in life but to lay it down without the slightest hesitation for her...well, that's a lot to ask of a 16-year old who just wants to take her to a dance...
Kylah's stance and rush of words evokes a memory that hits Graham like a photon torpedo.
"I..."
The pause is too long, but he doesn't have words for a moment.
"Your secret is safe with me," Graham replies. "I should go," he mumbles, nodding and turning to the door.
-
Gotcha, Cooper responds to Collins. Let's play it by ear, then. XOXO.
Singh walks to the big chair. "I relieve you, Mr. Onn. Report, please."
A few minutes later the bosun's whistle on the conference room's tabletop comm panel sounds, followed by, "Ens. Graham, Ens. Kylah, please report to the Bridge."
-
Graham heads for the Bridge.
-
Kylah watches Mr. Graham start to leave when she hears the hail. Her eyes widen in surprise--she was not expecting to be needed on the Bridge again--and she turns to join Mr. Graham, only to discover that he has already left without her. For an instant she wonders if she has offended him. Then she hurries to follow, leaving a respectful space between them as she obeys the command to get to the Bridge.
-
"I stand relieved, ma'am," Onn says before giving a brief report to Singh, who takes the big chair.
Graham takes up his Tactical post again. Thalen, at Communications, motions to Kylah to take his place, then stands nearby, his blue hands folded behind his back.
Before giving up his spot at the Helm to Onn, Leventhal says, "Approaching Sigma Iotia II, Captain."
-
After sitting, then turning toward the main viewscreen so that she can view the approach to their destination, Kylah looks up at her superior officer. "I am sorry I have nothing useful to report, sir," she says in a hushed tone. While she speaks, she adjusts her earpiece to see if she can discern any outgoing communication as the Yorktown heads nearer to the planet.
But her gaze remains on Lt. Thalen as she continues. "I learned a little more about the missing team members, though probably nothing Security did not know. Otherwise I could glean nothing new from their messages. I would not expect to, after you had already been through them."
-
When Nia crosses over to the Helm, she catches a glimpse of Booker entering the Bridge. She doesn't exactly do a double-take--she's not some overemotional human teenager--but once she's in her chair and puts her hands at the ready to bring the ship out of warp, she tilts her head to aim a welcoming smile at him. A very welcoming smile.
Please don't let Singh order him down there, she thinks anxiously, though her face doesn't change its calm affect. Or at least let me go down there too. Can't see why I'd be part of a landing party, admittedly, unless they might need an engie around, and...
That's where Nia's imagination fails her. If they need an engineer, Singh'd probably ask any member of the actual engineer crew, not Nia. Why order her down to the planet, just because she can also fly? Well, if they do need a pilot and an engineer, in me they'd get two for the price of one. So the party could be smaller, or pack more Security worker bees.
All well and good. But she still can't think of a logical reason why a pilot would be useful in the first place. Especially on what looks like it might be an undercover mission. C'mon, genius, you're supposed to be good in off-the-cuff thinking. What rational use would they have for you?
Finding nothing that fits the bill, she switches to ideas that aren't so logical. Okay, maybe the gangster weirdos travel around in those, what do you call 'em, blimps? Weren't they around on Earth at the time of 'The Book' and all that?
Oh grief, as A.J. would say. Nia rolls her eyes both at the adherents to this bizarre cult and her own crazy speculation. Yeah. Right. Okay, forget blimps. But they might travel in biplanes. Certainly simple prop planes, anyway. If we need to fit in, and for--um, some reason I can't even begin to fathom--we need to travel... someone who can fly one of those ancient deals could be useful? Maybe?
Truth be told, Nia wouldn't mind tooling around in one of those rickety things. Five years ago, during a lengthy Earth-based shore leave between ship assignments, she had the chance to fly some recreations of those ancient flying machines--a nice perk of her affair with a handsome young French curator at Le Musée des arts et métiers.
In fact, she didn't just fly those replicas. Using authentic reclaimed materials from the early 20th century, Nia and her tres bel partner spent a summer building an aircraft recreating the famous Aéroplane Blériot XI--even crossing the Channel, just as the famous pioneer did in his astonishing achievement four centuries earlier.
It had almost made her homesick. Damned if that light, dangerous but curiously elegant overgrown matchbox wasn't awfully similar to the airships Nia and her parents came up with on Sidonia.
Except I bet neither my parents or M. Blériot performed some of the aerobatic maneuvers Raphaël and I managed to in that single tiny seat.
All this flickers in her mind while looking at Booker. When she remembers her activities with Raphaël, her eyes gleam and turn speculative. Booker wouldn't fit in one of those minuscule aircrafts: too bulky. But if she's lucky and she ever gets him alone--whether it's in a shuttle or in her quarters or in a hammock somewhere on Risa--she'll have fun teaching him a physical approximation of the famous Adlion's Tail Over Nose aerobatic stunt. And he can show me the Vertical Erect. Not to mention Kamin's Cobra.
Her grin widens at the thought and her silent amusement threatens to erupt into a throaty chuckle. She keeps herself together. Damn, do I need me some action or what? I sound as bad as A.J. Frankly, if she were the type to flush, she would.
Instead she conscientiously drags her attention back to the Helm. And joking aside... Nia still hopes she won't have to worry while Booker's off on a mission. These people might be silly and freakishly devoted to an appropriated culture from centuries ago, with weapons so dated in comparison to Starfleet's arsenal that they might as well be the animal skin slings used on Sidonia not too long in their past.
But that just means it's all too easy to underestimate how dangerous they really are.
-
Graham's still a little off-balance as a result of the memory evoked by his interaction with Kylah as he enters the Bridge--when he's hit by a hell of a smile from Nia.
Far from being pissed I didn't say anything on Valentine's Day--assuming she knows what it is--she looks like...well, she looks like it's Valentine's Day and she does know what it is...
His initial reaction is--well, almost kind of a shell-shocked, deer-in-the-headlights stare, he realizes. But he quickly returns a small that's not as effusive as Nia's, but entirely sincere before clearing his throat and turning his attention to his duty station console.
-
"Thank you, Ensign," Thalen says quietly to Kylah. He smiles. "It's always good to have another pair of eyes look over one's work."
Graham sees nothing amiss at the Tactical station.
The Communications officer begins receiving some very faint transmissions in the ancient AM and FM bands from the planet ahead. It appears to be popular entertainment, news and music.
The Captain leans back in her chair and says, "Put us into a synchronous orbit, Mr. Onn, over the main city. Full scan, Mr. Rangin. Mr. Kylah, hail the CAG on standard frequencies, and encrypt it."
-
Rangin quickly moves his hands over the panel bringing the full spectrum of the ship's sensors to bear on the planet below.
-
SI2 is a typical Class M world with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, large saltwater oceans and the usual mix of plains, mountains, forests, deserts, tundra, etc. Surface gravity is 98.2% that of Earth. The Human-genome population is approximately 130 million, settled primarily in eight major cities. There is air and water pollution generally comparable to that of Earth's early 20th century industrialized society. Comparing his readings to those of the USS Potemkin from less than a year ago, Rangin sees no significant changes.
-
Kylah attempts to hail the CAG, encrypting the message as ordered.
-
Assisted by her colleague at the Nav, Nia locates Northside Territory, the largest nation-state on the planet, and pinpoints what appears to be the most densely populated area within. She then calculates and establishes a GSO above it. She says nothing, but can't help being curious about the captain's intentions. Maybe we're not intended to be hiding our presence after all. If we are, let's hope they haven't got any advanced astronomers down there, because for sure they'd be interested in a moving body that suddenly appears to stop in its tracks above their biggest city.
-
Graham pulls up whatever information on SI2 weaponry--both small arms and heavier military armament--he can find in Federation files. His emphasis is on confirming they don't have anything that could threaten the ship (which he suspects is true) but more importantly what a landing party could expect to deal with.
-
Kylah begins her transmission. There is no immediate response.
Onn and Leventhal smoothly bring the Yorktown into the orbit requested by the Captain.
Graham finds that Starfleet's records of native armaments list only the typical handheld primitive projectile weaponry of Gangland Chicago, primarily machine guns and pistols. (A Potemkin report did refer to relatively-rarer sniper rifles). There is no military on the planet, as such. The Iotians don't, as far as is known, have anything capable of reaching an orbiting starship. Kirk's senior officers noted that they were repeatedly menaced by Iotians with firearms, and personally witnessed one "hit" using weapons closely resembling Thompson submachine ("Tommy") guns.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thompson_submachine_gun
-
Graham unconsciously rubs a...body part...where he'd been previously shot by a gunpowder-based projectile weapon. Primitive compared to phases, but still nothing to sneeze at...
-
Collins finishes compiling her glossary and turns to the main screen to watch the planet come into view.
-
Rangin gives his brief report on the state of the planet to the Captain: it is as expected.
He then leaves the scanners humming away while turning to the viewscreen to watch the planet come into view.
-
"Thank you, Mr. Rangin," Singh says.
Cmdr. Vargas comes onto the Bridge and stands next to the Captain as the Yorktown eases into orbit. Sigma Iotia II, blue, green and cloud-wreathed, lovely as all such planets are to those who come from Earth, slowly turns on the main viewscreen.
After a couple of minutes, Ens. Kylah finally has an audio response, also encrypted.
-
Kylah's fingers tighten around her earpiece, an instinctive act that does nothing to assist her, before she begins the steps to process the message. "Message response received, Captain," she says quickly. "Decrypting now."
While doing so, she also asks the computer to refine the communications sensor sweep in an attempt to locate the source's coordinates on the planet below--even if it is only possible to narrow it down to a region, it could be helpful.
-
Kylah sets up and runs a real-time decryption program, and at once hears a male voice. "Yorktown, is that you? Thank God. Do you read me? Come in, Yorktown."
The transmission is coming from the large city directly below.
-
Kylah sends a questioning glance over to Captain Singh, uncertain whether the captain wishes to speak directly with the man with whom they have made contact. Still, his words seem desperate enough that she does not want to delay a response. She takes a chance to share only the most basic information--and request some, as well. Nothing she will say would be unknown to any captors, if they exist.
"Yes, sir. This is the Yorktown, and we are reading you clearly." Her voice is low and calm as she speaks into the mic, encrypting the message as it goes out. Meanwhile, her left hand pulls forward the datapad to call up the names of the CAG she and Mr. Graham researched earlier. "Can you please identify yourself, and share your current status? Is anyone with you? Please maintain encryption protocol," she adds quickly.
-
The Captain leaves her seat to move closer to Kylah, but says nothing, only listens.
The voice from far below continues, "This is Joe, er, Lt. JG Joseph Morris, Civil Advisory Group member. I'm a historian. I'm, uh, uninjured and alone in this hotel room. The rest of the group is gone - kidnapped, I think. Don't worry, I won't break encryption. I don't want to do anything to help whoever landed me in this mess." He sounds tired but a little frantic.
-
Multiple questions invade Kylah's head--how was he left behind, why does he not know how the rest disappeared, and what does he mean 'whoever landed me in this mess'? But these are not questions to ask a fearful man who might be in imminent danger.
"Lieutenant Morris," she says, still composed and trying to reassure him. "My name is Ensign Kylah, and Captain Singh is right beside me. We are directly above the planet and are here to assist and ensure your safety. Can you tell us your exact location? We can--" She hesitates and looks from Singh to Vargas to Collins, then back at Singh as she continues. "We might be able to beam you aboard."
Muting the mic for a moment while the encryption does its job, she blurts out, "I hope that was right, Captain. I know we must learn about the rest of the group, but I thought we should secure him first. Once he is safe, he can tell us more. Is that not right, ma'am?" Her gaze tries to take in the various security officers. "What other information do we wish to proceed?"
-
The Captain nods. "It's all right. Put me on, please, Ensign." When the channel opens again, she says, "Lt. Morris, this is Capt. Singh. We're here to help. Are you in any immediate danger?"
"No, ma'am," he says. "I'm pretty sure nobody followed me here."
"All right. Is your hotel room secure?"
"Pretty much, I guess. I've got the door locked and I have a phaser-1."
"Have you had to use it?"
There is a pause. "No, ma'am."
Kylah notices the Captain's eyes narrow slightly. "Would you prefer to beam up, or to stay there for now?"
A longer pause. The historian's tone is firmer now: "I want to see this through, ma'am. These are my friends. I'll stay."
"Understood. Is your room big enough for a standard landing party of six to join you?"
"Uh... just. Yes, I'd say so."
"Very well. Stand by." She makes a gesture for Kylah to mute the channel again, rubs her chin for a moment and looks around. Her eyes light on the Coridanite. "Mr. Rangin, you're about to see why you were at the briefing. You will command the landing party. Select five others and prepare to beam down immediately."
-
Nia has been listening with interest, and then some suspicion when the voice on the other end of the conversation suddenly sounds deceptive. But when Singh names Rangin to command the landing party, it's all Nia can do to keep from barking out a laugh.
On the plus side, she can stop worrying about Booker going planetside, that's for damn sure. But still...
What in the name of Seht'Dar's holy balls is Singh thinking? A biology geek heading up a manhunt on a planet full of gangsters?
Her gaze doesn't move from the viewscreen, but she shakes her head almost imperceptibly. By now nothing should surprise her. This is the same sharp crew deployment strategy that placed a Security officer in charge of a medical experiment mission, and then chose that same Security officer to lead a fact-finding assessment of a luxury hotel's accounting and health-and-safety practices.
They must throw darts or roll dice to pick mission leaders. Maybe next time, A.J.'ll get a chance to lead an undercover mission to infiltrate the Vulcan High Command. His pasty skin, bright blue eyes and wiseass manner should make him a natural. Or how about Ensign Kylah, maybe she'll be chosen to...
Nia thinks a moment, her lips tightening in a tiny smirk. Frankly, Ensign Kylah would be staggeringly ill-suited to lead any mission. Except maybe one that requires histrionics and attracting inappropriate male attention.
Which means, sure as Nia's sitting here, Kylah will get the nod the next time the Yorktown gets involved in some massive interplanetary war that has dire consequences for maintaining the unity of the Federation.
A sigh escapes her as she glances toward Rangin. Honestly I'd still like to go and see what the little dude is made out of. But... I don't get it. If she wants a Science Officer for some reason, why not choose Hayes? At least Rachel specializes in different cultural societies, so at a stretch it makes some sense.
Meanwhile, Rangin didn't even rate highly enough in Singh or Vargas's estimation to be named Fujishiro's successor. Sure, he got a commendation--as he deserved, and as Nia had suggested in her reports on his actions during the Kylah-gets-kidnapped debacle and the Naradraen/Klingon rescue.
But an ensign leading a mission? Aside from Booker's stepping up to replace Collins during the murder case on OC3, Nia can't remember when that last worked out well. At least Booker had the specific background experience that made his leadership of a criminal investigation understandable. What in Rangin's background or expertise makes him suited for this--
Oh. Oh shit.
Nia's eyes blink and she quickly looks back to her panel. Of course. It's because he's a Coridanite. That's gotta be it. Fuck me, he's not going to like that. Any more than I'd like it if I was chosen for some mission involving black market...
She doesn't finish the thought. Instead she swivels her chair, casts a quick look of commiseration toward Booker--Damn, I wish I could read his mind. Then again, I probably don't need to--and finally switches to aim an open, somewhat sympathetic, ready-willing-and-able-to-serve gaze at Ensign Rangin.
-
Kylah gives a little start when Singh announces the mission leader. It is all she can do to avoid flushing--or rather, being seen to flush, because nothing can control the blood that rushes to her face at the pronouncement of Ensign Rangin's name. Little more than a week ago, she would have been so proud for him, and worried, too. Now... now she does not know what to think or feel.
But she bites her lip and forces her messy, battling emotions aside as best she can. Uppermost in her mind is the confusion at the captain's choices regarding Lt. Morris. Her prudence urges her to remain silent, especially given the presence of Cmdr. Vargas, who intimidates her even more than the captain does. But she feels she must express her doubts.
"Forgive me, Captain," she says, her hand curling around the back of her chair as she turns toward the older woman. "But--with respect--may I suggest that it might not be best to defer to Lt. Morris's wishes about remaining on the planet? It seems to me..." Kylah cannot help searching for Mr. Graham's visual support again, and she says some of this to him before looking back at her captain. "He is apparently the only one who managed to escape, which seems... unusual. You heard his responses, they were--well, I think it is clear that he is lying regarding his use of a phaser--and I can think of no reason why, if he is not hiding something else more sinister.
"We cannot ignore the possibility that on such a planet, where extortion and underhanded dealing are rife, it is possible that he has betrayed his comrades. And perhaps he is now trying to lure us down there, as even better hostages. Even if it is a low probability, I think it must be considered, for the safety of--of those who are chosen for the landing party."
She finds it very, very difficult to avoid looking at Ensign Rangin, but she manages. Her shoulders lift in a tiny, apologetic shrug. "I just think... might it not be safer to beam Lt. Morris up, gather whatever information he possesses about the situation... and also judge whether he is truthful, as best we can? If--if officers such as Cmdr. Vargas and Lt. Collins deem him to be trustworthy, and he still wishes to join the search for his friends, he can beam down with the rest of the landing party."
Kylah turns to Collins. "Would that not be prudent, ma'am?"
-
Collins was about to voice her disagreement with the Captain, respectfully of course, but Kylah beat her to it. "Precisely what I was thinking, Ma'am" she tells Singh, and sneaks a smile towards her roommate. "Let's get him up here, check him out medically, get the intel, then go back down."
-
Singh shakes her head. "Thank you for your good counsel, but I've reviewed Morris's record and have no reason to doubt him. Still... Mr. Graham, scan the hotel and see if he's alone, and if there are any concentrations of people near his location that might suggest an ambush."
-
-
Rangin is facing back towards the console checking the general scans as the voice comes over the comms. Paying little attention to it, he is caught completely unawares when Capt. Singh announces he will be leading the away party.
It must be a mistake, a mishearing of her command. He is not the right person to be on the away mission, let alone be in charge of the group itself. But the deathly silence that follows confirms his worst thoughts.
He could guess why though; set a thief to catch a thief. At least that was the ploy he had used successfully in the past on the USS Lexington with the Security team there. Every so often, someone would hear he was from Coridan and assume it meant that not only did he have access to all sorts of illegal things, but that he was corrupt enough to go along with it.
All he wants is an opportunity to show that someone from Coridan can be as upstanding as any Federation citizen, but it seems that time and again he is going to be treated as guilty by reason of birth. Rangin wonders what else is in his records that he doesn't know about.
Regardless it still didn't change the fact he is being asked to form an away team. He's only been there a few weeks, how could he possibly know the right people to choose.
Given the situation, Collins is a necessary evil as the ACSO and slso the person who had prepped the info on the planet. He would also need people he could work with and there are scarce few on board suited for a trip to such a planet who weren't in Security. But two people did spring to mind.
A request comes in for some scan results and Rangin autonomously pushes the results of the scans back to the requester without considering who could be asking. His mind tries to re-engage with the fact that the next two best people are two he would rather be a million miles from. But for the sake of those kidnapped on the planet, it doesn't matter what his feelings are, saving them is more important.
Rangin turns around, face fixed in stone, to face the Captain though angry that he is being put in this position. He can feel his cheeks begin to burn as he struggles to keep his composure.
"Very well ma'am. Team as follows: Lt T'var, Lt J.G. Garcia, Lt J.G. Collins. Ens Kylah and..." Rangin steels himself and chews out the final name "... Ens Graham."
"As for Lt. Morris, can I recommend two to beam down to confirm the situation followed by the others or a beam out as required." Rangin doesn't try to change Singh's mind about beaming down, but at least this way less people will be in danger.
-
Graham realizes that at the moment he sends it, his request to Science has been obsoleted by the Captain's request that he perform a scan of the area.
For what it's worth, he's at least slightly gratified the Captain decides on her own Tactical is the best choice, but then he sees his request was summarily rejected.
Son of a bitch...
He spares only a moment to glance toward Rangin, ire rising, jaw clenching... then turns back to his board.
He scans for life signs in the immediate area, and then on a wider band, looking for a large group in close proximity...like a hit squad laying low...
As best he can he tunes sensors to look for gunpowder, blue steel...any concentrations of material that would suggest a bunch of folks with small arms.
-
Singh says, "Very well, Mr. Rangin. You may proceed. Mr. Kylah, have Dr. T'Var and Mr. Garcia report to Transporter Room 1 on the double. Advise Lt. Morris of our plans, ask him to stand by, and end transmission for now." She turns back to Rangin. "Which two will beam down first?"
Graham's Tactical scan finds a typical room layout for a hotel of that era, with no more than three people in any room above the first floor. Morris's room is on the 14th of 20 floors; he is alone in his room and has a communicator, phaser-1 and tricorder. There is an armory of some kind on the first floor of the hotel with almost two dozen weapons, but only a total of three firearms on all the floors above - on the 3rd, 7th and 18th floors - and none on the 14th floor itself. There are three other people on the 14th floor other than Morris - two together in one room, and one alone.
-
"Captain," Graham reports when there's a pause--but not waiting for Rangin's response--"three lifeforms on our guy's floor, but no weapons detected. Three firearms on other floors but only one man, one gun, so to speak--in short, no sign of an ambush in immediate proximity."
-
Kylah cannot believe her ears and she has to freeze in place in order to process what is happening. First, Singh's inexplicable trust in a man she does not know in a situation they cannot guess at; a man who appears to be lying, and who has lived on a lawless planet for a year and may well have done anything, betrayed anyone, in an attempt to save himself.
And then, she hears Mr. Rangin utter her name. He chooses her to go on the mission.
For two terrible seconds she instinctively inhales, about to blurt out a sharp "No!" But she turns away just before disgracing herself. She vowed not to cause any more problems, to draw any more attention her way. Lt. Thalen and Cmdr. Vargas are right here, they will be watching her.
So with almost supernatural strength she locks her expression into an almost lifeless mask. Whereas she has spent most of her life trying to develop some sort of mental shield in hopes of blocking the barrage of emotions forced on her by others, now she must contain her own feelings within that same shield.
Inside she is almost sick with distress. She does not want to go with Mr. Rangin. She most certainly does not want to be under his command. A swell of panic rises in her chest and she only barely manages to clamp it down again.
Even if there were none of this unspeakable awfulness between them, Kylah cannot fathom what use she will be on this mission. Especially with his having chosen Lt. Garcia. Kylah's skills are nothing compared to Garcia's, especially now with her empathic abilities so constrained. Not that anyone else would know that but T'Var. Still... Why two Communications officers, why not a third person from Security? Her inclusion must mean something.
He is trying to break me. I cannot let him. I must not. Kylah will have to go, she promised Lt. Thalen she could return to duty. At least Mr. Graham will be along. But... why him, for that matter? She stiffly turns toward the older human and tries to see if he is as stunned by this as she. He has ignored her and ignores her still, doing his duty like a professional. She must follow his example.
Dimly she hears Singh's order. "Aye aye, Captain," she says hoarsely, and contacts her colleague and Dr. T'Var to pass along the orders. Suddenly she is struck by the memory of Garcia's poor decision making on OC3--leaving her to face Mrs. Hsu alone in that transporter room. But of course, it was the former Lt. Kjaerstad who was far more to blame than Garcia.
She finishes sending the messages. And when that is done, she slips her clammy hands onto her lap, wiping them on her skirt while waiting for further instructions.
-
Nia's hands clutch the edge of her station like a pair of vises. She didn't really expect Rangin to pick her. This morning in the Mess, his inability to let his attitude of cool politeness melt into genuine amiability made it clear he probably thinks of her as Yet Another Enemy. Or at least, someone sleeping with the enemy.
If only.
She turns to Booker, giving a pointed stare at his leg, then returns to glare at Rangin in sheer disbelief at his uncharacteristic--at least in her opinion, she's sure Book has his own POV on that--irresponsibility. Really? You're sending down a guy who was laid out flat in Sickbay only a week ago?!
Nia grits her teeth and presses her fingers more tightly against the panel, the tips turning from mocha to nearly white. Is no one gonna say anything? Booker won't because of course he won't. Male ego. He won't refuse Rangin's order and let the pipsqueak enjoy his defeat. At least, Nia knows, that's how Booker would put it.
Singh won't mention the injury because she's not the world's best multitasker and probably confused Graham with Double-T anyway. Vargas wouldn't give a damn enough to take it into consideration, he's too focused on his retirement party, may that happy day come soon. And we all know Collins has the memory of a goldfish. 'Injury? What injury?'
Nia almost growls and feels her heart pounding more rapidly as she makes her quick calculations. She's just ruled out the logical line of command. So who else? T'Var. T'Var might mention it. Surely the doctor's the most likely candidate to be concerned about a patient so recently and gravely injured heading down to a possible ambush.
But what if Rangin decides to send Book down to the planet with Collins before T'Var gets a chance to say anything?
Nia jerks her hands from the panel before she crushes it or breaks her finger bones. To hell with it. Booker won't forgive her but Nia will be damned if she'll stand by while everyone else ignores their responsibility to one of their fellow officers.
"Excuse me, Captain. Commander," she adds to Vargas, and then nods at Rangin with a respectful deference and as calm an expression as she can manage. "With the greatest respect, I think Mr. Rangin might've forgotten that only a week ago, Ensign Graham was in Sickbay after having nearly lost his leg via a Klingon disruptor."
She can't bear to look at Booker, he'll probably consider her a traitor. Except, damn it, he would absolutely do the same for her or Collins or the little princess or any one of the people he cares about, colleague or not. But that's different, he'd say. Why? He won't have an answer, but Nia does: Because he lives for pain. He swallows it up like medicine he thinks is necessary to survive. Medicine he thinks he deserves, the worse-tasting, the better.
She nods her chin toward Booker, afraid to meet his gaze. "I have no doubt Mr. Graham is anxious to perform his duty as ordered. But Ensign Rangin was put on the spot, and chose in a hurry. Perhaps he didn't recall the injury, and didn't take it into account when picking his team. So... isn't there another Security officer who'd be a better fit?"
Nia's voice has risen only a few notches above its usual serene level, but she takes a breath to keep calm anyway. Emotions won't help her here. "Captain, as we all are, I'm just concerned about the safety of the group as a whole, as well as Mr. Graham personally. Not to mention the missing Potemkin crew members. I think Dr. T'Var would agree with me--and as she'd say, a replacement seems most logical." The weak joke aside, she turns to Rangin suddenly. "Or... what about this. If Mr. Graham is integral to whatever plans you have, maybe instead of substituting him, you'd consider adding another Security officer to the group? Maybe swapping out someone who isn't really as, uh... battle-ready?"
Her head doesn't quite tilt toward Kylah, but it's not tilting away from her, either. "Or if Communications needs to be represented twice, you can still add more Security to back up Collins and Graham. If we're sending in two people first, that means there's still room to send down six more in the next batch. I'm not saying you'd want a whole flotilla of redshirts, but one more won't cause any harm. And it could save a life."
With those words, at last Nia turns to Booker, her eyes intent on him but unable to show him what she's feeling, that she's sorry, that she doesn't want to embarrass him, but she absolutely had to say all this. Any good leader would do what she's doing.
The fact that no one else on the Bridge did it doesn't exactly say great things about the upper echelons of the Yorktown crew.
-
Collins sends a quick note to Cooper "I'm on the mission team. Wish me luck. XOXO"
-
Rangin stands up from the chair, feeling the air prickling around him at the choices that both Capt. Singh and he have just made.
"Ma'am if I may, I have good reason as to why I picked Ens. Graham, even though my preference would be for him to remain here. We're not going down to fight, we are going down to talk and find out what is going on. The situation requires those who are good at communicating, can pick things up from other people and have the nous to put it all together. Mr Graham is in the unfortunate position of being the person with the [i]second[/] most knowledge on the ship in the area of dealing with people like this. It's that, that is required, not his ability to wield a phaser."
He then turns to Capt Singh. "Ma'am, Lt J.G. Collins and I will go first. Perhaps Dr T'Var can confirm Ens. Graham is physically ready while we confirm the situation and before anyone else needs to join us. Just in case."
Rangin looks across at Ens. Graham and smiles thinly back at Lt. Onn. He doubts she will be grateful, because Graham certainly won't be. "But if it does come to a firefight, we'll make sure he is the first to beam up."
"Ma'am?" Rangin's questioning tone says it all needs to about being dismissed to head down to the planet as he walks partway across towards the turbolift before halting to await her command.
-
Graham has enough on his mind already--most of it bad--when Nia, however well-meaning, makes things worse...
Why the hell put Rangin in charge of what's probably a search-and-rescue mission? And of course he's going to pick Kylah...the Captain literally just handed him control over her.
At least I'll be along--but that's small comfort. Being able to order them both around would play right into Rangin's type of game. "Mr. Graham go stand watch over that pile of dogtshit. Kylah, come with with me...'
Nia's obviously concerned about him--which would be nice, touching--but not here now...
It takes some effort to return her gaze with one of his own that shows he understands her concern, but he shakes his head just slightly.
He clears his throat. "Ah, with all due respect to Mr. Onn's concern, he begins, turning toward the Captain, "I'm cleared for duty. And I've had experience with small-arms combat with similar gunpowder-based weapons on a previous mission, should it come that." He glances at his board, confirming his sensor readings. He can't help but clear his throat briefly again, not really wanting to get into a debate with Nia in front of the Captain. "But unless the Sigma Ionians come at us with fists and clubs, we won't be in immediate danger on beam-down--re-confirmed, no firearms on Morris' floor."
-
Collins also starts towards the turbolift. I'm ready for a shoot first ask questions later type of sitch, but heck, I'll try diplomacy.
-
"Thank you, Mr. Graham," the Captain says in response to his report on the hotel.
Thalen notices Kylah's reaction and leans over. He asks quietly, "Are you all right, Ensign?" After the briefest hesitation, he adds, "Would you rather I tell the Captain you're still needed here?"
Vargas gives Onn a look but the Captain says to her calmly, "Thank you, Lieutenant. Mr. Graham, you have indeed been cleared for active duty. If you feel up to it, you may beam down. If you think, on balance, it would be better for you to remain aboard, no one will think the less of you." To Rangin she says, "Mr. Onn suggests adding another person to the landing party, given the two-stage beamdown. What do you think?"
Cooper replies to Collins, Thanks for the update, Jer. Glad you get a chance to go. When will you leave?
-
Collins quickly messages back to Cooper "Now. :)"
-
It suddenly occurs to Graham that maybe Nia knew about Valentine's Day and had made plans for the two of them...
He can't help but glance over toward her, shocked at his stupidity in not thinking about that possibility...
But he quickly turns his attention back to his console for...no good reason, really, just to think for a moment...re-check the sensor readings.
Well there's no going back even if I wanted to leave Collins and Kylah in the lurch now. Maybe the Captain's got it backwards, somebody will think less of me if a I do go...fuck...
-
Lt. Thalen's voice reaches through Kylah's thoughts. Does she wish to be taken off the mission, to be saved by Thalen's generosity and patience once more?
When she was a little girl, Kylah once sat on her parents' bed and watched her mother having her hair dressed for some elegant event, while her father slipped on his elegant blue and gold jacket and complained about having to partake in formal dancing, something he had not done in years.
Mother told him not to worry. Once the music starts, she insisted, his feet would know where to go, what steps to take, how to avoid bumping into others on the ballroom floor. Even the little conversational niceties would be recalled. "Such memories live in your muscles, dear one," she said to him. "You will see. The mind forgets, but muscles never do."
Kylah knows the truth of it, and for once stops fighting how she was raised. She lets herself emulate to the hours spent by her uncle's side as the eldest female of her House--thus the de facto hostess for any gathering. Aldaan entertained groups of politicians and military leaders Kylah feared and detested--even people Aldaan detested--and she had to navigate the dangerous diplomatic waters that such gatherings churned up.
She hid her feelings then, she can do it now. It is time to relearn the steps of the dance.
"No, Lt. Thalen," she says, eyes looking up at him gratefully while she gives him a small but warm smile. Excessive smiling is not the Elasian way, but just as at those dinners--and as she tried in vain to explain to Lt. Collins--Kylah follows the customs of other cultures out of respect and necessity. "You are very kind to ask, but I am quite ready to go. There may be some danger, but this is an unusual society and I rather look forward to the mission."
She thanks him and excuses herself before turning to the Captain. Her hand clasps her earpiece without trembling, and she is composed and professional. "I beg your pardon, Captain," Kylah says gently. "May I tell Lt. Morris that you are considering the best course of action? He may be concerned that we have lost contact."
-
Not much surprises Nia by now, so she is not astonished either by Vargas's fleeting expression of distaste--Yeah, how dare I show more concern and situational awareness about his staff's status than he does?--or by Rangin apparently believing himself unique in having come from a fucked-up planet.
Of course, Nia says nothing in response to Rangin's remarks. But inwardly she's seething. Don't take it personal, Ensign, but while you may be a xenobiologist, you know absolutely fuck-all about the messed-up societies some of your crewmates escaped.
Well, if nothing else, now she has a better understanding why Booker finds Rangin's personality so grating, his self-righteousness so distastefully smug. The guy has a chip on his shoulder he wears like a badge of honor.
She wonders what Booker thinks about Rangin's gracious acknowledgement that only Booker Graham comes close to the level of understanding about corruption, crime and danger that Velir Rangin possesses. It might have sounded like a compliment, but she doubts Booker appreciates being lumped together with this specimen.
She flicks a glance at Booker, but he's staring at his panel. I hope we get a chance to talk before he goes. I don't see how, but... With a sigh, Nia just shakes her head and swivels back to the Helm.
-
Thalen nods and straightens.
Damn! replies Cooper. Hope it's a quick down-and-back - we still might have time to properly celebrate Valentine's Day. Good luck!
Singh says, "Yes, go ahead and let him know, Mr. Kylah." She looks again at the older Security officer. "Hearing no objection, Mr. Graham...?"
-
I've got a lot of fucking objections, Graham thinks. The fucking idiot you just put in charge of the mission's plan is to beam out the member of the party more experience in firefights than the rest of the group combined at the first sign of trouble...
And I think Nia had soft lights or a bubble bath or who knows what--something important to her--that I just put the kibosh on by going out of my way to volunteer when she obviously wanted me not to go...
But none of those things are something Graham feels is appropriate to say to the Captain. His jaw tightens slightly. "No, Captain. I'll...proceed to Sickbay." There's a slight hesitation in both his voice, and leaving his station: but a hundred years wouldn't be enough time to figure out a way to have a private word with Nia on a packed bridge.
-
"Just a moment, Mr. Graham," the Captain says, frowning. "You were already cleared for duty, as I said - but Bridge duty is different from dirtside, of course. Report to the transporter room. I'll ask Dr. T'Var if she thinks you're physically up to serving in the landing party."
To Rangin she says, "Better get moving, Mr. Rangin."
-
Rangin looks back at Vargas and wonders for just one brief moment if he should suggest the Security chief should join them. The words hang on his lips begging uttered, but he resists the temptation.
But that still leaves him with the problem of should he take someone else along. Being honest with himself he doesn't even want to think about it, let alone be in charge of the actual mission. But then Coridan is the Federation poster boy for a corrupt society and no matter how screwed up other societies are, everyone points at Coridan. Perhaps he should ask Lt. Onn along, Sidonia is not exactly pleasant. Perhaps she and Graham have been swapping stories, it wouldn't be a surprise given their attraction to each other.
Rangin digs his nails into his palm. No, he didn't know enough about Helm to justify those kinds of thoughts and it is hypocritical given he is constantly being tarred with the same brush.
Then he hears Graham's request to head for Sickbay and Rangin wonders what kind of duty he is actually any use for. Out of the remainder of Security, there are painfully few he would consider let alone trust. "Sir. if Mr Graham is not able, would it be possible to have Ens. Rawlings and St. Croix on standby?" At least those two didn't react as badly to Kylah as some of the others had.
"On my way ma'am." Rangin says crisply before heading for the turbolift.
-
Kylah unmutes her mic but makes sure the input range is narrowed to directly in front of the mic. Morris does not need to know the internal dynamics involved in the figuring out the best way to rescue him--or even whether to trust him at all.
"Lt. Morris," she says softly. "It is Kylah again. Our captain is finishing up choosing the rescue team to ensure you and your colleagues are safe. Our scans indicate that you are currently in a relatively safe position, so please remain where you are. A smaller party will arrive first; more will follow once the advance team assesses the situation."
She moistens her lips, thinking how she would have felt if anyone had been able to contact her while she was in that warehouse on Anubis. Morris hardly seems to be in that wretched a state, but even if he is hiding something, he does sound nervous and alone. After a tiny hesitation, she adds, less formally, "By the way, sir, I believe my superior, Lt. Thalen, will be taking my place as your contact now. I have been chosen to be among the landing myself. So we will meet soon."
Cutting the mic, Kylah lifts her gaze to Thalen. "I hope it was proper to tell him that you would be replacing me, Lieutenant. I suppose I had better go to the transporter room so that the second group will be prepared to leave as soon as we are needed."
Her voice is unnaturally calm. She has compartmentalized herself to such a degree that she feels as if she can observe her own actions from a distance. "I will wait to see if Lt. Morris has any immediate questions, but if not, permission to leave my post, sir?"
-
Graham realizes he misunderstood where he was supposed to find T'Var. When there's a break, he acknowledges the order. "Yes ma'am, transporter room. I'm sure the Doc - Dr. T'Var will find me fit for duty, Captain." He dithers at his console as if finishing something up in order to determine whether he can avoid being on the turbo lift with Rangin--or whether he needs to stick close to Kylah to make sure she isn't on it alone with him.
-
Nia is, ostensibly, engrossed in the details on the Helm panel, but she's also listening to what's going on behind her. Hearing that T'Var will be checking Booker out, she closes her eyes in brief prayer. Please, T'Var. If he's at all at risk from that wound, don't let him go.
Nia takes a deep breath and opens her eyes again. There's nothing more she can do. Truth is, if he's at 100%, she wouldn't want to hold him back. This sort of mission is what Booker seems especially skilled at, and most important, it's what brings him to life, it's what he loves best--probably more than being with anyone, at least anyone other than his late wife. One admittedly intense week with Nia can't mean nearly as much as his career--or rather, his personal mission to serve and protect.
And that's the way it should be, really. Nia certainly wouldn't contemplate refusing a risky shuttle mission that demanded her skills, just because it might worry a man left behind.
But I'm not on a mission led by a man who hates me. And who I despise right back. She shakes her head while distractedly tapping on her panel to call up the communications screen. That landing party... talk about a hotbed of personality clashes.
If Kylah gets so much as a paper cut, Booker's gonna tear Rangin's stomach open. And Rangin won't be able to prevent himself from acting like Security officers are brainless goons devoid of rationality. Meanwhile, Kylah will probably spot some little broken-winged bird in the street, run into the middle of traffic, and wind up run over by one of those clumsy vehicles they have down there.
Nia nearly laughs at the realization that it'll probably be Collins who'll get the fun job of playing referee. Good luck with that one, Lieutenant.
But her brief amusement fades when she hears Booker announce his departure. Nia refuses to take a last look at him, that's morbid and sappy. Still, now that her mailbox has been opened, she quickly types a note.
Hope you know I was only thinking of what's best for you and the others. You look great to me, but I've seen you wince a bit when you think no one's noticing.
I notice these things, because I notice you. I like noticing you. And I expect you to return to the ship in one piece, all parts present and accounted for, so I can keep noticing new things about you.
In short, be safe. Because I care about you, Book, and I want you back. I want you.
She hesitates, nearly about to send the message, before smiling ruefully and adding:
P.S. play nice with the other kids. -- NIA
-
Collins slips by Graham and into the turbolift with Rangin before the doors shut. "I've got your back" she tells the Coridanite.
-
Rangin nods as the doors shut leaving the others on the Bridge and tells it to head for the Transporter room before turning to Collins.
"Ma'am, I would hope we would all have each others backs as Starfleet professionals, but I thank you none-the-less. Regardless of what has happened recently, the only thing that matters now is to find and retrieve the team on the planet and I hope everyone can live up to that aim. Any disagreement or personal issues can wait until afterwards."
-
"Very well, Mr. Rangin," the Captain says. "Carry on."
"Of course," Thalen says, nodding encouragingly. "Dismissed, and good luck, Mr. Kylah."
She and Graham are left behind by Collins and Rangin but catch the next turbolift, which arrives less than 20 seconds later.
-
With a bob of her head toward Mr. Graham, Kylah stands at the far end of the turbolift, unconsciously positioning herself against the side wall, and double-checks to ensure she has her working communicator, not just the ruined model. She fears losing contact again.
She also feels compelled to fill the brief silence. "I hope we find them," she begins, and almost immediately chastises herself for expressing such a banal sentiment. Hurrying on... "I mean... after doing the research, I know them a little better, and wish to learn more."
Looking up at him, Kylah wonders what he is thinking. Does he believe she asked for this assignment? No, he was on the Bridge with her. He must have known there was no time for such requests once the Captain surprised them all with the mission leader announcement.
Still, she adds, "When you and I were together earlier, I knew there would be a mission, but I never expected... I could not think I would be taking part in it. In truth I do not know how I can help, or why--" Her words cut off. Stay professional. Even with someone who says he is your friend. She lifts her head slightly. "Regardless, I will do my best in whatever capacity I can."
There is a short silence before she lets out an exhale with, "I hope Dr. T'Var clears you for the mission. I would not feel--that is... I believe the team needs you, sir."
-
Graham's something at a loss for small talk when he enters the turbolift.
Advice on how to handle screwing up Valentine's Day is out.
How about "let me know if Rangin lays a hand on you again so I can feed him his fucking spleen."
But Kylah breaks the silence.
Graham smiles slightly and even chuckles. "You don't have to call me 'sir,' I don't outrank you--I'm just old."
He clears his throat. "But seriously, if SI2's gangs are like other crime syndicates--day-to-day there's a lot of talk, a lot of negotiation...there's an old phrase, 'organized crime.' They won't hesitate to use extreme violence, but most of the time they try and avoid it to stay focused on doing business."
"I'm sure we'll need a good comms officer." He shrugs. "And if folks won't talk to us, I'll start breaking fingersd until they do."
After a brief moment he adds quickly, "Ah--that last part was a joke."
-
"I understand it was a joke, sir--Mr. Graham," Kylah corrects herself and gives a shrug. "I am sorry, it is how I was raised to speak to... men of a higher status. Most of our interactions began when you were in command back on OC3. And besides, in many ways you remind me at times of a--a General I know."
She was nearly about to say a Klingon general, but there is no way Mr. Graham would take it as a compliment, although that is how it was meant. More importantly, her connection to Klingons is not something to broadcast. Kylah hastens to move on.
"There may indeed be need of a communications officer. But Vel... Ensign Rangin already chose Lt. Garcia for that purpose." Kylah lets the thought die there and waits for the turbolift doors to open, at which point she slips into the corridor and rubs her arms as if cold.
"I suppose we will be given weapons? Those of us who do not carry them, I mean?" she adds with a look at Mr. Graham's utility belt. "It is just... we were not told to go to the armory, so..."
-
"A general?" Graham replies, genuinely surprised. "Well, you should save that to tell Vargas when he needs a laugh, I doubt he'll be raising my pay grade anytime soon." He rubs his chin. "I expect we'll be handed phasers in the transporter room--but, ah, yeah, beaming down onto planet gangland unarmed would seem to be a bad idea."
-
Graham and Kylah arrive in Transporter Room 1 shortly after Rangin and Collins; Dr. T'Var and Lt. JG Ernesto Garcia are already there. The Vulcan physician has a tricorder over her shoulder and a medikit at her side. The Nicaraguan man has a slim toolkit and, Rangin notices, looks a little nervous.
Ens. Ben Cooper hands out phaser-1s and communicators from the nearby bulkhead equipment locker. He gives a wink to Collins when he thinks no one's looking.
Lt. JG Mark Ferguson stands behind the transporter console, adjusting the controls.
T'Var approaches Graham and says quietly, "I just spoke with the Captain, who left it up to me as to whether you'll be in the landing party. I'm inclined to let you come, but only if you genuinely feel up to it, Mr. Graham." She looks at him intently.
-
Kylah enters the transporter room, about to explain in vague terms why Mr. Graham reminds her of General Vagh, but Dr. T'Var's quick approach ends the casual discussion. She steps away to allow Mr. Graham his privacy.
Since Lt. Collins is near Ens. Cooper, Kylah will grant them a few moments more of privacy as well. Which leaves either Ensign Rangin--not an option, she lets her gaze slip past him as if he is a blind spot in her vision--or Lt. Garcia. He is her colleague, and superior besides; it is politic to greet him.
Moving out from behind Mr. Graham, she starts forward. Now the transporter control area is revealed to her, along with its operator.
Stopping in her tracks like someone caught in thick, claylike mud, Kylah feels the blood drain from her face so quickly she is almost dizzy, before it returns in a rush to burn her with the inevitable flush. It is the first time since Lt. Fujishiro's funeral service that she has come across Mark Ferguson; the first time since discovering his apparent friendship with Darren Zweller.
Why did she not expect him? Why did she not at least consider the possibility that he would be here?
Aside from her complexion, which she cannot help, Kylah dares not react in any other way. Maybe he will not see her. Do not be imbecilic. Of course he will. You am now in the middle of the room. Instinctively she wants to run back to Graham. No... her first instinct was to look pleadingly at Velir, but she had to quash that at once. He may have been in collusion with Ferguson and Zweller, how can she possibly seek help from that quarter?
But hiding in Mr. Graham's shadow will bring unwanted attention, both from Graham and T'Var. She will find me a 'liabiity' for sure, Kylah thinks almost hysterically. Velir is not an option. Collins will be suspicious if Kylah is suddenly desperate to reach her side.
Again she is left with continuing toward Garcia. Curiously, trying to move naturally only makes her more self-conscious, her arms and legs working like broken marionettes. At last she is in front of her colleague. "S-sir," she mutters with a weak smile that cannot hold its form for longer than a second. "I am honored to work with you again."
She tries to focus on the tall man but she cannot even tell what Garcia's expression is--her peripheral vision, like a mouse aware of a nearby predator, is so strongly drawn to Ferguson.
-
"Thanks Doc," Graham answers in a similar tone, leaning in closer to the Vulcan. "I feel great." He pauses a moment under T'Var's intent gaze. "Well, OK, 'great,' is a bit much, but good enough. I'll be fine."
-
"Thanks, Ens. Kylah," she distantly hears Garcia say. "I'm a little surprised to be here myself, frankly, but orders are orders."
As Garcia is speaking, Ferguson looks up from his console and makes eye contact with Kylah. He smiles... and she can't quite decipher his expression.
T'Var looks at Graham a moment longer, then nods. She steps over to the transporter console and hits the intercom button. "T'Var to Bridge."
"Singh here."
"Captain, from my earlier review of his medical records and my discussion with him just now, I believe that Mr. Graham is ready for service on the landing party."
"Very well, thank you, Doctor. He may proceed, then. Singh out."
The Vulcan nods to Graham and gestures towards the transporter platform with a slight smile of her own.
Cooper finishes distributing phaser-1s and communicators. Does anyone else wish a tricorder?
-
Ferguson's attempt at a smile makes Kylah want to run for the nearest shower. "Yes," she says, having to force the word through her tightened throat. "Orders are orders. Excuse me, sir." She turns away and somehow makes it to Ensign Cooper for her phaser. "I would like a tricorder as well, please. In case we are separated I do not wish to be without one."
She realizes why she is so determined to ensure she has a communicator, and a tricorder, and of course a phaser as well. After Anubis--and after whatever happened when she left the Bridge by herself to find Zweller waiting for her--she is terrified of being alone.
Swallowing, Kylah looks down at the phaser in her hand. She slowly lifts her gaze to Ferguson again, now turning the phaser slightly so that--just for a few seconds--it is aimed at him. Her eyes do not blink as she looks at him. Finally, she places the weapon in her utility belt and turns around, nearly bumping right into Rangin. Her face is still red and this only makes her skin burn hotter. At once she backs away and finds somewhere to stand where she can keep an eye on the whole room. No one can sneak up on her.
-
Collins returns Cooper's wink and doesn't mind if anyone sees. Our relationship can't be a secret at this point. Besides, so what?. She thanks him for the phaser and asks for a tricorder as well. As she accepts it, she tells the others in the party "I'll calibrate this one to scan for gun powder based projectile weapons." She then adjusts the settings to do just that.
-
Having made sure his tricorder, communicator and phaser are ready, Rangin heads up to Ferguson, "Just to confirm, Lt. JG Collins and I will be going down first, the others to follow when we give the all clear, but that shouldn't take long."
He then heads across to Graham and despite the fact that as far as Rangin is concerned he may as well be a drooling idiot, Graham is still far too useful not to be in the party. "Good to hear your ready for service." before turning to T'Var, "Ma'am" and then heading for the transporter pad to wait for Collins and the pair of them to beam down.
-
Collins walks up to the transporter pad and nods at Rangin. "Ready," she tells the mission leader.
-
Ferguson doesn't react to Kylah's phaser gesture except to flinch slightly, then frown.
He beams down Rangin and Collins, and they find themselves in a small, somewhat seedy hotel room. A thin, sweaty man in his mid-30s wearing a brown pinstriped suit gets up from an overstuffed chair and smiles wearily. "Joe Morris. I'm very glad to see you!"
His Starfleet gear and a battered, round straw hat rest on the threadbare blanket of the room's only bed.
-
Rangin's attention is drawn to the man standing up and responds to the greeting. "Mr Morris? I'm Ens Rangin," he nods in his partner's direction, "Lt. J.G. Collins from the USS Yorktown."
Turning to Collins, "Better scan the area ma'am, check everything's clear." before going back to the nervous man in front of him and looking around the part of the room he is standing in.
"Are you ok, sir?" Rangin does a quick check to make sure he matches the description they were given and then looks around to make sure that there is enough room for the other four to beam down while pulling out his tricorder and carrying out a brief scan of the area.
-
Collins already has her hand on her tricorder before Rangin asks. She holds it up and turns around 360 degrees pointing the tricorder away from her, then checks the readings for signs of weapons.
-
Graham resists the urge to reply "whatever" to Rangin's assuredly insincere best wishes and simply nods ever so slightly.
As he checks his passer and communicator he realizes he has a message. But Collins and Rangin are already beaming down and he doesn't feel ready to deal with what he assumes is a message from Nia that will justifiably make him feel worse for not even thinking about Valentine's Day.
He doesn't read it, rather he taps a quick message to Nia. CU when I get back BG
-
Morris says, "Welcome to both of you. I'm fine, thanks. Just relieved to see you."
He appears to be the same person - by face, height and weight - as shown in the Starfleet personnel file which Rangin earlier consulted. There is enough space for four more people to beam down, but Rangin sees that it might be a good idea to push a couch and table to the walls to provide more room.
His and Collins's tricorder scans confirm the results of Graham's earlier readings from orbit.
Graham's phaser and communicator are in proper working order.
-
Rangin looks around and moves the furniture back to give a little extra space before the rest arrive. Once done he calls back up giving the all cllear to Ferguson and finally responding to the nervous personal
"Well sir, we are here to help"
-
Graham realizes that this Ferguson guy was in the dust-up with Ens. Kyah he observed way back when--it seems like forever--on patrol.
He frowns slightly, then approaches Kylah--if possible, putting himself between her and Ferguson with his back to the transporter chief--and gives her a thumbs up, patting his phaser in its stashed position. "Well, we've got our phasers," he says, forcing a small smile. "We're off to a good start."
-
Ferguson acknowledges Rangin's message and says to those waiting, "They're ready for you down below. Step onto the transporter platform, please."
-
Nia has a spare moment to glance at her mail account, and when she sees there's been a response from Booker, she's quick to tap on the message.
The curtness of the reply takes her aback for a second or two. Then she closes the message and looks up at the viewscreen. A reply like that to her own, rather emotive words, can't help but rankle her. Offhand she can think of two reasons for Booker to act this way.
First, he might already have his mind in the game, in Action Hero mode, in which case he's probably busy calculating the odds of various defensive or offensive strategies. If that's what's going on, she's glad he's not wasting time composing the perfect response to send to a sorta-girlfriend.
On the other hand, maybe he's still pissed off with her, and her simple text message, even if sincerely meant, wasn't enough for him to accept her olive branch. He might resent her sticking her nose into his medical business and reminding everyone of his injuries. Which he basically has me to blame for anyway. Nia's mouth tightens ruefully.
Whatever the story is, Nia's reaction remains the same: to back out her communications account. She'll wait until he gets back before finding out which guess, if any, is correct.
Of course if something awful happens and she doesn't see him again, Nia knows she'll always regret this decision. But I can't live my life assuming death's around the corner.
-
Kylah is grateful that she is no longer able to see Ferguson, thanks to Mr. Graham's nearness--possibly intentional, she cannot tell. Her relief is moderated due to his use of that obscene gesture. He does not mean to be vulgar, she thinks, staring up at him and wishing her ability to read him were not being strangled by... whatever is going on with her mind. She would address his habit of making that gesture, and explain what it means in the culture of the Upper Northern Continent on Elas... if it were not so unfathomably unimportant.
Right now, Kylah is standing two meters away from a man who's made vague threats, yelled vicious lies about her, and now may have done something to her, to either her mind or body or both--the horror of it being that she cannot know for certain.
Given that this same person is in charge of imminently tearing apart her molecules and subsequently ensuring they are properly reconnected down on the planet... Yes, Kylah has far worse things to worry about than an inadvertent use of a filthy gesture by someone she is growing, little by little, to trust.
To Mr. Graham, all she says is, "I am glad to be armed." Then Ferguson invites them to step onto the transporter pads and a sharp sense of deja vu strikes her. Before her very first mission, to the Sakathian station. Ferguson hated her even then. She had not understood it. Now, knowing he is friends with Darren Zweller, his resentment makes so much more sense.
Since she will only be rematerializing on the planet to be placed under Ensign Rangin's command, Kylah has very little desire to go through with this mission at all. But she cannot back out now.
With a painful swallow she turns her hands into determined fists and pushes herself forward. Inevitably she nears Ferguson on her way to the pad, and she tenses in memory of his comment last time. At least, unlike that time, Kylah is not surrounded by strangers. She knows her colleagues better.In fact, it strikes her that he is especially likely to say nothing for that very reason: she is not alone. Coward, she thinks and casts him a disdainful glance as she passes by.
-
The remainder of the Yorktown landing party steps onto the transporter platform and is beamed down. Once rematerialized, you see Morris, Rangin, Collins and a threadbare hotel room like something out of an ancient history textbook. Morris introduces himself to everyone.
-
Kylah greets Lt. Morris and introduces herself as well, glad to connect a living face with the voice she spoke to earlier. Then, sharply aware of having both the least experience and the least understanding of how she is to be used on this mission, she falls silent and waits for orders.
-
Rangin inhales deeply and slowly lets it out to the familiar sound of the transporter as the rest of the group appears. Time to put his game face on as some of his friends would say. Be confident and sure, as people react better.
Rangin steps forward and introduces Mr Morris to the rest of the team hefore deciding on what the next courses of action should be.
"Dr. T'Var: can you check on Mr Morris and see what condition he is in?"
When the doctor has started, Rangin turns to the others. "Mr. Kylah, Sir,", Rangin nods at Garcia, "When the doctor has finished checking him over, question him, find out what he knows about the kidnapping."
Rangin then turns to the two Security officers. "Mr. Graham, ma'am, we need a sit rep of the hotel. While there is a kidnapping risk, we need to be prepared in case someone comes knocking unexpectedly. Ways in, ways out, that kind of thing."
"Let's get to it."
-
Graham resists rolling his eyes. "Shouldn't we get a little information about who the 'bad guys' Morris is hiding from are first, so the, ah, first warning that we've run into them isn't them shooting at us? We're not exactly inconspicuous" he says, tugging at his uniform shirt. After a brief pause he chokes out a few more words. "With all due respect, sir."
-
Kylah glances at Mr. Graham, then looks somewhere in the neighborhood of Mr. Rangin's chest, too uncomfortable to meet his gaze. She did suggest wearing era-appropriate garments for this very reason, but she fears commenting on this, lest she seem as if she is criticizing Lt. Collins for dismissing the idea, or Mr. Rangin for rushing them down without a plan ahead of time.
It does strike her that Graham and Collins would both be justified in feeling some measure of satisfaction at Rangin's having acted before planning things through--a judgment he visited upon them more than once. Perhaps that is why Mr. Graham made the remark he just did.
In any event, she does not wish to say "I told you so." Instead she just offers a possible solution, as if she had never made the earlier recommendation.
"Excuse me, Mr... sir," she amends quickly. Calling a man with whom she has been on intimate terms "sir" is extremely awkward and she hurries on. "Lt. Thalen works with some other crew members who perform," she says quietly. "It may not be likely, but perhaps he knows of some costumes that could be of use to us. And he could beam them down."
She hesitates to suggest an alternative, especially one that is unethical, but... "Another possibility--as we are in a hotel--perhaps there are laundry facilities where we could... borrow some things." Kylah shrugs in embarrassment; not just for the suggestion, but for the idea of someone in her family being improperly attired and in need of resorting to theft. Her mother would be horrified.
"But Lt. Garcia and I can start, as you suggested, sir." She turns toward Lt. Morris. "If you please, Lieutenant, could you tell us how you came to be here, and when you last saw your colleagues? It would also be helpful to know if there are any locals whom you trust."
-
Dr. T'Var scans Morris and soon quietly tells Rangin, "He is uninjured and in generally good health. His blood pressure and pulse rate are somewhat elevated, but not dangerously so."
Morris responds to Kylah and Garcia, but the room is small enough that everyone can hear what he says: "I was out doing field research on the city streets three days ago. When I returned late that afternoon to the house our CAG uses for living quarters and as our base, I saw the other members of the group being taken away at gunpoint. Six or seven gangsters put them into two cars and drove away. I was far enough away that they didn't see me. But I was outnumbered and thought that, if I tried to intervene, they'd hurt the others or just capture me, too. I've been kicking myself since then for not at least trying, though." His shoulders sag. "I waited until they left and went into the house, which had been ransacked; our subspace transmitter was smashed, too. I got out of there in a hurry and have been on the run ever since. This is the second - or is it the third? - hotel I've been in since then."
He thinks a moment. "We do have some reliable Iotians outside of the Syndicate that we hire for particular projects or jobs, and before this happened I would've said I trusted them, but now I... just don't know."
As on OC3, ask as many questions as you like now; I'll answer and then you can ask any followup questions.
-
Theatre costumes? Collins raises one eyebrow for Graham's benefit when Kylah suggests contacting Thalen's acting troupe. She moves to the door and listens for footsteps as she adjusts her tricorder for a wider scan.
-
Collins hears no footsteps outside. Her wider scan shows nothing different from what Graham learned from orbit.
-
Collins opens the door slowly and cautiously steps into the hall. She makes a visual inspection of the corridor, looking for storage rooms and exits.
-
Graham agrees with Kylah's suggestion but figures for the moment that endorsing it might just convince Rangin to oppose for his own reasons.
When Collins gives him a funny look at the mention of the costumes he just shrugs slightly. He gestures to indicate he sees her moving toward the door, then holds up one finger and points to Morris, to indicate he'll be along in a moment.
"What precipitated your moves between hotels?"
"You use Ionians outside of the Syndicates - why?"
"What's the CAG's relationship with the Syndicates? Anything change lately?"
"What should we expect from a Sigma Ionian if we run into one in uniform?"
-
It takes Graham all of about 5 seconds to open his mouth and begin saying stupid things again. Find out the bad guys are? as in what he had just asked, no ordered, Kylah and Garcia to do. Perhaps Graham was unused to using a tricorder and is only capable of doing it physically instead of using his brains. Well, no change there, then.
Rangin considers what Kylah has to say and he's surprised to see her even consider stealing things from the hotel. Her line of thought is the correct one in that they really should be in something more suitable in attire if ther are going to look round the place. But what bothers him the most, and it bothers him even more that it...well bothers him, is her refusal to even look him in the eye.
It was still a difficult mindswitch to put himself in the place of leading this team considering his previous interactions with them over the last few days. At least T'Var manages to do what is expected, and strangely enough Collins is being more helpful than usual. Still, it isn't going to get any easier
As T'Var reports, Rangin thanks her quietly, before looking across at Lt Morris, who is filling them in. The most important thing at the moment is information, and Morris is the only current source.
"Lt. Morris, I hope you don't mind, a few more questions...
How secure was the building you were working from?
Had you had any trouble from any people before it occurred?
Who was your contact in the Syndicate?
Who are the reliable Iotians you mentioned?
Was there any reason you can think of, why they might have decided to capture the CAG? Something you found out recently or a powerplay between groups?
Did you recognise anything about those who carried out the kidnapping?
Do you normally wear your uniform, or something more local to move around? What would you suggest for us?"
-
Graham is tempted to let loose and laugh his ass off after Rangin refuses to acknowledge his suggestion that they find out who the hell they might be looking for and how the hell people will respond to their uniforms--and then proceeds to ask just that.
Later.
-
With both men taking over the questioning, Kylah steps away, both because she does not want Morris to feel swarmed, and because it seems clear that she is extraneous. Mr. Graham is an experienced investigator; Mr. Rangin is curious and methodical. And Lt. Garcia... surely he will contribute as well.
Kylah's one useful attribute is known only to T'Var--and it barely exists anymore. At least if her empathic abilities were not so dull, she might be able to assess whether Morris is being sincere. Not that I ever seemed to learn much except vague impressions, she admits. And even then, I have been deceived. Badly.
She notices Collins's activity, which does not seem terribly purposeful. It appears that the women are all surplus to requirements at the moment. Collins has no one to shoot, T'Var has no one to heal, and Kylah... Kylah has no purpose at all. With a silent sigh, she paces the room and--if there is a window--she will peek outside--making sure she is not visible--to see what this replication of old Earth looks like.
-
There is no one in the hallway; it is somewhat dark but Collins can see clearly. There are eight wooden doors on each side of the hallway, each of which has a brass oval plaque with a number engraved on it. She sees no obvious storage room or exit from where she stands.
Graham asks, and Morris responds:
"What precipitated your moves between hotels?" - "I didn't want to stay in any single place too long. I thought I'd probably be safer if I kept moving."
"You use Ionians outside of the Syndicates - why?" - "It's 'Iotians.' Even before this, I wasn't entirely sure I could trust everyone in the Syndicate. It's also just good fieldwork to make connections to people outside of the local power structure."
"What's the CAG's relationship with the Syndicates? Anything change lately?" - "There's just a single Syndicate, and we're supposed to advise and guide it, help them become a healthier, less violent society, and try to repair the social damage done by the Chicago Mobs book. Things hadn't changed much lately."
"What should we expect from a Sigma Io[t]ian if we run into one in uniform?" - "You mean, how will they react to seeing someone in Starfleet uniform? We haven't had any problems with that. Most seem actually kind of excited to meet an offworlder. But now...."
Rangin asks, and Morris responds:
How secure was the building you were working from? - "Relatively secure. We had modern Federation locks and a security system. But it's not a fortress, and a really determined capo and his crew could break in, I guess, if they really put their minds to it. And it looks like maybe they did."
Had you had any trouble from any people before it occurred? - "Just the usual low-level stuff. Nothing we weren't used to."
Who was your contact in the Syndicate? - "We worked regularly and directly with Okmyx, Krako and the others, and their aides."
Who are the reliable Iotians you mentioned? - "Well, let's see.... Hmm. Three off the top of my head. Heg Lobol is a local businessman who really understands how destructive and futile the past gang wars were, and seems committed to changing things. Very friendly and smart. Mella Goblek is the widow of a boss who was killed about ten years ago; she wants to see her planet do better, too. She's a heroine to a lot of Iotian women. Polb Yonnix is a former Krako henchman who broke with him last year. Very shrewd and helpful. He's given us some really useful information about what's really going on in the top reaches of the Syndicate, and seems very admiring of the Federation and Starfleet."
Was there any reason you can think of, why they might have decided to capture the CAG? Something you found out recently or a powerplay between groups? - "I've been wracking my brains about that, and no. Not a thing."
Did you recognise anything about those who carried out the kidnapping? - "I didn't know any of the guys but one, maybe, and he looked a lot like Okmyx's no-good son Cledd, but from that distance I couldn't be absolutely sure."
Do you normally wear your uniform, or something more local to move around? What would you suggest for us?" - "We usually wore uniforms, but since the kidnapping I've tried to blend in and have worn native garb - a suit, tie, boater, wingtip shoes, as you see. I'd suggest the same for you - dresses for your female officers, of course. Someone who kidnapped four Starfleet officers might want to acquire even more, you know?"
Kylah, looking out the window and down, sees a typical street scene of Chicago c. 1925, just as she's seen in the history tapes of Old Earth - cars zipping back and forth in the street, advertising on billboards and large posters, and people in period garb walking about. Some are carrying firearms but most are not. After a few seconds, she is surprised to see two men in Starfleet uniform walking together along the sidewalk just across the street from the hotel. Garcia walks over and peers out, too.
-
Collins comes back in the room just as Morris is answering Rangin's last question. Oh HELL no! "I'll take the suit and tie combo, thank you." she tells Rangin and Morris. "The dresses of the time don't have much to them, let alone places to stash phasers and communicators." She takes her pony tail and wraps it into a tight bun "and a, what did you call the hat? a boater? will hide my hair. With your approval, of course, sir." she tells Rangin. It feels odd to call someone of a lower rank sir, but he is the mission commander. "In the meantime, while the corridor is still clear, permission to do a little recon, see what I can find."
-
Kylah's eyes open wide at the sight of the Starfleet uniforms. "Lt. Morris," she blurts, speaking over Collins's words slightly. "Can you come to the window immediately? There are two people wearing our uniforms. Do you recognize them?"
She does not dare look away, not wanting to miss where they are going. "Considering how imitative this culture is, might these be people who have emulated our uniform style? Or could they be the captors?" She remembers her own uniform theft back on Anubis, and though it likely has no bearing on such a distant planet, she shudders at the thought that these might be the villains having stolen and now wearing the crew's own clothes.
"And Ensign Rangin, sir," she adds, "Permission to request clothing as soon as possible. If these are not mere trend-followers, we should follow them. I do not care what I wear, as long as I fit in. I--I do not think I would pass for a male very easily."
Kylah does not think Collins will, either--she may be tall and less curvy than Kylah, but her face is pretty and her figure undeniably female. But Collins seems so extraordinarily bent on avoiding something that highlights her femininity, so she must do as she feels comfortable.
As far as where to put her belongings such as her phaser and communicator, Kylah notes that women of this era seem to have purses around their shoulders. Likely that is where they put their own weapons or other items.
-
It takes a few moments for Rangin to realise that when Collins directed the question about the clothing it is to him and not to Lt. Morris who is, of course, the higher rank and who Collins would naturally defer to. The considering her request something else does occur to him, that the local populace might have their own ideas.
"Perhaps it may be a good idea to find out if a lady wearing a suit is acceptable with the people around." He is about to give permission to scout around, when Kylah calls them across. "Good idea Mr Kylah, please let the Yorktown know. Conservative and non-descript would probably be better than something noticable."
He then gestures Lt Morris to the window to look outside. "If you please, sir," before turning back to Collins. "One moment, ma'am, let's see who it is outside."
-
Graham gestures to Collins. "Hey L-T." He points toward the window. "Can your tricorder pick out whether these two bogeys in Starfleet uniform have real-live communicators or other gear on them, beyond just the threads?"
-
Morris says skeptically, "I haven't ever seen any woman here in a suit and tie. Attire in this era of Earth history was very gender-specific. I think you'd draw a lot more attention to yourself among the natives that way." He goes to the window and looks out; his eyes widen. "Starfleet uniforms, on Iotians? That's a first for me. And why would they start now?"
-
Kylah looks at Morris, then back down at the street. "Then you do not recognize them, sir? Is it possible..." She frowns. "Could they have started some kind of new form of idolatry, for lack of a better word, without your knowing it? There are only five of you, after all; you could not be expected to know everything of this society. And there was that communicator left behind. They are unlikely to have replicated the technology in so short a period of time, but such a device would seem almost magical to them. And those who were known to possess such technology, the Enterprise crew, might very well have inspired fear and admiration... and aspiration. Maybe that is why they captured the others, Lt. Morris, just as they did with Captain Kirk and the rest."
She excuses herself to quickly contact Lt. Thalen. "Sir, I do not know if there is a repository for historical clothing, either for theatrical productions or for any other purpose. But if there is, we need era-appropriate wardrobe. Captain Singh will confirm that we discussed this earlier. The era in question is Earth's 20th century, the first quarter, I believe. We will need three men's suits, fitting Ensigns Graham and Rangin, and Lt. Garcia; and two women's garments, for me and Dr. T'Var. There is some... debate... regarding what Lt. Collins feels comfortable wearing as a security officer in need of free motion." Kylah hopes she is being tactful. She has worn dresses all her life, as do all Elasian women, who are known to be deft warriors. I suppose it just takes getting used to. And as there is no time for that, Lt. Collins is not comfortable with a learning curve.
"If possible, please include purses in the female outfits, since we will not have utility belts available to us. If such era-appropriate items are too small, choose something from the nearest era that will suit. We will just have to claim to be following a new fashion. And..." Kylah darts a look at T'Var, then lowers her voice. "Perhaps a headband to help hide Dr. T'Var's distinctive non-human traits?"
As she waits for Thalen's response, she glances at Graham and Collins to see if she has asked for everything correctly.
-
Collins moves closer to the window to scan the strangers down on the street. She hears Kylah discussing clothing again Ugh! Why is that still an issue? They know we're not natives. And almost everyone here can handle themselves in a scuffle. Then she remembers, that according to the reports, Kirk and Spock got further with the bosses when attired appropriately. But women of that time were mere decoration, and she cannot reconcile herself to that role.
She looks at the tricorder to see what it says about the strangers' clothing and accessories.
-
Morris scratches his head. "It's possible, I suppose. But why now?"
Thalen responds, "Understood, Mr. Kylah. I'll pass that along to the Wardrobe Section. Stand by."
Collins's tricorder scan shows that the Iotians' clothing is made of a local variety of cotton, not duryon, as actual Starfleet uniforms are. They have on their persons small metal and plastic objects, but not phasers or communicators.
-
"Okay," Collins turns to tell the others, "they're wearing mock ups made from local fabric, and they do not have any of our tech on them." She lets the tricorder again hang at her side. "If I have to wear a dress, it had better be more than a handkerchief with fringe and straps," she states definitively.
-
"I think fringes would look good," Graham offers with obvious mock helpfulness.
He then gestures toward the window. "If these are some random locals adopting Starfleet attire they could have just painted targets on their back for whoever kidnapped the CAG. It would make a lot of sense to follow them." He pauses a moment. "Or warn them."
-
Morris smiles at Collins's declaration, and says, "Local fashion for women is definitely more than 'a handkerchief with fringe and straps.'"
Garcia nods at Graham's comment. He asks Rangin, "Your orders, sir?"
-
"Follow them sounds like a better option" says Rangin.
"One team for that and the other to look over the quarters and see if anyone has tried get in.
-
"May I suggest one Security with each team?" Collins says respectfully.
-
"Makes good sense," Rangin agrees with Collins. He turns over in his mind the permutations and winders if he can ever come to a simple solution of the people he can trust or people he needs to keep an eye on. Not to mention that they need to be capable of carrying out any action.
He considers ordering Kylah to come with him and sending Graham off if only to have him blow a gasket giving Rangin the opportunity to send him back to the ship...but that would be counterproductive. But there is no way he us letting Graham lead a team.
He turns to Dr. T'Var. "Ma'am, can you take Lt. Morris with Mr. Graham and Mr. Kylah and check out the area the CAG were using." Then he turns to the others. "Ma'am, sir. We will be following those outside." he says to Collins and Garcia before his final request to all of them. "Any questions?"
-
"As is, or wait for appropriate clothing?" Collins dreads the idea of not being able to move as freely as her uniform allows, but she will do as the mission leader decides.
-
Graham appreciates that Collins was Janey-in-the-spot suggestion what ought to be obvious to a mission leader but might not under present circumstances--without he himself having to say it, which would only invite god knows what kind of petty reaction.
Then again, maybe Rangin's back in the mode of showing everyone how sensible and mild-mannered he is, Graham realizes.
That theory is bolstered when he puts T'Var in charge of one team--which includes Kylah to boot.
-
Morris looks at Rangin and awaits his answer to Collins's question.
Kylah notices that the couple on the opposite sidewalk in Starfleet uniform are nearing the end of the block.
-
"I am about to lose sight of them," Kylah says, her hand touching the window as if that will prevent the strangers' movements. She lifts her communicator up again. "Kylah to Lt. Thalen. Sir, do you have an idea when we will receive the wardrobe? I do not mean to push but we need to leave the building as soon as possible."
-
"Stand by," Thalen says. "I just found out the clothes are being taken to the transporter room now."
-
Rangin's instincts are torn between the team being in disguise and not being noticed and making sure they don't lose the locals they have identified. Then again, it occurs to him that people walking around in Starfleet uniforms are going to be very obvious, so losing sight of them may not be such a problem, if they can follow directions from people who have noticed them instead.
"If the clothing is coming now, we use it, and then possibly ask around to find out where those characters went, if we hurry in the right direction."
Rangin crosses his arms and his fingers being to drum impatiently while waiting to see what Lt. Thalen is about to send down.
-
Soon the transporter beams hum and sparkle, and several stacks of clothing, hats, shoes and other accessories materialize. Each is labeled as to whom it is intended. Collins is glad to see that a pants and blouse ensemble, efficient but unmistakably feminine, has been sent down for her.
Feel free to use Google Images and then post a link - not an actual picture in-thread - here as to what your character will be wearing, appropriate from what we saw of Iotian society in ST:TOS "A Piece of the Action."
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"Now, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Collins is almost gleeful as she dons her new garments. "Look at me! I'm Amelia Earhart!" She poses for the others, mostly Graham, to admire.
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Graham frowns, wishing they'd sent some instructions down as he tries to tie his--what the hell were the called? Cravates? Neckties?
Although he finds that the suit fits across his shoulders better than his Starfleet uniform.
http://www.zootsuitstore.com/Shoppin...uit4017bg1.jpg
He can't help but laugh at Collins' abrupt change of mood. He shakes his head. "Uh, yeah--maybe we'll be lucky enough to follow these folks into a dance club and you can cut a rug, as the old saying goes, L-T."
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Kylah breathes a silent sigh of relief once the garments are beamed down. There may certainly come a time on this mission when their uniforms are of use; indeed, it suddenly strikes her that if a new cult has formed around Starfleet trappings, she and the rest of the landing party might benefit from going undercover as Iotians in Starfleet uniforms!
The thought of this odd double-bluff gives her a genuine smile, which she did not think possible.
She looks among the outfits and finds the one meant for her. Waiting for her turn to change privately, she emerges in a rather pretty blue and silver dress, a filmy material reminiscent of Elasian clothing, but aside from bare arms, the dress seems quite prim to Kylah.
One thing she does wish is era-appropriate undergarments. The gown does not fall flat down in the front, as was the ideal of that time period--This time period, I should say, she thinks with a glance out the window. Her hips and breasts mar what should be the proper straight lines of the dress, and she is displeased with the result.
And the shoes are preposterous. But needs must.
She looks at the others and once again smiles, this time inwardly. They do look appropriate--Collins less so, but there were some mavericks. The Security officer will no doubt attract attention in the bloomer-like trousers, but if the mission leader and her fellow Security officer do not think it is a risk, so be it. Collins looks happy: in any other context, that would be all that matters.
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T'Var changes into a respectable dark-green lady's dress and matching coat with a cloche hat to conceal her Vulcan ears: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikiped...Vilmabanky.jpg
Garcia looks bemused when he emerges from the hotel room's tiny bathroom wearing a white shirt, light-gray plaid suit, vest and navy blue polka-dotted bowtie (a clip-on, Graham notices): http://www.thepeoplehistory.com/2sf/...nmodelsuit.jpg. He also has a dark gray fedora.
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Collins finds a mirror on the back of the bathroom door to check how she looks in her outfit. She then places her communicator and phaser in the trousers' pockets, and her tricorder in the oversized handbag provided for her
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Rangin looks over the clothes he has been sent to wear and is relieved that some sartorial taste has been applied. He steps out in a double breasted dark suit with a rose neatly attached in one buttonhole.https://www.pinterest.com/pin/518969557036322151/ He brushes a few specks of dust from a matching fedora before looking round the assembled team.
"Ok we need to get moving. You know what to do, stay in touch and don't do anything too foolish." He nods to the group as he settles the hat neatly on his head. "Let's go."
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Morris picks up his hat. He, T'Var, Graham and Kylah leave the room. Rangin, Collins and Garcia are right behind them. There are stairs to the ground floor, or an elevator.
A shabbily-dressed man, walking by in the hotel hallway with his hat in his hand, looks a little surprised to see so many people come out of one room.
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Graham sees the man, smiles broadly, and points both hands, pistol style, at the man in the hallway. "Hey, next time we'll make sure to invite you to the party, daddy-o," he says with a knowing wink.
"Why don't you take the elevator, L- uh, Amelia Earhart," he says, turning briefly toward Collins. "We'll take the stairs."
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Collins mimics Graham's pistol hand "You got it, Daddy-o" and giggles a bit, then turns to Rangin and Garcia and nods that they should go first, so she can keep her eye on them, bodyguard style.
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The Communications Officer side of Kylah nearly winces, but she knows it will be worse if she says anything in front of the stranger. She glances at Lt. Garcia to see if he is as concerned as she is.
If the stranger passes them and it is safe to speak without his hearing, she will turn to the group and address them--first looking at the air near Rangin's shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, if I may make a suggestion..." Her gaze shifts to the rest. "We will likely be anachronistic in our behavior, in ways we may not even realize, as none of us are from this time or place. Yet we all wish to blend in.
"For that reason, I strongly urge that all of us refrain from using any slang unless we hear the locals use it. And even then, with great care. Some terms may not be appropriate for strangers, such as forms of address or casual profanity. Our attempts at communicating should be restricted to follow the natives' leads."
Kylah looks at her superior officer. "Lt. Garcia, sir, is that not the safest choice?"
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Garcia says, "Yes, probably so. I don't know the slang of this era, either."
Morris smiles wryly. "I do, and with all due respect to Ens. Graham, I've never heard 'daddy-o' used here before."
As Graham suggested, Rangin, Collins and Garcia take the elevator down. The lobby is dingy and warm. A bored-looking clerk, thin and sweaty, sits behind a long wooden reception desk. He barely looks at you. Cars and pedestrians pass by on the street outside, visible through large but dirty windows.
Morris, T'Var, Graham and Kylah take the stairs. On the third-floor landing, you find a badly-dressed derelict is passed out on the floor. An empty milk bottle rests beside him. The floor is gritty and there is some broken glass.
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Graham acknowledges the advice without debate - realizing that while he's sure he'd heard that phrase in an old Earth vid in which people were wearing strange old clothes, they might now have been exactly the same style as what the team is wearing now...
Graham gestures toward the unconscious man. "Do you think he's in any immediate medical danger, Doc?" he asks T'Var.
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Collins suddenly remembers the glossary of colloquialisms she'd prepared for the landing party, and forwards it to each of the team's communicators. She then looks up something time-appropriate to say to Rangin and Garcia to get them to hurry along.
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"Wise choice, Mr. Kylah, which everyone should heed." Rangin has no clue as to what Collins and Graham are referring to and he is fairly sure that his idea of slang would be inappropriate. After all yhe cant he is used to is based off mining terms or corruption which is a language in its own right to make sure no one else understood it.
As they exit onto the street, Rangin points out the direction they need to go.
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Dr. T'Var crouches and briefly examines the man, who does not stir. The Vulcan physician takes out her tricorder, which she had concealed beneath her shawl along with her medikit, and scans him. "He is severely inebriated and has several chronic health issues, but is in no immediate danger," she says at last, looking up. "Shall I render medical assistance, or should we press on?"
Rangin is followed out onto the sidewalk by Collins and Garcia, and you go in the direction of the Starfleet-uniformed pair. You do not see them ahead of you. The sidewalk is somewhat crowded, and from time to time you are jostled.
Rangin's communicator beeps. Several people glance at him curiously.
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Drink till you pass out--yeah I know what that feels like, Graham thinks.
Graham shakes his head. "I say let him sleep it off, like the old saying goes, and press on...uh, assuming we all agree--nobody dies and made me king, after all?" He glances at the Doctor and Kylah.
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Kylah looks down at the unfortunate man. "Dr. T'Var, you are vastly more experienced in medical knowledge--and probably in landing parties as well. Your logic and expertise should guide us in this matter. Besides," she adds quietly, "our mission leader put you in charge. We should defer to you, even if you did not outrank us."
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Rangin reaches into an inside pocket and turns the beeping off before heading to one side of the street out of the way of the general crowd. He nods at the other two and then gestures for them to follow hoping for a little privacy. Once they are somewhere a little more anonymous he grumbles, "Could really do with a little more of the local currency, might prove useful. At least it would get us off the street and somewhere quieter."
If the area is private enough with Colins and Garcia screening him, Rangin will pull out his communicator and answer it. Otherwise he starts looking round for somewhere better.
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T'Var purses her lips. "Very well. He should be all right. As time may be of the essence, let us press on." You take the stairs down to the lobby and then go to the street outside.
Once there, Morris says, "We could either take a cab or walk. Our house isn't all that far."
Rangin and the others have found an alley just off the street where there is some privacy. Rangin flips open his communicator's lid. "Yorktown to landing party," he hears the Captain say. "Report, Mr. Rangin."
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Graham glances from Morris to T'Var to Kylah. "Thoughts? If anybody's worried, my leg's OK, but a cab may give us a chance to ask the driver for local scuttlebutt."
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Kylah, curious to see what the vehicles look like close up, steps closer to the edge of the pavement for a better view. Riding within one of these old-fashioned contraptions might be exciting, even if only for a brief journey, but there is more at stake than her personal enjoyment.
She turns back to the others and tries not to show her obvious bias in favor of this unique experience. Though her eyes are bright with interest, she speaks casually. "If it would not be unusual to hire one of these cars for a short distance, perhaps Mr. Graham makes a good point. We could ask the driver if he or she has seen those strangers in the odd costumes."
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T'Var says, "I have no preference."
Morris grins. "A cab it is. TAXI!" He raises his hand and steps toward the curb.
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While Rangin reports to the Captain, Collins stays near the alley's entrance, trying to look casual. She watches the people and vehicles go by with a slight sense of wonder. She'd seen conveyances like these in the ancient movies her grandparents and great grandparents loved to watch. She's curious about the security and stability of these things in real life. In the movies, they always looked so flimsy and easy to destroy.
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Morris's jubilance at the prospect of hailing a cab takes Kylah by surprise. Does he not have the funds to take advantage of such minor luxuries? She steps closer to him and reaches to touch his arm delicately. "Sir," she murmurs, aiming a swift glance at Mr. Graham before redirecting her attention to Morris. "Perhaps you should not be quite so... noticeable... when there are people seeking to kidnap you."
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The boxy, primitive motor conveyances in the street move quickly but safely, from what Collins can see.
Morris drops his hand and looks abashed at Kylah's comment. "You're right, of course, Ensign. My mistake. I've just been cooped up for so long I sort of forgot."
A yellow Checker cab nevertheless pulls up. It is driven by a fat man wearing a dirty plaid shirt and cloth hat. He is chewing on a stubby, unlit cigar.
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Graham nods approvingly at Kylah.
Just need to give her some support send and keep that bastard away from her and she'll do fine...
Graham gestures for Morris to proceed, then moves to be slightly behind T'Var and Kylah so they can board as well.
Should start getting frosty about cover and threat detection, he thinks, glancing around and just once touching where his phaser is stowed in his costume.
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Kylah looks on in a flash of concern, noticing that this arrangement will put Lt. Morris nearest the backseat door on the driver's side. That is imprudent. He could be seen and snatched out if the door is not locked. It is a standard security procedure in her family to have an attendant on either side of any conveyance, to protect against such attacks. She cannot think of a way to suggest this to Mr. Graham without either insulting him or arousing the curiosity of the unpleasant-looking cab driver.
Thinking quickly, she grabs hold of Morris's sleeve, not as gently as before. "Oh, but I want the window seat," she says with high-handed petulance, aware the driver can probably hear them. "Let me get in first." She clambers over Lt. Morris and gives the cabbie a smile while she settles herself against the other door. After a second she realizes her skirt needs adjusting and she pushes it neatly down back over her knees.
She exhales and rests her arm against the window, casually looking down to see if there is any way she can recognize whether the door of this unfamiliar vehicle is locked.
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Morris looks oddly at Kylah but lets her sit where she wishes. She sees two levers on the door and a knob along the top edge.
The others take their seats. "Where to, folks?" the cabbie grunts.
Morris provides an address, and the cab pulls out. He murmurs to Graham, "That's two blocks away from the house, so we can scout it out instead of all arriving at once."
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"Yes ma'am." begins Rangin. "Lt. Morris is fine, slightly shaken but in good health. We currently have no known reasons as to why the attack occurred on the party or indeed who carried it out. We have also noted a pair of people dressed in Starfleet uniform, fakes not originals, but still in complete contrast to everyone else in the city. We have currently split into to groups. Lt. Collins, Lt. Garcia and I are pursuing the people in uniform. Lt. Morris is taking Dr T'var, Ensigns Graham and Kylah to the house they CAG was staying in to see if they can find any reason for the kidnapping there." He pauses for a moment before continuing.
"Ma'am has there been any word from the ruling syndicate on what happened and if we are expected to meet them and are there any other orders we should follow?"
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Graham gives a slight nod and grunt of approval to Morris, realizing he himself should have thought to warn the officer not to blurt out the actual address. One, it's obviously known and someone could have local transportation services listening for it. Two, the location itself could be under surveillance.
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Singh says, "Thank you, Mr. Rangin. I don't want to contact the Syndicate until you learn more down there. We don't know if this was some kind of inside job, after all. Do your best to find the kidnapped officers, and when you think that contacting the Syndicate would be useful, do so yourself, or let me know, and I will."
The cab pulls away from the curb and into traffic, the cabbie dodging and weaving around other cars and the occasional brave pedestrian trying to cross the street. He evidently likes to use his horn.
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Kylah tries to hold onto anything that will keep her relatively steady, not including Lt. Morris beside her. She waits until the cab slows down--for anything--until she speaks up, first addressing her colleagues. "I forgot to ask you all... did you see those strangely dressed people walking down the street, back there? I did not recognize them or their clothing." She then looks inquisitively up at the driver. "Perhaps you know, sir. There was this couple, in what looked like uniforms of some sort. Bright colors, black boots... and no hats or gloves! Have you seen such people before? Perhaps a circus or something...?"
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The cabbie chews around his cigar and grunts. "Yeah, I seen 'em. Some kind of weird costume like those Feddies wear, I guess. Just a new fad."
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"Uh, yeah, those 'Feddies,'" Graham says. "What's the word on them? I mean--why would anybody around here want to dress like 'em?"
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"Yes ma'am" finishes Rangin as he closes the call.
"Ok," he says to his two companions, "let's see if we can find those people. I'm guessing if we look for the stream of people muttering about the strangers in funny clothes, we may locate them."
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Collins, Garcia and Rangin emerge from the alley, back out onto the sidewalk. Passersby aren't talking about strangers in funny clothes, from what little you can overhear.
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Nodding at Mr. Graham, Kylah takes a swift, questioning glance at Lt. Morris. He didn't seem to know about these... what would be the word? Fans? Groupies? ... despite having lived here for quite a while. Curious.
She adds on to Graham's question. "I cannot imagine wanting to dress like that, but if this is a new fad, I would like to know more about it." Kylah eyes the driver. "Do you know if they have a--a club, or some place where they gather? Are there actual 'Feddies' on the planet whom they are imitating?"
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Collins motions in the direction the two in mock Starfleet uniforms were last seen. "Maybe they went into a store or restaurant. We should 'window shop' for them along the way."
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The cabbie says, "No, I don't know anything about 'em. If it ain't in The Book, I don't want anything to do with it. And yeah, the Feds have some people here, helping out the Syndicate, getting their piece of the action." He glances over his shoulder and narrowly misses another car. "What rock've you been living under, lady?"
Garcia replies to Collins, "Makes sense to me." The three wander down the street, looking in windows as you go, but don't see them. As you come to the next street corner, Collins spots the pair in Starfleet uniform at the end of the next block, still walking away.
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Kylah tries to remember what she learned in the briefing about this planet and society. She smiles fatuously and twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. "There are far more interesting and fun things to do than pay attention to politics. I suppose I knew there were 'Feds' around, but I was wondering if there were any who were especially, well, famous." She recalls Lord Fastolfe. "Any with that... star power, who might have drawn these imitators to him. Or her," she adds with a dismissive shrug, keeping her smile playful. "You seem the sort of person who knows where the 'action' is. I would be grateful if you knew where I could get some information about that. I sometimes get bored with my usual activities. A change would be nice."
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Collins half turns to Rangin and Garcia "There" she surreptitiously indicates the two targets and starts after them, at a reasonable pace, but faster than they are walking, so she can catch up without seeming to chase them. She's confident her shipmates will follow.
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Graham was about to try to cover for Kylah by saying something to the effect that she "doesn't get out much" when she pursues a decidedly different tack.
She's doing her job, he reminds himself.
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The cabbie looks back again and leers. "What do you have in mind, missy? This is a happenin' town. Lots to do."
Garcia nods and matches his pace with Collins's.
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The cabbie's expression reminds Kylah far too much of Ferguson and Zweller; for a second or two, her finger stops toying with her hair and she shrinks back. Then she recovers. This is her duty and she is perfectly safe to play a role. "Well," she begins, somewhat hoarsely, and repeats it: "Well, I just meant... these Feddie imitators. Is there a place they gather, for entertainment? A nightclub or some other place? It would amuse me to see what the fuss is about." She pastes on a playful smile. "Or what about the Syndicate members? Where do the 'bigwig' crowd enjoy an evening out?"
Kylah moistens her lips, hoping she is on the right track, and turns to Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var. "While we are in town, would it not be interesting to meet some important people, or at least know where we can find some..." She glances back at the cabbie, remembering his words. "...Some 'happenin' things?"
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Rangin smiles at Collins' eagerness to catch up with the strangers ahead and increases his own speed to match the others lagging behind only slightly and waiting to see how Collins will handle the situation.
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The cabbie chews around on his cigar, grins and says, "Well, Valentino's is always worth a visit. It's a speakeasy on Fourth Street. Always somethin' goin' on there, y'know?" He pulls over to the curb. "OK, we're here. That'll be two bucks fifty."
Wending their way through the crowd of passersby on the sidewalk, Collins, Garcia and Rangin soon catch up with the two in Starfleet uniform. They are just ahead of you and don't seem to have noticed your approach.
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Collins says to Garcia, loud enough for the strangers to hear "Daddy, dig those cats! Those duds are the cat's meow!" Her hope is that they turn around, flattered, and talk to her and her teammates.
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Graham claps Morris on the shoulder, hoping he has whatever amount of whatever currency the driver is asking for on him "You heard the man, buddy" he says, nodding and starting to open the car door.
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"Thank you very much for the recommendation," Kylah says politely to the cab driver, and looks over to Lt. Morris, waiting for him to pay. She wonders if the fare is, well, fair. It does not matter, really, except that people of this era would know the average rates for taxicab rides of this length, and so she wants to ensure they do not seem out of place.
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One and then both of the two men in Starfleet uniform stop and turn. Collins notices that one is in Science or Medical blue, and the other is in Command yellow. Both have the Starfleet arrowhead on their breasts; neither has any cuff braid. Their costumes are reasonably close facsimiles of Starfleet uniform, although clearly not standard issue. The first one smiles. "Thanks. Not everyone we've seen today has had the same reaction."
Morris does indeed have some Iotian currency. He pays the cabbie, who seems satisfied, and you all pile out.
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Collins smiles at the strangers "Where'd you get them?" she asks. She knows putting the two men at ease will go a long way towards getting pertinent information out of them.
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Kylah looks down the street toward... whatever their destination is, she does not know the location yet... and then turns back to Dr. T'Var and Mr. Graham. "Do you think it is safe for Lt. Morris to go to the building? What if they have people watching out for him? Not only will his life be in peril, but our covers will be discovered as well."
Her teeth catch the edge of her lower lip, gnawing in consternation. She wants to see the apartment, but knows she might be chosen to hang behind with Morris. Although perhaps it should be someone who can defend him, should he be spotted by a potential kidnapper...? She says nothing, waiting for the more experienced officers to make the decision.
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Rangin steps back slightly just out of the way and being as unobtrusive as possible while Collins is talking and including Garcia in on the conversation. Instead he will just give them the once over to see if there is anything slightly different considering what everyone else is wearing.
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Graham grits is teeth, unhappy with what he feels appropriate to recommend. If anyone has to walk in the front door, it makes more sense for one of the women--who are as obviously can be not Morris-- to do it...
He grunts slightly and tenses, then exhales and glances at Kylah and then T'Var. "What are our options for getting in, Morris?" he asks, turning to the officer-on-the-run.
"I'm hoping there's a 'back door' bad guys wouldn't know about. Or that there are interior coordinates logged at sufficient detail to enable us to beam in."
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One of the costumed men proudly tells Collins, "The Krako Federation. It's the wave of the future! You can get one, too, if you want."
Rangin notices that the texture of the men's uniform fabric isn't quite right, and that the shirt colors are just a little off (the blue is a little too greenish, and the yellow is a brighter shade than the actual Command color). Their "phasers" are crude replicas, and the "tricorder" of the man in blue is thinner than a standard-issue Starfleet tricorder.
Most other people, passing by on the sidewalk, either stare curiously or - a few - even glare at the two.
Morris leads you to a nearby shaded alcove that provides some cover. He says, "That's the house, over there." It appears to be an unremarkable two-story red brick building with white trim. "There is a back door, but it's not concealed or anything." He thinks a moment. "I don't have the interior coordinates, but your ship should be able to determine them."
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Kylah almost smiles; if they could have beamed over, apparently they just wasted Lt. Morris's money. But the thought of seeing Ferguson again throws cold water over her amusement.
She shudders and examines the building's surroundings. "There--there might be value in going in directly," she says quietly. "If two or three of us go in, the rest of us might be able to notice any strangers paying undue attention. It could flush them out."
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Around you is a typical Twenties residential cityscape - sidewalks, some trees and bushes, a newsstand, and a mix of low-rise apartment buildings and houses. Cars pass and pedestrians walk by. Kylah's keen eyes see no one watching the house, or watching you.
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Graham purses his lips. "Yes, Mr. Kylah has a point," he says, rubbing his chin as he replies.
"Morris ought to beam in regardless, as we can assume that if anyone is watching they have at least some idea what he looks like." He frowns. "A couple of us passing for locals, walking up to the front door..." He frowns. "That's arguably a better way to detect a trap. Since our bad guys are in the kidnapping rather than the murder business as far as we know, they're unlikely to just open up with Tommy guns on two random people who might just be locals knocking at the wrong address."
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"I'm willing to go either way," Morris says.
The costumed men say, "Well, nice talking to you," and turn to leave.
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"Before you go," Collins says quickly, "where is the Krako Federation? We're, uh, new in this town."
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Kylah stares from Graham to Morris and finally to T'Var. She does not want to beam back with Morris, and realizes she can pass for a civilian better than the tall, powerful Vulcan.
With a swallow, she takes a tiny step forward. "It is your call, ma'am," she says to T'Var. "But I volunteer to go in through the main entrance, if that is what you think best." After a pause, she adds in a rushed murmur, "I should make a good decoy. Even when I am in uniform, many do not think I am truly part of Starfleet...at least, not as an officer."
She regrets voicing the sentiment, and pretends to brush some of her nearly black curls from her face as a pretext for hiding her flushed cheeks. But the words are true whether spoken or not, and her colleagues--especially these two--certainly know it.
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One of the costumed men says, "I'm glad you asked! There's a rally at Krako Hall in a few minutes; we're going there now. Want to come along? Captain Krako himself will be speaking."
T'Var rubs her chin for a moment. "These are tactical and field decisions better made by a Security officer, I believe. Mr. Graham, I relinquish command of this subgroup to you. How do you wish us to proceed?"
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Collins smiles broadly and turns to Garcia and Rangin "Oh, let's go, fellas. Whaddaya say?"
-
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Graham's surprised by the Vulcan doctor's comment - well, in point of fact mostly because he has no problem with her being in charge. But of course, maybe that's because she has good sense and doesn't bullshit around, thus her matter-of-fact and perfectly reasonable decision...
"Uh, thanks--I mean, don't sell yourself short, Doc," Graham replies, smiling briefly.
He rubs his chin again. "Well here's how I see it: we're in a pretty strong position if we do draw anybody out, not just because a couple of us can cover the others, but we can have Yorktown standing by. But if this is really a culture based on the old Terran 'mobs,' if we capture anybody the odds are that spilling the beans..." He glances at Kylah and T'Var, not sure if they're familiar with the phrase. "Ah, I mean that giving up intelligence on their compatriots is probably something heavily frowned upon. The best case would be convincing anybody it's a false alarm and subsequently tailing them rather than capturing a bunch of jamokes who try to grab Morris."
"All things considered, with Morris out I think Kylah and I have the best shot at passing as locals. We head to the front door, while Doc, you and Morris cover our approach. Then..."
He scowl, and glances at the building. "First things first. Doc, do you detect any life signs in there?"
He asks Morris "What do we need to do to open the front door?"
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Garcia seems a little surprised, but then smiles and says, "Sure, I'm game."
Dr. T'Var checks to make sure the coast is clear and no one will see her using her tricorder. Then, using her handbag as a shield, she scans the house. "No life signs inside, Ensign."
Morris says, "There's a keypad and a biosign scanner, but you can get in just with the keypad. The entry code is PA011268."
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The change in command structure happens so quickly Kylah is taken aback. Her immediate response is to blurt, "Should you not ask Ensign Rangin for permission--?" But she cuts herself off. Other than Morris, Dr. T'Var is of higher rank than any of them. She probably does not need to seek approval, even from the mission leader who made the assignments.
With an infinitesimal shake of her head, tacitly asking the others to ignore her, she edges near Mr. Graham and carefully takes note of Lt. Morris's details. "Thank you, sir," she murmurs to him, keeping her gaze on the communicator hidden in her purse as she keys in the code.
The bag is so compact, it is fortunate her hands are small and slender, otherwise she would not even be able to slip her fingers inside and type one-handed, as she is doing now. Indeed, Kylah is a little worried that if weapons are required, pulling out her phaser will require more time than it would from her duty belt.
Pausing in thought, she decides to take the communicator, hidden in her palm, and slide it beneath the sash of her dress, which is low but tight around her hips. It will probably cause a small budge, but the buckle might hide it. At least now the phaser has more room in the bag, and will thus be easier to remove in an emergency.
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Quietly, Collins tells Rangin and Garcia "If we can get close to Krako, and let him know we're from Kirk's Federation, he may be able to help us retrieve the kidnappees."
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Kylah is confident that, if she needs to get to either her communicator or her phaser-1 in a hurry, she will be able to.
Garcia nods in response to Collins's remark, and looks at Rangin.
The two Iotians in Starfleet costume seem to be getting a little impatient.
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"Thanks Doc. Ah, lieutenant," Graham says to T'Var.
"All right, here's how I see it. Ens. Kylah and I will approach the front door. You two cover our approach: only intervene...by which I mean stun with impunity...if things are looking really bad. If we get hassled, I want it to play out and see if however crawls out of the woodwork backs off so we can follow them. As soon as we're in and the whole building doesn't explode and kill us, beam in a good couple meters away from us if you can to avoid a booby trap at the entry--Morris, you can help Yorktown figure out the best spot."
Graham shifts somewhat uncomfortably and clears his throat. "Ah, so..." He pauses a moment. "Ens. Kylah, I, uh--I think we'd look less like 'Feddies' investigating if we did something like, uh, hold hands like a, uh, couple. If you don't mind that," he adds quickly.
Under other circumstances--he'd just lay it out in five words for T'Var or Collins--he wouldn't be so hesitant. But given what he suspects about Kylah's experiences on the Yorktown and perhaps elsewhere...
-
Graham's suggestion makes Kylah stop blinking for a few seconds, staring at him in a mixture of confusion and discomfort. The touch of a hand is very intimate, both to her as an Elasian and as someone for whom skin-on-skin contact has almost always sent a current of unpredictable emotions flowing into her.
On Elas, one eats with one's hands, and so they are kept scrupulously clean. Her parents' generation wore gloves, removing them in public for eating, as a display of trust, or for sensual pleasure. Even simple gestures taken for granted by other cultures usually have very...explicit...meanings to Elasians, at least in the Northern Lands where Kylah's family lives. The vulgar 'thumbs-up' gesture, which Kylah has seen Mr. Graham use innocently several times, is just one example.
But he did not intend any offense then, and he almost certainly does not intend anything by the request now. It is mere strategy, nothing more. The security officer seems awkward--Kylah can easily see that without her still-dim empathic abilities--and the plan he proposes is logical.
Kylah starts to speak when she is halted by the thought of what Mr. Rangin would think, both of the changed role assignments and Mr. Graham's pairing himself with her. What would he say? What might he call Mr. Graham? Or her?
It does not matter. He will not know, and even if he did... Frustrated by her own hesitation, she extends her arm stiffly toward the older man. "Yes, sir," she says, her voice hoarse enough to require her to clear it before continuing. "Whatever you think is best."
-
"OK, let's see what we've got. I'd be curious to see who Captain Krako ?"
-
Graham nods, trying to look confident and in command--but aware even a numbskull like him can tell Kylah doesn't like the idea.
"Right, so..." He extends his own arm at an angle, cocked so she could hook her own across it at the elbow--more like two people promenading along the Seine in Old Paris than kids holding hands. He clears his throat. "How about this?" he asks, taking her wrist as gently as he can and meshing their arms. "Just out for a stroll...."
"If there are now questions, we'll go now--at a leisurely pace," he says to the group.
In a low voice he says to Kylah, "You're the better talker so don't be shy. But if something happens get behind me. I'm not, ah...I'm not denigrating your abilities. It's just if this is a culture based on old Terran mobs, it's gonna expect a man to defend his girl and all that sort of thing."
-
Kylah and Graham join arms and cross the street, dodging traffic when they must. Soon they are on the threshold of the Starfleet civil advisory group's house. No one is within several dozen yards. The front door is securely shut. The keypad which Morris mentioned is under a discreet and weatherproof lid, and the biosign scanner is just above it.
One of the uniformed Iotians says, "Great! Follow us." They lead you down the street and around the corner, then around another. Soon you see several dozen people in similar not-quite-correct Starfleet costumes, yellow, blue and red, converging on a large stone building. Large red banners with the Starfleet arrowhead insignia etched in gold hang on pillars to either side of the main door. There is a buzz of excitement among the crowd.
Garcia murmurs to Rangin, "I assume 'Krako' is Jojo Krako, the #2 guy in the Syndicate, unless it's a common name around here."
-
When Graham offers his arm, Kylah recognizes the gesture and, looking upwards in gratitude, flashes him a rare, open smile. She slips her bare arm through his, touching only his jacket fabric even though she can of course feel the warmth and strength of him next to her. Once they have crossed the street and are at the door, Kylah reaches for the keypad, but stops short once she notices the device above.
"This may not work," she murmurs. Her gaze again seeks Graham's, this time in frustration. "Why were we not told about the bio scanner? Do you think it is necessary in addition to the code, or is it just a security measure for guests?" She lets out an annoyed sigh in thought. "It appears there is no one around, but to be safe, perhaps you can stand guard so that I may get my communicator to contact Dr. T'Var without being noticed?"
-
"Fucking Morris," Graham grumbles, resisting the urge to look back toward where they came when they face the bioscanner.
Still, he's relieved Kylah seemed to be less upset...even, for whatever reason, smiling when they linked arms.
"Ah, sorry," he adds quietly.
Graham has an idea about the best course of action to maintain their "cover," such as it is, but immediately regrets the whole endeavor.
"Uh, so, there's a...tradition...a, uh, thing, ah, about, ah...doing it...in doorways. Meaning just that," he adds quickly, "if you back into the corner there, and I, uh, kind of stand...well, you know what I mean, nobody will see."
Graham is careful to get close--close enough that someone passing on the street might assume they're touching--without actually making contact with Kylah.
But he's keenly aware he must be looming over her in the tightest possible quarters...
-
Kylah initially does not understand Mr. Graham's stammered words about doing something to doorways. About to ask, she instead hears him suggest she back up, followed by his moving closer, so close she has to lean away to avoid him. Her back presses against the sill, cold against her bare arms.
Kylah stumbles away in a vain attempt to get past his reach, but he is too big, his grip is too strong. A cold metal something presses against her spine and after one jolt of pain she no longer feels a thing--nor can she move. Her entire body seems to have disappeared. And she sees the room spinning as she collapses.
He catches her easily and sweeps her up while Kylah tries to shout. But not only is she unable to make a sound, she can hardly take a breath. Her very lungs are failing her. Terror clutches her heart.
"I know you're scared," he murmurs into her hair, as if he is the empath. He chuckles and starts toward her side of the room. "Don't worry. You'll survive. I have no intention of losing you now."
Before she knows it, he deposits her on the bed. Kylah's head flops to the right, where she can see her night table and, beyond that, the porthole revealing the infinite expanse of space.
In the corner of her vision, he leans over to rest his hands on the bed on either side of her useless body, caging her in. Then he moves still closer, and now his face and shoulders are all she can see. The beauty of the sky and stars has been blotted out entirely.
Kylah nearly drops her purse and feels her face grow clammy and ice-cold as the instinct to run surges through her--along with the desire to shove her hands into Mr. Graham's chest to force him away. Instead, she swallows and stares sharply at his expression. It is not sinister. It is not smug. It is not lustful or vengeful or calculating.
"I understand, sir," she mutters. "So I--I will send a message. Do you... do you want me to ask--"
Her gaze shifts left and right anxiously to see if she is completely trapped. Not trapped. Hidden. Mr. Graham does seem to be preventing others from seeing her thanks to his chest and muscular arms. Her legs are probably visible, but that is all. To anyone watching, it probably does look as if she and Mr. Graham are...
Kylah quickly drags her attention down to her sash, where she fumbles for the communicator. The awkwardness of the situation has struck her afresh. She shakes her head after losing her train of thought, then gets back on track.
"Do you think it is safe enough for me to ask them to come here? Or should Dr. T'Var accompany Lt. Morris to the ship and then to the apartment, where he can let us in himself?"
-
Graham is balancing as if he's holding a baby made of glass while walking a tightrope, feeling no fear that the game plan was unreasonable, but deeply concerned it's put Kylah into an uncomfortable position.
I picked up off the ground by her shoulders, for god's sake, remembering the moment she broke in on a bad memory on OCIII...
Graham purses his lips. "Hang on...try the code. Uh, PA--PA011268. I--that actually should override. I'll ah, hang tight and shield you from view."
-
With a curt nod, Kylah slips the communicator back into her sash. "Yes, sir," she repeats, and turns around. Her arms are held tight against her body so as to avoid touching him.
But when she lifts her hand to tap the keypad, she blinks. "Oh! I am foolish. I just remembered... The lieutenant did tell us about the scanner. The code should indeed be enough. I am sorry, sir, I do not know how I forgot..." She purses her lips with a short, irritated shake of her head, and just enters the code in silence.