Star Trek RPG - Mission #4: "Codex Aelyrr"

[SidonianGal]

Nia's smile begins when she hears the music, and broadens when Graham tells her with gentle sincerity that this is a 'picnic.' Then she opens her eyes and grins fully, examining the blanket, the candles, the basket, the delicious food aroma... Looking up at Graham, her hands still in his, Nia almost--almost--spoils the moment with a teasing remark about having spent four years on Earth, and thus knows very well what a picnic is. In fact, the first time she had sex with a human, a fellow cadet, was on a blanket much like this in a park near the Golden Gate bridge.

But the way he's gazing at her, so tentatively proud, so anxious to please, and so oddly nervous for a man of his age and maturity... She can't do it. Not only would it ruin the moment, it would mean he'd stop staring at her the way he is. It's too charming, too flattering, for her to want him to stop. Booker's making her feel like the cadet she was all those years ago in the moonlight beneath the bridge: young and hopeful and eager to experience something precious; something she'd done innumerable times, but had an entirely new significance.

All that promise, that hope, is in Booker Graham's stare. And her heart melts like the warm wax from the candles; she finds nothing to tease him about.

"Oh Book," she says in an exhale, taking in the scene with genuine affection. "It's perfect. Everything looks and smells amazing." When she peeks more closely at the basket, she gets confirmation of her earlier guess. The bread rolls have the ship's cook's fingerprints on them--literally.

A.J. always finishes with a kind of signature flourish, a slight swirling pressure with his thumb...

And he does the same thing with bread, too.

This salacious thought nearly makes her giggle, but it passes quickly. The casual licentiousness she shares with A.J. is so far from what she's beginning to feel for Booker, she can't think of them simultaneously. She doesn't even want to.

At this realization, she feels a series of tingles down her spine, which she usually associates with fear. But she's too happy for fear. The word escapes her and she doesn't care to define the feeling... she just knows she likes it.

Grasping Booker's hands for support, Nia leans forward over the candles and kisses him gently on the side of his mouth. "Thank you," she whispers, and rubs her cheek to nuzzle him, to feel his skin and let him feel hers, before returning to her side of the blanket. "Now tell me. How did you find and pack all this so fast? And how fast can you unpack it so we can start indulging ourselves?"

[Elendil's Heir]

Thalen thinks for a moment, then says, "Let's try a half-watch to begin with, and then we'll see how you feel. Report to the Bridge in the next ten minutes, please, and take the Communications station. I'll let Davis" - Ens. Meredith Davis, an Australian woman whom Kylah knows slightly - "to expect you to relieve her."

Cooper kisses Collins and says, "You would do quite nicely, my dear. And we have my quarters all to ourselves for the night."

[choie]

Kylah feels a little thud of disappointment in her stomach. "Yes, sir," she says slowly. "But--while I am always grateful and honored to be assigned to a Bridge watch, I had hoped to continue my monitoring and decoding of the signal--or rather, signals. May I first stop at the Communications Center to see if there has been anything new and retrieve my data? Or will I be allowed to perform those tasks from the Bridge?"

[general_urko]

Graham grunts while unpacking the basket. "Uh, a lot of begging and borrowing." He looks up, smiles slightly and shrugs. "I may be busy cleaning the galley or the guy who lent me the basket's quarters..." As he pulls more and more out of the basket, he whistles, impressed. "But it was worth it," he adds, glancing at Nia. When everything is laid out on the blanket he holds the basket up sideways. "See, no present. I can follow orders, ma'am."

[Elendil's Heir]

Thalen says, "Yes, of course, I expect you to continue with that work on the Bridge. That's why I'm letting you stand another watch, after all. You can access all the same data from there."

[choie]

After thanking Lt. Thalen, Kylah heads to her quarters to pick up the datapad she left behind. She then washes her face, brushes her teeth and reapplies the eye makeup that was ruined with her tears. Her artistry with an eyeliner brush ensures that her puffy eyes are not too noticeable.

By the time she arrives at the Bridge to relieve Ensign Davis, she feels somewhat refreshed and more than ready to begin--or rather, resume--her work. She looks around the Bridge to see who else is on duty, and then prepares to take her seat. "Have there been any new messages or any other noteworthy signals, Ensign Davis?"

[SidonianGal]

Nia beams approval at Booker, and together they start off with a toast--to the ship, their health and whatever adventures may come their way. With those final words their eyes meet, and Nia gives a mischievous lift of her eyebrow while she sips. 'Adventures' can have many different, delicious meanings.

As their meal begins, Nia tears off a quarter of a baguette, feeling the crust crackle beneath her fingers although the bread itself is deliciously warm and soft, and uses a fork to place some of the juicy, seasoned meat on it. Before she tries it, however, she glances across the candlelight.

"We never did finish our lunch discussion yesterday. Isn't it annoying when chow is interrupted by pesky duties?" she jokes, then sits back a little. Her first small bite of the bread-and-meat combo is heavenly, and she takes some time to savor the taste properly. Once she's through, she licks her lips and continues her thought.

"How about I'll start where we left off. I was about to ask you about your family. I hope you don't mind." Nia glances down at the bread and twists at it with more nervousness than she usually displays. "It's a question I probably should've asked once you mentioned that you have a daughter about Ensign Kylah's age. At the time you and I weren't really... well, anything. But now..." She shifts her gaze to his left hand. "I know humans often wear a ring to show commitment, and you don't. Still, that's not conclusive. I'm sorry for prying, but..." Her voice softens slightly. "Are you still with her mother?"

[anyrose]

Collins returns Cooper's kiss and walks with him to his quarters.

[general_urko]

Graham's...well, relieved...Nia seems to be enjoying the picnic. Their relaxed interactions, having the Arboretum to themselves... He feels 20 years younger.

The whole universe, including his heart seems to stop for a moment when Nia asks her question.

Graham looks down at the crudite in his hand. "'Still with her,' that's a...a funny way to put it," he nearly whispers.

He swallows. "Maybe I am." He pauses and looks up at Nia. "But...She's dead, Nia." He closes his eyes. "Maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe I should be dead, too, but..." He opens his eyes, looks away from her off into a distance far beyond the walls of the Arboretum. "She's gone."

[Elendil's Heir]

Lt. Bennett nods to Kylah from the big chair. Lt. JG John Brooks is at Navigation, Ens. Horst Leventhal is at the Helm, Ens. Jeanne St. Croix is at Security, the Tellarite botanist Lt. Gral is at Science and Lt. Robert Mille is at Engineering. The other stations are unmanned for the night watch, and the Bridge lights are dimmed. On the viewscreen, the stars ahead seem to zoom closer, then fall away at the edges as the Yorktown heads ever deeper into unexplored space. Kylah can just see the hazy glow of what looks like a nebula ahead and slightly to port.

Davis does not seem to be pleased to be yielding the Communications station, but says civilly enough, "Nothing out of the ordinary to report, Mr. Kylah. I stand relieved."

[SidonianGal]

Nia can almost feel the blood draining from her face. She didn't expect this, not at all.

And yet...

Somehow, this isn't a complete surprise. She couldn't have guessed--before they met, all she knew about him was his service record. But despite their banter, their chemistry, the jokes they've shared, Booker Graham has always seemed dark. Not evil dark, but living in a shadow that surrounds him like a fortress: something he's been trapped inside--and maybe something that he's built, stone by stone. To protect himself? Or, judging by his harsh words now, to protect others from him?

Maybe both.

She exhales and drops the food, concentrating only on the sad lines and valleys of his scarred, weathered face. "Oh Book," Nia whispers, her head shaking in tiny movements. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't..." Please don't what? Don't blame yourself? I have no idea how this woman died. I'll sound fatuous if I just give him platitudes.

And because she doesn't hide behind lies very often, she says exactly that.

"I don't know what to say. I have no idea how she died, I don't know why you blame yourself--and I'd be insulting you if I flat-out told you to stop feeling what you feel. Not without knowing the circumstances. But I will say..."

She swallows and wishes he'd look at her, but understands why he won't. When she continues, her voice is quiet but urgent. "I think you're wrong, very wrong, to think you should be dead. You've got colleagues who need you, rely on you. At lunch you mentioned Collins, how you enjoy helping her, supporting her. She said as much to me about you, the other day. And Ensign Kylah... if you're right about whatever she's going through with Rangin, you're the only person to figure that out. That girl desperately needs someone like you. Then there's me." She looks down briefly. "We've only known each other a little while. But I'm... I'm very glad to be someone you've let in, a little bit. I hope to get closer. At least to have the chance to get closer."

A few seconds pass and she returns to gaze straight at him. "But most of all--above everything and everyone else--you have your own child. I don't know what your relationship is like. But I know, at least a little, of the man you are. I see strength. Perseverance. Intelligence. Protectiveness. I think--I believe your daughter should have that in her life."

Nia's hand curls on the blanket, bunching it up into her fist. "You don't owe me any explanation, and I'll shut up right now if you don't want to say anything. But can I ask... when did she--I'm sorry, I don't know her name, I don't mean to speak of her casually--when did she die? And... how? I understand if you think I'm intruding," she adds hastily. "Tell me only what you're comfortable with."

[general_urko]

Graham smiles slightly--it's rueful rather than happy. "When did she die?" He shakes his head. "Jane died too soon."

He looks down and reachers for the hand she has curled up around the blanket and sets his on hers. "At the hands of some very bad people--Orions--about ten years ago" he says softly. "I went to find them. Got this," he continues, tracing the scar that runs down his face. "And lost my lieutenant commander's pips."

He swallows and squeezes her hand. "I never talk about it this way with Lizzy--Elizabeth, our daughter....calm." He grimaces, tempted to look away from Nia in shame but resisting the urge to do so. "Sober." He takes a deep breath and now does look away for a moment. "I really should...."

He clears his throat and shrugs. "But look, it's a, uh--it's a hard past, but it's the past," he continues. "You're not intruding, Nia, but we can save brooding on it for, say, our third date. We'll meet somewhere dark and bleak..." This time his smile has a little humor in it, and he pats her hand.

"But what about you...I never did ask do you have any family?" There's a weird moment in his mind when Graham wonders if the word "brood" would be offensive in this context, or, for that matter, maybe exactly the right word, given what he read about Sidonia. He decides to keep that to himself for the moment.

[SidonianGal]

Nia turns her hand so that she can squeeze Booker's hand in return. She understands why he wouldn't want to talk about it, but what he's described definitely requires more discussion--at a later point, when he feels ready. Her gaze remains steady, open and sympathetic without being pitying.

Since he clearly wants a change of subject, Nia knows she has to oblige. How much does she tell him now? His candor should be repaid in kind. But one thing isn't entirely her secret to tell, so she decides on the abridged version.

"My parents worked together as engineers and inventors. I came by my love of tinkering through them. Dad died a long time ago, when I was eighteen. Radiation exposure and lung poisoning--that's usually how people end on Sidonia, and my father was more at risk than almost anyone, since he spent so much time in his airships, up where the atmosphere is toxic." Nia feels her throat tighten but she continues cheerfully. "But Ma is hanging on, even at nearly 53. She's actually one of the oldest women still planetside. As a scientist she feels obligated to stay and work, rather than emigrating." Nia smiles affectionately, though concern tempers the expression somewhat.

"Um, other family. I have roughly fourteen half-siblings and one full-brother--I say 'roughly' since I've no idea if they're still alive or not. I've never met my maternal siblings--if you know about Sidonia, you probably know that mothers don't raise their young. We have community creches to do that job, and then the children go live with their fathers, hopefully emigrating if they're male. Women are more...closely monitored."

Nia tries to keep her voice free of bitterness and almost manages it. It's helpful to look at Booker's face. His scars--especially now that she knows the genesis of at least one of them--are the marks of a man who's fought his own battles, and his strength bolsters her own.

[general_urko]

Graham listens attentively, his brow furrowing at times as she relates a history that's not too full of sweetness and light either.

"Fifty-three, eh?" he replies quietly. "Here's to her health," he offers, picking up a glass of wine and offering the opportunity for her to do the same and clink the rims.

After a pause he shifts a little bit awkwardly. "Uh, yes, I read a little about Sidonia and, ah...breeding." He clears his throat, noting that she mentioned women--like her--were "closely monitored."

"Uh, you didn't say if you had...you know, had to, uh--you know? Uh--do you have any?"

[SidonianGal]

After clinking his glass with her own, she sips again and ponders his latest question. Nia finds Booker's characteristic discomfort and awkwardness in a man of his experience rather endearing. He seems terribly concerned about offending her. Has someone judged him harshly in the past? His father, she remembers suddenly--the bullying father and those thugs at his school. Most of his youth was probably spent negotiating a thin rope dangled above quicksand.

But that was long ago. Even now, he still gives the impression of someone who fears that one wrong word will cause a calamity, or ruin someone's opinion of him.

In any event, her opinion of his question is that it's entirely expected. Of course, knowing what Sidonian culture is like, he would ask about her own status. Most men do, and with most men she just says 'yes' and moves on, because motherhood is not a suitable topic of conversation when you want a man thinking of you as a lust object, not an incubator.

But Booker risked enough to tell her something honest, something that cost him in the telling of it. Such trust should be repaid in kind.

She inhales and lets her finger circle the rim of her glass. "Yes," she says quietly. "By the time I left, at 20, I'd borne five children. Four of them are with their fathers and, I pray, living better lives offworld. Though I'll never know. I've never so much as held them."

Nia lifts her shoulder in a half-shrug, as reluctant as Booker to brood on her situation but unable to completely eradicate the melancholy. The last words are hoarser than she would like, and she really doesn't want to utter them. "The fifth... my only boy... he was stillborn."

She swallows and tries to bluff her way out of the mood. "Honestly, that's a pretty good record for planet-bound Sidonian women--it's pretty rare for mothers to survive all their pregnancies, much less have an 80% infant survival rate. That made me a valuable commodity. Proved that my parents had been right in judging my value--they knew I'd be productive, and early, too."

Nia's gaze flickers away from Booker for a few seconds. "I know from a human standpoint, the way we live on Sidonia is... barbaric. Parents selling their daughters' breeding rights almost as soon as the child is old enough to be judged for her potential as a--as a brood mare. It's basically slavery and it's why we're not a Federation planet.

"But that's the system we lived in," she says, not overly defensively, though when she looks back at Booker her gaze is not ashamed. "Since I had to endure it, at least we benefited. I'm happy to say that many of our family's experiments and inventions were built thanks to the profits from those high bids and number of breeding contracts."

She lifts her face, unapologetic. "I had six years' worth of contracts signed by the time I was old enough to begin, when I was about 12. I produced with all but one partner. My parents were proud. And honestly, I was lucky. I mean, the faster you get pregnant, the less you have to be with near-strangers your father's age--or more. Once fertilization occurs, the man moves on to his next contracted partner, if he has one.

"And for a few blessed months, I'd be free to do what I wanted to do more than anything else in the world." Her face lights up with a smile, and she closes her eyes at the thought. "I could fly."

When she opens her eyes, she does something she rarely does--blush. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go into my whole autobiography. There's a lot I haven't... well, no. I'll shut up. The food's getting cold. Not that it's much worse for wear even if it's no longer piping hot. Some things do get better with age." Her sparkling eyes assess Booker with frank approval. And not a little hope.

[choie]

Kylah looks curiously at Ensign Davis as she leaves the station. What have I done now?

But soon Kylah forgets the other woman's somewhat chilly manner and is busy setting up her datapad to link up with this comms panel, hoping to update her data with whatever information has been gleaned in the interim. She checks to see whether the translator has had more luck in identifying any additional words. Further, she looks to see if any of her queries to the museums and university have received replies yet.

[CatInASuit]

In his bunk, Rangin turns over and continues sleeping peacefully.

In the Galley, Johnson bakes some fairy cakes for Nia and some shredded lamb Vulcan Pastries for T'Var using the leftovers from the picnic. She's a bit below par with the news of Fujishiro and he is hoping this might help.

[Elendil's Heir]

Kylah sees the UT has made no progress with the alien messages; it's very odd. She also has had no responses to any of her offship queries.

Bennett is reading from a data pad and taking notes, Brooks and Leventhal are discussing the Martian gravball finals, and Gral, Kylah can see, is intently studying several red flowers on his Science display screens.

Rangin is still resting comfortably.

Johnson's baking goes well.

[choie]

Stymied momentarily, Kylah remembers her earlier theory. She knows that modern Tel'ese--the language spoken in Kylah's northern homeland on Elas--has significantly split from its origins on the southern lands from which her people migrated two millennia ago. Similar changes in pronunciation are seen in Anglo Saxon and Romance languages on Earth.

And on Qo'nos, too, she thinks. Even as tradition-bound as the Klingons are, their language--tlhIngan Hol--has changed in pronunciation and spelling many times over the course of its history. Not that anyone in the Federation is likely to know the difference.

Perhaps, if she repeats her transliteration of the messages into the translator, her inevitable slight mispronunciations (despite her much-praised facility with learning new languages) might approximate this same sort of language drift from the mystery language to Ancient High Caitian. That is assuming, of course, that the two really are related.

First, she knows she needs to adjust her original scan, which has been tracking any new signals from the same general area as the original sources. She asks the computer to plot a few hypothetical trajectories of the original, moving signal source using the difference in location from the first moment she began recording until the last-heard communication. Using those calculations--which may be only slight changes in degrees from a few hours ago--Kylah reconfigures the comm system to randomly sweep these new locations.

Once that is done, she settles back into her chair, knowing this will take a while. Then she takes out her datapad and, in a soft voice, begins to read the transcript of the lengthier message, hoping against hope that her theory is correct and the UT will find a few more matches.

[Elendil's Heir]

Kylah carefully reconfigures the Yorktown's sensitive subspace antennae, which takes about 20 minutes, and the communications system's random sweep begins. The UT also goes to work and begins sifting the words of the earlier messages anew.

[anyrose]

Cooper and Collins go to his quarters. One thing leads to another and....

Later, in bed, he looks thoughtfully at her, touches her hair and says, "We haven't really talked since... well, you know."

Collins looks right back at him. "Yeah, I know. You got a topic in mind?"

"The baby." He takes her hand, and asks quietly, "How are you these days, really?"

"I'm fine." I so do not want to talk about this, she thinks. "Thanks for worrying, but really, I'm good. No new crying jags."

"Well, that's good. Do you think... you might want to try again sometime?"

"Maybe. Someday." She looks at Cooper quizzically. "Are you in a hurry to be a father?"

"Well... I wouldn't say a hurry, exactly, but someday... and with you... yes, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

Collins stares at Cooper. "Wow. It's only been a few months. I mean, yes, if and when I'm ready, I think you'd make a great father. But we hardly know each other. And I'm not ready to alter my career path to something a little more mom-friendly." She sits up and turns away a little bit. "I mean, hell, I knew missions would be dangerous; my first three on this ship were proof enough of that." The guilt she still feels from the Sakathian mission starts taking hold again. She hugs herself and leans back into Cooper's embrace. "It wouldn't be fair to my child if I went and didn't come back. I saw a lot of 'not coming back' my last posting."

He pulls her closer. "I understand. Starfleet and motherhood - or fatherhood - don't necessarily go together. It's something we'd have to really consider and think through. But to bring new life into the world together, that's an amazing thing, and it changes everyone. You know?"

"I suppose." Collins considers what Cooper said for a few moments, then a thought occurs to her. "Have you ever been a father? I mean before last month?"

"No." He pauses. "Have you? Been a mom, I mean?"

She lets out a guffaw, then quickly covers her mouth. A tad embarrassed, she adds "No, I've been called a 'mutha', but I've never been one." Collins shifts within Cooper's arms so that she faces him. She kisses his nose and says, "I'm pretty sure it will be awhile, years, maybe a decade or more, before I'm ready for the responsibility of mom-ness. You're welcome to stick around, if you like." She smiles.

He returns the kiss with interest and says, "You know, I just might...."

[Ajay]

Having cooked the pastries for T'Var, next Johnson finds himself having to be a neutral party between Yeoman O'Shea and Spec/1 Miller over a local sporting matter. A little while later, he is trying to get Ens. Terezis further out of her shell by trying to convince her that speaking above a whisper is perfectly acceptable. It's not helped by Two Tons Rawlings making jokes at his expense the entire time At least the double act gets her grinning away.

It's another fun evening in the galley.

[SidonianGal]

Graham knows he needs a moment to process what Nia's just told him about her years on Sidonia. To give himself some time, he responds only to her light remark about the food. "Well, it's okay, yeah, part of the charm of a picnic is eating cold food, a lot of the time..."

His words trail off and he frowns slightly. "I'm sorry about--" he closes his eyes a moment to think, then guesses that she wasn't intending to invite a long discussion of painful parts of her past, at least at the moment. "Well, it's a lot to swallow, so to speak--life on Sidonia," he says softly. Then he sighs and shrugs. "But then again Earth's Eugenics Wars weren't so long ago, either were they?"

He shakes his head and smiles slightly. "We're doing a hell of a job trying to keep this dinner upbeat, aren't we? Have I told you you look...amazing. Really...great," he adds. "And what about--what about flying: is there something you're looking forward to...like a particular ship, or place you've never flown? I'm afraid I wouldn't know much about what pilots like you really dig." After a pause he smiles and adds "Well, pulling maneuvers that make ground-pounders like me get dizzy or puke, I've noticed that on a few occasions."

* * *

Nia smiles. "Thank you for the compliment--but I should've been the first one to mention how handsome you look. The food's only half as attractive." She does appreciate the care he's taken with his appearance... but she especially appreciates the smooth--for him--transition from the less pleasant aspects of their lives to this new topic.

"Anyway, about flying... I'm not that sadistic. I prefer maneuvers that'll give anyone riding with me a thrill, rather than cause them trauma," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "But sure, when alone, or with a fellow pilot, I'll get a bit more adventurous. Although I admit there was one occasion only a couple of years ago, where I pulled off some moves that resulted in Vargas nearly yanking the stripes right off my uniform. But, um, I'll save that story for a rainy day. Not sure you'd approve any more than Vargas did."

She proceeds to tell him of some of her experiences on a variety of ship classes--from innumerable shuttle jaunts to a science ship early on in her career, to a freighter--that was an unusual hush-hush assignment right before she was seconded to the Yorktown, which she only gives vague details about--to the tiny USS Bean during her final year at the Academy.

Nia suddenly laughs. "Oh my. I almost forgot about the Bean. I remember joking to the other Nova squad cadets that it must've been named that way because for such a tiny scout ship, it sure made a lot of noise. My mistake was saying this in front of our training commander. He was, um, not amused, and as a result I had to research and perform a two-hour presentation in order to, and I quote, 'learn my goddamn history of the goddamn capital planet of the goddamn Federation.'" She grins ruefully. "I now know almost as much about Earth's early space program as I do Sidonia's."

After popping a grape in her mouth and enjoying its cool sweetness, she tilts her head. "I know how much the Academy meant to you," she says in a softer tone. "But did you ever get in trouble there?"

* * *

Graham thinks for a moment, in part because he's distracted by Nia's pleased expression as she eats what he thinks was a grape. He shake his head and chuckles. "Trouble? No, I guess I saved that for once I was on the job..." He rubs his chin. "At the Academy--for the first time, I felt like I had a purpose, and an opportunity to be something...well, to do something good." He chuckles again. "I was pretty driven...got the nickname 'By the Booker,' by my second year."

He smiles. "I'm not sure I can really picture you on a freighter. I could sooner imagine Vargas second in command on a luxury cruiser."

* * *

Nia almost snorts, but changes it to a hearty laugh, both at her own expense and Vargas's. "Boy, do you have the wrong idea of me. My free time often finds me on my back in the shuttle bay, happily scrubbing the undercarriage of the Meitner or whichever little baby I've just flown, while every inch of me covered in layers of grime. I just clean up well. But as long as we're talking about cognitive dissonance, I find it even harder to imagine you as a 'by-the-book' kinda guy. I guess we all have surprises inside us." She lifts her glass to him. "Here's to the fun of being surprised."

They both drink and for a little while focus on eating the exquisite morsels prepared for them, the occasional companionable silences broken by exclamations of pleasure over the food, shared reminiscences of past ships they've served on, gossip about people they've served with, and learning each other's favorite films, books, music, places.

Time passes and when Nia has licked her fingers of the sticky-sweet juice from the last slice of pear, there's a longer pause as she looks across at Booker--easier to do now that the candles have melted down considerably. The music from his tricorder fills in the silence. "It'd be a shame to waste the accompaniment," she murmurs. Smoothly getting to her feet, she holds out a hand to him. "Dance with me?"

* * *

"Dance?" Booker blurts out, surprised by the question. He laughs. "Well, yeah, maybe you are 'full of surprises.' But I guess did bring music." He takes her hand and stands up. "I, ah, really hope your scales protect your feet, though..."

Graham feels like he's a lumbering ape in comparison to Nia's fluid movements, but resist the urge to apologize--at least unless she cries out in pain if a break a toe... But she seems relaxed, almost melting into his arms, bringing her close enough so he can take in her scent--which is not as uncanny as the other night, but nonetheless intoxicating in its own way...

It's only a short distance for their lips to move across each others' cheeks into a kiss. Kisses.

They are passionate, but not rushed: it's as if the quiet intimacy can and should continue indefinitely...

Nice that we're not horny 17 year-olds racing the clock to get into each other's pants...

A few songs feel like a long time--maybe it was, Graham realizes, as Nia sighs.

* * *

Nia could happily continue swaying gently up against this muscular, tender man, feeling his mouth on hers--as delicious as anything from that picnic basket--until the tricorder runs out of music. But... not tonight. Damn it, she thinks, but pushes the thought away because she wants just one more kiss...

Finally she breaks to catch her breath. "Book," she whispers, brushing her fingers against his firm jawline. "Book, it's...getting late..."

* * *

Graham mumbles acknowledgement: not pleased by the fact but accepting that she's right.

Graham stops his rhythmic (well, sort of rhythmic) swaying and touches her cheek. "You're right..." He sighs as well. "It wouldn't be in keeping with a proper picnic if I didn't walk you home," he offers. For a moment, Nia looks more tired than he would have expected and he almost--almost--wonders if she'd prefer otherwise, but her smile is warm and sincere.

A few moments later--basket packed--they walk arm-in-arm, unhurried, to her quarters. Neither feels the need to speak--in fact, the tricorder is still playing its strolling musician soundtrack--but once they reach Nia's door Graham's the first to break the silence.

"One more dance, inside?" he asks quietly, holding her eyes. Once again, for a moment Graham feels an instant of doubt: a shadow of something...hesitation?

It passes once again as she smiles and takes his free hand in hers with both tenderness and conviction. She gestures toward the door and leads him in as it swishes open.

And their dance--and the kisses--do indeed continue.





Nia by SidonianGal, Graham by general_urko, like duh!

[Elendil's Heir]

Graham and Onn pass the early evening together quite happily, as do Cooper and Collins.

Kylah continues her comm work. Thalen checks in with her and, satisfied that she's up to it, clears her to serve the rest of the watch.

Eventually Science Officer Roble enters the Bridge from the turbolift. He steps over to the big chair and chats quietly with Bennett.

Rangin's alarm sounds, and he sees it's just about time for him to get to the Bridge. He finds Roble already there. Lt. Bennett rises from the big chair and asks, "I understand you're going to have a turn as Acting BCDO?" She and Roble are both smiling at him.

[CatInASuit]

Rangin strolls onto the bridge still waking up slightly and ready to do a shift at the Science console to improve on his BCDO studies. He isn't quite expecting Lt. Bennett and Lt. Cmdr Roble to both be standing by the Captain's chair and both smiling at him. He can feel his throat dry out slightly as she mentions that he will effectively be sitting in the Big Chair. A brief glance across at the empty seat and all it entails fills him with a sense of elation at his opportunity, his first time in the hot seat in one of the more prestigious ships of the fleet, and yet a certain sense of trepidation that he's still dreaming in his quarters and when he awakes it will just be a Bridge watch.

Rangin coughs slightly and replies "I wasn't aware my studies had advanced so far ma'am, but I'm looking forward to the opportunity." He nods at Roble, who is no doubt amused by the slight deception and Rangin wonders how he missed what Roble's real meaning had been.

Looking up at his two peers, and then around the room, wanting to drink it in and not forget this moment, he also realises that Kylah is sat at the Comms panel, though he cannot tell if she has noticed him or not. "No time like the present, ma'am and thank you for the opportunity, sir."

Rangin brings himself to attention in front of Lt Bennett. "Permission to take the conn?"

[choie]

Kylah, in the middle of requesting that the UT compare her new recording of the message to any other language, senses Velir's arrival on the Bridge. She casts her eyes sideways to see him walk toward Roble, but then hurries to return her attention to her console. Somehow she had forgotten he was due for a late watch, and to be honest, she is uncomfortable at the thought of working so closely with him.

However, when she hears Bennett's words indicating that he will be taking the conn, a warm flush of pride suffuses her. Her genuine happiness for him overtakes the awkwardness and she smiles to herself. To her knowledge he has never served in this capacity before. How she wishes to turn and cast a congratulatory look in his direction!

But Kylah fights the instinct, instead acting as if this is an ordinary change of BCDO. She forces herself to continue her work.

[Elendil's Heir]

Bennett gestures gracefully. "Please do. I stand relieved, Ensign." With a respectful nod to Roble, she leaves the Bridge.

The Science Officer leans in and says quietly, "I had mentioned your BCDO preparations in offering you this opportunity, Mr. Rangin. Would you rather not?"

It is now 2301 hours.

[CatInASuit]

Rangin acknowledges Lt Bennett's gesture and stands aside to allow her room to leave while listening to Lt. Cmdr Roble. Speaking quietly back to him, "Allow me to say, sir, that I wasn't expecting this opportunity, but I shall endeavour to do it the justice it deserves. However, if I had been more prepared, I would have a bought a cushion."

A sly wink is sent Roble's way as Rangin sits down in the Captain's chair, which seems slightly large for him and feels, well just like a chair. But that isn't what grips Rangin's mind as it sits there, it's the knowledge that at this particular moment in time, he is in charge and the thought energises him as he can see everything at his disposal. Then it hits him, the realisation that it's not the chair or the position on the Bridge that really counts. It's the person and the authority that goes with it and Rangin only hopes he can live up to that promise.

Not exactly calm, but after the first two seconds don't result in immediate disaster, he looks up at Lt. Cmdr. Roble and gives a small nod to show that he is ready. Time to find out what is happening on the ship, for better or worse his ship and his responsibility, until such time as he is relieved. He only hopes that it stays a peaceful night.

With a deep breath, he calls out clearly to the Helm, "Status report, if you please Mr Leventhal."

[Elendil's Heir]

Roble smiles and nods, and moves to the Science II console, to Gral's left.

Leventhal glances over his shoulder and says crisply, "Still on course for the FGC 23 pulsar cluster at Warp 5, as ordered, sir. All systems nominal."

[CatInASuit]

"Thank you," replies Rangin to the update. His first order as a Captain, a simple but necessary step he hopes.

He settles back and when nothing else arrives to take his attention, he goes back to the datapad containing his sensor readings from earlier. If something is going to happen, well, he's in the right place to be told.

[Elendil's Heir]

Looking over sensor readings in the center chair of a Constitution-class starship's Bridge is a novel experience for Rangin, but he has no epiphanies.

[CatInASuit]

After a while, having made no headway in the sensor readings, Rangin begins to realise that while the Captain's chair is ideal for commanding a starship, it's a poor substitute for a well equipped science lab when working through problems of this type. Perhaps he should have bought a book instead as he begins to wonder what all the other people who have sat in this position do when the times are quiet. Somehow the thought of Lt Bennett reading Classical English novels while in charge raises a smile, unlikely though it was.

Then again, if there is little he can do with the sensor readings at least he can find out if there is anything further on the reason he has the readings in the first place. The only issue being that it means talking to Ens. Kylah and Rangin is still not sure how she took this evening. However, despite what they may feel, or not, for each other, they are both serving officers on the ship.

Putting the datapad to one side, he turns to one side and asks politely through the quiet chatter on the Bridge, "Mr Kylah, is there any further update on the unknown signal readings from earlier."

[choie]

Kylah glances down at her hands on the panel before speaking in a calm voice. "No, sir. We have not intercepted or received any further signals, although I have recalibrated the sensors to attempt to match a potential course for the source that appeared to be a vessel. Or a body in motion at any rate. Perhaps the narrower sweep will pinpoint the signal more accurately." Kylah moistens her lips. "I also spent some time reading a transliteration of the messages into the computer, and am currently waiting for the Universal Translator to run through its database in search of any matches."

She hesitates and turns her chair toward Velir. "I would be grateful for any advice, sir; perhaps there is something else I might try, but have not considered yet?"

[CatInASuit]

Rangin considers Kylah's question for a moment or two before shaking his head and looking back up towards her. "I think you have it covered, there's nothing else I can think of without getting more data." Twisting slightly further round towards the Science terminal and pitching his voice to include them as well, "Perhaps Mr Roble might have some ideas of more options to consider?"

[Elendil's Heir]

Roble also thinks briefly before asking, "Have you done a recurring-phoneme analysis of the messages, Ensign? There might be some useful pattern there."

A yeoman in red steps onto the Bridge and hands Roble a data pad with a report on the ship's life support systems' oxygen-replenishment rates.

[CatInASuit]

Rangin accepts the datapad and reads through the report. If all is acceptable, as far as he can tell, then he will sign it off and hand it back to the Yeoman with a nod, but if there appears to be an issue, then he will query it. Oops

Rangin nods at the sage advice and turns back to the slightly less interesting role of being Captain.

[SidonianGal]

The music has long since run out, and the only sounds in Nia's quarters are her and Booker, now entwined in a dance far more intimate than the one they started with hours ago. Nia's lips are raw, her lipstick long gone, as she moans softly and arms stretched downwards, grabbing onto Booker's hair. He's currently kneeling between her legs--pleasuring her just as she did him not long ago.

Her scales are nearly invisible, especially down near him, and every inch of her body is alive and electric. Suddenly she feels her mind reeling, suddenly dizzy, and she opens her eyes with a gasp. "Book," she whispers, the combination of exquisite need and a more pressing urge spurring her to repeat: "Booker..."

She feels him stop and slowly crawl his way back onto the bed, kissing a trail along her body. He pauses at her breasts to tease them further and finally he's staring, smiling, into her eyes. His weight is delicious and at almost any other time she would welcome it. Her breaths are more shallow, even though she's trying to keep control she isn't certain she can wait. I've left it too long, I have to tell him...

* * *

Graham's long since lost all sense of time, in part due to some...powerful distraction...but more so because he and Nia could be the last two people in the universe at the moment. There is no reason to force their "dance" to proceed at anything other than the natural pace they've arrived at through a few words, touches, moans and other little clues...

The next steps feel obvious and right. He's above her, looking down, all his attention on her, and each of this senses is telling him...

Something's wrong.

The hand pressed his back has lost its strength. The eyes he's become very familiar with are glassy, not her usual mischievous. Her sighs aren't moans of pleasure, they're almost...gasping for breath?

Shock?

Now his hands do move quickly, one out of instinct and training, one out of concern: he shifts his weight off her body, one reaching for her wrist to check her pulse, the other touching her cheek. "Nia...Nia, are you all right?"

* * *

Nia's lungs fight to expand, to suck in air, even though it's counterproductive: each breath of this atmosphere is costing her. Booker's face is fading in and out. She shakes her head in answer to his question and turns to her right, her heavy, heavy arm reaching in vain for the night table.

Along with her fear of losing consciousness is simple embarrassment. This is entirely her fault, she lost track of the time, she lost track of her own biology. All because she was too wrapped up in the beautiful moments with this man.

And now she'll scare him off. Despite her race's having evolved into the near inability to produce tears, her eyes prickle and sting with the instinct, due to her physical predicament and anger at being seen like this. It's anathema to her.

She closes her eyes to avoid seeing Booker's face as she croaks: "Can't... breathe..." She lifts her left hand to clutch his own, so tenderly placed on her cheek, while her right keeps limply stretching for the table. "Please... top drawer..."



Nia=SG, Graham=GU

[choie]

Kylah nods at Roble. "Yes, sir, I searched for repeating phonemes this morning--at least, on the original messages--both manually and through the system. All I could learn were a few words that resembled Ancient High Caitian. I am hoping the UT will find more patterns in my transliteration, if it at all resembles what a natural evolution from this language to Caitian--or any other known language, for that matter--would sound like." She glances at the panel, wondering how much longer the analysis would take. "The words were discomfiting," she adds more quietly. "The original matches were "way, course, through, codex, sacred and... enemy."

[Elendil's Heir]

Roble glances at the data pad and returns it to the yeoman. "Thank you - show that to the BCDO, please," he says, gesturing to Rangin in the big chair. Everything appears to be in order to him, and he signs.

An hour passes, and then another. The Coridanite xenobiologist is coming to appreciate just how quiet the "graveyard shift" can be. The Yorktown sails on.

The UT seems to have hit a brick wall. Kylah tries several further interpretive approaches and is about to run the messages through an obscure Pellian recursive-analysis grid when her Comm board beeps. Another message, just as faint and from the same general direction as the first, is coming in.

[CatInASuit]

While it's so quiet, Rangin catches up on his journal reading from a little while ago as well as writing a letter or two to keep himself occupied.

[choie]

Straightening up, Kylah redirects all the sensor resources to recording, locating and enhancing--if possible--the message.

"Vel--Excuse me--sir?" she says, turning to Velir. She's embarrassed but too excited to let herself focus on a slip-up like that. "We've just found another message. Same area as the first, and very faint. I'm just trying to--" Swiveling back to her panel, she finishes pressing some buttons. "--To triangulate and pin down the source."

Kylah taps in the approximate coordinates of the first signal, then asks the computer to identify and calculate any difference in the current signal's location from the original. She also listens carefully and pushes her earpiece as tightly to her ear as possible. Having nearly memorized the first sections of the original message, she hopes she can recognize any words or patterns. Is this a new message or an automated broadcast?

[CatInASuit]

Rangin's ears perk up at the sound of his name being part mentioned and tries not to blush as Kylah cuts it off for the more formal. He turns at the sound and can see her concentrating over the Comms panel.

At her description of the signal, Rangin wonders what he can do to help, without immediately rushing up to lean over her shoulder. Putting his datapad to one side, with a half finished missive about his first time in the Captain's chair, and fighting his instincts he considers the options before deciding on a course of action. "Mr Gral," he calls out to the Tellarite, "can our sensors pick up anything in region?"

[Elendil's Heir]

Ens. Kylah skillfully works the Comm console. She is able to considerably amplify the still-faint signal and adjust for the resultant distortion. The signal is undoubtedly from the same source as the original. She next triangulates its location, and sees that it originates 2.3 light years away from the location of the first transmission. Given the path of the signal source as originally tracked, this would be consistent with a transmitter on a starship continuing on that course at a speed of about Warp 5. The signal is much more dense than before, with nearly six times the data packed into the same subspace broadcast interval, and it continues even now. She recognizes some patterns and phonemes, but no individual words yet in the torrent of data. It does not seem to be an automated broadcast, but she can't be sure of that. The UT, now with much more data to work on, goes into high gear.

Lt. Gral directs the Yorktown's powerful lateral sensor array to focus on the signal source as Lt. Cmdr. Roble steps over and looks over his shoulder. "We're still at extreme range, sir," the Tellarite says to Rangin, "but there appear to be three, no, two ships, now slowing down... and coming to a stop. Both are smaller than us, and not far from that giant nebula. Still too far away for us to ID them, though."

[CatInASuit]

"Thank you Mr Gral," responds Rangin to the news as he considers their next actions, "Keep an eye on them, let us know if anything changes or you can ID them."

He quickly works out what he would want to make a decisions, Who are they, what are they and more importantly how close are they going to get? as for the moment it's what he needs to work on. Putting aside the frisson of excitement that they could potentially be discovering new species out here, every Captain's dream, he focuses on the task at hand. "Mr Brooks, given current course and speed, how close are we going to get to them?"

[Elendil's Heir]

"Aye, sir," says Gral. Roble leans in and talks quietly with him.

Brooks, the navigator, checks his board. "Not much closer, sir. Our course will take us well past them but only a few thousand kilometers closer. Not enough to make a difference for sensors."

[choie]

Kylah listens to the others using only the back of her mind. Mostly she is busy wondering why the information is so dense. Biting her lip, she sets out to perform a spectral density estimation, hoping to determine the number and nature of the different frequencies apparently being transmitted--and thus possibly identifying the type of information that is being passed along. Could the broadcast be sending data other than audio--perhaps images or video?

[SidonianGal]

There's only a millisecond of hesitation on Graham's part: what he'd like to do is be simultaneously calling Sickbay while going for whatever Nia's indicating she needs from the top drawer. But it's not as if there was somewhere on his person to stow a communicator under the circumstances. He puts his trust in what she said: I believe she told me what she needs most, he thinks as he reaches for the drawer.

* * *

Watching Booker's every move through what seems like an increasing black fog, Nia tries to keep reaching but she can't support her arm any longer, and it falls heavily to the bed. Her trembling fingers still extend as best she can. "In--Inhaler," she whispers, the words almost inaudible to her. She hopes he can hear better than she can. "Silver. White."

It's getting difficult to keep her eyes open. Must stop panicking. Not life or death. Yet. Though fear-fueled adrenaline is flowing through her veins and every instinct tells her she's drowning, intellectually she knows there's plenty of time--her body will shut down in order of necessary organs to conserve her resources. First to go is mobility, which has happened. Then hearing and sight, also imminent. Finally: consciousness.

Even after that, her biology allows her to go into a form of hibernation, with her heart slowing to five BPM, giving her anywhere anywhere from a half-hour to a full day, depending on the temperature.

These facts should calm her. But they don't. When your lungs feel like a soaked sponge, rational thought flies out the window. All Nia can do is hope Booker will find her emergency inhaler and understand how to use it. Her eyes flutter open and she tries to identify the large Booker-shaped blob nearby. She wants to tell him not to worry, that she'll be fine, but slowly she feels as if she's fighting sleep. And she must fight it off, because if Booker doesn't know what to do...

He will. The thought is so certain it nearly makes her smile. Then her eyes roll back and close.

* * *

Sight, sound, touch--feels neon, electric. Everything is moving in slow motion, just like...like combat first aid.

Falling back on the training that became instinct over the course of his career makes it easier to stay focused, except...

Except that people didn't always make it.

That's not going to happen here.

What she says--gasps--sounds like "inhaler." Graham's mind's racing as he pulls open the drawer (...that will definitely need some repair later.) Oxygen deprivation? Airborne toxin? Since he's fine it must be a condition specific to Nia...

He rips through the contents laser-focused on what she said: silver, white, inhaler. And then it's there. A semi-opaque white tube, affixed to a small silver canister.

When he grabs it and turns back to Nia, he's horrified to realize her eyes are closed, her mouth parted while the rasping sounds from her throat and chest worsen.

"Nia?" It's a plea, and then he turns it into a command. "Nia!" She has to open her eyes and respond or... Or what? He doesn't know the answer. Her lips move but he can't tell if she's trying to talk or just seeking air.

Instinctively he leans forward, arms gently cradling Nia's head and neck. Not just because it's standard first aid procedure, clearing her airway, but because...because he needs to touch her, protect her. This close, he sees that her face and neck are pale. Ashen. There are now gray scales beneath her usually smooth skin. It's as if life is literally draining from her.

Graham stares wildly at the inhaler, long enough to notice the button on top of the canister. With no clue whether he's doing this right, he slips the tube into her mouth, then--blinking sweat from his eyes--he uses his thumb to press and hold the button.

He hears a blast of some kind of spray and feels her head pushed back from the force of whatever-this-is. He waits a few seconds, then presses the button again for another spray. Uselessness and dread wash over him.

One more try, and I'll have to find my communicator.

One more try and maybe I've wasted too much time because I don't know how to use the goddamned thing.

"C'mon Nia, Come on..." He's thinking it hard enough to say it out loud.

* * *

The first pump of her inhaler forces the Bilitrium compound down Nia's throat. By the third attempt, her lungs gratefully inflate, the concentrated rare element reviving her as it begins to be processed by her blood and nervous system.

She breathes it in and her mind clarifies, sweeping the black fog back. Her eyelids still feel heavy but she manages to open them. The breathing tube is in her mouth and it's trembling--it's in the hands of the man who's inches away, holding her against his chest, cradling her like a babe in arms.

Of course she can't speak. Her left arm can move now, however, and with effort she lifts it and places a hand on his, the one holding the inhaler. The trembling seems to lessen, but not completely. Covering his fingers with hers, she presses down, pushing the button along with him. Oh, it's delicious, this precious, precious compound. Slowly she feels lighter.

The whole time, her gaze meets Booker's. His face is frozen, features seemingly carved in granite. She tries to speak to him without words. Her eyes are grateful, shamed, frightened. But none of this is conveying what she needs to tell him. When she's enough in control of herself, she pulls the inhaler from her mouth--fighting Booker, who seems determined to keep the thing that saved her in place. But she doesn't need it, and she tries to convey this with her eyes. At last he lets her remove the tube.

"Thanks," she whispers, and lifts her right hand to touch his cheek. "I'll be fine, Book. I promise I'll be okay. I'm sorry... I was stupid... should've known..." Needing more help, she inhales another pump of the spray. The more clearly she can see the lines of fear and worry--and blame--in Booker's expression, the worse she feels.

"Don't worry, please don't worry. I'm sorry," she repeats, and closes her eyes to bury her head against shoulder, too angry at herself--too ashamed at her own stupidity--to let him see her. The strength in his arms makes her feel even weaker in comparison. You idiot. You damn fool idiot. What's he going to think of you now?













Graham by GU, Nia by me

[general_urko]

Graham stirs, feeling the warm presence cradled in his arms. "Mmmm, Jane," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering open, and...

Not Jane. Nia.

For a moment he flushes and he's grateful she's still asleep.

Asleep with a respirator mask over her face, hooked up to a large tank...

But she's breathing easily, he notes with relief.

The mask was a source of some...what, embarrassment? he thinks...Uh, two hours ago, he realizes as he glances groggily at the chronometer.

Once the inhaler thing had revived her, Nia had explained what happened but seemed... He's not sure.

My planet has a Class-H atmosphere. We don't naturally process the kind of air you find on Federation ships or planets, and I require a compound that uses Bilitrium, nitrogen and oxygen. In order for my people to emigrate, we needed to come up with a way to breathe outside our solar system. Dad died before it was successful, but... anyway, that inhaler and my full-size respirator are the results. Thanks to our natural harsh surroundings we've evolved to survive for some time without breathable air, but after about thirty-eight to forty-six hours, our systems need to be replenished or we start going into a kind of... hibernation. That's... that's what you saw.

She seemed to want to get what turned out to be the respirator apparatus herself, something he explained as gently as he could was not going to happen--nor was she going to do anything but lie still--unless you stunned me with a phaser...

And she...suggested...I leave, as I placed the mask as carefully as I could on her face....

I'd like to stay...to make sure you're all right.

She hadn't insisted, so...

Here we are....

What can I do, kick the shit out of Starfleet standard atmosphere?

He moves to adjust his arms around her shoulders...

Just...be where I'm needed to be, he thinks, listening to her steady breaths.

[SidonianGal]

Booker's movements rouse Nia. She feels the strength and warmth of him near her, knows she's naked, and he's at least half-naked judging that there's nothing but skin between them. She starts to cuddle up against him--and the tug of the respirator tube wakes her up entirely.

Her eyes flash open and recognizes the mask covering her nose and mouth. She's wearing her full mask. In front of him.

Cheeks burning, Nia lifts her hand and pulls the plastic case from her skin. The condensation from her breaths cools in the ship's air. "Book," she says quietly, not looking at him. "Thank you. If you need to get up for an early watch, you can go. I'm just... I am so damn sorry."

She finally turns to stare up at his shadowed face. "This never happens. I mean it, it never happens. Not since I first got used to the schedule, not since the early days at the Academy when I took stupid risks like any other kid who'd never left home. It wouldn't have happened tonight except... time stopped mattering. I didn't want it to end." With a slow shake of her head, she leans back against him, wondering if he can feel the difference in temperature from her usual coolness to the shame-induced flush.

"I'm just saying, I'm not sick or anything." Her voice is firmer, the words faster. "Starfleet knows about this. I'm approved for flight, I've proven myself fit for missions time and time again. I--I don't want you to think--"

She shuts her eyes, not knowing how to put this. I'm usually a good-time fucktoy, the crew's favorite shuttlecraft--in and out, a quick ride and we're done. I've never wanted, never needed someone to rescue me like that. After all, shuttles are great for quick jaunts, but if one's too high maintenance, they're not worth the trouble, are they? You just take the next one.

Instead she sighs. "I just know no one should have to be scared like that. Especially you, considering..." No, she can't finish that. She can't bring up his wife, that would be presumptuous in the extreme. "I hope this won't affect... you and me," she says quietly, plucking the edges of her mask absently in her fingers.

[Elendil's Heir]

Kylah realizes that the alien transmission is still covering just a single subspace band, but has much more data packed into it than any of the previous ones. It's a very unusual, ultradense signal; she's never come across anything like it before. She can find no images or video in it.