Collins nods and heads for the door. One of the mooks goes with her.
Thalen on the Yorktown's Bridge puts Rangin through to Transporter Room 1. Chief Nguyen is now on duty, and after scanning says, "Yes, I have a lock on all seven. We could only beam six at a time, unless you want me to coordinate with one of the other transporter rooms. The people in that room are roughly grouped as four and three."
Shifting her gaze from Mr. Graham to Dr. T'Var and back again, Kylah tightens her grip on the photograph and nearly bends it. She is now worried that her suggestion might not be what is best for their crew. What if the others need backup? Lt. Collins is the only experienced security officer there. Kylah's advice might have had some basis in strategy, but she knows the real reason for it was her base desire to avoid seeing the mission leader again.
What if something happens during the hostage rescue, she thinks, twisting the envelope in her hand. What if someone is injured because of my personal issue with Mr. Rangin? My cowardice?
She stares at Mr. Graham. "What did... what did he say, sir?"
Graham stows his communicator.
"We're to follow up on our lead on Cl--...you know, our suspect."
After a brief pause he adds "You were right to point out that the call on who goes where wasn't mine to make. If they need help, they can call on Yorktown."
A bit louder he says "All right, team we're going to investigate this 'Paramount Nightclub' ASAP and look for our boy Cledd. Lt. Morris--what's the time to transit via local means, to go in as if we're locals? Plan B is we transport down somewhere hopefully out of sight and go from there."
Morris thinks and says, "The nightclub is maybe 10, 15 minutes away by car. It's not in the best part of town."
Mr. Graham's compliment makes Kylah frown, just enough to wrinkle her nose slightly. She did not mean to contradict him in front of Mr. Rangin, much less imply that he was wrong to make suggestions. But there is no private way to explain her comment, and she is uncertain whether it would be wise to do so. If he thinks her idea was one of strategy rather than insecurity, she will let that impression stand.
"Perhaps we should beam there, then? Time is important. If the hostages disappear, surely the people guarding them will contact their boss as soon as they can. Assuming there is one person in charge, and that he is not among them," she adds, remembering that Cledd Okmyx's involvement in a leadership role is still mere hypothesis.
The presence of armed men near her other crewmates is alarming. What will they do if the hostages disappear? Will they rush outside? Might they confront Lt. Collins and the others? Her heart rate jumps with concern and unease.
But she clamps down on her nerves as best she can. She must focus on this group's own agenda. "If you look on the map, Lt. Morris, and know the area... can you recommend any coordinates that might help ensure our beam-in is relatively private?" Kylah bites her lip and darts a look at Mr. Graham. Is she again overstepping herself? She hurries on. "I know the choice on how to travel is yours, sir. I just... I just want to assist in gathering information so you may make your decision."
Morris takes a look at the map and rubs his chin. "There's an abandoned storefront at the end of that block, if I remember right. We could probably beam in there unobserved - and without Kalo and his goons tagging along."
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 21 Nov 2016 at 11:57 AM. Reason: fixed name
Kylah nods encouragingly at Lt. Morris and Mr. Graham. "If you think it best to beam there, Lt. Morris, then we can give the coordinates to the Yorktown's transporter room."
Fleetingly she remembers that Mark Ferguson might still be on duty, but she forces the thought from her mind and gestures toward the closed door. "Shall I tell Mr. Kalo that we are leaving? Despite the heavy guard, they do not seem to care whether we stay or go, but I doubt it would be diplomatic to disappear by beaming out from here. Nor would it be polite, since they have provided us with useful information." Kylah glances at Dr. T'Var, hoping for her input as well.
Morris checks his tricorder's mapping function to determine coordinates, just in case.
Dr. T'Var muses, "Fair points, Mr. Kylah, but it might be more tactically advantageous to leave without advising Mr. Kalo and the other... gentlemen as to where we are going."
"Good all around - we'll take your guidance, Lt. Morris, and I like your idea Doc." He nods slightly. "Let's just get on with transporting there, and if our hosts don't like it we can apologize later."
Kylah bites her lip. Two superior officers--Mr. Graham is technically her equal, but not as far as this mission is concerned--cannot be argued with. Yet it does not seem wise or polite to leave without a word. Nor can she imagine how saying farewell will cause any security issues. After all, they need not explain where they are going, simply that they are. Her protocol knowledge chafes at the idea of slighting someone influential whom they may need on their side at some point. Especially if we end up implicating the president's son!
While Mr. Graham speaks, she darts her gaze around the room to search for some sort of writing implement. Did they use separate pens and ink at this point in Terran history? she wonders briefly.
If she finds something she can use, she will walk casually over to jot down a simple note of gratitude to Mr. Kalo and the president--on the back of the empty envelope, if there is no other paper around.
There is a notepad of creamy-looking paper and a silver cup with four pens in the center of the table. Kylah may use them to write her note.
Morris looks curiously at Kylah for a moment as she writes, then says to the Security man, "I have the coordinates and have passed them along to the ship, Mr. Graham."
The pen feels odd in Kylah's hand; it could be a stylus, common enough for data entry--especially when one needs to create diagrams on a screen--but it is not held the same way. She frowns, staring at the blank notepaper. It has been a while since she handwrote anything in the Terran common language, which seems to be what these Iotians understand. They must, or The Book would have been gibberish to them.
The process begins slowly. First she must think what she needs to say, then mentally translate it to English, and finally remember how to shape the letters. Once she begins, however, muscle memory takes over and--as always when it comes to expressing herself in a written format--Kylah's words flow quickly.
Dear Mr. Kalo,Here Kylah hesitates and taps the pen against her chin in thought. She strongly believes she must acknowledge the possible repercussions that might result should Cledd Okmyx prove to be the culprit... which is almost a certainty, short of some strange case of impersonation. The president's reaction is an unknown that worries her. After all, he may be displeased with his son, but that does not mean he will relish any attempt to bring him to justice.
Due to orders and the need to act quickly, our team had to leave in haste, otherwise we would have said a proper farewell. I have no authority to speak for Starfleet or the Federation, but on behalf of my fellow officers on this mission, I wish to express our gratitude both to President Okmyx for his gracious hospitality and assistance. Further, I extend my personal thanks to you, sir, for the additional patient, candid responses you gave during our conversation.
The Starfleet crew and the CAG can beam away to safety. But President Okmyx's anger may turn toward Kalo, when he realizes that his assistant was the obvious source for the lead. Okmyx is not a stupid man; Kylah could tell that easily during their meeting. And despite her dislike of these men and their thuggish, misogynist ways, Kylah most certainly does not want to be the cause of any violent punishment visited upon Kalo.
With a sigh, she jots down the rest.
It is possible that our investigation will uncover facts that may prove troublesome to your colleagues or the President. I hope this is not the case, but if so, I will do my best to ensure that you will not regret your forthrightness with me.She sets the pen down, rereads the note and--though she would like to edit it further, realizes that the pen offers no way to do so without scratching words out. She prefers the clean look of her printed letters, and stands up to hand it to Mr. Graham. "I hope this will satisfy the need for both caution and correct protocol, sir," she says quietly, then sends a critical glance back down at the note. "Please excuse my poorly formed letters. I am not used to writing your language manually. With your approval, I will leave the note on the table."
Once again, please accept my gratitude and my apologies for not saying farewell in person. I send my honor and respect to President Okmyx, and am certain my fellow officers join me in the hope that any further interactions will be both cordial and welcome.
Sincerely,
Ensign Kylah
Assistant Communications Officer, U.S.S. Yorktown
Last edited by choie; 22 Nov 2016 at 05:17 AM.
"Thank you Chief," Rangin responds to the transporter room. "We believe the group of four to be the CAG and the group of three to be the kidnappers. I would suggest transporting them to two different rooms and preferably with security in one of them should it come to that."
"I would like to get a further view on them to fully confirm it is them, before we do transport the groups out. Also, the other team has requested a little bit of time to follow up on a lead. As there is little to no current activity in the area, I have let them go ahead, but if there is any hint of danger to towards the group, we will be extracting them immediately."
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
From high above aboard the Yorktown, Chief Nguyen says, "Understood, sir. Standing by. But... wouldn't you want Security in both rooms, just to be on the safe side?"
Collins returns with the mook in tow. She tells Rangin, "Garcia is fine, but a little bored. Tricorder scan confirms the CAG mainframe is in the basement of this building, with what appear to be two Iotian guards, both with firearms."
Graham does something of a double-quickly scanning the note Kylah (completely unexpectedly) thrusts at him
"Wait, wha--"
His brow furrows as he scans it.
Then he smiles and chuckles slightly.
"There's an old phrase on Earth, 'good cop, bad cop.' Nice work being the 'good cop.'" He nods his approval. "If they wind up pissed off, feel free to put the blame on me violating diplomatic protocols or being a jerk or whatever you think moves the needle to smooth things over.'
Kylah watches Mr. Graham intently, then exhales in relief when he grants his permission--and even compliments her. Folding the cream-colored paper neatly in half, she adds Kalo's name on the blank side before placing it back on the table.
"Thank you, sir. I hope we will not need to smooth anything over, although if the President's son is responsible..." She shrugs and shakes her head before turning back to Mr. Graham. "I do not know how that will be resolved. It may well require more diplomacy and a greater level of prestige than a mere communications officer can provide."
She smiles briefly to acknowledge her lowly status, but her lips are tight and the expression does not come naturally to her. In truth, she is focusing on the upcoming transport process. She just hopes it will be quick. Beaming technology is something she has encountered numerous times since first encountering Starfleet, but while she grew used to it over the course of her accelerated Academy program, her feelings have changed since joining the Yorktown. Ever since Ferguson sent that sinister smile toward her back on her very first mission--ever since she was transported against her will by those villains on Anubis. Now Kylah dreads the process.
But aside from hugging herself as if cold, she tries to hide her disquiet and prepares herself for the journey to their new destination.
Last edited by choie; 22 Nov 2016 at 10:47 PM.
T'Var steals a look at the note, nods to Kylah and says, "Nicely done, Ensign, and better than leaving nothing." She says to Graham, "Shall we...?"
"Yes indeed," Graham replies with a nod to T'Var. "No time like the present. Prepare for transport."
He flips open his communicator. "Yorktown, we're ready.
"
"Acknowledged, Ens. Graham," Chief Nguyen replies. "Energizing."
The Syndicate tower's small conference room shimmers and disappears, and in a moment, Graham, T'Var, Kylah and Morris rematerialize in a dingy, nearly-bare store. You see empty shelves, gritty floors and a large, dirty window looking out onto a nearly-empty street. Planetary nightfall is now drawing on fast. A car goes by outside.
Kylah exhales in relief once the journey is over and her eyes adjust to their new environment, though she keeps hugging her purse to her chest. What she sees makes her grimace in reflexive distaste and unease.
This is quite different from the sleek opulence of Okmyx's building. She shudders and briefly wishes she had been given a dress with sleeves, or at least a wrap. Perhaps it is just the dwindling light and shabbiness of her surroundings that make the air seem chilly.
As she waits for Mr. Graham to take the lead in leaving this unknown site, Kylah peeks out of the window, careful to remain at a sharp angle in hope of keeping hidden. "Is this whole area so... rundown, Lt. Morris?" she murmurs as she absently rubs her arms for warmth. "It seems strange that the eldest son of the leader of the Syndicate would choose to frequent an establishment in such a place."
Last edited by choie; 28 Nov 2016 at 02:29 AM.
"Yes Chief, I think that would be a very good idea. Just in case. Rangin out."
To Collins as she returns. "Thanks for the update. Are they doing anything with it or is it just being guarded?"
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Morris says, "I think he might've been hoping to help rejuvenate the area - or maybe he just chose it because the rent was lower. I don't know. But it does a pretty good business, I've heard. It's just down the block" -- he looks out the window, then points -- "that way."
Collins says, "Just guarding it, I believe, but I couldn't really tell just from a tricorder scan. I didn't look in on them."
"All right," Graham says, noting approvingly that Kylah made an effort to stay out of sight when glancing out the window.
"Check weapons: moderate stun. We'll do a little arm-in-arm promenade. Me and Kylah. Morris and the Doc. I think we're all righties here--Doc, I want your weapon arm free. No offense, Lt. Morris, but your safety is our responsibility. Doc, if the shit hits the fan and emergency beam out seems like the best option, do it."
He scowls. "Just on principle I want to make sure any bad guys don't wind up with the whole CAG team in their hands. Don't know whether that matters, but let's assume it might."
"We'll go first when coast looks clear. Come after with a discreet distance...close enough maybe we all know each other, far enough maybe we're strangers on our way to the club."
After a brief pause, he asks, "Lt. Morris - this place have a sign that'll make it obvious we're there?"
Morris and T'Var acknowledge their orders and check their phaser-1s.
The CAG officer says, "Yes, it's a nightclub, not a speakeasy. There are double doors and a gilt sign with the name out front. You'll probably see a bouncer or two, too. Er, also."
Kylah backs away and opens her purse to pull out her phaser, a bit of a struggle given how tightly packed the small bag is. She checks the weapon and frowns slightly. How to hide it, much less use it? Her hand will be tucked around Mr. Graham's left arm, as he arranged.
She can throw knives ambidextrously, like any Elasian girl over the age of ten, but she is a mediocre shot at best with a phaser, even with her right hand free. If forced to use the other for firing, she is liable to stun one of her own team. Or herself.
Still, there is nothing else to be done. She folds up the photograph of Cledd Okmyx and shoves it into the bag now that there is room. Then, when she slips her arm through Mr. Graham's yet again, she makes sure to clutch the beaded purse so that it covers the weapon in her left hand.
Kylah looks up at the man beside her as they prepare to leave. "Thank you for trusting me, sir," she says softly, not wanting the others to hear. "That is... for allowing me to speak to Mr. Kalo alone. I know it would not have been your preference."
Graham smiles very slightly. "I prefer a team where everyone can trust one another," he replies just as quietly. "I know you care a lot about, ah, being good at your job. Just keep in mind that I do, too, just as much."
"All right let's go see Mr. Cledd," he says to the whole group. As best he can, he looks around at what's happening outside, and assuming there is nothing alarming, moves to open the door.
"Shall we?" he asks Kylah.
There is nothing alarming that Graham can see.
He and Kylah, arm in arm, go out the door and walk down the street towards the Paramount. An occasional car passes by, but there's not much traffic, and not many people on the sidewalk, either. The whole neighborhood looks run-down. The nightclub, however, when you reach the entrance, appears shiny and well-kept. There are two heavy, Art Deco gold-and-steel doors and a tasteful sign with THE PARAMOUNT in cursive neon overhead. There are no windows. The sidewalk right in front is clean and smooth, unlike farther down the block in either direction. Three big men in pinstripes and fedoras are standing outside; they look alert. One has a bulky overcoat over his arm.
As you approach, a taxi pulls up and a well-dressed couple (he in a suit, she in a slinky dress and long fur stole) gets out. The man talks briefly with the big men, who soon wave the couple inside.
The street lights silently blink on. Kylah notices that those in front of the club are working, while several down the block are not.
Now this looks more like the second home of a wealthy leader's son. Kylah approves of the design, but is curious to note the difference between the nightclub and its surroundings. One would think the neighborhood would have been enlivened by the presence of such an ambitious establishment. Surely people such as these two new arrivals would feel more at ease on a street filled with jewelry, antique or clothes boutiques.
Speaking of clothes... Kylah casts an appraising look at the guests' attire. Although the woman's pretty dress catches her eye, it is the fur stole that Kylah currently yearns for. She is grateful to feel the warm material of Mr. Graham's suit sleeve against her skin. She does not know why she feels so chilly, just because of some early evening air.
But that might just be the problem, she realizes: the time of day. The last time she was out at twilight on a planet, she ended up battered and left for dead.
Unconsciously she moves more closely to Mr. Graham. Foolish. She is having all sorts of flashbacks and memories today, ever since her empathic abilities returned she has not been able to keep her mind focused. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens again to look at the couple and force her attention on the mission at hand. No one is going to harm her here. All they have to do is get inside the club.
Assuming, that is, they can get inside. The quick discussion between the male guest and the large bodyguards causes her concern.
"We are not known here," she says under her breath to Mr. Graham while affecting a nonchalant demeanor. "I hope we do not need some sort of... password, or proof of our identification... in order to gain entrance." Kylah aims a quick glance back at Lt. Morris. "This is open to the public at large?"
Last edited by choie; 30 Nov 2016 at 03:46 AM.
Morris and Dr. T'Var are still a bit behind, but then get closer. Morris hears her question and responds, "If you're dressed for it and have money, yes. I think we qualify on both counts."
"Mr. Kylah, would you like to do the honors? Wowing these guys with how much management wants us in their club seems like it's right up your alley," Graham says quietly. "Morris, can you have her back on any local facts or culture questions?"
Surprised by Mr. Graham's request, Kylah nonetheless nods and focuses on the men by the door. Sweeping in and acting like her mother will not work here--this society does not seem to value haughty women, as she learned earlier. But neither will it do to behave like a nervous, needy cadet, as she did with Mr. Kalo. What sort of people would be welcomed by such a nightclub?
Those with wealth to spend, or power that can be bought. Her frown deepens as her thoughts take her to a logical conclusion. Or items that can be exploited--illicit substances; sexual companions.
Obviously the last two possibilities are not options. She decides to split the difference between her mother's regal approach and her own mousey one.
As she walks closer, she shifts so that she is not as near to Graham, despite still being linked arm-in-arm. Then, unless Lt. Morris or Dr. T'Var suggests a different plan from Mr. Graham's, Kylah will affect a casual stroll up to the guards--doormen--and offer them as warm a smile as she can give. "Good evening, gentlemen," she begins in a low, confident voice. "How is the..." Her mind strains for the lingo. "How is the action inside, this lovely night? May my party and I enter?"
Morris has no particular advice to offer. But that's OK, because the mooks outside look Kylah up and down appreciatively and one says, "Go ahead, dollface. Enjoy yourself!" He gestures towards the door.
Kylah's smile turns warmer, though inwardly she cringes at yet another way the men on this planet have found to address her as some sort of infant, plaything, or even food item. How do the women tolerate this? Still, she pretends to be flattered by the ogre's approval and looks toward Mr. Graham. Surely he should open the door in such circumstances.
With a rare moment of mischief--and not forgetting that Mr. Graham himself has used this culture's dismissive vernacular when talking about her to Okmyx's men--she tilts her head and says, "Well then? The door will not open itself... Big Daddy."
Graham hopes the mooks aren't observant enough to note the instant of shocked surprise triggered by Kylah's phrasing--but he has enough of a recollection of some old Earth vids that he knows she's not literally referring to him as a father figure...
He's not sure whether that feels good or bad...
He covers his reaction by quickly clearing his throat. "Of course, ah, doll..." he leaves it at that rather than repeating the same word the mooks used. He somewhat theatrically opens the door and gestures for her to enter, then toward T'Var. "Ladies first, of course..."
Amused despite herself, Kylah mentally thanks Collins for the phrase list she sent them earlier, and then heads through the door Mr. Graham is propping open--very curious to know what this establishment looks like, and more important--feels like. Perhaps the place will be spacious and not too crowded; things are always easier when there is plenty of room between her and others. Nevertheless, as she crosses the threshold, she tries to prepare herself for what might be a barrage of unfamiliar emotions.
The four Starfleet officers enter. You find yourselves in a richly-carpeted, somewhat dark foyer. The couple you saw earlier, and five other men and two women, are there, all similarly dressed in Twenties Chicago garb. A cloakroom is to your right, bathrooms to your left, and hallways extend into the darkness beside each. There is a larger, curtained entryway directly ahead, and the sound of relatively quiet jazz music just beyond.
Kylah is engagingly surprised by the refined tone of the club; even the music intrigues her. She wonders if there is dancing--not that the mission would allow time for it, but still, she loves hearing new music and rhythms, and has had precious few occasions to take advantage of them.
The last time was that night on OCIII. An impromptu dance with highly unanticipated and very unpleasant consequences.
Her smile flickers away fast. To shove the memory into the back of her mind where it belongs, Kylah pivots around to take Mr. Graham's arm again. "We do not have a plan," she blurts in a whisper when everyone is close enough. "I do not--I do not think we should improvise completely. How do we act if we see him? And if we do not... if he is in some back room somewhere... what pretense do we give to seek him out?"
Last edited by choie; 02 Dec 2016 at 03:28 PM.
Graham gently pulls Kylah closer to him as he edges closer to Morris and T'Var.
"Why, we go in phasers blasting," he says quietly, for a moment lost in memories that take a moment before they become bittersweet.
Jane loved to dance. In buildings that had stood in Boston for centuries. I hated it, but if she was willing to take to the floor with a lumbering idiot like me I was never going to say no...
He smiles, glancing at Kylah, only feeling the edges of the smile turn down as he turns away.
He clears his throat. "Lt. Morris--uh, I' think we should go by names while we're here--you know this guy, right? Any suggestions given what you know about him?"
"Sure, just call me Morris," the officer says. "Or Joe. I only know him a little, though. I'd say... treat him with respect and don't show weakness. He's not as smart as his dad, and he's got a shorter fuse."
Back on the ship, Lt. Ve'ne'ko'nia'onn is taking a brief break from her Bridge duties. She decides to stretch her legs and get a glass of ice water in the Mess, and has just walked in when a bosun's whistle sounds from the nearest comm. "Singh to Onn. Meet me in Transporter Room 1 on the double," she hears the Captain say.
She acknowledges the summons and quickly goes to the transporter room. In the corridor just outside it, she sees Dr. Villa and two medtechs hustling an antigrav gurney towards Sickbay. Lt. JG Jeremi Collins is on the gurney, very pale and apparently unconscious.
Inside the transporter room she finds Capt. Singh and Chief Nguyen. Singh is grim-faced. "Lt. Collins fainted while serving with the landing party," she says. "We're not sure yet if it's serious, but Dr. Villa is optimistic. Mr. Rangin's investigation below seems to have stalled, and we still don't know the location of the CAG for sure. I want you to go planetside and assume command of the entire landing party. The safe and prompt recovery of the CAG should be your priority. Mr. Nguyen will beam you down to the apartment building where Collins was." She quickly brings Onn up to date, and adds, "You should go in Twenties garb to blend in with the rest of the landing party, Lieutenant. The Wardrobe Section will prepare whatever you need. Questions?"
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 04 Dec 2016 at 03:58 PM.
Questions? Nia has only about a hundred, starting with 'why me?' and 'Is Collins okay?' and ending with 'is Rangin gonna frag me for taking over his first command?' She nearly laughs in disbelief and disorientation at the whirlwind of events, but the circumstances are sobering enough to keep her composure.
"No, thanks, Captain, your report sounds crystal clear. I've got the picture and if the CAG can be brought back, they will be." Then a wrinkle in the plan hits her. "Except... I remember just enough about the 20th-century culture in North America to hope that not every aspect caught on over there..."
Her hand gestures toward her face. "My, uh, complexion doesn't exactly match anyone else's in the landing party. Do you or perhaps Ensign Hayes know if this'll be an issue planetside? Of course I can handle whatever they dish out, ma'am," Nia adds firmly. "I just don't want to be a distraction."
She can't help a slight crooked smile. "Then again, I also come equipped with something Terrans would only find on reptiles or sea creatures. I can retract most of my scales, but hopefully Wardrobe can help out with a long-sleeved outfit. But I'm assuming the priority is saving lives rather than fitting in. If necessary, we'll toss out the guidelines about disrupting the native culture by whipping out phasers or any other tech... Have I got that correct?"
Last edited by SidonianGal; 04 Dec 2016 at 04:45 PM.
Graham smiles just a little. "No weakness I can do."
He glances at Kylah and says "you'll have to keep me honest about not insulting him," he says, giving her hand on his arm a little squeeze without any conscious thought whatsoever.
"All right," he says, leaning in to the center of their little group. "He's an important guy, we're Feddies who want to know what happened, so we assumed a big important guy like him might know the score." After a brief pause he adds, "And Morris here recommended this as the best nightclub in town, and even Feddies need a break once in awhile."
Mr. Graham's squeeze surprises Kylah, and she looks at him with curiosity. Perhaps he is tacitly telling her to let him take the lead, but to stay on guard for the younger Mr. Okmyx's apparently mercurial temperament.
She nods at his strategy, both the silent version and the one he spoke aloud. It strikes her as entirely possible that this room is monitored somehow--although her knowledge of this era and setting is miniscule. Thus far there have been few signs of advanced applications of electronics or computers... but of course: the Iotians have mimicked an age too early in Earth's history for computers.
But what of audio technology? Fortunately nothing she, Graham, T'Var or Morris has said is particularly damning. No mention of the other team--and hopefully that will remain the case. We are here to gain information, not reveal any.
Still, before they head for the main room, her eyes scan the room for any signs of wiring or likely places to hide a microphone.
"You do, Lieutenant," says the Captain. "They've already seen phasers and communicators in use... and may even have captured one of the latter. But it would be best for you to limit your use of advanced technology, to the extent possible."
Onn nods and, at the Captain's invitation, speaks on the transporter console's comm unit to Wardrobe. A few minutes later, an ensign bustles in with her Twenties footwear and garments.
The Paramount's foyer is somewhat dark, as noted, but Kylah sees no likely places to hide a microphone.
Nia realizes that Captain Singh didn't respond to the question about Earth's centuries-old difficulties between people of different skin colors. Maybe the captain didn't think it necessary to add worry about bigotry to Nia's rather abruptly placed burden. Especially since it seems an egregiously absurd, trivial matter to cause such vile behavior and injustice.
After absently thanking the ensign for the clothing, Nia chides herself. Trivial? Who am I to judge? After all, her own ancestors once went to war with the Lau, who believe the deity Sid'Os is male--whereas the majority religion among the Ne people assures them that the Creator is the Mother of the World.
Thousands died in a dispute over an invisible god's gender. Which mattered because...? I'm sure the reasons were super important at the time, Nia thinks darkly.
Her ruminations dissipate when she unfolds the outfit Wardrobe saw fit to send her. "Whoa... okaaay," she says with an amused lift of her eyebrows. "They did hear me say I was joining a landing party, not cocktail party, right?"
The question is entirely rhetorical, of course. She purses her lips and unfastens the shimmering thing. Maybe it gets better when it's actually on? Shrugging, Nia quickly "scales up," as she calls the process of protecting the entirety of her skin with her body's natural armor, then removes the regulation Starfleet-issued gold uniform, stockings and boots. She puts them on one of the transporter pads, assuming they'll be beamed back to her quarters.
Now clad only in her underwear and scales, Nia slips the dress--which is a good match for her own current iridescent sheen--over her body. The material's shining beads clatter as they slide across the scales. The dress falls past her hips and...
...And that's almost where it ends. Well, okay, it reaches mid-thigh, but the bottom few inches consist of silvery fringe and material that's so sheer, it might as well not be there. Probably doesn't even show up in certainly light conditions. Holy crap, they're kidding, right?
She quickly recedes her natural armor to get a better look at this... this sparkling handkerchief masquerading as a dress, and can't suppress her chuckle. It's beautiful. But absolutely crazy for a mission leader.
Well, she can't deny they gave her what she requested. There are certainly sleeves. It just seems that the extra material required for the sleeves caused the dress to run out by the time it got to the hemline.
In fairness, it's not really much shorter than her regular uniform. It's just a helluva lot less... there.
This has gotta be a prank.
That's when the realization hits her, and she barely suppresses a snort as she sends an arch look toward the obliging ensign. "I have a feeling I know who's on duty up in Wardrobe today," she says with a grin. "No, no need to confirm. Just tell her I'll get my revenge."
Mental note: must get chocolate-covered bugs from Ajay.
Shaking her head ruefully, Nia finishes donning the ensemble, which includes garters, stockings, platinum satin heels, and a beaded bag hanging on a shiny silver chain--presumably meant to stow her communicator and phaser-1. But while she'll put the former away, she decides to wield the weapon until she assesses the situation on the ground as safe.
The last item is the other must-have she asked Wardrobe for earlier: some sort of hair adornment to cover her facial scales--they're pretty much permanent since receding them requires far too much concentration, a physical limit shared by the Ne people. She slips on the feathered headband, pushing her hair forward a bit, and tests with her fingers, satisfied with the result. Scales no more. As Ajay would say: Sorted.
The whole process takes about five minutes, and then Nia steps up to the nearest transporter pad. Her amused demeanor fades quickly as she focuses and gets into game mode.
"Unless you've got any last orders or words of advice for me, Captain, I'm okay to go." Her gaze shifts to Nguyen. "Chief, on the Captain's mark, please?"
Last edited by SidonianGal; 05 Dec 2016 at 04:24 AM.
The ensign smiles at Onn's remark and leaves. She will return Onn's Starfleet uniform to the lieutenant's quarters.
"To answer your earlier question, Mr. Onn," Singh says, "I'm not aware of any racial or ethnic biases in Iotian society. One of the CAG members is a black man, I believe, and I don't recall having read of him having any difficulties on that front."
Nguyen, who had averted his gaze while Onn changed, adjusts the controls on the transporter console. "Ready, ma'am."
"Good luck, Mr. Onn," says the Captain. "Energize, Chief."
The Sidonian woman disappears into the dazzle of the beam, and rematerializes in a dingy apartment. Rangin is there in a natty Gangland Chicago suit, as is a darkly-handsome young Iotian male who looks her up and down.
"Welcome, ma'am," Rangin says. "How is Mr. Collins?"
"All right," Graham says. "Let's belly up to the bar and explain we'd hoped to buy Cledd a drink..."
Nia blinks a couple of times--a dozen years in Starfleet and her (fortunately brief) oversensitive ocular response to transportation hasn't abated--while taking in her new surroundings and companions. The Iotian stranger deserves a much more leisurely glance than she has time to afford.
Instead she focuses on Ensign Rangin. His greeting seems polite enough, but she hasn't forgotten the weird vibe he'd emanated during their conversation this morning; must've been her connection to Booker. Now she's basically yanked his first mission command away from him. Mend fences and move on. If I can't take two seconds to glom that hot stranger, I sure as hell can't waste time on personality clashes.
"Good to see you, Mr. Rangin. Though not under these circumstances, obviously. As to Collins, I'll answer that question in a minute, though I will say that the docs don't seem to know what caused this episode." Nia narrows her eyes and examines the room. "Have you tested the air yet for some kind of toxicity? I don't feel any problems myself, and you guys look well enough."
Now she has a legit excuse to eye the Iotian again--yep, definitely a cute specimen--before returning to Rangin. "That said, none of us are humans, so we could be immune to anything that hypothetically might've affected Collins. It's a long shot, but might as well run a tricorder scan, if you haven't yet."
She inhales and puts her hands on her hips. "Meanwhile. I got caught up, pretty much, on where things stand. Seven people in the alleged location of the hostages, right? And you'd been about to arrange for a beam-out of four possible CGA and three possible kidnappers, right? Seems like a good plan to me, so I don't see a reason to delay."
Though she pulls out her communicator, she just holds it up rather than utilizing it. "Except first, I need two clarifications. Where's Garcia, and what exactly is the deal with the mainframe? I was told there were two guys guarding it, but I don't recall the specifics: are they in the room with the mainframe, or outside?
"Reason I ask is, I wanna know if we can beam the thing out without their realizing it. I'd rather not alert them that we're making our move... Probably that was your thinking too," she adds, lowering her voice and trying to act as if she's consulting with Rangin instead of enlightening him on Asset Retrieval Tactics 101.
She doesn't want to say anything about suspects in front of this Iotian, so she finally turns directly to him. "Sorry for my rudeness. I'm Lieutenant Onn. It's a pleasure to meet you. I understand your group places great value in the ideals behind the Federation. Always good to meet a likeminded soul." She smiles appreciatively and then tilts her head toward the door. "Hope you don't mind, but would you give us a couple minutes of privacy? I just want to explain more about our downed officer, and it's personal and confidential."
Total bullshit, of course, but she needs this guy gone. Her smile turns apologetic. "I'm sure you understand."
Last edited by SidonianGal; 06 Dec 2016 at 10:27 AM.
Graham, Kylah, T'Var and Morris pass through the curtains, encouraged by the smile and nod of a beautiful hostess in a slinky dress. You find yourselves in the main space of the nightclub. A low stage is at the far end of the large circular room. A tuxedoed jazz quartet - piano, bass, drums and trumpet - is playing there under spotlights. About two-thirds of the room is filled with round tables of varying sizes. Each is under a crisp white tablecloth, set with silverware and glasses, and has a small electric light in its center. The room is otherwise dimly-lit. Only about a fifth of the tables are occupied at the moment. About a third of the room, closest to the stage, is a dance floor. It is now empty, although Graham reminds himself that the night is young.
A black-clad waiter with a starched white apron appears at once. "May I show you to a table, folks?" he asks. "Any place in particular?"
In the apartment, the Iotian man responds to Onn with a suave smile. "I'm Zabo. Nice to meetcha. Sure, I'll step out - no problem. I'll be right outside if you need me." He winks and goes, closing the door behind him.
Rangin says, "Thanks for the update on Collins, ma'am. I understand from the Captain that you're assuming command here." He does not look pleased, but neither is he grinding his teeth. "I did a standard atmospheric scan when we arrived, and found no toxins or harmful substances. Garcia is outside with the car we came in, and a couple of Zabo's goons. Collins's tricorder readings showed that the mainframe is being guarded by two Iotians who're in the same room as it - or at least they were, as of a few minutes ago."
Kylah does not speak--it is probably Mr. Graham's role to do so--but she offers a brief smile in response to the waiter's question. Meanwhile, she casts her gaze around the room to see if she spots Cledd Okmyx, though the dimness of the room makes that seem unlikely, at least from this distance.
While doing so, she finds herself increasingly impressed by the club. It is not at all the rowdy barroom she was expecting in such a rough neighborhood, much less one owned by such violent gangsters. In other circumstances, this is entirely the sort of establishment Kylah would seek out herself.
The sight and sound of the small jazz ensemble pique her interest. She stops clinging to Mr. Graham's arm to take a few steps closer to the stage, intrigued to learn of the instruments and compositions from this time and place. Such music cannot possibly compare in complexity to Elasian music she has studied, or the Klingon operas she loves... but that is no flaw as far as she is concerned. There is great beauty in simplicity.
Kylah listens and closes her eyes in appreciation, and even--once she has heard enough of the piece to follow its melody, begins quietly and utterly unconsciously humming along.
Listening to Rangin, Nia nods with each piece of information. Part of her wants to ask What in the holy hell have you been waiting for? but she zips such thoughts up. It's his first command, and besides, everything she's heard about the guy--not including various accusations by Booker--indicates that he's the cautious, wait-and-see type.
Maybe that lack of speed has even been warranted here. Neither Singh's report or Nia's reading of the situation now implies that the hostages are in imminent danger. But Singh wants the hostages freed ASAP, so ASAP it'll be.
"Good, thanks," she says, and lowers her voice. "Reason I asked Mr. Suave back there to leave the room... we're still not completely ruling out the Krako folks as being involved, right? If there's anything suspicious you haven't been able to report on in front of them, now's your chance.
"Meanwhile. The guys in the room with the mainframe are a complication... but also an opportunity. Once they see the missing computer, they're sure to contact the three guards with the hostages. And when that doesn't work, they'll probably try anyone else involved--assuming there is someone else. If we listen in and get a name... or follow 'em wherever they go, if they flee... it'd be a huge help to T'Var and the others."
Not using the actual team leader's name seems like the best move. The omission might seem obvious, but maybe Rangin'll realize her intentions are good. No point in inviting any tension by reminding him of her connection to Booker.
She takes a deep breath. She realizes now she's delaying things... but screw it, she's had a total of ten minutes to get up to speed on this mission and she needs to think things through. "So here's the first half of the plan. We start by waiting near the apartment with the hostages. I'll give the order to beam everyone out. We're only there to make sure the beam-up goes smoothly. We go in only if the ship can't grab 'em for some reason."
One shoulder lifts in an impatient shrug. "Can't imagine the tech here could possibly cause a problem for our transporters, but I'm not risking their lives on my imagination. What do you think, Rangin? This all sound logical to you? I have to contact Garcia to tell him his role, but I want to hear your judgement first."
Last edited by SidonianGal; 06 Dec 2016 at 11:38 PM.
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