Star Trek RPG - Mission #7: "The War-Brotherhood of Irkhuit"

[SidonianGal]

Nia freezes, staring at Mäkeläinen in stunned silence. Then her gaze shifts to the gray case now in her lap for several seconds until at last she re-emerges from shock. "A replacement? For Bilitrium?" She finds herself trembling as she tries to open the case somewhat clumsily. Assuming she gets the case open, she'll look at the kit or instruments inside.

"They said it wasn't possible," she whispers, feeling as awed as that Aelyrr priestess holding her holy Codex thing. "Starfleet Medical, I mean. Why--" Her heart's beating rapidly enough to make her a little breathless so she tries to calm down before she continues. "I guess it'll take awhile to kick in fully? Villa never told me they were working on something like this. Why didn't they let me know?"

Dr. M's words are beginning to register with her, and she realizes she's been blurting questions nonstop. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just... I know you said it's not a miracle but that's like telling Cochrane warp speed wasn't a big deal. It's so unexpected, I can't--" She laughs and tries to narrow everything to the most immediately important. "So I can go? Now?"

[choie]

Kylah peers at Velir questioningly, then at Lt. Graham, before returning to stare at the blood. Elas is not in the Federation either, but they have been held to a higher standard than this.

The others have not moved and her outrage cannot solve anything now. Slowly she pulls her chair back and sits down, though remaining at the edge of her seat. Her shaky fingers twist anxiously at the buttons of her coat, opening it to have better access to her utility belt. Which is when the truth hits her. "I did nothing. I saw it and have a phaser* but I did nothing. I could have drawn and told him to stop."

Disgusted by her typical inability to act in a timely manner befitting someone with her training, Kylah turns away from the aftermath of the murder. "Can we not just ask for a ride now? There is no need to wait, is there? I want to leave."

She is embarrassed to have blurted those last words, knowing they sound like the pleading of a child. But she is not used to summary execution like this. She hopes she is never used to it.



* - Right? We weren't disarmed at any point right?

[general_urko]

"Easy, Ensign," Graham rumbles--sympathetically, in fact. "Lots of places in this galaxy aren't...right...by any stretch of the imagination." He shakes his head. "It isn't right, but we can't fix them all, especially..." He has to pause and swallow, worried about Nia. "With...with people of...our own...at risk."

"Something...light and gentle, if you please," Graham replies to the server. "And--we'd buy the singer a drink when she has a break, if she'd be willing to join us then."

[stolz]

"I hadn't heard of it, either. It is apparently in clinical trials, but not specifically for this. You have Dr. Anikwata to thank for that idea.

"It is a substitute in the sense it fools certain receptors in your mitochondria," explains Dr. Mäkeläinen. "It contains no elemental Bilitrium and does not make up for its deficiency. It buys us time—" without it, chances are you would already be comatose, or, let's face it, dead, "and leaves you able to function, but there is no telling how rapidly you might build up a tolerance. As you are surely sick of hearing but it's the truth, no one in the initial study was Sidonian.

But, yes, you are clear to go. Medically restricted duty and all that rot. Fact is," he foregoes his usual reserve, "we need you."

[SidonianGal]

Though of course Nia's optimism takes a hit--ridiculous, wildly desperate optimism, she realizes ruefully--she's still thrilled that her lifespan might not have to be measured in hours, much less minutes. Probably should be careful not to overdo things, to avoid whatever might cause her system to build up a tolerance to this medication, but... it's life. And surely they'll be able to grab a ship and fly to the Yorktown in 24 hours or so.

"Thank you," she says hoarsely to Mäkeläinen. "If not for the medication then for everything else you've done to help me. Including telling me I'm needed," she adds in an even quieter voice. The vulnerability she's felt since yesterday... actually over the past couple of weeks... has been more of a drain than she's been willing to acknowledge.

Reaching behind her to untie her gown, she starts to pull her arms through the sleeves but abruptly hesitates, remembering Double-T is right here. No real reason to be prudish--he's seen everything that'd be on display and then some--but there's no need to exhibit herself, either. She slips the hospital gown back in place and picks up the bundle of sturdy, weather-appropriate clothes, then looks from the doc to Rawlings. "Can I, um, have a couple moments to get dressed?"

[stolz]

Dr. Mäkeläinen waits outside the room with Ens. Rawlings. There is nothing really for him to say about the Lieutenant out loud, and, moreover, behind her back.

His thoughts wander to the Beowulf.. Finally he asks Rawlings, "Last time you were here on Ollos, did you have the impression Starfleet vessels routinely call here? Did you encounter any hostile attitudes, at least, more so than usual around here?"

[Elendil's Heir]

Dr. Anikwata says she'll send the doctor a link, and does so.

Rawlings laughs a big, booming belly laugh. He says to Onn, "Here you are in the hospital, of all places, playing matchmaker! You are full of surprises, Lieutenant - but thank you for the tip."

In the hallway, he says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "No, it's pretty rare for Starfleet ships to come here. It's not Federation space, obviously, and it's pretty far off the beaten track. I remember more curiosity from people than hostility when I was last here."

Kylah does still have a phaser-1, and her communicator.

The waiter brings Graham what tastes like a watery semi-beer. Rangin orders Romulan ale ("Can't get it on the Yorktown," he says with a shrug) and seems to enjoy it.

After another song, the Klingon singer, having been spoken to by the waiter, comes by. She grabs a nearby chair, pulls it up to your table and sits down. "Blood wine," she tells the waiter. "H'laka blood wine." She looks around the table before asking, almost accusingly, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

[choie]

About to respond to Lt. Graham's remark with a pointed question, Kylah tables it for now. She will ask later, because the implications of allowing murder to take place in front of them are troubling, to put it mildly--and, she believes, such standards are inconsistently applied.

She orders nothing, her thirst diminished considerably by the sight of blood. And then the Klingon singer orders blood wine, because... well, of course she does. Kylah does not comment. She has tasted blood wine when her uncle hosted his Klingon 'friends' and she was required to be hospitable. They found her disgusted reactions amusing until she finally learned to pretend to drink heartily of the vile liquid--at least, the younger vintages, which are usually sweet, almost dessert-like.

The singer's tone drags Kylah back to those dinners and meetings. She has to bite her tongue not to respond in kind, as would be expected in normal circumstances. Sitting with two Starfleet officers, however, is not a normal circumstance in which to display her knowledge of Klingon customs. Unless warranted, Kylah is quite content to be seen as just another crew person.

Kylah silently takes a discreet close look at the singer's clothing, jewelry or any skin tattoos, to note if there are any symbols or signs of her House, or if she is--like those mercenaries who attacked the Aelyrr ship--someone gone rogue who has left Qo'noS behind. Otherwise, she defers to Lt. Graham, who must have his reasons for choosing to address the Klingon rather than any of the others in the club.

[general_urko]

Graham wipes his lips clean of the beer-ish drink with the back of his hand.


He leans toward the Klingon woman. "We're not from around here." Then he leans back and shrugs. "Unless things in the galaxy have changed a lot lately, I thought it was a safe bet you're not from around here either."

He leans forward again, crossing his arms and dropping them with a small thud onto the table. "We're in the market for transit off world. If you know of any available options, we'd be grateful."


(the back of the hand appears to have some significance with Klingons - https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki..._and_tradition)

[SidonianGal]

The pile of clothing consists of less than Nia expected--in fact, its bulk is primarily due to a coat, thick leather that feels soft and well-worn to her, lined with gray fur of some kind. Beneath she also finds a worryingly small... Is this a bodysuit? Really? Scowling, she lifts it up. Hardly looks big enough for a child, much less someone Nia's size. Who the hell picked this doll's outfit for her?

She puts on her Starfleet underwear, and is about to just don her uniform since the bodysuit is so absurd, but decides to take another look. And she's glad she did, because turns out the shiny green material is very stretchy, and Nia can slip it on over her scaled skin fairly easily. It's not outrageously warm, but it's better than her uniform dress, and combined with the coat it should hopefully do the job.

Once she's dressed down to her boots, she's a little tired out and sits down for a minute or two. The air she breathes is still thick and insufficient--Nia guesses it's taking probably three breaths to deliver to her lungs and bloodstream what one breath should. Okay. Calm down. It's not great but just remember you're not really drowning. Even if it kinda feels like it.

Keeping her movements efficient and careful, she takes another few sips of water before picking up the medication case. There's a small mirror that Nia kinda regrets looking at, because her skin still seems grayish and shining from the scales not willing to go all the way into hiding. On the plus side, her eyes look a brighter green than usual, probably because the bodysuit is almost a perfect match and seems to liven her appearance up. Her hair remains loose; Nia doesn't bother tying it up again.

At last she heads out, her slow tread moving toward the doctor and Rawlings.

[stolz]

Dr. Mäkeläinen is happy to see Nia on her feet and looking more or less functional. Things could so easily have gone the other way. He graces her with a warm look as they head down the corridor to see the administrative assistant in charge of billing. "Where to, then?"

The admin presumably has all Nia's info and is expecting them, but he verifies any details (came in at such-and-such a time last night, etc.) to the best of his knowledge should it be necessary.

[Elendil's Heir]

The Klingon singer is in black leather and fur, clothing similar to cold-weather Klingon gear Kylah has seen before, although it doesn't look to be of Imperial manufacture. She has spiky earrings in each ear, although again, they don't appear to be of Klingon origin. She has no tattoos or house sigils showing that Kylah can see.

She sneers at Graham and says, "Where I am from is no concern of yours, Human." She drains her blood wine and waves for another. "And what do you think I am, a starship booking agent?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen, Onn and Rawlings speak to the hospital AA, who deducts 4500 monits from your account. Rawlings makes a face at the charge, but says only, "Meet up with Mr. Graham and the others?"

[choie]

Swallowing her nerves, Kylah looks in the direction of the waiter, then back at the other woman. "Since you ask, Klingon, the truth is, we are divided on what we think you are. My companion thought, as you are a long way from home, you might know of a way off-world. To my eyes, you are someone stuck on a backwater planet entertaining humans and Tellarites--and other Alpha Quadrant jetsam. Few of your race would do so if there were another option."

She addresses Lt. Graham. "I doubt she has anywhere else to go--likely a fugitive or exile. Pay for the one drink you offered, but no more. We do not have endless monits to spend on someone who cannot help us, talented singer or not."

[SidonianGal]

Nia nods. "You guys know where they are now? At the Port Authority still?" A thought strikes her and she quickly places a gentle hand on the Security Officer's formerly wounded arm. "Sorry, Double-T, I should've asked--how are you feeling? Those muscles and bones of yours as strong as ever?"

She smiles apologetically. "And if so, could you hold this case for me, please? Just until we find transport?" Nia lifts the sturdy medication case with some difficulty. "It's a bit much for me right now. Oh--unless you think you need all hands free for security purposes. Damn, I didn't even ask what the general mood is here among the, uh, populus. Friendlies? Unfriendlies? Neutrals?" Her concerned glance takes in both men as she asks the question.

[general_urko]

Graham is impressed, surprised, and a fair bit proud that Kylah seamlessly and of her own accord slid quite well into the "bad cop" role, in the moment.

He leans back in his chair. "Well, I concede that's a fair point. Klara--I assume you're Klara, and the band are "the Threats"--I think you're a talented singer. But, it seems, not someone who might help us."

[stolz]

"I haven't pieced together the full picture yet," Mäkeläinen glances at Rawlings and back to Onn, "but Federation and Starfleet visitors are normally just an object of curiosity here, more foreigners to be fleeced. However, a few days ago a Starfleet frigate blew away a trader here. At least, that's what people are saying. I noticed some not-too-friendly looks when we arrived wearing Starfleet uniforms. Yet another reason to keep a low profile.

"Everybody else is probably still at that local... establishment trying to charter a ship. We can get a ride there." It is probably not that far, but I do not want her walking there in the cold.

[Elendil's Heir]

Klara glares at Kylah. The waiter brings another bloodwine, and sets it down on the table. She reaches for it.

Rawlings tells Onn, "I'm okay. They patched me up fine." He takes the medicine case from her. "Sure, I can carry this. No problem."

[choie]

Kylah eyes the drink as it is placed down and instantly calculates whether to grab at it. But the Klingon--Klara, if Lt. Graham is correct--is already showing hostility and the matter is not worth risking an outright gik'tal. Physically Kylah could not withstand even something as mild as B'aht Qul, much less a death battle.

So instead she just looks flatly at the other woman and says to the waiter, "Bill us for the first drink; this one is on her." Kylah turns to both of her crew mates. "If she offers more help, do as you see fit. In the meantime I will seek more fruitful pastures at other tables."

With her back to the Klingon, she sends a quick questioning gaze to Mr. Graham, wondering if he agrees that he will likely do better with Klara without her, if the woman actually has something of use. She also hopes he does not object to her asking some of the uniformed customers for help. To temper any objection he may have, Kylah adds quickly, "Perhaps Lt. Rangin might do the same."

[SidonianGal]

Thanking Double-T with a warm look and smile, Nia agrees with Dr. M. "Right. You mentioned they're at a 'hangout' earlier. Sorry, my mind..." She makes a fluttering gesture with her hand. "You didn't sound too keen on it, if I recall. A dive, I take it? Well, if we're gonna find transport you'll need to lead the way. I barely remember entering this hospital, much less how to get around."

She asks them to keep a slow pace and keeps her hands stuffed in the warm, furry pockets of the coat. Then, belatedly, Nia reacts to Mäkeläinen's news. "Wait, one of our ships blew up a trading vessel?" Her mind races to think what the actual fuck that could've been about. "And we don't know why? Or even if that's true, sounds like." She shakes her head and mutters a quick "Seht'dar's Holy Balls" before adding, "Well. True or not, if that's what's being said, no wonder we're not getting a warm welcome out there. We need to find out the truth, because that's a serious matter. Priority number one--"

She stops short. Yeah, that's what should be their first priority. But instead, because of her own failing body, their main objective isn't doing their proper duty as Starfleet officers. It's scurrying back uselessly to the Yorktown.

Shit.

If she weren't sick, it'd absolutely be mandatory to find the truth about a violent incident between Starfleet and civilians. Sure, the crew might be able to do some research once on the journey onboard whatever ride they hitch onto--they'll have better access to comms up there. But it's also quite likely someone down here on Ollos knows who the traders were, and maybe what the Starfleet vessel was doing in this neighborhood in the first place. Frigates are usually guarding or accompanying other ships, not poncing about in random systems.

Most of all, she wants to know what the clash was about. If one can call any conflict between a civilian trading vessel and a presumably fully armed frigate a 'clash.' It's like describing a foot squashing a bug a battle royale. A frigate's not a Constitution class but it's not a mere shuttle either. A thought that saddens her, because the Tesla was an attempt to bridge the gap between a shuttle and frigate, or at least beef up shuttles' mission and fighting capabilities considerably.

"Guess we'll see what we'll see," she says, another barely muttered phrase. The shame of being a continual liability among the crew seems to be worsening every minute. "I suppose it's futile to ask if there were any survivors?"

[stolz]

"It's not that," Mäkeläinen says about disapproving of the Black Sun, "I enjoy the local colour. Though I wonder what kind of place it is that is full of off-duty spacers at midday. Chances are, though, at least if we are lucky, that it is a place where some real business gets done, ostensible inebriacy and roughness or not." Mäkeläinen likes to think of himself as worldly, and has, in fact, been around an eclectic mix of people, but does not know any Klingons, much less Romulans, or hard-core pirates, for example.

"I ken not of survivors," he says. "Did the Portmaster say anything about it?" he asks Rawlings. "Or authenticated comms records, visual records, telemetry? Sounds like all kinds of forensic investigation are called for, plus it's a major diplomatic incident."

He tries to hail a private crawler or other transport, or asks someone at the hospital reception to do so on their behalf, to take them to the Black Sun. He knows it is not far, but Nia definitely should not be walking around, and, anyway, none of them have been there or know precisely where it is.

[general_urko]

Graham gives Kylah an as subtle-but-visible brief approving nod and inflection of his eyelid as he can. That was as well-played as any Security officer could come up with on the fly.

He reminds himself to tell her that later.

[Elendil's Heir]

Klara utters some curse that Kylah doesn't know, drains her second tankard of bloodwine as quickly as her first, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and stalks away. She takes the stage again and the band is soon crashing into its next dissonant number.

Rangin says thoughtfully, "Yeah, let me see what I can find out. Back soon." He also leaves the table and disappears into the depths of the bar.

Rawlings says to Onn and the good doctor, "My impression is that there were no survivors. But folks down here seem to know what happened, or at least think they do." He shrugs. "Don't know anything about records or an investigation. Ollos doesn't seem too big on that kind of thing."

You trudge outside through the snow for only a few minutes before an aircar taxi pulls up alongside. It is in the traditional ancient yellow livery with black-and-white checkerboards, and looks even more battered than Maude's crawler. The driver, an elderly Vissian male with a prominent scar across his chin, sticks his head out of the window and asks, "Need a lift?"


https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Vissian

[choie]

Disappointed both by Klara's storming off--and by Velir's even more rapid departure--Kylah finds herself left with Lt. Graham after all. Her cheeks burn a little. "I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to ruin a chance of conversing with her. I also thought... well, I intended to speak to the other customers accompanied by Vel--I mean Mr. Rangi--"

She stops, then continues with an exasperated sigh, "I mean Velir." Kylah purses her lips, realizing it is foolish to maintain the pretense of indifference in front of someone who knows her as well as Lt. Graham does. "Should we each try our luck separately, as he is? I played my hand poorly with the Klingon, I fear, so I will be glad to heed your advice."

[SidonianGal]

Nia mulls over Double-T's words. Everything here seems like the lawless North badlands back home. No investigations, no curiosity, just deaths and likely bad feelings festering because no one gives enough of a damn to keep everyone accountable.

I don't care what Ollos knows or doesn't, she thinks. The Federation--well, at least Starfleet--is supposed to follow its own guidelines and rules for engaging vessels within populated systems. Especially ones with heavy civilian populations, and even more especially ones not hugely far from enemy territory.

Exactly how far they now are from Romulan-claimed space Nia was warned about is a mystery, her having lost track of their location completely. That's something she needs to find out, once they hook up with Booker and the others--and have access to the net.

Now in front of the crawler, Nia shudders in the wind. She's still cold even with her heavy, fur-lined coat. The driver's race is new to her, other than in images from xenosociology and xenobiology vids she's perused through over the years. "Yeah, thanks," she says through chattering teeth. "We're headed to--uh--"

Blanking, Nia looks expectantly at the men flanking her, since she doesn't know the name of this place the Doc mentioned.

[general_urko]

Graham shakes his head. "You 'played your hand' as well as any Security officer ad-libbing in the moment, Mr. Kylah," Graham replies, sincerely.

"There's a phrase for it....'good cop, bad cop.'" He clears his throat. "Ah--Klara was a dead end, but that's not on you."

Graham's resigned that enforcing Federation law in this tavern would be a dead end too, if not a death sentence...but also that leaving Kylah on her own (or for that matter with Rangin) doesn't make him feel good at all.

"On the contrary, ensign...I'd, ah, appreciate your counsel if we work as a team. Very much."

[stolz]

"The Black Sun," Dr. Mäkeläinen fills in. "The nearby bar," he adds superfluously, but that way the driver will not run up the taximeter by circling halfway across town, not that he would.

[choie]

Kylah smiles a little in relief and gratitude for Lt. Graham's compliment. Taking a minuscule step closer to him, she searches the crowded and chaotic room. "I was thinking, perhaps we might find some luck with some of the customers wearing uniforms? Anything that appears to be... well... a ship's crew uniform. There might be other types of people who dress alike, I suppose..."

She gives Lt. Graham an embarrassed glance before letting her gaze return to the crowd, wondering just how ignorant she sounds. Soldiers wear uniforms, and law enforcement officers, and even religious figures. But it does not seem likely that members from one of these categories are plentiful in the club. Janitorial staff? Factory workers?

"Well, regardless, it seemed a place to start." Although lifting a hand in the general direction of whichever uniformed customer seems least... intimidating... Kylah silently defers to Lt. Graham regarding whatever tactic he thinks best.

[SidonianGal]

If there's no balking from the driver--Nia has no idea why there should be, but who knows what kind of reputation this place has--she'll thank Dr. Mäkeläinen for supplying the name and then carefully climb into the vehicle.

"Black Sun. Cool name," she says to mask her out-of-breathness from the brief exertion. Otherwise she's feeling not too bad, comparatively speaking. Her endurance, which she's always prided herself on when in peak form, is depressingly low, making her feel a decade older.

But she's upright and can move, and the world doesn't look like one big blur. She hated being barely conscious, requiring Booker's strength to lug her around. If she's gonna be in his arms she doesn't want it out of weakness or charity. Admittedly there's no other way she will be in those arms again. But that's too bad.

Maybe if they don't get out of here or the medication stops working and she ends up on death's door, ending her life in Booker Graham's arms would probably be the best way to go. For her. The sudden vision of a widower--is he a widower anymore, if he's remarried now? Nia's not sure how that works--having to hold and watch a dying woman is, frankly, horrifying. I won't let that happen.

Ugh, the morbid thoughts. Nia banishes them for now. The day's sunny, if frigid, and she's out in the air instead of lying hooked up to a machine. That's good. And they'll probably be off this rock in a matter of hours. Life is... life. It's everything. She won't waste more time on death until it's absolutely staring her in the face.

[general_urko]

Graham cocks an eyebrow, intrigued and sincerely pleased Kylah is finding her voice.

He shrugs. "That's as good an idea as any...how do you want to play it?"

After a second, he adds, " If you're comfortable with it, you could be the potential 'buyer' of off-world transit and I'm the dumb muscle." He rubs his chin. "Doesn't have to be that way, but , ah, I think the fact is you're a better communicator than I am."

[choie]

Though she nods, gratified, and starts to move off to the nearest, least-intimidating person who looks like they might belong on the deck of a starship--Kylah hesitates. She looks back at Lt. Graham.

"You communicate better than you know, sir. You've imparted a great deal to me over the past several months. Some good, some... less so. But on the whole you have taught me so very much about how to act, or react, or--or sometimes not to say anything at all. It has meant worlds to me, as someone whose emotions are not... not as well controlled as they should be. Leading to trouble, as you know. I think I am a little better at that now, sir--largely thanks to your influence."

She glances away for a second or two before her sincere gaze returns to him. "I only mean to say... I wish you would not be so ungenerous towards yourself." After saying the gentle words, she nods again and looks for a likely prospect to send them all home.

[Elendil's Heir]

"The Black Sun, sure, I know it," the cabbie says cheerily. "It's not too far off. I can have you there in, say, ten minutes or so. Hop in!"

Kylah doesn't see any likely prospects close at hand, but she and Graham walk a bit further into the bar, through the noise, smoke and flickering lights. Most of the crowd is in mismatched, even threadbare starfarer clothes, as before, but you eventually find three Human males in mustard-yellow uniforms sitting around a table, banging frosty mugs together, drinking and laughing uproariously. Graham vaguely recognizes the uniforms, which have curiously ribbed sleeves and pantlegs, but can't place them; they are unknown to Kylah. The men are not unkempt, exactly, but neither are they remotely ready for, say, the Starfleet Academy parade ground.

[choie]

Nervous, as she usually is in situations with many unknown factors, Kylah calms herself by remembering this is not a high-stakes negotiation. It is vital that they find a way off the planet, the sooner the better for Lt. Onn's sake, but the circumstances here and now are not some trip-mine waiting for her to blindly stumble into it.

She relaxes and steps close enough to be noticed without giving the impression she is intruding, and waits until there is a break in the laughter/conversation.

"Good ev--good morning," she says, correcting herself. It is hard to remember it is not yet night, with the club's atmosphere and the liberal amount of drinking going on. "I am sorry to bother you gentlemen--forgive me for interrupting." Trying to think of the best strategy, straight-to-business or casual, Kylah strongly suspects that, given their appearance and mood, she will have more success erring on the side of the latter.

Her smile aims her best attempt at charm to each of them. "You appear to be celebrating something. May we buy you the next serving of drinks? This is Lieu--Mist----Booker," she finally blurts, with an apologetic little glance at Lt. Graham for the presumption of using his first name. "And I am Kylah."

[stolz]

If Bizhi encounters any frozen, or fresh for that matter, corpses or bodies in front of the Black Sun, he knows it is futile but he scans them for signs of life anyway. That kind of sight certainly helps bring into focus his as yet nebulous impression of just what kind of place this bar, and Ollos itself for that matter, might be. Cold, laconic, hard-boiled men and women pragmatic to the point of callousness, that is more or less where he grew up, but there was always a code of conduct born out of, if not that everyone is in it together, at least the need for mutual survival in an unforgiving environment. People regularly getting shot in the face, or knifed in the back--- brawls are one thing, he might even imagine the rare duel, but a pile of bodies in front of the front door? That just does not sit right, and is inefficient.

[Elendil's Heir]

The biggest of the three men, who has an enormous beard and seems a jolly sort, gestures to two available chairs and says, "Sure, have a seat. Hell, we're always glad to accept a free drink! Hello, Kylah, and hello, Lieumist Booker. I'm Bill Pell, this is Sam Grend and this other loser is Phil Calloway." They nod at you, not quite as friendly as Pell but not hostile either.

A groundcar zooms by Onn, Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings, almost drenching you with icy slush. The cabbie looks at you expectantly. Do you get in?

[SidonianGal]

Trying to word this whether we acknowledge that Nia's already in the crawler or not.

Nia slides closer to the vehicle's port side--well, left side, this isn't a ship--to make room for the others. She's glad to feel the warmth again, her face tingling as it readjusts to the change in temperature. Ten minutes in the crawler; how long would that have been to walk? The others probably could've done it, she guesses.

Pulling out her communicator, she debates whether to contact the trio who are already at the club. Nia's not certain whether the Doc gave Booker the low-down on her current condition. If not, it might be something of a shock (hopefully a pleasant one) to see her up and about.

In other circumstances she might take that route. Problem is, she knows it'll result in a swell of anticipation on her part--a pure fantasy, a childish fairytale reunion. One where Booker's face lights up with joy and relief upon seeing her standing in the doorway, then he rushes forward to sweep her into his arms, which is when he realizes...

She winces and can practically hear Ajay mocking her. Oh fuck me, Nia, that's pathetic. Right out of one of my parents' soaps, that.

Yeah. Childish and naive and not gonna happen, and Nia's not gonna set things up for an embarrassing disappointment... even if she's the only one who knows what this fantasy was.

There are other fantasies she can make come true, she tells herself, thumb absently brushing along the communicator's buttons. The one where she tells Book what's been preying on her mind ever since the wedding. Where she tells him the truth, concerns and all.

Now that she's got a little more life left in her, Nia vows to take advantage of it, however possible. She'll regret it otherwise. She won't live long to regret it, she thinks with a wan smile. But Booker might be the one who'll have regrets if he doesn't hear what she has to say before she goes.

That can be saved for later. So, instead of holding out for a heartfelt reunion or writing out her innermost feelings, she taps out a simple message to her second-in-command.

BOOK - Morning. FYI, we're meeting up with you. Anything to report?

Yes you read that right: we. Sorry, you can't inherit command from my dead claws just yet. At least not for a few hours, probably longer. Things are still dicey to be honest and I'm hardly battle ready.

But I'm still here. As long as I can. Don't you dare think you'll be rid of me so easily! -- NIA

Sending, she returns the device to her belt, rebuttons her coat snugly and leans back, letting the furry hood fall over the top of her head as if burying herself in a cocoon, or some animal's pouch.

After a moment she turns to Mäkeläinen. "This miracle med. Any symptoms I should look out for? I mean about building tolerance. You expect things to just quit all at once? Or will I get some warning time?" Then something scritches at her mind. "By the way. I can't tell if it's a glitch in the UT but you said something earlier, sounded like something I only know as a Terran name. What's 'ken' mean?"

[choie]

Kylah looks down in embarrassment but recovers quickly. "Oh it is just 'Booker,'" she says while taking the offered seat. "I may have had a little too much to drink. My party has several men, it is easy to mix them up." Her hand waves away the error in what she hopes seems an airy, insouciant manner. She then holds it out to shake their hands. "I suppose now there are three more I must remember. Bill, Sam and Phil." With a warmer smile than she usually prefers to give strangers, she reassures the third man. "...Who does not seem like a loser to me."

Kylah turns to look for the bartender, and if he arrives she will ask him to refill the three men's drinks when they are ready. For herself she tries to find something palatable at such an early hour. "I have been drinking... Romulan ale," she improvises, taking her cue from Velir since she cannot remember what Lt. Graham ended up with. "But I should have something lighter. I hope to be traveling soon and do not wish to be too inebriated. May I have some Bolian tonic water, if you have it, please?"

(If there is any problem with this order, she will substitute a light white wine of the bartender's choice.)

While waiting for the drink she turns to Lt. Graham and pats the seat beside her (if there is one available), giving him a somewhat questioning look, wondering if he will choose to engage one of the three men. How much subterfuge need they use? It is true Starfleet is not popular, but must they continue to hide their affiliation with it?

Then she smiles back at Bill, the most ebullient of the three. "Are you all living here in Ollos? And what are we celebrating, if I may ask?"

[general_urko]

Graham nods friendly acknowledgment of the Bill's introductions and each of the three men. He tries to recall where the hell he saw the uniforms...c'mon Booker, that could be useful, and we--Nia--need all the help we can get right now.

He takes a seat as Kylah indicates and assumes an interested look at how Bill might answer her question.

[stolz]

Nia is quite the guinea pig on this one (not the subject of an experiment, but Dr. Anikwata straight up told him that coveserol had not been tested as an agonist or bilitrium substitute or in any other way on Sidonians), but that is no answer. If he has data access to the clinical study Dr. A. mentioned, he will try to skim it rapidly for the drug's biological half-life, exposure-response curves, or other indications of whether tolerance might build up gradually or suddenly.

In the meantime, "Ken?" Surprised by her other question, he thinks for a moment what she might be talking about, then his good memory recalls the context. "I said I do not ken anything... know anything about survivors," he elucidates, suddenly self-conscious of his choice of words, and his accent. He always made an effort to speak Federation Standard fluently, even eruditely, despite the fact it was a rather artificially imposed standard, unless one was from Earth, or even just certain parts of Earth, or certain classes. But he quickly dismisses such thoughts from his head: this ailing woman obviously is not mocking him. Terra, Mars, Ganymede, Proxima Centauri, ... probably all the same to her, except perhaps abstractly. "Ken is not a person... well, it is a Terran name, but back home in Burroughs, if you ask who is Ken you'll give everyone a good laugh."

[SidonianGal]

Nia's lips purse in amusement. "I can imagine. Well, that makes more sense. Sorry... it's been almost 15 years and I still run into language issues. The UT does a great job considering how complicated my native language is, but Fed Standard..." A chuckle turns to a wheezing cough, but she quickly recovers and moves on.

"Learning was a hell of a challenge, especially since at the time no one 'spoke' Sidonian." She emphasizes the word with finger quotes, adding, "'Speaking' isn't exactly right. We don't just vocalize. We use unique combos of pronunciation, intonation, gestures or even postures. Things are so specific, there are no misunderstandings. Well. Not through language."

She smiles ruefully. "I remember the first Comms. specialist trying to teach me got frustrated by how much he had to learn to get me to understand. He grumbled about how 'stupidly convoluted' Sidonian was. His exact phrase.

"He used it with a colleague and thought I didn't get it. Kind of an asshole," she says with another laugh. "The next one went much better. At least he understood my gestures and body language." The last words make her send an amused look at Rawlings. "Some say I'm good at that."

She takes a fleeting glance at her communicator to see if there's anything from Booker. Nope. Nia digs her hands more deeply into the soft fur-lined pockets, warming them further. Her voice is getting raspier and her lungs feel a little heavy, so she concludes quickly.

"Sorry for going on. Been a long time since I thought about this. Anyway, point is, the idea of the same word meaning two different concepts--without any of the extra info we include--would be totally beyond my people's comprehension. Or, uh... their 'ken'?" Nia tilts her head hopefully toward the doctor. "Right?"

[Elendil's Heir]

Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen join Onn in the aircar taxi. The cabbie closes his window and engages the controls, and the aircar jumps into the sky with a lurch. The motion dampers are working poorly, if there are any at all; Onn feels momentarily nauseous. As the aircar rises, the windows all turn black. "Sorry about that," the cabbie says, tsking. "Can't seem to keep it from doing that." As the aircar rises, you are aware that it is turning and then accelerating. "Have you there in a nanosec."

Graham still can't quite seem to place the men's uniforms. As he thinks, his communicator vibrates slightly with an incoming text.

Bill Pell takes a big swig from his mug, wipes the foam from his bushy mustache off on the back of his hand, and scoffs, "Hells no, we don't live on Ollos. We're from the independent tanker Wendigo. We've got a full load of liquefied gallicite and are on our way to Pentecost."

His shipmate Sam puts in, "We're not celebrating, honey, not really - this is just our first shore leave in 'way too long."

A waiter brings Kylah her pale blue Bolian tonic water.


https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Gallicite

[general_urko]

Graham holds back a grimace as his communicator inconveniently vibrates--except that this could mean Nia is...worse...

But she's doomed if we can't get off this goddam rock...

He wracks his brain for where Pentecost is in relation to the Yorktown's location.

In the meantime, he nods appreciatively. "Galliicite....valuable cargo to be sure."

[stolz]

Dr. Mäkeläinen pays attention to Onn's body language. It is true that it is expressive and animated, or would be more so were she not obviously suffering from the cold and fatigue. "That's right," he says to her. "But the most expressive language on Mars, the clearest communication, is that which is not said at all."

The spontaneously darkening windows are an unexpected touch, but he is aware that they should, indeed, arrive in moments if not nanoseconds, and he knows how much the earlier ride through town cost them so he has some point of reference about the fare.

[choie]

Kylah tries to look as if she knows what Gallicite is--some sort of mineral presumably, so if it is liquified perhaps it is fuel? "Is the Wendigo a large ship? I did not notice others with your uniforms when walking in, but there is a lot to distract the eye here." The blinking lights are irritating, but she supposes enough alcohol will dull any senses.

"I am unfamiliar with Pentecost. Will it be a long journey for you? On such trips shore leave is always to be celebrated," she adds with a smile at Sam. "Although... I am not sure I would find it particularly entertaining on this particular planet. Of course, it depends on the company one keeps." She broadens the smile to include the three men, acknowledging their obvious friendship. "Goodness I am being terribly ungrateful. I ought not to disparage Ollos--it saved our lives."

She takes a sip of the water, hoping the pause is timed well enough to engage their interest. "We were headed elsewhere, but our shuttle suddenly malfunctioned and lost power. There was little life support left and we had injured onboard, and things were desperate. But--here was Ollos. We barely managed a crash landing into an icy river. Our pilot did a remarkable job but is now in hospital. Truly it is a wonder we are alive at all. So I am grateful for the planet. I would rather be shipwrecked here than... the alternative."

[SidonianGal]

Nia's startled by the takeoff, not to mention the dark windows. Perhaps she's mistaken but she thought the club was relatively close. Then again, she doesn't know a thing about the locale, or how crowded it is. Air travel might be more efficient to skip street traffic.

The doctor's words amuse her. "I don't think I knew you're from Mars. Or if I did, it probably vanished with my dying brain cells. '...That which is not said at all.' Sounds like Mars-speak for 'shut the hell up, Lieutenant.' So noted. Probably best to conserve my breath anyway," she adds more seriously.

The clunkiness of the craft catches her attention. Her instinct to offer some tech help is pretty strong, but she tamps it down without a word. First, she's in crappy health and shouldn't waste energy. And second--Nia's confidence in her skills--and in her luck, for that matter--is at an all-time low. If she so much as touches one of the aircar's control panels it'll probably explode.

She is curious, though. After a glance at Mäkeläinen and a whispered, "Just a few more words, then I'll behave, Doc," she raises her voice slightly to call up to the cabbie. "What's the purpose of the tinted window deal? Do you find passengers get vertigo or something?"

[general_urko]

Graham's not sure why Kylah seems to be painting a picture of desperation for the team, but he's willing to let her lead, and at the end of the day, given how well she's done lately, assumes she has a plan.

He grunts. "Hm. Yes, always better to look on the bright side--and toward better days."

[Elendil's Heir]

Graham has heard of Pentecost before. It's a long way in the direction of the Federation coreworlds, at least a month at high warp, and nowhere near Cavinre VII. His communicator vibrates again.

Pell replies to Graham, "Yeah, gallicite ain't dilithium, but it's expensive enough." He belches. "We're going to do pretty well from this shipment." His expression darkens as Kylah speaks, however, and he says, "Your shuttle crashed? Wait a minute... are you the Starfleet crew we heard about from last night?" The other two stare at you, instantly picking up on Pell's mood change.

The cabbie says over his shoulder, "Yeah, the darkened windows help some people with vertigo, but it's really more for privacy. There's some kind of glitch in the system, though. Whenever I switch to air mode, they darken. Go figure! Gotta get it fixed one of these days." He flies on.

[stolz]

Mäkeläinen did not mean to curtail the conversation completely, exactly, but in front of this strange cabbie does not seem like the best place for a heart-to-heart conversation or for discussing all their business. Whose cab is... Bizhi does not know in which direction they should be headed, but he knows the ride should be quick, even in an old aircar. It is not like they have to stop for traffic.

Mars is not an attractive paradise world (though its impressive geology will not disappoint those who are into such things) and has no native life of its own. What makes Mars is the people who choose to live there, even to settle. Maybe there is a shared mentality, and definitely the shared experiences help to cement them into people who are able to understand each other and even to say volumes without speaking a word. He looks at Nia critically and pictures what she must have gone through in the past as well as all he has seen with his own eyes. You'd fit in, at that, he thinks.

[choie]

Kylah curses inwardly at having blundered. She hoped to make them feel like rescuers, not put them on the offensive. Well, it would be worse to deny it, or admit they were trying to hide this fact. She does suspect it would be damaging to acknowledge the incident with the cruiser.

"Why yes," she says guilelessly (or appearing so). "I did not think our misfortune was well known already. I could have spared boring you with it." Setting her bottle down, she bites her lower lip in consternation, staring at the three men. "Forgive me, you seem a little put off. Have I said something wrong?"

She sends her apologetic glance to Lt. Graham, who is the one who deserves it--and who, she hopes, will step in before she errs again, before returning to the men. "I am terribly sorry if I did, though I--I cannot think what might have bothered you."

[SidonianGal]

Nia raises an eyebrow and takes another look at the windows. "Huh, I see," she says noncommittally. Her eyes shift to take in Rawlings's reaction, then Mäkeläinen's--who seems no fool. Probably the cabbie's trying to gouge them. Wouldn't be the first time a local tried to bump the fare up for naive tourists.

"It's really too bad. I'd love to see this city from above. No way you can turn that off, huh? Seems a waste of a view. How high up do you cruise, usually?" She pats the port-side hull beside her. "And what's this baby capable of, speedwise?" She covers her mouth as she coughs, then once she gets control raises her voice again. "Sorry, I don't mean to backseat drive. It's just I'm a pilot myself."

Again she looks guiltily at Dr. M. as if saying Yeah I'm still blabbing away, I know. But he probably suspects the same thing she does. She murmurs to him, "You know if this is a metered or a flat fare? Feeling a little tired so I may've missed that."

[Elendil's Heir]

"Starfleet!" Pell spits on the floor. "Feddy killers, that's what. I knew some of the guys on the Jaunty, and you killed 'em. Killed 'em! Get out of here. Get out of my sight!" The other two glare, and one of them stands, his right hand deep in one pocket.

The cabbie says, "No, I told you, it's busted. The windows. Sorry. But don't worry, I'll have you there in no time. It's not far now."