Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

Graham takes a deep breath. He glances at Kylah, and then, a bit longer, at Nia, before giving Marala's shoulder a very gentle squeeze. "Let's find a place to...talk about, ah, next steps," he says quietly--although he has no intention of making it impossible for others in the room to overhear.

Taking a few seconds to chew the inside of her lip in thought, Nia meets Booker's gaze before watching him speak quietly to Marala. Her eyes focus elsewhere as she tries to brute-force her own memory.

A love story... Guy on a rope... Lots of people...? Come on, damn it, piece this together, it's there, it's something...

Her mind whirs and at last, the connection and source of those mental images hits her. That stupid book whatsisname got me. What was it called?

Crap, the title eludes her. And she can't piece these vague, half-remembered visions without skimming the pertinent part of the story.

A flash hits her. One person might remember the title better than her. He mocked her about the whole thing for weeks.

Bending slightly, Nia rests the pads of her silver-tipped fingers on Booker's wrist, just enough to get his attention. "Excuse me," she says to Marala in a low, compassionate tone. "Book, I don't know how long we have before you have to--to get her back to the planet." Another sympathetic look at Marala. "I imagine you'll want to be with family. But I... I have sort of an idea. Not firm. Not even gelled. But it may be worth pursuing, if I can have ten minutes or so."

She sweeps her gaze around the room, finding a few people, including Kylah--who's still looking at Booker and now her, too--remaining. Nia lowers her voice further.

"Book, this is a real stretch. I'm not even sure... I don't know the rules involved... Shit, I'm not making sense even to me. And I realize I'm assuming a lot. Do you guys have a plan?"

Kylah is concerned by the two communications referred to by Lt. Bennett. Utter paranoia stokes her fears that someone has learned about her plans.

She can do nothing about that now. Instead she hugs her datapad tightly to her chest and continues staring at Lt. Graham and the other woman. Lt. Onn seems to be offering encouragement or sympathy.

Kylah might be able to do more than sympathy. She could save this small family. ...That is, if Lt. Graham would consider a serious violation of the rules he is supposed to uphold.

And if I were not a selfish coward.

There is no time for her to debate with herself. She must prepare her quarters for however many official refugees are allotted to her, as well as the two extras. One extra. I will sleep in my bathroom if I must. In the corridor. Under my bunk. Or I will not sleep at all. And there are rations to be considered.

That choice is an easy one. A few days of sharply reduced calories will not make a difference. Indeed, it may be to her benefit. A combination of self-control and punishment for all the mistakes she has made.

She turns to Thalen to see if he has any special orders for her--and to apologize for her lateness.


Not sure if Thalen has left yet. If he has, she'll be surprised and regretful to have missed him.

"Yes Captain," Rangin says into the now dead comms panel, before turning to the officer next to him. "Well sir, the fate of the Novy Rostov colony and those who survive are now, pretty much solely, in our capable hands. Those who live and die will be decided by our work, whether we argue that we delegated such action to the random whim of chance or not. Did I mention how much I hate lotteries?"

Rangin closes his eyes and tells himself to focus, he has a task to do, time to treat it like any other operation, calm and objectively. He has a feeling that the superior officer in the room is not necessarily going to take the lead on the general principle of being great with computers, which leaves Rangin metaphorically holding the baby, all eight hundred plus of them with associated families and all those in the colony.

"No. Stop thinking like that. It doesn't help," he chides himself, "Don't overdo it, gain clarity, get focus, resolve the answer." He begins to pace around in the small room as best he can.

"Right. Given the current lottery, and the fact it gives the same results as I had initially, there are two things we need: a new set of data and some amendments to the program itself."

Rangin jumps up and down on the spot loosely shaking his limbs trying to release any tension and almost prepare himself as if it was just another exam he was sitting. Trying to clear his mind of the awful consequences that his actions will lead to.

"Ok, initial thoughts, the baseline we are going to need. Let's take the data that Cmdr Vargas provided, strip all the identifying data out except for familial links and their rough environmental impact and then add it in to a straight lottery. No extra rules, no maximising the number of people, just random cumulative until we meet our capacity. Should be 15 minutes' work if that."

He looks up at his fellow expert. "Sir, if I may, I can take the data side and I suggest you amend the program. Once that is done, we can look to confirm the data and see what else we can do."

Rangin breathes deeply in anticipation of getting to work. "Make that three things we need. More coffee to carry us through. Well, sir, your thoughts?"

Graham's eyes moisten as he glances down to Nia's hand on his wrist. For her kindness, for her...love? Even if it wasn't love, she deserved a medal for just liking him.

Last but not least because his only fully baked plan would likely take him away from her.

Graham blinks and takes a breath. "Do the right thing. Take the court martial," he says in as low a voice as he can muster. He shrugs slightly, hoping she'll understand. "Wouldn't be the first time, even."

Marala looks from Onn to Graham and back again. She seems unsure. "I'd be glad to talk, Lieutenant, if Booj... if Mr. Graham thinks it would be useful."

To Kylah, Thalen nods towards the door. In the corridor, now lined with temporary bunks and with bedding, towels and other necessities being placed on each by Engineering ratings, he looks around and says distractedly, "Return to the Bridge, please, Mr. Kylah, and relieve Mr. Patel. Finish your watch there."

Lt. Dosmukhambetov says to Rangin, "You keep referring to Mr. Vargas's data, but it was data provided by the NR government, as I understand it." He shrugs. "But I'll create a variant program as you suggest. Still with the provision that the drawing of any individual in a household removes from the lottery, that is, leads to the evacuation of, everyone else in that household?"

Drs. Villa and Bennett return to Sickbay.

Graham smiles, though it's mostly one of sadness.

Love too.

"It's always worth talking to N-- Lt Onn," Graham says quietly.

Rangin takes a deep breath to maintain his patience. "Sir, both sets of data were provided by the colony. There's the set that I used in my original calculations that you used in the lottery program, and the set of data provided to me by Cmdr Vargas, which provides a completely different set of results when used with my proposal. I had under a hundred children in my data. The latter included 800.

"The nomenclature of calling it Cmdr Vargas' data is purely to differentiate it from the set of data that I have. Otherwise we would be calling them colony dataset one and colony dataset two, and it is always good to name the source of any data, in the interests of clarity."

Rangin hopes the explanation will finally settle in. He knows that Cmdr Vargas received it from the colony, where else is it going to come from. This is why Rangin is going to handle the data and Mr Dosmukhambetov is going to be handling the program.

"Aside from that, yes, that provision needs to be in there. I'll prep the data with the links and impact ready to enter in." He picks up his datapad to start feeding the alternative data set in and getting a newly prepared dataset for the program.

"You know what is truly galling, is that if my rough estimates are correct, we will still be saving and extra 40 or so people above and beyond the estimate. But hundreds of children are still going to die." He chokes slightly on the words and tries to focus on the data. "We could save them all, but the Governor stuck in that stupid rule. Well that's my opinion of it, what do you think?" he tosses the question to his companion hoping not to totally stew in the seeming futility of what he is doing...

..and wondering if removing the Governor and his family from the dataset would be appropriate. After all, a Captain should always go down with their ship, or colony in this case.

Kylah's mouth opens to remind Lt. Thalen that he had allowed her as much time as possible--but she stops herself in time. He is a lenient superior, but not everlastingly so. And her lateness to this meeting must surely have cost her whatever patience he has left.

"Yes, sir. I--I am very sorry about missing the first hail," she says, fingers pressing tightly into the datapad that now serves as shield. Anxiety makes her skin crawl as if infested with ants.

As she too notices the supplies around her, she adds with a little swell of hope, "Do you think we--the Bridge crew--will have an opportunity to make sure our quarters are ready for additional occupants?" She tries to remember how long she has on her Watch, though exhaustion and nervousness seem to have slowed her synapses.

Moved by Booker's gentleness, Nia offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile, which doesn't last long; too much time has passed already. "Thanks to both of you. But no need to dance around with formality--I'm Nia. And I'm glad to meet you," she adds to Marala, "though obviously not under these circumstances."

She sighs. "I don't want to raise any hopes too much, it's just a possible loophole... I just have to check to see if my memory's off-base. Like I said, it should just take ten minutes or so for me to get to my quarters and look this up."

Already sidling toward the door while she feels time slipping through her grasp, Nia tilts her head in that direction. "I'll be in touch. If you want a quiet place to talk, you might try the crew lounge on Deck 4." She eyes Booker. "Or just amble around Deck 5, even better."

With a tight nod, she strides out--passing by Thalen and Kylah and all the others preparing for the onslaught. Nia whips out her communicator and taps out a quick message.

JOHNSON, ANDREW - I know you're swamped with prep but please do me a solid and get in touch with me ASAP? Verbally if possible. No cracks about oral. I'll be waiting--literally life or death here. - NIA

She sends the message even while her mind has briefly turned its attention elsewhere. The mattresses and supplies remind her that she should ready her own quarters. If any of the non-oxygen-requiring refugees get picked for the lottery, her cabin will almost certainly be their habitat. She's having the air turned off anyway, since every last molecule of oxygen will be needed elsewhere. Pure Bilitrium for a few days will feel like a spa experience.

Hopping into the turbolift, she holds the handle and gives the deck number for her quarters. Her possible plan is crazy and probably not even a consideration in this day and age... but it's worth trying. She just can't remember the process or what's required. Please let Ajay remember!

Impatient, Nia opens her communicator, praying she'll hear from her friend/sometimes-sex-partner/fellow schemer.

Dosmukhambetov says, "Well, we have our orders. That decision was made by people a lot higher than our pay grades. But let me see what I can do." He turns to a Library Computer terminal and gets to work.

Thalen says, "Fair point, Mr. Kylah. I understand that ship's crew will be consolidated in as few quarters as possible, and that evacuees will have a mix of vacated crew quarters, guest quarters and temporary quarters like in the corridors, conference rooms, the Shuttlebay, and so on. Why don't you take ten minutes, say, to get things in your own cabin in order, and then report to the Bridge?"

Onn has just left and Marala looks like she's about to say something when Graham's communicator beeps.

Lt. Thalen's suggestion is the best plan Kylah can reasonably hope for; she is in no position to request favors. With a nod and a breathless thank you, she rushes off as well as she can with her protesting sore knee.

In the turbolift to Deck 7, she has a fleeting doubt as to whether she should stop to see Lt. Ferguson--just to tell him she will be stuck on the Bridge.

No, she does not dare. In addition to her revulsion at the thought of being alone with him again, there may be others preparing their own quarters. She cannot afford to be seen anywhere near a transporter engineer.

When the door whooshes open she heads to her room. Her plan is to lock her drawers, make sure her computer is secure and inaccessible, and, finally, pack a small bag of necessary items for three days.

Kylah reaches her quarters with no problem. Temporary bunks are being set up in the corridor there, too.

Graham isn't able to figure out what Nia could possibly be hinting at before his communicator beeps.

"Excuse me," he says, turning to Marala, before answering it.

By the time Nia enters her quarters, she still hasn't heard back from Ajay. Frustrated, she surveys the mess in front of her. Uniform components--dress, underwear, stockings--and spare datapads are scattered everywhere, along with gym items and damp towels.

Nia sets her open communicator on her desk and snatches up every item of clothing she’s left sloppily lying around her quarters and flings the whole mess into her closet.

Her communicator buzzes as she's picking up her breathing mask and muttering insults to herself about her sloppiness. "Speaker on," she barks. “Ajay, is that you?"

The clinking and banging of various kitchen implements echo through the speaker, but Ajay’s voice cuts through the chaos. "Yeah, more flour, for that... Hey Nia, what's up. Not a great time for talking, I'm trying to prep enough ongoing meals for 1200 people that need the least amount of storage."

"Stop grumbling, we all have it bad during this clusterfuck. If you really didn't have time you'd've texted me. "

"Oh all right. Ask away...no I said the potatoes, not the parsnips!...sorry, It's a bit manic. But I've always got time for a quickie with you."

She smiles despite herself. “Thanks. Weird question, but--you remember that shore leave on Andoria last year? We picked up those two humans, I think you said they were French? And we made such a long night of it that we had to hop a freighter and beam aboard--”

"Yeah, amazing what people will do to warm up on an ice planet. That was a fun night, getting caught in a small group on that caving trip, having to get all close and personal... "

“Right, right. But remember after we left, mine got clingy and started sending me love notes and poems? Couldn’t take a hint. Then that final gift, a long book that was supposed to give me one big guilt trip… about some disfigured guy in ancient France, miserable with unrequited love... Any of this sound familiar?”

Nia rolls her eyes as she searches for anything else she can stow away. Her inspection stops at her night table, where a beautiful flower and snowglobe gleam in the light.

Cynicism melts into affection as she picks them up to stow in some safe harbor remaining in her quarters… which sure looked much bigger before she knew she might be playing host to a stranger or two.

"Hmm. Oh yeah, he really got hooked on you didn't he? Given the current clusterfuck, why the hell are you thinking about what that fuckwit gave you, other than a requirement for medical shots? You didn't even like the story."

“I liked what I could understand of--you know my reading of Fed Standard is still rough. Plus it was depressing as hell. You made fun of it, y’know, your usual sarky self--”

"As I recall you ended up liking the kid's version better. So what about it?"

“Some part in it that’s nagging at me, like some escape plan the hero uses for the to save the girl. I need to do a search but can't, 'cause I don't remember the title. You don’t happen to remember it, do you?”

Everything potentially incriminating in Kylah's cabin, including her terminal and any datapads that might have sensitive material, is now locked and inaccessible. She does not care about her clothes or what little jewelry she has remaining, after the robbery on Anubis.

Even the musical instrument near her closet is not her own, and while she supposes it would be proper to secure it as well, she shakes her head. Who knows? The people who stay here might know how to play a Vulcan lute. Music can bring comfort even in such dire circumstances.

She takes her valise packed with her overnight items and places it near the door, ready to be taken and carried off to wherever she is assigned. Even if it is the Brig, she thinks dully.

One last thing to do before she leaves. She flips open her communicator. Text or speech? A written message is certainly more dangerous than a brief conversation.

"Ensign Kylah to Lieutenant Ferguson," she says softly into the device--as if anyone else is listening.

"Report to my office, please, Mr. Graham, on the double," Vargas says to the Assistant Chief of Security.

Ferguson does not answer Kylah.

You each get a text from the First Officer on your communicators, marked URGENT:

All officers and crew will double up in assigned quarters, effective immediately, to make room for evacuees from Novy Rostov. Please make arrangements to move personal effects sufficient for one week to the new quarters described in the attachment hereto, or to make room for other ship's personnel temporarily assigned to your own current quarters. Secure any valuables. If there are conflicts or difficulties of any kind, notify the Quartermaster, but be advised that requests for reassignment are strongly discouraged. This is a difficult situation and we must do the best we can under the circumstances. VARGAS.

The attachment shows that Dr. Bennett is assigned to move in with Dr. Bucci. Graham and Mahmoud are to expect the arrival of Security Lt. JG Tadeusz Kawecki and Ens. Haakon Kjaerstad. Kylah may remain in her cabin, but will be joined by Engineering Lt. JG Demei Xiang. Onn is to move in with Lt. JG Melissa Tsu. Rangin and his hard-working and seldom-seen cabinmate, Engineering Ens. Charles Gordon, will be joined by Transporter Chiefs Nguyen and Harrison.

Distracted by Lt. Ferguson's silence, Kylah reads the instructions sent by Cmdr. Vargas--and exhales in a bitter chuckle as she eyes her carefully packed bag.

She is surprised there will be only one crewmate joining her. But on second thought, she assumes there will be a few refugees here. The quarters are spacious, and surely they can double up on the beds. Or triple up, she thinks, nibbling at her thumbnail. Kylah's two stowaways will need a place to stay. Perhaps in the chaos of finding everyone a place to settle, two more individuals will not cause much fuss.

Again she stares at her communicator. Composing the least incriminating message she can, she comes up with:

FERGUSON, MARK, LT - I will be on the Bridge. I wish you luck in transporting so many people safely. Do not hesitate to get in touch with me if I can be of any help during the process. -

She sends the message and hopes, hopes he will fulfill his promise. She has nothing left.

With a few gentle kicks she pushes the travel bag back into her closet, then heads out to the Bridge, communicator in her hand.

The corridors are crowded with preparations for the evacuees, but Kylah is able to make her way to the Bridge. Lt. Bennett is in the big chair; she nods to Kylah and goes back to talking quietly with Lt. Cmdr. Sonak. Ens. Patel is still sitting at Communications and smiles when he sees her.

Novy Rostov, far below, big and reddish-orange, turns slowly on the main viewscreen.

The answer to Nia's question about the book is delayed by some orders Ajay is calling out to the team in the galley. Meanwhile she tries to find a safe haven for the treasured gifts in her hands. An epiphany sends her to look under her bed, where she's stowed several full storage cases--and one that still has just enough room for the globe and flower.

On her knees, Nia grunts again while trying to pull the case out. “C’mon, Aje," she calls up to the communicator on her desk, "you’ve got a memory like a steel-trap for every trivial piece of my life you can use to mock me. Which one was this?”

When he tells her, she closes her eyes, because of course, how could she forget this title? She sits back on her heels, staring at the sweet-scented flower and shining little snowglobe in her hands.

"Thanks, Aje. I know it's a weird question but I can’t really explain more… for your own good. Knowing less is better for you. And it's your natural state anyway.” She smiles wanly. “God. After this we're gonna need some stupid-crazy-silly together-time. So many lives…” The words end in a sigh.

As usual, Ajay keeps her from feeling morose. "My door's always open to you, you know that, even if you are shagging that grizzly. I'll fish out some bottles of something depraved and we can chill out, get drunk, play some games, and shut the world out for a few hours."

His last word coincides with a jangling clatter of pans in the background. "Ah crap. Sorry Nia, gotta go but yeah we should give you a chance to blow off some steam...or anything else you fancy. See ya."

The kitchen sounds abruptly cease as he cuts the connection. Nia hurries with her last task. She swaddles the gifts in soft clothes, shuts the top and slides the case back into hiding.

There, safe and sound, she thinks with an exhale that releases only some of her tension. Hopefully she'll be able to provide as welcome a harbor for Marala and her child.

Clambering to her feet, she grabs the nearest datapad and her communicator and nearly makes it through the door to her now-tidier quarters when she hears the familiar alert from her communicator. Priority message from Vargas.

She scowls at the tiny screen. Tsu, the woman they've roomed her with, is perfectly fine, as far as Nia knows. But it's a bizarre choice to waste the oxygen in the cabin on a Sidonian who doesn't need it. Not when the ship needs every spare molecule.

As per Vargas's suggestion, Nia considers this a significant enough issue to forward to the quartermaster. But first things first...

At last she leaves her now semi-neat quarters, returning the communicator to her belt and flipping the datapad up in front of her. As she increases speed from a stride to a jog, her thumbs tap blindingly fast.

She finds the text of the novel, then tries to find the specific term that the author used. Her pace slows while she scans.

After a minute, she cries out "Yes!" Her memory of the plot point was correct--in fact, the device is used twice in the book. And only a few taps more get her to the open net, where a quick search confirms that this rescue strategy wasn't invented by the author. Seems to have been a tradition used in certain Earth cultures for centuries after the book's story was set.

But it still seems to have been uncommon. She doesn't know enough about Terran history to do any real research. It might not have been picked up by the Federation or Starfleet.

Nia lowers the datapad and stops second-guessing. All she can do is share the idea with Booker. He's a much better judge of the Federation and Starfleet rules and laws. He'll put it together, she can just offer him the assist.

Continuing her way down the corridors, Nia swaps the datapad for her communicator.

GRAHAM, BOOKER - Possible loophole found. Not sure it'll work, but it's a shot. On my way to Deck Five now. Can you and Marala join me ASAP?

Meet me in the chapel.

With whispered prayers to deities she's not even sure exist, Nia presses SEND and jogs off to the turbolift.

Marala looks at Graham, a wry smile playing about her lips despite her anxiety. "You're certainly in demand, Boojee. Which will it be first, the First Officer or Lt. Onn?"

Graham grunts. "Dammit," he says, shaking his head. "Are you--are you OK with meeting Lt. Onn on your own? 'On the double' doesn't leave much room, and..."

He frowns. "I'm worried things just might go to hell down there, Marala."

Graham's intention is to hustle off to report to the First Officer.

Kylah swivels in her seat and adjusts the chair's height so her legs do not dangle like a child's. As she rises slightly, she meets her colleague's smile with an abashed gaze. "Thank you for covering for me, Mr. Patel. I hope I did not inconvenience you."

She peers at the panel and scrolls for the log of whatever conversations or messages came in over the past hour or so. "Is there anything significant that I should know? Any expected incoming messages I should remain alert for?" Her words are tense--she hopes she will find nothing connected to Ruth Soeryadjaya in any way.

Marala squeezes Graham's arm. "I'll be OK. You go do what you have to do. I'll find the Chapel on my own." She turns to go.

Patel says, "No, it's been OK. Welcome back. We're still being barraged with messages from NR, but the Comm Center is handling most of them, and just telling them to wait for the lottery to proceed. The Captain has had several priority messages from the surface and from Starfleet Command, but I've just passed those straight along to her." He leaves the Bridge. Kylah sees nothing from Soeryadjaya among the dozens of messages accumulated in the Comm logs since she left her post.

Rangin nods along to the words of Lt. Dosmukhambetov. "Much higher than our respective pay grades indeed. My datapad contains the initial program I wrote based on those requirements, if you want a copy sir?"

He settles himself down at a nearby terminal and downloads the second set of Novy Rostov data. "Shouldn't take too long to get the data in the right format, most of the prep work is already done, it's just a matter of updating a few fields of data."

The sooner this is done the sooner they can look at how they might consider confirming what they have before them.

As Marala turns away, it's Graham's turn to reach out for Marala's arm. "Marala…"

"Don't let anyone take you off this ship. They should contact me first. Your immediate and uninterrupted availability is essential to the safe and orderly evacuation of the colony, you can quote, from the Assistant Chief of Security....Please."

Dosmukhambetov accepts a copy of Rangin's program with a grunt and continues his work.

Marala starts to puddle up. She kisses Graham, strokes his cheek, says solemnly, "All right, Booj, and thank you," and turns away.

Ten minutes later, Dosmukhambetov looks up from his terminal and tells Rangin, "I think I can squeeze the program to save another 20 people, for a total of 62 who otherwise wouldn't have made the cut from the preliminary lottery program. It's going to strain the ship's LS system almost to the breaking point, and Mr. Cheverez isn't going to like it, but I think we can do it."

Marala shows up in the otherwise-empty Chapel and says, "Hello, Lt. Onn."

Graham makes his way through the crowded corridors to Cmdr. Vargas's spartan office. Vargas does not invite him to sit down but says, "At ease, Mr. Graham. I want you to take a shuttlecraft down to the colony as soon as possible. I have an... unusual assignment for you. You'll pick your own landing party, of course."

"Of course, sir," Graham replies, clasping his hands behind his back at parade rest and processing the somewhat cryptic order, while trying to look professional enough not to burn any--any more--credibility with Vargas.

"I take it by describing it as 'unusual' this is not a straight up Security intervention to address unrest among the colonists? If things are calm...calmish...I'm glad to hear it....and I'll pick the landing party accordingly."

With another grateful nod to Patel, Kylah concentrates on the screen in front of her. The secure messages make her fingers twitch with the instinct to copy and crack them, hoping to find something useful for her uncle. Just as she has in the past.

Her eyes close in contempt, despising that instinctive reaction. Is she not risking enough for Aldaan today? If she draws any extra scrutiny on her actions right now she would be in deeper trouble than ever--and worse, it could doom the two people whose lives are now in her hands. And Ferguson's.

Seeing Marala step forward into the chapel doesn't surprise Nia. Booker's absence, however...

She adjusts her emotions accordingly. "Please, I'm Nia. Is... Is Booker not coming? This kinda needs his experience and his..." A hand flips over as she searches for a way to describe Book's intense desire--his need--to save the woman he once loved, probably still loves.

Nia's also counting on his impassioned words and any sway he might have over Marala. The other woman might be too scrupulous, too moral, to take advantage of the strategy Nia is about to suggest. Even if refusing martyrs her and her son.

Screw it. Clock's ticking.

"Well, I'll make this fast. I'm sure you want to be with your son for as long as..." Nia stiffly shakes her head. That's too horrible a subject. "Look. I don't know if you're from Earth or--I mean, I have no clue about this except what I've read in old books, but--"

Oh dear gods, stop rambling and start again. Get the hard part over first.


She blurts the next words: "Is there any way you can get your son up here, just for a tour, say? Before you're due to head back down? You could explain that it's his last--" Nia bites her lip before rushing on. "Sorry to be blunt but there's no time for tact--his last wish, if the worst should happen? Maybe he's never been on board a starship like this. Never seen what the planet looks like from orbit..."

Nia's scale-covered hands brush away the details. "Whatever, it doesn't matter what the pretext. Book's ACoS now, he can push through a beam-up. But--" She lowers her voice further. "Marala, are you willing to do that?"

"It is not," Cmdr. Vargas replies to Graham, folding his hands. "As strange as it seems, it's for the retrieval of a priceless artwork from the Novy Rostov Museum. The Van Gogh painting Poppy Flowers is far and away the most valuable and irreplaceable object in the museum's permanent collection. I'm told that, under Federation curatorial best practices, such artwork is never beamed anywhere, but must be physically carried. Don't ask me why - something to do with artistic integrity or provenance or the like. The imminent rho radiation burst would badly damage if not destroy the painting, as it's made of organic materials, so the Captain has agreed to the museum director's request that it be saved. You will take a shuttle down immediately to," he checks a data pad, "Landing Pad 3, and the director and a guard will turn it over to you. You will then return at once to the ship. Questions?"

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poppy_Flowers

Kylah's earpiece sounds and she hears Lt. Thalen. The Yorktown's Communicators Officer says, "Mr. Kylah, please draft messages both for those individuals who are selected through the lottery, and those who are not. We'll do a ship-to-person transmission for everyone, using the comm roster we have from the NR government, once the lottery is complete."

Marala says at once, "I'm willing, of course, but the Governor suspended transporter operations until the lottery drawing is complete. I'd understood that your Captain had done the same for the ship's transporters." She smiles a little wryly. "And would anyone really believe that my son would want a tour, or that I would ask for one, at a time like this...?"

Graham blinks in surprise, then shakes his head slightly. "Sir, I honestly couldn't come up with a question in response to this...unexpected...assignment if I tried. I'll get to it."

If not otherwise interrupted, Graham nods and, on his way out, pulls out his communicator. Onn's pilot. Medical--why not the new guy? Give a relative of Cecilia a mission opp. Security - Russell. Muscle, not quite Two Tons conspicuous kind of muscle, but good in a crowd. Eng - ah, Serowe. He scowls. Both Kylah and Rangin are invested in this. Well, if the picture is too heavy and we need to leave someone behind, Rangin's our guy.

If he reaches the hallway, he calls for those personnel to report to the shuttle bay.

Fuck, leaving someone behind...

He texts Nia. Is Marala with you?

Vargas nods. "Very well, Mr. Graham. Dismissed, and good luck."

Ens. Akinola Serowe, the Engineering general systems technician earlier useful to Graham for his resourcefulness and ability to find just about anything needed aboard ship, soon replies that he is on his way, as does Security Ens. Josiah F. Russell.

Thalen's voice may have continued, but Kylah stops listening after his instruction: she must write the message that will inform these poor doomed people that they have lost. That they will die.

No, she thinks. Her head shakes in a useless gesture of disbelief. No, this is too much! She cannot have such a burden. How can he ask this of her?

Because he can. Because it is her job.

"Yes, sir." She waits in case he has further requests to add, and then rushes out: "Do you... do you have any suggestions? This is... it will be a challenge," she finishes weakly in extraordinary understatement.

Nia meets Marala's gaze square on. "There are ways of getting past restrictions, if you know the right officers. Some people owe me favors--or wouldn't mind my being in their debt, for that matter. Some want credits. Book's an easy guy to want to please, for that matter, as we both kn--"

She didn't mean to get that chummy, but what's the point of being coy? Nevertheless she hurries on, one shoulder lifting in a shrug that silently says: You get where i'm coming from.

"And it won't be hard to convince engies or redshirts that a kid wants a last look of a starship. The chance of fulfilling that dream is why most of us entered Starfleet. They'll empathize."

Nia subconsciously backs away from the entrance and, in the process, draws Marala farther into the chapel. "Look. There's a reason I asked you here, specifically. There's an Earth tradition, goes back a thousand years, not always followed but it varies... it's called sanctuary. Desperate people seeking asylum with nowhere else to turn have found themselves asylum inside religious buildings."

She looks around at the nondenominational--but still strangely serene--room. "And while this ain't Notre Dame," she says dryly. "It could count. You're here. If we can get your son--ugh, it's ridiculous, I don't even know his name. What is it, and how old is he?"

Despite asking the questions she rolls on like a tsunami. "If he can somehow get up here, the two of you can request sanctuary. Will it definitely work? No. It might only have 25% chance of success. But that's a gamble I'd take, as a mother. I mean... if I was a mother," she corrects, flushing. "I don't know how to get past the transporter issue, but I also think Book and I can do it. So--"

Her communicator vibrates and she grimaces before recognizing the name. "It's him," she says softly, and notices that it's not a voice message. "Just a text. I can read and listen to you at the same time. What do you think?"

While listening she scowls at Book's order and can't help a fast response.

Honored to be asked, will meet you. But why the hell are we bringing a shuttle down there?

Even as she types, a second, more personal question comes through.

Yes, she's here. And for reasons better explained in person, if that's possible...I think she should stay here.

Sitting and waiting patiently for Lt. Dosmukhambetov, Rangin cannot help but react to the news, "That's really good. Wait. What? It's a random lottery with a variance greater than our capacity to cover it."

There is a sinking feeling that his companion might be a great computer expert, but his knowledge of maths and probability is limited to calling the correct function instead of a deeper understanding. Definitely not a Data Scientist.

Rangin mentally runs through some of the possible outcomes before speaking again.

"Sir, if the lottery picks only adults, which is possible, then we can only take the agreed amount of 1200 people, whether we like it or not. Then again, if it picks just the right set of families with lots and lots of children, we can save two hundred or more people on top."

Rangin shakes his head at the statement that had just been uttered. "Randomized data just does not allow for a constant fixed amount of people to be saved each time." He shrugs apologetically, "Sorry Sir, but if your program is giving out a constant of an extra sixty-two people, then your program is wrong."

Sighing deeply and slowly grinding the toe of his boot into the floor, he begins to wonder if they are going to wind up using his rough-cut version from his datapad. At least, that is acting random, but still only returning an average of forty more given the data and random selection.

And so many are still going to die.

"The other issue I have is the data. I've had to make some very subjective calls about this in an objective manner. For instance, an orphan is a child that loses or is abandoned by both parents. But at what age does someone stop being a child?"

Rangin holds up a hand to allay any response to allow him to continue.

"I've found multiple different ages depending on species, culture and general law. I've picked eighteen earth years arbitrarily. Also the term family, I've used immediate family instead of extended family. Otherwise a few choices could have been for up to twenty people when you include brothers and sisters having families of their own. Little things, so many little things having an impact. And we only get to see the outcome..."

Rangin gets a small flash of inspiration. Perhaps they can help out a little more than might be thought.

"Of course, if we were to run the lottery millions of times, we could pick the one with the highest number of people saved...and it's still technically a valid random lottery draw if we did. Every draw being as likely as the next. Isn't it?"

He looks across to see what the Lt. is thinking.

"After all, we do want to save as many people as possible, don't we?"

Thalen sounds harried. He says, "I appreciate that, Mr. Kylah, but needs must. A few sentences each will do; whatever you think best. The message to those who aren't picked should include an appeal for calm and should stress the importance of them remaining in quarters, for what little good I suppose it might do. I'd like to see your drafts as soon as possible, please. Thalen out."

Marala replies to Onn, almost in wonderment, "Sanctuary, in this day and age? On a starship?" She shakes her head. "Well, why not? All right, yes. Thank you, Lieutenant. Let's try it. I'd do anything to save Nikolai."

Rangin's communicator vibrates, and he reads Graham's text. A little distractedly, he hears Dosmukhambetov say, "I've run close to two million iterations already, and that was the best of them. We're running out of time. I'll tell the Captain what we've come up with." The Yorktown's computer chief reaches for the comm button.

Graham is surprised by Nia's message...not upset

Not enough damn time.


He texts back: I need to know how to reach Nikolai on comms

Nikolai? Damn, that sounds familiar... did Book tell me and I forgot? Nia shakes away her annoyance. Marala's willingness to go for the scheme raises a smile. It's clear to see what drew Booker to her. "Atta girl. Fortune favors the bold, as someone--"

Another alert. She frowns at her communicator. "Why does he need..." Her brain clicks into gear, just the vaguest idea, but good lord, she should've thought of this herself.

You sexy, smart son of a bitch, she thinks, a rush of admiration flooding her chest. How did you manage this?!

Her gaze flicks back up at Marala. "Book needs to know how to reach Nikolai on comms. And he's getting together a team to go planetside--via a shuttle, piloted by me." She nearly grins, but things are too solemn for that. She satisfies the urge by arching an eyebrow. "Better than those pesky transporters, don't you think?"

One does not need to be an empath to divine Lt. Thalen's mood. Kylah thanks him softly and looks at her screen in despair. How can she do this?

She gnaws her lower lip and turns to the screen.

After a few seconds she begins, leaving blank spaces for the unknown facts and variables that will, presumably, be part of the lottery data output.

To [lottery winner name]:

You [and your family, as appropriate] have been selected, through our random drawing, to leave the colony via the USS Yorktown, currently in orbit. Resources are extremely limited, so you will be allowed to take only what is absolutely necessary: medications, identification, the clothes you are wearing. [Instructions for departing.] For the sake of a peaceful embarkation, we urge you to remain in your units and avoid speaking to other colonists until you have safely boarded the ship.

That was the easy part. She shakes her head, trying to find words that can possibly express such terminal news.

Kylah is in such intense thought that when her communicator jumps in her hand, she nearly jumps with it. Pulse racing in hope that it is Lt. Ferguson, Kylah opens it to see a note from... Lt Graham. Her eyes widen: Has he learned of her scheme with Lt. Ferguson?

But the message is curt. A shuttle back down to Novy Rostov? Why, and of what use is she?

Kylah's dry throat attempts to swallow. Time is fleeting. Perhaps the sudden deadline will force the message out of her, bypassing her indecision. Pained, she rushes onward.

To [non-selected colonist name]:

We deeply regret to inform you that you [and your family, as appropriate] were not selected by our random lottery drawing to leave Novy Rostov. To our sorrow, the USS Yorktown lacks the resources to save more than the number allowed by our life support systems.

During this grievous time, we request that you remain in your units. Chaos could doom everyone.

Please accept our most sincere sympathies.

Fingers frozen just above her keypad, Kylah stares at the stark text, blinking blindly. Nothing in her training, nothing in her life, has prepared her for such a heavy duty. I am sorry, she whispers to her screen, as if it could transport her grief to the vast majority of colonists.

After looking it over, she forwards the drafts to Lt. Thalen and humbly says she hopes these are acceptable, adding, I have been selected for a mission to the planet, sir. I will need someone to relieve me.

She turns to the woman in the captain's chair, belatedly realizing she should have asked her first. "Lt. Bennett, I have been requested as part of a team heading down to the planet. With your permission...?"

Thalen acknowledges Kylah's draft messages with a text: Thank you for your fast work. I'll take it from here. THALEN.

Bennett seems a little surprised by Kylah's request but says, "Of course, Ensign. Call for your replacement - Mr. Patel, I think."

Marala smiles broadly. "Oh, that's wonderful! My NR callcode is 3851135. Nikolai is at home with a family friend, Jeremy Cornwall. He often babysits for me."

See post 1142.

"One moment Sir, before you do." Rangin shakes his head, the stress is obviously getting to both of them while trying to do their utmost in saving as many lives. "I'm sorry sir, It looks like my presence has been requested. I have to report to Shuttle Bay. For reason or reasons as yet unknown."

He tries to think quickly as to why the results just seemed so wrong from Mr Dosmukhambetov. Picking up his datapad and looking at the data, Rangin mulls over the basic facts.

"Just thinking about this roughly. Over eight hundred children, on average taking half the life support of an adult. Chance of hitting a child is one in ten. For every two children you get another adult. But then for each child, on average the family will have another child. So pick a family and you get free adult. But the chance of hitting a family is not one in ten, it's one in five - it's the children and adults combined. We are taking fifteen percent of the population, so nine-sixty adults and sixty families. That leaves sixty places of which six will be families leaving another six places. So the average total is, let me see, twelve sixty-six adults and children."

He frowns at the programmer, "That's the rough average. But we should be swinging higher and lower than that if it is a random selection. Please Sir, just, check over it once again, something is off somewhere. If you don't find it, then let the Captain know anyway."

Putting it to one side, Rangin then stands up straight and furrows his brow trying to figure out what Graham is up to, other than trying to get an opportunity to leave him on Nocy Rostov. Oh wait, being on Novy Rostov is an opportunity to look at the other problem that had been baffling Rangin.

"Actually Sir, it seems like I may be getting a chance to validate our Colony personal data for the lottery. You wouldn't happen to have something that could access the Colony computer directly if I am down there?"

Rangin waits to see if the Lt is forthcoming before he has to head off.

Dosmukhambetov says, "The projections I've seen don't have each child using just half the life support of an adult. Given our very narrow LS margin for error, Mr. Cheverez was insistent on that." To Rangin's final question he says, "No, we haven't had direct access to the NR computer. All the data we've gotten has been with the help of the colonial government's computer staff. But good luck down there!"

"Thank you, ma'am," Kylah says while quickly texting Mr. Patel and explaining the sudden watch change. If he confirms, she stands and, feeling awkward, leaves the Bridge for the third time today.

Despite her short legs and still-sore knee, she moves quickly toward the turbolift while flipping open her communicator to hail Lt. Ferguson. Before she speaks she glances around to make sure she is not too close to anyone who might overhear. "Please, she hisses. "I am leaving for the planet for--I do not know why. But let me know when you are--when you are ready." She does not dare be too specific. "But contact me only by text! I may not be able to speak."

She transmits the message, sending it directly to his inbox as a recording rather than a live hail. He needs discretion, just as she does.

The irony of having to rely on Lt. Mark Ferguson's discretion is not lost on her.

At the turbolift, Kylah just stands there, fretfully silent. Only after a moment does she realize she needs to choose a deck. Which transporter room? Usually it is the nearest one, so she clasps the turbolift's handle. "Deck seven."

Too late she remembers--no, they are not beaming down to the colony.

"No, wait!" Kylah claps a hand to push away her hair and press her fingers into her forehead, as if massaging her brain back into some semblance of utility. But it does not help her recall the deck where she can find the shuttlebay. She has not seen it since returning from her first mission. "I mean--the shuttlebay, please?"

Now I am showing courtesy to the turbolift. Kylah sighs at her foolishness and lets her eyes close, exhausted.

After Nia types Marala's number into her communicator and sends it to Book, she now feels comfortable returning Marala's smile, though hers isn't quite as broad. Sid'Os forgive me if we boost this woman's hopes too high.

"I know the idea's archaic and insane, but if we're able to hold religious rites and sacraments and whatever-the-heck-else goes on in here, I think it counts. Whether 'Sanctuary' is followed now, I have no idea. Not my culture. But if anything's worth an emergency test, your situation is."

While speaking, she multitasks and taps out a text to Lt. Hans Meyer to let the shuttle maintenance chief know she's heading to the 'bay and needs a shuttle. She's not sure which one... hell, she doesn't even know the point of this trip... but aside from some minor differences, each one's as good as the next.

(Aside from her pride and joy, the Tesla--the experimental shuttle that she and a few engies have been tinkering with. But after the run-in with the Klingons not long ago, Nia's baby's been put back in pre-commission status pending repairs.)

So Nia finishes the message simply asking for whichever shuttle's in position to depart from the bay, and for Hans to prep it for immediate launch including the usual pre-flight checklist; the chief knows the drill.

She presses SEND again and the message heads off in the ether. But she doesn't look up from her screen.

Truth is, even briefly thinking the word 'baby,' together with what they're all planning, has made her pause; re-opened a raw wound that hasn't ever healed.

"Um...Marala, is there anything you want us to say to your boy?" It's hard to keep the discomfort from her voice. "To--you know, to make him feel safe, let him know that you'll be together...?"

Patel confirms and says he's on his way. He actually sounds a little pleased to be headed back to the Bridge.

Ferguson soon replies via text, Ready in five minutes. Tell me when to begin.

The turbolift beeps twice and changes direction, taking Kylah towards the Shuttlebay at the stern of the secondary hull.

Lt. Meyer replies, The Kaku is fueled, checked and ready to go at any time. Cmdr. Vargas already asked her to be prepped. MEYER.

Marala says, "Can I talk to him myself, or do you have to pass along a message?"

Kylah--who straightened her slump the instant she saw Lt. Ferguson's alert--stares down at her communicator, aghast. With just a few words, his message turns the turbolift into a trap.

It is too soon, she did not expect the beam-up to occur so quickly. She must be there to see that the pair are safe and, above all, hidden. If Lt. Ferguson beams this pair directly to Kylah's quarters without her, there is the possibility that the crew member assigned to the room--Lt. or Lt. JG Xiang, Kylah cannot recall--will be there to witness this secret appearance.

A flash of instinct causes an inhale, as she nearly orders the turbolift to change course yet again to take her to Deck 7. But how will she explain her absence to Lt. Graham?

Frozen with indecision, Kylah closes her eyes, hoping to focus and solve her dilemma.

The question lifts Nia's gaze, now blank as she processes Marala's request. A second later Nia almost smacks her forehead. "Of course! You have your own communicator. For some reason I... when Book asked where you were, I figured...." She purses her lips at her mind glitch. "Forget it. Sure, you can contact Nikolai."

As the boy's name leaves her mouth, she abruptly reassesses the situation. Communications from the planet to the ship are being monitored, they're practically flooding the system. A transmission from here to the planet, however, would be unusual, could catch attention.

And if they know Marala's communicating to the colony, they can identify her device as nonstandard Starfleet issue. And her precise location. From there she's just one lever pull away to being beamed out.

Nia raises her palms up in a 'halt' gesture. "On second thought, we don't want to pin a bullseye on you. I'm not saying don't contact him, but make it as brief as possible. Text would be better, less of a blip of bandwidth, so less likely to be spotted. But I can't tell you not to talk to him. Any parent would. If possible," she adds quietly.

Speaking of less likely to be spotted... She eyes Marala's clothing critically. The outfit stands out on a ship full of uniforms. If this chapel's going to be used for additional sleeping space--which seems probable--crew members might pop in and out. And what the hell will they think when they see this woman in civvies?

"Okaaay, couple of things. First, you should probably wait in the corner over there, near the--" Nia eyes the front of the chapel and notes a podium of some kind and other basic sorts of furniture that must have great significance to whoever worships here. But hell if she knows what any of it's called.

"Near the first, um, bench. And bend over like you're praying. Or meditating. Or... whatever, just blend in. Act as if there's a reason you're here." She smiles. "Other than possibly creating Starfleet legal precedent."

Nia chews her lip while again looking Marala up and down, comparing their sizes. "Uh, one more crazy idea. Maybe we should swap clothing. You'll fit in well enough. With a ship this big no one recognizes everyone, except probably Captain Singh and a friend of mine in the Galley. Neither of them should show up." She hopes she's right about Singh. Although the captain might get involved once they invoke this ploy.

"Plus, you'd look great in command red. And if I know Booker," Nia adds, eyes twinkling while one hand gestures towards Marala's figure, "I bet the dress'll highlight some of your best features."

Kylah catches her breath when a thought reaches through her numbness. Hurriedly she taps out a response to Lt Ferguson.

Do you mean you must beam up in five minutes, or simply will be ready to do so? If so how long a window is there? Can you stand by and wait for my word? - KYLAH

Once the message is sent, Kylah gnaws on a thumbnail. The phrasing includes more detail than is safe, but her ability to use mere subtext right now is nonexistent.

Rangin realises why there is now a discrepancy and there is little he can do about it. Cheverez insisting on a larger than necessary amount of life support for any non-adult is probably the reason why. Even though on average, they would be half, maybe two-thirds at a push. It also means that Mr Dosmukhambetov was not using the environmental data he included in his data set but the values ordered by Cmdr Cheverez.

And with that, although the principle is there, they will not save as many as they could. Life Support will be redlined they entire way back to back up the viewpoint, Rangin expects nothing less, but at least they can save a few more.

"Thank you, Sir, I will let you know if there is any change to the data if I get a chance to access it."

Rangin nods to him and walks out of the door to the turbolift, not wanting to wait for the call to the Captain to be made.

He waits lost in his thought and torn between having saved some people and not saving enough. As the doors open he steps in unthinkingly and comes face-to-face with Kylah.

He is unsure what to say to her, but he nods to her although she is looking as weary as he is by the situation. So he moves to one side and reaches up to hold the handle.

"Umm, Shuttle Bay." he says forcing his voice to remain calm and wondering if he should look at her or try to stare fixedly ahead before he can feel his will buckling and he turns to her.

"How are you holding up?"

Ferguson texts back, Wow. Just how dumb are you, Princess? "Ready in five minutes" means ready in five minutes.

Marala's eyes widen. "You mean... trade clothes? Here? That could really get you in trouble, couldn't it? Helping me, I don't know, uh... impersonate a Starfleet officer?"

The turbolift hums along, bearing Rangin and Kylah towards the Shuttlebay.

Dr. Bennett tersely acknowledges Graham's summons. He does not exactly seem overjoyed at the prospect.

Graham looks for a private room and (assuming he finds one) uses his communicator to hail Marala's callcode.

Nia smiles crookedly at Marala. "Your instincts are good and commendable. But honestly, what with defying orders, illicitly harboring refugees, ignoring protocol... we're in court-martial territory as it is."

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "What's the Earth saying? 'Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.' I just thought it might be easier to keep you from attracting attention. No one would blink at some stranger with a uniform, especially amid all this chaos. But if you feel uncomfortable, you can just..."

Something tickles the back of her mind. She's had some good tickles and she usually gives in, but the idea flitted so rapidly and vaguely that when she tries to catch hold of it, much less examine it, it's vanished.

"Um... sorry, lost the plot for a second... so, if you feel strongly against swapping clothes, you can certainly stay as you are, just sitting here praying and if someone asks, tell them you're helping coordinate the logistics as a sort of ambassador for the Novy Rostovians, or colonists... not sure what you call yourselves. That excuse has the benefit of actually being true, right? I always say, truth is pretty good as a last resort." Nia's smile is now distracted, because she's trying to figure out exactly what 'tickled' her.

Graham finds an empty but cramped LS maintenance compartment and is able to call Marala in privacy.

Marala says to Onn, "Yes, I guess that's a fair point. All right, thank you, yes, I'll swap clothes with you." She looks around the Chapel. "Should we just... change here?" You both hear a beeping, and she pulls out a small, silvery civilian communicator from one of her coverall pockets. "Hello?... Oh, hello, Booker!"

"Marala…"

Getting her name out takes an effort. Then collision of worlds--Nia helping Marala--and the prospect that Marala and/or her son might die, with the price of their survival more-or-less permanent separation from everyone aforementioned, as well as his daughter, while he serves out his time for gross disobedience incarcerated is a lot to work through.

"I--you may have heard. I am taking a shuttle to the colony. I'd like to--h, see Nikolai. At Landing Pad 3. If he can grab a communicator, I'll pass long my info so he can contact me if he runs into trouble. That's Landing Pad 3, OK?"

The turbolift door opens--on Deck 7, where Kylah's quarters are, as if other forces have united to help her for once. She could flee to her cabin now! Except…

Velir is in her way. He enters and and takes hold of the turbolift control, and gives their destination. Kylah watches the door shut. She almost groans at the lost opportunity.

Again she stares down at her communicator. Answer me, please answer me, please let there be time… After a few seconds she recognizes that Velir has spoken.

What did he say? Kylah blinks up at him, notices his inquiring look. She takes a guess and mutters perfunctorily, “Yes, I am going to the shuttlebay.” Belatedly a realization follows. “You are headed down to the planet too?”

* * *

Rangin is in one way surprised by Kylah's response, looking so out of it that it is not surprising she did not answer the question he asked, but instead is latching on to the order to the turbolift as is perhaps they were both functioning automatically.

Then again, the fact she is also going to the shuttle bay as well is just as intriguing. Just what is Mr Graham playing at that it would require both of them to be there and supposedly heading for the planet.

"Are you part of the group Mr Graham has requested?" Rangin decides to open with a simple question, perhaps she knows more than he certainly does.

* * *

“Yes,” Kylah says distractedly. “I have no idea why--” Her communicator vibrates in her palm, and she jerks with a gasp. Forgetting where she is, or who she is with, Kylah flips open the device to find Lt. Ferguson's message.

An insult. Ready in five minutes. But that still tells her nothing… Her throat makes a frustrated little sound, and she gazes at the door, trying to remember the process Lt. Ferguson described.

“When the time comes, I'm going to report a pattern-integration anomaly with the transporter and say that I'm taking it offline for a diagnostic for a few minutes. … Then I'll clear the transporter room, if there's anyone else there, and beam the two directly into your quarters, and you can take it from there. I'll do what I need to keep anyone on the Bridge or in Engineering from seeing what I've done."

Her eyes open again--she did not realize she closed them in the first place. Lt. Ferguson’s description was clear. Very little time will be available to her. And she cannot let him make the transport without her being in her quarters, without making sure they will be hidden. She must be there to greet Mrs. Soeryadjaya and her associate.

Impulsively Kylah grabs hold of the turbolift’s controller. “Belay previous request,” she snaps out. “Deck seven!”

* * *

"What the...?" Rangin exclaims at Kylah's sudden action, "what are you doing? We are meant to be going to the shuttle bay."

Unsure of what exactly she is playing at, he stands in the doorway which should block her from leaving should the doors open. He would prefer to stop the turbolift altogether, but she is clamped on to it for dear life.

"Kylah, I think you need to explain what is going on. What was that message?" he asks urgently.




Kylah = me, Rangin = Rangin.

Marala says urgently, "I understand. I'll get in touch with him, and with Jeremy, the man you met, who's keeping an eye on him for me. Thank you, Boojee."

Nia, her hands on the nearly invisible closure to her uniform, listens to the one-sided conversation, which doesn't tell her much except... a nickname? Boojee? She almost smiles, the flash of an instant where she plans to tease him about it. Except if Marala dies. There will be nothing humorous in this.

Sensing Marala's about to close the connection , Nia holds out a warning hand. "Just a sec'--I'm having second thoughts about the uniform swap. You might be more noticeable if anyone asks you questions or gives you an order, dressed as an officer, versus how you are now. Tell Booker, see what he thinks."

She waits, holding her breath. Truth is, she knows her survival instincts are strong, and she's fairly good with inventing off-the-cuff schemes and pranks. But Booker Graham strategizes. It's his job, his life.

Whatever he decides, Nia will follow through with his order.

Marala nods and passes Onn's question on to Graham.

"Jesus..."

Graham can't help the word slipping out at the question.

"That's...brilliant on the one hand. Damned smart." He shakes his head to clear it. "But...whatever happens I'd like to keep Marala squeaky clean. The...victim...of my...my inability to let her go, to the extent that I forced her compliance with my scheme as the price to help her son."

From the intensity of Velir’s gaze, Kylah knows he will not be content with “Nothing is wrong.” Instead, she looks warily over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “I cannot tell you. It is--important. Private, but important. I just have to get to my quarters and--and I will be delayed for ten minutes. If Lt. Graham needs me, he must wait. Or choose someone else. I cannot be of any more use to him than I am for this--this other task.” Her fingers are clammy as she squeezes the turbolift handle with one trembling hand and clenches the communicator with the other. “Now please step aside so I may leave.”

* * *

Rangin can't believe what he is hearing and the words come unbidden and choke in his throat.

"Kylah, you're talking about directly disobeying an order!" he half exclaims still not quite sure himself what is going on. "Who sent that message to you and what are you doing? You can't just vanish to your quarters for ten minutes, there is absolutely no time for that."

He sees her shudder, then lift her eyes. They are opaque. He has never noticed just how entirely black and fathomless her gaze is.

“You do not understand.” she says steadily. “I am obeying an order. Something only I can fulfill. Lt. Graham does not need me. I have to go. I have no choice.”

Exasperation sets in with her behaviour as Rangin tries to figure out anything and draws nothing but blanks. But there is one other thing she had lied about recently and he wonders if this is all connected in some bizarre, twisted way.

"Kylah, is this something that's going on between Lt Ferguson and you?"

* * *

Velir’s question is a gut punch, and Kylah presses her hands against her abdomen as if protecting it from another assault. He is correct in every sense of the question. “Do not ask me that,” she whispers--not in anger, but a plea. “I cannot answer--not now. People are depending on me.”

The turbolift stops and opens. Velir does not move aside. If anything, his immobile body seems more of an obstacle than ever. She tries to squeeze past without touching him. “Please, I must go! Lives are at stake,” she insists, more and more desperate. “My future is at stake! I will be ruined regardless, but at least this way I will fulfill some sort of purpose!”

Kylah stops, mere centimeters from Velir. Her own word resonates strongly. Ruined. It is the truth: she faces ruin wherever she turns. If she succeeds, Lt. Ferguson will demand her compliance with his sickening request; if she succeeds and is caught, she will be thrown out of Starfleet and forced to return to her uncle; and if she fails, her uncle will likely recall her himself. Either way, Aldaan will do with her whatever he wishes.

* * *

Rangin demands, "Whose lives are a stake, what future are you talking about?" From Kylah's demeanour something has obviously hit a nerve. He notices she is not denying that Lt. Ferguson has something to do with it.

“After, Velir,” she exhales. “I will explain after all this is through. It will not matter then.” Even looking up at him seems like it costs her an effort. “Please, if I swear to tell you, will you let me leave?”

Graham's communicator beeps and sees a new text appear: They're waiting for you in the Shuttlebay, Mr. Graham. Proceed on the double. VARGAS.

The other members of the landing party receive similar prompts from Thalen, by order of the First Officer.

Graham sighs and double times it toward the Shuttlebay.

Graham arrives in the Shuttlebay to see the shuttlecraft Kaku in the middle of the deck and facing aft towards the bay's massive clamshell doors. Dr. Nathaniel Bennett and Engineering Ens. Akinola Serowe are already aboard. Security Ens. Josiah F. Russell is outside, standing by the shuttle's hatch and talking to Lt. Hans Meyer, the shuttle maintenance crew chief, a middle-aged Austrian man.

Lt. Onn, Ens. Rangin and Ens. Kylah have apparently still not arrived. Ens. Russell comes to attention as Graham approaches, but Lt. Meyer frowns and says in German-accented Standard, "Mr. Graham, welcome. I was told you would be launching immediately, but your landing party is as yet incomplete, no...?"

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...F_shuttlecraft
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...rgo_facilities

Graham takes a deep breath. "Trouble times, Lt. Meyer, troubled times...a lot on people's plates."

"Excuse me," he adds.

Graham turns aside, flips out his communicator, and one-way transmits, each in turn, to Ens. Rangin, Ens, Kylah, and Lt. Onn (in that order). "Lt. Graham. Report to the Shuttlebay for landing party duty on the double."

If possible may we please pretend the following has been going on during all of the above but before Graham's message?


"Kylah, what have you gotten yourself into?" Rangin waves a hand as if to brush away her arguments like flies buzzing around his head. "No, I can't promise anything. Just whose and what orders are you following?"

Kylah stares at him, her emotions on a knife’s edge. “I would tell you if I could. But not now. You are wasting time that neither of us has. Let me out!” With this last barked command, she digs an elbow into his side to shove him away from her while she tries again to propel herself out of the lift.

Rangin is too slow and too surprised to avoid the elbow and it crunches into his side with more force than he would expect. By reflex he reaches out and grasps at her hand as she tries to barge her way past managing to get a hold as he reaches round her wrist.

It's not the shock of her elbow that leaves him gasping for breath and shaking. An unholy fear and self-loathing that sweeps over him, but with an imperative drive that something must be accomplished.

There is a flash in his head of the sneering Lt. Ferguson, but he can almost feel another, more important, nameless presences around him, and he tries to turn round to see if anyone is there while trying to hold on to Kylah at the same time.

* * *

The instant Velir’s fingers clutch Kylah’s wrist, a jolt of psychic energy slams into her like a phaser blast. Except it is not a single shot. She staggers back, or tries to--they may be relatively close in height, but she is no match for his strength--and cannot free herself.

So the intrusive link remains, surges from his skin through her arm and finally invades her mind. Confusion, anger, worry, terror… At first, Kylah cannot distinguish her emotions from Velir’s. Worse, she senses that he is sensing hers, too. Just like the other day at the gym, his mind has forced itself into hers.

“What are you doing? Stop, stop!” she nearly shrieks. “You--you have no right to control me!”

No matter how hard she yanks or pulls, they remain locked together. And the colors of their joined emotions merge into a murky gray. Horror… sorrow… regret… so much lost life, so much waste, and nothing can be done about it. The data is there, this unfair lottery could easily cajole more lives into the results: they could make things right. But the rules and their superior officers all conspire to keep them helpless. Not helpless, Kylah thinks fiercely, unconsciously shaking her head. Not all helpless. Rules do not matter. Obligation matters. If he fulfills his promise.

The thought of Lt. Ferguson--and then Mrs. Soeryadjaya down on the planet waiting for her now, with time running out--floods Kylah with adrenaline. And though the communicator on her hip buzzes, it might as well be on Elas: A primal rage overtakes all else. Like a trapped animal, Kylah instinctively turns the fingers of her free hand into claws and slashes them into Velir’s wrist.

“You want to save lives?” The words are almost snarled while her nails rake a sharp path into his skin. “That is what I am trying to do, so let me do it! Let me go!”

* * *

Rangin can feel Kylah's nails scraping down his arm and it snaps him back to the here and now and away from the thoughts that were rushing through his head only seconds ago. But still some things stay with him, even as he blinks to clear his head.

He snaps his eyes back to Kylah, still holding her wrist despite her struggles. "No, no you are not saving anyone, you may even be condemning us all."

He puts a hand against the wall to balance, feeling for the surface to give him some stability, while taking a deep breath as he tries to make sense of what he is thinking and what brought him to say that.

"Okay, it's obvious you are trying to circumvent what is happening, though I have no reason why. Although if it is enough to seek out Lt. Ferguson's help it must be serious indeed. Stop, just stop for one moment and let me think."

He lets go of her hand, but remains in the doorway. "Regardless, if you go back to your quarters now, at this moment in time, I will be informing Lt. Graham in approximately one minute about your disobeying orders. Just answer me one thing: you need to save someone from the planet, don't you?"



Kylah by choie, Rangin by me

Nia's communicator lets out a beep and she takes a swift look--a reminder that they need to get moving. She doesn't have time to say anything further to Booker before he cuts the conversation short.

"Well, a mixed message," she says to Marala. "Swapping outfits would've been a good idea, but Book's right to make sure your hands are as clean as possible. That means no risking an impersonation charge." Even as she speaks she's subconsciously adjusting her mental state from scheming rule breaker to shuttle pilot.

She reaches out to rest a calming hand on the other woman's wrist. "Stay here and sit unobtrusively. And don't--" Nia cuts herself off. "No, I can't tell you not to worry, but... try to breathe and trust in us. We'll do all we can to keep you and your boy safe."

About to leave, she pauses and gives Marala a small smile. "You already know Booker Graham will not let you down."

Kylah cradles her aching wrist against her chest. She stares at Velir, disoriented and eyes blurry with unshed tears. He has guessed her mission. Almost paralyzed, she gives a tiny, almost undetectable nod.

“Yes,” she whispers, overwhelmed by all she...they...just experienced. Despite her shallow breaths, she manages to continue. “Please, Velir… please do not tell. I must do this. You do not know...”

* * *

"Don't," Rangin says, low and grim. "Don't do it, we are over the capacity for Life Support as it is. You bring any more on board, hidden away, and it will be a slow death for all of us."

He tries to think over the implications if what she is trying to do, but it keeps being swept away of how urgent it is that he must, no she must do it.

He reaches down from the wall and absentmindedly rubs his wrist where Kylah scratched him a few moments ago and his sleeve has since fallen back down. It feels tender and sticky and as he pulls his hand away, he can see a few telltale signs that she broke the skin from the flash of red on his palm.

* * *

Blood. Her nails drew blood. Fury drains from Kylah as she cringes in shame and fear of herself, something wild that she did not know she was capable of.

“Oh no! I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. It was…I felt so much anger. Not just mine. Yours. You were there, in my mind.” Her head shakes in disbelief. “You invaded my mind. Why--how did you do that?”

* * *

“I...” Rangin stops as Kylah’s names what happened, something he hadn’t though fully through but the only explanation that seems to make sense over what happened, “...I don’t know.”

He would love to find out, take the time to explore it further, see where it could lead, but time is of the essence, “The only thing I do know, is that we only have a few hours to rescue as many people as we can from the colony before it is destroyed.

“Please wait for the lottery before doing anything so foolish. If the person you are trying to save is mysteriously missing, it is going to raise all sorts of problems. Besides going down to the planet gives me a chance to confirm the data is correct and make any last minute alterations to ensure a fair lottery. We have run it thousands of times, chances are your person will be in one of them. All we have to do is choose the right one. Do you understand?”

* * *

Velir's calculations whirl around in Kylah’s uncomprehending, panicked mind. “No, no, I cannot wait. The--the method by which they are to be brought on board needs to be done before, it will be a test, before more activity. Surely two more people will not harm...” Kylah’s words trail off. stops. She has no expertise in the life support systems and is a poor judge of what they can handle. “As for waiting for their chances… I may not know as much about mathematics and science as you, but I know the odds are vastly against them.”

She thinks again of his idea. “Besides, surely the scrutiny will be far greater once the lottery has been run and people know who lives or dies. Those who lose will be even more desperate.”

He does not seem convinced. Kylah knows she must reveal more. She has no choice. Swallowing, she takes a tiny step toward him. “Velir, this is the friend of my family I mentioned--and her companion. What I said earlier was not a lie. Our resources… I will not eat, I will use an oxygen mask, I will do anything, everything to save them. You have no idea--”

No. No, she cannot tell Velir about her bargain with Lt. Ferguson. Her gaze drops from Velir’s face to the floor. She must remain in better command of her senses. Velir’s mental powers are obviously greater than she realized.

“You do not know the consequences if I fail. They will die, and my life will be out of my hands. At least if I succeed and they survive, even if I am caught, I will have a marginally better prospect once I return home. If I cannot save them, my future will be forfeit.”

She shakes her head and begins sidling past Velir, backing away from him very slowly. “Please,” she whispers. “There is no more time, I must go. You should tell Lt. Graham, if that is your duty. You owe me nothing, I know that. But if you have any remaining compassion…if not for me, than these two…?”

Waiting only a heartbeat, Kylah turns and heads toward her cabin.

* * *

This time Rangin is caught unawares as Kylah slips by him to flee down the corridor. He halfheartedly attempts to stop her, but she is just out of reach and besides, short of restraining her he can't prevent her from carrying out what she thinks she must. Despairing about the time she is wasting, valuable minutes he could use to check the population and make sure the lottery runs well, he just shakes his head and lets the dice roll what they will.

"I know you feel you have no choice, but do what you feel you must, even though it could well kill everyone on the ship. And you haven't told me who they are!"

She is too far to hear. Rangin reaches for the turbolift control, knowing he must be on his way.

Marala returns Onn's smile, although suddenly she seems near tears. She says quietly, "Of course. And Lieutenant... thank you."

Kylah makes her way through the crowded corridor, as Engineering personnel set up temporary bunks and set out bedding and other supplies, and reaches her own quarters.

The turbolift soon brings Rangin to the Shuttlebay, where he sees Graham and two redshirts talking outside the shuttlecraft Kaku.

Nia gives what she hopes is a reassuring nod to Marala, and reluctantly leaves the chapel. She's not keen on leaving this non-Starfleet woman all alone, possibly to face a redshirt who thinks she's a threat of some kind. With no choice, however, all Nia can do is hope for some good luck.

Once she's in the corridor, the communicator in her hand chimes. When she flips it open she hears Booker's voice. "On my way, Lt. Graham," she replies, now at the Turbolift and adding a quick "Deck 19" request before continuing with Book. "I appreciate the praise for the uniform idea, but I'm afraid you're gonna think I've lost my damn fool mind when you hear my suggestion for our guests."

Kylah does not look at any of the other officers, too distracted by her fear of failure, her residual violated feeling at having her brain probed without warning, and dread of what Lt. Graham will do when she does not arrive.

...Or, more to the point, what Velir will tell him. She prays Velir will develop more sympathy for her plight, possibly buying her more time. But that prayer seems unlikely to be answered.

What is more likely, Kylah realizes just before her door whooshes open, is that her temporarily assigned cabinmate will be here already. Which would ruin everything, unless Kylah can think of a way to get the other woman to leave.

After entering, she says a wary "Hello?" and darts her gaze toward every visible corner of her quarters.

Onn arrives in the Shuttlebay just as Rangin is approaching Graham, Meyer and another redshirt standing outside the shuttlecraft.

A young, pretty Asian woman in Engineering red with lieutenant (junior grade) golden braid on her uniform dress's cuffs comes out of the bathroom, wiping her hand on a towel. "Hi!" she says brightly. "I'm Demei Xiang. I guess we're going to be roommates, at least for a few days. You must be Kylah? Sorry I had to move in while you weren't here. Pretty rude, I know, and I apologize, but I only had a little time to do it before I have to get back down to the workshops and help make more bunks."

Rangin arrives in the Shuttlebay feeling worried and despairing over Kylah's actions. Something is driving her to act so rashly but he does not know what it is, only that she could cost herself and the ship more than she knows.

But while he is slightly late, he is not the last and walks across to Lt Graham, unable to stop rubbing at the sleeve where he was scratched earlier before dropping his arms to the side and acknowledges the senior officer.

"Ens Rangin reporting in Sir." as he waits at attention to see what it is that Lt Graham wants and whether he will have the opportunity to mention about Kylah. The thought that he is likely to just be dismissed, with the opportunity somehow lost would not surprise him, but all he can do is see what happens next.

Striding over to the shuttle, Nia notices the others on the periphery--counting her, that's six, which might reflect the need for a smaller party--but mostly her immediate attention focuses on Booker. How's he holding up under pressure from so many different sources?

Duty demands her to report in, then to get the status of the Kaku. Abruptly the realization strikes her: this marks the first mission she'll be under Book's command. It'd be fun if the stakes weren't so crazy high... especially for him, more than anyone else on this ship.

Aside from Marala.

Nia stops about a meter away from him. "Present, sir."

Kylah's heart sinks, and for far too many seconds her thoughts freeze along with her muscles. She just stares at the other woman, afraid and disappointed and irrationally angry.

Finally she regains the ability to speak. "No--no, it is--of course you were not rude. Moving in," she adds, stumbling over her words. "I must still organize more of my things. We--I believe it is likely we will share with refugees."

Kylah forces herself from the doorway, although she takes only a few steps, enough to let the door close. "But you are...you said you must leave?" With a backwards glance, she gestures weakly towards the door and moves farther away. Hopefully a clear pathway will push Lt. Xiang^* out of the cabin more quickly.


* Not sure, given Chinese name traditions, if this is her first or last name?

"Yes, I'll get out of your hair soon, I promise," the engineer says, smiling. She returns the towel to the bathroom. "Just getting squared away here." She opens a large Starfleet-issue travel case on the spare bunk and begins unpacking.

Xiang would be her last name.

Every nerve-ending in Kylah's body is raw, coursing with electricity. Given her frustration, it is fortunate she has no weapon; she might be tempted to fling a knife in Lt. Xiang's general direction.

Instead she walks to the bed. "Let me unpack for you," she blurts. "Please, Lieutenant. You have more important tasks to do, but I... I have been allowed a brief time off-duty to... get ready..." The improvised lie almost makes her wince. Still, she must commit to it.

Her communicator buzzes again, one short pulse alerting her that she has an unread message. Biting her lip, she itches to grab at it, but this current situation overrides everything.

Graham spares a glance toward Nia as she arrives and announces herself, giving her a slight, grateful nod--before turning his attention back to Rangin, who's behaving strangely, even for him.

"Thank you, Rangin." Dropping his rank is half un-intentional, half-intentional.

And all impatience.

"So where the hell is Ens. Kylah?" Graham ask sharply, looking around, expressing his annoyance to everyone at once, but returning to raise an eyebrow at Rangin, just on principle.

Xiang frowns. "No, thanks. It's my stuff, and I'd rather stow it myself."

Russell and Meyer nod politely in welcome to Rangin and Onn. Russell replies to Graham, "I don't know, sir. Would you like me to have her paged?"

Dr. Bennett sticks his head out the shuttle's door; he looks annoyed. "Are we going, or what?"

Although slightly non-plussed by Graham's informality and trying not to let it show on his face, Rangin is less surprised by Lt Graham's request to know where Kylah is.

"I'm sorry sir, but Ens. Kylah said she was following someone else's orders and is returning to her quarters. She knows she is supposed to report here, but insisted that she is not required. Apparently it will take her approximately ten minutes to complete what she needs to do."

Before Lt Graham can explode in anger as he is likely to do, "and in response to your next question Sir: I do not know what she is doing, she would not say."

Rangin wishes he could take a step back, either to avoid an agitated looking Lt Graham and then realises he is still between the Security Officer and the direct path to the Turbolift. A step to the side might be more judicious.

And yet having opened his mouth, he still wonders if he did the right thing or if he should have said nothing. But of Kylah is in trouble, this might be the most expeditious way to solve her problems. Or maybe just make them worse.

Nia's eyebrows arch as she hears the exchange between the two men. Of course, of course it's about Kylah. Isn't it always?

And now the girl has secret orders? Why does this sound like utter crap?

Nia keeps her stare fixed on the shuttle. She doesn't know whose bullshit this is, Kylah's or Rangin's, but regardless she makes sure not to show her disbelief.

"For what it's worth," she says in a low murmur, "Her watch was on the Bridge, last I knew."

A flush burns Kylah’s face. “Oh--of course, Lt. Xiang, I did not--I am sorry.” The apology is automatic, not sincere. She wants to scream, to fling that suitcase to the floor.

All she can do is walk to her bed. Too agitated to sit down, she halts and, turning her back on the other woman, pulls out her communicator as her mind rages, grappling for any alternative to her original plans. Most important, she must get in touch with Lt. Ferguson.

First she is forced to attend to the messages waiting for her. Cmdr. Vargas’s words and Lt. Graham’s voice shame her. It is not just about not doing her duty as an officer; she has barely been of much use anyway, and the pressure from her Uncle has long superseded her oath to Starfleet. But she hates letting these men down. Lt. Graham in particular--he has done so much for her…

Pained, Kylah taps out a hurried message. She has no idea what Velir might have said, if anything, so she can only invent a shabby lie.

GRAHAM, LT.JG - Forgive me, sir. I had a migraine and needed to rest and take a shower. I will be ready in ten minutes. Time is of the essence and you probably cannot wait. I understand you will have to report my dereliction of duty. Please know I am very sorry. -- KYLAH, ENS.

Kylah shakes her head at the weak excuse. Nevertheless, she sends it, left with no other choice. Then she stares down at the tiny screen, desperate to find another location for the beam-in.

FERGUSON, LT.JG - My quarters are no longer available. Are yours? If not perhaps the Arboretum? I will go anywhere you suggest. -- KYLAH, ENS.

Her plea sent, Kylah excuses herself as she passes Lt. Xiang to the bathroom, where she splashes water on her face. A look in the mirror causes her even more embarrassment. Her uniform is ill-fitting, her wrist is already developing a bruise--whether from Lt. Ferguson or Velir, she does not know--and her stockings reveal a run on her left leg, stemming from the struggle with Ferguson.

I am no Starfleet officer, she thinks, her chin trembling. She runs her damp hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face and tying it into an improvised knot. I never was and never will be.

Hurrying past the other woman, Kylah leaves her quarters and stands awkwardly in the corridor, waiting for whichever unpleasant reply she gets first.

Ferguson does not respond to Kylah.

In the Shuttlebay, Russell clears his throat and looks like he'd rather be somewhere else.

As minutes pass, the weight of dread builds in Kylah's chest until breathing becomes labored, her tight throat creating a soft moan with every inhale and exhale.

Where is he? Why is he doing this?

Not ten minutes ago, Lt. Ferguson contacted her and told her he was ready to commence his part of their bargain. Is he unable to take the time to respond? That seems as likely as the worse possibility: that he has preyed on her desperation and never intended to follow through.

Regardless, Kylah must reach him.

She forces her protesting, tense muscles into breaking away from the spot where she has planted herself and heads to the transporter rooms on this deck. He could well be up on Deck 21, but she has no time to go to both. The risk of being seen conspiring with him is worth taking. There is no alternative.

While she runs down the winding corridors as fast as she can--given her increasing hyperventilation--she jettisons her caution and flips open her communicator for a direct voice contact. "Kylah to Ferguson," she begs in between gasps. "Please answer me!"

Kylah's call does not go through, but a quiet beep tells her it has gone to his voicemail.

Nia decides the standoff and waiting game are not her business, so she might as well get to her business.

Tilting her head toward the Kaku, she heads in that direction. "Just gonna warm her up," she murmurs to Booker while she passes by to join Lt. Meyer. First she lifts a steadying hand to the irascible Dr. Bennett. "Ease up, Doctor. We'll be off any minute now. Just a personnel issue. Not everyone's as punctual as you," she adds with a grin.

"Hey chief," she says to Meyer's very familiar face. "Bit of a holdup over there--" She quickly glances towards Booker and Rangin. "--But fortunately it doesn't involve me. Let's get going on the pre-flight."

Kylah's groan is now due to frustration as well as her hyperventilating. She presses a hand to her side, where a stitch is now bothering her, and continues to lope toward the set of transporter rooms, where she hopes to find Lt. Ferguson.

She convinces herself that he will be on this deck, mainly because she little confidence that she has the energy to reach the other transporters up on Deck 21.

Meyer nods and says, "Of course, ma'am," and gestures for her to board the shuttle ahead of him. Dr. Bennett, looking disgusted, goes back inside.

Kylah finds Ferguson in Transporter Room 6, along with Lt. Vielar, the Yorktown's Assistant Chief Engineer. The tall, yellow-feathered Skorr female is delicately working within an open ODN conduit panel just beyond the transporter control console, where Ferguson stands, his arms crossed. His expression when he sees Kylah reveals first surprise, and then quickly-masked anger. "Ens. Kylah," he says with what is close to a neutral tone of voice, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Although she has seen Lt. Vielar two or three times, Kylah is already so rattled that the sight of a large bird-like being hunkering behind equipment is--to say the least--disconcerting. She recovers and keeps her hand on her side, wanting very much to bend over and catch her breath.

"I--I know, I am sorry to bother you, but I need... I need your advice," Kylah begins. As she struggles to breathe, she grasps for something, anything that she can say to Lt. Ferguson that will both explain their predicament and be innocuous enough to fly over the Skorr's head. Then it hits her.

"My temporary roommate has moved in--into my quarters--and things are very crowded." She looks warily down at Lt. Vielar, then quickly back up to Lt. Ferguson with an intent gaze. "So I need another place, a safe place, to house my... my Vulcan Lyre. It is large but fragile and must not be disturbed. As we had discussed the problem earlier I thought perhaps you could... recommend somewhere? Are your own quarters available?"

Kylah stops, relieved for coming up with this ruse. Then a jolt of fear interrupts everything, and she stares back down at the console with growing alarm. "Is there something wrong with the transporter?"

Vielar turns and says, in her odd, piping voice, "Ah, Ens. Kylah, hello. Good to see you again. No, it's not the transporter itself, but an ODN conduit, G45003, that passes through here. There've been some odd fluctuations in the system and I'm trying to track it down. Shouldn't be long." She turns back to her work.

Ferguson says carefully, darting with his eyes to indicate that Kylah should leave right away, "No, I have someone moving in with me, too. Pretty crowded already - no room at the inn, you know how it goes. Sorry. I'm sure you can find some other place for your, uh, lyre. And soon."

Kylah takes a step back. She can feel Lt. Ferguson's hostility and nervous tension from here, and her own despair weighs heavily on her. Her "oh" is barely a whisper.

She has no idea what an inn has to do with anything. And somehow Lt. Ferguson's emphasis on lyre sounded as if he was calling her a liar. Which, of course, she is.

"I see. That is... I do not know where else..." Swallowing, she shakes her head, at a loss. How can she possibly hide two people?

But Lt Ferguson wants her out of here, and preventing him from turning her against her is paramount. "I--I thank you anyway, sir."

Kylah makes sure Lt. Vielar is not looking when she lifts her communicator and nods at it pointedly. Read your messages! she thinks, as if he could read her mind as clearly as Velir had.

Perish the thought. Velir has some level of understanding about privacy. This man--in her mind? The very idea is both terrifying and repugnant.

She stammers a goodbye to Lt. Vielar and manages not to trip on her way out.

But she falls against the wall, shutting her eyes. The stress is overwhelming and the whole corridor seems to be crushing in on her, cutting off her air. She risks losing consciousness if she does not steady herself. As her childhood nurse warned her during one of her panic attacks: Hyperventilation causes a loss of CO₂, and she must do what she can to breath in whatever she exhales.

No paper bag is near, so Kylah cups her hands over her nose and mouth.

What is left for her? She cannot ask Velir for help. She has no other friends on this ship--at least, none whom she can ask for such a favor. Dr. T'Var. Lt. Graham. Mr. Johnson...

She opens her eyes, calculations racing. No. She doubts she can ask Mr. Johnson for such a huge favor; besides, he is too busy and she would have to explain too much. But thinking of him leads her to someone else.

She has no roommate. She will be away.

Kylah's heart drums against her rib cage. It is a tremendous risk, but so is everything else Uncle Aldaan has demanded of her.

She can think of no other option. And so she opens her communicator.

JOHNSON, ANDREW -- I am sorry to bother you, Mr. Johnson, but could you tell me the correct cabin number for Lt. Onn? -- KYLAH, ENS.

Ferguson grimaces and nods before she leaves.

Climbing up and into the shuttle, Nia has conflicting senses of anxiety and anticipation. This is where she belongs; it's what she knows best. But she's also well aware of the seriousness of what lies ahead.

She looks over and nods at Dr. Bennett and the others, then settles herself into the pilot seat. Meyer takes the copilot seat beside her, at starboard. Nia's gaze takes in the display panels and status lights in front of her, while she also pays attention to Meyer.

Habit kicks in: without even looking, she automatically taps the Systems Status button: Green, as expected.

"All right," she says crisply. "Commencing preflight systems check."

"Ready, ma'am," says Meyer, bringing up a parallel system display.

She starts, as always, with the Helm, then Navigation. Both are nominal. Shields, Warp Drive, Impulse Drive, Communications, Computer, Life Support and Engineering Subsystems follow in quick succession, with green lights for each.

Within minutes she's able to say with satisfaction, "Preflight systems check complete. The Kaku's ready to roll."

"I concur, ma'am," says Meyer with a smile.

"Thanks as always, chief." She holds out a hand just as Meyer passes his datapad to her--like a perfectly choreographed ballroom dance--and she uses her thumbprint to co-sign the status check.

Nia thanks Meyer again before watching him leave the shuttle. Then she swivels a few degrees to look at the present crew.

"We'll be off any moment," she says, with a pleasant smile for them all--including Bennett, not that it's likely to lift his mood. Nothing's likely to get this hardass to settle in, but the guy must have something civilized about him. What a shame that with looks like his, he's so sour and brittle.

Maybe when you're that handsome you don't bother learning how to be affable or good-natured? With a shrug so small it might as well be internal, she checks the rear-facing camera. Nope, still an incomplete complement.

She sighs. Is there a reason we need a communications ex-- Nia purses her lips mid-thought. She's not exactly convinced Kylah counts as an 'expert.' Okay, a communications officer? And even if we do, maybe we could pick one who doesn't end up kidnapped or injured on every mission? Even on shore leave?

That last thought is unfair, but... well, facts are facts.



Nia by me, Meyer and most of the tech stuff by EH.

Dr. Bennett sighs heavily and looks hard at the chronometer on the forward display panel.

"Look chief, we've done as much as we can, but we could really do with the mining rations from the planet, if they have them. You know, the single meal packs with the heating element. Would help keep feeding a bunch of people faster than we could...."

Andy Johnson leans on the wall next to the Comm unit, sweaty and tired from the hard shift is putting in and chatting to the head chef giving him the latest update on getting as much food prepped for the people now, to allow for more energy to be diverted to Life Support.

The beep from his communicator comes through and Ajay looks at the message. He blinks a couple of times at the inanity of the question before thumbing back a quick response.

KYLAH, ENS. -- Hi, you want her cabin number? Seriously, at a time like this? Just what are you planning? Also, next time try dropping her a text or check the Ship's computer. Either way, answer is #4A14. -- JOHNSON, ANDREW

Andy Johnson by Ajay, Room info by EH

As relieved and gratified as Kylah is to receive a reply, Mr. Johnson's response flings ice water into her face. She has angered him, and made him suspicious, and turned him against her.

Inevitable, she knows--it is what she does best, disappoint and repel others--but for some reason this brief message, rebuke in every word, stings. Mr. Johnson is an open-minded, cheerful and friendly young man. She has never seen him angry, not at her. Even when they first met, and she had been so humorless and haughty, he teased her rather than responded in kind. Of course she has managed to ruin that.

But he gave you what you wanted. That is all that matters, is it not?

Kylah turns, so certain the voice she just heard was outside her head. Instead, it is inside, and nearly a decade in the past.

"But why? Why would they kill him?" 14-year-old Kylah stares at her uncle, hugging herself to protect from the truth. "Because of... of what I said?"

Aldaan gently takes the video tablet from her hands and lays it on the nearby table, then draws her near. "Not exactly. It was his own weakness that you... inadvertently... revealed. Information that was useful to us. He gave us what we needed--that is what matters, in the end." He pauses, then adds soberly: "And they did not kill him. It was Hegh'bat. The only honorable ending for him--he believed."

She is even more horrified. "He--it was suicide?" Her wide-eyed gaze follows the movement of her tablet, still able to see the Imperial flag on the tiny screen until her uncle taps it to disappear. "Then it is my fault! I just meant to help. Dobann seemed so sad. You said I should be hostess for the meal, I thought it was my duty to make him feel better--"

"And it was, my dear. I blame myself. I didn't warn you about just how harshly their culture treats those who are weak--whom they believe to be weak, that is." Uncle Aldaan sighs and shakes his head, holding Kylah close. "T'uged Dobann destroyed a civilian ship, nearly five hundred aboard. It was in Klingon territory and he had orders to kill anyone who violated their boundaries. His action was perfectly legal, indeed required by their laws. But nevertheless... Not an easy decision to own. Once his superiors heard of his remorse... he was surrounded by dishonor. Dishonor for the deaths, dishonor for showing weakness."

Kylah's tear-filled eyes focus on the tablet. Dobann's face, scarred, rough and handsome, lingers in her mind though the screen is black. She always liked this soldier, both older and less brusque than most of the other dignitaries who graced their table.

"But Uncle, no one would have known he felt that way if were not for me," she whispers. "He hid it from them. But through the meal I almost ached because of what was gnawing at him. I could not take it, I had to try to help, to find out what was wrong." A sob escapes her. "I just kept pushing and pushing...then when he said he regretted it all--"

"Shhh, dear one. I understand, I do. You're nearly a woman. So much of you has matured..." He places a calming hand over her heart. "But your emotions have not. Not to the degree they must."

Sighing, he caresses her. "This wasn't your fault, make no mistake. Still, you are at risk. You know what I've told you. With your abilities, you're an open wound, susceptible to infection by others' raw, secret emotions. That makes you valuable, so valuable to your family. But it also means you are a danger. You must learn to guard yourself. Learn to understand what people feel, but not feel it yourself. Do you understand?"

She shakes her head, helpless. And uncomfortable. His large, gentle hand is warm on her chest, and while the stroking gesture is one he has performed since she was little, now that she is older... She cannot explain why it is different, why it bothers her.

When she does not answer, Aldaan takes her left hand and turns it over, palm up. "Do you remember when you started playing the zither? How you cried when you said the strings hurt?"

"They seemed so sharp back then."

"They were sharp. They still are. But your fingers have adjusted, haven't they? Just as I said they would? They learned how to protect themselves. You developed slight calluses and became less vulnerable. To look at them, your beautiful smooth skin, no one would know anything harmed you. That is how you must be, inside."

With a warm smile, he lifts her fingers higher. "How soft and lovely you are, even now. As a woman you will captivate others." He kisses her fingertips, raising goose bumps all along her arm. Then his eyes meet hers, a warning gleam in their dark silver. "But you must develop a shield of steel, dear Kylah. Over your heart. You will keep bleeding and bleeding if you do not. So raise that shield, my dear. With everyone but me. For you will need it."

The memory flashes and dies in a matter of seconds. Kylah inhales sharply and, for the first time in a long while, lets her guardian's advice take hold.

There is no time to linger in self-pity, or to mourn a friendship that never really existed. Ever since joining this ship, with nowhere to go that is truly private, Kylah has been battered by emotions not her own. Forgotten every internal defense she learned before joining Starfleet.

Aldaan was right: she is a raw wound, continually bleeding from every slight contact. This must stop. Her time with Starfleet is surely nearing an end; she must find the strength to last through whatever these last days require.

She clenches her jaw and sets off toward the turbolift that will take her to the A section of the deck, up three levels. As she does, she opens her communicator again and deletes Mr. Johnson's text. Then she sends a voicemail to Lt. Ferguson.

"Cabin 4A14," she whispers, nearing the turbolift. "On my way now. Please confirm with an aye or no, text if necessary, and I will make external contact."

Ferguson promptly responds in a text: Let's do it. The yellow-feathered bitch finally left.

Graham's communicator beeps. Vargas's voice is a muted roar: "What the hell is going on, Mr. Graham? Why haven't you left yet?"

Kylah exhales raggedly when she receives Lt. Ferguson's curt (albeit offensive) text. Having entered the turbolift, she snaps out a "Deck four" command and starts a new message. Reluctantly she must do so in text; she will have to bleach this as soon as she confirms receipt.

Ms. Soeryadjaya - Be ready within five minutes, standing beside your companion, Mr. Yarrow. You will be beamed into an officer's quarters. I will be outside and will request permission from you to enter, naming my House as mentioned earlier. ** Important: ** Please confirm ASAP when in room together. - KYLAH, H. of the S.W.T.

Message sent, Kylah knows she is now committed. Her forehead feels damp beneath her loose curls, and her stance is that of a racer awaiting the chance to spring forward.

After a few moments Soeryadjaya texts back, Understood. We are ready now.

Kylah's heart lurches as if trying to break free of a trap. When the turbolift door opens she darts her gaze in both directions to find the correct route to Lt. Onn's cabin, then rushes past anyone and anything in her path to get there.

Time has stretched and after what seems an hour--although it cannot have been more than five minutes--she arrives at #4A14. She waits a few more endless seconds until the corridor is free of any witnesses. Her breathing is back to near hyperventilation levels when she lifts her communicator.

"Kylah to Ferguson," she gasps, eyes briefly closed in prayer. "Ready."

The corridor is relatively uncrowded, as temporary bunks have already been assembled and supplies left in place here, so Kylah has her opportunity.

Energizing, Ferguson texts. A few seconds later he adds, Transport complete.

Nia's tempted to snarkily suggest to her colleagues here inside the shuttle that they take off without Booker, Rangin or her royal highness. Is there really no other comms officer who can do what Kylah does? Which, despite Nia's sympathy toward all the crappy stuff the girl has gone through, cannot possibly be worth the angst and energy black hole that surrounds her.

But she keeps her mouth shut because, well, professionalism matters. She'll play the wiseass with the best of 'em but this isn't the time or place for being bitchy.

* * *

It's nagging in the back of Andy Johnson's head, but something about Ens. Kylah's last text just bugs him somewhat and with everything going on, it's a distraction Ajay doesn't need. Screw it, a problem shared is a problem halved and if Kylah is looking for Nia, he may as well give a head's up.

ONN, LT -- Hey there, just a head's up, but Ens. Kylah was just asking about your cabin number. No idea why, but thought you ought to know -- JOHNSON, ANDREW

He flicks the message off on its merry way and now that someone else can worry about it, Ajay knuckles back down to his preparations.

* * *

Nia feels the buzz on her hip. Great, probably Vargas blaming her for the delay, she thinks--only two-thirds joking.

Then she stares at the communicator screen, brows furrowed. What the hell? Suspecting Ajay's too busy to waste his time with a 'thank you' note--they're in sync enough for that sort of nicety to be unspoken by now--Nia lowers the device to her lap and thinks for about five seconds. Tell the testosterone twins out there, or go directly to the source?

Easy call.

Unfortunately, not literally: her attempt at voice contact goes to voicemail. Nia shakes her head and thumbs a rapid text comm.

KYLAH, ENS. - Unless Vargas ordered you to deliver a bouquet to my quarters as a surprise, you should be heading straight for the shuttlebay. Because a) that's where I am if you want to see me, and b) Lt. JG Graham has assigned you to his goddamn landing party on an emergency mission. Get here now or explain. Actually, get here now and explain. -- ONN, LT.

She practically smashes her finger when sending the urgent message. After waiting another few seconds in hopes of hearing from Kylah, Nia claps the communicator shut, slides out of her seat, and exits the shuttle without bothering to apologize or explain to the dutiful--or at least prompt--officers inside. Time to tell Booker the lost lamb has been sighted.

A contact from Lt. Mark Ferguson to Kylah has never been received with pleasure, but now Kylah nearly collapses in gratitude and dizzy relief. She is about to reach out to Mrs. Soeryadjaya when she hears an incoming alert.

Lt. Onn's voice is the audible manifestation of steel when announcing herself. Dismayed--Mr. Johnson has obviously notified his friend--Kylah sets her mouth in a thin line and pushes the lieutenant's call to voicemail.

No time. No time and no air. She breathes deep and contacts Mrs. Soeryadjaya by pressing the door chime.

"Ma'am, it is Kylah," she says softly but distinctly. "From the--"

A text message alert. Kylah jerks her head back to read her communicator screen, then ignores it when she sees it too is from Lt. Onn. She focuses on the door again and repeats aloud: "It is Kylah from the House of the Silver Weeping Tree. Please let me in."

"We'll be underway in 1, sir," Graham replies.

"All right everybody saddle up," he says, pointing to the shuttle.

As he moves toward it himself, he furiously texts Ens. Kylah. If you don't arrive Shuttlebay 1 minute you'll be left behind.

His anger is far more wide-ranging than specifically directed at Ens. Kylah, however: for all he knows, she's not here because something is terribly wrong.

He texts the Security officer on Patrol duty: This is Lt. Graham. Priority: locate Ens. Kylah. Ensure well-being. If so, take report on why failed to report for away mission.

Russell and Rangin board the shuttlecraft and take their seats. Meyer debarks and, with a nod to Graham, heads for a Shuttlebay side door.

The door opens and Kylah sees Mrs. Soeryadjaya and a thin, frightened-looking younger man standing behind her in the darkened cabin. At that moment, two women in Science blue round the corner and start walking towards Kylah. They are talking to one another and she doesn't think they've seen her yet.

Crewman Wallach is the Yorktown's Security patrol officer of the watch. He replies to Graham via text, Understood and now complying.

Stomach knotted, Kylah fairly leaps into Lt. Onn's quarters, hissing a command to the door. Her arms spread to shepherd the strangers more deeply into the cabin; she will say nothing directly to them until and unless she hears the familiar whoosh of the door, hopefully shutting in time to hide them all from view.

Kylah jostles Soeryadjaya as she goes in, making the businesswoman say "Hey!" in surprise and annoyance. The doors whisk shut and Kylah hears nothing outside.

Vargas does not sound pleased. He says to Graham, "I'm assigning another Communications officer to the mission, Mr. Garcia, just in case. He should be there shortly. If Mr. Kylah isn't there by the time he arrives, you're to leave without her. Vargas out."

Nia nods distractedly at Meyer as he passes by. She watches Booker while keeping one hand on the side of the shuttle's open hatch, finger tapping the cool metal. When he doesn't seem willing to move, she takes a couple of steps toward him.

"Um...an inside source just told me our MIA's apparently heading to my cabin. Although why she's trying to reach me that way, your guess is as good as mine. I told her via voice and text to report ASAP."

When she's close enough, she adds under her breath: "C'mon, Book. She's alive and apparently just flaking out, not for the first time. She's in no danger or whatever you're imagining. I know I don't need to remind you there're others in actual peril who need us now."

Her voice is almost a whisper. "Speaking of which... I set up a plan with your guest, and wanted to run it by you. And if you're also planning something--unfortunately we've only got about fifteen seconds before Garcia arrives."

Kylah apologizes for her clumsiness but is more interested in noticing the shutting door than politeness.

Satisfied, she exhales and focuses on the guests. "Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Mr. Yarrow. I am very..." Kylah can hardly put it into words. "So very glad you are here. I welcome you on behalf of my uncle Aldaan, Regent to the Dohlman. Please, ma'am, sir... please sit down." She starts to gesture to the bed and only now notices that it is unmade and certainly not how she, personally, would have left it.

"I--I apologize, this is not my cabin, but it should be safe for you, for now. The officer who lives here is heading to the planet, and since we--they--are taking a shuttle I doubt she will be back earlier than thirty minutes at least."

She notes the gentleman's agitation, but cannot think of anything to say to calm him. Too much left to do. "I hope you will forgive me but I must take care of a few... things..."

Sitting at Lt. Onn's desk and terminal, Kylah logs in as herself and hurries to access the Comms system and her own hidden directory.

Until now, Kylah's skills as a communications officer have, with certain exceptions, been utilized to help others--identifying and helping decrypt the SOS message from the Aelyrr ship; doing the same for the missing CAG officers on Sigma Iotia II.

Now she is doing something illegal and immoral according to Starfleet, something for which she would face the most serious of punishments if it were known. While it is in less solidly 'white hat' territory, this activity is much closer to the reason she was enlisted into Starfleet in the first place.

And then there is yet another buzz from her communicator. She is sorely tempted to throw the wretched thing against a wall. Instead, noting guiltily that the incoming message is from Lt. Graham, Kylah sighs and lets her fingers run gently against the notification screen--a gesture of regret.

Then she turns the communicator off--she does not want to be traced in here--and gets back to work: diving into the main comms system deep enough to eradicate any trace of interaction between her, Lt. Ferguson and the refugees.

Leaving the drama to the others, Rangin takes his seat in the shuttle and mentally tries to switch his focus to what he is required for next.

He carefully stows his datapad knowing that he may not have a better opportunity to get the data he craves to ensure the lottery is as fair as possible. He hopes that Mr. D doesn't run it until there is no chance to get the data or they have run out of time.

"Do you know what we are supposed to be doing on this mission?" he asks Russell, while they board, hoping for some answers.

Soeryadjaya says, "This isn't even your cabin?" She looks around disdainfully. "Small blessing, I guess. But where are we going to go when the owner gets back?"

Yarrow sits on one of the beds. He says nothing but looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Kylah notices that each has a small suitcase. It will take her some time and care to undetectably erase the Yorktown comm records she has in mind.

Russell rolls his eyes, leans back and says to Rangin, "Something about picking up a painting. Weird, huh? Guess there wasn't enough time for a proper mission briefing, but Lt. Graham will tell us more, I'm sure."

Communications Lt. JG Ernesto Garcia arrives on the run less than a minute later, a tricorder strap over his shoulder. He says to Graham, a little out of breath, "Reporting for duty, sir. Cmdr. Vargas told me to come on the double." He climbs aboard the shuttle and takes his seat, shaking hands with Russell, apparently a friend.

The comm crackles and Meyer says over the link, "This is Shuttlebay Control. Shuttlecraft Kaku, you are cleared for departure."

Kylah has navigated to her own message logs, where she can start the process of attempting to erase both the communicator-based copies and the Yorktown's originals that are intended to be archived. She will try the same methods used earlier, when she was thankfully successful at removing traces of her recent activities.

If she achieves this goal, her far trickier and more dangerous task will be activating a dormant virus kept in a private directory, using a bot that she will activate and direct to crawl along Ferguson's message trail to her, as well as those of the older woman complaining barely a meter away, and quietly destroy all the branched connections.

This compact but deadly program was created by some of Aldaan's allies whom Kylah has never met--with help from her knowledge of Starfleet security protocols learned during the Academy and the weeks spent training for her current position.

Previously she has only practiced before with benign, unimportant test conversations, both text and voice. Here she faces a very different story. She is unsure of her success in something this complicated--and now it is not just her future that is in jeopardy. People's lives are counting on her.

Speaking of which... "Do not worry, ma'am. The Lieutenant will... I will be able to delay her," Kylah responds, more in hope than confidence. Her trembling fingers tap wildly at the keys to enter her password to the bleach program's command line--KhotSWT?&NaOCl. "And--and all we need is to delay until the lottery is picked. You will not be thrown off once mingled with the others. I will hide you in my quarters and..."

She shrugs awkwardly, her improvised inspiration having bled out. "It will be fine. Please do not be afraid, now that you are here." Twisting her head to cast another glance at Mr. Yarrow, she does her best to send him a smile, despite having no hint of it in her pleading eyes. "Just--just remain calm and please, do as I say. I... we... will keep you safe."

Nia stares in growing concern at Booker. There's not much she can do short of yanking him into the shuttle. "Sir. Booker," she mutters. "Garcia is here; we've gotta leave now."

Backing up a step, she lifts her arm to hail and acknowledge Lt. Meyer. "Understood! On my way." She turns and finally hardens her tone to make it more pointedly professional. "Mr. Graham, I'll board and await your launch order."

Just two more heartbeats of hesitation pass before Nia adds: "Lieutenant. If you think you need to be replaced as mission C.O., I'll inform Cmdr. Vargas. He'll hate it but he'd hate a delay even more. And..."

She stops. Booker knows damn well that it's his friend, his friend's son, who are at stake. Of course Nia will do whatever she can, but without him...

No more time. This is his decision, and he'd better make it in about 45 seconds. Without another word, she strides to the Kaku and climbs in to take her seat, a mask of serenity hiding her increasing nausea.

When you're in a hole, stop digging, Booker...

"OK, let's go, Nia," Graham says quietly directly to her, a shake of his head a quick rub of the back of his neck expressing his frustration--then he mouths "thank you." He quickly takes his seat on the shuttle and speaks loudly enough for everyone to hear. "All right people, sorry for the delay. Believe it or not, there's a painting of major artistic importance we are headed to extract so it's not damaged or destroyed when--" He pauses. "Well we all know the situation."

He exhales, not really believing this will be possible after the last hour, or day for that matter. "God willing it should be a milk run, but under these circumstances, we need to be wary about conditions on the colony."

Your mission commander might want to smuggle a child onboard, for example.

"Any questions?" he asks.

As he finishes, he taps his communicator, addressing Crewman Wallach. "Check Lt. Onn's quarters."

He doesn't even try to figure out what the hell is going on, trying to focus his attention on the mission.

Kylah makes steady progress in covering her subspace comm tracks.

Yarrow smiles nervously but, with a look at his boss, says nothing. She, meanwhile, uses the bathroom and then begins pacing.

"A painting?" Dr. Bennett says, almost scoffing. "You've got to be kidding. What painting is worth risking a shuttle and seven crew at a time like this?"

Graham is seated in the right front chair, with Onn in the pilot's seat to his left. With everyone now aboard the shuttlecraft, she closes and locks the portside hatch with the touch of a button. Meyer's voice comes over the comm speaker: "Stand by. Now depressurizing Shuttlebay... depressurization complete. Now opening Shuttlebay doors." Directly ahead of you, clearly visible through the Kaku's three bow viewports, the massive clamshell doors swing open, showing the starry heavens beyond and, far below, the faintly-glowing planetary arc of Novy Rostov.

Security Crewman Wallach replies to Graham, Acknowledged. On my way.

Graham chuckles at the doctor's comment. "Well, it's a Van Gogh, apparently. And Federation protocols are no beaming, point to point physical transfer only."

Graham slaps his thighs with his palms. "I am not qualified to offer an opinion on its cultural value, Doc..." He shrugs. "But from a Security standpoint...men and women have died for much smaller things. 'We need that vantage point.' 'Seize auxiliary control.' Justified or not, let's all focus on everyone coming back safe and sound with this painting."

"Who's Van Gogh?" Russell whispers to Serowe, who begins to quietly explain.

Dr. Bennett sighs heavily, crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.

A few minutes later, the chime on Onn's quarters' door sounds.

Now that they're safely en route, Nia glances sidelong at Booker. In all this rush with Marala, she forgot what this mission's supposed to be about. A frickin' painting. Thousands of people doomed, the Yorktown’s manpower/resources stretched to their fullest... and we have to focus on some overpriced paper and paint? Orders are orders but this is absurd.

She's glad the officers behind them are seated in an optimal layout to keep anyone sharp-eared--specifically Rangin--from hearing too much. Bennett’s a slight risk, but the doctor’s too self-involved to care about what will hopefully be a relatively cryptic discussion.

After a pause she murmurs to Booker without looking at him: "Do you know about the tradition of Sanctuary?"

The chime breaks Kylah's concentration and sends her to her feet, though with practiced habit she taps the terminal's screen into blackness.

While her heart fairly dances in alarm and consternation, she spins and points almost savagely at the bathroom. "In there," she mouths to Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Hopefully Mr. Yarrow will follow her lead. "Hide in the shower, do not say a word!"

Meanwhile she bombards herself with questions. Did someone see her enter? Is this a person merely visiting Lt. Onn? Or did the older woman somehow figure out that Kylah planned to enter her quarters? How? I did not tell Mr. Johnson anything like that! Will they go away if she does not answer?

But such speculation is fruitless. She weakly sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes in an attempt to sense whoever is in the corridor, what emotions they are feeling, what their intent is...

Fear can be a poor conductor of her empathic abilities; at times, however, it heightens them. Like prey who must scent their predator in order to survive.

Onn works the shuttle's controls and brings the Kaku gently off the Shuttlebay deck, then through the open, yawning doorway and out into space. She banks the small craft and plots a course to take it down to the colony on the planet's surface by the most direct route.

Kylah's two stowaways quickly do as she asks, and the bathroom door whisks shut behind them. After a few seconds, the chime sounds again. She has only a faint psionic sense of the person in the corridor - but she can tell it is a Human man, and he seems to feel a strong sense of duty, of purpose. He does not seem hostile. She does not recognize him.

Graham doesn't move just grunts quietly deep in his chest. "Uh...like church?" he mumbles.

From the stranger's mental state, Kylah suspects he is a security officer. Or a doctor. Except the only male medical staff she has interacted with are the new Dr. Bennett, who does not at all seem to match the emotional profile; Mr. Alvarez, who is an unlikely prospect; and Dr. Bucci, who--

An unexpected shudder of unease snakes down her spine. It is not current, but a memory: a dim mental echo, like deja vu, that reminds her of the odd darkness she once recognized deep within Dr. Bucci's inner emotions.

She shakes her head and focuses on the present. This man must be security. Her choices for the culprit who contacted security are few, and since she told only one person where she was headed, Kylah's sense of betrayal focuses on a single name.

Rising anger melds with fear as she grabs her communicator and rushes to the other side of the bed, as far away from the door as she can get. Kylah taps uselessly at the device and nearly lets loose a scream until she remembers that she turned it off earlier. Her thumbs rectify this and she flips it open in a blur:

“Urgent message, from Kylah to Cook Johnson,” she hisses. “Answer!”

* * *

Ajay is taking a breather from the incessant cooking when the call comes in. Kylah again. He shakes his head and responds. “Hey there, what’s--”

“How could you set Security after me?”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“There is a Security man outside, I assume since you told Lt. Onn you thought I was doing something nefarious. I am inside her quarters, but...”

Ajay holds the communicator away from his ear wondering if he is working too hard and this is actually a hallucination, but Kylah's tinny voice convinces him otherwise. Looking round he moves to a quieter area where he is less likely to be overheard.

When she stops for breath, he asks: "How did you get inside--"

“It does not matter how. Please, I need you to contact Lt. Onn and tell her that I…” Kylah pauses, presumably to think of a lie. “That I had a migraine. And I...I needed a quiet place. She has her own quarters while I have a roommate now, and--”

“Hold up." He notices a few others in the Galley crew nearby and lowers his voice further. "So, you mean you’re in Nia’s quarters, you have a migraine and there’s a guy outside trying to get in. Yeah, this is...” He thinks for a moment. “Okay, here’s what you do: get into the bed. Oh yeah, get undressed and scatter your clothes across the floor, all of them, undies on top, make it obvious.” he orders back down the communicator trying not to let the smirk tell in his voice.

He hears her inhale. “This is not a joke to me,” she says with a note of despair. “It is a life or death situation, I must not be--”

“Yes, I know, migraines are a bad thing. I’m sure it could be a lot more serious than that and, if so, I don’t want to know the details now.” He hopes that Kylah gets the point sooner rather than later. Meanwhile he has a choice to make. Get further involved or back away from this trouble-magnet. “But of course it bloody matters how you got in there. Don’t you think that’ll be the first thing they ask?” Ajay sighs, decision made. “Right. Just tell the truth: I let you in her quarters to put you into bed.”

”What? How would you have been able to--”

Having had enough of Kylah’s outraged stammering, he cuts in. “Look, you asked for help and I’m giving it to you. You’re feeling bad, right? Get into bed and stay there and don’t open the door. He may still go away if there is no answer. If he comes in give him an eyeful, sorry, earful of woe. No one’s gonna take a naked woman out of bed. Meanwhile I’ll handle things on Nia’s end.” As I so often do. Except she’s gonna kill me for this. He goes on patiently. “I’ll see what I can do and be in touch.”

The connection cuts off. He shakes his head wondering what the hell he is getting into, it’s likely Nia knows more than him anyway, as Kylah was trying to contact her. Or was that a lie too?

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he whispers quietly as he flips the device open again to hail Nia.

* * *

Kylah sinks on the fortuitously unmade bed, staring at the door. She can think of no alternative. Mr. Johnson, for all his prurient jokes, seems sincere in his effort to help, and even to take a risk for her.

But she cannot follow his entire suggestion. She manages to slip off her dress, then tosses it so it drapes over the corner of the bed nearest the door. Unwilling to be entirely nude, Kylah keeps her bra and underwear in place. Then she scrambles under the covers. With her bare left arm exposed, she crushes her face into Nia's pillow and squeezes her eyes tightly shut.

The door chime sounds again, and then after a pause Kylah can hear the murmurs of a male voice out in the corridor. After a few seconds, the door whisks open, and a Security officer steps into the room.

Nia nods and checks the status of the helm and nav screens, then systems and engines... generally maintaining what she likes to call 'good shuttle hygiene.'

"Like church, yeah," she says softly, sweeping her gaze across the expanse of stars and the approaching planet before landing on Booker. "Or a space acting like a church. Remember where we left her? That wasn't random."

She shrugs, more casual in appearance and tone than she feels. "You know way more about laws and rules than I do. I know historically it's mostly for criminals, but, technically speaking... that's what they'll be, won't they. And before you think she wouldn't go for such a trick--I checked, and she's on board. In every sense of the term. If you have some way of having her son join her... damn right she'll do it."

The communicator at her hip sends two short beeps into the relatively quiet shuttle. An urgent message. Scowling--she doesn't like to be disturbed when there's no Nav partner to pick up the slack--Nia reaches for the device while aiming a pointed look at the man beside her. "Gotta take this, but mull it over, will you? It's all I could come up with."

She flips open the communicator, surprised--to say the least--by the identity of the person on the other end. No time for niceties. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, you got my message earlier?”

Ajay's voice is quiet, less cocky than usual. Message? Her scowl deepens and automatically she matches his low volume. “Of course I got it. You mean the one about Ensign--”

"--Kylah, yeah, that's right, the one where I told you she has a migraine and her cabin's full of people so when I saw she needed help I borrowed your cabin since it's currently empty."

Nia blinks. "What? None of that was in your--"

"Can't say too much more as it's busy in the canteen. Reason I'm contacting you is, for some reason Security are also trying to get into your quarters as well, strange if you ask me. You do remember now, don't you?"

“No I bloody don't, are you trying to make me feel senile?" Nia stares at the planet in disbelief and tries to lower her own voice again. "Hold on a sec. You're saying they're trying to get inside--”

“Security, right. As to why, well either it's some impromptu downtime or I would guess someone sent them that way looking for her. She did say she told your Lt. Graham about it. Either that he's getting one of his goons to deliver flowers while you're otherwise occupied...”

Nia turns to Booker, but then looks quickly away. Would Kylah lie about all this migraine crap? Yeah, sure, it's not exactly out of character. Would Ajay lie? Of course, he'd do it just for the fun, as long as no one got hurt.

But would Kylah lie about having told Booker? Nia gnaws at her lip. It's too dangerous, too easily proven false.

“... So, just to confirm," Ajay continues intently, as I said in my earlier message, she has a migraine and needed somewhere to sleep it off, your room is empty for a little while, so I let her in. You get me?"

Nia can't even think of an answer, or even a question other than 'have you gone completely nuts' or 'why are you trying to drive me nuts,' and as she tries to come up with something more useful, Ajay goes on.

"Just thought I'd give you an update, given the Security issue. Maybe you could get your boy to call 'em off? She's currently undressed in your bed recovering."

"You--she's in my--"

"Yeah, not sure if it's a present you would appreciate... even if I might. Don't worry, It'll be a quickie, in and out while you're distracted and before you realise. Trust me.”

In-and-out. Nia winces at the slang, a rare lewd remark she finds distasteful. “Ugh, Aje, you know damn well...”

Her words trail off. Yes, he does know how much she hates the phrase. So why use it? Also: 'Trust me.' He wouldn't say that as a joke. There's too much trust between them to make light of it.

She maintains a poker face. So... okay. This is all bull and he knows me too well to believe I'd buy it. But I guess... he wants me to act like I do? To protect Kylah? Shit.

After a deep breath, she speaks. “Well, I'll have to eat crow. A lot of crow,” she adds with bone-dry emphasis. If she has to make herself look like an idiot, Ajay's gonna owe her big time. "But I'm glad you contacted me. Wouldn't want someone so incredibly ill disturbed. Tell her I'm sorry." The last is said through clenched teeth as she slaps her communicator shut.

Her eyes do another check of the various lights and panels. In the two or three seconds it takes, she girds herself for some unpleasantness.

Nia then turns to Booker. "Lt. Graham. It seems I may have caused some issues for you. Apparently that info about Ensign Kylah I relayed earlier, it wasn't quite accur--" Suddenly she stops and blurts out--offense making the best defense--"Did you send a Security officer to enter my quarters?"



Nia by me, Ajay by Ajay

All of Kylah's will is harnessed to maintain the illusion that she is asleep. As she grows more and more aware that a man has entered the room, she cannot avoid the unpleasant realization that this could develop into something far worse than any punishment for failing to obey orders. Every instinct tells her to pull the covers up over her and use her communicator to contact someone, anyone.

But no. Not all men are as twisted as Mark Ferguson or Darren Zweller. Or Lord Fastolfe, or the men on Anubis, or--Or Jan...

Instead of screaming or bolting or causing any kind of scene, Kylah puts a hand over her eyes and squints, not quite seeing the stranger. "Is--" Her voice cracks from the tightness in her parched throat. "Is that you, Lt. Onn?"

"No, it's Crewman Wallach, ma'am," the redshirt says. He steps closer to the bed. "Security. Is that you, Ens. Kylah? Are you all right?"

A painting, a stupid piece of artwork that we are wasting time and resources on...

Rangin sits back in his seat. He could be doing something far more vital on the planet's surface, but he's now acting as a part of a delivery crew. The only thing amusing is that Lt. Graham is in charge and he would have been specifically selected for this. Everyone else is here because Graham is a miserable piece of work.

He may be lost in his thoughts but he cannot help but overhear Lt. Onn's slightly outraged question. He nestles back further. At least this should keep the short trip down interesting.

When the man--Crewman Wallach--comes even closer,, Kylah does not need to feign surprise and alarm. She brushes her hair from her face and draws backwards, simultaneously lifting the blanket for more coverage of her bra-clad upper body.

"Yes, I am Ens. Kylah, I am all right! I have a bad headache and was just--please stay where you are, I am only wearing..." Kylah shakes her head and looks at her uniform draped on the bed, which makes the rest of her sentence obvious.

Instinct keeps one hand clutching her communicator at the ready. Although it is very unlikely Mr. Wallach means harm, after so many disastrous encounters where she was unable to call for help, Kylah cannot take a chance. "I do not understand. Why--why are you here?"

Graham listens attentively to Nia. He's no JAG, but Sanctuary is a real thing that just might require legal review that would keep Marala on the ship, even if and when she's discovered...

"Brilliant idea.." he starts to say, then Nia's last words register fully. "Uh, I sent an officer to find Kylah...and then you said she might be headed to your quarters..."

Wallach, a rangy, middle-aged man with a hawklike nose, wiry, salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed beard, stops a few steps away from the bed. He says, almost apologetically, "Lt. Graham said you might be here, and sent me to find you. And... the First Officer really wants to talk to you."

Nia nods, if only to take up some time before she has to tell her first lie--well, the first one of any consequence--to Booker. "Right," she says, still stalling. "I just didn't think that a lone ensign heading in my direction would mean a frontal attack on my privacy."

She sighs and rubs her temple in aggravation. "No, I'm sorry. I'll just admit it. I could've prevented all this myself. That message I gave you earlier, about Kylah heading to me? Andy Johnson was the one who spotted her. She had a migraine--he says you might know about that?--and obviously needed some help."

Some help. That girl needs all the help. "Aje--um, Mr. Johnson drew it out of her that she's got a roomie now and couldn't rest. She didn't go to Sickbay because... actually I don't know why."

For a second she can't think of a thing to say. Nice, Ajay, don't bother handling that part of the lie, why not make me improvise, thank you very much.

She darts a glance backward, hoping the mere sight of Dr. Bennett might provide inspiration, but instead she's captured by Rangin's steady, unreadable stare. And for some reason little prickles of warmth suffuse her throat as tiny scales emerge: the closest she gets to flushing.

"Uh... so... I guess the med team's busy as hell," she murmurs, half to Booker, but--weirdly--half to Rangin. "Makes sense for Andy to take her somewhere quiet, don't you think?"

There's more to explain but she needs to take a mental breather. Hopefully they'll just nod and say "oh, poor Kylah" the way men seem to do, and Nia can get on to matters that, well, matter. Getting Booker to order his team, or however many Security folks he'd commanded to find the lost princess, is her next step.

The First Officer. Kylah's eyes widen and a cold hand tightens around her heart. He must be furious.

"Oh," she says, almost a moan. She cannot imagine meeting Lt. Graham's disappointment right now, much less Cmdr. Vargas's wrath. The knowledge that she deserves both only makes it worse.

Somehow she gathers her emotions. "Mr. Wallach, I am very sorry you went to any trouble for me. I suppose you need to--to accompany me?" Take me into custody? Oh, what if he knows, what if Lt. Ferguson has been found out and he gave me up?

Now genuinely dizzy, Kylah looks away and takes another large lungful of air. "Or may I go alone? Either way, I must..." She stretches an arm awkwardly toward her uniform, but since it is too far away to reach without bending forward and revealing more than she wishes, she just shakes her head. "I must dress. May I do so in private, sir?"

A thought bursts into her mind, shockingly belated: What about her guests? She must inform them.

Blinking, Kylah stumbles on. "Also I would like to--to--" Her free hand flutters in the direction of the closed bathroom door. "Could you wait outside, please? I promise I will be just five minutes at the most."

"It's no trouble, but I was asked to escort you, ma'am," Wallach says, a little uncomfortably. "And sure, I'll step outside. Five minutes." He does so, and the door whooshes shut behind him.

Graham sighs and shakes his head slowly. "I honestly can't figure out what's going on with Ens. Kylah. But even if I wanted to stop it from happening, I, she, or both of us will have to report to Vargas on why she didn't show up....for the mission."

He sighs again and says quietly. "The fucking mission--and, uh, each, uh--aspect, of it, that we both know about...hardly life and death to grab some painting, but, uh, the other aspects..."

"Can we pull up some info on the landing zone?"

Onn is busy piloting, but Graham is able to access the Library Computer from the forward console and bring up diagrams of the Novy Rostov colony. There are four landing pads on the surface, one large and three small. Landing Pad 3 is one of the smaller, about 300 meters southeast of the main dome cluster and just a meter above the planet's dusty, rocky surface. It is still easily big enough to accommodate the Kaku. An airtight access tube can connect the shuttle with the rest of the colony upon landing.

Graham frowns, reviewing the plans. Sure, it's hella defensible if desperate colonists try to rush the shuttle, but pretty damn hard to sneak a kid through unseen...

Listening on the the conversation, Rangin gets the feeling he is supposed to be part of it, although it's the last thing he should do. However, what Lt. Onn is saying and trying to justify doesn't tally with what he saw. Seeing as he had been with Kylah when she had supposedly had this migraine. How she wound up in Lt Onn's quarters is anyone's guess though.

He keeps his eyes forward and his features blank, even if Lt Onn said half of that in his direction.

Wait a moment, Kylah was dealing with Ferguson, but then transporting someone into someone's else quarters? Ugh, is this more complicated than he wants to think about and Kylah is right in the middle of it. Somehow heading to the colony to pick up a painting seems like the sensible thing to do.

Nia makes sure to focus primarily on maintaining the ship's progress toward the planet. A portion of her mind, however, natters on at her. She nods at Booker's comment about the dire nature of their mission--the real mission, the important one, the one that involves saving lives rather than artworks.

"As long as you're looking stuff up," she says softly, "Maybe you can find something about the feasibility of Sanctuary as a solution to our problem. All I had a chance to do was confirm that it's apparently a real thing, not just a plot twist I read in a Terran novel written hundreds of years ago."

"Whether it'd work in our situation," she adds, still in an undertone to Booker, "That requires a deeper dive into Starfleet regulations than I had time to access." She pauses. "If there's any ambiguity it might be to our advantage. I suspect even your C.O. would err on the side of mercy. At least I hope he would."

She checks their speed and trajectory, calculating how much longer this brief trip will take. Then she adds, less secretively: "Speaking of him... I wouldn't want Kylah to get in trouble just 'cause I was sloppy in reading Johnson's message. The rest was him asking if Kylah could use my empty quarters. I was in such a hurry that I didn't hit NEXT on the screen. When I didn't repond, he figured he'd take matters into his own hands. He let her into my cabin, where he got her into bed."

After her gaze takes another quick journey across the status monitors, she inhales deeply. "Long story short... I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Please call off your dogs, or at least, don't aim them at Kylah. Keep 'em ready in the shuttlebay for when we return and I need to be punished."

She can't keep the tiniest curving tilt to her lips, leaving the rest to his imagination: Or feel free to do it yourself, if we ever have time for that sorta thing.

With Wallach gone, Kylah shoves herself off the bed, scoops up her uniform and pulls the dress over her, relieved to be covered up properly again. But that is all the relief she is afforded.

To be summoned to report to Cmdr. Vargas--not just on her own but to be escorted there, effectively in Mr. Wallach's custody--is nearly as frightening a development as she can bear.

But things can, and likely will, get worse. Very well aware of that, she knocks on the bathroom as a courtesy before engaging the door. Kylah does her best to remain calm, at least outwardly, to the two people inside.

* * *

Andy Johnson's mouth is tight. Always something going on. Always something going on. It may have been a minute or so since his call to Nia, but Ajay knows he needs to make a move and see what needs to be done about Kylah. After all, who knows what sticky situation she is likely to be in next.

Grabbing a carton of freshly prepared soup from the batch he has been making since the emergency started, he thumbs a quick note to Kylah.

KYLAH - on way round to see how you are recovering. - JOHNSON, A.

The sooner he knows what is going on, the better, at least he hopes that will be the case.

* * *

"Forgive me," Kylah starts, her gaze switching from Mrs. Soeryadjaya to Mr. Yarrow and back again. "I must leave for--for what I hope will not be too long. You may both come back out into the quarters, but..."

The communicator in her hand buzzes and she reacts with a jerk of her surprised frame. Ferguson? Is he about to explain why Vargas wishes to see her? Perhaps he is already in the Brig.

Without asking their pardon, Kylah flips open the device and sees Mr. Johnson's name. A brief rush of anger burns her cheeks. He might be responsible for all this. But the message she reads implies some concern. Which could be feigned, of course. Kylah's abysmal record of trusting the wrong person is likely unbroken. Bitter, she lets her thumbs flash out a response.

JOHNSON, ANDREW - Thank you, but as I am about to be escorted by Security to Cmdr. Vargas, no one will be here to greet you. That may not be a surprise. - KYLAH, ENS.

Even as she types desperately she looks back at her guests, her face flushed. She tries to control her galloping emotions and thoughts. "So--so stay here. Wait until I leave before re-entering the quarters. And please, you must be on your guard to avoid any detection of your presence. Do not use the terminal or your communicators. Do not answer any hails at the door."

She glances back in that direction, worried that she will be caught by Mr. Wallach, and backs out into the main area of the cabin. "If anyone does chime, return here and hide at once. Please," she says hurriedly to forestall any objection from the older woman. "I understand all this is undignified. But you know the stakes involved. If you do as I say, you should be all right."

Kylah pauses. If they have any questions or objections, she will have to respond--but she is extremely aware of Mr. Wallach's presence outside.



Kylah by me, Ajay by Ajay.

Soeryadjaya says, "All right, I understand. We'll be quiet as churchmice." Mr. Yarrow nods but says not a word; he doesn't look any more comfortable with the whole situation. The businesswoman goes on, "How long will you be gone? We can get water in the bathroom, but is there any food?" There is no replicator in the cabin (or indeed in any cabin aboard the Yorktown).

The leading bow edge of the shuttle begins to grow a dull red as it enters Novy Rostov's very thin upper atmosphere. There is some buffeting, but Onn tries to keep it to a minimum as the shuttle descends on a long arc towards the colony.

Still, Russell is soon gripping the arms of his chair and begins to turn a little green.

Dr. Bennett asks, not unkindly, "Spacesick?"

The Security man nods, his eyes closed tight.

"Want a shot?"

He nods again, more urgently, still not opening his eyes.

The doctor draws a hypo from the slim, black leather medikit on his hip, selects a dosage, and eases it against Russell's upper arm. The hypo hisses as it pressures the medicine through his skin. Dr. Bennett says, more loudly, "If anyone else needs a dose against spacesickness, just say the word."

Garcia tentatively raises a hand and the doctor gives him one, too. Soon both Russell and Garcia look and feel more at ease.

Kylah pauses, holding the communicator in hands clasped prayerfully. "I hope I will be back before you can get hungry. But if they keep me--if I am delayed longer than an hour--"

As she contemplates this, a glance at the terminal reminds her to log out and shut it down. If she has done her job correctly, the bleaching process she began should, as designed, continue to run in obscurity within the Communications directory to which it has access. The virus will seek out any private communications logs that contain the specified keywords and user IDs, and then gobble up the branched conversations both on the server and any active communicators that possess matching characteristics.

It takes just seconds to log out. Kylah hardly dares to believe she might have performed at least this vital task correctly. Thee activities are precisely why she is on board this ship, why she was thrust into the Academy in the first place. But today has been a blur, and everything so rushed...

Meanwhile her mind searches for some answer to the provisions question. Perhaps Lt. Ferguson can help further... assuming he is willing, or indeed able. If not, as a last resort, she will beg a favor from Mr. Johnson, who might feel somewhat guilty for her plight.

Guilty. She is embarrassed by her presumption. Guilty of what? Of doing his duty?

Kylah turns back to the others in the cabin. "If I believe I will not be back by then, I will make sure you receive some food, somehow. And I should amend my instruction. If you do receive a message, or someone tries to enter, you may respond if you hear the name of my House, as before. You can be assured it will be me.. or someone I have entrusted."

At last she sidles to the door. About to open it, she looks back at Mrs. Soeryadjaya and the worryingly silent Mr. Yarrow. They are her responsibility, and the thought of abandoning them curdles her stomach with unease.

Knowing Mr. Wallach is on the other side of the door, Kylah keeps her voce at a whisper. "On second thought, stay in the bathroom until five minutes after I leave. I doubt anyone will bother checking the quarters, but... just in case." Her smile is brief but sincere in its attempt to reassure them. "Be at ease. You will be fine."

If there is nothing else from the others, Kylah will take a deep breath and exit Lt. Onn's cabin.


* * *

Ignoring the buzz from the communicator, Ajay slows his stride to a slower walk as he reaches Lt. Onn's quarters only to see one of the awkward squad outside, probably the Security detail Kylah had mentioned.

How best to play this...well as if it is the most natural thing to do in the world, something he has done a hundred times before.

Ajay wanders up, bringing the food front and centre, a slightly tired and harried look on his face, not too far from the truth given the circumstances.

"Hello Mr. Wallach, is everything ok? I've got a little something for the lady inside."


Kylah = me, Ajay = Ajay.

Soeryadjaya sighs heavily and nods, and she and Yarrow remain in the bathroom.

Wallach is standing at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back, by Onn's door. He looks at the food, raises an eyebrow a little and says, "Mr. Johnson, hello. I don't think she's going to have the chance to eat anything, at least not right now. The First Officer wants to see her."

It's been a little while since Rangin had been on a bumpy ride like this, but the time spent on mining shuttles had given him some idea of when to expect. It is also nowhere near as buffeting as the orbital dive he had been injured on.

But he is certainly not going to begrudge the others getting something to make them feel better given that they were heading for a place where everyone would be desperate to get off from. Walking around the colony would be fraught with danger from a nervous population.

Hold on? Why are they walking around? Surely the painting is going to be delivered to the shuttle to minimise any risk?

"Sir?" Rangin calls out to Lt. Graham. "Where are we picking this painting up from? It is the shuttle pad, isn't it?"

One deep breath of preparation. Then Kylah lets the door whoosh open. "Forgive me if I have kept you waiting, Mr. Wallach, I--"

The Security officer is not alone, and the sight of the new arrival freezes her mind until she blurts out: "Mr. Johnson?"

She stares at the young man, probably not much older than herself but able to stand in front of this security officer with infinitely more confidence. Of course, he is not being led away to meet the First Officer.

Although about to ask him why he is here even though she told him she would be gone, Kylah finds her attention captured by the tray in his hands. Her eyes widen and she involuntarily turns back to the cabin--and hungry Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Abruptly she returns to Mr. Johnson. He could not have known Kylah's needs, yet he has anticipated them perfectly.

Despite her dread of what lies in store, the sheer relief Mr. Johnson has brought her is impossible to hide from her gaze, and she even manages a small smile. If Mr. Wallach were not here, and the situation not so dire, Kylah might have kissed Mr. Johnson's hand--the Elasian gesture of gratitude.

"Is that for me?" she asks quietly, afraid she has misunderstood. Her eyes dart to Mr. Wallach. "I--I know I cannot stop for a meal, sir. But... but may I put it back in the cabin? In case I am allowed to return? Or as gratitude to Lt. Onn, if I am not," she adds, looking hopefully back at Mr. Johnson.

Wallach says, "Sure, you might as well leave it here." He gestures with his head. "Put it inside, please, Mr. Johnson."

Graham turns to Nia with obvious admiration as she makes the important point that reading up on Sanctuary just might help when push comes to shove. "Good idea, thank you," he says quietly. "And I'll get a status report from Wallach, see what I can do there," he adds, although at that he sighs and shakes his head.

He's punching up info on Sanctuary when Rangin chimes in. Heh, "sir," that must cheese him off.

"That's right, Mr. Rangin," he says over his shoulder. "Plan is they meet us at the pad." He grunts. "Given how things have been going, let's keep our fingers crossed."

Graham finds no reference at all to sanctuary in the Guide to Starfleet Regulations, Legal Practice, Discipline and Courts-Martial or the Starfleet Judge Advocate General's Handbook, the two most common go-to sources on Fleet law, familiar to most officers. There are other Federation legal sources, of course, if he wishes to delve more deeply into the topic.

Less than seven minutes before the shuttle is due to land, and with the orange-yellow bulk of the planet now filling the bow viewports, Capt. Singh comes over the comm. She says, "Yorktown to Kaku. We've completed the lottery drawing and have now notified all the colonists of the results. Beamup of evacuees has begun and is proceeding smoothly. Public order seems to be holding in the colony, for the most part, but there has been some criminality and some isolated reports of violence. Colonial Security seems to be keeping a grip on things for now, but I advise you to be careful. When you touch down, take custody of the painting, and the painting alone, and return with it immediately. Some may try to force or finagle their way aboard the shuttle, but they are to be turned away with the minimum necessary, if any, use of force. The stellar radiation burst is now an estimated three hours from now, at the earliest. Acknowledge."

Kylah opens her mouth, worried about Mr. Johnson entering the room on his own. She told her guests to stay hidden for a few minutes--will they think she has not yet left?Unfortunately she can think of nothing to say. And Mr. Johnson is far quicker than she is.

"The First Officer eh? It must be important indeed," he comments, "I won't delay too long. Of course, this should be fine for a little while. If not for you then, as you say, I'm sure Lt. Onn will appreciate it when she returns," he quietly asides to Kylah.

Standing opposite her and blocking the view of Mr. Wallace from both of them, he gives Kylah a crafty wink that she hasn't seen since she was nearly assigned to share his quarters.

"If you will excuse me?" he asks while stepping smoothly around her.

She is uncertain what the wink means. But she senses no ill will from him--to the contrary. All she can do is watch him as enters the quarters--watch and hope Mrs. Soeryadjaya remains unseen.

* * *

It's been a little while since Ajay has last been in Nia's cabin and he's curious to see if anything has changed since she started screwing Graham. He isn't jealous, she's her own Sidonian after all, he just wants to make sure the is happy and the state if her quarters was always an easy tell.

A glance around shows it in pretty much the state he would expect other than the unmade bed that Kylah had been sleeping in. He slips the tray onto the table and the squares it neatly off, ready to be used by the next person in the room.

"All sorted," he chimes cheerfully, but in hushed tones, as he steps towards the pair. "Hope that migraine of yours clears up soon, there's never a good time to have one."

* * *

Kylah manages a nod, but still no words. It is taking all her will not to peer behind Mr. Johnson, to keep from being obvious that she is terrified that the bathroom door will open before it is safe.

Singh's words fill the small shuttle. Nia hears "We've completed the lottery drawing and have now notified all the colonists of the results" and suddenly some invisible hand seems to have strangled her throat closed. Her gaze flicks to Booker--only incredible restraint keeps her from reaching out to him physically, as well.

He's the mission commander. It's up to him to respond to Singh. Is he even now recalculating his plan to get Marala's son on board the shuttle? What was his plan?

Is Marala contacting him too? That poor woman... Maybe she was chosen, maybe...

Nia doesn't like the odds. She waits in silent, sympathetic pain for them all.

They've drawn the lottery, Rangin fumes silently. They couldn't wait until the shuttle was on its way back before they told everyone whether they were going to live or die. While providing a tempting transport out of there for those who are probably going to die. Not to mention that the data they were using could still be wrong, but even that is a moot point now.

Muttering under his breath, Rangin sees if he can get a list of the lucky people in the lottery while calling out to Graham, "Sir, do we know if the people meeting us were lucky or not? It might influence their way of thinking."

He hopes those meeting them are among the lucky otherwise they could have a real problem on their hands and the only way to find out was to compare the winners with those meeting them.

Rangin does not like this one single bit.

Johnson sees no one in Onn's cabin. The door whooshes shut and Wallach gestures down the corridor. "This way, ma'am, if you please."

Graham closes his eyes for a moment, then replies to Yorktown. "Transmission acknowledged." Gotta establish a record if shit goes south...acknowledged receipt of the order, but had no intention of obeying. My idea, not Marala's...or Nia's.

He spares a glance at Nia, wondering what she's thinking. But Rangin's comment interrupts.

"Fuck, Graham grunts. "That's a perspicacious observations, dammit. If I'm them and I've been left behind...'fancy painting' would make a hell of a hostage."

Kylah's neck muscles relax--slightly--when the door shuts behind Mr. Johnson without any incident. "If you will excuse me?" he politely enquires with an inclination of his head before turning to go back to the kitchens.

Before he leaves, Kylah darts her hand out, fingers just brushing the fabric of his sleeve to catch his attention. "Thank you for... for everything. I am grateful."

She inhales and, with a final wary check of the door concealing the two refugees, gives Mr. Wallach a nod--really, just a blink. "Yes, sir. I appreciate your patience."

Capt. Singh says, "Thank you, Mr. Graham. Good luck. Yorktown out." The shuttle continues its now-steady descent.

Rangin is unable to access the lottery list on his communicator.

Wallach smiles a little. "You don't have to call me 'sir,' ma'am. I'm not an officer, just a crewman." He leads Kylah down the hall to a turbolift, takes a handhold and, when Kylah has done the same, says, "Mr. Vargas's office." The door closes and the turbolift whirs into motion.

Keeping her face neutral, Nia looks behind her at Rangin, then returns to Booker for an appraisal of how he's doing. Hard to say, except as tightly wound as a micro plasma coil. He'd have to be, to compliment Rangin.

Meanwhile, her left hand twitches from its suppressed instinct to reach for her communicator. She can't tell if Book is surreptitiously reaching for his own--doesn't look like it, but he's good with his hands, as she knows damn well; he could be using the device on the side away from her. He must be dying to hear from Marala.

Nia clears her throat. "A painting's not a bad bargaining chip," she says dryly, focusing on the panels in front of her. "But even better would be a Starfleet shuttle. And her crew." Her eyebrow arches. "...If you don't mind a little more, um, perspicacity."

Kylah's hand slides down the handle, skin growing clammier by the second. She wipes her palm on her uniform and tries a better grip.

"Thank you, Mr. Wallach. But I do not say 'sir' because I am unaware of your rank." She stares numbly at the door in front of her. "Long before I entered Starfleet, I was taught to honor age, experience and authority. In those--and probably many other ways--you are my superior."

Kylah falls silent. She has said all this not just to take up time, nor yet just because it is true. It is an instinctive, defensive tactic. She needs to make herself small--microscopic, nearly invisible--if she is to survive whatever lies waiting for her in Cmdr. Vargas office.

Rangin knows who has run the lottery, and gets his datapad out. Originally he was going to try and get some fresh data while on the planet, but now, he may as well just get the results from Mr Dosmukhambetov and see if Graham has a list of who will be meeting the transport.

"Sir, do you have a list of the people who are meeting us?" Rangin calls out to Graham, while rapidly sending his communication off.

LT DOSMUKHAMBETOV -- Please can you send me the list of lottery winners? -- ENS. RANGIN.

"Does anyone know how big this painting is that we are picking up? Perhaps we should get a tricorder ready to scan it, and make sure it's the real deal when we get there." Rangin just calls it out generally to the rest of the crew hoping that someone, anyone will go look up the answers.

Wallach nods and smiles. "I understand. Thank you, ma'am." Soon to the turbolift eases to a stop on Deck 17, and Wallach leads Kylah a short distance to the door of Cmdr. Vargas's office. He activates the chime and Vargas calls from within, "Come."

Rangin soon gets a text back, Lottery results attached. Do not share list with non-Starfleet personnel. DOSMUKHAMBETOV. Attached is a file showing those selected in the lottery, sortable by first or last name, age, address and family grouping.

Graham recalls the name of the Van Gogh painting, "Poppy Flowers," and Rangin is able to look up its dimensions in Federation records: 65 by 54 cms.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poppy_Flowers

The First Officer's voice is enough to drain the blood from Kylah's face. She feels dizzy, nauseous, and terribly cold. I am going to faint, she realizes, and takes a few quick breaths while hugging herself.

But procrastination will only make things worse. Steeling herself as best she can, Kylah drops her rubbery arms to her sides, croaks out a last word of thanks to Mr. Wallach, and steps forward to enter Cmdr. Vargas's office.

"Thank you Mr D," Rangin mutters under his breath. "Ok, I've got the lottery results, can we get confirmation of who is meeting us at the shuttle pad?" he calls out to the crew, trying to stay business-like, while aware that Graham more than anyone has a personal stake in the answer.

He scans down the attachment sent to him, to see if Marala's name is among those who were lucky, or not, as the case may be, because he wants to be ready when he is asked.

Cmdr. Vargas is sitting in his spartan office, his desk bare except for a silver-framed picture of an elderly couple, and a datapad. He does not invite Kylah to sit down. He says, "Remain outside, please, Mr. Wallach."

The redshirt nods and the door closes behind Kylah.

After a pause, Garcia says, "I understand a museum curator and a security guard will be meeting us at the landing pad with the painting."

Rangin does not see Marala Gromov's name on the list.

Graham chuckles, a little bitterly - "I guess I'm not sure how we'd rate versus this irreplaceable cultural treasure," he replies to Nia. "But, yeah, you're damned right...not a lot of options for desperate people on the planet, in fact--maybe we're it."

The list.

Sure would make life a lot easier--for him, anyway--if Marala and Nikolai were both on it....

Having left the pair of them behind, Ajay flips his communicator out and checks the message. It's from Kylah of course but before that last encounter by Nia's quarters. Poor kid, someone who life is taking a malicious interest in.

Thinking about it, he figures he had better give Nia an update.

LT. ONN - Hey there. Heads up but Kylah has been summoned to see Vargas. If she doesn't end up back in your quarters, there is some grub waiting. Enjoy. - JOHNSON

He sends it off before heading back to the kitchens.


* * *

Nia's attention darts to Booker as soon as she hears that Rangin has the lottery results. She expects the former to ask the obvious question, but instead, Book seems so self-contained and hard to read, he might as well be wearing a personal cloaking device.

Frustrated, Nia snaps her eyes front again. "Rangin, please send each team member a copy of the results. We're the ones potentially meeting these folks head-on. We should know who's in what category."

Another buzz from her communicator, so quick that Nia assumes it's not Rangin acting lightning-fast to her request. And she's right.

AJ's message rates a grimace. Well, it's good that Kylah's out of there, and the food's a nice gesture. But as annoyed with Kylah as she is, Nia doesn't wish Vargas on anyone. Eh. Maybe it'll be the kick in the ass she needs. Nia's not feeling super generous toward the young woman given how much stress she added to Book's plate.



Ajay by Ajay, Nia by me

"Aye Ma'am," responds Rangin to the order given his way and after a brief look round once again to just remind himself who is in the shuttle, he forwards on the lottery list.

"I would suggest using the shuttle's sensors to make sure our welcoming party is who we expect it to be." Rangin looks for the name of the museum curator and any named guards to see if they have been lucky or if the crew need to be extra careful.

Graham takes a deep breath.

If he could have gotten off this train at any point, he would have, but things are what they are--and he accepted the mission.

So I'm gonna have to look at who's on the list. And take charge of landing and getting the goddamn painting. And...Nikolai.

Back on the clock, Booker...

"Ok," he says to no one in particular, and steels himself to check the list sent by Rangin.

Everyone's communicator on the shuttle beeps once to mark the receipt of the lottery-results list from Rangin.

Graham does not see either Marala or Nikolai Gromov on the list.

Rangin learns that the Novy Rostov Museum curator's name is Dr. Andrei Vasilyev. He is on the lottery list. The museum has just two guards, Leonid Nikulin and Annette White, the first of whom is on the list.

The Kaku is now just three minutes away from landing.

The First Officer looks sternly at the young Communications officer and says, "Tell me, Mr. Kylah, why you failed to report to the Shuttlebay as ordered."

Kylah keeps her gaze somewhere south of Cmdr. Vargas's chin. She remembers Aldaan's warning before she left Elas for the last time: If you must lie--and you willl, probably often--keep it simple. The more highly placed your target, the more straightforward your tale.

"At first, I... I did not hear the hail, sir. I had a terrible migraine." Her tone is soft but does not attempt to appeal to his sympathy. "I thought I could just lie down in my bunk and close my eyes for a few minutes, but I am afraid I fell asleep."

She has a distinct psi sense of Cmdr. Vargas's skepticism and barely-controlled irritation, which is at least partly driven by his deep sense of fatigue. He says, "I had understood you replied to the initial call and said you were on your way. And if you were resting in your bunk, why were you found in Lt. Onn's quarters?"

The knot in her stomach tightens. "Forgive me, sir, I did not wish to give you too many details. I did not respond to the first message... at least, I do not believe I did." She frowns. Did she? "I--I went to my bunk for a quick shower and then lay down on my bunk just to rest my eyes. I woke when my temporary roommate arrived, and then received Lt. Graham's next message asking where I was."

Kylah is getting dizzy again, this time just from trying to keep the truth and lies straight. They are not altogether different--particularly regarding her state of health, as right now a sharp pain is developing behind her eyes.

Do not panic. Doing her best to recall her communication with Lt. Graham, she takes another deep breath.

"I apologized, and told him I would be at the Shuttlebay in ten minutes. I understood that if he could not wait he must replace me, and would likely write me up for dereliction of duty. I did not think myself in suitable shape for the mission and did not wish him to delay. I know it was not my place to judge, but... there was no time."

"I see," he says, clearly unconvinced. "And as to Mr. Onn's cabin?"

"As to that, sir... after all this, I ran into Mr. Johnson--that is, Ship's Cook Andrew Johnson--and when he saw that I looked ill, he suggested Lt. Onn's quarters, since she has no cabinmate. After asking her permission, he let me in. I lay down, and... I woke up to see Mr. Wallach."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Mr. Onn personally gave you permission to enter her cabin and rest there?"

Kylah's lips part to say Yes, but she stops herself. She cannot depend on Lt. Onn to back her up. "Not personally, no, sir, but Mr. Johnson said--I mean, I had no reason not to believe--"

The words choke in her throat. Why is she getting others involved in her deceit? Mr. Johnson might even get in trouble for allegedly allowing her inside.

And what does any of this matter? Her greatest need is to draw attention away from Lt. Onn's quarters. At this point, avoiding personal punishment is a low priority. Kylah stares at the framed photograph on Cmdr. Vargas's desk. His parents? Other relatives? She knows nothing about him.

At last she shakes her head, then looks him in the eye. "Please forget what I just said, sir. I let Lt. Graham down, after he has given me many chances to prove myself capable. The Captain as well. And I imposed myself on Lt. Onn and Mr. Johnson, the latter of whom was just being kind to me. The plain truth is that I did not feel up to the task and took it upon myself to get out of it. The very definition of dereliction of duty. And entitlement, too, but that is a personal failing I have been trying to fight. Unsuccessfully."

The First Officer looks down and shakes his head. "This is all very troubling, Mr. Kylah. Very troubling." He thinks for a moment, then asks abruptly, "Have you been to Sickbay?"

"No, sir, not today. The medical crew are busy preparing for the emergency, I suppose." Kylah sighs and unconsciously rubs her bruised wrist, the latest in her collection of wounds. "They must be tired of me," she adds with weary bluntness. "Given all my injuries and illnesses, I feel as if I have spent more time in Sickbay than my own quarters."

Vargas allows himself the barest hint of a sympathetic smile. "I'm afraid you're right, Ensign. It's certainly seemed that way at times; I'm sorry to say you've had a rough time of it since first coming aboard. Well, I think it's best you go there now." He presses a button and the door opens. He says to Wallach, who steps in, "Please escort Mr. Kylah to Sickbay. Ask the duty MO to examine her and then report to me as to recommended next steps, if any."

"Aye, sir."

Vargas says directly to Kylah, an edge in his voice once more, "Don't think you're out of trouble yet, Mr. Kylah, because you're not. Not by a long shot. But your mental and physical health come first if you're to continue to be of service to this ship. Dismissed."

Wallach gestures to the door with a quiet "Ma'am?"

Kylah stares at Cmdr. Vargas. She has been expecting the worst, after deceiving and evading her colleagues all afternoon, and now cannot believe her ears.

"Sir, are you certain? That is--I am not questioning your decision, I am very grateful, it is just--" Swallowing, she glances at Mr. Wallach, then back to the First Officer. "I wish to be of service. It matters a great deal to me, being useful instead of a burden, especially now, when everyone else is helping those who have been chosen--"

She halts herself again. "When will they know the results of the lottery, sir?"

"It's underway right now, but that's no concern of yours, Ensign. You're relieved of duty until further notice. Report to Sickbay."

At first the news of the lottery--it has obviously been run, the results final--sends a shudder through her. Then the slap of Cmdr. Vargas's words: Relieved of duty. Somehow it is worse to hear it put so baldly.

"Yes, sir," she whispers before turning to follow Mr. Wallach.



Kylah by me, Cmdr. Vargas by Elendil's Heir

Wallach escorts Ens. Kylah to Sickbay, which is very busy with Medical staff coming and going as they prepare for the Novy Rostov evacuees. A harried-looking Dr. Giancarlo Bucci is the duty officer. After hearing Crewman Wallach's explanation of the First Officer's orders, he agrees to take Kylah into an examining room. "Hello again, Mr. Kylah," he says, gesturing her towards the biobed and setting the scanner panel. "I wish it could be under better circumstances. Anything you'd like to tell me before we begin?"

"Fuck."

Graham says it quietly, but the thought can't help but be vocalized as he see neither Marala nor Nikolai on the list.

So am I the guy who takes the goddamned painting hostage? That would be rich...

He glances at Nia briefly, then half-turns to the rest of the team on the Shuttle. It takes him a false start and a swallow to speak; his first attempt sticks in his throat.

"If this list is live, folks know they are not on it. So there are colonists who may be desperate, scared as hell, with nothing left to lose."

Or your mission commander might be desperate, yeah. there's that...

"Understood, sir," Russell says, as several others nod solemnly. Dr. Bennett, for his part, looks curiously at Graham.

Through the forward viewports, the surface of the planet seems to be rushing up to meet you. Onn's instruments tell her that the shuttle is now just a minute from landing.

Ah - The Commander's privilege. Repeat stuff from your subordinates as if it is your own. Rangin lets it slide, it's not worth it now. Besides Graham has more to worry about than just this mission.

"Ma'am, how many people are waiting for us at the landing site?" Rangin starts looking for visual identification of the people supposed to be meeting them.

While doing so, he checks the list again, curious to see if the Governor and his family are lucky as well. It's been a mess since the start.

He wonders if the mess that Kylah is obviously in is either resolving itself or if she is in deeper than ever. He's not sure if now is the right time to contact her about what is going on. Maybe after he gets back.

Governor Voronko, his wife and two daughters are not on the list, either.

Booker's curse makes Nia wince. So much for hope. She swallows and meets his stare with as much sympathy as she can display.

She knows he's just talking for talking's sake. Everyone's aware the risk has increased exponentially now that the lottery's been made public.

But she murmurs her assent along with the rest, because she's just a soldier now and that's what Book needs. At least until he tells her of his plan. Assuming he intends to tell her. Also assuming he has one.

Leaning back to nod at Rangin, she thanks him for his suggestion of seeing how many people are in the immediate vicinity. "I'll see if we can get a read." She'll also check for weapons, if the shuttle's sensors have that capability.

To Book and the shuttle crew as a whole, she adds, "Landing in fifty-nine and counting--if everything looks copacetic. Lt. Graham, permission to hold off landing until we get a sense of how we're gonna be greeted?"

A scan of the landing pad itself shows it is, as expected, open to the elements, clear, and with no life signs. There are four people in the adjoining entry compartment, from which the access tube will connect with the Kaku. Two of them appear to be armed with small hand phasers.

Numb, Kylah moves to the bed as if sleepwalking--until unease wraps its clammy arms around her. She turns to Dr. Bucci, blinking. She remembers speaking pleasantly and intimately with him during the recent Captain's dinner; he offered to make dinner for her. Then there was the strange darkness she sensed from him.

But it is not Dr. Bucci who alarms her. "I do not like being scanned," she says, soft and wary. "And it was only a headache, which has faded, anyway. May I not just have some anti-inflammatory to ease the pain?"

"Headaches can occur for all kinds of reasons, and can be an indicator of medical problems large and small, which a good scan can help me figure out," Dr. Bucci says kindly. "Up you go, please."

I am allowed to refuse, it is my right. The stubborn, anxious words do not reach Kylah's lips. Persisting would risk drawing more attention to herself and her behavior today, just when she cannot bear such scrutiny.

So she gets on the bed, smoothing her skirt down with fingers so bloodless and cold they are nearly stiff. Her reluctance to lie down is obvious, but after hesitating for several seconds, she swings her legs up and leans back.

"I really feel do better," Kylah says, unable to help herself. She looks up at his round, pleasant face and tries to breathe evenly despite her dread. "And I hate to interrupt your preparations. That is why I did not visit in the first place; you must all be so busy."

He tut-tuts and says, "Never too busy to make sure the crew is healthy, Ensign, really." He adjusts a control and the biobed display behind Kylah's head lights up; at once she hears its audio simulation of the rhythmic beating of her heart. Dr. Bucci picks up a medical tricorder, takes out its small handheld scanner and passes it slowly over Kylah, starting at her head.

Nia narrows her eyes in concentration, reluctantly doing her best to ignore whatever agony Booker must be going through to her right. "Four," she says to herself and anyone listening. "Seems about right. But I'm not risking our safety on 'seems.'"

With a few smooth taps she engages the Communications menu of the main shuttle control panel. "Kaku to Novy Rostov landing pad. Please verify your party's identifies."

Nothing. A black void.

With this mental image, Kylah vanishes behind the cloak of her tightly squeezed-shut eyes, doing her best to empty her mind. She has, of course, had basic medical scans before, but--aside from those taken during her time on the Yorktown while she was unconscious--to none of them has she submitted without the electric current of panic flooding through her.

The familiar low hum of the ship's ambient noise is overlaid by her heartbeats, which drum faster and faster. No matter how falsely serene her expression, Kylah's own heart is giving her away.

"I am sorry to be so nervous," she says into the dark, breathy and embarrassingly childlike. And why is she apologizing? As if Dr. Bucci will take her inability to accept such a rudimentary medical procedure as a personal insult. Yet she finds it necessary. "I--I have always been like this. Phobic."

There is no response to Onn's hail. She's not even sure that the NR landing pad complex has a comm unit capable of external communications.

"No need to apologize," Dr. Bucci says. "Just relax. This won't take long."

"Worth a try," Nia mutters--this time definitely to herself. She clears her throat before readdressing her message. "Kaku to Yorktown. We're under a minute to planetfall and I'm seeing four people ready to meet us inside. Please confirm with the Novy Rostov reps that these individuals are our actual contacts."

She scowls and realizes she never even questioned this task. She's gonna have to interrupt the mission commander's private thoughts, as much as she'd rather not. After muting her side of the connection with the ship she begins in a low voice: "Book. Do we know exactly if, or how, the premise behind this mission was verified as legit?"

Graham musters a grim smile at Nia, shakes his head clear and frowns. Four. How many people does the museum director need? And where's Nikolai?

Good work by Nia.

Graham grumbles back at her statement. "Well we know Vargas thinks it is legit. But was someone thinking a step ahead about how to get a shuttle on the ground?" He glances at her briefly. "We don't."

Graham perks up. "N- uh, Lt. Onn. Hold off on landing. I want to hail the governor, from this shuttle...and see what he says. And if we can pinpoint his location..."

"Standby, folks," Graham says full-voiced.

"Lt. Graham, to Gov. Voronko, please respond."

From the Yorktown, Communications Officer Thalen responds, "You are to meet the museum director, a Dr. Vasilyev, and a museum security guard. They will have the artwork. We've heard nothing about anyone else meeting your shuttle."

After a few moments, another voice comes over the comm system: "This is Stan Abbott of the Governor's staff. He's not available to speak right now. Things are... pretty busy here right at the moment. May I help you?"

Nia purses her lips and obeys Booker's order to slow their descent. When the man from the governor's office identifies himself, she takes an automatic look at the list to see if this Abbott is one of the lucky. If not he's gotta be part robot, staying at his post like this, she thinks.

She looks across at Booker. "Maybe ask if he can contact this museum guy, Vasilyev, to confirm this isn't a trap." When her gaze meets his, she lowers her voice even further. "Except, risk or not, we'll have to land in order to save... what we came here for."

About to nod in reply to Dr. Bucci's request, Kylah keeps her head steady and just murmurs an entirely unconvincing "Yes, I will try, Doctor." Despite her fear of revealing any psi abilities, she cannot help trying to reach out to the older man's emotions, an effort to cling to his calming presence--like grabbing hold of a life preserver.

Onn begins circling the colony at 200 meters above the surface. She sees that Abbott is not on the lottery list.

Dr. Bucci gives Onn much the same psi impression as he previously did, except that he is more tired and distracted than before.

A swell of nausea hits Nia in the gut. "Thanks, Thalen," she manages.

Abbott is dutifully at his desk, still working despite knowing--at least, she assumes he knows--that he is going to die today.

She sends an agonized glance toward Booker. He's speaking to a man facing imminent death. Damn it, why did she check the list? It would've been easier not knowing, keeping the fates of the Novy Rostov citizens a tragedy but not personal. At least, not personal to her.

Inhaling, she tightens her lips. Yeah, it would've been easy... but cowardly. Stan Abbott's brave behavior deserves to be recognized. How many of the thousands doomed to die tonight will remain anonymous, their last hours never acknowledged or even known?

Nia closes her eyes. Sweet Sid'Os, I can't. I can't do this. She wants to fly this shuttle away. The horror of reality is almost too much to bear.

But she must. That's her duty. She has to suck it up and do whatever's necessary. Opening her eyes, she peers at the chronometer on the panel in front of her. How much time is left? What's Book's strategy? How are they gonna find the time to land, get out, find Nikolai, and flee?

"Just so you know," she says to the crew once she recovers her equilibrium. "There are two more people waiting for us than expected."

Kylah breathes a little more quickly, and she forces herself to slip from Dr. Bucci's paradoxical mind. There is nothing to do except wait for this ordeal to be over. Her ice-cold hands curl into fists as she counts the seconds.

Just over two and a half hours remain before the earliest-projected radiation burst.

Under Onn's careful guidance, the shuttle Kaku continues its slow circle over the colony. Its domes, low towers and antennae stand out clearly from the rocky, dusty orange-red surface of the planet below.

Dr. Bucci finishes his scans and puts down his equipment. He thinks for a moment, looks Kylah in the eye and says quietly, "You are clearly under considerable stress, Ensign, are very tired and could do with a good meal, but I wouldn't say you're unfit for duty... unless you think I should. If you were me, what do you think I should tell the First Officer?"

Graham nods at Nia's suggestion of asking for help contacting Dr. Vasilyev.

"Bring us in slow," he says to Nia. He grimaces and says in a low voice intended only for her "Probably too much to hope for that Nikolai's got himself a phaser and brought his girlfriend."

"Thank you, Mr. Abbott," Graham replies. "I wanted to check in and ensure the security situation was well in hand. And--if you could help us, we have an urgent communication for Dr. Vasilyev. Can you patch us through?"

"Stand by, please," Abbott says. After a minute or so, a heavily Russian-accented older man's voice comes over the shuttle's comm system. "This is Dr. Vasilyev. Who am I speaking to? Is this the shuttlecraft?"

"There are only two guards at the museum, so someone's bought a friend along, if that team is all there." Rangin replies to the front of the shuttle.

Rangin starts thinking out how the best way to get the painting across might be. People at either end of a long enclosed corridor with no room to avoid phaser fire if it was to happen unless they hit the deck and a handover of a valuable item. It sounds more and more like a drop-off between two gangs when trust is at a minimum. Ideally, they would need to get the Curator to the centre on his own with the painting, hand it off to one of the crew and then they all back away slowly. No harm, no foul and so on. A Romulan handoff by any other name.

From the noises up front, Rangin is very surprised there seems to be no direct comms at the pad. How on Coridan could those on the colony know if the shuttle was ready to connect unless they could talk at a local level?

"Ma'am, can we get a visual confirmation of who is in the group? Maybe we can visually identify them against the curator and his team and make sure they are there as well." Rangin asks politely and quietly, not wanting to be overheard on the comms channel.

Following orders, Nia gradually lowers the shuttle's orbit. Her eyes remain on the landing pad. Though paying attention to Booker, she hears Rangin confirming her concern about the extra lifesigns waiting for them.

"I'd love to get a visual," she replies to him. "But they're inside and I don't think we can break into any camera or security system they've got in there--if there is one." A frown follows her words. "Well... we can ask the Yorktown and see if they can give it a go. I doubt it but..."

Nothing beats a failure but a try, as one of Nia's old instructors used to say. She picks up her communicator.

VARGAS, CMDR - Sir: More lifesigns than anticipated greeting us, including two armed individuals. Concerned this is a ploy to gain shuttle. Any help visualizing the immediate internal vicinity of the landing pad complex, e.g. accessing security cams within, would be appreciated. -- ONN, NIA (LT)

She sends the hastily typed note, despite the fact she's aware Vagas will probably think her easily spooked by four measly civilians when the Kaku has multiple highly skilled and more powerfully armed security officers.

Screw it. These are my passengers and my shuttle, and I'm not gonna land them right into a trap.

Kylah lets out her tension with a long exhale. Then she mulls Dr. Bucci's question over.

"I... I would like to return to duty, if it is possible. To help in this crisis. Perhaps..." Her mind is tickled by an inspiration. "Perhaps helping guide refugees to their quarters? I can speak some Russian. It is not necessary given the Universal Translator, but the effort has always been appreciated. It might be a welcome for them."

She lowers her head slightly. "But whatever you think is best, Dr. Bucci. I am tired and... and I have not been eating as much, I suppose, but I think it makes me look less--"

She cuts herself off. Good lord, what made her go down this road? Dr. Bucci's demeanor, so similar to Aldaan's, seems to have loosened her inner restraint. Kylah falls silent for a few seconds to regroup. "But I would be glad to spend a few hours helping these poor people get acclimated. Whatever you decide," she repeats humbly.

Onn does not get an immediate response from Cmdr. Vargas.

Dr. Bucci looks long and searchingly at Kylah, and then says, "All right, I'll clear you to return to duty. But you're going to eat a healthy meal before you do anything else. Rest here, please." He leaves the room and a nurse soon comes back in, saying, "What would you like to eat, Ensign? I'll be glad to get it for you."

Abashed, Kylah looks at her lap, where her hands,unnaturally pale against the bright red of her uniform, twist at each other as if trying to form a knot.

"I am so sorry you have been asked to wait on me. Especially now." She sighs, wondering what she could possibly force down that would meet Dr. Bucci's approval. "A small fruit salad and yogurt, ple--"

She catches herself when it dawns on her that the nurse, and Dr. Bucci, just provided her with an opportunity. "Actually... Mr. Johnson already left some food for me, in--in a friend's quarters. I can just go there and eat. You would not have to bother with all this."

The nurse isn't having any of it. She smiles. "No, sorry, you're supposed to stay here for now, m'dear. Doctor's orders. You just relax, and I'll go get your meal." She leaves.

Graham replies:

"Yes, Doctor, this is Lt. Graham, Yorktown Security, onboard the shuttle on approach. Is the painting secure? And are you all right and on location according to plan?"

Graham also gives a thumbs up at Nia's response to Rangin. I'm going to have to concede he's a "Useful" Asshole if this keeps up.