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

There is a brief pause, and then Jol's voice comes on the line: "You wish to send a subspace message? That could be done, yes, certainly. To whom, and how long will it be?"

The Uwat children stop and stare at Onn, and one says something to the other. They each suddenly make a shrill noise which sounds like it might be laughter. They point at each other, then at Onn, then at each other again before running away, still making the laughter-noise.

"Damn, they're annoying," Rangin, shaking his head, says when it's quiet again.

"They're just...young," Nia retorts mildly to Rangin, not entirely certain how to react to the apparent mockery and rejection by the children. Or maybe they're playing a game? Is she supposed to chase them? Since she's clueless, and since a mistake like running after kids for no reason could seem aggressive to any adult Uwat who catches her, Nia decides to stay put and pretend she's not embarrassed.

She nods to Dr. M. "Makes sense. You have a career that's not exactly family-friendly. And you've got years ahead of you, if you ever want to change your mind. Another privilege," Nia adds, much more quietly. He'll know what she means.

Clearing her throat, she turns to the Vulcan. "I wonder why the adults haven't taught them Fed Standard. Or at least haven't installed a Universal Translator that works with their language."

Graham glances at Kylah. "Not long," he replies. "And we'd prefer discretion in the matter of 'to whom.'"

Kylah nods. Mr. Jol knows--or at least, seems to have guessed--their tenuous position. Lt. Graham was wise to remind him of the need for privacy. She takes a deep breath and rests her clasped hands in front of her, prepared to be respectful but self-assured.

T'Ves says to Onn, "The same thought had occurred to me. Yet another illustration of just how different other cultures, and their childrearing practices, can be. Very unlike Vulcan... and, I suspect, Sidonia."

Jol says, "A moment, please." After about a minute, the heavy door grinds open, revealing a dimly-lit corridor directly ahead, with several doors opening off to either side. Jol is standing there. "This way," he says, closing the door behind you and leading you down the corridor and then through the third door on your left. It is a cramped compartment, with another Uwat sitting at a control console there. Jol says, "This is Grod, our communications officer. She will help you."

He speaks what sounds like a few sentences to her, to which she responds with just a couple of words. He grunts and turns to go.

Dr. Mäkeläinen does not regret his career choices, just the opposite, but Nia is not wrong: should he choose to go in that direction, he could start a bonnie family. Now, or decades from now, or anytime in between. The same would be true for a typical human woman in Starfleet, and is so taken for granted it does not usually come up as an issue. What goes even more without saying is the principle that people have the autonomy to make such choices for themselves and the freedom to realize them. Ashamed at all she has been through, his eyes speak much, but what is there to say?

They will get out of their present jam, and it is too early to know exactly what she has to look forward to, but he will do all he can to help her; at least medically he may be able to make a difference.

Nia is struck by Mäkeläinen's wordless but intensely expressive gaze, which is more personal than she's seen from him before. Of course, since her medical issues began spiraling, he's been sympathetic in an appropriately doctorish way...not that all doctors achieve it, case in point being Dr. Bennett and Bucci. (The former, in his short time onboard, being pretty consistently a dick--and not the good kind; the latter being almost excessively jovial to the point where Nia sometimes wants to slug him.)

But she feels seen now, and while pity is never appreciated and certainly never intentionally sought, this silent empathy touches her. The doc gets it. She's not 100% sure even Book comprehends what she's been through, or what she's facing. He doesn't know, though, does he? He knows she's in grave risk from the hypobilitria, but not the less physically fatal fertility situation. And she can't fathom sharing it with him unless...

Nia blinks this line of thought away, because there's only one circumstance she can picture where it would be relevant, and it's absurdly unrealistic.

Ending the mental rumination, she sends a flash of a warmly appreciative and even tender smile to Mäkeläinen. She flits her gaze to Rawlings. "This is good, by the way," she says while lifting the mug. An exaggeration but not too much of one. If nothing else, the heat down her throat into her belly is a balm.

Turning back to T'Ves, she gives a terse nod. "Sidonian culture is very... insular. And self-protective. Some would have been happy never to hear a different dialect, much less an entirely unknown language. But otherwise, you're right. Very much not like Sidonia." Nia moves quickly on. "Speaking of cultural differences, I'm sorry if you've mentioned this already, but: The others in your party. How long before they can start talking? Or is this vow of silence thing permanent? I don't mean to be offensive, it's just, um, a lot of discipline. I know you guys can communicate using some psi powers, though I forget exactly how that works. Is that allowed during this whole silent thing? Like a loophole?"

During the introduction Kylah has been trying to take a swift measure of whether she can spot any distinguishing gender characteristics, but Mr. Jol's quick leave-taking surprises her. She abruptly lifts a hand. "Just a--a moment, sir? I just want to make sure..." She faces Grod and realizes that it might be insulting to ask whether the Uwat officer is capable of understanding her. With little hesitation Kylah reframes the question mid-flow:

"Forgive me, madam; is my accent clear enough? Mr. Jol may have grown used to it, but I have been told my pronunciation makes it difficult for translators to interpret. Sometimes I get lazy and forget to enunciate. Father has warned me about that," she says with a dutifully abashed look toward Lt. Graham.

The mention of “psi powers” catches Mäkeläinen's attention, both for obvious reasons in light of recent conversation (T'Ves said she did not sense anything unusual, though, did she not?), and more generally. Vulcans would not typically think of telepathy and such as extraordinary “powers”, though, would they?

Rawlings nods to Onn and smiles. "Glad you like it... or, at least, that it's palatable."

T'Ves tells Onn, "I don't in the least mind answering your questions. Our Order has always sought a wider understanding of our calling among all lifeforms. Novitiates of our Order may not speak for three years, except when given permission to do so by an Adept under extraordinary circumstances, such as emergencies. Use of telepathy is also prohibited during that time; we consider it important that Novitiates focus on their inner spiritual life and become comfortable with solitude, even isolation, in every way. It is a useful skill and a necessary one, we have found over many centuries. There is no 'loophole,' as such, if I understand your idiom correctly."

Jol pauses in the doorway. Grod says to Kylah, in a voice very similar to his but somewhat monotone, "Yes, I understand you. If there is any difficulty, Mr. Jol may return."

Graham isn't at all sure what to do with the father-daughter schtick Kylah has spun up, but from the presence of Uwat children on the ship he can at least guess that their hosts place some value on filial relations.

He clears his throat. "Very good...daughter." He nods. "I thank for your respect for our hosts, and not only our own needs."

"We are all of us, even untrained in the mental arts, even small children—" he indicates where the children have gone — "capable of wordless communication," Dr. Mäkeläinen observes. "But, later, it's not talking that might take as much discipline as any telepathy. I have met one or two people whom a vow of silence might do some good. Certainly it would have done their audience some good," he says wryly.

"No one has sensed any— psychic broadcast, though?" he asks without even a flicker of a glance towards Rangin. "Forgive the crude terminology. The Uwat, for instance, communicate using sound? And scent, and visual cues? So much that the untrained observer can miss, especially if they are not aware to look for it."

About to apologize to T'Ves, in case her "loophole" remark might've been offensive, Nia is struck by Mäkeläinen's remark--which, at first, she thought was his tactfully chiding her for speaking too much.

Then he talks about psychic broadcasts and she inspects his face more carefully. What the hell? Nia glances at the others and ends on Rawlings, mainly because Booker's not here. Frowning, she tries to send him a wordless message of her own--Did something happen last night?--but isn't really sure how to convey that in a mere look. She suspects she just appears confused. Which is essentially how she's felt for two days.

Yet again Nia chastizes herself for not getting caught up on whatever went on once she conked out after they boarded. And she vows to get briefed, ASAP.

Daughter. Kylah freezes, not having expected... whatever this reaction is, flooding her cheeks with heat and forcing a swell of emotion to catch her words in her tightened throat.

It has been a long time since she heard anyone call her daughter. Even before her parents died, they had stopped addressing her in this manner. Of course, Lt. Graham's tone is rather stiff--like her own father's, to be truthful. There is no paternal feeling in it, which is understandable as he likely does not understand why she has done this. Further, he is not an actor, nor wears a facade easily.

But he is an older male whom she cares for, and who has been very kind and protective, and...and... it is surprising how this unnatural, strained word triggers a deep longing. Lt. Graham's daughter should pray nightly for her good fortune.

She lifts her fingertips to her eye, brushing away a tear under the guise of sweeping her hair from her forehead. "Thank you," she murmurs, aiming the words at both Lt. Graham and Grod, and hurries ahead so neither will notice her irrelevant emotion. "Do please let me know if I am unclear," she says to the latter. "We wish to send a message to Elas, a planet in the Tellun System. The recipient is Regency Councillor Aldaan, in the Palace of the House of the Silver Weeping Tree."

Easily she relates the frequency and technical details required--although, given her ignorance of exactly where they are and lack of access to a subspace beacon map, she must leave the precise method and journey up to the Doregg officer.

Then, a flash of inspiration hits her, and she lowers her voice in apparent concern. "It does not matter that we Elasians are not part of the Federation, does it?"

Rangin looks briefly uncomfortable but says, "The Uwat certainly communicate with us, and with each other, by sound. Visual cues, too, I suppose, since they do use at least some gestures. Don't know that they communicate with each other in any other way, but I suppose it's possible." He grimaces a little. "Sure would be nice to have a tricorder, huh?"

Onn isn't sure if Rawlings picks up on her unspoken signal. He is paying attention to Dr. Mäkeläinen.

Grod seems not to care in the least what relation Graham and Kylah may be to each other. She presses about a dozen disparate keys on her board, the controls of which baffle Kylah, and after a few moments says, "Yes, I can send a message to that person. At this distance, subspace transmission time will be just under two hours. It does not matter that Elas is not a Federation member; we are not, either. Do you wish to send a text, audio or audiovisual message? Each is more expensive than the last. The longer or more complex, the more expensive, as well."

If neither T'Ves, nor Rangin himself, has noticed any (respectively, any further) "psychic" events--- Mäkeläinen thinks if pressed he might even remember a few relevant native Vulcan terms from eclectic reading--- there is not much to pursue without someone working a science station or, as Rangin just said, a tricorder.

Of course now Nia is giving him an inquisitive look; what did he expect? So are Rawlings and T'Ves. For now he replies to Rangin, "True. And given one it couldn't hurt to confirm that there is nothing leaking through these deck plates besides heat, while we were at it. It's not a concrete theory, though I would be surprised if the Uwat were not sensitive to various things we would never normally notice, high frequencies of sound for example, and vice versa."

"Money is irrelevant," Kylah mutters distractedly, frowning as she contemplates the various methods the Uwat has laid out for them. "I think video would be best. His Serenity Aldaan will wish to ensure it is really I. We," she corrects herself with another respectful bob of her head to Lt. Graham. "Of course videos can be faked..."

Another thought has struck her and she begs Grod's forgiveness. "May we have a moment to consider what we ought to convey? I am sorry, I did not think what to say earlier before we made this request. And I wish to be clear. I do not get to speak with His Serenity as often as I wish, you see, and now I am a little nervous..." The words are still fairly random and distracted while thoughts ping around her mind like popcorn in a pot.

With a soft "I crave your indulgence, Father?" she reaches for Lt. Graham's hand, clutching his fingers like a child needing guidance crossing a street, and tries to draw him away to a private niche, if there is one--and if he agrees.

T'Ves sips her tea. In response to Dr. Mäkeläinen's observation, she says, "That is certainly possible."

Grod does not seem put out by Kylah's request. She simply says, "I will wait for you here."

The communications chamber is small and there is no private niche. There is the corridor outside, but the doors along it are all closed.

"My high-frequency hearing is very good, typically," Nia replies, somewhat randomly in response to Dr. M's musings. "I haven't heard anything, for what it's worth. Any particularly low-frequency tones'll have to be your responsibility. My hearing's not so hot anyway, at least compared to humans."

She's mostly speaking to keep herself awake, which is also why she's busy drumming her fingertips along the rim of her mug. "We do need tricorders. It's absurd that they're confiscated. I suppose they'll charge us a holding and release fee to get 'em back. Did they do the same to you, T'Ves? I don't know what if any devices you had on you, but was there anything taken because it was... what did Jol call it? Contraband."

It just occurs to her that it's likely only because it was Starfleet tech that the 'contraband' label applied. But if there was anything valuable held by the Sisters--wait, no, Daughters--they'd probably been relieved of it too.

With no very private area, Kylah still prefers to draw Lt. Graham from the small Communications chamber to the corridor. Perfect must not be the enemy of the good.

Once the door closes behind them and she ensures they are a good enough distance from the chamber they just left, Kylah stares humbly at Lt. Graham and begins in as quiet a voice as she can expect him to hear. "I am sorry, sir. This likely seems convoluted. But I just realized that of course, you would know best what message I should relay to Aldaan--my Guardian," she adds, realizing that while Lt. Graham knows she has an uncle, she might not have used his name before.

"At any rate... I can convey any message you wish. We have a sort of...a silly code. A childhood game," she adds hurriedly, glancing down for a second. "So whatever you want to get across to... our people... it should be safe. He will relay it to whomever we wish."

For a flash she has an instant of concern about whether Aldaan will actually obey her request, but then, she did him a tremendous service with his comrades back on Novy Rostov. This should not be a boon he would deny her. Her eyes brighten and she squeezes Lt. Graham's hands with a little pleasant pride.

"And it will serve two purposes. First, to speak confidentially, but second, to ensure my identity to Uncle Aldaan. Video, audio and text can be faked, but not this code. He and I are the only ones who know it. Tell me what I should say overtly, and what--if anything--you think should be conveyed covertly, within the lines. About Vel--Ginran, or Nia's status--perhaps they have suggestions as they may know her needs better than we do."

Dr. Mäkeläinen neutrally studies Nia.

He cannot think of many reasons why a tricorder would be truly contraband, per se. They are not dangerous or highly powered items. He has had the thought that if the Uwat are as zealous about upholding their customers' privacy as they claim, or at least about their own, then a bunch of tricorders loose on board certainly would not do. The range may be limited, but in the right hands one may detect, and log, a lot of things. Individual bio-signatures, for instance, even through a wall or two. Signals, including cloaked or encrypted ones. A tricorder could even be programmed to broadcast, though that would do little good unless a ship were already following closely.

Graham raises an eyebrow at Kylah's revelation. He has to grant it's a clever exploitation of whatever family thing she's got going on. He clears his throat and ducks down so he's closer to Kylah. "Straightforward story about location and destination out loud," he says as softly as he can. "Message for...uh, mother ship: pressing medical need, life at risk..." He pauses a moment to compose himself. "Lt. Onn's."

Grod sits patiently at her comm console as Kylah and Graham step out into the corridor to talk.

T'Ves says, "We do not make as much use of technology as Starfleet does, but yes, we had several devices which were collected by the Uwat when we came aboard: communicators and data tablets. No weapons, of course."

It is difficult to keep from beaming her pleasure at Lt. Graham's agreement with her plan. But this is a serious situation and pride is unseemly, especially once he speaks of Lt. Onn. Only inches away, Kylah senses a faint chill of dread flashing from the Lieutenant before it is quickly smothered.

After a solemn nod, Kylah begs his pardon and walks alone a few steps closer to the corridor wall, hugging herself while she stares down at the deck. She is not seeing it. Her mind is busy calling forth the dozens of different songs and instrumental pieces Aldaan taught her, and those she composed by herself.

The lyrics are immaterial. Their code is music-based, and information is imparted via notes, tempo, intervals...even rests and note durations add nuance.

Now Kylah is daunted by the paucity of musical vocabulary she may use. The instruments she usually plays are capable of chords, of counterpoint melodies, and a breadth of range that no Elasian voice can hope to achieve. Adding all these together has always allowed Kylah to convey an extraordinary amount of complex data to Aldaan.

With nothing but her voice--which she has not used for singing in some while and is likely ill-prepared to ascend or descend to much of her vocal cords typical three-octave range--she can use only one melody line. Kylah must limit herself to craft the simplest of messages.

She closes her eyes and breathes a hum, very soft, as her fingers press against her crossed arms as if playing a keyboard instrument. It takes her longer than she wishes, and with a reddened face, she finally turns back to Lt. Graham. "Forgive me," she murmurs. "It has been a while. I am ready now."

They are not very far down the corridor, and it takes Kylah only a few steps to return to the comm panel and request to be let in. If Grod allows them without difficulty, Kylah will walk up to the Uwat officer and bob her head. "Thank you for your forbearance, ma'am. We are ready, when convenient for you."

Mäkeläinen says to Nia, “I agree it's silly, and moreover we could badly use some of those devices right now. I will say this for our hosts, though: in exchange for exorbitant amounts of credit we were promised, among other things, a certain amount of discretion and anonymity. Not being subject to random scans from other passengers could be in support of that; at least they seem consistent about it, and we weren't singled out.” He smiles, “They could also be systematically reverse-engineering every piece of portable tech they get their hands on. Let us not forget to ask for our stuff back before we alight.”

Nia's nearly nodding off when T'Ves's remark jolts her awake. "Yikes, ix-nay on the arfleet-Stay," she blurts with a casual sidelong look toward the Vulcan--who, she realizes belatedly, likely hasn't had the pleasure of learning weird old Terran joke languages from a hot human chef. Well, you never know. Ajay gets around. "I mean... the less we mention certain unpopular organizations, the better."

To Dr. M., she nods and lets her head lean against her palm, bestowing a tired, wry smile. "Yeah we don't need to create another Sigma Iota situation. But now you make me curious about how our massive hairy fellow passengers took to getting their toys taken away. Can you see them agreeing to it without a fight? They must really have had no other way to travel. Or Jol does some way to control us."

She hesitates, then takes a curious look at his non-biological arm. "You don't mind my asking about that, do you? Nothing too personal--although I wouldn't mind learning a bit more about you. I've been wondering about its capabilities. Your capabilities," she corrects herself. "That's as much you as any other, uh, extremity." Nia's smile quirks slightly but she returns to a more professional expression. "Speaking as an engineer...that's a fine piece of equipment. What's it do that the other one can't?"

“Jol does have a way to control us,” says Bizhi. “This is his and his colleagues' ship, they run it, and it is a long walk home if it does not suit.”

As for the mention of his arm, he was not expecting it. He would just as soon it not come up as a subject for claver, and it is not something everybody needs to know about. He covers any reaction by lowering his eyes as he rolls up his left sleeve. The arm and hand are currently covered in high-quality synthflesh, although there are telltale seams if one knows where to look; it was meant as integument, not perfect camouflage.

“If you were hoping for a devastating secret weapon you'll be disappointed. While there is currently a laser on it, that is for delicate cuts and incisions; if you wanted to do gross damage it would be vastly quicker to break a glass or use the cutlery.

“More metal than flesh below the elbow. But you are right about the engineering: it is well-made in the best fabs in the Federation for this style of bionics—” Martian, of course— “so balance is not an issue. In fact, while being able to configure small tools— you've seen the torch— is obviously useful, the principal thing it can do that the other can't, is hold itself and hold tools completely steady, or move precisely, and it doesn't get tired. Invaluable for surgery, and for loosening stubborn jar lids.”

He would definitely have an advantage arm-wrestling, however the mechanical parts are still anchored to flesh and bone so there is a definite limit on how much force can be applied; there are not going to be any miraculous feats of strength. It does not take too much imagination (so it seems to him) to reason that a cybernetic arm set up like his could, with a little creativity, prove invaluable in an emergency with non-medical uses as well, like if they had to pop open a sealed access panel without any tools, but Bizhi does not feel the need to point any of that out.

The trauma of his injury is not a pleasant memory. He goes silent for a moment as he involuntarily relives it. He knows there were things he could have done differently. Too late now.

Grod lets Graham and Kylah back into the Comm Room at once. "I am ready," she says. She reactivates the comm console. "So: do you wish to send a text, an audio or audiovisual message?"

T'Ves nods, looking as abashed as a Vulcan can. "Of course. Please forgive my indiscretion." She thinks for a moment, then finishes her tea and stands. "I should check on my sisters now, if you will excuse me."

"No apology necessary, T'Ves." Nia waves a hand and tries to hide her unworthy amusement at having successfully disconcerted a Vulcan. "I hope we'll meet the whole group at dinner? And thanks for the info."

She turns back to Dr. M. She's too tired to notice nuances of expression or voice, but it does strike her (too late) that maybe he's not into playing Show and Tell with his body parts. The technical aspects of the replacement arm are a marvel to her, and--not having experienced anything like it--she can't imagine being embarrassed or self-conscious about owning such a prize. But she's not human.

"Well, whoever fixed you up with it did a damn good job. Too bad they don't make bionic lungs yet. It'd be nice to shop for a pair that worked in this atmosphere." Nia smiles to reassure them that she's joking. "I know, that wouldn't help much if the rest of me still needed Bilitrium. You'd have to take me apart at the molecular level. And at that point I might as well be an android."

She sips the dregs of her second drink and pushes it away, leaning her elbows on the table and her head on her fists. "Okay, boys. I'm out of ideas. Who wants to set an agenda, if we need one?"

"Yes, ma'am. We have not changed our mind: we wish video--audiovisual, as you say." Kylah's gaze darts around the chamber to find whatever looks like a lens, while she combs a hand through her hair and twists the locks into more neat, aesthetically pleasing curls.

She does not do so for vanity--well, not entirely. It is to gain her uncle's favor. Traditional Elasian hairstyles are elaborate, with unique touches for each House. Kylah's family's distinct style is to fashion 100 braids--one for each generation--held in place with one or two jeweled beads.

Kylah wore this dutifully at formal events. Yet Aldaan has often told her he prefers her hair loose. When young, she used to wait in her dressing chamber at bedtime until he arrived, whereupon he would take one of the small pouffy stools to sit beside her. Then he would begin the arduous task of removing each bead and unwinding the uncomfortable braids, all the while patiently humming or singing various songs. She long associated both music and the movements of his gentle, nimble fingers with relaxation and the relief of turning back into who she truly was.

Eventually these associations were overshadowed by discomfort. The music meant codes, deception and intrigue. Aldaan's touch meant...something else entirely. Kylah was old enough to request Reena, her servant, to help her undress at night, and the music lessons shifted to daytime.

Kylah fluffs her hair, wishing she had a mirror, and pats her hands against her cheeks to add a little color. Self-conscious, she turns to Lt. Graham with an apologetic little shrug. "I like to make a good impression. Aldaan scrutinizes my appearance. I am meant to represent our family. As you know," she adds, belatedly recalling that Lt. Graham, as her 'father' would surely know this.

Bizhi acknowledges T'Ves's valediction non-verbally. As for talking about Starfleet, openly in this case but it seems like everyone they have met on board has varying levels of suspicion about the group, people may know where they came from and where they are headed but no critical information has been revealed, not that there is any to his knowledge, nor even any details of their original mission or their business on Ollos.

Nia's apparently genuine interest and enthusiasm in his artificial arm's engineering makes him feel much better about showing it off just now. He is not suddenly about to invite her to see him later and field-strip it, but it does occur to him that, just like one may have to trust parts of oneself to a surgeon, even though he is capable of basic maintenance himself, and the people who made it know how to build to last, it would be nice to know a professional engineer he could absolutely trust, just in case.

In response to her last comment, he says, "There has to be a reasonable middle ground between sitting locked in our cabins for days and individually disappearing into the bowels of the ship sans communicators."

Graham nods like...an approving father.

There's a little twinge as it brings back memories of doing the same for his own daughter, in her younger years...when their family was still intact.

Drumming her fingers on her cheek, Nia nods. "There's gotta be some entertainment. I know it's not a luxury cruiser but even if the passengers' pleasure's not provided for, the crew must have something to amuse themselves. A deck of cards at minimum--or whatever the Uwat equivalent is. Maybe they've got some kind of crew lounge where the fun stuff is? I'd happily spend some credits if it'll keep us occupied."

Nia hears the banal words and pushes herself back, leaning away from the table wearing a disgruntled frown. "Listen to me. I sound like some of the more obnoxious Novy Rostov refugees," she mutters. "Was it only two days ago I was mature enough to captain a shuttle?"

She aims her gaze at Rawlings and Rangin, then Mäkeläinen again. "I suppose I could just sleep. Maybe it'd slow my metabolism down. Although I guess that'll happen naturally the longer this trip takes. But I want to be conscious. As long as I can." Nia lets her eyes plead silently as she again looks at her three crewmates. "Think of something to occupy our time. That's an order," she adds with a fleeting smile.

T'Ves says politely, "Yes, perhaps dinner later. Thank you." She leaves.

Rawlings says, "I think I might poke around the ship a little. See what else there is to see. Want to come along?"

Rangin offers, "And I could ask about shipboard entertainment, if you like, ma'am." He doesn't sound optimistic. "The Uwat don't seem especially determined to perk up our trip, though."

In the Communications compartment, Grod says, "Subspace A/V cost a thousand Federation credits for every ten seconds. Five-minute maximum."

Mäkeläinen says to Rawlings, "I'll join you. I can find my way back to the airlock, but otherwise we didn't see much coming on board. It'd be mad not to know how she's laid out, even if it's just for a couple of days." Which companionway to the sick bay, for instance. Security? The wardroom? They do not know anything.

Kylah's nose scrunches slightly as she calculates. Federation credits have never seemed real to her--they are an invisible, intangible currency that gets deposited in her account with as little thought on her part as if some supernatural creature magicked them there.

Thirty thousand for five minutes. The time is short but the distance great, so even if the Uwat is marking up the cost, it seems reasonable enough to her. She reaches for her communicator to check her account--but of course, the device is not there, and her stomach roils in as wild a flurry of nerves as if she has become untethered while floating in space. The unease makes it hard for her to recall how well-funded her virtual wallet is, though beyond the fear she has the sense that it might be less than she recalls.

Fear is foolish. Lt. Graham is right here. She squeezes his hand. "Well, Aldaan will pay," she says aloud, tossing her head to dispel her anxiety. "My uncle has always been generous." Which is true. Aldaan has denied and withheld things from her, but money has never been one of them. With a quick glance up at her superior officer, she bites her lip before asking, "You would not object to his assistance, Father?"

An unexpected sinking feeling, like a depth charge, accompanies Dr. Mäkeläinen's words when Nia takes them in. It's the first time she'll have been separated from him, at least while she's been conscious, since they left the Yorktown. Given her health issues began with the news about her premature menopause, he's been a huge part of her journey and even though a near-stranger, she's grown to rely on him.

She doesn't need monitoring 24/7, or however long a day is here, but his capable presence has been reassuring, or at least as reassuring as is possible. Nia bites her lower lip in consternation, trying to think of a way not to sound needy while ordering the doctor to stay--

Oh, sack up. You can deal. Anyway Rangin's got some chops at dealing with weird-ass biology.

Wiping her tired eyes, Nia switches her focus to the Coridanite and forces some levity. "Well, none of us is going off alone, so we're stuck with each other. Looking for fun. I wonder how much our ideas differ on that?" Girding herself, she pushes against the table to stand up. Manages in one go, hurrah for her. "It's a small ship by our standards, but it's still not great that we're all separate without a way of getting in touch. So err on the side of immense caution. Maybe let's meet back here in a half hour?"

Do we still have a way of telling time, or are their 'chronometers' part of the communicator?

Rawlings says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Great! Want to start by going forward, or aft, or to either side?" To Onn he says, "Makes sense, ma'am. Thanks."

Rangin says to Onn, "I'm at your service, ma'am."

The Uwat comm panels do not seem to include a chronometer. Onn has not seen a recognizable one since coming aboard the Doregg.

Dr. Mäkeläinen says to Rawlings, "Good question. I thought perhaps to retrace our steps back to where we came up to this deck, then continue aft as far as we can, then--- say portside?" He asks Onn, "That's an arbitrary choice, though. Do you have any advice?"

He has been looking forward to seeing more of the ship since they boarded; this is his first chance. He does not feel especially tense about possibly running into any other passengers, but especially not when teamed up with a Goliath like Rawlings. It seems much more likely they will encounter annoyed crew informing them which areas are off-limits.

He takes a careful professional look at Nia. She was barely ambulatory this morning before breakfast, but warmed up and with some food and hot drinks in her she seems much less pallid and more animated. Still, she is obviously dangerously weak yet. He scrutinizes her, so as not to miss any visible signs of an impending relapse, and also verifies if she still has her container of medicine. He will change plans if there is something definitely wrong.

"One thing I mean to do is locate the Sickbay, or equivalent setup," he tells her. "It may not be on this deck, but I figure we may as well explore up here first, unless you have a suggestion. We return to the Common Room, in about half an hour, no matter what."

With a nod at Rangin, Nia considers the doctor's request, realizing she barely remembers last night's trek through the ship at all. Admit it or fake it? Probably not the best choice, but she goes with the latter. "Port's as good an option as any, at least unless you see anything denying you access. But that's true whatever direction you go."

She looks down at her feet and sees her medical case. Normally she'd just bend and swoop it up from the ground, no thought at all. Now, the sight of it just stirs up frustrated resignation. Doesn't seem fair to have to fight gravity again. It's only a second or two of hesitation before she gets the vital case back in her grasp and straightens.

After walking around to join the xenobiologist, Nia has to smile when assessing their two teams. Somehow Rawlings and Mäkeläinen seem better balanced than a half-dead Nia and a depressed and possibly still traumatized Rangin. "Okay, we're off to find fun. Good luck, boys. Play nice."

She pats Rangin's back, hopefully imparting some confidence and friendliness. His attitude toward her, when she was seeing Booker, was one of wary tolerance at best. Maybe now he'll warm to her. Or at least not freeze her out. "Might as well go in the opposite direction as the others," she murmurs. If Mäkeläinen and Double-T are out of earshop, she'll add, "To be honest my memory of the ship's layout, whatever we saw of it, ain't so hot. So I'm open to suggestions."

Not having expected a disagreement from Lt. Graham, Kylah nods to herself and waits for any cue from Gron that recording has begun. Assuming everything is ready... if it is not, ignore the rest. At last she looks into the monitor panel and issues the standard greeting to Aldaan. She rattles through their House name and his esteemed role on the Council in a flurry of words long memorized and rote, then begins:

"Forgive the rapid nature of this message but time is brief. If you have received word of our latest travels having been extended, do not worry. We are on our way back home aboard a most hospitable ship, the Doregg of Uwat." Kylah still speaks very quickly but with great clarity. If Aldaan needs to slow the message down to transcribe the coded message that is to come, it will sound normal.

The expected time of arrival at the Cavinre system is hurried through next, to which she adds, "Some of our group have never experienced the glory of an official escort, and it would be most appreciated for us to be met sooner rather than later, so we may have as much time on our own vessel as possible. The Doregg is efficient but our usual accommodations are greatly missed. Especially by the less hardy among us."

The last words are pointed, though she plans on stressing the dire situation more clearly in her message. She moistens her lips, prepared to look like a fool--and not for the first time, when concocting one of her messages to Aldaan.

"I will bid you farewell in our traditional manner, a song that may entertain and elucidate simultaneously." Kylah stands a little closer to Lt. Graham. "Father has granted me permission to ask that you pass it along to those you believe should hear it."

Her eyes close in concentration. The melody, intervals and all the other musical elements are all that matters--lyrics are irrelevant. Kylah reaches back in her memory, deciding that she might as well use the words from the most recent song she learned. After a preparatory breath, she begins in her clear, warm soprano:

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady Greensleeves..."

She continues the song learned from Lt. Graham's wedding to Marala. Not truly the same song, however: the words are correct, but there is nothing recognizable in the melody--or in the gestures Kylah adds. But when Uncle Aldaan decodes both song and hand motions, the message will be:

"Forgive the ruse. I call Lt. Graham 'Father' to ensure our party's proper care and respect. We must hide our actual affiliation. Federation mistrusted, especially our uniforms. Openly hostile passengers on board. Our weapons and devices are confiscated.

Send urgent message to my captain for a shuttle to track and meet us with medical personnel. Our commander is gravely ill--the Sidonian woman, Onn. Only our ship can supply what she needs."

Kylah thinks she has crammed in everything she needed to, but a sudden inspiration leads her to begin a new verse for an important question. Unfortunately, improvisation is a skill she has not practiced, and her voice slows noticeably while she desperately tries to encode on the fly. Further, the most important words are unfamiliar and have no equivalents in their music code, so she resorts to more hand gestures--more like sign language based on phonetics.

"Hostiles are of unfamiliar race...Chalnoth, calling themselves...the...War-Brotherhood of Irkhuit. It is a First Contact for the Federation. But perhaps not for you or your honorable friends? If you can assist us with safety or diplomacy, please include in reply."

Relieved to finish the message, Kylah stares at the screen, envisioning Aldaan's face returning her gaze. "That is all, sir," she says, hoarse from the stress and difficulty of the bizarre melody--not to mention having to reference the Klingons right in front of a superior officer. "I am ever obedient and in your debt--and always your loving niece. May we see each other soon, and may the stars continue to shine for His Serenity the Dohlman, my cherished brother."

She bites her lip, hoping she has not spent the entire five minutes, and turns to Lt. Graham to blurt: "Do you wish to add anything, Father?"

Rawlings smiles and says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "That sounds good to me. Let's go, Doc." He leads the way down the corridor just aft of the Common Room. You see no one else as you go.

Rangin does not seem to resent Onn's patting him on the back. He tells her, "I don't think we've seen anything much to either side of what seems to be the ship's central corridor, ma'am. Port makes as much sense as starboard at this point." He heads slightly aft of the Common Room, as well, but then turns to port at the next junction. Just around the corner an Uwat child, apparently startled, skitters away.

Graham shakes his head in response to Onn's question. Grod, the Uwat technician, works her console for awhile and finally says, "Your message was successfully recorded and I have now sent it. It was slightly less than five minutes long. I have deducted 28,720 Federation credits from your shipboard account."

Fuck.

Graham's first reaction is to the Uwat's extortionate rates.

But beggars can't be choosers.

His second is more nuanced: Kylah's clearly doing...something.

Communicating more than what her explicit words convey.

Well I hope to hell it works, he thinks - for her benefit, not just ours. And Nia's.

"Ah,well done...daughter," he offers after the Grod tells them their bill.

Dr. Mäkelainen keeps an eye out for any writing or labels on the doors and hatches, any notable equipment or visible compartments, and for busy Uwat crew members. He follows Ens. Rawlings down the corridor, filling in his mental map as they proceed.

Kylah's chin lifts with pride at Lt. Graham's praise, and she sends him a delighted smile. "Thank you," she says, first to him and then to Grod. "And will you contact us as soon as you receive the reply, please?"

She turns toward the door, eyebrows dipped in thought. "Two hours to send, and then to return... well, it will depend on how long it takes Aldaan to--" To contact the Yorktown, but she does not finish the thought. It will also take time for him to compose a message. He may not need to encode it; her uncle has a gift for communicating subtext all on his own.

"We have some time," she concludes, stating the obvious to Lt. Graham, and heads outside the chamber. She looks back at the ACOS, assuming he follows. "Do you wish to tell the others, sir?"

A little startled by the Uwat child, Nia watches it scurry off and shakes her head. "Those little guys are everywhere. I swear I can't tell if there are tons of 'em or if it's the same ones each time."

She eyes the corridor and surroundings as they saunter past. "Utilitarian but that's all she needs. Funny how I feel more confined here than in our shuttle. It's more 'homey' to me, I guess. It was, I mean." The thoughts take her too close to the tragedy of the Tesla, and she swiftly veers from that trajectory. "Y'know, frankly I don't remember a thing from last night. Did they say how big their crew is? I wonder how many passengers she takes."

Graham follows Kylah. For a brief moment he has some hope the group can bunker down and wait for the cavalry to arrive - sooner rather than later.

"You did well," he repeats, still in fake father mode. Then he lowers his voice. "Seriously."

He's not entirely certain about how much she was able to communicate or how well her uncle will come through...but it's something. And something's more than nothing.

Graham takes a deep breath. "Yes. If we can..." he rubs his chin. "Calm people down, give them hope, encourage some patience with staying...cautious..."

He cricks and cracks his neck. "That's progress from where we were yesterday."

Dr. Mäkelainen notices some occasional alien writing on the doors and hatches, but does not see any notable equipment. No compartments open for you (did you wish to check closed doors?) as you pass along the central corridor and reach the ladder which leads down to the shuttlebay; you came up it when you arrived aboard the Doregg. You see no Uwat crewmembers, busy or otherwise.

Grod says, "Yes, I will let you know when there is a reply. Unless there are other messages you wish to send, you may return to the passenger area now."

Rangin replies to Onn as they walk, "I don't think they ever said how big the crew is. I have a hard time telling them apart myself. I don't think I've ever seen more than four Uwat at one time, though, not counting the children. Passenger capacity is, say, thirty at most, I'd estimate, from what we've seen."

"The ship does seem pretty sparse. I guess when you provide your guests with pure luxury like this, things run all by themselves." Nia eyes any doors for signage that might be comprehensible, while continuing her dry tone. "So, what do you think we'll find? A pool table? Shuffleboard?"

Her attention turns to Rangin himself and she sobers up. A lot of bad things have resulted from her losing the Tesla, but Rangin's fatal struggle with some drunk might be the worst.

"Um... we haven't had a moment alone. I don't think," she adds with a tiny frown. If she had a moment of lucidity yesterday where she and Rangin had a heart-to-heart, she sure as hell can't remember. "I just wanna say--I'm truly sorry with what went down at the club. I don't know if you've...been through anything like that before. I have and it's never easy to get past. How are you doing? Really?"

Kylah thanks Grod again, and once they're alone in the corridor, she smiles again at Lt. Graham's praise. "I hope it helps. I am sure Uncle Aldaan will do his best. He has been pleased with my work of late." It is not truly an exaggeration. While he has sent little notice of a job well done regarding the Novy Rostov refugees, Kylah knows he must be grateful.

Then, realizing the implication, she speeds on with a little laugh, "Of course he would help regardless. Did you mind my using your wedding song? The words, at least. They were the first I could think of. I needed something to cover. As for what I said... I gave him more details about Lieu--Nia," Kylah changes swiftly with a little glance around to see if there are any visible cameras.

"I also suggested that they send a shuttle to meet us, with a medical team specific to her...requirements." She stops in place. "Oh--should I have given him a message for Mrs. Graham? She must be concerned. Well, I am sure she will be informed, once my uncle contacts the--others back home. How inconsiderate of me to forget. I was focusing so much on Nia."

Her lips tighten after again using Lt. Onn's first name. It still does not feel natural, or even comfortable. Kylah doubts comfort will be obtained until she steps onto the Yorktown once more.

Dr. Mäkeläinen does not try to open random closed doors. If there is an obvious entrance to a recognizable compartment like the Sickbay, he will consider going in there.

He says, "Aye, this is the ladder we came up. Not sure if we are past the passenger area; I can't read the writing, unfortunately. Stick to the plan and keep going?" The plan being to continue walking down the central corridor as long as possible, then make a turn.

Graham smiles just slightly--a little happy, a little sad.

"No," he says quietly. "I don't mind you using the lyrics to the song...it's..."

He's not sure what to say.

"It's a nice song."

But he's still not sure what it means to him, because the price of saving Marala...of winning his teen-age dream of her as his wife...was losing the very real current-day prospect of a future with Nia.

"I'm sure...well I tried to make sure Marala understands the nature of my, our, jobs."

The melancholy Kylah hears in Lt. Graham's voice is reflected in his expression, and she does not need empathic powers to recognize it. She gnaws a little at her lower lip in concern, though her own now nags at her--not for the first time. With another look at their surroundings as they head back to the passenger lounge, she girds herself.

"Sir, I have been meaning to ask, if I may... Where are you going to live? You and Marala and Nikolai? Are you planning to--to leave us?"

A wave of sadness hits her, this time her own. While they had a rocky start, full of misunderstanding and awkwardness, Lt. Graham has changed the way she views Starfleet officers. His steady presence, bravery, protectiveness, guidance both professional and personal... all priceless.

He has altered her understanding of men, too. He asks nothing of Kylah but for her to perform her job--and, especially, to make wise and safe choices. Despite her having let him down numerous times, he has not given up on her. There are few other--no other--men of whom she can say that. She inhales and gives an unintentionally audible sigh. The prospect of losing him hurts almost physically.

"You would be missed, if so. Very much," she adds with soft emphasis. "But no one would begrudge you your happiness."

Graham raises an eyebrow, surprised by Kylah's questions.

And the apparent, even to him, not typically the highest EQ person in the room, the seriousness with which she asks them.

"Ah, that's kind of you to say, uh, I---"

He looks down. "I don't know. I always wanted my family to be proud of me, and it was because...of the job. Doing something that mattered. Even back when I was hoping my family would be 'Marala.'"

He forces himself to look at Kylah. "But when I put the job first, she...Jane...she died."

He takes a deep breath. "I guess...I guess I should ask Marala what she thinks is best for Nikolai."

Then he clears his throat. "Something that requires getting us all back to Yorktown," he says, squaring his shoulders and forcing a more positive expression.

None of the occasional alien writing she sees makes sense to Onn. There are no logos or graphics to suggest what's behind each door; that does not seem to be the Uwat way.

Rangin says to her, "Yeah. Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate that. It was... difficult. Really difficult. I'm still thinking it through, coming to grips with what happened, you know? I did what I thought I had to do, right then and there, with no time to think. But now... well, that only goes so far." He sighs and looks away. "But I'm doing okay, I guess. Just getting away from there has made a difference, I think."

Rawlings looks around. "I'm not sure if we're past the passenger area, either. Some of it, at least? Not sure how much farther aft it extends. What I wouldn't give for a tricorder!" He chuckles. "Sorry. I keep thinking that." He glances down the ladder and its narrow surrounding core. "But yeah, we can keep going, if you want."

The doctor and the Security officer proceed further aft, seeing no one else. The central corridor looks much the same, all along the way. After a few minutes you come to a locked door. An intense, low-bass hum emanates from it.

An Uwat crewmember approaches Kylah and Graham outside the Communications Room. It says something, pauses, then waves its mottled, spiky arms and seems to repeat itself.

Lt. Graham has moved the conversation away from his plans, or indeed anything personal--though he mentioned Jane, his late wife, Kylah remembers with a stab of sympathy. Perhaps she should not have asked a question that does not involve her.

It does. But clearly he either disagrees, or is unaware.

The Uwat's approach gives Kylah a little start of surprise. Kylah shakes her head, wishing she could comprehend even a morsel of their speech. She places a flat hand on her chest in apology. "Forgive us. We do not speak Uwat," she says, taking a little step backwards in case the crew member is upset, and darts a look of unease up at Lt. Graham. "I do not understand. We were already leaving."

"Nia," she corrects Rangin gently, when he calls her 'Lieutenant.' "And not because of--" Nia gestures vaguely around them. "--The need for discretion. But because it's just you and me, and this whole situation is pretty equalizing. At least I'm not feeling very much in command," she murmurs in a much lower voice.

"Sounds like you're second-guessing your reaction. For what it's worth, I doubt it. You don't strike me as the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type. You did what you had to. You survived." Her fingers tighten around the handle of her medical case. "Sometimes that means your opponent can't. And it's gruesome to say, but if you had to strike, it might even have been good that it was lethal. A wounded enemy can still endanger you. Maybe worse than before."

The vision of a looming figure bathed in moonlight and blood flashes in her mind, but she dismisses it. "Anyway, if you find yourself going somewhere dark, feel free to talk to me. Or I suppose you'd go to Kylah, from the looks of things between you guys." She shares a brief wry smile, but since she doesn't want to push the camaraderie, she moves on smoothly.

"But pragmatically speaking, everything on that planet's done with. We got damn lucky no one was in a hurry to investigate. Possibly the one stroke of good luck down there."

Her gaze shifts from her companion to the featureless doors. "Are these passenger rooms? I mean I thought they were all aft, but... I don't know, what do you think?" With a one-shouldered shrug, she moves closer to the nearest room and after a swift double-check of their solitude, presses her ear to the door.

The doctor touches the locked door for a moment to feel the thrum. "Engine room?" he posits. "Some other machinery? And we haven't seen any personnel coming through this way, so the more critical areas and accessways may be below decks."

"Yes, it feels wrong to go exploring without, if not a tricorder, some way of mapping where we've been. I could not draw you a sketch to please an engineer, but at least we know roughly how far we have come and where things are with respect to each other. I think we still have a little time. How about we backtrack and try the first open side corridor?"

The Uwat seems to repeat itself, but a little more intensely, Kylah thinks. It takes another step towards Graham and her.

"Nia," Rangin says, softly. "Of course. Sorry. Thank you for that, and for your kind words. Well, I'm dealing with it, and I'll... keep dealing with it." He looks around and seems glad to change the subject. "Yes, they could be passenger rooms. That would make sense, but I just don't know." He follows Onn's lead and presses his ear to another door. After a few seconds he steps away and says, "Nothing here."

Onn hears an irregular thumping from behind the door she's listening to.

Dr. Mäkeläinen can feel the intense thrum through his fingertips when he touches the door. Rawlings replies, "You may be right. Having Engineering here would fit what little we could see of the Doregg from outside, I guess." He leans in and listens more closely to the door himself.

Graham slides in front of Kylah and raises his hands in a disarming gesture.

"Guests...quarters...." he says slowly, "Paying guests," he adds, emphasizing the first word. He gestures down the hallway slightly and slowly.

Grateful to have the barrier of Lt. Graham's physical and commanding presence between her and the crewman, Kylah nods in tense agreement. "First Officer Jol knows we are here," she adds to Graham's statement, enunciating the name as best she can. She tilts her chin toward the door to the Communications chamber. "He brought us to Officer Grod."

After scrunching her eyes closed for a second or two while listening, Nia straightens and sticks her thumb at the door. "This one sounds like some machinery banging away. Weird rhythm, though. Either they've got some janky tech or..." She chuckles lightly. "Or it is a cabin and some passengers are doing their own kinda banging. Guess that's one way of enlivening the trip."

She sends an amused glance at Rangin before scanning the rest of the hallway. "This area doesn't seem promising. Can't imagine if they've got something recreational it'd be stuck in a featureless room in a blah corridor. And I'm not willing to knock on these doors uninvited. If it's their tech they might not be thrilled at our taking a peek. If it's a passenger cabin and I was right... Not sure I'd want a peek."

A little tired, she transfers the case to her right hand and shakes her now-unencumbered left arm to loosen it up. "So, wanna move on?"

Graham feels an honest to god happy feeling of pride as Kylah drops the other Uwat officers' names.

After all she's been through - sometimes due to, eh, her own poor judgment...that's a smart move. Even if the Uwat doesn't understand a lick of Federation Standard, the names ought to be recognizable.

Mäkeläinen waits for Rawlings to finish his turn at the door. Assuming nothing else happens, since they cannot proceed aftwards, they go back forwards. He will choose a parallel or side corridor if he has such a choice, to see more of the ship while working their way back to where they started.

The Uwat stops moving when the much-taller Graham steps in, but it doesn't back off. It waves its arms down the hall, towards the stern, from where you came. It does not appear placated, but seems to be saying the same phrase repeatedly. Kylah has a vague psi impression that it is angry.

Rangin says, "By all means." Onn and he move on. You go down another, similar corridor, then round a corner and find three Chalnoth in the otherwise-deserted corridor. One is standing, and two are squatting, facing each other a meter or so apart. About a dozen small, spiky, irregular chunks of dark metal are on the deck between them. One of the squatting Chalnoth is holding a larger, blood-red metal chunk in his hand. What appears to be a small handheld computer is on the deck next to the other one. They all turn and stare at you.

Rawlings says, "I don't know what the hell that is." He rubs his chin and, before Dr. Mäkeläinen can say anything, tries several of the small control tabs around the doorframe.

The Chalnoth plateau in front of her reminds Nia--belatedly, as all her realizations are coming to her these days--that she forgot to ask Rangin if he knew why Teloqq was staring at him at breakfast. Cursing inwardly, she slows to a halt. If it was just Teloqq that had an instinctive dislike toward Rangin, fine. If there's something between this race and Coridanites in general, the group ahead may cause a problem.

So, what angle to take. She puts one hand on her hip--not challenging, just firm. Not provocative, either... well, not exactly. Nia's not under the delusion that they'd find her attractive. Her face in particular is probably repulsive to them. But they're shaped like humanoids--big, hairy humanoids--and maybe their taste runs to tall curvy females. If nothing else, this absurd skintight thing Kylah bought her shows off her form. The hand on her hip brings more attention to those assets.

Her aim's not to seduce them; just... if they're a brotherhood of some kind, maybe they'll at least be less hostile to seeing a sister now and then. Even if she lacks distinctive dental features.

Anyway, being subservient and fawning didn't seem to do much earlier. Weakness might engender contempt. A little confidence might not be a bad thing.

"Good morning," she says in an even, pleasant tone. If Teloqq is among these guys, she'll greet him by name. If not, she'll add: "My name's Onn. This is Ginran. We actually just had some breakfast with Goram Teloqq--" Holy Sid'Os, creator of the gods, did she remember the chief guy's title correctly? "--uh, a little while ago. Sorry to barge in on you. We're just looking around. If you're busy doing something confidential, we'll back off and leave you to it..."

Even while speaking she's been trying to figure out what they're doing, examining their postures, the metal objects in front of them, and the red chunk held by the second squatting alien. Her attention homes in on the little device on the floor, which naturally piques both her interest and a little annoyance. What the hell, these shaggy goons were allowed to keep their toys and we weren't?

And then her own word triggers a deduction.

"...But... by any chance, is that some sort of strategy game or contest?" Her brief glance at Rangin tries to measure if he's made the same conclusion; his judgment's likely better than hers right now. But she quickly returns to the Chalnoth in front of her. "We've been looking for something to occupy the time, and if it's something a non-Chalnoth could learn... I'd sure like the chance to try."

Kylah nods her head and points in the same direction as the two men--assuming the Uwat is male. "We shall leave. We had permission from Officer Jol to be here. But we will go now." Her gaze flicks up at Lt. Graham. She is loath to turn her back on the crew member, not knowing if this will be some sort of insult in their culture, so she takes another couple of steps backward and plucks lightly at Lt. Graham's sleeve. "Sir?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen notes what controls Ens. Rawlings presses. Were similar control tabs present on all the other locked doors they passed?

Would a critical or dangerous area be accessible just by pushing a few buttons at random? They have no idea of the Uwat's approach to security, for all their pay-as-you-go approach to basic amenities. Rawlings does not seem to recognize the weird vibration as routine--- so that instantly ratchets his own natural curiosity way up. Outwardly, he maintains the mien of someone just going about yet more routine business.

Onn does not recognize any of the Chalnoth, but is not sure she could. They are virtually indistinguishable to her. The one which is standing says harshly, "We don't care what your names are, and we don't care what you'd like. Begone!"

Onn notices that Rangin is standing very still, and looking carefully at the Chalnoth.

Graham steps away with Kylah from the insistent Uwat. The Uwat does not follow them down the corridor, but watches them.

Some, but not all, of the buttons which Rawlings pushed make an odd kind of squishy beeping sound, but nothing else happens. Dr. Mäkeläinen did not notice any such buttons around the other doors he's seen aboard the Doregg.

Nia side-eyes Rangin, a flicker of concern sparking to life in her breast. Is he freezing up? Terrified? Trying to stare them down? She has no clue.

But the charmer at the other end of the hall deserves some sort of response, and she highly doubts he'll attack a woman and a guy three inches shorter than her--and nearly a foot shorter than any of his group.

She maintains her stance and keeps her voice unfazed. "No need to raise your hackles, I only asked," she says reasonably. "Teloqq told us you're all part of a War-Brotherhood, and it sounded impressive. I'd just be curious to learn more. A friendly game's a good way to get to know one another. Not that you care who we are--we're nothing to you. But you're warriors..." She tilts her head, eyeing the threesome with interest. "Never met a warrior who minded sharing his tales of glory. You must have some wild stories to tell."

A little wheeze, followed by a near subvocal cough, trigger another mental alarm. Crap. How long has it been since my last dose? Her brow arches with an expression of encouragement and, yes, a slight, distinctly feminine challenge. But she's busy calculating how much time's gone by. This is not the best time or place to have a breathing crisis.

Graham sighs out a slow breath as he and Kylah walk down the hallway in the direction the Uwat was pointing. "Never a dull moment, eh?" he says quietly. "You did well back there," he adds.

Still disconcerted by the Uwat's behavior, Kylah rubs her arms to soothe the goosebumps that erupted from nervousness. Lt. Graham's praise helps too. "Thank you. I do not think I did much--he--she--they seemed unable to understand a thing we said. Even the other officers' names. The Uwat culture must be very insulated for them not to have a Universal Translator, or the ability to understand Federation Standard. I understand they are not members, but... it must come up at times, if they take on passengers. Romulans and Klingons are quite virulently anti-Federation, yet they have learned to speak to us, just as we can understand them. Some of us," she hastens to add.

Kylah hurries on. "If the crew have rules about being in that area, there should be signs. Pictograms are universal enough. I do not recall Officer Jol's having warned us that this area is forbidden. He should have impressed that upon us if we were at risk of...whatever that crew member was threatening.

"I appreciate your...getting between me and him," she says emphatically. "I did not see a weapon on him--though I admit I did not look carefully--but there is something so...so unpredictable about them. Quick to anger and perhaps lash out. In a way I find them more intimidating than the Chalnoth. At least they are consistently aggressive. I suppose that is illogical? To prefer outright hostility?"

"Security door?" Mäkeläinen asks Rawlings. "It's the only one we've seen with those controls." If it is a security door, with some non-trivial level of security, merely touching a few buttons at random will not get it open. But Rawlings knows that. Does he have a technique for getting it open, without tools or a tricorder? It does occur to Dr. Mäkeläinen that they could simply ask a crewmember for basic information about the ship's layout, if they could find one who was not too busy, spoke a mutually intelligible language, and was willing to talk to them, none of which are anywhere near given.

Graham flashes a grim smile. "Yeah, well I'll take 'more openly hostile' but 'a lot smaller' any day of the week, right?"

He shakes his head. "And...don't mention it, stepping in front. Communications is your job, security mine. And whether or not that guy...uh, Uwat...understood anything at all, you made some smart choices about what to say."

The Uwat waits until Graham and Kylah retrace their steps and pass back through the heavy door through which they were admitted. The door closes behind them with a thud.

Rawlings says, "Yeah, it could be. Sorry, Doc, I was just frustrated. There's so much I want to know about this ship. I thought it might be worth just trying hitting some buttons at random." He shakes his head. "Aw, hell. Stupid of me."

The standing Chalnoth says to Onn, "We are warriors, and our victories are legendary! But we have no wish to share such tales with the likes of you. We are gaming now, and do not appreciate interruptions by puny offworlders while we do so. And so again I say, begone!" he repeats, taking a long, threatening step towards Onn.

Rangin makes a small, inarticulate sound, and all three Chalnoth stiffen and then crumple to the deck.

Seconds later, Graham and Kylah round a corner and see their shipmates staring at the fallen aliens.

About to remark that no one has ever called any part of her body "puny," Nia is interrupted by Rangin's odd noise. She's alarmed enough to pivot to face him. "What's wro--"

Then she hears the thudding noises, three of them, and she swivels back.

"What the hell?" she splutters, astonished, before she remembers the strangled sound from the man beside her. Her gaze darts to examine him. "Are you okay? Did something happen?" The question's idiotic, because obviously something happened, but her concern is for her crewmate. "Did you feel...whatever they did?"

But then why didn't she notice anything? Maybe some security feature kicked in to knock the Chalnoth out, and Rangin breathed it in, and...and Nia wasn't affected due to her taking in less air with each breath?

That sounds even more idiotic. A third strike of idiocy occurs when she moves toward the Chalnoth's apparently lifeless, or at least motionless bodies. Anyone more senior than a cadet should show more caution, but self-preservation has been shocked out of her.

Staring at them helplessly, she crouches down for a closer look to see if they're dead or alive. She delicately touches the wrists and neck of the guy she was talking to, although whether their pulse can be found in the same place as in humanoids, Nia can't guess.

She looks over her shoulder to the Coridanite. "You know alien bodies better than I do. Internally, anyway. Damn I wish you had a tricord--"

Yet again she's cut off, this time when, behind Rangin, she spots a very welcome sight rounding the corner. "Book," she blurts, the flood of relief making her unable to say more.

Kylah thanks Lt. Graham for his kindness, but as soon as they come across Velir and Lt. Onn, Kylah freezes. Two--no, Lt. Onn is standing in front of a third--huge Chalnoth bodies lie as if there has been a fight. For a moment she even thinks she sees blood, but a second glance identifies the red as some metal object she does not recognize.

Lt. Onn seems unharmed, though her surprisingly vulnerable expression upon seeing Kylah and Lt. Graham indicates something highly disturbing occurred. Even without the clear emotion widening the older woman's eyes, Kylah can feel her agitation from here.

Naturally Kylah's attention is drawn like a magnet to Velir. He has not turned toward them yet, but he is upright and...frankly, as still as the Chalnoth on the floor. He does not know I am here. He thinks it is only Lt. Graham. She is about to move to him before jerking to a halt. Perhaps Lt. Graham will prefer to check on the situation first. As he said: she is Communications; he is Security. This is his bailiwick and it would be foolish to go near the others until it is deemed safe.

Kylah does not even know if they should speak. Still, she is compelled to communicate to Velir, and she has already vowed to herself not to intrude on his thoughts. So all she does is clasp her suddenly clammy hands together and says in a voice full of trepidation and concern, "Velir?" She turns anxiously to Lt. Graham, waiting for him to make the call.

"On the contrary; I cannot stand sitting around without knowing as much as the deck plan," says Dr. Mäkeläinen. "If we could just find a talkative Uwat--- maybe they're proud of their ship and eager to show it off, or at least talk about it. Or perhaps they take the discretion thing a little too far, but it doesn't hurt to ask."

He regards the door blocking their path and says, "You've noticed how every environment features a constant background of sounds, and hardware and panels--- that could be animals and vegetation on a planet--- but you stop consciously noticing it, until you arrive someplace new.

"We have to backtrack, then. I would check out the next deck down--- maybe there is a way aft--- but I suppose there is no time right now. We promised we would check back in with the others."

"Did...someone...kill...the...Chalnoth?" Graham asks, forcing a steady, calm tone. Not that he was alarmed at the moment...alarm could come later. But at the moment...what in the hell had happened?

Nia glances back at the Chalnoth, and while she can't feel their pulses through their uniforms or fur, she can now see their breathing. Relief melts her frozen expression and her head whips around to Booker. "No. They're alive. At least for now. I--"

She cuts herself off and stares at him. "Wait. You're asking us if we did this to them? With what weapons? I doubt I could lift a phaser right now, and neither one of us is likely to have gotten the drop on anyone their size, much less three."

Her indignation isn't fair. Book's the C.O. now, and Security always. He's entitled to chase the facts. "Look, we weren't even nearby when...whatever happened. I was over where Rangi--Ginran is, meters away. We'd just come across these guys playing some game, I asked about it, and they wouldn't deal me in. One of them ordered us away, and--and I didn't think there was any real danger. The leader got up and that's when I heard Ganrin--Ringar--oh screw this, him, damn it!" she snaps, head jerking in Rangin's direction.

"He kinda groaned or grunted. I thought he'd been scared or was choking or something and I tried to see if he was all right. That's when I heard these three drop. Not a peep out of 'em. Just clunk." Nia's attention and concern return to Rangin and she tries to stand. But that's much easier said than done: her knees are rubbery and dizziness makes her reel. To remain upright--semi--she bends at the waist and rests her hands on her thighs to balance.

"You never answered," she says in an exhale. "Are you okay? Did you feel something? Or see what happened to them?" Nia stares at Rangin but addresses Booker. "If he felt pain from whatever took out the Chalnoth, like Jol's secret security measure...It didn't affect me. I didn't notice a damn thing. Sorry," she finishes, embarrassed.

Graham rushes over to Nia to help her remain standing. "It's OK, I've got you," he says under his breath.

"Understood, lieutenant," Graham says more loudly, acknowledging Onn's professional report despite her health and the shitty circumstances.

"Mr. Ran - Gingran, report, what happened here?"

Kylah thinks she's kept her burgeoning fears in check, but when Lt. Onn mentions that Velir might have been hurt, she bites her lip and it is all she can do to remain still and silent.

But she cannot help herself: when the Lieutenant mentions Velir's groan or grunt or whatever it might have been, Kylah's lips part with her gasp. He apparently does not look different; Lt. Onn would have described that. His own immobile frame and ongoing avoidance of answering the most basic question clinch Kylah's suspicions.

As Lt. Graham has his hands full--literally--supporting Lt. Onn, Kylah rushes forward to Velir. She is unsure if he is traumatized, so she does nothing to startle him. Difficult as it is, she does not interrupt Lt. Graham's focus by speaking to Velir--especially not the way she wishes to. All she can do is peer at his face, trying to take a measure of his status.

But the obvious pressing need must be addressed. "I must fetch the Doctor," she murmurs, frustrated yet again by the lack of communicators. She has no idea where he and Mr. Rawlings are. "If I cannot find him...perhaps the ship's medical staff? Those men need to be examined. I suppose there is likely a comms panel nearby."

The three Chalnoth are indeed still alive, although completely unconscious and breathing shallowly, dumped like sacks of potatoes on the deck.

Rangin appears to be shock. He says nothing but simply stands there, rigid, his eyes open but unseeing. Only his fingers are moving, slowly clenching and unclenching. After a few seconds he utters a low moan.

Rawlings rubs his chin and says, "Whatever you want, Doc. I suppose it is about time we check back in."

"Don't misunderstand," Dr. Mäkeläinen says, "we absolutely need to find out more about this ship. Also, who knows when will we get the chance to see an Uwat packet up close again? But if we check out the lower decks first we'll be late. We should check back in, report, and try again."

Before finally moving back, Mäkeläinen is captivated for a long moment peering at the controls Rawlings was touching earlier. The labels [if any] he cannot read, but he knows there is meaning behind them.

"Sure thing, Doc," Rawlings says, and moves off.

Dr. Mäkeläinen sees that about half of the buttons around the doorframe have very shallow, barely-visible embossed markings on them.

Book's I've got you, while Nia's in his arms, makes her close her eyes against the surge of conflicting emotions. What a gift these words would be. If true. "Not anymore you don't," she murmurs. "Thanks, I'm fine, except for whatever the hell just happened to everyone but me."

Then, inevitably, Kylah makes a decent suggestion that's also completely impractical. "I did not just hear you ask to go off on your own. Over my dead bo--" She catches herself. "I should rephrase that. Besides, it's not up to me. Go ahead Booker. It's your show."

Nia extricates herself reluctantly from the familiar warmth, solidity and sense of a whispered you belong here of his embrace. Rubbing her arms, she looks back up at him to add a quiet reminder. "But no ranks here."

"Shit." Graham whispers. In response to the tension between himself and Nia if nothing else.

But of course, there was a lot else.

He shakes his head. "Voice and visual range only," he says. "We move as far as we can toward our rooms keeping these, uh, guys, in view." He rubs his head. "Assuming we can move Ra- Ginran." He points to Kylah. "You move beyond that only within sight or audible call-out: "hello" every 30 seconds."

He exhales. "We move as a group."

"Yes... I don't know what these symbols mean," Mäkeläinen mutters. An interesting puzzle. "If it is a code, it could take much longer than a couple of minutes to work it out. The sound has something to do with it?... Moreover, speaking from personal experience, in an enclosed environment, pressing unknown buttons in proximity to unknown machinery may be unwise." Sometimes, there is no choice. "We have no idea of the safeguards."

He shakes his head. "Better Nia have a look." And better see if she feels up to it. "Off to the rendezvous, then." The doctor keeps pace with Rawlings, heading back the way they came from.

Kylah would be taken aback by Lt. Onn's verbal slap, but... that would require surprise. The C.O.--apparently former C.O.?--has made it clear Kylah is walking a frayed tightrope with her. Her gaze darts to Lt. Graham, for whom she is, as usual, grateful. She did not expect him to allow her even this much freedom.

"Thank you, sir." Her words are slow, because the idea of leaving Velir's side now frightens her. Focusing on him, eyes staring into his even if he does not see her, Kylah lifts her hand gently to brush the hair from his troubled brow. "You will be all right," she says quietly--aloud. But when her fingertips graze his skin, she tries to withdraw all thoughts of the rest of the world to seek his mind and soul.

Can you hear me, Velir? Can you say anything? Please, if you can...

Since she cannot continue stand to there with her fingers lightly placed against his cheek, she drops her hand to his, clasping it with just the barest pressure, enough to keep them connected but not alarm him--nor outrage Lts. Graham and Onn.

Tell me what has happened to you, my heart. Her teeth gnaw at her lower lip. Or what you have done.

And breaking a vow no one knows she made, Kylah searches his thoughts, his emotions.

If she hears/senses nothing significant, she will release his hand, thank Lt. Graham again, and head down the corridor.

Graham and his shipmates move down the corridor, back towards their rooms. Rangin allows himself to be led along, stumbling just a little now and then.

Kylah, when she touches him, distantly senses his consciousness, but no coherent thoughts. She does get a slight but perceptible psi impression of his surprise and fear, however.

Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings round a corner to see their shipmates moving towards them as a group. Something seems to be wrong with Rangin, the doctor notices at once.

Bizhi takes in Rangin's condition and wastes no time, already moving to help him. "Easy; lean him against the bulkhead," he asks Lt. Graham (or whoever is in position to support the stricken man).

"Ginran? Velir? Can you hear me? What happened, man?" he asks, assessing his responsiveness. This morning when he looked in on him, he was in fair condition, on the mend. His own diagnostic skills cannot be slipping to that extent--- therefore something just happened. External, or was there a latent condition all along? He checks Rangin for any obvious injuries, that he is not bleeding, that his pulse and breathing are steady.

Kylah's cold hands clasp each other while she watches Dr. Mäkeläinen. "He is afraid," she tells him, as if the doctor cannot glean that from Velir's manner and haunted eyes--or perhaps they only seem haunted to her, with his ice-encased emotions transmitted plainly enough to make her shudder. "He does not seem able to speak. He will not answer me and he is not..." Peering into his face, her own eyes pleading, she shakes his head. "I cannot tell if he even sees me."

Relieved to have found Dr. Mäkeläinen and T, Nia leans unobtrusively against a wall, arms crossed over her chest. Rangin looks like she feels. And she feels pretty crappy while looking at him. No commanding officer--no respectable C.O.--finds it easy to accept one of their crew injured in the line of duty.

She curtly explains to Dr. M. what she and Rangin experienced in the corridor. What he experienced. I was right there. How in the name of Seht'dar's holy balls did I fail to see what happened? There's little in her story to help the Doc, as far as she can tell. Except that it happened to the Chalnoth, too.

Useless and tired--and tired of being useless--Nia reaches out and taps Book's arm with a flutter of the back of her hand. "Hey," she murmurs. "What do you want to do about the guys we just left? I'm picturing someone stumbling across them, or them waking up to find us gone, and...I don't see either scenario playing out to our advantage." She sighs and lifts a shoulder. "For whatever that's worth."

Graham nods at Onn and rubs his chin. "Doc..." he gives Mäkeläinen a moment to deal with Rangin and process his request for his attention. "We need some galaxy-class bullshit, Doc." He exhales. "I'm thinking our story is that we suspect the Chalnoth are allergic in some way to Coridanite or Sidonian pheromones. These guys clearly haven't met Sidonians before, for sure."

He glances at Onn and then the doctor and back. "Gotta make it sound plausible if anyone asks. But the upshot is...the best idea is keeping our respective distances. We can...volunteer...to stick to our quarters as much as possible."

Rangin shudders and then gasps. He looks around briefly before his eyes focus on Kylah, and then on Dr. Mäkeläinen. He says shakily, "I'm... what just happened?"

Rawlings looks over the Chalnoth bodies on the deck with interest. "I could try to find somewhere out of the way to stash them. But I'm guessing either they're going to wake up on their own, or someone's going to find them, and who knows how long that might take? We might not like what happens next as to either option."

Nia watches Rawlings before turning back to Booker, a weary but still amused smile quirking her lips. "Took the words right outta my mouth," she says under her breath. "Maybe I should've gone in for Security. Well... you're right, we'll need to 'fess up--at least to some of it--and hope for the best. Anyway, they've gotta have some cams around here."

Squinting, she tries to see any sign of security cameras. "We should've left him there so they'd see one of us was affected too..." She tilts her head in Rangin's direction, but purses her lips. "No. Dumb thought. Just imagine if the others woke before he..."

She belatedly notices that he's out of his seeming stupor, and utters a quick, soft prayer in gratitude. Her eyes blink quickly from the familiar, uncomfortable prickle behind them, though her unproductive tear ducts remain dry. "I may kick it before we get home," Nia says, her tone grim as her gaze slants up at Booker. "But I'll be damned if my memory's tarnished by losing anyone else." After a second she regrets having said that. She swallows. "Have you... Has that happened to you?"

Mid-breath, Kylah freezes when she sees Velir's eyes change from that eerie, vacant stare to... looking like him. More worried and vulnerable than usual, but still Velir Rangin.

It is all she can do not to gather him into an embrace. She does clutch his fingers more tightly. "You are all right. You are here. Do you truly not remember?" She glances in the direction of the Chalnoth, then quickly takes Velir in again. "We do not yet know what happened. All of you were affected. Except the lieu-- except Onn."

Swiftly facing Dr. Mäkeläinen, she lowers her voice. "This is not the same," she insists. "It is not what happened last night. He was not affected like this. And all he did was little more than a wish for that Chalnoth to change his mind. It was influence, not force. And he was fine. None of us even knew he'd done anything, not even I, and I--"

Kylah stops herself in time, and struggles to keep from being heard by the other three officers. "I would have noticed," she says, which is true enough. "What could this have been, sir?"

Bizhi takes in all the information.

"So, Ginran froze up, then something hit him and the Chalnoth, they went down, he stayed on his feet but went into shock, but you were standing right next to them and felt nothing?" he confirms with Nia.

He listens to Kylah, looks at her cannily, and whispers, "I don't have the answer yet. He looks like he is coming around: don't fear. Let's first hear what he has to tell us."

"I'll tell you," he addresses everybody, "he mentioned feeling... off... when we first encountered the Chalnoth yesterday. I asked him to report to me if he felt something similar again. Allergies, indeed. But we were all together in a room earlier, and nothing happened. T'Ves was there, and I asked her as directly as I dared, just to rule out, let's call it, psychic feedback and related phenomena, but she sensed nothing out of the ordinary, at least nothing she saw fit to mention.

"If it was a weapon, or security system, then who triggered it, and why? Nothing warranted it. And why the choice of targets? Nothing about this is straightforward."

"I am not in favor of dumping the bodies, as it were," he says in response to Rawlings. "If they are going to wake up with no clear memory of what happened--- that's one thing, but we can't just stuff them in a locker. What would you do in that situation? We don't even know yet that they are unharmed, nor Ginran, for that matter. We don't know how the crew is going to respond."

In response to Rangin, the doctor says, "You went away for a spell. What is the last thing you remember?"

Onn sees no sign of security cameras among the oddly-shaped, curvy bulkheads and overheads of the Uwat starship.

Rangin still seems somewhat dazed, but coming around. He says, "I remember the... what are they... Chelnak? The aliens... the big aliens. The ugly ones. They were looking at something on the deck. They... they seemed to be threatening the lieutenant. Were they? It seemed so. I thought I had to do something. And I... I...." He looks like he's about to cry. "That's all I remember."

Rawlings says quietly, "Maybe we should go back to our cabins, or at least somewhere else?"

Kylah hates that her instinct is to let go of Velir's hand, but it is the same protective instinct she would have if a phaser struck the wall beside her. His emotions are already unpredictable, and she is alarmed enough just standing so close. The sight of Velir's fear and confusion makes her throat ache.

"Do not say more," she whispers, the same warning she has heard her entire life, before returning to a normal tone to the others. "Mr. Rawlings is right. If they wake up--we do not know what they are capable of."

Kylah's gaze drifts back to Velir. She does not know what he is capable of, either.

At first, Nia's relieved by the apparent lack of security cams. But on second thought, that means anything can go on, and no one'll be the wiser. If someone goes missing, there'll be no way to track her. (Nia is, of course, thinking of Kylah, because of course it'd be her.) All the more reason for the group to stay as a group.

Book doesn't appear to have time or inclination to answer her question before Rangin returns to some semblence of sentience... but his inarticulate speech is so far from what she expects from him that she takes a sharp look at the doctor.

"Um, no, I didn't feel a thing. Or see a thing. They weren't threatening me, specifically. I don't think," she says carefully in response to Rangin's words. "Not sure what you thought you could've done, gallant as you may be. If they three wanted to take a piece outta me, or the both of us, they would've."

She turns back to the lumps behind them. What'd be their preferred form of attack? Tooth and claw, probably? Normally, that'd be ideal. It's what her scales are for. Trouble is... nothing about her body is normal anymore.

Belatedly she catches up with Double-T and Kylah's suggestions to scram. Nia can't help but scoff. "And hide in our cabins for the rest of the trip? On the assumption the big hairballs don't demand our heads and Jol grants their wish?" She arches an eyebrow at Mäkeläinen. "Are you saying there might've been some weird... psychic allergy going on? But like you said, it wasn't triggered during breakfast, and the chief hairball was acting pretty aggressive then, too."

Tired of standing, Nia leans a little more against the wall. "I don't know. Your decision, Book. Only could you make it fast?" She runs a hand across her forehead, then glances back up at him. "I forgot. Were you able to send a message back home?"

t the moment Graham is feeling the Chalnoth are lucky for being unconscious.

"But I'll be damned if my memory's tarnished by losing anyone else....Have you... Has that happened to you?"

It takes Graham a long time to process this. Because his relationship with Nia, who's asking it, and maybe Nia herself in a life-or-death sense are the latest and most frighteningly imminent cases of that.

He nods. "Yeah, yeah," he grunts quietly. "And uh, we...we got a message out," he says in a low voice to Nia as well

"Good advice, Mr. Rawlings," he says more loudly.

"Look--" he glances at Nia first, then at the rest of the team. "We have no goddamn idea if whatever happened will happen again if we're standing here." (At that he glances at Rangin.) "But we can't leave anyone behind alone with these guys without Ran - eh, Ginran, to be potentially torn limb from limb. So---yeah, let's get back to our quarters,"

About Rangin, Dr. Mäkeläinen answers Lt. Onn's look with a little shake of the head. He may be responsive, but the man is clearly still confused with the aftereffects of whatever scrambled his brains.

"I'm saying it's not random. But why him, and them, and what triggered it... everyone was acting, well, quite normally, from what you say. Still, Ginran has been visibly anxious in the presence of Chalnoth ever since we boarded, understandable with what he's been through. Who knows what he unconsciously thought was going on? It's not mere thoughts that felled four men, though. Energy blast, psychic or telepathic cascade, all those things would leave residual neurological evidence.

"Regardless, he should get his head scanned at what passes for an infirmary around here. Goes double for our new friends."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's quick thinking and confidence are impressive indeed; Kylah herself could not think of a more believable obfuscation to hide Velir's increasingly worrisome abilities. Assuming this is the doctor's attempt to fulfill her request to keep Velir's unpredictable abilities under wraps. Perhaps he is sincere? She is too ill at ease to attempt to gauge his motives. For once the suggestion of a mind scan is not directed at her, but the thought is still unnerving.

She exhales in heavy relief when Lt. Graham decides to leave, and agrees with a quick "Yes sir" before turning back to Velir. "Come, we shall return to our cabins," she coaxes in a voice like a lullaby. "It will be safe there."

Nia nods in gratitude for Book's short but emotionally resonant acknowledgment of a C.O.'s worst nightmare. His look at her is also brief but intense--and as always his gaze hits her chest and stomach with a thud of longing. However, if he's sending a message with it, Nia's thoughts are too hazy to receive it.

Similarly, throughout Dr. M's recitation, she does her best to follow along, squinting as if trying to identify his theories using an invisible microscope. Should she get scanned too? Why did this...whatever it was...not affect her own mind?

That's easy. Hypobilitria's killing off brain cells by the minute. Probably not enough mind to affect.

The thought amuses her and she laughs softly, even as Book disagrees with her judgment (also justifiable given the aforementioned brain shrinkage). Okay, so they're gonna leave the unconscious trio here. Why not. Odds are it's the best decision. Maybe the Chalnoth won't recall what happened. After all, once Rangin recovered he couldn't even remember the dudes' race, and he's a frickin' xenobiologist.

Nia casually uses her shoulder to push away from the comfy wall into a more upright position, ready and willing to hide out in a bunk.

Graham offers an arm to Onn. "I've got your six," he says quietly, not entirely sure whether she'll appreciate the offer or find it objectionable in front of the rest of the team.

Rangin, hearing Kylah's quiet words, looks right at her and seems to refocus. His eyes widen slightly. Then he nods thoughtfully and squeezes her hand. He allows himself to be led away from the Chalnoth and back towards the Starfleet party's cabins.

You pass no one in the corridors on the way there but a single young Vulcan woman, who looks at you curiously for a moment before averting her gaze. She bows slightly as you pass.

Nia almost misses the Vulcan, and nods to acknowledge the reverence, although the religious woman likely can't see her. Nia appreciates the worshipful, most anyway, and if her time is limited, she's not shuffling off to the Great Unknowable with disrespecting someone else's beliefs as one of her last acts.

I've got your six. So Booker. Nia takes up his offer, slipping her arm through his elbow. She lets her muscles relax against him--gravity seems heavier than usual--and gives a small smile of relief. "As always."

As they walk, Kylah notices the Vulcan passing by and sees the averted gaze. With a tiny frown, she says, "Good morning, Sister." Regardless of whatever superstitions these women believe in, Kylah will not abandon the grace and respect of her station. She is allowed to speak, and so she will greet a traveler as she would anyone else.

With Velir, she maintains her gentle encouragement by not pulling her hand from his own. Yet she is not completely comfortable being in close skin contact with him, given his demonstrated ability to identify her thoughts--and to project his own. And, too, she cannot forget the uncanny sensation from earlier, when he managed to implant the desire in her mind to kneel and clean the mess from Lt. Graham's spilled tray.

His trauma, though ebbing, haunts her. How much more can he take? This mission has been as cruel to him as their missions usually are for Kylah. Threatened by the Chalnoth--well, she assumes he must have felt threatened; discovering he has some inexplicable new abilities that appear to be hard to control; worst of all, the assault by and subsequent self-defense killing of that stranger. Not to mention what they all went through with the shuttle.

And that other attack, she remembers suddenly. Kylah turns to Velir and glances at his neckline, then moves slightly closer to Dr. Mäkeläinen.

"Sir," she says softly. "I know he was cleared by the hospital. But is it possible that he was harmed by that...ice creature?" Kylah shudders at the memory of those massive blobs hovering over them. "Their teeth were so very thin. Could they have punctured the skin without being noticed?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen addresses Lt Graham as they proceed. "What about alerting the crew? Granted, we need to be superlatively careful how we report this incident. But we just left three people on the deck, they're victims too--- we don't know what shape they are in. Also, if that acolyte does not stumble upon them in the next couple of minutes, either one of their mates, or a ship's officer, likely will."

He keeps an eye on Rangin. If he is nearly lucid already, he does not fear the worst for the Chalnoth, but he was not joking about head scans all around--- also to look for evidence of what exactly happened.

Sotto voce, with Kylah: "If it did happen, it is yet again more trauma to his system in a relatively short time, atop the muckle you've told me about. Are you thinking it is some kind of synergistic effect?"

Straightening to the best of her ability, Nia makes the mistake of looking around quickly at the novice, then--clamping her jaw together to get past the vertigo--back at the others. "I didn't think of her coming across them," she says, honest but ashamed. "Great. That's what I was talking about. Whether someone finds them or they wake up alone, it's a bad look for us--to put it mildly." She bites her lip and looks back. Is the Vulcan indeed heading to the same area? Should they call her back? Oh yeah, that won't look suspicious at all.

Nodding, Kylah is now slightly distracted by the realization that she has been focusing so much on Velir that she did not consider the young woman a possible witness. "Yes, an addition to the stress, but also... I suppose you have ruled out whether those creatures have some sort of venom or toxin?"

Swallowing, she squeezes Velir's hand reflexively. How can they prevent the Vulcan from seeing the unconscious figures who are lying there? An immediate, impulsive and unworthy part of her flashes a response: Velir could influence her, tell her to turn back. He could make her believe she has forgotten something and--

She inhales sharply. The recognition of what she herself is suggesting, even silently, is disgraceful. Her eyes dart to stare at their clasped, connected hands, and at once hopes that Velir did not hear her. Or that his better discipline and moral compass will repel him from such an act.

Of course they will. Besides, how could he compel a Vulcan? He told her the Chalnoth seem uniquely suited, and Kylah knows no Vulcan would be so easy to manipulate. She does not know what she was thinking. If anything, her impulse reveals much more about her--and does not paint a picture she likes.

It is how Aldaan thinks.

She recovers from the moment and meets his gaze with far more composure than she felt a moment ago. To the doctor, she replies, "I was about to search for a comm panel to find a way to contact you. As soon as I saw him. Them. You are right. We should do so quickly."

Graham nodes to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Yeah, you're right we should notify the crew. I'd trust you most to come up with a, uh, plausible explanation of an, ah, hard-to-pin down phenomenon that is also clear we didn't lay a glove on them, if you're up for it."

The young Vulcan woman glances up and briefly makes eye contact with Kylah when the latter greets her, but says nothing. She then walks back down the corridor, away from you.

Soon you stand before the doors to your quarters, having passed no one else along the way.

"It touched him, all right," the Doctor explains to Kylah, "but a toxic or anaphylactic reaction would not have come on suddenly days later. Something would have been evident in the hospital, while he was under observation. Can't rule anything out before all the physical evidence, but whatever triggered these... episodes, I would not bet on venom."

He says to Graham, "I can certainly call it in and talk to them. Nothing should reflect badly on us; we have not done anything wrong. Don't yet have much to tell them beyond my initial assessment, which is why it is imperative to get everyone involved into the sickbay as soon as possible." He looks at Nia --- "You too, I fear. Even though you did not feel any pain nor lose consciousness."

Kylah's hands curl into fists, until she realizes she might be hurting Velir with her nails and releases him. "It was not even twenty-four hours later," she exhales to Velir, lost and frustrated. "Is that not true? That creature--the one that attacked us in the snow. It was after the crash, and yesterday you were attacked by that fiend in the club, and then you saw Teloqq..."

She falls into silence. She is overwhelming him, and he must be confused and disoriented enough. "I am sorry, my heart," she whispers and brushes her hand along his sleeve. "Go see if they can scan you. And advocate for yourself. You are the expert in alien biology, and you have had bad experiences with so many. The Sakathians. Mr. Palver and his mental powers. The--the ice vampires. And now these Chalnoth. Who knows what cocktail of toxins or allergies or simply germs could have triggered something within you?"

Lifting his hand, she kisses his fingers gently and steps back toward the cabin, finding Ens. Rawlings. "Mr.--Terrence? Do you wish to wait in our cabin? Unless Mr. Graham has ord--suggestions for us." Kylah lifts her gaze to Velir again. "Or do you wish me to join you? I do not know how many their medical unit can hold."

Mäkeläinen's recommendation--no, it's a command at this point--makes Nia want to moan in aggravation. He's right, she knows that logically, but the vastly, infinitely larger stubborn part of her wants to drop where she's standing in protest.

All the time freezing and miserable on the Tesla, all the hours numb in the hospital, all the mental power spent agonizing...

Who cares about the lack of Bilitrium, the fear and infirmity will suffocate her just fine.

Nia's gaze glides yearningly along the cabin door to eventually reach the doctor. She blinks her assent, but can't help from sighing. "'m warning you guys now, if we meet up with any of the hairballs I'm not gonna be much use in a fight."

Mäkeläinen feels the best way to handle this with the Uwat is to stick to business, and rapid patient assessment is precisely his business. First, to get a hold of one who understands Federation Standard--- they have not passed any, so if he can raise someone by pushing a button on the intercom-looking equipment in their quarters, he will, otherwise he will appeal to Kylah and Graham for help with this.

His report will be, "Medical emergency: my companions and I were on our way back to our quarters when we encountered a group of four, male humanoids, incapacitated by an unknown force. One additional humanoid present, no apparent injuries, reports they suddenly lost consciousness and collapsed. Initial assessment: no overt physical damage, no sign of violence. One victim regained consciousness, suffering from memory loss and confusion. We temporarily moved him to his quarters to recover. Requesting cranial scans for all five, looking for any neurological trauma, abnormalities, and physical traces of toxins, radiation, or energy discharges." Most of this he can later explain to the medic, if any; first they need to contact an officer and make it clear there is an urgent situation.

Rangin has been much poked and prodded and scanned recently, not least by Bizhi himself, but what if Kylah is right, he missed something, and Rangin really is an unwitting vector of psychic chaos? Bizhi is the one responsible for letting him wander around public areas in that condition. He could have confined him to quarters this morning.

He says to Nia, "I would say stay here and try to rest, but it's not certain they use portable medical tricorders." Hope they do not try sticking her in a cargo scanner in the freezing-cold hold. I'm right here with you. I really hope not, but if we do have to climb down a hatch, we'll help you down."

"That sounds convincing to me, doctor," Graham says. "Are you thinking that we leave Rangin here in his quarters for the moment, or hustle him to Sick Bay too immediately?"

Rangin smiles at Kylah. He seems not to hear Graham and says to her, quietly and a little hoarsely, "Thank you. I'm feeling better already. But please come with me, if you can."

Rawlings looks with concern at Rangin and replies to Kylah, "I'll go wherever I'm needed. I think we'll be safer, or at least better off, in our cabins if a bunch of angry Chalnoth come our way, though."

Graham gives Rawlings a quick nod. "Agreed, Mr. Rawlings."

Kylah's heart beats like a fluttering hummingbird when she sees Velir's tender smile, which she returns warmly. He has rarely been so affectionate to her in public, and she cannot help but match his openness. "I shall be with you, wherever I can."

She turns to Dr. Mäkeläinen, still happy but trying to better control her pleased expression. With Lt. Onn's situation, it is unseemly; with Lt. Graham, she is uneasy as to how he will react to the obvious changed dynamic between her and Velir. "Sir, ought we to wait for a response, or may we start off now?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen replies, "I think we should stay with him here, until we get further instructions. Also, Terrance and I have not located the Sickbay yet. Did you happen to run across it?"

As the others talk, Nia has sat down on her bunk for a moment. Remembering her experience earlier when her locked scales sent her toppling to the deck, she's curious whether the metal's still ice-cold. To check, she leans over and experimentally brushes the back of her hand against the metal. Just wondering if things heat up during the day watch. Or shift. Who knows what they call it here.

Then she catches the contrasting opinions of the Security and Medical officers. Her chin lifts so she can volley her gaze between them.

When Dr. M. agrees with Security, that solves the issue. Good, at least she can sit for a moment and think. "I don't remember passing anything that looked like a Sick Bay. Do you?" She's asking Rangin but of course, his memory's fuzzy. She shrugs and just leans back.

"I... do not think we saw a Sick Bay." Kylah frowns in thought, then blinks with a flash of memory. "But unless your cabin is different from ours, the comm unit is not useful for our needs. I checked ours last night and it was just a glorified one-way radio reciever. We can listen to broadcasts--barely--if we can find them. But there was no obvious way to get in contact with the crew."

"Son of a bitch," Graham growls, mostly to himself but clearly audible, rubbing his chin. "Not the news I wanted to hear, but that's good work, Mr. Kylah."

He exhales a big breath.

"All right, here's what I propose. Ensign Kylah and I will seek out some crewmembers and / or a sickbay." She's most likely to be able to handle diplomacy with either Uwat or Chalnoth, he thinks. Also, she seems to have the means to promise the Uwat ever more money, which he's sure they'll demand in exchange for...well, anything more than the team already has, including medical care.

"The rest of the team can bunker down here."

"Do you not think the Doctor would be best equipped to explain..." Kylah shifts her uneasy attention to Velir, then Dr. Mäkeläinen. She is flattered by Lt. Graham's praise but uncertain whether it is wise to leave Velir, who seems particularly vulnerable right now. But helping Lt. Graham will help Velir in the end anyway.

Perhaps he wishes Dr. Mäkeläinen to stay and keep a close watch on Velir. Not just Velir. Kylah takes the briefest of glances at the older woman on the bunk before snapping her eyes back to Lt. Graham. "If you think I can be of use, of course I will go, sir."

Dr. Mäkeläinen says, "The important thing is to get things moving: get hold of an officer, impress upon them there is an urgent situation, and get clearance to move to the medical bay--- I am assuming there is at least a rudimentary station. In the extreme there is nothing, a non-invasive scanner." They do take passengers, not to mention their own crew and offspring, so he expects there to be something, although Dr. Mäkeläinen knows better than to presume what be the Uwat's philosophy on medicine. Nevertheless, they must certainly understand the concept of, and be prepared for, unforeseen events: rad leak, whatever.

"I will stay with our patients and accompany them to the Sick Bay. I will provide whatever explanations are necessary to whoever needs to know."

'Our patients.' That's all Nia is now. Not pilot, not Helmswoman, not Lieutenant and definitely not C.O. Her gaze drops swiftly to the deck, and she bows her head to hide the dismayed reaction.

Was it just two days ago that she'd swung herself up onto the Tesla? Knowing every centimeter of that craft, high on the intoxicating rush of anticipation, independence and power that always floods through her body when preparing to launch and lead a crew, her crew, on a mission. The weight of responsibility, of the Captain's trust in Nia's capabilities, also rested on her shoulders. But she's always worn that sobering honor easily.

She should be accompanying Booker. Together on this unfamiliar ship, colleagues and friends if nothing else. Shooting the breeze. Awkward at first, maybe--no, probably, be honest--because they haven't spent time truly alone since the wedding, except for a few moments last night, and all that got communicated there was her damn health status.

They'd had good chemistry as soon as they met. Friend-chemistry, at first. She'd got a kick out of him, enjoyed his company so much. And vice versa. Right?

Her hands curl to strangle the edge of the underwhelming mattress, and she says nothing.

Onn notices that the deck is still very cold underfoot.

You hear what sound like Chalnoth voices shouting in the distance.

Graham and Kylah leave to look for a Sickbay or its equivalent; the other four Starfleet personnel remain behind, locked in your quarters.

Kylah's reluctant leave-taking of Velir has her sober as she walks by Lt. Graham's side. The shouts of the Chalnoth twist her insides with a knot of alarm. "That... that is them?" She sounds childish even to her ears, and does her best to tamp down her anxiety.

"At least I assume it is the Chalnoth. I have only heard two of them. But it does not sound like either Uwat language, and..." With a quick look up at her companion, Kylah tries to force insouciance. "And I do not believe those are the chants of religious Vulcan acolytes."

Despite the circumstances, Graham can't help but laugh. "Ha - yeah, you've got that right, Mr. Kylah," he says. He shakes his head and returns Kylah's glance. "Not that I'd expect the Vulcans to fight out battles for us, but I'd definitely appreciate a few of them along for the ride with us at the moment...their presence might give the Chalnoth some pause. At least if they know about the strength advantages of Vulcans versus Terrans and many other humanoid species."

He pauses. "Uh--on that note. If we run into trouble, and, uh, diplomacy doesn't work...leave me and find some Uwat." He sighs. "I'll slow them down as long as I can."

The Chalnoth shouts don't fill Nia with confidence about Booker's choice of companions. She shifts slightly on the bunk, turning to Double-T with a tiny shake of her head in disbelief. Why would he take a pipsqueak instead of a fellow Security officer, someone who can be useful in a fight?

He must have his reasons. Booker wouldn't drag the princess into a dangerous situation. Or any woman, Nia acknowledges with a sigh. His gallantry and protectiveness--sometimes overprotectiveness--are his most dependable traits.

"I hope those aren't the ones we encountered," she murmurs to Rangin. "Although I'm sure their fellow fuzzies will react just as poorly, depending on what they're told. And assuming they have any sense of comradely loyalty." Which, given the consistent road of bad luck the Yorktown crew have been following, is a depressingly safe assumption.

"Well, we're stuck in here for now. Maybe there's something we should be doing but I'll be damned if I can think of it." Nia clasps her hands, rubbing her knuckles where they brushed against that frigid deck--so cold it feels like a burn. If no one chimes in with a better idea, she'll continue--otherwise, she'll react to them instead. "Since three of us already know a fair amount about each other, I guess we get to force the new guy to share your life story." She nods at Mäkeläinen with an attempt at a wry smile. "Kidding. I don't want to put you too much on the spot. How about... why medicine? And why Starfleet? Feel free to change the subject if you need to. "

The sound of shouting--- the Doctor has the urge to run out and help. He should never have left unconscious victims on their own in the first place. Perhaps they should have all stayed put, or he should have volunteered to remain while Graham took charge of an ambulatory Rangin and the others. What effective help could he have provided, though, beyond waiting to arrange for everyone to be checked out, statim, like they are now? Then again, what if some of the Chalnoth are crashing instead of waking up? He does not doubt the security officers' assessment that loitering would have been unwise. It is himself that he can never help second-guessing.

"One thing is certain about medicine," he says, "one is certain to need it, eventually. That applies just as much if one spends one's days comfortably at home. And, even there, another certainty is that the stars will shift and something will come undone. We can accept that, or prepare to do something about it, vain as that may seem." He seems about to add something, but trails off.

He is not sure yet how positively or negatively Nia feels about Starfleet herself. It is good to see she feels in shape to have this sort of conversation, in any case. He allows, "Starfleet was never the only choice, or even the natural one. Their resources are undeniable. Yet, what is unique are the chances to see situations unimaginable. To learn something that will make a real difference."

Kylah bobs her head in compliance but is struck by the implication of Lt. Graham's words. 'If diplomacy fails...' He does not consider himself diplomatic. So if it fails, it will be my fault.

Her teeth bite down on her lower lip as she contemplates the responsibility. "I...I have not acquitted myself well on this journey thus far. In the nightclub... I blundered speaking to those humans who got so upset when they guessed our background. This morning, Teloqq ignored me entirely."

She pauses for a step or two, then lifts her chin. "But I shall do my best. I shall not fail."

The words display confidence that she does not usually express, at least not since her faith in herself was shattered on OCIII and Anubis. Indeed, she does not feel confident now. He even wishes her to abandon him, forcing him to face those vulpine creatures alone.

Yet what would she do in a physical fight? Or a phaser fight, for that matter, given her poor marksmanship. And more to the point, I have no phaser. Oh why, why has Aldaan not sent me new knives as promised?

Likely the Uwat would have confiscated them too, along with every other useful item they possess. So she must use the only relevant skill she has.

Lt Graham has spent months protecting and defending her. Kylah hopes that, at least once, she can repay the favor.

Rawlings listens attentively to Onn and Dr. Mäkeläinen. Rangin lies down on a bed and closes his eyes.

Graham and Kylah hear what sound like the thumping of several pairs of boots headed in the direction of where they left the unconscious Chalnoth; the shouting diminishes somewhat. The pair round a corner and see an Uwat headed towards them. Kylah thinks it's Jol, but can't be sure.

Graham nods acknowledgement of Kylah's pledge. "I think we've all been jinxed on this mission," he offers by way of consolation.


Seeing the Uwat, he clears his throat. "Ah, excuse us..."

Kylah can certainly not argue with Lt. Graham's point. She spots the Uwat ahead, whom her superior officer addresses. Mr. Jol? She cannot decide. How embarrassing for us if we are seen to confuse some regular crew member as their First Officer.

On the other hand, it would be far worse should they not recognize the one Uwat who has assisted them, and with whom they have had significant conversations. They just spoke with him! She bristles with annoyance at her failure to maintain proper social protocol. It has been too long since she acted as hostess to visitors to her Uncle's guests. Disgraceful. And disrespectful.

Under her breath, she murmurs, "That might be Jol.We should be tactful." She nods politely at the possible First Officer--or his underling, as the case may be--and otherwise remains silent while visually scanning the Uwat to see if she can recognize anything that appears to be a unique identifier on their uniforms*; even better if she recognizes having seen it on Mr. Jol.


* Hm, don't remember if they wear uniforms, or clothes at all for that matter. If not, she'll obviously stick to searching their anatomy, creepy though that is.

"Yes?" the Uwat says at once, his raspy voice sounding much like Jol's, but you still aren't sure if it's him. "You should be in your quarters. The Chalnoth are very unhappy. What happened to their three in Corridor 7H?"

Silent, Kylah does not wish to unilaterally choose a strategy, not with Lt. Graham's experience with such missions dwarfing hers. She would lie and bluff--but that is almost always her first instinct, which rarely serves her well.

Waiting to see what tactic Lt. Graham will choose, she arranges her expression to one of vague concern; that should be neutral enough. The Uwat may not be able to discern humanoid facial features and the nuanced tales they can tell. She is certainly having no luck identifying Uwat faces.

So, while fruitless, Kylah switches to interpreting emotions despite knowing that anger is surely his primary emotion at the moment. Is there anything else? She must acknowledge that most likely, their minds will continue to evade understanding. It is not only that they are non-Federation; her own people were non-Federation-affiliated for most of her life. The Uwat differ from her as much as they do the humans among them.

Yet she has to try. While maintaining her slightly confused expression, Kylah works to detect anything that might help her and Lt. Graham in this predicament.

Dr. Mäkeläinen takes the opportunity to see if Lt. Rangin is still focussed, lost in thought, asleep, or what. "How about you?" he asks him, looking for a response. "You're a scientist--- how did you cross paths with Starfleet?"

Chin supported by her palm, Nia has settled on her side, the cot's blanket pulled over her lower half. Dr. M.'s explanation is telling--more by what he doesn't share than what he does. Not one for ruminating over his past, sounds like. She mulls over his words: Accept something or do something about it. Not a bad philosophy. To a degree, her parents felt the same. Nia too, but it seems more difficult to pull off as she grows older. She's come across more and more unacceptable situations--and changing them isn't possible either.

Blinking, she realizes he's stopped speaking and is now checking on Rangin. She pushes herself up slightly. "Sorry, Doc. Spaced out there. Go ahead, Rangin," she encourages, not wanting to interrupt him. He's so close-mouthed, Nia really doesn't know much of him, either. She knows Rawlings, of course, but the other two men? Nia usually likes to look up the records of her crew, but there wasn't a chance of that with Mäkeläinen.

"But get ready," she adds with a tired but jokey smile toward Mäkeläinen, "Not done with you yet."

"We--uh, our doctor--thinks there may have been some sort of, ah, cross-species allergic reaction. This is potentially the first contact between the Chalnoth and several of our team." He clears his throat. "And he also--he'd appreciate being able to access a medical facility to examine a couple of our folks---just in case."

Although the Uwat have always been difficult to read, Kylah senses more irritation and concern than anger from this one. He brusquely responds to Graham, "This is not the time. Maybe later. For now, return to your quarters and lock yourself in."

Rangin opens his eyes, rouses himself and leans on one elbow. He says, "My homeworld, Coridan, was in pretty bad shape when I was growing up - violent, even anarchic. I saw the positive role Starfleet was playing where it could, and decided I wanted to be part of it. After I graduated from Cordas University, I sought special dispensation from Starfleet to enroll in the Academy despite the fact that Coridan still hadn't been accepted into the Federation. I was lucky to get in. I still believe that the best hope for Coridan, to break the cycle of violence and political instability that goes with the dilithium smuggling, is Federation membership."

Bizhi digests this. It explains a few of his aspects (and pretty much every Starfleet Academy graduate is highly motivated; Bizhi himself can attest to that), but he knows very little yet about his specific quirks. He is glad that Rangin is better--- one must never rely on luck, but it seems to have held out this once. Will it extend to the Chalnoth, though?

Whatever happens, until the situation is under control, he is going to have to order Rangin to confine himself to quarters--- no more afternoon constitutionals around the deck. If there are no games in the Common Room, perhaps one of the Vulcans, or a crew member, can lay hands on a deck of cards?

Nia listens to Rangin and nods slightly as he speaks. She's heard his disagreements with certain decisions aboard the Yorktown--and at times, couldn't truthfully say that he was wrong--but she can't deny all the benefits Starfleet and the Federation as a whole provide to both longtime and fledgling members.

Sidonia is neither, and won't be without significant cultural changes. She has thoughts on that, but no one's asked her. Tilting her head so she can see all three crewmates, Nia gives a mmm-hmm of interest, muffled a little by her palm. "All of us from different planets, different paths to Starfleet. Pretty diverse group, we are."

Nia's gaze slides to Rawlings, warming. They've known each other the longest, and certainly the closest (depending on how far Rangin and Kylah have gone). Still, the others haven't heard his background, so she murmurs with a small smile, "T, you wanna share?" She adds a query to them all about previous postings.

Instinctively, Kylah clasps her hands together, a position of obedience to elders. They are clammy and she rubs them slightly. "Forgive me, sir, we will do as you recommend. But I do not fully understand--why should we lock our door? We--" She glances at Lt. Graham to include him. "We only just heard of this in passing from members of our party. Is there some indication that this...whatever happened...was purposeful? And they blame us? We have no weapons or toxins. One of our friends took ill as well, so Doc told us."

She hesitates. "Once we do return to our cabins, can you please tell us how we may contact someone on the crew? We have not been able to find any communications option within. If there is an emergency--and we have two ill people now--how may we get assistance?"

Bizhi says a few vague words about his previous posting, balancing his natural reticence (plus, he has not known these people very long at all) with feeling good about everyone having this brief moment to sit and talk.

"This isn't my first tour," he says. "Last, I was on the Eriksson." That brings to mind some good friends he had there--- it could be months, or likely years, before he can get together with any of them again. "How to describe it? A lot of subtle details, but by the end it was home. From Starfleet routine down to moments of peril, you would instantly know you were not on the Yorktown. A little smaller, but that is not what I mean. Hard to explain. Each ship develops its own personality. It is analogous to having a unique accent in their speech--- which, incidentally, can really happen on long-duration missions."

Rawlings gets a faraway look in his eyes and says, "I'm from Macon, Georgia, in the United States of America, on Earth. Beautiful area - no place else like it anywhere, really. My family's been farmers for as long as anyone's been keeping track. I've got three younger sisters, all still on Earth, but my parents have both passed on. When I graduated from the Academy, I became the first college graduate in my immediate family. I was posted to the Madrid and the Courageous early on, and I'm a plankowner" - that is, one of the original commissioning crew - "of the Yorktown."

The Uwat tells Graham and Kylah, "It doesn't really matter what you did or didn't do; I'm told the Chalnoth blame you for the collapse of their three troops. You really should take shelter." In response to Kylah's question he says, "The communicator in your quarters doesn't work?" He thinks for a moment and then takes a small silvery cylinder from his tool harness and hands it to her. "Use this if you need to get in touch with me. We have no ship's doctor and only a small infirmary. I am Pell. Grola, the second navigator, is trained in basic medical aid. I will send her to you, if I can."

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

Graham nods approvingly at Kylah and then gratefully at the Uwat. "Thank you," he says. "We appreciate your assistance, and we'll take you advice. He gestures for Ens.Kylah to take the communications device. "And then, let's go..."

Her cupped palms accept the little device, reminding Kylah of an old rite she witnessed from one of her family's guests many, many years ago. The alien's culture required them to give a precious item to their hosts in gratitude, and the one Kylah watched did so to her mother: a gilded flower, something lovely and delicate and, according to the guest, part of a holy ceremony back on their planet. Mother had accepted it with all her usual grace.

A communications device seems just as sacred to Kylah, having been without one at nearly every terrible event since joining Starfleet. She cradles it protectively with her fingers and looks up at the Uwat officer. Her mind works fast to recall her paltry knowledge of basic Uwat until she recalls: "*Thank you, Pell. We are grateful.*" Glancing at Lt. Graham like a child exhibiting his first caught fish to a parent, Kylah smiles and then nods to Pell. "I hope the Chalnoth can be assured none of us harmed their men, and that they recover completely from whatever happened."

She steps close to her senior officer, still holding the device prayerfully, and will leave when he does.



Just adding the link to show that it is indeed canon that Kylah seems to know at least rudimentary Uwat. :)

Bizhi has a younger sister, but he is not at the moment inclined to field questions about his relatives, so he does not mention her.

He does ask with a smile, "Plank owner, eh?" He glances at Rangin and Onn to see if the tradition means something to them. "What privileges does that confer?"

The Uwat looks as surprised as an Uwat is capable of looking, which isn't much, and replies in the same language, You are welcome. May it do you some good. Now go to your quarters, please. At least, that's what Kylah thinks it said.

Rawlings says, smiling, "Bragging rights and a fancy certificate, and when the ship is decommissioned, a piece of her actual deck plating you can hang on your bulkhead... or wall, if you're out of Starfleet yourself by then."

Graham reminds himself to ask how the hell Kylah learned Uwat later...then also reminds himself she's a comms specialist, that's what they do...

"Let's double time," he says to her. "Back to base as it were."

Nia nods enviously at Rawlings. "I don't blame you for being proud," she says, though he's not new to the sentiment. "Never had the pleasure, aside from my parents' ship and of course a couple of shuttles." Sensing the treacherous memories of the latter, she shrugs and, turning to lie on her stomach, props her head on her crossed arms to get a view of Mäkeläinen.

"I don't detect that different an accent in your Fed Standard. Just some unfamiliar, maybe untranslatable words here and there. But that's the fun of meeting so many races, isn't it? Infinite Diversity. We had one kind of people back home. Here..." She looks at her fellow guests. Add in Book and Kylah and it's not a bad mix even just in their party.

Thinking of the others triggers her to glance with a little unease at the door. They're likely okay. Hasn't even been very long since they left. Time's really hard to gauge. Nia's spent over a decade in fairly regular watches, with easy access to chronometers and the barely audible thrum of the engines to serve as a guide to how long and how fast the Yorktown and her past ships were traveling.

"Um Doc," she says with a little tap on his forearm. "How long have we been on board? I oughtta be taking more notice of our ETA, which admittedly is vague anyway. You mind keeping a sort of...record...of the time we've got left? Maybe a log too, if you haven't started one. Tracking how long those meds last before there's some deterioration."

Her words sound embarrassingly obvious even to her. Of course the doctor's doing this already. But she's tired and logey and she wants to contribute something. "Sorry. I'm not telling you how to do your job. It's just...if this compound can really take the place of Bilitrium, that means a lot for my people. It means everything. Offworld life before our time. I'd be proud of that. I could be the medical equivalent of a plankowner. Even if it's post-mortem." Nia offers a smile to take the morbidity out of her words.

"Yes, sir." Walking by Lt. Graham's side, Kylah hastens her pace, moving her short legs faster to match his. As she does not have her duty belt, she keeps the device in her hand.

"I am grateful you asked me to come," she says with another smile. "It is... I cannot express how relieved I feel to have this communicator." Her smile ebbs somewhat. "Do you think their medical crew member will know what to do for... Nia and Velir? I think Doc was hoping to use their medical tech to give proper examinations. It does not seem that is possible."

Kylah sideeyes the rest of the corridor to see that they are, indeed, alone, then exhales. "I hope my uncle gets the message--and replies as soon as possible. If a shuttle flies out to meet us, it could cut our rendezvous time considerably. I do not feel comfortable with two party members so far away from decent medical care when they are so...ill."

It is a sensitive issue, but he is pleased she finds his accent passable, and tells her so, since he knows she is sincere. He consciously put much effort into perfecting his elocution, plus he had his time in Starfleet Academy on Earth. As a colony world and industrial base, Mars always had what, at least he felt at the time, was a diverse population, even if it was hardly that on a galactic scale, so growing up on an entire planet with one kind of people is still a foreign concept to him.

The Doctor does have a reasonably good, though by no means preternatural, sense of time even without technological aids. The lack of clockwork-regular Starfleet shift changes and watches is no help, but he remembers getting up, T'Pol informing them it was late morning, and what they have been up to since then. "It is not quite mid-afternoon [correct that if I botched it :-) Then again, who knows if he is always as on the ball as he tries to be...]. It only feels much longer."

"I have not yet thought of all the ultimate implications," he says, ignoring for the moment her attempt at graveyard humor, "but I agree. Barring a major breakthrough, Bilitrium is, let's face it, hard to get. Even if a ship on Ollos had some, we would never have been able to afford any. However, a substitute that anyone can whip up with a medium-tech chemical fab, that is a different story. And the principle behind it will surely be more widely applicable, to more species and further environments.

"The side effects you are feeling," he says with an abrupt earnestness, "the fatigue and tolerance, that is the first thing for for research to work out. But we know they can be alleviated with genuine Bilitrium. Just another couple of days. We are already on our way home; focus on that. Nothing to do but rest and learn some new card games."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's time estimate is accurate.

Graham and Kylah leave the Uwat crewman and make it back to their quarters without further incident, although the sounds of Chalnoth shouting seem to be coming closer. They find all four of their Starfleet shipmates in one room, which is now a bit crowded.

"Welcome back," Rawlings says. "Any news?"

"Agreed," Graham says after Kylah says she hopes her uncle responds soon. He'd like to know more details about what's up with that, but at the moment he'll simply take whatever they can get.

"And Mr. Kylah," he says before they enter their quarters "you earned your place. I'm pretty sure nobody else has picked up any Uwat."

Graham makes sure the door is locked before answering Rawlings. "Well, we have a communicator, but the medical facilities suck, and the Chalnoth are pissed."

Graham takes a deep breath and surveys the too-small room. "Mr. Rangin--" he glances at the doctor then back at him. "I don't know what kind of condition you're in. I don't know what the hell happened back there with the Chalnoth. But if Mr. Rawlings and I are incapacitated, and the crew is at risk, you do whatever you need to do to bring any and all Chanoth down. That is a direct order."

"Let's take it calmly," Mäkeläinen reacts. "Did you see any Chalnoth--- are they heading here for a go at us?"

He thinks for a second and asks, "Did you see any weapons, or anything they can use to get through a locked door?" Presumably they were scanned before coming on board, but there are ways to smuggle contraband. Or they may simply intend to settle things with knives, or bare-handed. Would they really escalate so quickly? All the shouting must have alerted the crew already.

Nia, inclined to fall asleep, wakes herself up immediately when Booker barges in with Kylah in tow. She pushes herself up on one elbow again and listens to Book's report to the Doc, then gives a double-take when she digests his latest order.

"You're asking Rangin to act as backup? I mean, no offense," she says with a nod of brief apology to the xenobiologist. "But you're almost as bad off as I am, and right now I'd think even she--" Her hand waggles at Kylah--"could take you in a duel. No offense," she repeats, this time to the little ensign.

She shakes her head and leans back to stare at the underside of the top bunk. "It's not my call. I've got no options to offer even if it were. I just hope the door security's more sophisticated than the rest of this heap looks." After a pause she raises an eyebrow at the cabin and--to make it a trifecta--adds dryly to the quarters at large: "No offense."

As ever grateful for Lt. Graham's support, Kylah nonetheless quickly exchanges her expression of pleasure to astonishment. Without prodding she steps close to Velir, as if preparing to defend him. "What--what can he do, sir? He is not feeling well."

She does notice the air feeling thick, somehow, and she turns to the door leading to the second cabin. "Maybe we should split up. They may not know we are in two cabins." Kylah starts to open the door (if it is not locked) and turns back. "But this is absurd. That they blame us for their problems. They are likely drunk. Maybe the food did not agree with them." Biting her lip, she faces Dr. Mäkeläinen. "They may have no weapons but their teeth and hands are enough to do damage, armed or not. And they are so very large."

With a quick check of the communicator, Kylah shrugs helplessly. "It may come to nothing. Mr. Jol said he could control things on his ship. Well, this is his opportunity." Kylah, finding no free space to sit in the crowded cabin, moves to the other quarters (again, if they're open) and will sit by herself, arms crossed in frustration.

Rangin's eyes widen at Graham's order, and he says, "Aye, aye, sir," without the slightest hint of irony or sarcasm. He replies to Onn, with a wry smile, "None taken."

Rawlings rubs his chin. "We haven't seen the Chalnoth armed, but yes, it's possible they've smuggled weapons aboard. I wouldn't put it past them, if they could. Something Uwat sensors wouldn't pick up... or even recognize as weapons. It's been done before, on other ships with even more advanced tech."

Kylah goes and sits alone in her quarters; her five Yorktown crewmates - Onn, Graham, Dr. Mäkeläinen, Rangin and Rawlings - remain in the other assigned quarters, at least for the moment. The sounds of angry Chalnoth shouts and pounding boots grow louder still.

[Not sure if Kylah mentioned her mystery passenger or not... I am assuming not.]

With the arrival of the Chalnoth imminent, judging by the sound (plus no accompanying sound of Uwat security officers), Dr. Mäkeläinen goes over to the control panel and prepares to lock the door. If there is no time to ask Ens. Kylah how she feels about safety in numbers, he cries at her, "They're here! Keep your door locked until we sort this out."

No Kylah decided to wind back time and not mention the patient because it didn't make sense in context. ;)

Kylah--who frankly expected at least one person to join her when she suggested splitting up--has risen to her feet, awkwardly looking back and forth from her colleagues to the door to her left. She nods to the doctor's logical suggestion and moves to check that the door to the corridor is locked. She also tilts her head against the metal, trying to hear anything she might recognize--and also to sense... well, anything she can sense. Although the Chalnoth are chaotic and she doubts she will discern anything but the rawest emotion.

"I'd better go with her," Rawlings says, slipping out the door and joining Kylah in the adjoining cabin. He locks its door just seconds after he spots two Chalnoth, clearly angry, rounding the corner and heading towards them.

Dr. Mäkeläinen likewise locks the door to the cabin containing him, Rangin, Onn and Graham.

The abrupt escalation of noise shifts Nia's mode from semi-relaxed to fully alert, not through any mental strategy but purely on animal instinct. She shoves herself up--any higher and her forehead would knock into the bottom bunk--and immediately regrets the quick movement. But dizzy or not, she slinks farther back beneath the cot until she's positioned like something feral against a cave wall, staying out of the way of anyone who can actually perform some defensive maneuver.

Satisfied that everyone in the group is behind a locked door, Dr. Mäkeläinen braces himself for the Chalnoth's next move. Arguing through a locked door is not very polite, but, until things calm down, they are going to stay locked and any Chalnoth itching for a fight are not going to be obliged.

He looks over at Rangin--- the last barney the guy was in, somebody got killed. Over nothing. He silently prays to ineffable gods Rangin does not again go catatonic (or, worse, go off preternaturally like Kylah thinks may be happening) due to the shouting and the stress. If it comes to hand-to-hand combat in this room, that leaves himself, and Graham. The latter looks capable and dangerous, the type to not take chances and therefore "bring them down", so again he has to pray nothing like that come to pass. As for himself, he knows incapacitating someone without doing major damage is not necessarily so easy, but he will use his knowledge of anatomy (and previous scuffle experience) to plan some blows that will not do anything that cannot be healed. Just in case. But he hopes that the more murderously enraged a Chalnoth gets, the less likely he is to think clearly enough to get through a locked electronic door before security arrives. (Kylah apparently has that working communicator, if the shouting was not enough...)

Kylah steps back farther into the cabin, eyeing the space. Is there anything to pick up and hold as a weapon? Probably just the chair. And that would do very poorly, she suspects.

"They cannot barge in through a locked door," she says to Rawlings--an assumption rather than a certainty. Even Klingons would be hard-pressed to beat their way through a relatively strong door. Not that she knows the relative strength between Klingons and Chalnoth.

She backs up another step and looks anxiously at the communicator. Pell knew the Chalnoth were headed their way. Perhaps he was going to get reinforcements? It does not seem that she would gain much from contacting him unless things grew dire. For no reason other than to feel connected to the others, she lifts her palm and touches the wall that is shared with the second cabin. I should have stayed with Velir. What was I thinking?

"Doc, if worse comes to worst, your priority is Lt. Onn's safety," Graham says, eyes on the door. "Though I'm hoping based on your medical chops and suave you have enough of the gift of gab to convince the Chalnoth that further exposure to the potential cross-species allergic reaction might cause their manly parts to shrink and wither...or whatever gets them to go away."

Nia, in her useless corner in her useless position, nevertheless hears Booker's remark and lifts her mouth in a tilted smile. "Yeah it might be too late for that ploy," she says with a shaky laugh. "My experience, it's the ones who're already lacking in the manhood department who overcompensate like this."

Kylah sees nothing in her cabin other than the chair which might be used as a weapon, and it is not particularly sturdy. She doubts it would do much good against a tall, stocky Chalnoth.

You hear more Chalnoth shouts and stomping outside, coming right up to the doors of the two cabins. It sounds like a crowd is gathering. Someone pounds loudly on the door to the cabin of Graham, Onn, Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rangin. "Open up!" a Chalnoth bellows. "Open this damn door and tell us what you did to our men!" Graham thinks it might be Teloqq, their leader, but he can't be sure.

Mäkeläinen exchanges a look with Lt. Graham, then speaks firmly yet without shouting, "All right, calm down! Our man is down, too, and we don't know what happened! I was barely able to get him back here, and it turns out there may not be any medical facilities worthy of the name on this tub, so if you want to know whose door to mob, get your medic to help figure this out and after we do I'll go right there with you. Otherwise, this is not the time!"

Raising an eyebrow, Nia remains impressed by the doctor's composure. She snaps her fingers to get Rangin's attention, then pats the bed beside her. He can lie down and look... unconscious, if that's what the Doc's aiming for... while she provides at least a little barrier. The fact that Nia herself was also at the scene has likely gone unnoticed, which wouldn't surprise her given how the leader regarded her--or, to be more accurate, didn't--earlier this morning.

She eyes both Booker & Mäkeläinen to see if getting Rangin as far from the line of fire is a good strategy, or if they're aiming at some other tactic.

The doctor's remarks seem to have no effect on the Chalnoth at the door. They continue pounding and shouting.

Rangin glances at Onn after she snaps her fingers. He looks a little disoriented, but follows her lead and lies down, closing his eyes.

Kylah winces at the noise. The Chalnoth's not having paid any attention to the doctor's perfectly reasonable response is a bad sign. She looks up at Mr. Rawlings, apology in her gaze. "I did not mean to separate you from the others."

She cannot think of a thing to say. If Dr. Mäkeläinen could not get through, she certainly will not. Perhaps Lt. Graham will. This is his area of expertise.

If only she had established some rapport with the sole Chalnoth she interacted with last night. She tried to assist him! It is doubtful he has any goodwill toward her for the attempt; he greatly resented it at the time, and certainly showed no sign of gratitude when she saw him earlier.

But at least he knows she meant no harm. Even if embarrassed about being seen as weak, he should still understand the simple fact that Kylah wished to help him. He could communicate that to his fellows. But why would he? And how can he tell them I tried to help without revealing why?

It is all useless speculation, especially since, for all she knows, he might be one of the unconscious. I should have checked, she thinks, but why would she have?

With the banging increasing, Kylah inhales deeply, making a decision. She focuses on the wall to the cabin next door again. She will have to risk eschewing the pretense that communication requires physical contact. Velir does not understand his powers and has no idea of hers... If he hears her, the notion that this is her doing should not even cross his mind.

Closing her eyes, she concentrates on Velir's thoughts as if they were a beacon drawing her nearer--or, more accurately, if she were the beacon, lighting his way to her.

Velir. If you are in danger and the others cannot help... forget my warnings. Do not hesitate to protect yourself. If necessary, take those Chalnoth down.

Well, it was worth a try. The Doctor quietly addresses Graham and the rest of the room, "It will be a moment until they realize we are not coming out. After that--- sheer bloody-mindedness and shouting won't get them through a locked door. Now, worst case, if they brought tools, that would demonstrate cold calculation and disturbing intentions, and for us a problem: if they come en masse, we are outnumbered. In that case, do we break out? Head for the bridge or try to go for a hatchway, negate their advantage?"

He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Sorry, getting ahead of things. It probably won't come to that. I just do not know what to expect from them. If I knew for sure they wanted a simple one-on-one brawl, I have half a mind to indulge them, if that would get them off the rest of your backs. But they are not drunken asteroid miners, or Klingons, and I don't know how they think. If we could only convince them not to blame us...."

Whereas she's been impressed by the Doc's composure, Nia's now eyeing him with more than a little wariness. Her gaze flickers from his not overly muscle-bound form--little different from Rangin here--to then focus on his artificial arm. Is that thing so strong that this average-sized dude can take on a Chalnoth? Her eyebrow raises at the thought that maybe he's got more machinery elsewhere bolstering his capabilities than he's let on.

Regardless, the idea of choosing him to fight some kind of duel with one of the oversized hairballs is, well, not what Nia would recommend if she were still CO. When Book's an incredibly powerful, seasoned fighter and strategist? And Double-T is...Double-T?

She inhales, her eyes darting to Booker in some concern, trying to see if he's thinking what she is. "Uh... not my call, Doc, but... not sure hand-to-hand combat's a solid defense. That group's got War right in their name; I'm guessing the fighting thing's kind of a specialty." Nia sighs raggedly, swallows, and plays her best card: her truth. "And--and Doctor... I can't do without you."

Graham grunts approvingly at Nia's words. He forces a smile at her.

"If we are gonna wind up fighting these guys, I'd rather it's after they've spent a few hours tiring themselves out pounding on doors, honestly," he says.

He exhales. "Old law enforcement trick....worth a try." He shrugs and sits down close to the door.

Then he starts talking in a voice aimed at being detectable on the other side of the door, but far from comprehensible over the pounding and shouting.

Dr. Mäkeläinen meets Nia's gaze, ruefully. Is he so perturbed by the prospect of a situation with too many variables to predict with any degree of confidence what may happen, and the little they do know hinting at ways it could very well spiral out of control, that she can tell? And she needs to hear how everything is going to be fine, though there is no way to leave her out of whatever tactics Lt. Graham comes up with.

"I don't see myself going---" he makes a quick calculation--- "one-to-three, or even one-to-one, with trained killers (to give them the benefit of the doubt), but, as the man says," he indicates Lt. Graham, "getting you to safety is the priority, and I have to include Lt. Rangin in that. If, mind you, if it turn out they out there are up to more than raging at a locked door. We stick close together, and if someone tries anything I can distract them long enough for the three of us to slip past. If fighting is what they expect, their surprise when we don't stay around for a general ruction may be our one advantage."

Rawlings smiles ruefully at Kylah. "No apologies necessary. I came of my own volition. I just didn't want to see you left alone in here while we all huddled next door."

She hears a very faint psi response from Rangin: I understand. I feel very weak... but will do what I can.

The pounding and shouting continues outside.

[color:green]What is Graham saying as he sits close to the door?[/green]

Amused despite herself, Nia watches Book take his seat and murmur incomprehensibly, at least to her. To Dr. M., she tilts her head. "You're closer to the door. How many do you think are out there? Do you think we'll be able to sneak past?"

She then turns to Booker. "Interesting strategy. Should we join in?" she asks. "Is the idea to drive them nuts with frustration?"

While nodding to Rawlings, Kylah holds her abdomen as she exhales, as if supporting herself, once she hears Velir's response. Why is he so weak? Did his attack weaken him? Or did something truly happen to all of them?

She crosses the room, pacing in thought. Has she sensed anything abnormal? Other than Velir's condition, no. Nothing has occurred to her. So it is unlikely to be external psionic activity--or at least, if it is external, it only affected those near that corridor.

Yet Velir is still affected and somewhat disoriented--less than he was, but he has still not recovered from whatever happened. Kylah's brow furrows. Is he still somehow connected to the Chalnoth? Still controlling them? She cannot tell from the shouting whether those three Chalnoth have recovered, or if they are still incapacitated.

Sighing, she leans against the bed and pulls out the communications device. Enough time has passed that, if some help had been arranged, surely some Uwat officers should have arrived by now. The ship is simply not that big.

Scrutinizing the device, she tentatively tries to work its controls. Is she able to recognize at least the basic elements of how the communicator works? "If I can figure this out," she murmurs to herself and Rawlings, "I will try to reach Pell, the officer who gave this to me."

A coincidence strikes her. "I just remembered. Back at the nightclub, Lt. Graham and I met a human named 'Pell.' Totally different species, no relationship, and yet..." Kylah shakes her head in wonder while peering at the communicator.

"The formation of language is extraordinary. Humans and the Uwat have entirely different vocal production, yet through similar phonemes can produce the same homophonic word. Or name. I find that fascinating. I suppose that is why I gravitated to Communications."

Not entirely true--she was groomed to do so by her uncle--but it is not false, either. She does have both the affinity and curiosity for linguistics. She flashes another apologetic glance toward Mr. Rawlings. "I am sorry for running on so. I am nervous."

Dr. Mäkeläinen knows there are nine Chalnoth, and that three of them are (probably) out of commission. He tries to listen to the shouting voices: does the crowd sound like it consists of five or six (or more) people, or obviously fewer? Can he make an estimate, at least a lower bound? Are there any Uwat, or possibly other, voices? He also asks Lt. Graham what he thinks about the number of Chalnoth.

Absent any information at all, he figures not more than six Chalnoth, and two doors, so getting past three Chalnoth, assuming they have the element of surprise... but they know not yet precisely what is going on outside, and, furthermore, whatever forces them to make a desperate move instead of staying where it is safe might itself be a surprise.

He will further add, "There is another consideration. We cannot easily coordinate with Kylah and Rawlings, not over this din."

Graham pauses talking about a combination of some of his daughter's favorite bedtime stories, Starfleet regulations, and advancing the hypothesis that the incident with the dropped Chalnoth was the result of a cross-species-allergic-reaction to answer Nia.

"Ha - sometimes when you talk to someone losing their shit at a level they can't understand if they don't calm down, they key on in being able to hear what you're saying." He shrugs. "Sometimes it works. Sometimes people are too committed to losing their shit though..."

Rawlings smiles ruefully, but glances at Kylah only briefly before looking back at the door. "No need to apologize. Being in a situation like this could make anyone nervous."

Dr. Mäkeläinen thinks there are at least four Chalnoth outside, perhaps five, but cannot be sure.

You can all hear an Uwat voice rising above that of the Chalnoth for a few seconds, and then the Chalnoth are shouting again, drowning out the Uwat. The pounding resumes. A second Uwat voice joins the noisy tumult outside, and almost at once you hear the crackling hum of an energy source of some kind. None of you recognize the sound. The pounding stops again and a Chalnoth cries out in what sounds like pain.

The Doctor is saying, "They are not out in full force, but---" when he visibly winces at the cry of pain.

"Sounds like they are a wee busy. We need to get things cleared up, statim. Doubtful they are just going to forget about this, and neither will the crew." Above all, they cannot afford to get thrown off board or otherwise delayed.

Though Kylah has apparently had no luck deciphering the communicator, the sounds in the corridor prove it is no longer needed. She fumbles it back into her belt and takes a quick step closer to the door, although the entrance is blocked by Ens. Rawlings. She inhales sharply at the cry of pain, but... considering what these Chalnoth were likely willing to do to Velir, Kylah is not tremendously outraged by the Uwat's methods of restoring order.

With such tumult, Kylah would very much like to see what is going on, but the odds of the junior security officer allowing her to take a peek are dismal. Crossing her arms across her chest, she waits in frustration.

The energy sound triggers memories of disciplinary measures on Sidonia, and Nia jerks back instinctively. It takes a second or two before she shakes the moment off. "Y-you make a good point," she says, a trifle weakly, to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "They need to understand they're barking up the wrong tree or we'll have to stay here for the duration."

Nia eyes Booker. "Up to you to talk 'em down, I suppose. But if you need me as a witness, I'm willing. Maybe the big boys'll think twice once they realize they'd be claiming three of their guys were taken down by a guy half their size and a sick old woman."

You hear the energy source - a weapon of some kind? - crackle again. There is a loud THUMP outside, and then another, as if two bodies have hit the deck. There is more Chalnoth shouting and an unusual, high-pitched squeal. Footsteps seem to fade away down the corridor. After a brief pause, you can hear the energy source, now louder, as if right outside the doors to your respective cabins, first one and then the other.

Then each door begins to slowly slide open. Onn sees Rangin prop himself up on one elbow and concentrate. Outside, there are several more THUMPS and then howls of Chalnoth anger... or fear? Rangin starts to say something but collapses back on the bed before he can utter a word.

Frustration turns to a stab of alarm when Kylah hears the energy sound, and the thumping bodies--if that is what they are--soon after. The squeal baffles her and she shrinks from it, although the disappearing footsteps are encouraging.

Then she spies the door's movement and her hands dart out to Ens. Rawlings's arm, instinctively seeking to pull him away. But she has no leverage to move such a man, and anyway he would know what to do far better than Kylah--and will do so much more easily if she is not latched to him like a lamprey.

So her ice-cold fingers release his sleeve and she scrabbles backwards, hip smacking into the desk corner with a sharp pain. Another set of thumps does not pacify her, since they did not stop the group before. Adequate weapon or not, the chair offers something solid for her numb hands to grab, which they do while her wildly racing mind tries to focus on Velir again. They are coming in, they are breaking in!

"Get behind me, get behind me," Graham shouts to the others, moving to interpose himself between the others and the door.

Mäkeläinen was listening to the outside action. The discharge of an energy weapon right outside the door makes him take a step back. The door opening... his nebulous plan to make a hole for Onn and Rangin to escape quickly runs into a complication (it was always going to be something) when the latter collapses.

He nimbly moves over to stand by Rangin's bunk, behind Graham but, in particular, against the wall and not directly in line with the door. Any tricks like trying to get the jump on an unwelcome intruder he leaves to the security officer, focussing on checking Rangin's pulse.

Already backed up at the far end of her bunk, Nia has no problem complying with Booker's command; to get any farther behind him, she'd have to beam out from the hull entirely. She winces again at the weapon--it sounds like a weapon, anyway--but her eyes widen when the door inches open. What the fuck, how are they doing that? Have they got some kinda tool?

Then Rangin gets up, probably as happy as she is to see the barrier between them and the hairballs potentially breached. She grabs his arm to steady him, but... another noise, another thump, Rangin's looking transfixed and he's suddenly out. "Rangin!" she whispers, shaking him. She barely has time to say his name before the doctor's lunged ably to the rescue, so she lets go to give him room to work.

It's just like before, in the corridor. Chalnoth down, Rangin zombified. Nia... nothing. Did some weapon reach through the door to get at Rangin? And again she's immune?

But this time she's got others nearby, and neither Book nor Mäkeläinen seem to have been affected by the weapon. If that's what it was.

Nia's brain isn't working as fast as it used to...it hasn't for days now...and can't concentrate on multiple tasks. So she pushes this weird phenomenon aside to focus on Booker.

She doesn't like him facing this alone. It's what he does, of course, not just as a Security officer but as a man. Maybe not so much anymore; maybe he won't with the right partner, with Marala.

But it's his first instinct, launching himself to protect others, and Nia both loves him for it and fears that side of him.

Scared and confused as she is, she forces herself to the edge of the bed, planting her feet on the cold deck. "Plan, Book?" she asks his broad back, her voice quiet but steady enough to reach through the chaos. "Should we dialogue?"

Each door slides a little more open, and a snarling Chalnoth tries to get through each.

Rawlings is, as Kylah expected, unmoved by her grasp. His jaw set, he grabs both the gloved hands of the Chalnoth coming through your door and twists them to his right, blocking the door with his body. The alien warrior howls in pain.

Rangin does not respond to Onn. He appears to be completely unconscious.

Graham is feeling really unhappy Kylah, and, most especially, Rawlings are not with them in the room at the moment.

"De-escalation would be great," he grunts over his shoulder in response to Nia.

Graham gauges as carefully as he can if the Chalnoth can make it through the door, and then how far its arms are likely to reach.

Once he does, he moves to just out of reach and stares the Chalnoth in the face.

"Hey--now that we're face to face, can we talk sense?" he says firmly.

For how long did Rangin pass out last time? A couple of minutes? Whatever has been afflicting him could be causing further damage, and they have yet to rule out any aetiology, not even Graham's 'allergies'.

What Dr. Mäkeläinen must do at this moment is protect his patients. The only good news is that--- so far--- there is only one Chalnoth barging into their cabin, and it does not look like he is part of some sophisticated coordinated assault. Mäkeläinen does nothing aggressive, but he stands up straight, shielding Rangin and Onn, and regards the intruder grimly. He says nothing, but many thoughts are playing out in his mind.

Kylah's sympathy for the Chalnoth's pain is limited, particularly as she is doing her best not to feel any. She does exclaim a proud "impressive" to Ens. Rawlings for his quick, decisive and highly effective instincts.

Peeking in vain to see through the door beyond Mr. Rawlings and the arms of their would-be attacker, she gives up the attempt. She must summon her uncle's diplomacy, coupled with her own. Her spine straightens and she places her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath to support a stronger voice.

"There is no doubt you Chalnoth are a strong race," she directs toward the door. "But your strategy is ill-thought-out; should you continue, my companion will easily break your bones. But there is no need for such violence. Neither he nor I have a quarrel with any of you, nor should you with us. What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

With an unseen but approving nod at Booker's opening salvo, Nia tries to keep her attention split between her colleagues. She peers at Rangin, concern tightening her muscles--which are taut enough as it is--then darts her gaze up to Mäkeläinen. His stance as a guardian rather than a healer makes some sense, since he's the only person able to back Book up in any significant physical way. But it threatens to fill her with despair. Her own health condition seems helpless as it is; Rangin's is utterly mystifying.

"This is worse than before," she says softly to the doctor. "Back when those original three in the hallway dropped, Rangin was loopy but, y'know...upright. And seemingly conscious, if in a serious daze. Whatever's happened now--"

Cutting herself off, she purses her lips. In the corridor, the junior officer seemed to recover once Kylah showed up. Nia clearly lacks the Elasian's skill as a restorative. At least for Rangin. She's never had complaints from any other guy.

She leans closer. "C'mon, Velir," she murmurs as gently as she can. "Everything's gonna be okay. I know everything's been super intense and scary, but... I really don't think the Uwat are gonna let anyone kill off passengers before they've fully paid up. Come back. We need all hands on deck." Sighing, Nia straightens. Nice words aren't gonna fix him any more than they'll fix her.

The Chalnoth snarls in frustration and screams something unintelligible as he grasps for Graham, who is just out of reach. Then the door edges even further open and the Chalnoth shoulders his way in, lunging for Graham, who is obviously closest to him, as he does.

Dr. Mäkeläinen recalls that Rangin was unconscious for about ten minutes last time. He appears much the same now, and is unresponsive to Onn's encouragement.

The Chalnoth that Rawlings grabbed seems similarly immune to Kylah's words of reason, although it snarls, through obvious pain, "You disabled our soldiers. You attacked us, and you must pay!" Rawlings, concentrating, his face grim, maintains a tight grip and doesn't quite break its arms. The door does not open further.

The comm unit on the bulkhead in each of your quarters crackles to life, and an Uwat-sounding voice says a few sentences in what Kylah thinks is Chalnoth and then Vulcan, before turning to Federation Standard: "All passengers must return to quarters. All passengers must return to quarters. Security Protocol Ghar will otherwise be imposed. This is your last warning."