Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

Nia turns and stares at Booker.

Has this plan been in his mind all along? Part of her wants to be proud of him. Part of her realizes that he's distancing himself from her, probably about to pretend she had nothing to do with this.

But that won't wash. People saw me and Marala together in the chapel. I sent her a message there...

She keeps her face even. How is she going to play this? He's thrown her into this and... truth be told, she might even be wrong, maybe it's not a ruse, maybe he was just letting her stew until they found someone to marry 'em quickly on the ship. Any superior officer over a Lieutenant could do it.

Does that sound at all like Booker?

No. But even if it's true, he's leaving out some important problems with the story. After reining in her racing thoughts, Nia decides on a tactic.

Carefully controlled hurt, a bit of anger, a lot of pragmatism.

"So that's it, then." Her voice is resigned, annoyed. "I knew you weren't honest with me. But I'm glad to hear you admit it."

Nia turns sharply to Vargas. "Sir. Book--Lt. Graham's telling the truth. Now, anyway," she can't help but add; one more dollop of bitterness. "Mrs. Gromov and he were together when they were young. Then they moved on, they got married to other people. But those people... died. They were heartbroken, each with a kid but no partner. I guess it was inevitable they'd find each other again. Of course, for some time I thought that he and I--"

She stops herself, looks away from Vargas for a second, then returns after a deep inhale. "I don't know if you heard the gossip. Engies are the worst gossipers on any ship, but Security ain't far off. I'm sure they know that Lt. Graham and I have been... seeing each other."

Okay, that part's covered. "But, well. I get it. Any port in a storm, I suppose. He'd already vaguely told me his history, but that's what I thought it was; history. I thought our feelings ran pretty deep. Until Booker--damn it, Lt. Graham--told me after going down to the planet that he'd seen her again." Her fingers curl into bitter air quotes.

"This was before the emergency began, even, so he can't even say it was some kinda impulse thing." She glances back at Booker. "Stop trying to spare me. All noble and sacrificial. Part of why I like you so much. But this wasn't spur of the moment. You wanted Marala Gromov, not me."

Back to Vargas. "He knew they'd be together, he's been in love with her for ages. Which--anyway, it doesn't matter. You don't care about the melodrama. Point is. He told me once he was back onboard that they were all but engaged.

"I had a freakout but in the end, I'm not exactly the pair-bonding type. That gossip I'm sure you know. So after a fit I accepted it. More pride than anything else. Plus, once we found out about the star... they were desperate. I'm not gonna prevent people who've lost so much once they've found each other again.

"No," she continues in a more confident tone. "I did more than accept it. Before he takes responsibility for Mrs. Gromov being in the chapel--that was me, my idea. I told Marala that she should wait there. Where better to get married, right? I told her if anyone spotted her she should claim Sanctuary. I don't even know if that's a thing anymore, but I thought it'd buy them some time."

Nia blinks as if hiding tears--which she doesn't really produce much of, given her race--and rushes on. "As for marrying--I hope they go through with it. They should. You can do it yourself, sir. And they'll both have a complete family again." Her throat is suddenly tight. She probably would cry if she could. "Second chances for happiness... They don't come around very often."

After composing herself, she finishes quietly. "So, I hope you'll understand why they--we--did everything possible to get Mrs. Gromov and her son off the planet. It wasn't right given the whole lottery system, we deserve whatever punishment you give us. But I hope you'll help them--the three of them, they're family in everything but official documents--stay together."

Nia lets her shoulders slump slightly as she sighs. What if this doesn't work?

A sudden knot of dread forms in the pit of her stomach, along with a selfish, jealous question: What if this does succeed?

Vargas looks skeptical, to say the least. He says, "So you did this, having been specifically ordered to bring back nothing but the painting? Having been told repeatedly how overstretched the ship's life support systems will be by this mass evacuation, and of the Captain's decision, agreed to by the elected government of the colony, that a lottery was the least-bad option - the only way to fairly determine who would be evacuated?"

Rangin looks and Science chief and nods sadly. "I knew this would happen, sir," he muses, "we just didn't have a correct set of population data to confirm this kind of thing happening and I would be amazed if this is the only occurrence."

Rangin thinks over what he can do in such a short space of time: confirm the Maat's beliefs on family and then confirm if he can with the colony if any change of status was registered.

"No real questions, sir. I'll see what I can find as to it's validity. Just saying something is, doesn't make it so, but I'll see what I can find." His heart sinks knowing how quick he will have to be. "I'll report in the next 15 minutes. Any longer than that and the problem will take care of itself," he comments wryly.

"Actually sir, where is he located? He can at least give the details on who he considers his new family members, unless you have them already?" Rangin waits for Roble's response before he plans his next action.

Roble says, "He's been given living quarters on Deck 6." He gives you the compartment number.

Every ounce of will power Nia possesses is busy slamming a door against her need to look at Booker. She has no idea how he wants to answer, and one quick glance into his eyes might help...

Will power wins. So instead she watches Vargas while remaining outwardly calm and sincere. Glibness--her usual reaction to stress--can't possibly help: in fact it's absolutely the wrong strategy.

...But stalling never hurts, and doing so by being as careful as possible to answer only the actual questions put to her seems like the best strategy. Imagine you're already facing a Captain's Mast. Or a court-martial if it comes to that.

"Can you clarify, sir?" Nia's voice is deferential, avoiding the trap of sounding obsequious. "Who are you asking about this judgment call? The mission commander and your ACoS, or the shuttle's pilot and ranking officer?"

Vargas slams his palm down on his desk with a crash, a show of temper neither of you have ever seen from him before. The sound is shocking in the small room. "Goddammit, don't play coy with me, Lieutenant. You're both here, aren't you? Either of you, start talking, and you'd better make it good, because from where I sit you're both this close," he says, holding up two fingers and leaning towards you, "to being brought up on charges."

Nia tries not to show the alarm surging through her, but she's betrayed by the prickle of some of her scales appearing--as if in response to a physical threat. Frankly she'd rather face that type of foe.

"Then my short answer to your question is yes. If you want a longer answer with the calculus behind that choice, I'll give it to you.

"As to the resources, I was and am confident that one sixty-five pound boy won't stretch our l/s system more than it could bear. I've already expressed my intention to cut the oxygen and anything but bare-bones heating in my quarters--a cabin big enough for two people. This would help offset whatever resources both of the Gromovs require. And they can have my food rations, for that matter. I've done without for longer than that.

"As to the 'painting only' order, we explained our reasons when we were in contact with the Yorktown. We received permission. The mob was imminent and either violence or a hostage situation--or both--were extremely likely. We had to go and I wasn't gonna leave any of the civilians out there at the mercy of a desperate crowd.

"Even before we saw the mob, I dismissed the idea of calling for a beam-up to get the at-risk people out of the way. Our transporters are currently performing a massive evacuation and asking them to interrupt that process when we had the Kaku right there seemed counterproductive and wasteful."

Nia's gaze doesn't waver, though the way Vargas is looking at her makes her reptilian side want to scuttle or slither to some hiding place. She's aware she's been talking a lot, and has plenty more to say besides. Normally she'd ask for permission to continue, but she's afraid to pause and give Booker the opportunity to fuck up her story and shouldering all the blame.

"As to the Gromovs' not having been chosen by the 'fair' lottery... well, I'm not gonna insult the Captain by saying what I think about its fairness. Point is, if we'd arrived one week earlier, Lt. Graham and Mrs. Gromov would be married by now, making them the family unit that's so sacred to the Governor."

She purses her lips in involuntary distaste before continuing.

"I saw what Lt. Graham was going through at the thought of losing them. He's a dear friend and a colleague and an extraordinary officer. Someone who means a lot to me. I didn't want this man to suffer any more grief. He's already had his share."

Hoarse, she clears her throat. "So, yes. Once his future wife and child weren't picked for the lottery, I--we--no, I'll let Lt. Graham speak for himself--I considered everything, including calculating my ability to give up my l/s needs temporarily--and helped them.

"I didn't do this lightly, sir. I respect the Captain too much to casually or impulsively disregard her decisions. But in an emergency like this, once I knew the truth about what Marala means to Booker, and their plans... I'm sorry, sir. I believed I had no humane choice other than to keep them together."

Restraining her desire to fold her arms across her chest in defiant anger, Nia clasps her hands. Not as satisfying but way the hell safer.

"I have one more important factor to add, sir, as well as my apologies. But before I do, I'd like to ask permission to speak freely, sir."

Graham clears his throat before Nia or Vargas can respond, still trying to catch up on the rapid fire conversation...and Nia, for that matter throwing herself right into the flames.

"Lieutenant..." he blurts it out louder than he intends to. "With all due respect," his tone moderates, and despite Vargas' presence he feels like the ache in his heart he feels for Nia as much (or maybe more) than anyone else right now might be leaking through. He turns just slightly toward her. "And thanks to the...kindness you've expressed." His voice is soft. "I was mission commander. Who went where was on me."

Then he turns back toward Vargas. "I understand your frustration, sir." He shakes his head slightly. "This is a damned Kobiyashi Maru for all of us. I But--whatever my plans, had been, I want to state for the record that I concluded in the moment that those present by the shuttle were in danger from the approaching mob. And--"

He pauses.

"My wife died because I put career ahead of family. I would just ask the courtesy of knowing what is to--happen--to Ms. Gro- Marala and Nikolai." He pauses again. "I will not contest any charges brought against me for acting in their interest, sir."

Which might include everything I've done so far being "you ain't seen nothing yet, chief."

Vargas glances at Graham and shakes his head curtly before turning back to Onn. He says, "Anytime anyone asks for permission to speak freely, Lieutenant, I can almost guarantee I'm going to disagree with whatever they have to say. A long career in Starfleet has taught me that, if nothing else. That was usually my reaction when shipmates made such a request to our superiors as I was going up through the ranks, and that has almost invariably been my reaction from my current vantage point." He sighs. "But what the hell, go ahead."

Nia doesn't want to get emotional, but when Booker looks at her that way... and then brings up the loss of his wife... She reins in her impulse to reach for his hand. All she can do is nod gently in recognition before returning her focus to Vargas.

His words about ''speaking freely" are pretty accurate, and Nia acknowledges his warning with a brief, wry smile. "Thank you, sir. You're... not wrong. You probably won't agree. Or maybe you will, but can't do so officially. Anyway I'll get the worst part over with."

She unclasps her hands and leans forward, inhaling deeply. "The governor's rules about the lottery results haven't been as rigidly adhered-to in all cases. It sure seemed less important when it came to bringing Paul Hutchinson aboard. His current name wasn't on the list. Then suddenly he admits to his true identity, and snap, he gets to live. Why? Because that investigator wants him as a trophy? A fugitive gets spared just so she can close a case and put his ass in prison?"

Nia's jaw clenches for a second before it relaxes enough for her to continue, after she takes in another lungful of air. "Commander. I absolutely know that it's your prerogative to make such decisions, not one random subordinate. And I know the choice to take him with us was about justice. I care about justice too. It's just that to me, true justice says that if we can make room for a goddamn murderer who killed his family, we can save the prospective family of Booker Graham. Your loyal ACoS and in my estimation one of the best officers on this or any other ship." She grips the sides of the chair as if needing it to hang onto in zero gravity.

"Well. Lt. Graham takes the blame as mission commander. I appreciate that. I've led enough missions and understand the need for accountability. I just... I have to take responsibility too, Booker. I do." The glance she throws him is warm and regretful, but doesn't last long. "I was the effective captain of the Kaku. No one was getting on or off without my say-so."

Another deep breath. Why is she breathing so heavily? Right now she's particularly aware of the air, the ultimate insufficiency of the ship's M-planet atmosphere to satisfy her biological needs. But why? What time is it? This isn't even one of her Bilitrium-recharging nights. The answer comes swiftly: Stress.

Unconsciously Nia's right hand releases its grip on the chair and touches the chain of her inhaler, hidden beneath her uniform's neckline. It's habit, a tic, to reassure her that she's safe. When she realizes she's doing it, she drops her hand immediately and hurries to continue.

"Cmdr. Vargas, I accept responsibility and whatever charges that land on me. More personally, from me to you and the Captain, I sincerely apologize for disobeying orders about the shuttle. And not following the letter of the Novy Rostov law on the lottery results. Although that wasn't exactly an order that applied to us, at least as far as I can recall. A lot's happened today, so... I could very well have forgotten that. Nevertheless, I'm sorry. I knew what was intended."

She finally glances away from Vargas, staring at his desk before taking another deep breath and returning to the First Officer. "Most of all I'm sorry for not bringing this whole mess to you, or the Captain if possible. I should have trusted you to make the decision yourselves. Booker could've asked, but he didn't. I don't think he's capable of asking for special favors like that. As I said... that's his personal code of honor and nobility, duty and sacrifice. Marala's, too. Neither of them wanted to disobey the law or the Captain's wishes." Her voice softens. "They really do belong together."

Get a grip. That's not important, and anyway we're just roleplaying. Aren't we?. "Me, sure, I can sacrifice stuff. I guess in a way I'm doing so now." Nia can't help another glance toward Booker, just his chest, not his eyes. That's the best she can do before returning to Vargas's gaze. "But I just couldn't let them give up. After my own experiences--I mean, the life I led on Sidonia--" She freezes, not wanting to use her past as an excuse.

"I just mean... keeping a family together is sacred to me. In the end, that's the only code that mattered. I hope we won't send Marala and Nikolai to a certain death because I screwed up. I will sleep in a frigid, airless storage area if it means they can stay onboard."

With a little helpless shrug and a deep breath, Nia leans back so she's no longer on the edge of her chair.

As she keeps a wary watch on Vargas, an unbidden thought pops into her head: Well, so much for that Chief-of-Flight-Ops promotion I wanted. She fights a grim smile at having both cratered her own ambitions, and even remembered them at such a time.

Promotion. Yeah, right. Given all this she'll probably lose her hard-won Lieutenant stripe, and that's disregarding the increasing likelihood of a court-martial.

"That's all, sir," she concludes. "I did this and I accept the consequences."

But fuck it. I'd do it again.

Rangin picks up his datapad and heads to his desk quickly, to get the beliefs of the Maat noted down, however brief they may be. Once he has it, he starts heading for Deck 6, while checking the data he has been carrying around for the last few hours. He is looking for Xinle Bek and any registered family members in either his own set or in Vargas' set of data, especially as they gave differing results for the lottery predictions.

He really hopes that both sets say Bek is a sole person, because if Rangin's original data set says that Bek has family and Vargas' set, which is used for the lottery, says Bek doesn't, then Rangin can categorically say someone fucked up between the Colony registrar and the USS Yorktown.

Hopefully by the time Rangin finds who he is looking for, he might have some of the answers, even if Roble couldn't give him the names of the people that could possibly be saved, in this instance.

A bosun's whistle sounds. You recognize Thalen's voice: "Bridge to Cmdr. Vargas."

He taps a comm switch. "Vargas here."

"Sir, the Captain asked that I inform you that the Sarafina is now fully loaded, and is about to break orbit and head out-system."

"Understood. Thank you, Mr. Thalen. Vargas out."

He leans back in his chair and rubs his chin, looking from one to the other of you speculatively. Then he touches another switch and the door opens. "Ens. Li," he says to the shorter of the two Security guards who enter and stand at attention, "take these two to their respective quarters, please. The usual disciplinary-confinement restrictions. Collect any and all of their communicators."

"Aye, sir," the young Chinese man says.

"Dismissed," the First Officer says, turning to his Library Computer terminal.



Rangin confirms what Lt. Cmdr. Roble said about Maat cultural and family practices. The Federation xenosociology records on the species are relatively sparse, however. Xinle Bek had no family members listed in either NR colonial records or the Yorktown's. Rangin makes his way through the teeming ship's corridors to the quarters assigned to the alien miner on Deck 6.



After leaving the Shuttlebay, Dr. Nathaniel Bennett finds Sickbay more crowded and noisy than he's ever seen it.

Every chair and diagnostic bed is filled. Dr. Villa and her staff are dealing with a number of evacuees, many upset or complaining, some with chronic medical conditions, and one who has just had a heart attack, probably stress-related. Several children around the main ward are crying, and a man in miner's coveralls is loudly sobbing in a chair, being comforted by Dr. Bucci.

After greeting him, the CMO distractedly says, "See to Mrs. Kostoyev, please, Dr. Bennett." He remembers that she's the pregnant wife of the leader of the new contingent of miners which the Yorktown brought to Novy Rostov, still in isolation due to her highly contagious case of Canopian flu. "She wanted to talk to a doctor and we're just swamped, as you can see."

"Yes, ma'am." The physician goes down an access corridor and speaks to his patient through a small viewscreen mounted beside the isolation room's gastight door. "Hello again, Mrs. Kostoyev," he says. "How are you feeling?"

She looks a little better than when he last saw her, but her expression is very serious. "I'd like to be discharged immediately, please, Doctor."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that, ma'am," he says, shaking his head. "You have to remain in quarantine until your flu runs its course."

"I want to rejoin my family. I want to beam down to the colony."

He stares at her. "But... you heard about what's going to happen? About the star, and the radiation burst?"

"Yes," Nina Kostoyev says with quiet determination. "And I want to be with my family when it happens."

All as expected really, thinks Rangin as he makes his way through the corridors of deck 6. There is little to no evidence of any familial relationship in the records even if the Maat says so.

Once Rangin has located him, his questions are going to be pretty simple. Who are the people he claims to be family and what proof does he have? Not to mention, why had this change of status not been officially registered with the authorities.

One extra question does occur though which could be even more annoying, is if the miners Xinle Ben mentions also have further relations on the colony. The last thing Rangin wants is to find one person becoming six or seven needing to be rescued. Time to find out the truth.

Rangin is now standing outside Xinle Bek's quarters.

Graham can't help but break form and glance at Nia, reflexively, as she talks. He's professionally embarrassed by that, but that's the least of what's roiling his mind, heart, and soul at the moment.

And no answer from Vargas on Marala and Nikolai's fate.

Do you dare to have hope, Booker?

When you didn't deserve Jane.

You didn't deserve Lizzy.

You don't deserve Nia.

And you're proving you don't deserve Nikolai's admiration, or Marala, either...

He tries to concentrate and recall what, if anything, he knows about Ens. Li.

Rangin rings the door chime and asks to see Xinle Bek as a matter of urgency.

For the first few heartbeats, all Nia can do is stare stupidly at the ship's second-in-command. She's not sure she heard him correctly. Into confinement? Okay, maybe she heard correctly about her, she's not exactly essential. But Booker? Out of duty? During a friggin' emergency with a thousand strangers, likely hysterical and possibly angry, clogging the ship?

Ships, she remembers. Plural; the ship she helped wrest away from that greedy little bastard. Shit. And the second-best pilot is captaining it. So that leaves... who, exactly, at our own helm?

At last she turns to Booker, waiting for him to explode. Or explain. Or make a firm resolute stand. Or say a single word.

He seems paralyzed. Stunned by a phaser full of... what? Bleakness? Hopelessness? Resignation? Booker Graham? He can't be, he cannot just walk out of here in the custody of one of his fellow crewmen. Worse than that. It's his own. Fucking. Subordinate.

Nia's had to restrain herself a few times today, and has done so with difficulty--and failed more than once. Now she's struggling against her desire to lunge toward Booker, grab his shoulders and shake him. Say something! Do something! You're not accepting this, are you? Fight, damn it! Or better yet, ask for help. Stop trying to save the galaxy's problems on your own!

But he's silent. And still. A statue of stoicism. Nia's hands clench into fists and she jerks her head back to Vargas again.

"Commander," she says, knowing she'll have to talk fast to make anything happen other than Vargas personally tossing her out. "Please. I understand confining me. I'm not unique--except for being the best person to speed the Yorktown way the fu-- the hell outta here, especially with Kendin on the other ship." She regrets blurting that out. It's true, and Captain Singh seems to agree. But she shouldn't have said it. Still, like everything else she's screwed up, she's done it and it's in the past. Inhaling, she relaxes her fingers to look less aggressive.

"But Lt. Graham..." She gestures with a now-open palm at Booker. "He's vital. This ship's doubled its occupants, the vast majority strangers who are scared and sad and mad and who knows what other chaos they'll bring. And your best man's gonna be sidelined? Don't we need every single security officer on deck--both of 'em? Especially your own ACoS?" Nia's head makes tiny shaking motions. "Sir, please. Maybe talk with him privately, have the conversation you two probably should've had before, if there'd been time. Unfortunately, there wasn't. I know you're furious, I seriously do, but--but--"

She's spluttering and tries to get a hold of herself. "But if you take Lt. Graham outta commission now out of anger, that'd be... I mean, Booker and I already acted impulsively, for a good reason but still, not well-thought out. That's not like you, sir. Please. Can't you--can't you punish him once we're safe, instead of.. instead of cutting off the Yorktown's nose to--to--"

Her brain supplies no more words, much less the idiom she suddenly can't recall. Nia glances at the portrait on his desk, the two elderly people. "I'm sorry, sir," she says, dragging her gaze back up to him. "I'm incoherent. Obviously you'll do what you think's best. But--regardless of whatever punishment we get--can you please say whether the Gromovs will be allowed to stay?" Nia swallows. "At least give Lt. Graham that much?"

There is no response to Rangin's call.

Vargas says coolly, "I decide nothing out of anger, Mr. Onn. I will have to discuss this and other matters with the Captain. No one on this ship is irreplaceable, even in a crisis - not me, and certainly not either of you. My orders stand. Mr. Li?"

"This way, please, sir," the Security man says, gesturing towards the door.

Rangin sighs and wonders at the waste of time in trying to find Xinle Bek. If he can't locate him, then there is no way that Rangin can make any kind of report to Lt. Cmdr Roble. So he does the only thing he can do is report it in, he doesn't use the main com panel because they are going to be used a lot, so he drops a message to Roble directly instead.

But with that away, he wonders what to do next. Actually, the one thing he hasn't found out yet is who he will be sharing quarters with, at least he can't remember if he has been told with everything going on. While waiting for another sighting of Maat, Rangin decides to head back to deck seven and his quarters, maybe see what is going on with Kylah at the same time. Although he is loathe to break any restrictions that Vargas will have put in place.

Things couldn't get worse--until they do.

I need a drink.

It's like someone else talking in Graham's own head

Cajoling. Consoling.

You need a drink, Booker.

Nia's spirited defense of him is, at one level, every bit of fierce courage he loves about her.

At another it's feeding the whispers.

You know she shouldn't waste her time--or hopes--with you. Like Jane. Like Marala.

Ironically it's Vargas dickishness that helps pull him back.

Going to get nothing about Marala and Nikolai from him. Not here, not now.

"I think we're done here, Lieutenant," Graham says almost gently, peering at Vargas and glancing toward Li, but his concern is all for Nia--and getting both of them out of a no-win situation standing in Vargas' office while time ticks by.

Mostly gently. A little veiled lethality slips in to his tone, and his posture, toward the end.

Because nothing is off the table, at this point, he concedes mentally. But nothing, he also notes, looks particularly promising either.

With some effort, he makes a "ladies first" gesture to Nia, in the same direction Li has. He briefly tries to catch her eyes--and makes a slight tilt of his head.

He can't feel determined about any course of action that will lead to success---but he is 100 percent certain that standing in Vargas' office is a dead end, and that is firmly in mind.

Astounded. Nia is flat-out astounded. She wouldn't have thought it possible that someone, even a cold, miserable hardass like Cmdr. Vargas, could deny a man the knowledge of whether his loved ones are to live or die.

'Cause he's never had loved ones. Or anyone who loves him. Is that right, Vargas? Is that why you're a spiteful old piece of--

She nearly says the words aloud until Booker speaks. Basically, warning her to shut up. Her face burns with the shame of defeat as she turns to him--and once again her hands have clenched into fists.

Translating Book's meaning--what he said, what he's thinking--is easy enough. He's telling her to back off. Of course, he has every right to. It's his fight, after all. I shouldn't have gotten involved. Maybe I've fucked things up even worse.

With one last sharp glance at Vargas--not hate-filled, not even angry, just sizing him up with emotionless eyes and infinitesimal nod of recognition. I shouldn't have expected anything better from you.

She snaps around in a near-military 90-degree turn and heads to follow Ensign Li. If Book wants to hang back, if he wants to join her and curse out Vargas, or Nia herself for that matter, she'll deal with it out of Vargas's sight.

Rangin makes his way through the crowded, noisy corridors to Deck 7. He is almost surprised to soon find himself outside of Kylah's quarters.

Outside Vargas's office, Li takes the lead and the other Security guard falls in behind Graham and Onn, walking towards the turbolift not far away.

A happy consequence of so many people on deck , Rangin muses to himself that he is outside Kylah's quarters before his own from the diversions he is making around the groups of refugees.

"Oh Kylah, what did you get yourself mixed up in?" he thinks to himself concerned over everything he saw less than an hour ago, never mind the colony's imminent destruction.

He looks round to see if anyone’s keeping watch here, remembering the auto-reply he received when trying to reach her by communicator. If so, he'll ask what the current situation is. But if there is no one there, he will press the intercom for the door.

At this point, Graham doesn't much care about being brought up on charges.

Nia's furious.

He's failed Marala...and Nikolai.

And the problem at hand being he can't see any feasible way to turn that around.

There is no one standing guard at Kylah's door. Rangin can just barely hear the chime sound inside after he presses the button.

Graham, Onn and the two guards make their way by turbolift and through the crowded corridors and reach Graham's quarters first. Li stops by the door, gestures and says to Graham, "If you please, sir...?"

When the door chimes, Kylah jerks her head up from her folded arms, still sitting at her desk since an unsuccessful attempt to compose a message to Aldaan.

"Come in!" The words are automatic. But of course, the door will not react to her command. She is allowed no visitors. Except--perhaps it is someone from Security? To escort her... somewhere, probably even worse? In which case the door likely will slide open.

It does not. Then... who else would bother with her?

She rises from her chair and clasps her hands together. "I--I am here," she calls out, miserable, "But I cannot let anyone in. Please do not go."

A few hesitant steps take her nearer to the door. Unable to contain her curiosity and wariness--the possibility that it is Lt. Ferguson has just flashed in her mind--she closes her eyes to concentrate in hopes of getting some mental glimpse of the visitor's mood as she adds, "Who is--"

The question ends in a gasp. Though she has barely even begun reaching out, her mind is flooded with mixed emotions: frustration. Irritation. Anxiety. But most of all... concern.

Even without such strong feelings, or the obvious empathic receptiveness this person possesses, Kylah has been so intimately connected with him--at least, on her side--that Kylah would have recognized him regardless.

"Velir?" she half-whispers, staring wonderingly at the silver door separating them. Then, shaking her head, she raises her voice. "Velir? Is that you?"

Booker could be a wraith beside Nia, so distant and silent as they've walked from Vargas's office. She's counted to one hundred twice, waiting in vain for him to speak.

Now they're about to be physically separated, instead of just emotionally, and she's close to flying off the handle herself. "Just a minute," she snaps out to Ensign Li, unfairly angry with him--and, knowing it, she softens her tone. "Please?"

Her gaze darts back to Booker and she blurts: "Damn it, I'm sorry. I know I screwed up. I'm sorry I was even in there with you. Vargas and I are--" Oil and water? Fire and ice? Nia can't think of an apt description so she just brushes it away with a hand. "It's complicated. The thing is, you might've had a chance if you'd been alone with him. I don't understand why you didn't..."

Aware that this is not the place, and especially not the audience, for too much honesty, Nia reframes her sentence. "If you'd gone to him and told him about you and Marala, he might've understood. He still might." She hesitates, then reaches out to his hand, giving a I'm not making any trouble look to the other security officers. Then she lowers her voice to a near-hiss.

"He's cruel as fuck, not telling you immediately. But I don't believe he's capable of doing what--what you're afraid of. More than that, I especially don't think the Captain's capable of it. I really don't, Book." She leans into him and whispers, "And listen. If they require you to marry her officially, do it. No half-measures."

Searching his eyes for some sense of understanding, some kind of connection, Nia squeezes his hand. "Okay?"

After a moment's hesitation, Ens. Li nods to the other redshirt, Ens. Asrar Degheidy, a stolid middle-aged Egyptian woman, and both back up a couple of steps. They watch Onn and Graham, and pay little attention to the evacuees and other Yorktown crew passing in the corridor.

Graham blinks and swallows repeatedly, listening carefully to Nia.

Just the sound of her voice alone, independent of the words, is like a polar opposite star, its gravity pulling him away from a black hole of despair.

He returns the squeeze of her hand. "Nothing about this is on you, Nia," he says softly. "Other than the kindness I don't deserve--" he squeezes her hand and forces a small smile. "Don't argue about it, I'll accept it, I'm grateful for it."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then: "we'll see...thank you, whatever happens."

Nia parts her lips, intending to argue. Then she pauses.

Either Booker has such a deep and dark scheme that he doesn't want to share with Nia--due to perceived danger or even a lack of trust--or he's truly as numb and resigned as he seems.

If it's the latter, Nia can't think of a damn thing left to say to drag him from the pit he's in. If the former... whether he's willing to share or not, she'll find out in time.

As for his saying that he's somehow undeserving of her help... she can't even begin to address that craziness in the few seconds remaining until the redshirts cut things off.

She lifts her hands in a helpless shrug, then drops them. "You're welcome." The words seem absurdly polite and restrained. Not Nia's strong points. But again, she's got no real choice. "I'd say I'll be in touch, but... that'll depend on Vargas. Take care of yourself."

She looks back at the two Ensigns, nodding in gratitude for their tactful retreat. "Well," she says, after clearing her tightening throat. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Whichever one of you's assigned to keep watch on me, let's get going."

"No apology necessary, ma'am," Li says. He opens the door, lets Graham in, and locks it behind him. His cabinmate Mahmoud is not there; their quarters are much as Graham left them, seemingly months ago.

The two redshirts accompany Onn through the crowded corridors towards her own cabin.

Rangin relaxes slightly with relief that at least he knows where Kylah is as her voice comes through the door. He wasn't sure if she would be there or if she had been moved, given the lack of guard on the door.

But he can also feel more than his own emotions as others seem to rush through him: despair, anguish, misery and yet also a sliver of overwhelming relief greater than his own.

"Are you ok, Kylah?" he calls through the door while trying to studiously ignore those around him. "I shouldn't be here, but I thought I should check after..." Rangin is not sure how to mention the response text concerning her incarceration. "What happened Kylah?" he asks openly waiting for some reply, any reply, to echo through the door.

* * *

Kylah shudders, her muscles weak from exhaustion, gratitude and shame. He sounds kind. It is more than she could have hoped, much less expected. “They--Cmdr. Vargas--he brought me in after I disregarded orders, and I told him I was not well, so he sent me to Sickbay but then the security officer led me here to be confined. And he forced me to surrender my communicator!”

The last word is a near-sob, and she increasingly trips over her racing thoughts: “I begged him not to take it from me. You must know how I feel about that, after Anubis and whatever happened with Darren, I cannot bear to have no way to reach out. But it was no use. I am locked in, trapped. Oh, I am so grateful you are here!”

The verbal tidal wave is halted only by her need to breathe. Dizzy and frightened, she cannot even remember what she has said, if it was even semi-coherent.

***

Reach out. Rangin thinks, but that was the last thing you were going to do when we last talked. Besides, Rangin had been the one reaching out to find her on Anubis, and he had no idea what had gone on between her and Zweller. Maybe later he would ask, assuming Kylah had a later in Starfleet.

"Grateful," he questions with a touch of irony, "You weren't that grateful to see me last time, and it was not as if you were totally honest with me, were you? I knew you were up to something but you didn't want to tell me and there is little I can do to help now."

Graham frowns, takes a deep breath, and takes stock of what computer, comms access, and egress from his room he may be able to finagle.

Graham can access the ship's Library Computer, but not communicate with anyone, and not leave his quarters.

Locked in with an ample supply of whiskey.


Graham rubs his face with both hands, trying not to believe that Marala and Nikolai may be on their way back planet-side.

Kylah bows her head, resting it against the cold metal door. “I am sorry I tried to hide this from you, Velir,” she says, her voice echoing back to her. “I did tell you, in the end. I must help people connected to my family. I cannot tell you more, it would do more harm than good.” Her ragged exhale is nearly a moan. “There is so much at stake, lives for which I am responsible. I cannot think. What will happen to me? To them? What does Cmdr. Vargas actually know? It must be more than he has told me. Would he truly take me in custody and relieve me of duty for merely missing one mission?

“But how would he have found out the truth? The only other person who knows is--well--someone who has nearly as much to lose as I. At least, it would reflect badly on him. I doubt it would destroy his life the way it will my own.” Kylah hesitates and straightens, a dreadful suspicion dawning on her. “But no...I am wrong. Of course, it was not just him. You--you said you would report me to Lt. Graham. Oh Velir, you did not give me away, did you?”

***

Rangin sighs outside the door as he turns and leans against it, knowing it is not going to open. "No, Kylah, all I said to Graham was that you were returning to your quarters and that you would be about ten minutes. I don't know what Lt. Graham did next."

Rangin thinks back to the previous ships he was on and perhaps realises Kylah is missing something. "Kylah, if Vargas is any kind of Security chief, he will know when something is going on. Probably not exactly what, but enough to look in the right areas."

Rangin looks up and down the corridor doing his best to just blend in and not be noticed. "So what next?"

***

Velir’s voice sounds so far away, even though he is physically quite close. Kylah lifts her palm and touches the door. “I do not know. I cannot control what punishment I receive. I only care that--that I have fulfilled my duty to my House. And you cannot help me, even if you wanted to. Unless…”

She squeezes her eyes shut, wishing as hard as she can. “Please… might you be willing to do one thing for me? Would you… can you please find out if Lt. Ferguson is still on duty and not in confinement? He was in Transporter Room 6. Although I suppose he might be off-duty once the beam-ups end.”

Afraid of his reaction, she rushes on. “I do not want you to be involved in this, to do anything you find unethical. You need not say a word to him. But since you already know he is--he is part of this, I do not think I am revealing too much. It is just… if he is there, or at least not confined as I am, I may still have some hope. They cannot know what I have done if they do not yet know how.”

***

Ferguson?? Transporter room? Kylah did, didn't she.

"Oh you, idiot!" Rangin mutters quietly under his breath. All that had to happen now was for a call to go out about some extra people found who are unaccounted for. Maybe.

Rangin flicks open his datapad for the lottery results. "Ok, I'll go check, but first what are their names? I just want to know it is worth it."

* * *

Relief turns into an icy shower of dread, freezing Kylah in place. Worth it. “I do not understand. What do you mean by ‘worth it’? They are people and they are at risk of death. I would have imagined…assumed...that you would find that reason enough. Or even my having told you how important they are to me and my family. None of that matters?

“And besides keeping my promise to hide them, I am afraid to pull you in further by making you actively complicit. If you do not know, you do not have to lie.” Kylah hesitates and then blurts, “After we leave, and their--my--our fate has been determined one way or another, I promise I will tell you. As much as I can. Maybe then you will understand... “

The frightening thing--of an increasingly long list of frightening things Kylah is facing--is that she does not believe Velir will understand. She closes her eyes. “I know you have no reason to trust me, not anymore. I thank you for your offer, but the price you ask… that is too much. The cost of this whole venture is already high. I will be--I am already paying dearly.” Her face burns again at the devil’s bargain she made earlier, and she rests her cheek on the cool metal of the door.

“Please,” she ends in a whisper. “All I am asking is for you to find Lt. Ferguson. It puts you at no risk. These people matter to me. They are afraid for their lives. I am afraid for my own, and I--I do not just mean my career in Starfleet. Will you truly not help me unless I break my vow?”

Nia keeps her pace as slow as possible while thoughts gallop through her mind like crazed runaway horses. She scans the length of each corridor in hopes of finding someone, anyone, likely to help her out. Double-T would work, he'd be happy to do her a solid. Ajay even more so. Oh holy Seht'dar, yes, Ajay! C'mon Aje, please show up, I know there's no reason you would 'cause you're busy as hell but please, please...

Attempts to conjure an ally are likely futile. Still... what's that saying she's heard from humans now and then? Something about mountains and a deity named Mohammed...

"Hey, question for you guys," she says to the security officers as she places a hand on her belly. "I've been working without a break since morning--like everyone--everything from handling a confrontation with another ship in the Captain's absence to shuttling to and from the planet. And I am really freakin' hungry. Any chance we can stop by a replicator, or even better the mess? Y'know, so I can get a meal to take back with me. Please?" She shrugs and adds with a touch of humor, "I mean, I'm supposed to be confined, not starved, right?"

Ens. Li frowns and says, "We'll take you to your quarters, ma'am, as ordered, and then bring you something. I don't think Cmdr. Vargas would want us stopping for a meal."

Ens. Degheidy says nothing but seems to agree.

Welp. So much for that. But you can't win if you don't try.

Nia releases her held breath in a nearly silent huff. "Understood, Ensign. I didn't even think of asking you to act like a waiter. Not when there's surely more important tasks elsewhere."

Of course, Vargas is fine with sidelining his ACoS, so apparently a fully manned security complement isn't a priority despite the ship heaving with 1200 strangers on board.

Her mouth tightens for a few silent paces and then she adds, "But since you offered, I'm grateful, and I'll take you up on it. My stomach's so empty it feels stuck to my spine. I'll eat anything, so surprise me. Pick your own favorite meal."

Even as she talks to Ens. Li--and the silent Ens. Degheidy--she keeps her eyes peeled for anyone she might be able to rope in for a favor.

Rangin grinds his teeth in frustration at the tone in his words and Kylah's completely misunderstanding what he means. And it’s not like everyone in the colony wasn't also at risk of death. And she is the one being obtuse, and...and...Rangin takes a deep breath and starts again.

“Kylah, what I mean is, did the people, and I dread to ask just how many people, have their names come up in the lottery. I’ll point out that if I had known their names in advance, I could probably have had them come up in the lottery with no-one the wiser, but you have your own methods, which as I understand, have been successful. So, do you know if this is the case?”

He shakes his head not knowing just how deep he is going in, “And I will go looking for Ferguson and see if I can find him, but if the people are supposed to be on board anyway, then does it matter?”

***

At first, all Kylah hears is that Velir is willing to search for Lt. Ferguson, and again a rush of gratitude floods her chest. “Thank you,” she says almost prayerfully.

Then the rest of his comments bleed through, turning pleasure to indignation. “Of course neither of them made the list. Do you think I would not have checked?” She sighs. “And though it was kind of you to say you could probably have affected the lottery, could and probably were not reliable options I had the luxury of considering. You do not seem to comprehend…”

No, he does not comprehend the stakes. Perhaps he thinks she is melodramatic, flighty and self-entitled. But he has some measure of empathic or other psi-related phenomenon: can he not sense the truth? Or how deadly serious this situation is to her?

Not as dire as for the colonists, certainly. But depending on what Aldaan has planned should she fail, her future could be literally torturous. Perhaps Velir is not even trying. He has his cool rational calculations and seems only to upbraid her, not sympathize.

***

Rangin wonders how much more information Kylah is holding on to and if he will ever ask a question that will not be misunderstood

"Kylah, I only found out the results while I was on the shuttle. How could I know if you had seen the lottery results before you were confined to quarters." He shakes his head slightly as he watches around him, "and you're right, I don't think I comprehend because I have no idea what I am getting into."

He stands and leans his head back against the door, weary of the missteps, "Ok, I'll go and you can tell me later, if there is a later." He wonders if she feels the same or if this is just another game to her.

Kylah’s exhaustion rolls over her in waves as she tries to maintain an even keel. Velir sounds even closer, but still he does not trust her--his doubt is easier to sense; he must be very close to the door.

She looks at her hand, its pale, almost blue fingers lightly touching the metal. Can Velir’s new psi abilities give him any insight to her sincerity? Each time their hands have touched since he exhibited these powers, the impact was like an invasion.

Because he is not used to them, she realizes. Of course he does not yet have Kylah’s control--what little she possesses. Their mutual emotional insights must be creating some sort of feedback loop, with Kylah’s own feelings reflected and amplified back to her.

But this is not skin on skin. She bites her lip before daring to speak again. “Velir. Your new… mental abilities. You remember how they affected me before. I do not know what you personally felt,” she lies, “but perhaps… can you try, now, to sense what I am feeling?” Nervous perspiration beads on her forehead--she has never, ever welcomed this sort of vulnerability. “My palm rests here,” she says, patting the door so he can hear. “Will you meet it?”

+++

Slightly surprised by her change in tone and hearing the gentle tapping on the door, he puts his hand over where he thinks it is located. He can't tell if it is the warmth of his hand placed on the surface or something else deeper, but as he closes his eyes he can picture Kylah on the other side of the door.

The last few times they have touched, something strange has happened. But in the corridors standing apart, there was nothing. This time, he's not even sure what he is meant to be feeling or understanding or being shocked by.

No, there is nothing this time, no visions, no diving into her senses. Rangin feels nervous about this situation, almost terrified with what is going on. His mission is complete but it feels like there is still something left to do, some terrible price still yet to be paid for what is happening. As if he cannot ever free himself from the situation he finds himself in...

...this isn't him. He doesn't have any stake in the colony other than to make sure it's done fairly. Which obviously it has not, but that's beside the point. Is it coming from Kylah, maybe, perhaps she still has something left to do. But he has no idea what it is?

"So what is the problem, isn't your problem solved?"

Down the crowded corridor, Onn spots the familiar face of Ens. Horst Leventhal, one of the relief helmsmen. He looks annoyed as he makes his way through the swarm of Novy Rostov evacuees.

Kylah’s shoulders relax just a bit. Velir's tone has changed. It is not accusatory--at least, not as accusatory as before. He sounds confused, uncertain. Genuinely curious. From what she senses of him, he… he is beginning to understand how daunting this situation is.

“My problem is that while Ms.--my friends were on board, I have no idea whether that is still the case. It has been nearly an hour since I knew of their whereabouts. I have no communicator, and only limited access to my comms account through my terminal. Obviously I cannot visit them. So seeking Lt. Ferguson out is the only option, short of breaking my vow and telling you where they--”

Her eyes widen as a fresh horror dawns on her. If Velir has returned from the mission, so has the rest of the party--including Lt. Onn. If the other woman returns to her quarters, as of course she must at some point…

Kylah stares at the door, barely controlling the instinct to scratch and claw at this barrier to her freedom. “I have to get out,” she groans in desperation. “How can I get out of here?!”

***

“You can’t,” is Rangin's short answer to her question. “Unless you can think of some reason as to why you should not be in those quarters...and don’t set light to something, just in case that thought crosses your mind.”

There is an empty sinking feeling of a need to find something and being held back, but he doesn’t know what it is. “If you want these doors open, you probably need one of your colleagues to come and open it for you by accident. After all, if they can open the door then you can walk out of it.” Rangin knows it is a longshot and the chances are Vargas has already informed everyone who has access to these quarters about the current situation.

He knows it is a foolish decision and only going to get himself into more trouble but he has to ask. “Ok, what else do you need me to do.”

A little jolt of recognition catches Nia's breath--only for a second. Leventhal... she doesn't know him well, other than as a very capable young helmsman. Earlier today he got them to the Sarafina and back. And that's basically it. Plus, he looks like he's being forced to eat an unpleasant meal.

She tests the waters by calling out to him, even before they're at normal conversation range. "Leventhal, everything all right? Where're you headed?"

Leventhal looks up at the sound of his name, and his expression lightens a little. "Hello, Lieutenant. Uh... just trying to get back to my quarters." A NR evacuee steps on his toe and keeps going; he winces but doesn't say anything to her.

The Library Computer terminal on Graham's desk glows to life with an incoming call. "Singh to Graham," he hears, as the Captain appears on the screen.

Gratitude toward the universe is the last thing on Graham's mind at the moment, but he does feel some just then for the fact that he's not seriously goddamned drunk out of his mind. The Captain's hail is unexpected. It takes a second, a long blink, and a deep breath for Graham to assume parade rest after tapping the controls.

"Graham here, Captain," he replies.

She looks at him and says, "The First Officer has told me what happened with Mrs. Gromov and her son. Is there anything you'd like to add to his account?"

Graham takes a deep breath. "I'm sure Cmdr. Vargas reported my statements accurately," he says quietly. "I'm..." "Happy" isn't quite the right word. "Ah...at your disposal to answer any questions, Captain."

"Very well, then. How do you happen to know this woman, Mr. Graham?" Her tone is polite even though her question is pointed.

And unexpected. Graham reacts by being taken where the evocation of past memories takes him. He fidgets slightly and looks away. "A long time..." He turns back, realizing that wasn't the question. "Marala was...I guess you'd say she was my first love."

He breaks parade rest unconsciously to rub his chin. "But more than that--I'm not sure...I don't think I would have made it out of adolescence without her--at least, not...not well, not right."

She nods. "I see... or I think I do. I don't mean or wish to pry into your personal life, Mr. Graham, and ordinarily I would never ask these questions, but this is no ordinary time. Do you still have feelings for her? Did you actually intend to marry her, or, to be blunt, would that just be a sham in order to save her life and that of her son?"

"I--" Graham's brow furrows. This question, too, comes as a surprise. But should it be? And in any event, it's hard to answer.... "I - if you mean, when I first met her planet-side, did I think 'Well, what a surprise, I think I should propose,' no, Captain. There was no time for that, it wasn't the right moment - for a lot of reasons - and...."

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself and gathering his thoughts. He looks down and then up, making sure to hold the Captain's eyes. "The only woman I've ever loved as much as Marala--as much as I still love Marala... was my wife, Jane..."

Way to throw Nia under the bus, Booker...you do love Nia, right? Except, score one for legalism, you haven't said that to anyone yet, including Nia...and in your defense, could you really sort out how you feel about Nia versus Marala right now in real time, in front of the Captain? Nope...

He forces himself to concentrate on the Captain again. To focus. "She- " He has to pause and blink for a moment, then takes some small measure of psychological strength by ensuring that his return to parade rest is in perfect form. "Jane died because of me." He lets the damning fact sink in, tearing at him just as painfully as he deserves. Maybe not enough. Never enough, he can't help but think. "If there were a way to...if Marala could not die, because of me..." his voice almost trails off into a whisper, and his eyes are now tearing enough that he has to look away. "'Sham' would not be the right word, Captain," he says softly. "It wouldn't, I swear to you. Far from it."

Singh thinks for a moment and then says, "Thank you, Mr. Graham. I think you'd better speak with Mrs. Gromov immediately. Stand by, and I'll see that you're taken to her. Singh out."

"Hope you get there safely, Horst," Nia says wryly with a glance at her colleague's possibly injured foot. "Me, I'd give a couple thousand credits not to be heading to my cabin. We do what we gotta do."

And ain't that the truth. Nia maintains a casual attitude, which (hopefully) makes her seem less like she's under arrest and more like she's merely walking with a pair of security officers. Her reputation, especially her predilections for redshirts, sure comes in handy at times like these. Yeah, one of the officers is female, but: again, given her rep, that's not unheard of either.

Regardless of how she appears to passers by, Nia still feels caged in and useless and really in need of a miracle. And if she feels this way... Can't imagine what Book's going through. Or Marala...

The idea of setting fire to something in her cabin most assuredly did not enter Kylah's head. Until now, with Velir's dry suggestion. Why did I not think of this? Dizzy with adrenaline, she swivels to search for anything that might--

No. This is madness. Not only does Kylah lack a way to create a fire, her success would only result in more security officers surrounding her, not the freedom to run. Then she would not just be in dereliction of duty, she would be an arsonist as well.

She returns to the door, searching with her fingertips for the spot where she senses Velir most keenly--where his fingers touch his side of the metal between them. A warm spark tells her she has found him, and the spark becomes warmer, all-encompassing, intoxicating. Though she wishes to, she does not test his emotions empathically. She can hear them in his voice, as he was just now: disappointed. Fatalistic. And still more: on the edges of his words, just barely shading them... was that affection? Is that even possible with what he knows about her unethical, reckless behavior?

"No," she sighs, answering her own question as well as his. "I do not think there is anything else you can do, Velir. I wish there were. As you say, if my cabinmate were to arrive, it would be different. But she is likely on duty working, as I should be. There is no way I could... possibly..."

She sucks her lips inward, her mouth a thin line as she contemplates the barrier between her and Velir.

There is a way. An infinitesimal chance, and Kylah is likely not up to it.

"Let me focus," she pleads softly. Both a request to Velir and a prayer that she can accomplish something significantly beyond her abilities, at least as far as she has used them until now.

Then she bends forward, her head again resting against the door as her left hand follows suit and mirrors the right. Eyes squeezed shut, she does her best to calm herself with deep breaths, shutting out all the doubts tangling and trapping her mind like a spider's web.

After a silent moment, she presses outward, her focus searching out one person, one specific person. She has never attempted this before and she does not know if it will work now. But she has never been as desperate. That must count for something.

A swell of heat builds inside her, more beads of perspiration dampening her forehead. Knowing that Velir is standing directly in the way--and uncertain how to ask him to step back--Kylah whispers a silent I am sorry to him, before she lets loose her concentration in what might be considered a blast.

She sees-and-senses the journey through Velir's mind. Nothing in detail--her awareness spreads too quickly to pick apart each thought or memory--but she is buffeted by snatches of words unspoken that want to be freed, hidden desires half-known even to their owner, dark chasms of horrifying pain dug in deep but not perfectly covered over, waiting for their victim to fall, lost forever in their depths.

Kylah winces slightly through it all, pushing her way relentlessly forward like a small defenseless shuttle through an asteroid belt. But in seconds she is free and inside the ship's corridor, snaking around while searching virtually for a needle in a haystack. Kylah met Lt. JG Demei Xiang not long ago, and those immediate memories barely made an imprint at the time.

She must match them nevertheless.

Her fingertips press into the metal, white with effort while the rest of her is turning pink, then red. Mentally the corridors outside her door are black except for the brightness of other people's consciousnesses. She flits near each one like a hummingbird, hoping to recognize Lt. Xiang--and that she will know what to do when, if, her target is found.

She will not be able to speak to the other woman's mind, not with any clarity. Distance and the lack of any emotional connection build too thin a bridge to cross, especially not given Kylah's already tenuous grasp on true telepathy. But she has placed thoughts or impulses into other people before. Only the vaguest ones will work. People know when they are being influenced by something outside themselves.

Come back. Though she is only thinking the words, her lips form the shapes as if whispering to Velir. Return to the new cabin. Something important is here. Come back. Over and over again she pleads while doing all she can to maintain the strength of her empathic reach. For one millisecond she gasps and nearly draws back: pulled by Velir's presence, something he is thinking or feeling or saying.

But he is too far behind now. She ignores those instincts and hunts on.

There is a cavalcade of images, emotions and feelings that scatter across Velir's mind. Naked fear and terror of the situation, not just what has happened, but also what will happen and a desperation to try and make something happen.

But as he can feel Kylah pervading through his mind and beyond, he can almost feel himself on both sides of the door facing himself. The disorientation only continues as new memories keep surfacing. Old ones, buried deep returning even now to haunt him across the years.

Then there is the face of someone whom he keeps buried deep inside. Smiling, beckoning to him, pleading with him to come back, to return. He struggles to fight against her honeyed pleading words, knowing the pain it will cause in the long run. No matter how important she thinks Rangin is to her, he knows that it is a situation he must avoid. But still he finds himself almost welded to the door, unable to lift his fingers.

"Let me go," he whispers, "let me go" once again. But as several features blend together, he cannot tell who the woman is. Some aspects are well known, but some are unfamiliar to him and he cannot separate the past from the here and now.

It's not until his legs give way slightly and he slumps down the door, that his mind begins to clear and images start to fade. After a few moments he rises again, not touching the door, to hesitantly ask, "Kylah, what just happened?"

Rangin's communicator beeps. As he reaches for it, a young Chinese woman in Engineering red with the partial braid of a lieutenant JG on her sleeves comes up to the door. He vaguely remembers her name... Xing? Xiang? Yes, Xiang.

"Hello, Mr. Rangin," she says, a little puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

Hearing the voice beside him, Rangin is relieved that he is not touching the door to Kylah's quarters although he may be facing it. He turns fully to face her as he pulls out his communicator

"Ma'am," Rangin nods in acknowledgement , "I'm looking for an errant colony member I need to speak to and waiting to hear where he may be. I am also heading for my quarters in the interim to see who I would be sharing with,. I haven't had a notification to move with all the colony members arriving on board."

Rangin isn't sure why she is talking to him as it's not as if they had ever talked at length before and especially given the ongoing situation. But he gets this feeling she should be there, that he wants her to be there for some reason he just can't quite fathom.

Rangin buries it internally, hoping to think on it later. He smiles back at her and asks politely, "and yourself, ma'am?"

Lt. JG Demei Xiang looks a little puzzled but says, "These are Ens. Kylah's quarters - and mine too, at least for the next few days. We were thrown together with all the evacuees coming aboard." With a nod, the pretty Chinese officer takes in the crowded corridor. "As you've probably noticed. I just came back to take a quick nap. Can I help you with something?"

Kylah becomes aware of a second consciousness just outside her door, and recognizes it as being Xiang. Upon focusing, her psi impression of the Engineering officer is that she is friendly, concerned and tired.

Rangin's communicator beeps again.

The target of Kylah's mental focus snaps backwards to find Lt. Xiang, apparently right outside her door. The sudden change makes her stagger--she was not expecting anything so nearby.

"Oh... oh, she is here, please let her come inside!" Kylah hugs herself in a mixture of elation and anxiety. She will be able to leave, assuming Lt. Xiang does not know of the restrictions placed on her new roommate.

Belatedly she remembers that she is not in uniform, and automatically Kylah turns toward her closet. But, catching another glimpse of herself in the mirror, she pauses. Just as earlier, her reflection looks very little like her: the thin, lavender dress, her loose and unstyled hair, and no makeup all make her appear like a young girl or teenager. At most, given her less-prominent but still noticeable curves, an older teenager.

If she had chosen consciously, she could not have planned a better disguise.

She turns back and heads to the door, waiting, praying, willing it to open.

Rangin feels slightly nonplussed by Lt JG Xiang's questions. "Yes ma'am I'm aware these are Ens. Kylah's quarters, not mine, and no ma'am, unless you would happen to know where Xinle Bek, the colonist I mentioned earlier, would happen to be."

He steps back away from the door to allow her egress and brings his communicator up. "Please excuse me, this is likely to be important." he nods to her, as he looks down at the communicator to see who is trying to get in touch with him.

Turning away and stepping back slightly, he hopes he is lucky enough that they have found Xinle Bek and he can vacate the area before things get any trickier. He is not sure if Xiang will be able to get through the door and doesn't want to explain why he is truly there, but he is curious to know what lockdown has been put in place on Kylah's quarters.

The door opens at Xiang's touch, and she enters. "Hello, Kylah," she says, smiling wanly. "Thought I'd come back for a little nap, if you don't mind. I'm bushed."

Science Officer Roble is waiting on Rangin's communicator circuit: "The Maat says it hasn't seen you yet. Where are you, Mr. Rangin? We don't have much time."

Kylah nearly collides with Lt. Xiang when she practically leaps toward the door just as the other woman enters. "Yes, I know," she says mindlessly, telling the truth as she senses Lt. Xiang's exhaustion. Sidling by, she releases a flurry of words. "I-shall-leave-you-to-your-nap-ma'am-I-hope-you-feel-better."

All the while she eyes her destination--the open doorway through which she can see Velir, standing off to the side looking at his communicator. When she slips out she cannot help pausing just before crossing the threshold, breaking the invisible path of the sensors.

Please do not close, she prays to whatever gods are in charge of door-locking protocol. Please, please do not close!

A deep breath, which she holds in her lungs. Then she peeks outside to the corridor. Velir is very near, but she does not think he has seen her. She continues to hold her breath while checking both directions. Is the coast clear of anyone who might be a danger to her plan?

If not, she will turn her back but remain near enough to the door that--if it cannot somehow identify her--will ideally remain open. Otherwise, Kylah exhales at last, girds herself, and steals beyond the boundary of her confinement.

Rangin does his best not to sound aggrieved over the comms channel. "Sir, I went to his listed quarters but there was no sign of him. " he politely replies, "I sent a message back saying so and was waiting for a reply while also checking a few other places to see if I could find him."

Behind he can hear a conversation going on between Kylah and Xiang causing him to stop and look around at the doorway, noticing that Xiang has indeed left the corridor

"Sir, if Xinle Bek in his quarters and ready to talk, I'll be there as quick as I can." he asks while deciding that he should be heading for the turbolift. A direction that will take him straight past the door to Kylah's quarters.

Xiang looks curiously at Kylah for a moment, says "Thanks" and then goes into the bathroom. The corridor is still somewhat crowded but Kylah sees no one out there who is likely to report her to the First Officer. The door remains open, as normal, while she's blocking it.

Roble says, "Yes, Bek said no one has been by. Maybe it didn't hear you signal at the door. Please go back and see it at once; it'll be waiting."

With a respectful nod, Leventhal moves away from Onn and the two Security officers, through the mass of NR evacuees and those Yorktown personnel who are helping them. Moments later, Onn sees Lt. Cecilia Bennett coming down the corridor from the opposite direction, a data tablet in hand.

Graham's door opens without the chime sounding, and there is Ens. Faisal Mahmoud, his cabinmate. "There's a strange story going around," the barrel-chested Libyan says, his expression unreadable, "that you have an important question to ask a civilian on this ship."

"I--" Graham stops, staring open-mouthed at his old friend. He spreads his arms and shrugs his shoulders. "How in the hell is there a rumor going around about me and Marala?"

"Well, I didn't hear a particular name, but you know what they say, Book. Scuttlebutt is the only thing in the Universe that travels faster than starships."

Graham scowls. "You'd think people would have enough on their minds already... shit, I'll bite, what's the word? Am I like a dupe, a predator, or what?"

Mahmoud shrugs. "None of that, that I've heard. Just that you might have a major lifestyle change in the very near future... and that I might not be your cabinmate for too much longer."

Graham sighs. "Well, OK, to cut a long story short, it seems like it may be that if I marry my first love from 'way back in the day right now, she and her son won't have to die here." He sighs again. "Guess I'd better... figure out what to do, and get to it."

Mahmoud's eyes widen. "Yeah, I guess maybe you'd better." He gestures towards the open door. "Shall we...?"

Graham smiles. "Son of a bitch, Faisal...are you my Security escort?"

"I might be. I might also soon be your best man. Let's find out, Book."

The very sight of Cecilia Bennett makes Nia's hands curl into claws. Every ounce of will power she possesses goes into smothering her impulse to--well, smother. Preferably by slamming Cece's face into the wall.

Holy shit, get a grip. Nia isn't proud of that uncivilized instinct or desire, although she decides she'll be gentle on herself for owning it. She can't prevent herself from such thoughts--she's only four or five generations away from the female members in past eras who fought to the death for mates.

And look at her now: Actively advocating, no, basically pushing her own... 'mate,' for lack of a better term... into marriage with another woman. Hell, I'm practically the pinnacle of civilized Sidonian evolution.

But she's still majorly pissed off and, one way or another, she's gonna make Cece Bennett the locus of her anger. As Nia moves closer, she shakes her head while sending a phaser-like gaze toward the Navigator. "Unbelievable," she snaps. "Look at you swanning about. Do you have the slightest idea just how you've screwed Booker over? Or the danger you put those civilians in?"

“Aye aye, sir,” Rangin says into the communicator before heading back towards the turbolift straight past the open door to Kylah’s quarters which is being kept open for some reason. He doesn’t see either Kylah or Xiang to begin with but the person in the doorway...wait is that Kylah out of uniform?

He blinks slightly stunned, at how she looks, and ends up getting turned round and stumbling over his own feet. Trying to not fall over he throws an arm out hoping to brace himself against the wall without bumping into any of the people milling around.

Kylah's plan was to sneak unobtrusively toward the turbolift, preferably unnoticed. Velir's sudden inability to walk ends that plan, as much as time is of an issue. Without a thought she hurries in his direction and clasps his arm. She is not strong enough to support him, but she hopes she can straighten his balance.

"I have you," she whispers in a rush. "Oh Velir, what is wrong?" Before he answers, a thought flashes into her mind and she darts a look at the closing door behind her. She inhales sharply at the fact that there is no going back now.

The magnitude of her rapidly increasing disobedience is overwhelming, and a shudder runs through her small frame. From Velir, she also senses some sort of shock. When her attention returns to the reeling man by her side, Kylah cannot prevent her voice from trembling. "Are you dizzy? I can contact Sickbay..."

Bennett, who had a smile just forming on her lips when she first noticed Onn, stands frozen. She stammers, "What... what are you talking about?"

The two Security officers escorting Onn hesitate nearby.

Rangin looks across to see who has caught him from losing his balance only to find himself looking straight at Kylah. "Thank you," he says reflexively before he sees further the different style up close that took him by surprise as he walked past. "I'm fine, just a little surprised", he says understating how he really feels. Just a few moments he had been sure that she had been confined to quarters and she had been saying the same thing desperate for a way out and for him to have to do something on her behalf.

He also realises that she is outside her quarters where she was supposed to be, at least that is what he assumed from Lt. Thalen's autoreply. Had things changed since then?

He takes a moment longer to allow Kylah to let him go and as she does so, he can't help but look up and down her. It's certainly a different look for her but now isn't the time to mention it.

"I would love to stay, but I have to go find someone. I see you have been let out, I assumed you were still confined to quarters, I guess that's no longer the case." He looks to Kylah to confirm or deny his statement, aware he is going to be asked later on regardless of what happens, but also aware he has little time to wait. “Do you still need my help?”

Kylah takes a micro-step backwards when Velir straightens, and then another when he suggests she is only out of confinement thanks to Lt. Thalen's permission. Shame suffuses her face, burning underneath his scrutiny.

And also from the way he is gazing at her... She has not seen such a look from him in what seems a very, very long time. Is it... approval? From Velir?

She must not be distracted by such things. And she fears lying to him--not with his still uncertain level of psi abilities. Instead she only answers his last question.

"Yes, yes please. If you would check on..." She cannot help glancing around before continuing even more softly: "...Lt. Ferguson. I cannot contact him myself. And if he has escaped any punishment, I can rest at least a little easier. Can you do that for me?" Kylah gestures weakly toward the turbolift. "I must go... I must get to Deck Four."

No denying it: Nia's heart virtually surges with relief and pleasure at the prospect of letting loose all the stress of today. She couldn't do so with Vargas, her superior, and she wouldn't with someone far beneath her in rank.

Cecilia Bennett is the perfect target. Nowhere in these calculations is the minor flirtation or whatever-the-hell it was, that Nia had noticed surrounding Cece and Booker some weeks back. Nia's sure about that.

Nope, this is about that dreamy, self-satisfied smile Cecilia gave as she led Marala and Nikolai away.

Two long strides and she's standing before Bennett. "What am I talking about? The Gromovs," she says in a near whisper. "Marala, in particular. You found her. You turned her in. To the First Officer-slash-Chief of Security."

Nia has to clench her teeth at the thought, then makes the effort to relax her jaw. "This one lone woman was in a chapel but you couldn't respect that. During any of this, did she mention Booker's name? Knowing her I doubt she'd tell you what they mean to each other, not for sympathy. But I bet she mentioned him or me, if nothing else but to explain why she was there. And you couldn't contact us instead of Commander frickin' Vargas?"

Bennett's expression clouds, and she leans closer to Onn. She says coldly, "I'm so happy to have you tell me how things didn't happen, Mr. Onn. Not that I really have to explain myself to you, but Mrs. Gromov wasn't alone in the Chapel; she was there with maybe two dozen other people. She was helping another woman she knew with a child who wouldn't stop crying. I was there, as ordered, to confirm the names and identities of the evacuees there, as there've been reports of unauthorized people being brought aboard ship. I recognized her name from the initial landing party report, but she wasn't on the evacuee lottery list. She mentioned neither of you. A Security officer who was with me took her at once to see the First Officer, also as ordered. I understand, although I wasn't in the room, that he asked her why she had remained on the Yorktown. Mr. Graham's name apparently came up during that conversation. Mr. Vargas didn't hear it from me, though."

She glances at the two redshirts accompanying Onn, then looks back at the Sidonian and says, with something close to contempt, "But don't let me keep you, Lieutenant. I can see you have places to go, as do I, although not under armed guard." She turns to continue on her way.

Ens. Li coughs and says, "This way, please, Mr. Onn."

The all-important question remains unanswered hanging around in the air like some miasma of doubt and deceit surrounding the both of them. Rangin is no closer to an answer and is unwilling to ask further, in case he finds out the truth and it becomes something he does not want to hear. At least at this time, Kylah is obviously out of her quarters and that is only possible because she has been allowed. Would Vargas have done anything otherwise if it is not the case?

"I have someone I have to speak with first, I hope you understand. But then if I am able, I will try and find him and let you know what the situation is." Rangin finds himself turning in the same direction as Kylah, "I'm going to Deck 6," he says as he hurries down the corridor knowing Kylah will be scant steps behind him.

As they wait for the turbolift he looks across at her wondering what she is up to next. "Whatever you are about to do, good luck. Please don't do anything that will get you confined again," he whispers quietly to her trying to make sure no-one else hears or even notices the two of them in the corridor. He wants to know more of what happened and yet impatient to be away in case some glimmer of truth enlightens the situation for the ugly mess that it is. She had promised that later she would tell all. Rangin isn't even sure he wants to know. Well, he certainly wants to know, what he doesn't want is the emotional rollercoaster that is likely to go with it.

Kylah's eyes are wide and focused on Velir, measuring every shade of emotion running even briefly across his expression. His support shames her. As much as she desires his understanding and approval, she knows she does not deserve such things from him--not if she continues to break his trust.

She waits until there is a lull in the traffic surrounding them, or until the turbolift arrives and she and Velir are alone. Then, after a long held breath, she tightens her muscles as if in preparation for a beating.

"I must tell you," she says in a soft sigh. "I do need whatever assistance you can give me, but I cannot--" She pauses. Continuing means the possible destruction of her desperate scheme, and she clings to the last seconds she might enjoy of his sympathy.

But she rushes on: "I must not accept your help under false pretenses. Especially if by doing so you might be at risk of--of punishment. Velir, you do not seem to understand... I did not, I do not have permission to leave my quarters. As you suggested, I was able to take advantage of my roommate's arrival and the open door." Her gaze falls to stare at her sandal-clad feet, afraid of what she might see in or sense from Velir.

"So if you help, you must know that you would be helping a--I do not know what I would be called. A fugitive?" Kylah feels a bubble of hysteria swell within her, nearly laughing at using such a word to describe herself. It is far too active. "It does not matter. I have been relieved of duty already. My career is likely over."

And once she leaves, she will never see or speak to him again. Never repair their friendship. Never restore his regard of her, if he ever had any. Given her likely fate, such things would have meant some dignity, some warmth she could remember.

"But... but at least I will have done all I could to do my duty as required by my House." She crosses her arms over her stomach, embracing herself in misery as she ends in a whisper: "Please, Velir. Please do not report me. Let someone else do so, as I am sure is inevitable. If it were you, I just--I could not bear your being the person to do it."

Nia's skin tingles with the autonomic response of her scales, as happens with most highly charged confrontations. But her system knows the difference between someone who's a danger to her versus someone who's just... flexing. Bennett's like some exotic bird puffing its feathers up to seem bigger than it is: not a true challenge. No scales even breach Nia's pores.

She's genuinely sorry she misjudged Cece's role in this situation, but any real shame is quickly shut down by the extraordinary offensiveness of the other woman's words. Keeping her chin high, Nia replies, "Sorry my extreme concern about Lt. Graham and his loved ones' safety clouded my impression of things. Glad I was wrong, Bennett." And I'd be offering a much more sincere apology if you hadn't gone over-the-top bitchcakes.

"As to my companions, well, I've never had a problem attracting Security officers' attention... one way or another. No matter what they're armed with."

With a smile so dry it could only come from a Sidonian, Nia nods to her escorts in the direction of her quarters, just as Li indicated. Curiously, she feels much calmer after having the exchange with Cece.

She matches pace with the redshirts, adding quietly: "Lesson for both you Ensigns right there--if you don't mind advice from a nefarious criminal in your custody. When someone pelts you with a couple of rocks, you don't need to draw on 'em with a phaser cannon. Those of us who move up on the chain of command understand the value of a proportionate response."

Graham and Mahmoud pass silently through the crowded corridors of the Yorktown, each lost in his thoughts, coming at last to guest quarters on Deck 6. Ens. Mary Three Crows is standing on guard outside. She nods at both.

Graham softly whistles a little bit of "Here Comes the Bride." It's intentional to try to lighten thing up for Mahmoud and Three Crows... but it's also bravado. His mind is racing: What is actually going on? Is it as simple... not that this is simple, it's the opposite... but is it a deal that if I propose to Marala she gets offworld? Not just offworld... she gets to live, Booker.

"Gentlemen," the Amerindian woman says evenly. She does not appear amused by the tune, if she even recognized it. "Mrs. Gromov and her son are inside, Mr. Graham. You may go in, if you wish."

Graham nods in acknowledgment, takes a deep breath, and enters.

He sees Nikolai first, playing with some toy starships on the carpeted deck. The boy lights up, jumps to his feet and says, "Hi, Mr. Graham! How are you?" Without waiting for an answer, he shouts excitedly into the back room, "Mom, it's Mr. Graham! He came to visit." He looks back at Graham. "Did you come to visit?" Then he seems to notice Graham's expression. "Is something wrong?"

Graham realizes the last thing Nikolai needs is for his demons to cause the kid to worry. He quickly makes an exaggerated scowl, and clears his throat. "Only that it's 'Lieutenant Graham' to you, Mr. Gromov!" he says in an official voice. He forces a big friendly smile and gestures at the toy starships. "Professional advice to get you ready for serving on one of those ships - it'll be important to always recognize the chain of command, young man!"

Nikolai is taken aback for just a moment, but then returns Graham's smile. "Aye, aye, sir!" he says.

Marala enters the room, sees Graham and rushes to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight. "Oh, Boojee," she whispers, almost breathlessly, and starts to cry. "I didn't know if I would ever see you again."

"I...." Graham starts to reply, then takes a moment just to hold Marala gently, but with the strength he'd wished he'd had back when they were young and together. I can at least give her that, if only for a moment.

"Hey, Nikolai," he says at last, gently and as positively as he can muster. "Can you give your mom and me a moment to talk about some grown-up stuff? I'd really appreciate it...Mr. Gromov." He ends with more of an official tone.

Rangin is too slow to realise that she is about to fill in the gaps and the words die in his throat as she confirms what he didn't want to know. He can feel anger and frustration boil to the surface as the trials of the day take their toll.

"Thanks. Thanks Kylah, you just put me in the position of having to report you instead of being allowed to assume it is a mistake." he growls out between clenched teeth close to her ear to keep it private, "Unless, you idiot, unless..."

He tries to think quickly as to what he can plausibly get away with given everyone is so busy with the colony and he has to speak to Xinle Bek as soon as he can.

"Unless you promise, on your honour to go back to your room and stay there, because everyone is too busy with the evacuation.Got it. Nod. Good," he rattles off as if acknowledging her response whether she likes it or not. "I will be round when I am next free, at least five minutes, maybe longer and I expect you to be there. If not, that is when I will report you. Understand."

As the door opens for Deck 6, he looks straight into her eyes. "Five minutes. Mark," he whispers as if starting a countdown as he reaches down to squeeze her hand maybe one last time, “Good luck. Be Quick. I’ll find Ferguson.”

He can feel somehow much she is hurting, that she is throwing away all hope of surviving as she is and the desperation she faces and in some ways he hopes he can help her as best as he can. He has seen that look before, felt those feelings before, knows what it is like to be in her shoes and it doesn’t fade as he lets go. He nods once, then turns and exits the turbo lift to the deck to leave Kylah to do what she needs to do.

Kylah's back is literally against the wall as she endures the onslaught of Velir's aggravation and disapproval. She deserves everything he says to her, the insult and demands and--not a threat, really, just the foreshadowing of what he must do, the result of the difficult position in which she has placed him. Knowing his nature, and their history, Kylah really did not expect anything else.

But she cannot swear on her honor. She has none left. Her honesty about her confinement status was not rewarded: to the contrary, it seems to have made things worse. Yet she cannot lie to him anymore.

All that is left is what she thinks he needs from her: neither agreement nor refusal, neither promise nor defiance. She watches helplessly, silent and still hugging herself, while Velir turns and seems about to leave.

Then he--he does not leave. Not yet.

Instead he reaches for her right hand, fingers brushing hers and gently slipping beneath where she still hugs herself. His touch cajoles her hand from its defensive grip of her arm until she at last lets go, allows him to pull her into a delicate, warm clasp.

The expected flood of emotions flows into her like the smooth flow of honey. His sympathy. Compassion. Concern. Confusion--no, not quite confusion, but uncertainty as to what lies ahead; what she will do with this gift of choice he is offering to her.

Protectiveness.

The last emotion shocks her more than the rest. Kylah, stunned, meets his gaze but does not even have time to squeeze his hand before he releases her with a glance she has not seen from Velir Rangin since before Anubis.

Then he steps away and the door closes, shutting her in.

At first she cannot move. She does not know what to think, what message he was sending her, what he truly wants her to do.

Kylah forces herself to clutch the turbolift control handle nearest to her, wishing she were still holding Velir's hand. Staring ahead at nothing, still trying to translate the emotions and signals Velir radiated toward her, she says in a wondering command: "Deck four."

Where is Rangin going, specifically?

The turbolift soon whisks Kylah to Deck 4.

Rangin is going to the quarters on Deck 6 that Lt. Cmdr. Roble sent him to as being the location where Rangin would find Xinle Bek. If he gets there and there is no reply, Rangin will confirm once again with Roble as to where the errant colonist called from and where Rangin should be going.

Rangin arrives back outside the quarters he'd been at before.

Since her escorts offer no genuflections or grand 'thank you' responses to her pearl of command-track wisdom, Nia shrugs and quickens her pace. They can follow her for a while. Besides, the likelihood of an appearance along the way by someone truly useful to her is pretty microscopic. If she's gonna be confined, she might as well get it over with.

Until then she's tucking Booker's situation into an imaginary mental lockbox. Nothing she can do right now, and sadly she can't get in touch with him, so it'll do no good for her to dwell and feel hopeless.

At the nearest turbolift she presses the controls and, when it arrives, will request her deck.

Rangin tries the door comms for the second time in only a short while to see if Xinle Bek answers.

Kylah, her mind whirling with various conflicting emotions and plans, stands outside the turbolift and looks both ways, somewhat dizzy. She needs to recall which direction she should head in order to reach Lt. Onn's quarters. Time is whirring away and--if Velir truly means to turn her in if he arrives back at her cabin to check on her--she must move quickly. There is also the worry that Lt. Onn might have already discovered the stowaways, but all Kylah can do about that is pray.

Onn and her escorts make their way through the crowded hallways to her quarters, and arrive there.

Rangin barely hears someone within the guest quarters say, "Come in."

Before too long, Kylah is able to recall the location of Onn's quarters despite her swiftly-racing mind and scattered thoughts.

Nia enters the doorway, letting it open, before turning around to the security officers. "Okay. Thanks for the accompaniment and patience. You can leave me in here for now. Unless you've been ordered to, uh, tie me to the bed or something." She smiles crookedly at Li. Her ability to B.S. through awkward situations holds her in good stead, fighting the despair that's been nipping at her heels since seeing Vargas and Marala in the shuttlebay.

"Amazing how circumstances change. I just realized we met earlier today--when I ased you to take Captain Bell to the Brig. Bet you didn't think you'd be doing roughly the same to me, huh? Makes two of us."

She shrugs. "Oh, and if you're still willing to grab me something to eat, that'd be great. Your pick, like I said." She switches her gaze to Ens. Degheidy. "Before you go, I have to ask. You do talk, right? Or are you some race with an alternative method of communication?" Nia raises her hand to her heart. "That sounded snarky but it's an honest question, Ensign. I really don't know if you're a human or what."

Kylah walks in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, keeping her head down. She must not be recognized. Velir's disconcerted reaction upon seeing her hopefully meant that she looks unusual, but she is uncertain. She did not have time to ask, and it is not something she can truly judge on her own.

I am just another refugee, not used to being onboard a starship, and--and looking for my mother, she decides. As if inventing a role for her to play will make it believable.

Still, her actual mother used to remind her that regal bearing is not just a stance, but something that comes from within. "If you believe--if you know you are the next Dohlman, you will be seen as such, and treated accordingly."

Of course the advice quickly became obsolete once Kylah's status was yanked away in favor of her younger brother, but Kylah has not forgotten it. She has just grown worse and worse at seeing it through.

Her current circumstances make the talent imperative. So, shrinking in on herself, walking like an awkward girl rather than someone in a Starfleet uniform, Kylah continues to the aft side of the Yorktown, looking for #4A14.

Rangin's ears perk up at the sound from within the quarters, which is something new from last time. Who knows what happened in the last few minutes that there is an answer this time, but frankly Rangin does not care. He wants to get this over and done as quickly as possible, although not too quickly, so he can try and locate Ferguson and then work out what to do about Kylah.

He pulls up the details on Xinle Ben, just in case there is more than one entity within. For the Maat, this may be a cultural thing, but Rangin would not be surprised if this had another angle to it. One that holds people's lives in the balance and Rangin fears he is going to have to make that call.

Telling himself to be ready, Rangin looks to enter the room.

Ens. Li says to Onn, "All right, Lieutenant. We'll get you something to eat and bring it right back to you."

Ens. Degheidy smiles a little - very little - at her and says, "I talk, and I'm Human, ma'am. But I don't talk if there's nothing I want to say." Her voice is surprisingly deep, and she speaks Federation Standard with a strong Arabic accent.

No one pays any attention to Kylah as she makes her way through the noisy, still-crowded corridors of Deck 4.



Rangin enters the Deck 6 guest quarters to find the lights dimmed and someone seated crosslegged on the deck.

"I am Xinle Bek," it says in a quiet, pleasant voice. "Identify yourself, please."

Bek is a bilaterally symmetrical humanoid with two legs and four arms, and two long and two short fingers on each hand. It is leaning forward slightly and all four of its hands rest on the deck, as if bracing itself. Its body is long and thin, almost scrawny, as is its head, which has three small but bulbous eyes positioned side by side in front over a small lipless line of a mouth, and no ears, but two holes just below and behind its jawline on either side.

The Maat gives an impression of masculinity even through Rangin knows it is monosexual, like all of its race. Even seated, it is almost as tall as him. Although clad in a nondescript dark-gray miner's coverall, its chitinous skin is a remarkably bright green with subtly overlapping scales, reminding the young xenobiologist of an Earth green mamba he once saw in a San Francisco zoo.

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

Returning Ens. Degheidy's smile--microscopic though it may be--Nia nods. "Yeah I'm the same, only speak when I wanna say something. I just, y'know... usually have something to say." She takes in both officers. "Well. This is awkward as hell, but hopefully we'll see each other in better circumstances. Thanks again."

She steps back into her quarters, far enough for the door to close, unless the redshirts have something else to say. If she's left to herself, she'll shake her head and glance around just to get her bearings after a very long and stressful few hours.

Assuming the guards do leave, what does she see--or hear--if anything? E.g., that food tray Johnson left earlier, has that been utilized?

Li raises his hand in (temporary) farewell. The doors whoosh close, and Onn immediately notices, on her table, a food tray that hadn't been there before. She then hears a small noise in the back room.

Food! Actually, no, no food except scraps. What the hell?

Nia has a flash of the messages Ajay sent earlier, and a vague memory of his having mentioned bringing a meal for Kylah. And then she scowls, reminded of the puzzling question of why the girl had gone into her quarters in the first pla--

Abruptly her head turns in the direction of her closet and bathroom. A noise. A noise she doesn't recognize. Nia's been on starships for the past ten years or so, and the myriad sounds within them are too countless to identify, tending to form a white noise. ...With certain exceptions. As an experienced pilot and engineer she can decipher most of the subtle shifts related to the warp core powering the Yorktown's movements through space.

This wasn't one of them.

Again she recalls Ajay's words. Crap, is Kylah still here?!

"Hey," she calls while using a finger to scoop a dollop of what looks like some sort of salsa from an untouched little bowl on the tray. She tastes it and closes her eyes for a second. Yum. No way Ensign Li will deliver anything like that from a replicator.

Well, that curiosity sated, Nia now has to take care of the little pain in the neck who's decided to turn her quarters into a hotel room.

"Hey," she repeats, passing by the unmade bed--did she leave it like that?--and stopping about two meters from the closed door to the head. "Ensign, you in there?" Nia folds her arms across her chest. "I heard you. So unless someone snuck some Tribbles into my quarters, there's someone sentient in there." Depending on your definition of the word.

Nia sighs and leans against the wall. "C'mon, Kylah. I don't wanna interrupt anything you're, uh, doing in there, but can you hurry it up? This has been an incredibly shitty day and I'm not exactly in the mood for company."

The door opens and Onn sees an Asian woman she has never met before standing there, nicely dressed, with arms crossed and an almost-defiant expression.

Eyes widening, Nia drops her arms and straightens her stance. The woman's a civilian, obviously, which means... she's probably from the colony.

Just 'probably'? Where else would a civvie come from? Great detective work there, genius. She's already berating herself when it strikes her that calling her own day 'shitty' in front of a woman who's had to flee her home and possibly left friends behind to die must've sounded really, really petty.

"I'm sorry ma'am," she says slowly, chastened. "I thought you were--" Her hand waves away the thought. "Scratch that. Doesn't matter. I'm Lt. Nia Onn, this is my cabin. And you are...?"

The woman stares at Onn, blinks, and her expression shifts. She says, almost coyly, "I'd rather not tell you my real name, Lieutenant, as I have some, uh, privacy issues, but you can call me Denise."

Rangin looks around the room briefly before focussing his attention on the Maat in front of him while trying to remember to be polite to someone who has already given him the run around already.

"Ensign Rangin", he says with a nod of his head. "I am here to talk to you about your request. I understand you have asked for three extra people to be evacuated. This is because you have shared DNA with them and you now consider them family. I have to say there is no record of such familial association being registered, so can I ask you to confirm the names of the people and also how the DNA was shared?"

He holds up a hand before Xinle Bek can respond. "Before you start please consider that we are already over capacity for our Life Support and every extra person could be a tipping point. I have to make a recommendation in five minutes, if you want to save your family this has to be watertight."

Rangin pulls out his datapad to make notes and nods to Xinle to begin talking.

With an overstressed mind and body, Nia's not operating at full capacity. But she's pretty sure she heard the woman--"Denise"--correctly.

"Privacy," she repeats, eyes squinting as she stares at the stranger. "Okaaaay, if you think it's necessary for... some reason." Nia shrugs, hoping she doesn't seem rude to someone who might be bonkers, but is still a guest. "I mean... I'm not sure why you'd need to give me an alias, but if you've never met anyone from Starfleet before, I can understand being a bit intimidated. Still, we're gonna be sharing quarters for the next three days, so maybe you'll feel comfortable after a while. That is--"

Nia stops, recalling the orders earlier regarding crew reassignments. She's supposed to be moving to someone else's cabin--she can't remember whose. It's a mistake, since she's volunteered to sleep somewhere less less habitable to humans, saving precious air and heat resources. She'd better contact the quartermaster now.

Her hand automatically moves to her belt, but... of course. No communicator. And if she remembers confinement protocol, even if she uses her terminal, she won't be able to get in touch with anyone except for Security. She'll just have to ask Li to do a favor for her. Yet again.

"Great," she mutters with rolled eyes, then looks back at Woman Calling Herself Denise. "Right, I just remembered I'll likely be leaving. At some point," she adds with a layer of bitterness over her admittedly deserved punishment. "So I guess you'll get another roommate. It might be someone you know, which means your name won't be a secret to them."

With an attempt at a welcoming smile, Nia glances around. "So... where are your belongings? Or are they being beamed elsewhere on the ship? I haven't been involved in the process of getting you folks onboard, so I don't know this stuff. And I should say..." Her hand again touches her heart. "I am very sorry about all you must be going through. Your home... I know a little about that kind of loss, my planet is dying too, but it's nothing in the realm of all this."

She's sincere, but the more she looks at the stranger, the less certain she is that this is as traumatic a moment for her as Sidonia's slow death has been for Nia. Maybe she's in shock?

Bek says, "Yes, we shared DNA when I performed the enjevin ritual and, after each of us had pricked a finger, I drank a drop of their blood, and they each drank a drop of mine. And thus, under Maat law and cultural practice, each is now a member of my family, just as if they had been born to it. It is somewhat similar to the marriage tie in many Human societies, as I understand your ways. Our familial bond was not registered with the colonial government because we just created it a few hours ago. There was no time to register it before I was told I would be beamed up to your ship."



"Thank you, Lieutenant," Denise says. "I appreciate that. Really. My friend David and I each have a small suitcase. We stowed them in back. David...?" she says, raising her voice. "Come meet the nice lady whose quarters we're in."

A thin, tired-looking young man emerges from the back room of Onn's quarters. He forces a smile and says, "Hello."

"This is Lt. Onn," Denise says. Something about her tone bothers Onn.

The man says, "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant." He looks like he wants to say something else but, with a glance at Denise, he shuts up.

If Nia's eyes were wide before, they're virtually popping out of her head once a second stranger appears from her bathroom.

"Whoa, uh, okay... hi, David." She pauses and, pointing vaguely in the direction of the head, finally blurts out: "What the heck were you both doing in--"

Her words choke off. A couple of answers to the obvious question spring to mind, and neither of them are ones she really wants to know the details about. Especially given Not-Denise's unctuous attitude. "Actually, no. Forget I asked." David--if that's his name--looks exhausted. Maybe she should give him some of her meal, whenever Ensign Li returns...

And something clicks. The invisible clockwork engine running Nia's intellect may be rusty, but gradually the gears have started to turn and calculate. She glances back at the tray now devoid of whatever meal Ajay prepared. He told her it was for Kylah. And Kylah was apparently here at some point... allegedly with a migraine, which was the explanation for why the girl didn't make it to the shuttle.

Except it was manifestly a lie, not very convincingly told by Ajay, but he knew she'd play along.

Nia's squint narrows further and her hands plant themselves on her hips as she paces back to the dresser. She doesn't particularly care why Kylah didn't show up to the shuttle. But what was she doing here?

Oh. Wait. Occam's Razor. Probably the role of noble escort to some needy refugees is more the sorta job a royal whatever-the-hell-Kylah-is would prefer. Now that is annoying. Booker wanted the ensign to show up at the shuttlebay, the least the girl could've done was to let him know she's busy playing the gracious hostess.

She turns back to Not-Denise and Maybe-David. "Um, just out of curiosity, were you two brought here by an ensign named Kylah? Young woman, dark curly hair, about this tall?" Nia's hand measures just under her chin. "Looks closer to you than me, complexion-wise, and she'd be wearing red, not gold. Is she the one who ordered you a meal?" After a pause, she stares behind their shoulders. "And there's not a third person about to appear, is there?"

Rangin nods along as Xinle Bek speaks and checks the details of the ritual in the datapad against the brief knowledge they have of the Maat to see if it is as simple as suggested or if there is anything else that is needed for it to take place.

"Ok thank you, so a few brief things. One let me just confirm physically it occurred, and then if you could tell me why did you the four of you do it and do the others know what the repercussions of it are going to be?"

Rangin uses a tricorder to confirm the ritual as described took place, so showing that the finger was indeed pricked. The same will have to be done on the others in the group if this turns out to be true.

Denise says, without a pause, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch the name of the crewman who helped us. It wasn't a woman, though, and I don't think he was wearing red. Was he, David?" He shakes his head but meets neither of their eyes. She smiles. "And no, it's just the two of us here."

The Federation's somewhat limited xenosociological database on the Maat mentions the enjevin ritual but gives very little detail; Rangin can find nothing that contradicts Bek's description, at least. A tricorder scan confirms that the alien has recent, minor puncture wounds on one of its sixteen fingers.

Nikolai looks from Graham to his mother and then back again, and nods solemnly. He goes into the back room.

Marala leans away a little from Graham and grasps him by the arms. She looks into his eyes, concerned. "What is it? What's going on?"

"I... uh..." Graham pauses and takes a breath. "Maybe we should sit down, Marala."

Wordlessly, she leads him to the nearby couch and sits down, still holding his hand.

"Ah...." Graham looks down at their joined hands. His, stronger than they had ever been when they were young, but now crisscrossed by ugly scars, in contrast to Marala's. He winces slightly, momentarily wishing for the comforting touch of Nia's hand. Yeah, this would be a hell of a thing to ask Nia to help me work through. He returns his look to Marala's eyes. "So, in the course of... everything that's gone on, including me taking Nikolai on the shuttle, and you being here - well, the Captain asked about... well, I explained that we'd been close... ah, more than close." He clears his throat. "I told her how much you'd meant to me." He squeezes her hand gently and pauses. "It seems like it's possible that if I were to propose to marry you, Marala, and you accepted... that you and Nikolai could remain on the ship."

She stares at him. "Your Captain is putting you up to a shotgun wedding to save our lives?"

Graham can't help but grunt. "Ah... I... I don't think it's like that, Marala. I'm not sure, but I hope...." He squeezes her hand and looks away for a moment, then back. "We brought back a wanted fugitive from justice from the planet, who wasn't a lottery winner. Because that's how Command interpreted its duty." He sighs. "Not what I would have done, but I don't doubt they concluded in good faith it was what they ought to do." He shakes his head slightly. "I think - well, no, I hope, I don't know for sure - but the Captain's a good person. I hope she's looking for a way to... make things less horrible. A reason, that maybe... holds up with her own conscience for making one exception rather than any one of a million others." He pauses and squeezes her hand again. "I was trying to find a... justification... for keeping you and Nikolai here, and putting the blame for violating the rules on me. I beg you not to make me try to re-create my lame story. But the upshot was that the Captain asked whether or not a proposal from me, to you, would be a sham... or, 'not.'"

She is still staring, but now there is something different in her expression. Something he last saw in her face, in her eyes, a long, long time ago. "And would it be? Is this something you would be asking me, if it weren't for this... this terrible situation?"

Graham blinks, and smiles wanly. "Those are two very different questions, Marala," he almost whispers. He blinks again. "When we came here, I assumed you had a life here. I was going to leave after our mission, to wherever the ship was headed next, and... with a girlfriend on the Yorktown. And I...." Graham looks away and squeezes his eyes shut. His body spasms as he chokes back a sob. "I don't deserve you, Marala. I didn't deserve my late wife either, and it's my fault she's... you...." He clears his throat and forces himself to hold her eyes again. "Whether you want another husband or not, I'm sure you could find a better one than me. I'm sure Nikolai could have a better father." He sighs. "But it kind of changes the equation if I can do one good thing that gets you off this planet... if you'd be willing to... settle." He clears his throat. "When it comes to marriage, or parenting... I'm a big mess, Marala." He squeezes her hand again. "But I love you, and I've always loved you, and I always will."

She grins crookedly, and now there are tears in her eyes, too. She squeezes his hand very hard. "That's just as well, Boojee, because I have to say I'd almost forgotten just how much I'd loved you, too. It wouldn't be settling. No. Promise me you won't think that, not for even a nanosecond, ever again. And if that's a proposal... my answer is 'yes.'"

Graham lets her squeeze his hand. What is the opposite of surprisingly strong? He'd always admired Marala's strength, both in body and mind. The pressure - slight pain, even - helps him stay grounded in this surreal situation, something he couldn't have imagined even a day earlier. Very slowly, without squeezing back, he raises his hand in order to kiss the back of hers. Then he pats it gently with his other hand as she touches his cheek and brushes his hair a little. He says gravely, "OK, OK... let me... let me find out what this means, Marala. I need to talk to the Captain. Everything hinges on her decision."

The emotions ripping through Graham are... a lot. He thinks, If anyone would understand, Nia would. But goddammit, I wish I could talk to her... what does our life together... a life together I imagined when I was a kid, but that never came to pass - holy hell, what does this mean... and what is the Captain going to do? I swear, if someone tries to send Marala and Nikolai back to the planet now.... Enough. He jumps up and goes to the door. It opens, and he says to Mahmoud, "Hey, so if I need the Captain to officiate, how do I put in my request?" he asks, quietly but intensely.

Mahmoud smiles. "Leave it to me, Book."

As she nears Lt. Onn's quarters, Kylah fights her instincts to bow her head while walking farther down the corridor. She glances up at the small signage beside each cabin she passes--with a demeanor that is curious, uncertain and above all guileless, like any normal, uncertain new passenger. Still, the hands gripping one another are white and cold as ice.

Aware of the time constraint Velir has placed on her, not to mention the possibility that Lt. Onn will return and discover the stowaways, Kylah quickens her pace.

"Uh huh, just curious." Nia nods, outwardly accepting their--well, her answers. But internally she finds the 'vibe' in here kinda... hinky. But it's nothing she can put her finger on.

Except Maybe-David over here. His silence irks her now, just as it did with the female guard five minutes ago. Well, whatever. She has to pack on the off-chance she’ll be allowed to move. So back to her bed she returns, kneeling down on all fours to grab one of the cases where she keeps her breathing apparatus and supplies.

"'Scuse me," she murmurs to the guests as she leans and reaches under the bed to find the handle. "I need to pack some supplies for the next few days." Assuming they don’t flush me out the shuttlebay in punishment for trying to help save a mother and kid’s lives. Nia knows, of course, that her sins aren’t quite that simple. But it's the upshot and she can't sweep the bitterness from her as easily as she's pulling the case out across the smooth floor.

Then she tilts her head to meet the mute young man's gaze. "Lemme guess. You don't speak unless you have something to say, right? I seem to be bumping into more and more people like that."

David smiles wanly. "Uh, I guess so...? What would you like me to say?"

The silver case snaps open with familiar ease, releasing a slight cloud of condensed air from within the chilled interior. Nia checks the two canister-like tanks inside, which each have a gauge measuring the highly pressurized fluid Bilitrium remaining. One's at 100%, the other at 48%. Exactly as expected.

"Well," she murmurs in response to Maybe-David's question while pulling out the less-full tank. "A 'hello' would've been good for a start." Her face tilts upward to meet the human male's gaze with a smile to indicate she's not really offended.

After a shove returns the Bilitrium case back under her bed, Nia pulls out a smaller case, this one made of stiff material rather than metal. She continues while undoing the clasps. "No, but seriously... are you really David, or do you share Denise's privacy fetish? Sorry, wrong word... I meant fears."

She peers inside the bag to confirm that everything's all there: two sterile face masks and connecting tubes, as well as an extra nebulizer and chain. Nia's got the other one around her neck now, and it's about half full too. But an extra never hurt, especially if she's placed in an inhospitable environment as she suggested.

The half-full tank slips easily into the bag without making it too bulky. As she lifts it up and onto her bed, she catches sight of another silver case, immediately recognizing it. It's where she stowed Booker's gifts, the lovely snowglobe and the precious water lily. Something in her heart twinges, like a forgotten bruise. The reminder of his generosity, which Nia hardly needs refreshing. Look how he's risking his career to save the lives of a dear friend and her son.

What if they have to go through with a marriage? Even a fake one might be painful to watch--assuming Nia's free to attend. And... be honest. Will it really be fake?

Nia bans the melancholy from her attitude and stands up, brushing her knees unnecessarily given there's no dirt or dust to remove. Next stop: her closet. "And by the way, did you say you guys are friends? Just friends?" She pauses in the act of grabbing three uniforms--two dresses, one suit just in case she can do some engineering work--and looks over her shoulder to offer the pair another goodnatured smile.

"I'm not just being nosy. It's just pretty good luck that a pair of friends got put in the same cabin. On top of the amazing fortune to get picked in the first place." She turns back to her closet and catches a glimpse of the bright jade satin dressing gown she wore on her last evening with Booker. "I wish I was staying here," she says with a sigh. "Maybe your amazing mojo could rub off on me."

David and Denise exchange a glance, and David says, "Yeah, we're just friends. And... lucky, I guess, as you said."

Denise's lips purse but she does not reply.

"Thank you," says Rangin after checking Xinle Bek's finger, "I think I have enough to go on. I will be in touch shortly."

He steps out of the cabin and opens a quick message to Roble:

To Lt. Cmdr. Roble. Have Spoken to Xinle Bek. Nothing to contradict his claim about kinship. Looks like it was done as a last ditch measure, but is still legitimate. Recommend contacting each miner and asking them about enjevin and see how they respond. Also check each for puncture mark showing they were part of the ritual.

He sends off the message before penning a second one. This time to the first person he can currently remember in that role.

To Lt. Ferguson. Please confirm if Transporters are still active and available for colony beam out. Thanks. Ens. Rangin

That sets up knowing if they can beam out, because if they cannot this task becomes a moot point anyway. And he gets to know if Ferguson is under the same kind of confinement as Kylah was/is supposed to be. Now, Rangin waits for the responses to come back in.

The Science Officer soon replies, Understood, and thank you, Ensign. ROBLE.

Ferguson does not respond.

At last Kylah reaches her destination, #4A14. Self-conscious, she looks in both directions before raising her palm to the chime. She hears it--distantly--and starts to give her name.

But she hesitates. Identifying herself too loudly seems dangerous. The vast majority of the crew probably do not know her--it seems highly doubtful most would recognize her by sight--but her name is probably familiar.

Instead she presses the chime pad a second, urgent time. She will wait until she senses someone approaching before quietly confirming who she is to one of her guests.

Nia randomly stuffs her clothes into a small bag now lying open on her bed--she's not gifted with the art of packing, even if she did care whether things get wrinkled. And she absolutely doesn't.

Bending over the bag, she raises an eyebrow at the young man's response, which manages to avoid her question about his name. Looks like she'll still be thinking of him as Maybe-David.

Just as she walks back to her closet, she hears her door chime. Automatically she calls out, "Come," muffled by the clothes around her. It's only the second chime that reminds her... Oh yeah. Her voice command won't work. She can't imagine who it is; obviously not Ensign Li with her surprise meal, as he'd just chime and enter.

"Well that ain't for me," Nia says dryly, poking her head out to nod at Not-Denise. She doesn't feel like elaborating on her confinement, so she just shrugs and adds, "Can one of you get that? I'm a little busy here, and maybe it's some crew member with some, I dunno, orientation materials. A datapad with the ship's layout or whatever."

The last words are more murmured into her closet than projected toward her guests. Her anger, which has been dialed down to a simmer, is reset to its boiling point. The situation is fucking ridiculous. How in the name of Seht'dar's holy balls is she gonna stay sane without knowing what's happening with Booker, with Marala and Nikolai?

David goes to the door and says, "Come." The door opens and there stands Ens. Kylah.

Rangin counts to thirty, waiting for half a minute, for any further response either from Roble or Ferguson, but nothing.

Shrugging, he still has a few minutes he thinks before he needs to swing back to Kylah’s cabin and hope against hope that she is doing as he asks and is there, regardless of what she is getting up to out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind, how appropriate indeed.

But with nothing further to do science-wise, that just leaves him trying to find out what happened to Ferguson. Ok, where to look, although the ideal start would be Ferguson’s quarters, especially as it’s on the way back to Kylah’s. Let see if he is also as locked in as Kylah is supposed to be.

Mind made up, and nothing else to do, Rangin heads back to Deck 7.

Taken aback by the quickly opened door, Kylah recovers and darts a glance inside the cabin, where she finds Mrs. Soeryadjaya. She exhales her held breath in relief. "Quick, please let me in, I must not be seen out here." Once she slips past him, she shakes her head while absently noticing Mr. Johnson's tray--the plates are empty, so the pair must have enjoyed it. "You should have waited for me to identify my House. That is what we arranged, do you not remember?"

The open door worries her, and she backs away while beckoning Mr. Yarrow to join her. Since he seems to prefer silence, Kylah aims her nervous questions at his employer. "Ma'am, have there been any problems? You have not been disturbed by visitors, have you? I do not know when to expect the woman whose cabin this is, but she will likely return soon. You have nothing to fear. You can tell her--"

Her words cut off when a tall figure appears from within the closet and bathroom area, stopping to lean on one hip. "Please go on, Ensign. Tell me what, exactly?" Lt. Onn's eyebrows arch as she takes in Kylah's appearance, then switches to focus on Mrs. Soeryadjaya. "Something even remotely resembling the truth would be nice."

Nia, one armful of underwear tucked close against her side, switches from the older woman to the younger.

When she'd heard the soft voice of whoever was entering her quarters, Nia tried to place it: it was familiar. She'd decided to take a look. But the newcomer seemed at first glance like a stranger. A civilian girl, pretty and in a lovely, expensive-looking party dress. Maybe Not-Denise's daughter?

But regardless of her appearance, the girl's furtive words and formal tone are unmistakable. Kylah. Of course. So Nia issued her challenge, both to Kylah and Not-Denise. Neither responds fast enough for her.

She steps closer to her bed and unceremoniously dumps the bundle of slippery silk lingerie into her bag, then stands with arms folded over her chest. It's hard to fathom what these three are up to. Her annoyance is more pent up frustration over Booker's problems.

"Out with it, folks. What's going on here? Ensign, why've you been obsessed with my living quarters today?" She softens her tone when turning to speak to the woman who is not a trouble-causing junior officer. "And 'Denise,' why did you act as if you didn't know Kylah when I mentioned her?"

Rangin makes his way through the crowded corridors and finds Ferguson's quarters. His cabinmate, another Engineering lieutenant, says he's on duty. "Try Transporter Room 4," he suggests.

Denise looks at Kylah, and then at Onn. "I don't... think I have anything to say right now." David looks like he just wants to sink through the deck and never be seen again.

Mahmoud has not been gone long when the comm panel in the cabin sounds again: "Singh to Graham."

Graham moves rapidly...maybe a little too rapidly, he nods and whispers an apology to Marala.

Shit. Nerves?

"Sorry," he says, having jumped up and reached for the comm panel.

He pauses to clear his throat.

"Ah, Graham here, Captain."

Kylah's face muscles freeze into a mask of mortification. She should have sensed Lt. Onn, why did she not even try to gauge if someone else was in the room besides the two stowaways?

"Mrs.--Denise?" She blurts the unfamiliar name, her gaze darting from the senior officer to Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Kylah takes a few seconds to digest the information Lt. Onn has shared. "She--we did not meet, earlier. I have seen only Mr.--Mr.--" Did Mr. Yarrow give an alias as well? She turns to him, hoping to get some hint from his reaction to her unasked question.

"Mister, yeah, we know he's male. Go on," Lt. Onn prompts. "What name did he give you?"

Kylah shakes her head and says the only thing she can. "I do not remember. I beg your pardon, sir." After a fleeting apologetic smile, she backs away. "I just... I accompanied them from the transporter room, Lt. Onn. I only returned now to make sure they were settled in. And to see if they--if they needed anything else."

"Funny. Denise told me a male officer led them here." Lt. Onn takes a step forward, her own smile decidedly unapologetic. "Wanna try again?"

"No. I mean... Yes, she is right, of course. Someone from security, I think, was in front. I did not recognize him. I followed behind, and only spoke with Mr.--" She stares blankly, still not knowing what to say.

Lt. Onn gestures with a palm to Mr. Yarrow. "David," she says dryly. "So it took two officers to handle two guests. Seems kind of inefficient to me. Any reason y'all were in some kind of convoy?"

Clasping her cold palms together, Kylah tries to think of a response and falls short. But she must decrease her guests' involvement in all this deception. "Lieutenant, may I speak to you in private? And Mr.--Mr. David," she adds with a nod toward Mrs. Soeryadjaya. "If both of you could please excuse us?"


Kylah by me, Nia by whatsername.

"Mr. Graham," Capt. Singh says, "I understand that you have proposed to Mrs. Gromov, and that she has accepted your proposal. Is that so?"

"Denise" looks significantly at Kylah. "By all means. I hope we don't have a problem here...?"

Rangin thanks the lieutenant for the information. Not only is Ferguson still on duty, but he is also not being locked away like Kylah is supposed to be. Chances are that whatever scheme they pair of them had pulled, then Ferguson was still an unknown party to Security. But checking and making sure is the only real way to find out.

It shouldn’t take too long.

Rangin pauses for a moment and, with the absence of any further orders coming through, heads off to Transporter Room 4.

Graham instinctively turns to look at Marala...are you wondering if she's changed her mind? That you heard right?

"That is correct, Captain," he says slowly and deliberately.

Without turning away from Kylah, Nia lifts her hands in a sort of shrug. "Not sure if we have a problem or not, Denise. Let me see what the Ensign here has to say."

She joins Kylah at the forward side of the room, where Kylah is crowding herself up against the desk and terminal--presumably to get as distant from the others as possible. "All right," Nia says in an undertone. "What's the deal? First things first--do you know why those two are using aliases? We must've done an ID check when they beamed up, so why are they playing coy now?"

Hugging herself, Kylah seems even smaller and younger than usual. "I do not know. Perhaps they just want their privacy? As you say, the quartermaster must have had their names when they were assigned."

"Uh huh." Nia hasn't missed how careful and deliberate Kylah's words were. She continues to examine the Elasian girl with a dubious eye. "Why were you accompanying them? I want the truth. Do you know them? I can't see how that's possible but... well, Booker found someone he knew down there, unlikely as that was. Why not you?"

There is a pause. Then Kylah straightens to her full but not very impressive height, her chin lifted in an apparent attempt at dignity. "On my word, I met these two for the first time less than an hour ago, when they arrived."

Nia runs this statement through her internal bullshitometer, pinning Kylah with her gaze. And the result of her calculations and measurements is...

She has no flipping idea. The girl lies a lot. She could be very good at it.

"If you don't know them, why were you really accompanying them? And what's with the get-up?" Nia gestures to the party frock. "You belong at a fairy tale picnic with songbirds sitting on your shoulders."

Kylah's inky black eyes are fathomless. "I--I am off-duty. I have a right to wear what I wish, when I am not at a post."

Nia is pretty sure that's not true, but honestly, the outfit is the least hinky part of this whole situation. "Okaaay. And I'm gonna ask one more time, why were you accomp--"

"It is embarrassing." Kylah stares down at her sandal-clad feet. Nia bends slightly, suspecting she's trying to avoid meeting Nia's eyes while thinking of an excuse. Suddenly Kylah again lifts her chin. "I should just admit it, but... please do not make fun of me."

"Mmm. I'll try, but I'm making no promises. C'mon, spill it, Ensign."

Now Kylah shifts her stance--and Nia realizes she has changed her position so that Nia is blocking the others from seeing her. "When I saw Mr. David, he reminded me so very much of someone I knew back on Elas. A young man I knew very well." Pale skin turns pink, adding some much-needed color to her face. "I knew it could not be the same person, but I was drawn to him and I felt so homesick that I... I was just compelled."

Well, the performance is excellent. Nia can't deny that. Halting voice, faraway stare, glistening eyes. Not 100% convincing but it's skillfully done nevertheless. "Uh huh. I'm pretty sure 'David' is his first name, or at least, his pretend first name. Anyway, so that's why you came back here? Even though you obviously know by now they're not the same guy?"

"I know it was foolish; I have been told that chasing a memory can make one do strange things. Although my old friend is long gone, I would do anything to see him. Or anyone who looks like him, as silly as it seems. It was folly. A vain attempt to relive a simpler and happier time."

Unbidden, a quick vision of Booker and Marala side by side flashes through Nia's mind. With it comes the same bruise-like heartache she felt earlier. "I suppose," she murmurs. "I wouldn't know. My past is way the hell more complicated and ugly than my present."

She takes a deep breath to clear her head. "All right. Now can you tell me why you've been hanging around my quarters all day? And don't think I'm forgetting the fact that it's a helluva strange coincidence that the man who evokes such strong feelings in you just happens to be assigned to these very quarters."

"With--with respect, ma'am, coincidences are strange, by their nature. Or they would not be coincidences."

Slowly crossing her arms, Nia tilts her head with an equally crooked smile. "You're good with the aphorisms today, Ensign. Don't obfuscate with me. Just talk. Start with your new fetish for this cabin."


Nia by me, of course, and Kylah by choie

The corridor outside Transporter Room 4 is particularly crowded with evacuees from Novy Rostov, and as Rangin enters the room another group of six is beamed up. Two of them are small children, crying piteously and clutching the hands of their father. Ferguson, behind the control console with a female Engineering officer standing nearby, looks tired and stressed.

"Three more to go," the woman says. "I'll be glad to do them, if you want, sir."

"No," he snaps. "I've got this. I'll finish up."



Marala smiles encouragingly at Graham and squeezes his hand.

The Captain says, "Then congratulations are in order. My best wishes to you both. When did you intend to have the ceremony?"

Graham returns the squeeze of his hand in kind, gently, then stumbles over his response.

"I--we--if..."

He clears his throat. "With your permission, if it's possible to do this after--when we're...not racing a catastrophe...I think we would appreciate the chance to conduct something we could...plan, a bit. And let Marala's son, and my daughter, have more than a few hours to settle in to the idea."

And Nia. And Nia. His heart pounds a little harder at that thought.

After a pause, Singh says, "Very well. That would probably be for the best, if you wanted me to perform the ceremony, given all that's going on right now." She adds wryly, "Not that I insist upon the privilege, Mr. Graham, nor that my feelings would be hurt if you decide upon another person to do the honours. In any event, I will authorize a subspace call for you to contact your daughter immediately."

Onn's door chimes again.

"I'd...thank you, Captain. I'll have to ask Marala of course, but I'd be honored if you'd preside," Graham replies.

The prospect of talking face to face with Lizzie scares him more than fighting a dozen angry Klingons.

Because you're good at fighting Klingons, Booker. But you're bad at being a father.

"Yes, please do," the Captain says. "And again, congratulations. Singh out."

Before Nia gets to hear Kylah's response--whatever it was going to be--the chime intrudes. She can't help rolling her eyes at the unusual influx of visitors, but accepts that her irritation is, well, irrational. If there's any news to be heard about Booker or the Gromovs, it's likely that the only way Nia will hear about it is face-to-face.

Since she's close enough to the door, she doesn't bother asking Kylah for a favor. Especially since the young woman reacts like a startled mouse and actually scurries away, apparently in a sudden rush to speak with "Denise."

Nia frowns in suspicion but decides to leave her Kylah-related questions for later. Taking a stride to the door, she calls out, "Who is it?"

Rangin moves off to one side of the Transporter room, looking at the refugees coming in and feels some semblance of relief and satisfaction that despite everything they are still pulling people from the surface and that some people will survive. It’s one thing to see them scattered around the corridors of the USS Yorktown, but another to see yet more arrive, with each group a little bit extra pulled to safety.

He also notes Ferguson’s state with a wry smile; anything unhelpful that goes his way is always a good thing. But if Ferguson is here, then it is unlikely that it is noted as being part of Kylah’s plot. Of course, the stress could be due to pulling so many people from the surface, but the thought that Vargas might have actually done his job and caught him, then he is only here knowing that once he finishes, he is going to get locked away.

It’s a small wish that Rangin can cling to for a moment or two, but it is unlikely to be the situation. Far more likely that Ferguson has covered his tracks well, and Vargas will not only never know, but have no way to prove anything, even if he did.

With nothing else to do, Rangin leans back against the wall, giving an appearance of being there to help, but just happy to watch the next set of people beam up, before he needs to force himself to return to Kylah’s quarters.

The gentle chime coming from the door panel is not gentle enough to prevent Kylah from shrinking from it, all nerves electrified as if a switch has been flipped. Without a thought, much less a word to Lt. Onn, she rushes to Mrs. Soeryadjaya and Mr. Yarrow near the small alcove by the closet.

She is tempted to draw them into the bathroom beyond, but that would bolster Lt. Onn's skepticism--which Kylah needs no empathic abilities to sense. She has, however, noted that the older woman is hiding underlying anxiety, along with melancholy, despite Lt. Onn's veil of insouciance.

To her guests, Kylah speaks as quietly as she can. "I am terribly sorry if my arrival has put you at increased risk. I take it the Lieutenant has assumed--I mean," she adds with a furtive glance back at Lt. Onn, "she knows--that you are ordinary refugees who were assigned to her cabin? I wish you had not used aliases, though. In my experience she is not easily fooled, and if her mind were not distracted I do not think..."

But this is water under the bridge. No sense in chastising them now. "I cannot stay long. I have been... I am not supposed to be here, and I am afraid if caught, I--I might be charged with extreme disobedience. But I had to check on you, and I had no other way to do so. Is there anything you need to tell me? Anything at all that I should corroborate if asked?"

Onn hears through the door, "It's Ens. Li, ma'am. I have a meal for you."

Ferguson glances over Rangin and looks puzzled for just a moment, but says nothing and returns his attention to the transporter console. He talks quietly to the other Engineering officer as those just beamed up are taken under the supervision of a rating in Science blue with a data tablet in hand. He says loudly, "Welcome aboard the Yorktown, folks. Please bring your things and follow me, and we'll get you settled in. This way, please!" Noisily and with nothing approaching Starfleet discipline, they follow him out into the corridor.

"Denise" the stowaway says quickly and curtly to Kylah, "I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her as little as I could. I thought we were going to be undisturbed here. I introduced him as 'David,' my friend. Say whatever you need to to get rid of her, or find us someplace else where no one's going to be asking questions, would you?" She is not pleased.

Rangin leans back against the wall out of the way and pulls out his datapad to get the latest figures of the number of colonists who have been transported up and how soon the USS Yorktown is likely to be leaving orbit.

He suddenly realises that with all the colonists on board, he has not yet been back to his cabin, time flying away with everything going on, and he is unaware of if he is still going to be in the same quarters or if others will be moving in.

He takes a quick look to see if he has any messages telling him, or if he will have to go back to his cabin to find out.

Rangin sees that less than a hundred people remain to be beamed up from the colony below.

He also has a text from the Ship's Quartermaster informing him that he and his cabinmate, Ens. Charles Gordon, will be having another Engineering officer move in with them, Ens. Jim Delaney.

Kylah's hands reflexively clench into fists, but initially she says nothing until she has backed away, hidden within the closet only a few paces away from the bathroom. As fearful as she is, she cannot help noticing the haphazard state in which Lt. Onn keeps her personal items. She shakes her head in a mixture of disapproval and envy. It must be nice not to agonize over the placement of every last item.

"Ma'am," she murmurs to Mrs. Soeryadaya, beckoning her closer. "I am sorry, I do not think it possible to get you a space of your own. Everyone is doubling up, and with our ship at its peak capacity, it is unlikely any cabin will be free. I wish I could offer you mine, but I have been assigned a roommate."

Kylah sighs, taking a quick measure of the items on the unmade bed. "As for the Lieutenant... she seems to be packing, so you may get your wish. What worries me is whether this means other guests are expected. No one knows you are here, of course, so..."

This is not true, and Kylah's heart pounds rapidly at the knowledge that both Velir and Lt. Ferguson hold the power to ruin all of her plans. Velir would do so reluctantly, but as for the odious human... She closes her eyes briefly. Oh, please let Velir find him, please let him be at the controls or safe somewhere...

She has no doubt whatsoever that if Cmdr. Vargas learned that Lt. Ferguson had beamed a pair of unauthorized unknowns to the ship, he would not hesitate to give them up, even if it means their deaths. Kylah's fate is sealed either way, but she cannot bear to think of the man and woman in front of her being sent back to a horrific death.

"I know this is uncomfortable, I know it is not how you are used to traveling. But it will only be a few days. The stakes are so high... please, you must bear it. I cannot do more. As it is, I--I am effectively a fugitive, and am risking a great deal to be here." Kylah swallows and looks at Mr. Yarrow. "Sir, do you know the time? I must return to my cabin before I am missed."

Ensign Li, back again? Oh right! The meal. Nia tries to ignore Kylah's disappearing act and the urgent whispers now emanating from her closet alcove. "Come in, Ensign. I'd open the door myself, but you know voice commands are currently a no-go. At least for me."

She backs up a step, curious to see what sort of food the security officer chose.

Mrs. Soeryadjaya doesn't look any more pleased than she was before. She hisses, "You said you'd be able to delay her. You said we wouldn't be thrown out, and that you'd hide us in your quarters."

Yarrow tells Kylah apologetically, "I'm sorry, I don't know the time. I don't have a chrono with me."

The door opens and Ens. Li enters with a tray. The tray holds a sandwich of some kind on what appears to be whole wheat bread, a bowl of crackers and an apple. There is also a glass of ice water and a mug of coffee, still steaming. He says, "I hope you'll find something here you like, ma'am. The Mess is kind of busy right now, as you might expect."

Then he frowns and looks around.

Kylah absently thanks Mr. Yarrow, but focuses on his employer. "I know I promised such things. I was wrong. I tried, but everything is chaos. Take offense if you must, but none was intended. I did all I could to get you onto the ship. You have no idea what I am risking--what I will be enduring, all for you."

After her choked words, she hears the opening door and the low, masculine tone of whoever has entered. She shrinks backwards, then clutches her hands prayerfully. "Please, madam," she whispers, though a hint of steel enters her voice. "Thousands will die today who lack your good fortune and connections. You... you are on board. You have your lives. Is that not enough to outweigh any inconvenience?"

A glance at the humble, generic food on display before her makes Nia smile despite herself. It's not at all what she wanted. Ensign Li appears to be human, probably with family from one of Earth's Asian countries--although Nia isn't well enough trained to distinguish all the different varieties of Terran subcultures. No more than an offlander would be able to tell which of Sidonia's four main tribal groups she belongs to.

So she can't guess at what region the security officer's people are from, or whatever food he might have chosen for himself: She was just hoping for something of his own taste or culture; something certainly less... well, blah. But she also realizes what a stupid request it was in the first place, and that's what twists her mouth into a rueful smile.

"Thanks, Li, this looks great. Especially the ice water, believe it or not. Someone knows my taste, or guessed pretty well." She holds her arms out for the tray. "Here, lemme take that. You've been treated like a waiter too long. I'm sorry for putting this burden on you--and the Mess crew, for that matter."

Noting his displeased expression, she follows the direction of his gaze and believes she understands the source of that frown. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not the neatest of officers. The, um, 'luxury'--" she uses air quotes--"of having a unique biological makeup lets me live alone, and I guess I’ve got a bit lax in that area. I know you’ve already done enough for me, but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d do me a solid and don’t tell Vargas. All I need is another charge--whatever that’d be. Sloppiness above and beyond?” Nia smiles and tosses her head in the direction of the silken items draped on her bag. “Improper lingerie maintenance?”

Rangin raises his eyebrows at the choice of person coming to share quarters. Oh well, these things happen to the best of us. Rangin still thinks Delaney's demotion and the subsequent promotions for certain people called Graham show that life is generally unfair and unjust when it comes down to it.

Talking of unfair and unjust, Rangin wonders if he can get anything out of Ferguson before he heads out. How is a good way to approach him, perhaps starting on what he thinks he is good at, but obviously worn down from the evacuation.

He walks across all smiles, although weary in demeanour, which is just how he feels. “How’s it going, only a few left to transport, eh Sir?” he addresses to Ferguson while also nodding to other Engineering officer. “and then we can all relax and get out of danger, isn’t that right?”

Mrs. Soeryadjaya crosses her arms and doesn't look any happier, but seems at least to concede Kylah's point. She finally says, "Let's just get out of this goddamned star system, and then we'll have more to discuss. A lot more. I guarantee it."

Ens. Li smiles a little uncertainly. "It's not your housekeeping, ma'am. I thought I...." He pauses a moment, seems to concentrate for a moment, then says, "Never mind. If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way." He turns to go.

Ferguson looks up from the transporter control console only briefly before turning back to his work. He says, "Yeah. Four more groups to beam up here. The other transporter rooms are hard at work, too."

It is now 1712 hours, ship's time.

Rangin nods sagely at Ferguson’s words. “Good to hear they have all been working at full capacity, I doubt we would have got everyone off otherwise. I’m just hoping there are no last minute hiccups, people left behind, wrong people beamed up, that sort of thing”, he says introspectively knowing the state of play with Xinle Bek.

He looks across at the two behind the console, “You can imagine what kind of stink that is going will cause, if something like that were to happen, but I’m sure you’ve got it all in hand. Although having said that...” Rangin tails his voice off and something does come to mind, a way to perhaps delay going back.

“...I’m not doing anything at the moment, so if there is anything you need to help finish off, let me know?” Rangin looks back at the pair in expectation, and with a little bit of hope.

Graham asks Marala’s permission to return to his quarters to tell his daughter the news.

Whatever Lizzie’s reaction, she should have the space to have it, without feeling pressured. Or worrying about hurting someone else’s feelings.

He is honestly not sure what to expect. As unsure as he was about the notion of Lizzie meeting Nia, some day, before--before all this happened.

Once back in his quarters, he shifts uneasily in front of the comms screen, waiting first to see if the Captain has indeed cleared him to make a subspace call. And then in anticipation of Lizzie answering.

The former proves true: the signal is live.

“Stand by.”

He almost jumps at the voice of the computer.

“Stand by.”

“St--”

“Dad?”

His daughter’s face appears on the screen. Sharp, angular, pretty. So much like her mother.

And tired...groggy even. Must be late on Earth. Or early.

Her brow furrows. “Is everything all right?”

“Ah….”

Graham clears his throat and resists the urge to take a parade rest stance.

You’re not going through an inspection, you’re trying to talk to your own flesh and blood, Booker.

“Yes, no-- nothing to worry about, Lizzie. Ah--school’s OK?”

He thinks he sees a sense of relief, behind her eyes. God knows she and her mother had gotten more than one subspace calls about him being injured or hospitalized in the line of duty.

Lizzie yawns. “Um, yes, dad. Four-oh and all that.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure you’re OK? You look a little...well, not right.”

“Ah--we’re on a hell of a mission. But...that’s not why I’m calling. In the course of, uh, what’s going on, I met someone. An old, ah friend. I’ve asked her to--to marry me. I wanted to tell you that.”

Lizzie blinks and looks away for a moment, then turns back to face her father.
“Does she--I’m guessing it’s a she, unless there’s something you haven’t been telling me--have a name?” She’s smiling slightly.

“Marala,” Graham says, pronouncing each syllable with reverence that surprises him. “I...met her when I was a few years younger than you. Originally.”

“She said yes?”

Graham nods.

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“Yes, for all kinds of reasons, but--I...I’ll always love your mom. I don’t want you to think…”

Lizzie’s jaw tightens. “We only have memories and tomorrow, dad,” she says more softly than her expression suggests she would. “You know that, and I do, too.”

Graham nods again. “Ah, Lizzie, I’ve been...I don’t know if you want her in your life. God knows I’ve done a bad job as a father since...well, you know. But she’s a good person. A strong woman. If you want to get to know her...ever.”

“I’d like to know you more, sometimes, dad,” she nearly whispers, looking down. Then she catches his eyes. “Maybe you’d both come here to Earth sometime soon?”

Graham’s fist clench, out of the comm systems camera field of vision. “Uh--yes, we could do that. And--her son, Nikolai. He’s a fair bit younger than you. A good kid, I think.”

“I remember how much you cared for your little sister, dad. If I could do half as well as a big sister, I’d be proud of it.”

“Ah, well---”

“There’s some stuff I need to tell you, too, dad--but...not now. Maybe face to face...I hope?”

Graham nods again. “I’ll try, Lizzie.” he replies quietly. “I hope so.”

Elizabethe purses her lips, and Graham can tell her hands have dropped to her hips.

Just like her mother.


“It’s late, I should go. But I’m--I’m not mad about it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Graham smiles, partly in gratitude, partly at seeing what intimate and awed and smote him about her late mother alive and well.

“I’m--glad. And--I love you Lizzie. I mess up showing it all the time, but I do.”

Now her smile is wide and authentic-- even as she rolls her eyes. “You are such a big doofus, dad. For everything you’ve ever fucked up, and god knows I’m not going to tell there isn’t a long list, in my book--you loved mom, and you love me, and I have no doubt you love Marala. And this Nikolai, too.”

“Yeah.” Graham states.

Lizzie nods. “Yeah. Let me know if getting back here is in the cards anytime soon.”

He had hovers over the console. “And I love you too,” she adds as it falls and the screen goes dark.

Ferguson shakes his head briskly, finishes a surface-site scan and engages the controls, moving the three slides in their tracks and beaming up the next group of evacuees from Novy Rostov. He says, "No, thanks. I've got this." Six people appear on the platform, all grownups, and the room is filled once more with the clash and babble of many civilian voices.

Kylah inclines her head, just barely able to see Lt. Onn by peeking past a sleeve of a green satin dressing gown. "Yes, madam, I am sure you will have words for me," she murmurs. "I will consider myself fortunate if I am able to hear them. I do not believe I may receive visitors in the Brig."

She steps backwards into the chaos of garments and what appears to be sports or recreational wear. Then she raises her voice just enough to be heard by Mr. Yarrow. "Sir, if this man comes nearer, please let me know. I must not be seen." Curling her fingers around the edge of the closet door, she painstakingly draws it further closed.

Ensign Li's curious demeanor only adds to the surreal atmosphere that's surrounded Nia since leaving her shuttle to be greeted by security. "Hang on a sec." She gazes at the threesome at the other end of the room. Or rather, the duo, now that Kylah has stashed herself who knows where and for who knows what reason.

Then Nia refocuses on the man nearby as she places the tray on her dresser. Her now-free hands are planted on her hips. "C'mon. What's bothering you, Li?

Li says, "I'm just wondering what's going on in here. I thought you were alone in your quarters, ma'am... or supposed to be?"

A bit of tension dissolves from Nia's shoulder muscles. Is that all that's bugging him? "You're not wrong. I usually bunk alone. I mean, y'know, except for when--"

Tact kicks in. No need to share her personal life, as much as her crew mates already know about it. "Except for today. If I hadn't got in this current situation..." Her hand gestures back and forth between Ensign Li and herself. "...I'd be moved somewhere else. You know, the cabin reassignments? I was supposed to shack up with...who was it...?" To jog her memory, she reaches for her communicator, intending to access the earlier memo from Vargas.

Crap. Again she remembers she's S.O.L. as far as communications devices go. She releases an annoyed sigh that seems to unlock the nugget of information. "Oh right, Melissa Tsu. Just did a stint with her at helm, actually." Nia nods at her storage cases on the bed. "That's why I'm packing. You may've heard me in Vargas's office, volunteering to move to any non-human-friendly space. Save the oxygen and l/s resources for someone else. But who knows where I'm gonna end up now."

She shrugs. "So I’m the oddball here. This space was obviously meant for the refugees." After a reflexive glance back at the strangers, she freezes and swivels to stare at Li, a grin brightening her face. "Wait. You're not worried I'm gonna ask one of them to let me sneak outta here, are you? I admit I'm ballsy, but that crazy I ain't."

Ens. Li says slowly, "No, but... who are they, ma'am? I was told you would be alone in your quarters."

Nia lifts a shoulder. "Yeah, I thought I'd be alone too, but at a time like this, I guess situations are changing every minute. Anyway, I only know their first names. They're kinda skittish about talking too much about their background, but that's easy to fix."

She turns to the guests, though something's now buzzing in the back of her mind. "Um, 'Denise,'" she says more loudly, "can you come here for a second? Just wanna clear up your IDs..."

By the time she finishes the question, the little nagging thought pushes its way forward. Curious, she focuses on Ensign Li. "You were 'told' I would be alone? By who? You've been shadowing me since I got off the shuttle, and no one talked about my living situation. Vargas sure didn't when he told you to take me and Graham to our quarters."

Her brows furrow. Does this mean Vargas knew all along he'd be taking them into custody? That nothing she and Booker said would've made a difference? It makes no sense. Vargas can be a shit-heel at times, but he's not that arbitrary or mule-headed.

Besides, this is an emergency situation where nothing is settled, where everyone's had to improvise. So why is Li so freaked out--even maybe irked--by her not being alone?

Oh.

Nia folds her arms across her chest and examines the junior officer. She should've figured this out when he was so polite about coming back here without his silent colleague. "Look, Ensign," she says more softly. "If you... hypothetically... had any ideas about me, and being alone in here with me, I hope you'd know to sweep 'em out of your head damn fast."

Keeping things hypothetical to give him an out, Nia continues. "If that had been the case, I'm sure you'd've figured out it wouldn't have mattered. I mean, I get it. I've got a rep and I'm not ashamed about it. Doesn't make me ready and willing for just anyone, and not all the time. And this timing is pretty... icky, for lack of a better word. Normally I have the upper hand as your superior, but right now..."

Her gaze briefly shifts down toward the phaser on his belt, then back up. "With you fully rigged up, and me with no weapon, no communicator... The power balance is in your favor. So this whole scenario, unlikely as it seems, would be incredibly inappropriate. You get that, right?"

Perspiration beading on her forehead, Kylah does her best to listen to anything she can hear from Lt. Onn and the mystery officer. It's all too muffled.

At least until she hears the older woman calling out for Mrs. Soeryadjaya's false name. Heartbeat practically slamming against her ribcage, Kylah clutches at the door and reaches out to graze Mr. Yarrow's sleeve.

"What are they saying?" she hisses. "What does she want?" But it is obvious; Kylah heard the word 'IDs,' after all. "Do not tell her anything, let me--let me just think!"

Desperation gnaws at her like a hungry dog at a bone. She must not hyperventilate although it does seem hard to breathe. What name can they give? Lt. Onn might have the list, she might compare whatever Mrs. Soeryadjaya says against it.

Kylah herself saw the list not that long ago, in Sickbay, when Mr. Alvarez was kind enough to show her. But while she is extremely good at memorizing information--one of the skills Aldaan greedily encouraged in her--this is quite different from mentally recording the contents of various messages or plans or conversations.

In such past situations, she had known there was a need to imprint them into her memory. Whereas when she read the lottery list, she had no idea of needing to take in any other name but "Soeryadjaya" and "Yarrow."

Still, she scanned the S and Y names on the list extremely closely, hoping in vain to find her uncle's friends. Perhaps that might have helped?

She closes her eyes and concentrates, bringing back the memories of her sitting on the Sickbay bed, Carlos Alvarez nearby, holding the datapad and taking in name after name on this precious, life-changing lottery list. Is it at all possible to dredge up any other family surnames?

Ens. Li turns beet red, holds up both hands and says, "Uh, no, ma'am! That's not what I meant, not at all." He actually backs away a step or two from Onn.

Mrs. Soeryadjaya stares intently at Kylah; she cannot see Yarrow in the shadows from where she stands. Racking her brains, Kylah remembers the S last names of Simpson, Smith and Seleznyov. For the life of her, she cannot remember any Ys.

Kylah almost stumbles when her mind releases the names. She rights herself and grabs--something, whatever is nearest--to hold while she leaves the safety of the closet.

"I remember--I have someone, a name, at least, that might help, perhaps delay--" Her rushed whisper is as clumsy as she is, and she takes a quick steadying breath. "I must get you out of here, and the best way is if you show up on that lottery list. There is at least one person with the family name of Seleznyov. Do either of you know someone with this name?"

Both of the stowaways stare at her. Mrs. Soeryadjaya shakes her head crossly, but Yarrow says, "I knew a Seleznyov once, Yuri Seleznyov, when I lived in Moscow."

Graham's communicator beeps.

Kylah gives a curt nod while keeping her gaze on Mrs. Soeryadjaya. "Then that is your name," she whispers. "If they ask. I hope to leave with you. I may have to pretend--it depends on who is out there, and whether the Lieutenant is...."

She does not know how to finish. Whether Lt. Onn is gullible? No; any lie she tells will be immediately recognized for what it is. The woman is not a fool, and even if she were, this is such a patently obvious tale that anyone would call her out on it--if they know her.

Then what must she rely upon? Whether Lt. Onn is generous? That too is not right. It will take more than mere generosity for the older woman to go along with any ruse.

I must make her understand. Somehow...

There is only one way, and riskier than Kylah would ever try on anyone except for in the direst circumstance. Trembling, she sweeps a hand weakly across her sweating forehead; she is simultaneously overheated and freezing. This will be the second time today she stretches the use of her empath skills and she is already so very tired...

But she must do what she must. She continues without finishing her earlier thought. "Please forgive me any liberties, madam. Everything I do and say is intended to save your lives. You must be at your most congenial, most humble. And reticent," she adds quickly with a guarded look at Mrs. Soeryadjaya.

After a cleansing breath, Kylah peeks as far out of the alcove as necessary to get a sense of who is speaking with Lt. Onn. Please let it be a stranger, please let it be a stranger!

Smart answer, Ensign. Nia lets Li keep his distance. She suspects he's telling the truth, but the level of his upset demeanor seems excessive for the circumstances. Maybe he's just overwhelmed by the emergency. He's already had to take custody of Bell, a dirtbag ship's captain; Booker--his own immediate superior; and now Nia herself, the BCDO who was giving the orders just this morning.

And, of course, the impending deaths of thousands and the ship's own dangerous position if they don't get moving in a hurry. Her hand muscles twitch with the immediate instinct to prepare the Helm controls and get the Yorktown outta here.

But it won't be her. And not Kendin either, Nia recalls suddenly. He'll be on the Sarafina. So who'll get the honors? Pourtash, probably. Better than it being fucking Cooper. Pourtash is extremely good, but Nia still feels like screaming. Damn it, she should be at her proper place!

"Okay, Li," she says, calm and cool despite her anger at herself and Vargas and the whole mess that is this disaster. "Mixed messages I'm sure. Sorry if I insulted you, but it's not that uncommon a scheme. Unfortunately. So, I guess we can say goodbye--oh, nope, hang on."

Nia looks back toward the duo again, and catches just a hint of a small, black-haired head visible for a second from the corner of the alcove wall before it darts back into the shelter of the closet. Frickin' Kylah. What in the Northern Hellfields is going on with this girl?

Analyzing that is sure as fuck not Nia's job. Thankfully.

"C'mon, guys." She tilts her head toward Li and herself, then decides this officious-seeming stranger would probably not respond well to the casual address despite the phony 'Denise' bull. "Ma'am. David," she amends. "Can you come over here? Just want a couple of questions."

Mrs. Soeryadjaya nods tightly in understanding. She and Yarrow come out of the shadows towards Onn and Li.

Graham's communicator beeps again.

Ferguson looks around as the NR evacuees spill off the transporter platform. "Where's the Welcome Wagon?" he asks irritatedly. He turns to Rangin. "Would you show these folks to their quarters, Ensign? Looks like the next crew liaison officer stood us up." Two of the civilians just beamed up look expectantly at the Coridanite; one looks like she's been recently crying. The other four are still chattering away and looking around.

Graham opens his communicator. "Graham here."

It is the First Officer. He sounds harried. "Mr. Graham, you're released from confinement. Proceed at once to Deck 12 forward, and see Ens. St. Croix. There's a problem with one of the evacuees, who insists on talking to you. Fix the problem and then report to the Bridge. Vargas out." He breaks the connection before Graham can get a word in edgewise.

While peeking out of the alcove, does Kylah recognize the security officer speaking with Lt. Onn?

Rangin looks across at the group freshly arrived and then back to Ferguson.

“Sure, why not. I’ll see what I can do to help. I mean I haven’t spent the day beaming people up on request.” Rangin gives a subtle wink to him, keeping it away from the other technician, before quickly turning around and heading to the new group and pulling out his tricorder.

“Excuse me everyone, please could you listen and come a little closer. Welcome on board the USS Yorktown, my name is Ensign Rangin and I will try to help you find your new quarters.”

He looks down the list of people before looking up, “Please can you confirm your names?” he says listening intently while seeing if he has a list of quarters ready or if he needs to hastily send a note off for the list of quarters. Either way, it will keep him occupied for a few minutes more, and that is all he needs to know for now.

Kylah doesn't think she's seen the Security officer before. They've never met before, as I recall.

"Thanks," says Ferguson offhandedly, already turning his attention to the next group to be beamed up.

Rangin consults the roster of NR evacuees he got while still aboard the shuttle with the landing party. He confirms the names of the six people, all adults, whom Ferguson just beamed up:

Jane Pettigrew, age 37 (the woman who had been crying)
Miriam Ayalon, age 24
Gennady and Lada Mikhailov, a married couple, ages 70 and 67
Pyotr and Mila Seleznyov, another married couple, ages 32 and 33

Each is properly on the list, has a NR colonial ID in hand and has brought along single suitcase, as ordered. They have been assigned bunks in various corridors of the ship; none has been assigned actual quarters.

Graham quickly snaps off a text to Marala. I'm back on duty...something urgent.

He almost sends it, then adds, "Love, Boojee."

Old man doesn't usually sound flustered...

Graham double-times it to Deck 12 forward.


If Graham has access to a communicator and phaser in his quarters, he equips them, but he doesn't wait or stop if not

Marala replies, I understand. Take care. I love you.

Graham arms himself with a phaser-1 and gets his communicator from his quarters. The corridors are now even more noisy and crowded with evacuees and those Yorktown crew who are trying to help them. Children occasionally run past or get almost underfoot.

Rangin check the IDs studiously to make sure they are who they say they are. While checking he stops with Jane Pettigrew. Better to see what he can do now, if she needs any further help, although her reaction is perfectly normal given the situation.

“I know this is a difficult time, but is there anything I can do to help?” he enquires quietly trying to engage her. He hopes it is something small or simple that will help her during the evacuation, but it’s more likely to be the stress of the events and probably being forced to leave something valuable behind.

Though relieved not to recognize the male officer, Kylah uses her fingers to brush her hair forward, covering more of her face. Then she follows Mrs. Soeryadjaya and Mr. Yarrow out of the alcove. She darts her gaze across the room, sweeping it to find something, anything, to latch onto. Lt. Onn, for example, is near a tray of rather mundane fare, uneaten and ignored. It was not here before. Kylah is certain. Did the man bring it to her? Why would he do such a thing? She seems well enough.

She needs a wedge inside, something to spark a command to communicate. Since the greatest danger to her is Lt. Onn, the most senior officer here. Kylah aims her thoughts there. The force is not a gentle, subtle tap on Lt. Onn's emotional door; it is a battering ram.

While waiting for the colonists to come closer so she can talk to them, Nia sees Kylah is also emerging from her hiding place--if that's what it was. The girl looks like she's casing the joint for something to steal.

Nia gives a mental shrug. She's got more things to worry about than Kylah's latest disaster or crisis or whatever the hell is going on. In the interim Nia gives Li a smile, which suddenly feels weak and insincere. Her mood seems to be plummeting. The officer's red uniform, the phaser, the whole of his workbelt... it all brings Booker back to his rightful place in the forefront of her mind.

What is she even doing here? This entire conversation is a waste of her time. Not that she really has a purpose anymore. Nothing she can do to help Booker and Marala from here. Stuck, trapped in these quarters surrounded by mostly strangers.

And all the time poor Book is likely pacing his room like a caged tiger. He must be bombarded with the same emotions she's feeling, except much worse: rage, helplessness, guilt...

Nia's done her best to distract herself over the past half-hour, but in the end what matters is that despite all her efforts today to help Book, Marala and Nikolai, she has probably failed. Maybe even made things worse, given her history with Vargas.

Whatever guilt she's feeling, she knows it's not a tenth of what Booker's going through. Does he know I'm still with him? Not physically, but in every other way that counts? I did my best, Book. I did try. That stupid sanctuary ploy... it actually could have worked, she supposes, but she didn't have enough time to properly implement it. Plus, even then... doesn't the girl in that story die anyway? Like, all of them do? The hunchback, the gypsy heroine whatever her name was... So probably not the best idea anyway.

Nia's head hurts. Wincing, she massages her temples and tries to focus. "Denise," she says to the older woman. "Can you just tell us what your last name is? Not sure why it matters but humor me. And then maybe can y'all leave or shut up so I can enjoy being confined and utterly useless to the person I care most about right now?"

Wait. Did she say that last part aloud? What the actual fuck?

Nia's scales prickle at the edge of her face, her version of blushing, and she turns around to hide the reaction. Finding her chair--covered in a pair of stockings she must've forgotten to clean up earlier--she sinks down and takes a few breaths.

Oh Book. I just screwed things up for you. I'm so, so damned sorry. And the worst part is, she knows he's beating himself up about this. Hopefully he knows she's as trapped as he is, thinking of him..

Rangin confirms that all of the evacuees' IDs, which include pictures, match the six people who just beamed up from the doomed colony.

Pettigrew bursts into tears again, but then struggles to get a hold of herself. She weakly smiles at Rangin. "Thank you, that's very kind of you," she says. "It's just... just... oh, everything. This whole terrible day. Having to leave everything in such a rush. My... my...." She begins sobbing. "My friends, all my friends. So many who had to stay behind!"

Pyotr Seleznyov comes over and comforts her. "It's all right, ma'am," he says. "It'll be all right."



In Onn's cabin, the woman says, "My name is Denise Carter. This is my friend David," and here she hesitates for just a moment, "Seleznyov."

Kylah must re-balance after having created an unstable emotional link and pushed so much empathic energy into poor Lt. Onn, who despite her attempts to hide the emotions forced on her looks as miserable as Kylah feels.

It was wrong, it was cruel, and contemptible. Against everything Kylah believes in, everything she has feared being done to her. Not even Aldaan knows she has, in very very rare cases, accessed and influenced others. She never tried it, not seriously, until OCIII. The spores and the experience with Jan unleashed something new into her mind--his lustful, unwanted pleasure seared its way into her, her heightened, impassioned pleas--pleas he misinterpreted, Kylah generously believes--spurred him on. She tried to stop him but lacked experience, lacked control.

Now guilty of intruding and enhancing Lt. Onn's emotions, she is sickened by her behavior. And yet while she is exhausted and sweat trickles down her back, Kylah cannot focus on this. The wild, untamed fear that has been eating away at her all day roars louder than her conscience. Later she will reckon with the ugly truth. All the ugliness.

Even as she rests a hand on the nearest solid object--Mr. Yarrow's arm--Kylah darts her worried gaze at Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Why did she not use the alias she just agreed to? Are they not pretending to be mother and son, or cousins, or whatever they must in order to be considered family?

Perhaps that is not what they told Lt. Onn. But who is Carter, is this yet another alias? What if there is no Carter on the list? Kylah knows it is pointless to gauge Mr. Yarrow's reaction to all this when it is the security officer who is more dangerous. About to turn her attention to him, something Lt. Onn said reaches through to her.

"Confined?" she repeats, aghast and startled into a question she knows she should not be asking. "Do you mean--I am sorry, is there--are you ill, ma'am?" Kylah was so busy increasing the older woman's existing doubts, that she could not simultaneously judge her target's actual state. Did she just violate the emotions of a woman already in poor health?

Somewhere through the throbbing haze of her headache, Nia realizes Kylah's tactless curiosity has aimed itself at her, and also made a false assumption. True, she's got her head in a vise, but otherwise there's nothing physically wrong. Her lips are parted to snap out a correction when she stops. Why should these people know her exasperating situation?

Nia lifts a hand shading her eyes to stare up at Ensign Li, mutely asking him to kindly keep out of this. She can answer truthfully enough: "As it happens, I'm getting a migraine. Must be catching," she adds dryly with a similarly arid glance at the girl--which instantly proves to be a mistake. Oh fuck, Sala deliver me now, she swears swiftly to planet's mythological gatherer of souls. Even moving her friggin' eyeballs is suddenly painful.

She sighs and massages her brow again. "Anyway. Good to meet you by your full names, welcome to the Yorktown again. Ensign, you got what you need?"

Oddly, before Li answers, Kylah takes a breath as if about to respond herself. But with a little gasp and an inexplicably relieved look at the security officer, she just exhales a nearly silent "oh" and then shuts her trap. Which is fine by Nia.

Rangin knows how Jane Pettigrew feels, with all the friends he has left behind at one time or another, although the majority of them are still alive.

“Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot now and it may never stop hurting. Just as things are all wrong now and the future looks bleak, in time, it may be possible to bear it, even if the pain never truly goes away. I know it sounds selfish, but you can make new friends and live through this. I know how you feel, and for me it comes and goes. Some days I used to live my life, other days I used to do little but wonder why me. But it is possible to get through this.”

He stands up and nods for the rest of the group to gather round to be moved out, before turning back to Jane Pettigrew. “Let me get you to where you are allocated. It may be slightly better than here, but we still have more people coming.”

He looks at the small crowd hoping they are now ready, “Ok, if you will follow me, let’s find get you settled in.”

Ens. Li looks around the cabin and seems as if he's about to say something, but then his communicator beeps. He looks at it, reads a text, then shakes his head and says hurriedly, "No, ma'am. I guess that'll be all. I have to go. Would you like me to have someone from Sickbay see you about your migraine?"

The six evacuees look ready to go. They pick up their bags and follow Rangin. The nearest bunk assignment, he sees, is about a five-minute walk away.

Graham makes his way to Deck 12 forward, and sees Ens. St. Croix down the crowded corridor, talking to an older couple. He recognizes them as Pavel and Elena Antonov, whom he met at the Governor's reception dirtside what seems like a century ago. He remembers how the lady repeatedly got Kylah's name wrong. They haven't seen him yet.

Graham straightens his shirt and tightens up his posture. Look like an ACOS, Booker.

And get your head in the game. He takes a deep breath, and approaches at a casual pace, making professionally attentive, appraising glances at what's happening while keeping an on the trio.

Ens. St. Croix appears to be trying to placate Mrs. Antonov, while her husband, standing close at hand, looks somewhat embarrassed. Graham cannot hear what they are actually saying. Others in the teeming, noisy corridor are settling in on their bunks, looking through their luggage, or moving around and talking. One young man, seated on a bunk nearby, is quietly weeping; no one else seems to have noticed.

Nia lets her arm drop onto her knees, forcing herself to sit up a little straighter. "No, that's okay, Li. They've got more important stuff to tackle, I'm sure. I'll relax and eat--my hunger probably isn't helping--then wait until I get the okay to go."

Crap, did she give away too much? She almost takes a wary glance at Kylah, but the dread of moving her eyes again keeps her gaze on Li. "Um, the okay to head to my temp quarters, wherever that is."

Sighing, she lifts her hand again to massage her neck and gives the security officer a weak, rueful smile. "But seriously, thanks. You've been very helpful considering, y'know... everything. Good luck out there."

After a second's pause, she forces herself to face Kylah, who's still near Carter and... the other one whose family name she's already forgotten. "And you can consider that your cue, too. Feel free to join him. Maybe you can make yourself useful helping more of the refugees instead of lurking in here."

Kylah has been thanking the utterly unexpected hint of good fortune that somehow prevented this man from questioning her identity as well--until Lt. Onn wrests the relief from her by effectively kicking her out, and making it clear she is a crew member.

Her mind hunts wildly for an explanation, an excuse for why she is out of uniform, and how she might possibly escape from Ensign Li's side, for he will surely ask her name, and--

Except... No! Kylah blinks and holds her breath, calculating. No, this is not as dire as she thought. Lt. Onn's suggestion did not reveal Kylah's status at all. It could apply just as easily to a refugee as anyone else.

Kylah's terror subsides a fraction, and she girds herself before she alights on a tactic. She hugs her chilly arms, looking back at Mrs. Soeryadjaya and Mr. Yarrow in apparent confusion.

"Do you mean me, ma'am?" she says hoarsely when returning to Lt. Onn. Hopefully the other woman's headache will prevent her from asking why Kylah is acting like an imbecile. She selects her words carefully. "I--I would prefer to stay. It is so chaotic out there, I would not be of any use."

And, as if she has not already crossed a dreadful line, Kylah again lets her fear-filled stare express how overwhelmingly desperate she is--all the while pushing, pushing, pushing her emotions into Lt. Onn through the unfortunate woman's tired, glassy eyes. "Please," she whispers.

Li asks Kylah, "Do you three have assigned quarters elsewhere, ma'am?"

Graham frowns, then pauses and approaches the weeping young man.

"Are you all right, ?" he asks professionally, intentionally putting a gentle twist on his tone.

Kylah can sense Lt. Onn's rising panic, which in turn boosts her own--and she hardly needs help in that regard, especially when Ensign Li has turned his attention toward her after all.

"Have we three--" She eases off her link with her senior officer and glances back at Mrs. Soeryadjaya and Mr. Yarrow. Impulsively she clasps the latter's hand. He seems the most likely to need reinforcement--and besides, a connection to him makes more sense than his employer. If Kylah should need to give a false name, she prefers using one that she knows is on the list.

But she hates it, she despises all of this. Her face tingles with a flush, mortified that she must tell a lie--or at least, tell the truth in a very deceitful, legalistic way. "No, sir. We are supposed to be here." The words choke in her dry throat. "Please, is something wrong?"

Unable to stop looking at Kylah, Nia continues to massage her taut shoulder and neck muscles. Instead of relaxation, a growing sense of claustrophobia makes her more tense, increasing her heart rate and electrifying her nerves.

What the hell? What's wrong with me? And why is everyone still here? Bad enough I'm stuck, can't they give me some goddamned breathing room?

The instant Ensign Li speaks and Kylah finally drags her wide-eyed, eerily intent accusatory stare from Nia, a flash of clarity and a possible solution to both the headache and the weight on her chest strikes her. Breathing room. Of course, idiot.

She reaches for the inhaler dangling from its chain tucked underneath her uniform, fingers fumbling with less practiced ease than usual.

Just holding the device in her hand offers comfort. Sidonia, with all its horrors, is at least a place where she was almost always able to breathe, really breathe. Except for jaunts up in her parents' ships to the toxic atmosphere--but even then she had a supply of air through her helmet.

Nia plunges it into her mouth and presses the button to release a stream of the delicious, mind-clearing mixture of Bilitrium, nitrogen and oxygen into her. Seconds later the fog sweeps temporarily away. Nothing is like it, nothing as precious and sacred as the air she breathes.

She opens her eyes to catch Kylah's reaching for David, as if calming him. Or calming herself. Look at her, she's terrified. Why is Li freaking her out so much? Like Rangin the other day in the gym. Is it men in general? No, she seems okay with Booker. But who wouldn't? He takes care of the people who mean the most to him. Marala is proof of that.

With a shudder she shakes her head while still taking in the life-sustaining compound that refreshes her more than the ship's M-class air ever can. Dimly she hears Kylah's answer to whether she belongs here.

Wait, what? Did the ensign just imply--

She instinctively presses the inhaler button for one last boost before yanking it from her mouth. About to blast the girl for whatever craziness she's into now, Nia--unaccountably--freezes. The thought of having Kylah look at her again has sent a jolt of dread and guilt through her. Guilt? Why? The kid's afraid, yes, but--but it's not Nia's fault. Is it?

And she's lying. Why is she lying? Most of all, why does Nia feel so protective toward the girl all of a sudden? Not even just protective, but understanding. Compassion. Kylah's trapped too, somehow, caught up in something just as Nia and Booker and Marala and Nikolai and all the others in this horrific crisis.

Throughout all this, the gratitude she felt toward Ensign Li has evaporated, replaced by an expanding bubble of resentment of being under anyone's custody, even a nice harmless guy.

"Goddamnit, I asked you to go!" she blurts, surprising even herself. She's not a blurter. Nia forces herself to her feet. "Sorry, Li, but look, everything's fine. Can you just, please, leave me the hell alone? And them? Like they don't have enough on their minds already? I'm sorry," she repeats, this time to the guests. "You shouldn't have to go through this. It's not fair, not any of it."

Turning back to Li--carefully avoiding Kylah the way she navigated her ship past treacherous burning clouds back home--Nia lets go of her inhaler and lifts a pleading hand. "You've got your job, I get that. But you're the one who's supposed to be somewhere else--you said it yourself, you've got orders. So go." Almost unconsciously--she knows she's doing it but she can't seem to help herself--she beseeches exactly as Kylah did her, with a soft, agonized: "Please?"

Li's communicator beeps again, and he says, without looking at it again, "Yeah, all right. Looks like we have a situation developing in Rec Room 5 that I should see to anyway." He nods a salute to Onn, the senior officer present, and leaves. The door whooshes shut behind him.

The young man in the corridor looks up at Graham and grins crookedly for a moment, still crying. He manages to gasp out, "Oh, yeah, everything's great. Thanks for asking."

Graham looks sympathetically at the young man. "Hard times, indeed," he says quietly. "Hang in there."

Unless otherwise interrupted, he proceeds toward St. Croix.

At first, shock prevents Kylah from reacting when Ensign Li leaves. Then she squeezes Mr. Yarrow's hand in delight before realizing she is doing so. She apologizes and releases his fingers. "It is all right," she adds, almost smiling at him and Mrs. Soeryadjaya. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I--"

She stops when she takes a good look at Lt. Onn, whose complexion seems a dull gray rather than its usual warm brown. Kylah's guilt returns. "I am sorry to have bothered you. Perhaps you should go to Sickbay."

"I'll be fine." Lt. Onn leans against her dresser, rubbing her left temple. "I want to talk to you."

Having anticipated this, Kylah swallows and takes a hesitant step toward the door. "Yes, I understand, but... I should let you alone and--" Abruptly the bargain she made with Velir floods her mind. He only gave her a few minutes before threatening to report her. How much time has all this taken? Much too long. The urgency tightens her throat. "Forgive me, I really must go now."

Lt. Onn manages to head her off and takes firm hold of her arm. "I said. I want. To talk to you." She glances back at the refugees. "You guys too. Don't you think of going anywhere." And with more strength than Kylah would have expected from the weary senior officer, she guides--more like pulls--Kylah away from the door.

Mrs. Antonov spots Graham, claps her hands together, smiles encouragingly and says, "There he is! Oh, thank you for coming, Lt. Grant. Just the man I wanted to see. I was telling this young officer just what needs to be done...."

The two stowaways exchange a look as Onn lays hands on Kylah.

Graham accepts the unexpected reception in stride. Matter-of-factly, and intending for her to overhear, he states "Ens. St. Croix is an excellent officer."

"Oh, I'm sure she is," the old lady says, with a small, dismissive wave of the hand at St. Croix, "but there's only one Lt. Grant. Won't you help us, please?"

Rangin leads the evacuees out of the transporter room in the direction of the first set of bunks, well aware that he can afford a little bit of time to make sure they know their way around the ship, perhaps taking a little more time than he should. A five minute walk is just fine by him, but aware that they are carrying luggage as well, he takes the time that they need to get to the first point without struggling too hard.

The more time it takes, the more likely Kylah will be back in her cabin. But, of course, she will be there...

Graham clears his throat. "Uh, Graham." He assumes a polite smile "what seems to be the trouble?" he asks politely.

Rangin is able to guide the evacuees to their respective bunks, sometimes having to almost elbow his way through the jam-packed corridors, and once almost tripping over little kids running loose. Several of those he is escorting don't look pleased by their makeshift accommodations and what will be an obvious lack of privacy, but no one complains out loud.

Mrs. Antonov says, "Graham, yes, of course, thank you, dear. Well, it's about the Governor and his wife and their dear girls. I haven't seen them aboard and I'm not even sure that they've beamed up yet. This young lady," she says, indicating St. Croix, who is remaining carefully stonefaced, "tells me that they weren't approved for evacuation, but I know that just can't be right. He's the Colonial Governor, for heaven's sake!"

Graham intentionally adopts a posture that looks like he's listening attentively. He is, but he also intends to show it.

Graham nods somberly. "I don't believe holding the rank of Colonial Governor was a consideration in eligibility for evacuation, ma'am."
"

Nia draws Kylah away from the door and, when she's certain the junior officer isn't going anywhere, lets go. "All right. What the hell is going on here?"

Kylah rubs her wrist, as if she's some delicate flower Nia's massive talons might've crushed. "I am sorry, I do not know what--"

"You can stop that line right now. When Ensign Li spoke to you, you basically implied you were one of them." Nia bobs her head in the direction of the two strangers, then gestures toward Kylah's dress. "And in this get-up, you could pass for a civilian. Coincidence? I'm beginning to think not. So I repeat: What is going on?"

Kylah bites her lower lip. "Nothing, Lieutenant." When Nia's about to break in, she hurries on. "That is--I cannot tell you."

Okay. Well, this is getting somewhere. "Can't tell me, or won't?"

"Both."

Nia lifts her arms as if physically begging for more details, then lets them slap down to her sides again. "Tell me this then. Just who are these people to you?"

"I told you, ma'am, I never met them before."

Kylah's words are so carefully chosen that Nia knows she's playing loose with the truth. "Spare me the legalese. I saw you holding that guy's hand just now, and it's not because of some 'crush' you picked up. And I noticed all the whispering you three were doing while I was dealing with Li. You think I just hatched from an egg? C'mon, Ensign."

Kylah hugs herself and twists to face the door as if expecting a savior to walk through it. "Please, I must go. I have no time--"

"You have as much time as I want you to have. Because unless you start spitting up some truth I'm gonna call Security." Nia really wants to pace, nervous energy springing up and down her leg muscles, but she's afraid to take her attention from Kylah for a second. What is going on here? Why is she involved in helping this pair? Why would they need her help, for that matter?

Suddenly she inhales, holds her breath, then exhales with her realization. "The lottery." She shuts her eyes for a second, then opens them, really seeing everything for the first time since entering the cabin. "They're not even on the list, are they."

Mrs. Antonov insists, "But he's the Governor! He's our friend. He has a lovely family - his wife, their twins. He's the planetary leader. Of course he should be evacuated, and his family, too. Can't you see to it, Mr. Graham? Can't you arrange for them to be evacuated with the rest of us?" Her husband, looking embarrassed, takes her arm and tries to soothe her, but she shakes him off.

Denise turns to David and says firmly, "We should be going, and give them the chance to talk."

Graham listens patiently, and glances sympathetically at Mr. Antonov before responding. "I'm sorry, that's not within my power, Mrs. Antonov." After a brief pause he adds, "I'm sure we all wish more people could be evacuated. But it would be best if we...all tried to remain calm, not tax the life support systems, and come to grips with this terrible tragedy as best we can."

Nia sees Kylah's widening eyes, but the girl stays silent until "Denise" speaks. Then both Starfleet crewmates simultaneously spin to face the guests.

"No, you must not go, it is not safe!" Kylah cries out in a plea, which Nia's sharper voice cuts through easily. "Don't even try it, Denise or whatever your real name is!" She stabs a pointing finger at the civilians as threateningly as if it's a phaser set to kill. "No one is leaving until I say you leave. Got it?"

Darting her gaze back at Kylah, she shakes her head. "Am I right or not? You're hiding them here?" Not even a syllable in response. "Damn it, Ensign, if you think you're buying time to conjure up a lie, don't bother. Listen. Do you realize every single available square centimeter on this ship is precious? That we can't waste it with stowaways or people who bribed you to sneak on board--"

"I have not been bribed."

"My apologies. You don't need credits the way the rest of us plebians do. Well, whatever it took to get this pair up from the planet--" A scowl lowers her brow, causing another pain to stab her between the eyes. If her guess is correct, how could Kylah have smuggled them onto the ship? Did she fake their names on the lottery list? How else...?

She blinks in sudden recognition. "Ajay. Did you get him involved in this... whatever the scheme is? Does he know?"

"'Ajay'?"

"Andy Johnson." Of course, the little royal Ensign is too elegant to use nicknames. "The one you somehow cajoled into letting you in here. No way he'd've done this if he knew what it was for. Putting me at risk, not to mention himself? I swear, if he gets in trouble because of you--"

"He will not! He could not, he did not even know they were here!" After a frozen second in which Kylah looks like someone on the wrong end of a stun blast, she clamps her mouth into a thin line.

Nia crosses her arms over her chest. Annnnd, gotcha.

"Unbelievable. You know what pisses me off about this the most? The sheer entitlement. Why do you think you and your friends here deserve special treatment? Using Ajay, using me... Do you know, aside from all the thousands of strangers who're facing death this minute, there's a man I care about, who I sorta think you care about, who's suffering agony because people who matter deeply to him might be sent back down to die with the rest of their neighbors?"

Kylah's face pales--which Nia wouldn't have thought possible, the girl already looks like a ghost. "Lt. Graham," she whispers. "His... friend. Mrs. Gromov. She did not make the list?"

Somehow Nia is irritated that Kylah knows this secret. Why did Booker tell her? "No. Neither did her kid. Eight, nine years old, I don't know exactly, but he's a little boy and he's never gonna grow up if the Captain and Vargas decide to send them--" She cuts herself off and, in a sudden recollection that Kylah's presence can actually serve a purpose right now, holds out her hand. "Give me your communicator."

"My--I beg your pardon?"

"Give. Me. Your. Communicator." Nia enunciates as if speaking to a not-very-intelligent dog. "Or actually... I probably can't use it myself. But you can. I need you to contact... um..." Shoot, she can't get in touch with Booker, obviously. Who's the best alternative? "Ensign Mahmoud. He's Book's roommate, he can pass a message along. Get him on the line and let me speak with him."

The girl's complexion warms from white to a blush of pink. "Why can you not do so yourself?"

"Because I don't have my communicator. Or access to my comms account, except for emergencies." Nia sighs, giving up her pride when it's really of no use to her right now. "I'm confined to quarters, stripped of my communicator, basically a glorified prisoner. Book's in the same situation."

Kylah's lips part a few seconds before she finally speaks. "Because you brought Mrs. Gromov on board? They are punishing you for that?"

"Not her, her son. But basically yes. And I want to know how Booker's doing. This has gotta be killing him. So just hurry up and get in touch--"

"I am sorry, Lieutenant. I cannot."

Pain bursts from behind Nia's eyes as if a tight, elastic band has just snapped around her brain. Losing patience, she advances on Kylah. "I'm not gonna ask again. I can contact Security, at least if the usual protocols are in place, so I can get someone back here to check out your pals--"

"Please, no! You do not understand. I do not have my communicator with me!"

Nia glances down at Kylah's dress, which is thin and free of any pockets, much less a utility belt. "How--why the hell are you gallivanting around the ship without a communicator? With a thousand strangers, during an emergency?" She grabs Kylah's wrist again and gives her a frustrated shake for emphasis. "Do you have even the slightest shred of responsibility? Of self-protection? What is wrong with you?"

She lifts her gaze to the ceiling before Kylah can respond. "Y'know what, I don't care." Tilting her aching head, Nia indicates the terminal on her desk. "Log in to your comms account. That should work."

Kylah follows the direction of Nia's nod, her complexion even redder. "No, I am sorry, Lieutenant. I cannot."

Nia's hand reflexively squeezes harder on Kylah's wrist, and only the girl's grimace of discomfort stops Nia from continuing. Embarrassed, she releases her grip... which is when she sees a series of mottled red and purple bruises--fingerprints--around the younger woman's left wrist and forearm. Shaken, she stares up at Kylah, about to ask just who the hell did this to her, but higher immediate priorities hold her in check.

"Listen carefully, Ensign. I don't want to hear the words I cannot again. I need to get a message to Booker Graham and you're standing right here, owing me a very very big favor, so you'd better start making yourself useful."

"But I canno--" Kylah cuts herself off, wisely. "Please believe me, Lieutenant, I am not trying to be difficult. I literally can not do ask you ask. I wish I could, but I..." She gnaws at her lip again, head bowed slightly. "I am being punished as well. Cmdr. Vargas has restricted access to my communications account."

A pause is filled by Nia's breathing. "That's ridiculous. They don't take away people's ability to communicate when they're just free to roam around. What would be the point--"

It's impossible to miss Kylah's wince and the tightening of her jaw. And the penny drops.

"Oh. Oh shit." Nia retreats a step, as if the girl's insanity is infectious, and lowers her voice to a whisper. "You're not supposed to be here. That's why you lied to Ensign Li. They've confined you to your quarters too. But--somehow you got out? Are you certifiable? They will throw you in the Brig, they'll court-martial you for sure. What in the name of the six holy thrones are you thinking?"

Kylah's right arm cradles her left, running a soothing hand along the bruises that began with Lt. Ferguson's assault, Velir's attempt to keep hold of her in the turbolift, and now Lt. Onn, who like Velir did not truly mean harm. None of these incidents would have been as painful if this wrist were not seemingly incapable of fully healing after the Denebian Slime Devil attack during her first mission.

Vulnerability to emotional wounds has long been part of her life. It is only since joining Starfleet that physical injuries have added to her burden.

And so Lt. Onn now knows everything. Kylah is completely reliant on this woman's generosity, which is not a comforting thought. The Helm officer is unpredictable. Sometimes sympathetic, others barely tolerant.

"You are right. I know how mad all this must seem," she says now, trembling when she spares a glance at Mrs. Soeryadjaya and Mr. Yarrow. Their lives are no longer just in Kylah's hands. "I cannot spend time explaining it all, and indeed I could not, even with the time. But all I have done I had to do, including disobeying orders, evading the disciplinary restrictions I have earned."

"Why were you disciplined?" Lt. Onn's voice is still low, no longer as bullying or snappish as earlier. "If no one knows about these two, why did Vargas--"

"Because I did not obey Lt. Graham's orders and remained behind." Kylah again glances at the civilians and continues in a whisper. "I was afraid Cmdr. Vargas knew why I did not fulfill my duty. That he had learned about these two, and possibly had removed them from the ship. So I had to determine whether they were safe. But without a communicator..."

"...You had to come here to see for yourself."

Kylah nods. She stares up at Lt. Onn, no longer pushing her emotions outward. Standing this close, it is clear Lt. Onn is still feeling the residual discomfort of Kylah's breaching her privacy. Guilt still simmers beneath all Kylah's other myriad emotions, but she continues to ignore it.

"I beg you, I must leave. Ve--someone will be expecting me back in my quarters and I must not be absent when they return."

Lt. Onn's right eyebrow arches. "Someone. Right. Does this person know everything that's going on?"

"No. You may not believe it, Lieutenant, but you know more than anyone else, aside from myself. That is the utter truth."

"Truth. I'm beginning if you know the meaning of the word." The senior officer lifts a defensive palm. "Don't take that as an insult. Not entirely. I can appreciate the skill behind a good liar. If you don't mind my saying so, your problem is that you aren't great at selling the Big Lies. Or maybe you're just juggling too many."

Kylah looks down quickly. This woman has no idea the magnitude of the lies Kylah is hiding. But still, Lt. Onn is not entirely wrong. It is the smaller lies, the sheer quantity of them, that exhausts Kylah more and more each day.

Maintaining control of her expression, she flicks her gaze back up at Lt. Onn. "Then will you help me, Lieutenant? Please, will you let me go without fear that you will turn them in?"

Lt. Onn sighs, again showing her tiredness in the heaviness of her lowered lids, the sheen of irridescent green more evident than usual. "There's a problem. If I'm able to leave here for space that'll help save on the l/s resources, there'll probably assign two new guests here. They won't be expecting four."

Kylah scans the room quickly. "But it is a very large cabin. Four would not seem excessive, and would fit very well, at least for a short period during an emergency. I think it would seem..." She hunts for a word. "Efficient."

Lt. Onn shrugs; her energy seems to be flagging. Remorseful, Kylah holds her hands together prayerfully. "Lieutenant, I... I think I can help you get a message to Mr. Graham. Lt. Graham," she corrects, recalling his still-new promotion. "Ens--the person I am to meet back at my quarters. I can ask them to contact Ensign Mahommed... is that his name?"

"Mahmoud." Lt. Onn blinks, seeming to have perked up. "You think so?"

"Yes. Tell me what you wish me to say and I will pass along whatever message you wish. And since both parties are neither you nor I, it will not be breaking the letter of the law, as far as the rules to which we are meant to be adhering."

This garners a chuckle--more of a snort. "Right. And that's obviously pretty damn important to both of us. By all means let us adhere to the letter of the law. The spirit can go screw itself." As far as Kylah can tell, Lt. Onn is not genuinely upset. To the contrary.

But then the Lieutenant's demeanor sobers, turning speculative. "This... 'person' of yours. The one whose name and rank you almost dropped a couple times, and even if you hadn't, I'd still probably be able to guess who you're talking about." Her eyebrow arches higher. "This isn't someone who has very warm feelings about Booker, or vice-versa. I'm right, aren't I? You sure he'd really be willing to act as a go-between here?"

Kylah needs no empathic skills to know Lt. Onn has guessed correctly. She feels her cheeks warm with another flush. "Their feelings for one another aside... in such circumstances..." She tries to imagine Velir's reaction if he hears what Lt. Graham is undergoing. A young mother, a boy of so few years, possibly doomed to a horrific death.

No: even with the extreme distrust between the two, Kylah cannot believe Velir would be unable to sympathize. Such a tragedy goes beyond animus.

"Yes. My friend is kinder than you may believe, if you only know Lt. Graham's experiences with him. He is... he is moral and compassionate. He would not be generous enough to help me, now, if it were not so."

Lt. Onn nods, very slowly, with slightly narrowed eyes. After a moment Kylah realizes she is staring directly at Kylah's bruised forearm. "And just making sure..." she says, very carefully. "He doesn't have anything to do with that, does he?"

Aghast, Kylah pulls her arm protectively against her chest. Yes, he grabbed her to prevent her leaving in the turbolift, but he did not know she was already hurt, and if she had not felt all that emotional feedback with his touch, she would not have tried to wrest it free and thus aggravate the injury that was already there.

She lifts her chin and meets Lt. Onn's gaze. "With respect, ma'am," she says, trying to calm the tremor in her voice, "He bears no more responsibility than you do, with your actions just now."

To her satisfaction, the taller woman widens her eyes, then finds it difficult to meet her stare. "Damn it. I'm sorry, Kylah. I really am. I shouldn't have..." She sighs and shakes her head. "Time's wasting. I promise we'll talk more about this later and I'll give you a proper apology. For now: Go. I won't say anything about them. Or you. Not if I can help it, anyway."

Kylah nearly asks for Lt. Onn's word, but she senses there is no need. As with Lt. Graham, something in this woman seems so forthright that even without a strict promise, she will do as she says. For once, let my judgment not fail me, Kylah prays.

She turns to the two civilians whose lives are now in multiple hands. "Ma'am. Sir. You... please, you will follow Lt. Onn's instructions? I must leave for you to be safe. And you must stay out of sight. If anyone recognizes you from the planet... if any crew member asks for your names... it is too dangerous. Just until the ship is out of orbit and on its way. It cannot be long now. Please?"

Rangin turns his head back towards the group, aware of how they are feeling, while still trying to keep them moving. “I know, it’s not the greatest of places to stay and the hospitality is a little lacking in organised stakes, but I can say that everyone is very welcoming and will do their very best to make your stay here as comfortable as possible.”

It’s difficult to force the humour, while knowing that these people have left nearly everything behind and are losing not just their friends, but their entire way of life in the sudden blink of an eye. He hopes that it will ease some of the tension, but in the end it will take weeks or months to get over this.

He moves a few more people out of the way and keeps the group moving.

Denise looks from Kylah to Onn, licks her lips and says to the older officer, choosing her words carefully, "Just a minute. Do you promise to keep our secret? If not... I have a communicator. What would it be worth to you to use?"

Rangin is able to keep his group of Novy Rostov evacuees moving, leaving each at their proper place, until at last all six are taken care of. His communicator vibrates, and he sees a text: Attention, all hands. Prepare to break orbit in 12 minutes. We will go to warp immediately thereafter. Department chiefs to Conference Room 1 on the double. SINGH.

Graham and every other member of the Yorktown's crew get the same text. Onn and Kylah, obviously, do not.

Graham clears his throat and offers an "excuse me" that doesn't need a response as he checks his communicator.

He manifests an exaggeratedly serious demeanor. "I'm sorry, that's the Captain." Trying to balance sympathy with sternness, he looks first at Mr. Antonov, then his wife. "It would be best if you get to your quarters."

He nods to Three Crows and if not impeded, turns with a look of purpose to go.

Mrs. Antonov begins to wail but St. Croix (not Three Crows) and her husband take her in charge as Graham leaves.

Nia turns to Denise to confirm that those words just left the woman's mouth.

"What's it worth," she repeats, deathly quiet. From the corner of her eye she can see Kylah shaking her head, which at least shows the girl has better sense than her.... friend, client, who the hell knows what these people are to her. "Probably a set of charges and some time in the Brig, possibly for me, definitely for you. Insulting me with a bribe isn't a great tactic, and I don't know what made you think--"

She cuts herself off. Because Nia has just run back the past ten minutes and... actually...

Arms still crossed protectively over her chest, Nia walks farther away, no longer facing the others. "Okay, forget the outraged indignation," she mutters. "What you've seen of me just now, I can understand what your opinion of me probably is." She flicks a palm toward Kylah, reluctant to look her in the eye. "Bullying her, insulting her, shoving her around. I guess I pretty much made it sound like I'd rat you two out if she didn't help me send a message."

She sinks into the chair in the corner of the quarters. "I don't get it," she adds to herself, running a hand over her mouth. "This isn't me. I feel so out of control, like there's this pressure that's gonna break my brain until all my emotions bleed out. I don't recognize myself." Something in between a chuckle and hysterical sob bubbles from her, and she presses her fingers harder against her lips. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Lieutenant..." Kylah's soft voice seems surprisingly well designed to soothe her--or at least, not trigger more crazy feelings. "Please, you are just upset, with Lt. Graham and all your responsibilities. And I am to blame. I added all this to your plate, and pushed you, provoked you..."

"Stop," Nia sighs. Kylah sounds genuinely regretful, almost mournful. It's appreciated, but it doesn't really help. "I'm not supposed to be that easily provoked. I'm a pilot. I have to keep my cool under fire." Inhaling, she finally returns to the civilians. "Look. Your communicator won't help me. I'm sure comms activity is being monitored, especially in an emergency situation where, I assume, they're asking people to keep chatter to a minimum. A stranger contacting a security officer...? You don't want your communicator's signature being identified, especially if it doesn't match up with a name on that list. Which, I assume, it doesn't.

"No. Your savior over here had the best idea." Though her head is still throbbing, she nods it toward Kylah and addresses her. "You, me, these two, even Booker... none of us want to show up as active. If you can get third parties to pass along messages, that's safest. Still, we're gonna have to pay the piper eventually, 'cause I doubt your guests are gonna stay anonymous for the whole trip, and I have no idea what Vargas has in mind for me. Or Booker, or Marala and her little boy..."

She stops this line of thought at once because her throat is closing up and her eyes positively itching with the unfamiliar instinct to produce tears--very rare for a Sidonian. My whole body is one big raw wound, what is going on?!

Kylah watches the senior officer in mortification, knowing all too well what it feels like to be assaulted by unbidden emotions. And, worse, because whatever level of uncertainty and concern exists within Lt. Onn, it has been severely magnified by Kylah's own actions.

First she twists to focus on Mrs. Soeryadjaya. "You may trust her, madam. I know you are doing what you must, but implying that she is--that she has a price--that can only make things more... tenuous... for us."

Next she walks up to where Lt. Onn is seated, head bowed and cradled in her palm. She keeps her tone in a near-whisper. "Please, Lieutenant... just rest. Your feelings are understandable. You are deeply upset for your--your friend. You care for him and worrying about this cruel situation. With everything that has happened today, you are likely just tired." Kylah's voice breaks in shame, and she must push forward to ignore it. "I will do as I promised and seek to get your message through. What do you want to say?"

After a few deep breaths, Lt. Onn lets her hand drop to her knee. "Just that I'm thinking of him. And I know he's killing himself with self-recriminations and guilt and fear and anger, and I--I wish I could take it all away. I'm sorry I didn't do better. That I might've screwed things up. And if there's any news, please somehow let me know?" She closes her eyes, which have barely been open anyway. "He probably knows already. Even Vargas isn't cruel enough to make him wait till there's no time to say goodbye. And it's gotta be bad."

Kylah starts to reach out to touch her arm consolingly, but thinks better of it. "Perhaps it is not. As you said, the captain does not seem like someone who would tear Lt. Graham from people he--he--"

"Loves. You can say it. I mean, it's a friendship-type of love, at least... I thought it was, at first. But his feelings toward this woman are very strong. Maybe you don't get over that sorta thing, even after decades. I really wouldn't know." Lt. Onn makes a grimace. "Sorry. I'm wasting time. This is crazy, I can't even control what I'm prioritizing, this is insane. Anyway. If it was good news he'd've told me. We were in this together. So... you'll pass that along? Just that I'm here for him, assuming we're ever in the same room again?"

Kylah nods. "Yes. Now please rest. All of you." She sends a quick glance--both warning and pleading--over to the civilians. "Stay quiet and let each other be in peace. I must go, and hopefully the next time we are again in contact, we will be far away from this place."

Already her mind is racing ahead to how she will safely return to her cabin, and if she will do so in time. Or if Velir is there now, waiting, disappointed in her, and already opening his communicator to get in touch with Cmdr. Vargas...

She starts to leave, but Lt. Onn reaches out to her and beckons her to lean down. "What is it, ma'am?"

"Just between you and me. This woman friend of yours?" The senior officer raises her eyebrows as if indicating Mrs. Soeryadjaya. Her voice is a silvery, almost reptilian whisper. "Not sure why you're risking everything for her and this guy. But I wouldn't be surprised if, when you guys get caught, she ends up claiming you personally kidnapped her and forced her onboard. She'd probably do the same to her sidekick Mr. Motormouth too. I admit I barely know her, but... well, I'm just sayin'... Look out for that one."

Kylah's eyes widen. It is not a bad judgment by any means, and actually she is impressed that Lt. Onn has assessed Mrs. Soeryadjaya fairly well. The thought is sobering. Still, Kylah has already resigned herself to the inevitable disaster. Warnings serve no purpose to her now: she is on this path and cannot divert from it.

With a similar sotto voce word of gratitude--for everything--Kylah heads to the door. If neither of her guests wish to say anything, she will exit and do her best to make a very quiet, unobtrusive path back to her quarters.

Mrs. Soeryadjaya hears out Kylah and then nods once, curtly. Yarrow, cowed by her as usual, also says nothing.

Kylah makes her way through the Yorktown's crowded corridors back to her cabin. She does not run into anyone she knows by name, and is quiet even if nothing else around her is.

Graham wants to find Nia, but there's no ambiguity in his mind he either needs to be on duty, or, in the absence of a crisis, with his--new family.

Maybe you want to avoid having to tell her what's happened, too, Booker?

Unless otherwise interrupted he heads back to--be with Marala and Nikolai when the world they've known dies.

Graham receives no other assignments - perhaps Vargas is showing some uncharacteristic solicitude, or is just too busy during the ship's last few minutes in Novy Rostov orbit. The Assistant Chief of Security is able to return through the teeming corridors to his fiancee and her young son, who is now standing beside her, looking up at him with an odd expression.

Marala takes Graham into her arms and whispers in his ear, "I think we should talk to Niki together about what's happened... and what comes next."

Graham nods. "Of course, of course," he replies quietly, allowing himself...telling himself, and allowing himself...to ever so gently return Marala's embrace with a brief hug of his own.

Marala loosens her embrace a little and asks Graham, "Do you want me to tell him the big news, or would you rather do it?"