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

Kylah has been in the middle of explaining what little she understands of the controls to Lt. Graham and St. Croix when the lurch hits. She stumbles into the front panel but uses it for balance, then looks up to see the Yorktown disappear. Horrified, she pushes herself away.

Her first instinct, embarrassingly, is to stare up wildly at Lt. Graham and blurt, "I did not touch anything!" Her frightened gaze returns to the controls and the starfield onscreen. She tries to make sense of anything she sees. Are the engines actively engaged? Is the Doregg being controlled remotely? Are they being towed?

Probably not questions she is capable of answering. The ability to vaguely recognize rough symbols and control functions does not extend to being a capable pilot of an unknown ship--she performed the bare minimum of flight training at the Academy, and that not very well--much less an understanding of what security measures to deploy.

The searching look she sends back at the ACOS / C.O. mixes alarm and expectation. Lt. Graham was in the co-pilot seat with Lt. Onn on the Tesla, he likely knows how to handle all this. Belatedly, she remembers her own primary function, and fumbles to retrieve her blessed communicator. She holds it with both shaky hands, flipping it open. If they are at warp, it is likely useless, but she must try contacting the ship. However, just before she engages with the Yorktown, she keeps her wits and first confirms with Lt. Graham--for all she knows there might be some security reason to avoid transmitting something. "S-sir?" she asks weakly.

"Shit..."

"I think we just went into warp, Graham says, for the benefit of the team around him and into his communicator assuming he gets the good doctor's ping.

He rubs his chin. "No, you didn't touch anything, Mr. Kylah." he grunts. "Meaning it was keyed to something else...or timed...or someone on board has an ace in the hole...."

He scans the screen attentively. "So where the hell are we - Uwat space, or were the Romulans clever enough to set a trap?" He somewhat doubts the latter given their hasty departure, but the major was certainly sharp enough.

"First order of business - eyes on the screen," he says--"any ideas where we are?"

"Yes sir." Swallowing, Kylah stares at the screen. Stars seem like stars to her, unless they are the familiar constellations over one of the two planets upon which she has spent the most time. She stares at the only systems she can identify. "We know the shields are damaged due to the Yorktown attack. If we are at warp unprotected..." Swiftly her attention focuses on St. Croix and points at the other area she recognized. "Can you tell if the--the navigational deflectors are working?"

The uselessness of her communicator by now, at least for external comms, is manifest. "I should try to contact the Yorktown, sir. No doubt they are giving chase, but they might be able to tell if the Doregg is piloting itself. If Lt. Onn were here..."

If the Sidonian were here she would probably be unconscious by now--or worse. Kylah shakes her head. "But she was able to rely on you as copilot in the Tesla, sir. Have you helmed a ship solo before?"

She will also ask for permission to go to the Comms area and attempt to reach the Yorktown. Kylah suspects she might be better able to figure out the Communications controls than anything here.

If communicators are working and Bizhi is able to reach the bridge team, that is already a relief.

"Mäkeläinen here," he says, "this is... Team Cryo. We were just wrapping things up with the Chalnoth. Haven't seen anyone else. Are you all right?

Kylah believes, from her quick reading of the control panel, that the navigational deflector is still working. She is soon able to reach the Yorktown on her communicator; her superior, Lt. Thalen, is on the line. "What's going on over there, Ensign?" he asks, more puzzled and concerned than angry. "Why have you gone to warp?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen is able to reach Graham over his communicator.

St. Croix answers Graham, pointing. "I think that's a forward starfield, sir. It appears to show our direction of travel."

Not far aft, Three Crows raises her phaser and says tersely, "Not quite the time for a snack, I think." She steps past the doctor and closes the door again, despite the protests of the Chalnoth.

Lt. Thalen's voice is so welcome Kylah nearly smiles despite the bizarre circumstances. "We did not do anything, sir; the ship seems to have gone to warp itself, perhaps on some...autopilot sequence?"

She looks from St. Croix, who seems competent when it comes to handling machinery--at least, she got the doors open quite easily--to Lt. Graham, who is C.O. and has spent twenty years on and off starships. Kylah knows she is the worst of the three to provide anything valuable, so she is ready to convey anything the others wish her to. But she continues:

"We are in the Bridge now and I--I am sorry, I am failing to decipher the helm controls. Only shields and deflectors. None of us is a helm expert as far as I know. Maybe someone in the rest of the boarding party?" She eyes Lt. Graham's communicator, where she hears the doctor's tinny voice, and hopes he can hear her.

"Lt. Thalen, are you tracking us? Can you pursue? Perhaps a scan might gauge whether the ship is traveling on its own volition to its original intended destination, or if someone else is controlling it?"

Wordlessly she lifts the communicator to Lt. Graham, in case he has orders and suggestions for the Yorktown. Then, remembering a scattered thought she had moments ago, she speaks simultaneously to him, St. Croix and Lt. Thalen. "Might the Romulans be towing us? I cannot think why, but...could they?"

Graham scowls, but breathes a sigh of relief that the Yorktown has them in its sights.

"We have control of the bridge, Lt. Thalen, but aren't able to effectively use the Uwat-labeled controls," he says to the proffered communicator. "I'm guessing a timed jump, other than entering the bridge we hadn't done anything." He rubs his chin. "I think it would be a tough row to hoe for a cloaked Romulan ship tow something this size...but I supposed whether we're heading toward Uwat or Romulan space might give us some indication of who's behind this."

Dr. Mäkeläinen says over his communicator, "Lieutenant Graham, this is Doctor Mäkeläinen. So, you are on the bridge, there is no one else there, but the ship still went to warp? We know it was not the Chalnoth. Haven't seen that other passenger. Can we trust the scans that there is no one else on board?"

He asks, "What about the plan to inspect the hold? I am not going to be thawing anyone out without the Yorktown standing by to receive patients, unless it is a matter of life and death. If we are not able to regain control, how long do we have until we arrive... wherever it is we are headed?"

Gnawing at her lower lip in thought, Kylah glances at the communicator, and speaks softly in hopes only the Doctor will hear her on the other side. (Of course, her words are also for St. Croix and Lt. Graham.) "Doctor, I agree that the lone human is important to speak with. He was treated with some special courtesy, even if only as a high-paying passenger. Perhaps he knows the intended destination? If nothing else he is unaccounted for and should probably be located, if still aboard."

Thalen says from the Yorktown, "We began following you, matching course and speed, immediately after you went to warp. Sensors clearly show you aren't being towed; the Doreggp's own engines are moving you. You are now headed directly for the nearest star, FGC-216, at Warp 5." He pauses, apparently consulting with someone else, and then adds, clearly concerned, "It is a red giant, and you will enter its photosphere in 17 minutes."

(For more: https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/FGC)

Graham blinks and takes a deep breath.

"Agree Doctor, no de-thawing until we have control of the ship." He pauses and then continues, keeping his communicator channels open: "OK, two hypotheses, two priorities. One: timer or some other auto-pilot. Two: that unknown human passenger is doing this. Lock the Chanlnoth down--with all apologies--if you haven't already. Then we need to find that human, but Doc and Three Crows - if you can make your sweep on the way to main engineering and figure out how to shut the engines down I'd be much obliged. I'll take a tow by or evac to Yorktown over this any day of the week."

Seventeen minutes. Lt. Thalen's previously welcome voice now resounds in Kylah's head like a death knell. She instinctively takes a couple of steps away from the starfield onscreen, as if that will somehow delay the inevitable. Then she freezes in place, her only motion that of her right hand twitching with the impulse to reach for Lt. Graham.

She stifles it. He cannot be distracted. And she is an adult, not a child.

...Except in her mind, where she is again present at her parents' cremations 12 years ago. As they passed through a transparent tube, each coffin was bathed in orange light and incinerated in a blast: in one instant, silver-hued wood and body alike vaporized to dust.

That will happen to us. The Doregg's shields, even if not damaged, cannot withstand the thousands of Kelvins of a red giant's photosphere.

She stares at the control panels she has failed to decipher. Is there anything that remotely resembles the glyphs or symbols for the navigational deflectors? If she can comprehend anything that indicates some similar navigational function, she could at least try to redirect their course.

Assuming the destination is not locked in, or--as she hears Lt. Graham opine--being controlled by the mystery passenger. If so, he must have a death wish. He was so anxious; perhaps this is why.

Lt. Graham is quite right that the engine room is likely the best option. Kylah manages to ask shakily, "Should Lt. Vielar go with them, sir, or can she help up here?"

Then she finds enough courage to address the Yorktown over the communicator, although she almost does not wish to know the answer. "Lt. Thalen--Captain--do you have any suggestions?" She swallows. "Can you not catch up to us?"

Mäkeläinen had thought that they had much longer than... seventeen minutes!?

He is not sure what the last passenger might have to do with any of this, but if they collide with a star, they are not likely to live long enough to find out. "All right, engineering," he repeats over the communicator, locking eyes with Lt. Vielar. (This is her show, now. He cannot read Uwat labels any more than the bridge team, nor does he know how to manually cut power even to a familiar warp core.) "Can you direct us? That would be below and, I assume, aft? Rawlings and I spied what looked like a secure door in that direction."

With the Chalnoth on hiatus, there is no reason to waste precious time hanging around the passenger area, and he points the way back to the main ladder.

Graham flexes his hands. He's no engineer, the best he can do is lead the search for the mysterious human. Not that he'd have much leverage if the guy had a death wish and control of the ship.

In response to Kylah's question, he keys his communicator. "Doc, Three Crows - get Lt. Vielar to the engine room. Any action that doesn't leave us dead but stops our progress toward that star is a good one. Yorktown is on our trail, she'll have our back."

He blinks. "Lt. Thalen, sir, any information on understanding Uwat language and symbols Yorktown can get to the teams would be much obliged. If Vielar can find the switch to vent the warp core into space, I'll take it."

Graham checks the setting on his phaser - stun. "We go door to door from here. St. Croix, you seem to have a knack for locks. You breach. I'll cover."

He takes another deep breath. "Ens. Kylah, I'll shield you, stay behind me, but if meeting this guy isn't an instant firefight, I want you doing the talking. If he's in fact in the driver's seat, talk him down, OK?"

With another desperate glance at the control panel, Kylah turns to Lt. Graham, eyes wide in fear-tinged surprise. "Aye, of course I will try, sir, but--should I not stay here in case Lt. Vielar needs action taken from the Bridge, or if I--if Lt. Thalen has success with the language?" Flushing, she lowers her voice to whisper, nearly a mere mouthing: "I am sorry for failing to pull out the rabbit, Mr. Graham."

Three Crows reports to Graham, "The Chalnoth are still locked in their room, sir, but they're not happy about it."

Kylah can't be sure, but from carefully examining the controls believes that the Doregg's forward navigational deflector is up, but all other deflectors - the Uwat starship's defensive shields - remain down.

Lt. Vielar nods at Dr. Mäkeläinen and Three Crows. The tall, birdlike engineer is ready to go.

Capt. Singh comes on the line. "Mr. Graham, either shut down or destroy the warp drive; the first option would obviously be preferred. We can't just beam you out. There wouldn't be time to retrieve you, the Chalnoth and all those still in cryosleep." There is a pause, and she adds, "Mr. Thalen is checking Federation records on the Uwat language and symbolism but I'm afraid there's not much there."

"I fear we have very little that is helpful to convey," the Doctor says while he efficiently navigates the corridors. "Mr. Rawlings and I barely got started scouting the layout. All we know is, there is a locked door barring the way to the stern compartments, and what sounded like some kind of heavy machinery beyond." He will take the party there, unless Three Crows or Vielar have a better idea.

"This way, I'm pretty sure," Rawlings says before moving quickly ahead.

The Captain says, "We've already caught up to you, matching your course and speed, and are now 200 km off your starboard bow."

Kylah looks hopefully at the starfield, as if the Yorktown will be visible--which it could not be, if the screen is facing forward. She winces at what she knows will be taken as a foolish question. "We have incapacitated ships before using the Yorktown's weapons. Is that an option? I know it is a risk, but..." But there are now fifteen minutes, or thereabouts, and miracles may be in short supply.

She gasps at a wretchedly belated thought. "The lone Uwat in the cryo chamber. Was it taken by the Romulans, along with the others? If not, how long would it take to revive them, even briefly?" Even if the Uwat is there, there cannot possibly be enough time. Why oh why did I not think of this before? Mindless petaQ!

Dr. Mäkeläinen follows the security escort to the stern; he stays alert to anything that may have changed from the last time he saw it.

He does not imagine an engineer like Lt. Vielar will take much time at all to hack open a simple electronic lock. (Also, the security officers probably train on how to breach doors in an emergency using phasers and other equipment.) He is more worried about the non-existent margin of time: they do not know exactly where they are going, they may have to backtrack, it may take a couple of minutes to identify the conduits and controls they are seeking (precision seems in order when dealing with antimatter, dilithium, or anything else that packs enough energy to warp space and time). At least he knows what they are in for and can assist if requested--- there is a cabin full of enraged Chalnoth (will they be able to calm them down so easily a second time?) and a possibly panicking extra passenger who have no idea what is going on, that they may be unceremoniously snuffed out in a moment of pain and terror, the only mercy that it will not last long enough to process what is happening.

Such thoughts are mercifully, if temporarily, interrupted by Kylah's voice on the comms. He answers her honestly: "Ensign Kylah, even assuming I already knew the location of the individual in question and the correct operation of the cryo pod, warming someone up from cryostasis temperatures is not instantaneous, then you have to ease them awake, and, in my experience, most people need a few minutes and a hot drink before they are quite themselves. I cannot guarantee all that happening in time. I am willing to have a dekko if you can translate the controls; you'll have to come down--- is there really no hope of changing course or adjusting the engines from the Bridge?"

"Not that I can confirm; I am sorry, Doctor."

The doctor's ideas about doing something on the Bridge nag at her. Her abilities to come up with technology-based solutions are woefully few. She mentally curses her Uncle's successful negotiation of an accelerated Academy career. Some subjects received short shrift, and unfortunately, most of them were tech and engineering. What tech she does know is primarily focused on comms systems and cryptography--specialties that make her failure to understand these symbols even more bitter.

"Lt. Vielar...Yorktown," she says quietly, "you were able to take over the comms systems. There is no similar route to navigation? I know we are going too fast to avoid the danger entirely, but... would changing the angle of approach lengthen the journey to the photosphere? Buying us time to work on the main warp core issue?"

She stops wincing to stare down at the one control panel she does seem to recognize. "Or...what about the deflectors? Would pushing them to their limits affect our speed? Is there a way to use them as thrusters to slow us down?"

I am talking gibberish, Kylah thinks, and hugs herself while waiting for a reply. She closes her eyes again in embarrassment. She can only imagine the looks back on the ship at this ridiculous idea. Revealing her ignorance to everyone, so that the last opinion the crew have of her will be of some helpless elite whose position was won by nepotism and political influence.

Graham stares Kylah, and then the console, and the Kylah again.

Maybe for too long in each case.

"It's possible to divert all power to the shields on a Federation ship," he says, half to her, half to himself. Usually when you did that, things weren't going well, he remembers from experience.

"Maybe that's your rabbit, Ensign," he says, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Yorktown: the team is on getting to engineering to disable or vent the warp core if we can. We're going to try to divert all power to the shields from the bridge. Uh--it might mean you have to fire on us a little...stand by..."

He looks at the inscrutable console and back to he young Elasian. "So what we want to do is turn the shields...up...a lot. So much so they demand all the ship's energy. If you have any idea how to starting to give that a go, I'm all ears." He pauses and adds "And if you want my hand to be the one that makes the wrong move on the console and kills us all, just give me the best advice you can, I'll make the call, it's on me."

Capt. Singh says, "We know so little about the design and function of the Uwat warp drive, I'd strongly prefer not to use the Yorktown's photon torpedoes to try to knock it out. There's a significant chance it would destroy the ship, so I consider it a last resort. And phasers won't work while both ships are at warp, of course."

Rawlings leads Dr. Mäkeläinen, Lt. JG Three Crows and the others in their party aft, to the heavy doorway sealing off the engineering section from the rest of the ship. Lt. Vielar looks over the door controls, punches a few keys but then shakes her beaked and feathered head in frustration. She says to Graham by communicator, "I'm sorry, but I doubt I could get this open in even half an hour, sir. I recommend we cut through the door by phaser."

The more Kylah looks at Uwat control panels on the Bridge, the more she's able to make sense out of them. Things are starting to click for her in her understanding of the Uwat consoles' glyphs. She believes she can increase power to the navigational shields.

Lt. Graham's hand on Kylah's shoulder steadies her, and she nearly smiles at his rabbit remark. As her comprehension of the symbols slowly increases, she lifts her hand to the panel.

"I believe your experience in shields and navigation makes you the better choice, sir," she murmurs. "I have never piloted anything but a shuttle, and that was in the Academy." She does not add that she crashed twice before managing to pass her helm examination.

She shows him how to perform what she is 80% certain--well, 60% certain--is the correct combination of gestures or buttons or knobs or whatever the Uwat use to increase the deflector power.

(Her vague idea is that the deflectors--which push debris out of the way of the ship--might create some sort of drag on the ship's speed, much as an engine thruster might. If it does nothing but improve the shields, it could still buy the warp core team some time.)

She notices her pointing finger is trembling and she works to keep is still while looking up at Lt. Graham.

Credit where credit is due, Mäkeläinen thinks to himself. The Uwat do not make their constructions sleek and fair, but they work, an aesthetic the Doctor honestly appreciates.

If the door lock is, in fact, properly encrypted, there is no way they have time for Vielar to carefully probe its systems and deduce its workings. The combination may or may not be guessable, but not to someone without knowledge of Uwat language and culture. However... "There has to be a way of accessing the compartment in case of emergency, shipwide power failure, crew inside incapacitated. They would not have made the door phaser-resistant. I concur, it's worth taking the minute to cut through it."

Graham first replies to Vielar. "Permission granted. Be cautious, for the moment, we're going to see if we can divert engine power to the shields to buy us time."

Graham then listens to and watches Kylah's instructions. "Keep trying to understand these damned Uwat symbols," he says quietly. "The warp core can only produce so much power. I'm hoping we can fool the ship it's all needed for the shields." He forces a little smile. "You gave us at least a little hope for a rabbit, Ensign," he tells the young Elasian.

He sighs and touches the controls, following her instructions. "Here goes..."

Graham works the controls and Kylah is pretty sure power to the navigational shields then increases. It does not slow the ship, however.

"Understood, sir," says Vielar to Graham. She nods to Three Crows, who says, "Step back, please," and carefully adjusts her phaser's setting to serve as a cutting beam. She tells Rawlings to do the same, and they soon both begin cutting into the heavy door from different points, top and bottom, to get through it, hopefully, in half the time.

The Doctor does not have a phaser. Vielar obviously seems to know her [her? Mäkeläinen takes a careful look. Yes, her.] business. All he can do is shield his eyes.

He has no idea if an Uwat engine room may have hazards (to humanoids) such as high levels of radiation, toxic gases, or elevated temperatures. If it is a standard warp drive, everything should be contained. All the same, after the door is down, if anyone tries rushing in without a scan he will remind them to do so.

Heart sinking that the idea did not work, Kylah just confirms Lt. Graham's suggestion. "Yes, sir, I will keep trying." She continues the attempt to decipher the panels. It confuses her that she identified the deflector panel as specific to "navigation" purposes, yet cannot determine the navigation system itself; surely the symbols must bear some resemblance or correlation to one another.

"Of course not all languages have such logic," she mutters. Or at least, not logic she can identify. With infinite diversity comes infinite interpretations of what makes sense. She explains her thinking to Lt. Graham and St. Croix, enlisting their aid in identifying recurring patterns. Highly skilled security officers are likely quite good at that, even those who do not specialize in cryptography.

"We could also make an announcement seeking anyone who understands Uwat to come to the Bridge. But that is unlikely." And there is little time left, anyway.

At least Velir escaped. It is unfair that the Yorktown crew came aboard to help and are now doomed. Lt. Graham only just fell in love after losing his wife. The doctor--for his first mission to end like this? She does not know much about Mr. Rawlings but he must have loved ones too.

She thinks of her siblings. They will not much miss her. His Serenity Tellun hardly knows her. But Aldaan will mourn her loss, not merely for her utility. If only she could have made things right with him, somehow. For good and ill, he has been the closest person in her life.

The panel turns blurry. Kylah blinks away tears, then uses her sleeve to wipe her eyes. "Perspiration," she explains numbly, shoving away emotion to resume her frantic search.

Graham uses his communicator to tell the other team their gambit didn't work, and to proceed as quickly as possible.

"OK," he replies to Ens. Kylah. "So that control as far as we can tell was specifically for 'shields for 'navigation.' So anything similar might be for defensive shields, or for actually navigating the ship." he nods to St. Croix. "All hands on deck helping Kylah look for anything similar."

Three Crows and Rawlings finish cutting through the heavy door. Rawlings gives it a good kick, and the phaser-cut portion falls inward, away from you, with a crash. Carefully avoiding the still-hot edges, Vielar at once steps through and looks over the hulking warp drive beyond. (You may go through, as well, if you wish). After a few moments, she says, her voice muffled, "It's some kind of... subspace-shifted plasma system, I think. Similar to what the Raizi and the Ghedonians use, perhaps? That might explain its physiological impact on the Chalnoth. Hmm. I've never seen one before, myself. Just a moment...."

Something in her mind clicks, and Kylah has a breakthrough. She finds she can now much better understand the Uwat control consoles. Her eyes sweep over the glowing panels. Life support... shuttlebay... communications... yes, and there, right there, the warp drive!

From the Yorktown, Thalen says, "You now have ten minutes before entering the red giant's photosphere."

In the middle of her shaky "aye sir" to acknowledge Lt. Thalen's grim news, Kylah breaks off with an inward gasp and leans closer to the warp drive panel. "The engines," she blurts to Lt. Graham, pointing, then expresses herself more clearly to be heard over the communicator. "We see the controls for the warp drive."

Of course recognizing controls and knowing how to use them are two different matters. Lt. Vielar might have been speaking Uwat herself for all the use Kylah can make of the technological terms. Swallowing, she continues, "Lt. Vielar, Yorktown, what--what do you recommend?"

If the panel is easy enough to understand that she can simply lower the speed slowly, she will do so. But if not, she has no idea what to do; perhaps Lt. Graham can comprehend them?

Mäkeläinen does not know his warp drives, but he realizes that thing could be leaking subspace radiation harmless to Uwat but devastating to certain other individuals. Had it not given him the boak every time it activated? Should he really be standing this close to it? At least now he can narrow down what they are dealing with, information that will help Lt. Rangin, and the Chalnoth... should they make it out of here.

Ten minutes? Is that enough time for an emergency shutdown? One that will not leak even more unknown radiation? He wishes he had his medical tricorder. He lets Lt. Vielar work, staying out of the compartment for now. He bites his tongue and keeps the comms clear for the others. If the helm controls work, perhaps emergency procedures will not be necessary. However, if the helm controls are truly reliable at this time, why are they careering towards a star instead of anchored where they started?

"Good work," Graham says quickly to Kylah. He looks at the control: is it similar to the shield control? Is it possible to deduce that moving things in the same direction might be "more" or "less" like the navigation shield control?

Vielar flexes her wings in frustration and says, "It's going to take me a lot more than ten minutes to figure all this out." She is at least able to confirm, with her Engineering tricorder, that there is no radiation risk.

Kylah is now able to think through what most of the Uwat controls say, and Graham, with her help, is then able to use his piloting skills in flying the ship. With just under four minutes before the ship plunges into the star, and with the interior temperature steadily rising, Graham carefully bypasses a Romulan lockout program and turns the Doregg in a wide arc away from FGC-216. The temperature perceptibly begins to drop. The Yorktown makes the turn, as well, and the heavy cruiser keeps pace with the Uwat ship as it heads back into deep space.

This time Kylah's wrist wipes actual perspiration away along with her tears, the temperature and stress having wrung her out. With her free hand she clasps Lt. Graham's arm and squeezes it in gratitude. "Thank you, sir. That was excellent maneuvering."

She smiles her relief at St. Croix as well, and, realizing how shaky her body is, eyes the seat designed for an Uwat crew. If she can do so comfortably, she will let herself sit down; if not, she will lean to rest her tense muscles.

From some of Lt. Graham's swiftly muttered remarks as he handled the helm controls, it appears it was the Romulans who locked the Doregg into this deadly course. Kylah shakes her head. She cannot understand their motives. There is likely much to learn back on the ship.

Meanwhile, until they get instructions from the Yorktown, she continues taking deep breaths to calm her heart rate, announcing to the team in the engine room. "Lt. Graham has successfully changed course," she says to the crew. "We are out of immediate danger from the photosphere."

Casting another look at Lt. Graham, she lowers her voice to avoid being heard over the communicator either inside the Doregg or out to the Yorktown. "If I may say so, sir? Lt. Onn would be proud of you."

When Dr. Mäkeläinen understands from the shift in the engine's vibrations and the comms chatter that the course change was successfully effected, if he wipes any perspiration from his brow it must be due to the heat coming out of the engine room.

If that little bit of sabotage was a Romulan ploy to distract the Yorktown and get her off their backs, it seems to have worked like a charm: they must be light years from where they started, and if the Romulans have activated their cloaking device in the meantime, he would not like to bet on the odds of picking them up on long-range sensors, or of catching up to them even if they could.

"Back to Plan A, then?" he asks over the comms, nonchalantly. He even has a clue now concerning what has been affecting the Chalnoth, and can suggest to their afflicted something to block it.

About how close they came to an abrupt demise, he cannot afford to let his thoughts turn that way.

Graham's response to Kylah's words - "Lt. Onn would be proud of you" - catches in his throat.

"I--I hope so," he says softly.

He exhales and says as much to Kylah as the universe in general. "But I gave the Romulans the benefit of the doubt. Assumed they'd get their job done without unnecessary collateral damage." He frowns. "I was wrong, but thanks to you--we're not. Thank you."

Kylah can sit down, and not all that uncomfortably, although the Uwat seats are really not designed for humanoid posteriors.

St. Croix, relieved, returns her smile.

"Well done, Mr. Graham, Mr. Kylah, and everyone aboard the Doregg," says the Captain over the subspace comm channel. "Let's get some more distance from the star. I'll put together a prize crew, and also a Science team to study those still in cryosleep. What else would you like to do over there before returning to the Yorktown?"

"Mäkeläinen here," he speaks into his communicator, "We have a cabin full of ill, ill-tempered, and famished carnivorous diplomatic representatives to beam aboard at your earliest convenience. However, at least one passenger is unaccounted for, status unknown. We need to check on him."

Some of their gear, which was confiscated, could be stowed in any number of places--- it was all standard-issue kit, more or less (he had modified the medical tricorder to his personal specifications, of course, and, presumably, the same is true for some of the others' equipment, but nothing worth going out of their way for if they do not run across it. The prize crew will recover it.

Graham's first thought is that there is nothing more he'd like to get off this ship and...

...and check on Nia.

Is that right when he has a wife and son waiting for him?

He asks for - and if he receives - a ship-wide channel, says "This is Lt. Graham, ranking Security officer onboard. This ship is under the protection--and control--" He's tempted to say "passenger" in the singular, but doesn't, but does emphasize "control." "Of Starfleet. You will declare yourselves peacefully to Starfleet personnel immediately."

St. Croix is able, using her tricorder, to find the confiscated Starfleet accoutrements of your party in a storage closet not far from the Bridge. It all appears to be intact and in good shape, including Dr. Mäkeläinen's Medical tricorder.

Graham is put through by Thalen. After a few seconds, someone else comes over the shipwide comm system. A male voice says, "I'm here. I don't want any trouble." Kylah recognizes the voice of the lone passenger she spoke to earlier.

Kylah types a text message to Lt. Thalen via her communicator, wishing to be tactful regarding the human. She describes their earlier interaction and suggests gentle treatment, given his querulous state when she spoke to him this morning. Only this morning! Her head shakes in disbelief.

Perhaps we might add to our announcement reassurance about the provision of good food and comfort suitable to their tastes, as well as the fact that we will assist them in getting to their intended destinations with all due speed. The Chalnoth are best handled with strength, we have learned, but after our ordeal, even they might appreciate hospitality and efficiency.

She lifts her communicator and shows the message to Lt. Graham, not wanting to make such a suggestion without his approval--especially since she has had no luck in her previous attempted discussions with either the stranger or the Chalnoth.

"Ens. Kylah, could you please patch me through, or relay the message? ... This is Dr. Mäkeläinen of Starfleet Medical. We are providing all passengers medical treatment, food, drink, and refreshment, and any other accommodations they may require."

Bloke is--- well, was--- probably waiting for us to leave him alone. "Kylah, tell him this ship is not going where he thought it was, due to force majeure," he asks her on the communicator channel. "We are here to help, but he will have to take that up with the Captain."

He looks at Vielar, then Rawlings, and the others he nearly joined in fiery death. "After all this is over, anyone wants to join me for Glasgow Hullstrippers, I'm buying."

"Well, that's good to hear," Graham says in response to the passenger's voice. "Sit down in the hallway with your hands clearly visible, and Starfleet personnel will shortly come ensure there's no trouble to be had, all around."

He glances at Kylah's text. Suddenly, he's wearied in a deep way: we just came close to losing Nia. I just came close to leaving Marala a widow--again. And--

He takes a breath. I'm not sure which I was more worried about.

Nonetheless, he forces as a smile. "Yet more good work, Ensign," he says, clear-headed at least on that score. "We might say something about respecting their honestly and strength compared to the treacherous Uwat and Romulans." He authentically laughs a little. "Without laying it on too thick..."

Surprised by Dr. Mäkeläinen's assertiveness, Kylah nevertheless nods to herself in impressed agreement with his words, and with Lt. Graham's as well. She hastily types up the combined changes, including Lt. Graham's remarks about honesty vs. the Romulans/Uwat, and sends them off to Lt. Thalen for his and Captain Singh's approval.

(She does not wish to risk communicating directly to those aboard the ship without permission--the Captain may have specific plans to handle the passengers, not to mention getting them to wherever they need to be. Kylah would not wish to promise something they cannot deliver.)

She is pleased that the Lt. Graham has found her suggestion satisfactory, though she senses a depletion in energy from him that matches her own--exceeds it, really. He is certainly dealing with far more than they all bargained for what was supposed to be a simple escort journey. Her eyes meet his with an encouraging, sympathetic glance before returning to look at her panel.

If the Yorktown approves, Kylah will patch the delayed recording she made of Dr. Mäkeläinen through to the Doregg's comms so he can be heard directly, and will relay the rest from Lt. Graham, along with any changes conveyed by the ship. (Did the human's reply indicate his location? If not, Kylah will also add a gentle request for him to let them know where he is, so they may escort him to safety. A name would also be a boon.)

Then she exhales, sitting back to relax her muscles as best she can given any conflicts between her soft, malleable flesh and the seats, which are more appropriate for the Uwat's rigid, exoskeleton-like form.

Vielar and Rawlings both chuckle at Dr. Mäkeläinen's offer. Rawlings says, "That sounds very good to me. I'd be glad to take you up on it. Thanks, Doc."

Thalen approves the suggested changes to the message, and sends it. After a minute or so, the previously-unseen passenger's cabin door opens and he emerges. You see that he is a balding, dark-skinned Human of medium build, apparently in his fifties or early sixties, clad in a tasteful dark suit. He sits down in the corridor with his hands clearly visible, as ordered.

After Vielar finishes things up [assuming she does not stay behind] and Dr. Mäkeläinen's party makes its way back and sights the final passenger, the Doctor does not act overly familiar, yet does seem at ease, as though he had been expecting this mysterious stranger all along. He is quite aware that he himself is being obtrusively escorted by three security officers (and Graham's group, if they arrive, will only amplify that presence) and how that looks, and it does not sit right with him. He will do his best to mitigate things, as much as he can, by treating the stranger with respect and putting him at ease. He approaches him as if meeting a friend.

While they speak, he assesses the man with his usual critical eye, noticing if anything seems wrong, if the man seems injured, but also signs more subtle. "Hello, I am Doctor Mäkeläinen," he introduces himself. Extending a hand to shake will be awkward if the man is still sitting on the ground. "Please, get up," he implores if that is the case, "I do not know exactly how they phrased things over the intercom, but you are our guest, and we are to extend you every courtesy. This is my friend Mr. Rawlings; he works security. We boarded at Ollos. The others from the Yorktown, I am still getting to know, so it is better if I let them introduce themselves."

While Kylah awaits instructions, she peers once more at the panels around her on the Bridge. Whatever steps are required to assist Lt. Graham and the ship's crew back on the Yorktown in preparing the Doregg for boarding or transporting or unfreezing the captives or whatever else is next, Kylah is supremely grateful for the chance to study the controls with greater care, no longer through the tunnel vision of desperation and fear. At least she can explain the basics of what the various options are.

"Sir," she says to Lt. Graham while studying, "if the cryo technology has instructions that require translation, I might be of use there, too. Although perhaps by that time, the U.T. will be able to compile whatever data it has on the Uwat language to send to the engineers' tricorders."

Kylah pulls her sleeves back down, now that the air has cooled significantly after their near-brush with the photosphere, and lowers her voice. "I suppose we have duties yet to perform here, but I hope we will be able to return to the ship without too much delay. I am anxious for a status update on Velir. Lt. Rangin," she corrects hurriedly, though she doubts the need for formality at this point. "He looked so very...weak."

The man rises and says to Dr. Mäkeläinen and the others, "Thank you. I'm glad to know there's someone to provide security. I would strongly prefer not to face the Chalnoth alone again."

Ens. Russell stares at him for a moment and then blurts out, "You're Hrothgar Quinn, aren't you?"

The man smiles thinly and bows his head. "The same."

At once Dr. Mäkeläinen remembers him: Hrothgar Germanicus Quinn, the Deneva billionaire, missing now for, what? Two months? Three? Quinn had abruptly disappeared one night from his palatial estate, leaving his vast business empire behind without a word as to where he was going, or why. After an initial investigation by the Denevan planetary authorities, no foul play had been suspected, but his disappearance had turned Federation commerce on its ear. The doctor is sure there are many who would dearly love, and pay considerable sums, to know where Quinn is at this very moment.

"Well then, Mr. Quinn," says Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Er, what form of address do you prefer? I must say, by both name and appearance you do coincidentally resemble one Quinn of some recent notoriety. That must be bloody inconvenient. I would not want any rumours to spread on our account.

"The situation is, the crew of the Doregg, whether under duress or of their own free will, have abandoned her. Rescue of the remaining passengers is being undertaken by Federation Starfleet. The Chalnoth have been promised guest accommodations on board the USS Yorktown for the time being; I can offer you the same. As for what happens afterwards," Mäkeläinen turns sympathetic, "listen, we were in the same boat an hour ago, literally. I figured the very best we could look forward to was a thorough interrogation followed by being turfed to some rock in the Neutral Zone to fend for ourselves. All this after having paid an exorbitant sum for swift passage to our destination and to be otherwise left to our own business. So I realize the prospect of being left on a different rock this side of the Neutral Zone may not be much of an ultimate improvement, from your point of view. But I don't imagine it will come to that. Beyond the Chalnoth, there are quite a number of refugees on board. The Yorktown will certainly be passing though a number of major worlds, gateways to the core of civilization as well as to the far frontier, depending on which way one is headed. And I would like to think the Captain will, any road, do all in her power to aid those caught up, through no fault of their own, in this unfortunate incident, and speed them to their destinations."

"Thank you, Doctor," Quinn says. "I have no interest in going anywhere, at the moment at least, other than away from Federation space."

The others with Dr. Mäkeläinen introduce themselves to him. He nods politely.

"Um...." Graham takes a second to process Kylah's question. One obviously motivated by concern for Rangin, who had treated her...'like shit, as far as I can tell' is the phrase that comes to mind.

"Ah, I'm sure he's fine, being, ah--back on the ship after all." It's a hope he has to believe, because if the ship can cure all ills, Nia's fine too.

He clears his throat. "Stand by and we'll see if you're needed in cryo--you've done a fair bit. A good bit, in fact--you deserve a break if we can swing it." He smiles slightly. "Damned if we all don't."

"Naturally, you may ask to disembark at any safe port," Mäkeläinen says to Quinn. He turns to the crew fresh off the Yorktown, who might know, and asks, "Where are we headed? Back towards Cavinre?"

He explains to Quinn, "The Doregg was headed vaguely in that direction. I am embarrassed to admit I cannot name, off the top of my head, the worlds along the way." Nia might have been able to do it.

Lt. JG Mary Three Crows agrees with Dr. Mäkeläinen and says, "Yes, I believe we'll be returning to Cavinre. Subject to other orders, of course."

Nodding a trifle distractedly in response to Lt. Graham's less-than-confident reassurance of Velir's status, Kylah cannot avoid a swell of guilt for not sharing the actual nature of the younger man's psi-related mystery. Lt. Graham is now the C.O. and has the right to know. But as he says, Velir is back on the Yorktown, and hopefully the medical officers will be able to assess him. Perhaps Dr. T'Var will be his best hope.

To Lt. Graham's other observation, Kylah glances up at him with a little more attention. "You are right. I suppose they will likely relieve us soon," she agrees before turning back to the viewscreen. "The Captain will want a debriefing to understand all that has happened, assuming Lt. Onn has not been able to provide one."

In answer to the Captain's question about what unfinished business they might have, Kylah cannot think of much. "I do wish to see the cryo units again before we leave. There is a lone Uwat in the cryo area. Or there was, when we were shown the hold. This one is likely innocent of involvement in the ship's slave activities, but we do not know for certain. Is this prisoner even still there? Or were they beamed to the Romulan ship along with the other--"

Suddenly she scowls and looks back to Lt. Graham. "Sir. How do you think the Romulans retrieved their frozen compatriots? Could they have just beamed them to their ship, without warming them up first? There was so little time. Then again, we were unconscious during the takeover of the ship, and only have the Major's version of the timeline. Who knows what really happened when we were out?"

The uncertainty is unnerving. As is her increasing awareness that the Yorktown is providing no recommendations or orders. The Captain might be busy simultaneously handling the Cavinre situation that this current rescue mission likely interrupted. Maybe the First Officer and Chief of Engineering are available to assist them.

She clears her throat and continues into the communicator. "Kylah to Yorktown? We are prepared for any instructions you may have as far as what actions we should take now." Again her gaze darts up to include Lt. Graham and Lt. St. Croix, wondering if she is about to ask a foolish question: "Do you--do you need us to try to halt?"

Mäkeläinen does not quite have Quinn's measure, therefore resorts to formal, if genuine, politeness. "You are taking things well, all things considered. I am glad you are all right. You are clear to board the Yorktown, as far as I am concerned, as soon as we re-rendezvous and they are ready to receive passengers. I shall advise our mission leader.

"Bit of a warning, until then, the Chalnoth may be gathering in the Common Room here. They lost some of their comrades and are, understandably, not in a good mood. Probably best to give them some space."

The Doctor will do his best to answer any questions in his purview Mr. Quinn may raise--- if they are concerning security, engineering, or logistics that is up to Three-Crows and the others.

When he gets a chance he will contact the other group over the communicator: "Dr. Mäkeläinen to Team Bridge. We've finished interviewing the final passenger. No medical or security issues; he is simply eager to be dropped off as soon as possible and resume his journey."

A belated flash of memory strikes Kylah, and she speaks solely to the security officers nearby. "Before we were distracted by the ship's sudden course change, we were going to try and find the slavers' original destination, or find a manifest of their 'cargo'. Something to determine where they planned to take their captives--perhaps a market, or worse. And their past destinations can allow us to track the history of their...their transactions." Her face crumples into a grimace for a moment. "Do you think that might be something Security will work on? Now that we have identified the controls, you should know where to look."

Graham takes in Ens. Kylah's earnest but somewhat rapid-fire comments and questions. "There are a lot of questions to be answered," he agrees. "But--unless you want to volunteer--I'm calling them other people's to solve. The captain is putting together a prize crew, and a Science team to study those still in cryosleep. I can't deny I'm curious about what the Romulans were up to, and pissed about these Uwat slavers--but I think that needs to be handed over for further investigation, and not just by the Yorktown."

He pauses and tries to give an encouraging smile. "I think we all have people we--" He was about to say "people we love," something he can't think without Mala and Nia in mind at the same time. He amends that to "Ah, people we miss or are, ah, concerned about, back on the ship." He finished quietly. "I think that's the best place for us now."

"Yorktown - Graham here. We're ready to hand over command."

A flush warms Kylah's cheeks and she nods. To be frank, till now she has not remembered what a "prize crew" was.* And Lt. Graham is correct, of course. As much unfinished business gnaws at her, she will likely not have a role, especially if Lt. Thalen is able to get the UT to work with the Uwat language. But what truly causes her blush is the Lieutenant's acknowledgement--without apparent rancor--of her concern about Velir. Of course, the warm emphasis in his voice reminds her of how much he must long to reunite with his wife and stepchild.

Dr. Mäkeläinen's message about their interview of the stranger is a little cryptic, but perhaps it only feels that way since Kylah is so curious about who that querulous gentleman is, and whether he is connected to the Uwat in any way. She wants details. Her brain hungers for answers. Still, it is a Security matter, not up to a Communications officer.

"Acknowledged, Doctor," she responds automatically, and waits to hear what the Yorktown will require of them.



* Neither did her player, until she looked it up just now.

Quinn thinks for a moment and says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Perhaps best I beam over to your ship now, then. I would prefer not to see or deal with the Chalnoth again." He goes to his cabin to pack.

Thalen replies to Kylah, "We have matched your course and speed. No changes necessary there." To Graham he says, "Cmdr. Vargas is now finalizing a prize crew including a Science team. Do anything else you need to over there, and then you - that is, the Tesla party - should prepare to beam back in ten minutes. Mr. Three Crows and her party will remain there for now."

Overhearing, Three Crows says, "Acknowledged, Yorktown, and thanks."

The only thing Kylah can think of that is left to do--or at least, would be worthwhile to do--is to quickly tap out a memo explaining the layout and purposes of the controls, on the chance the next crew does not yet have the ability to translate the language. Of course, even if they do, they will not have seen the control panels themselves, so this might save them some time in having to work things out in a strange environment.

Still, they seem to have things well in hand already, and she has no wish for her efforts to be duplicative. She messages Thalen to see if this is something he wishes her to do. Likely he would have asked her if he thought her knowledge of Uwat--Uwatese? Uwati? Whatever the name of the Uwat language might be called--could be helpful to the prize crew.

She turns to Lt. Graham. "Unless you have orders for me, sir, I cannot think of anything else I personally need to do. Other than retrieve my belongings, if the Yorktown has not already done so." She hesitates and, blinking, glances down at her one-piece body suit. "Do you think we should change back into our uniforms? It does not matter much to me."

A tiny smile tilts her lips. "But you have a more formal immediate superior than I. And a wife before whom you might wish to appear less..." Her gaze takes in the outfit Lt. Graham cobbled together from the shop back on Ollos, and she tactfully avoids finishing. Her gaze deepens with warmth. "I rather suspect she will not care in the least what you are wearing when you arrive. All she will see is your face."

Even with all that has happened, Bizhi leaves his cabin squared away. He ducks in there to grab any personal items, though he does not have any physical souvenirs from this trip except for some second-hand clothes.

He tells Vielar and Three Crows and Li, it has been a pleasure working with them, and he hopes to see them on board. He asks to be included on the distribution list for the Science team's report, if there are no objections. (Rationally, it is not every day one has a chance to examine unfamiliar cryo and medical tech. Also, there is a nonzero chance he will sometime later be on duty to treat some of the victims, physically or psychologically. However, beyond all of that, he also cares about their fate. Someone should.)

Graham can't help but smile. I have a wife...for which I am grateful and...also someone else...about whom I don't know what to do.

"Well...Marala seems graciously tolerant of how old and scarred my face has become..." He smiles again. "It could all be an act. She was always smarter than me."

And whatever else, he realizes that he's been able to pay a deposit back on a debt going back to their days as teen-agers. She saved me back then.

He sighs. "You've done well, here, ensign. You're at liberty to switch to a regulation uniform." He chuckles. "I've almost forgotten about what I'm wearing - permission is also granted to wear it as a a, uh, piratical badge of pride."

Cmdr. Vargas beams over with an initial party of six people, and in a few moments another group of six beams over from the Yorktown. They are mostly Science and Engineering personnel, including the Chief Engineer, Lt. Cmdr. Edgardo Cheverez. He will command the prize crew, but in the meantime is clearly interested in learning all he can about the Doregg's engines and other systems.

The First Officer nods and says to Graham, "You are relieved, Mr. Graham, and thank you all. Prepare to return to the ship. I'll want to see each of your AMRs" - After-Mission Reports - "by 1100 hours tomorrow."

Thalen agrees that Kylah ought to write down what she's learned of the Uwat language and the controls on the Doregg's Bridge. One of the prize crew is Lt. JG Faraz Pourtash, a helmsman, who has a knack for languages. He peppers Kylah with questions, and she's satisfied he has a good grasp of the situation by the time she has to leave.

Quinn and the Chalnoth are beamed over to the Yorktown five minutes apart and given separate quarters, well away from each other - the Chalnoth not in the Brig, but disarmed and supervised by a Security team led by the no-nonsense Lt. JG Ryan Jones.

Graham, Kylah, Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings are able to gather up their personal effects and take their leave of Three Crows and the rest of the first boarding party. When you beam over, you find Capt. Singh waiting beside Chief Binh Nguyen in Transporter Room 1.

The Captain smiles warmly, first approaches Graham with her hand extended and says, "Welcome back, Mr. Graham, and all of you."

Graham is surprised the Captain is here, in the flesh, and --warm and friendly.

Not for any specific reason, but rather because everything had gone south for a variety of reasons, and it doesn't matter if it's anybody's fault--it wasn't the per the captain's plan.

Graham swallows, straightens, and takes her hand. "Thank you, Captain," he says. He brings his other hand up to clasp hers from the opposite side and shakes his head. "Protocol be damned," he says softly. "Seems like everyting that could go wrong, did go wrong. Thank you, Captain, for having our backs, and--ensuring everyone got home safe."

Dr. Mäkeläinen does his best to stand up straight and look professional, despite his rumpled appearance. "Captain," he acknowledges, and meets her eyes and shakes her hand in his turn.

It does not escape his notice that Lt. Graham seemed ever so slightly surprised the Captain was there to meet them. Why would that be unusual? And surely he was not expecting a bollocking? When it comes to his own official report, everyone from the Tesla will be noted for adhering, under trying circumstances and stress, to the exemplary conduct expected of a Starfleet officer. He will finish at least a passable draft before starting in on any Hullstrippers. But, before any of that, before stopping by his own quarters, even, he needs to visit the Sickbay to check on Onn and Rangin.

The Captain shakes each of your hands and welcomes you aboard. She says, "It's good to have you all back. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up and change back into uniform, those who haven't already, before you get a bite to eat. You're all off-duty until 0900 tomorrow; we'll have a mission debriefing at 1230 over lunch in Conference Room 1. I believe the First Officer already spoke to you about AMRs? Very well. Carry on." If none of you have anything else to say, she will leave.

You see from a chrono on the transporter console that it is 1732 Ship's Time.

Rawlings stretches and takes a long, appreciative breath. "Nice to be breathing clean, well-scrubbed Starfleet air again. It's been too damn long."

Dr. Mäkeläinen learns in Sickbay that Onn and Rangin both remain unconscious but are out of danger.

Relieved, Kylah takes a content glance around the transporter room, nodding her thanks to Chief Nguyen, and waits her turn to shake the Captain's hand when proffered. Her discomfort toward the skin-to-skin gesture still exists, especially when connecting with someone with whom she has not done so before. Even though she has learned to block emotions, Kylah is never completely certain of her abilities. But she is too grateful to let that stop her, and adds a fervent, "Thank you so much, Captain, for accepting Regency Councillor Aldaan's message and responding so quickly."

When the Captain has left, Kylah will join Ens. Rawlings with a deep sigh, and watches the doctor disappear quickly. If she could, she would follow to learn how Velir is doing. And Lt. Onn, of course. It does not seem appropriate, however anxious she is.

Before she leaves, she thanks Chief Nguyen--verbally, this time--and then faces the men who have been by her side. "I--I will see you soon, perhaps tomorrow?" She hesitates, then blurts, "Sir...Mr. Rawlings...thank you both for all you did over the past few days. We none of us wished to go through such an ordeal, but if we had to... I am truly grateful to have had your protection."

With a fleeting smile, she turns to leave, looking forward to getting out of this uniform and into a shower. The one she took this morning already feels like a year ago.

The Captain smiles and says to Kylah, "Of course. His own quick response made a big difference. I'll be thanking him officially, of course, but please pass along my personal best wishes." Kylah gets only a vague psi impression from her: a sense of focus, deep purpose and basic good cheer.

Chief Nguyen also nods and smiles, saying, "Glad to help, Ensign."

Rawlings grins. "Sure thing. What are shipmates for, however badly-dressed? It's a big ship, but I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, even after the debrief."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's excellent memory and attention to detail make for an optimum objective account of the mission's key events for anyone reading it, at least the ones he was witness to. This includes some morsels a human(oid) or computer analyst might flag as potentially worth following up on, like the putative quantum strings appearing in supposedly empty space to cause a deadly navigational hazard for anyone accessing the prison facility, which caused the mission to go pear-shaped in the first place and the wreck of the Tesla (probably already stripped by the time he sits down to write this); the allegations of misconduct by Federation citizens that created such a dangerous, pervasive hostile atmosphere on Ollos; the mysterious dead men that brought them into tangential, yet official contact with local intrigue (though not encountering spies, smugglers, and sicarios at that port would have been quite the exception), and of course what he can piece together about the biology, psychology, and behavior of the Uwat species, and the Chalnoth. The section on the rushed production in th hospital of a viable, albeit crude in its effects, Bilitrium substitute using locally sourced materials and reagents should make for compelling reading for a certain tranche of medical personnel.

When it comes to his analysis of the events and the team's individual and group behavior, he has nothing but praise for Nia's doggedly persevering in delegating leadership and staying in action despite pre-existing medical issues, a hostile climate, and the increasingly debilitating effects of hypobilitria. An obvious conclusion to draw is the necessity to provide, either by emergency resupply or taking with them in the first place, species-specific life support in case of emergencies. A variant of Dr. Anikwata's coveserol may prove invaluable for Sidonians in this respect, with Bilitrium (rare and expensive in any case) being restricted as a hazardous material in many jurisdictions.

Rangin's case is more subtle, since he was behaving erratically under the cumulative effects of physical and psychological shock, plus who knows what kind of leakage from the Uwat's engines. Nor can he ignore what he and Kylah suggested about viral pathogens having re-wired his brain. Mäkeläinen knows Rangin is already undergoing a full work-up in Sickbay, supervised by people with more experience with the Lieutenant's physiology and particular condition than he does, so he is not telling them anything they do not know about screening for latent issues, including psychological, before clearing him for a return to hazardous duty. More crucial are his observations backing up Rangin's conduct at the Black Sun and on the Doregg, that, in his judgement, each time Rangin acted properly in a situation rapidly devolving out of control.

Mäkeläinen puts down his PADD not exactly sanguine, but at last knowing that he, and also Nia, are out of danger, based on what he learned.

He has a thought that Mr. Quinn's veil of anonymity, despite official reports like this one going through appropriate channels, may be worthless in a matter of hours as word nevertheless leaks out. Surely he knows it, and, whatever the man's history, his desire to slip away as soon as possible is understandable. He wonders if he will hide in his quarters, like he did on the Doregg, or try to blend in as just another face among hundreds of people (more difficult for anyone to find him if he is not in one place, but perhaps he is just too recognizable?)

Bizhi, much on his mind, gets himself cleaned up and, for a little while at least, may be found sitting quietly at the ship's bar where he will buy a drink for anyone who turns up to join him, like he promised.

After a quick smile in response to Mr. Rawlins, Kylah will pause if Lt. Graham has anything to say to her, then hurry from the transporter room to her quarters. She is already rethinking the shower as her first action; getting in touch with Uncle Aldaan to thank him and show her presence is more urgent. But what must I look like? He has never failed to remark on her appearance, either compliment or remonstration. Her hand absently touches her naked face. No makeup, hair loose and unstyled...

"What does that matter," she murmurs under her breath, scowling. Her uncle acted so quickly to help. He cares. Their relationship is complex and laced with a multitude of conflicting interests, but Kylah does not doubt her love for him, nor his affection for her. Nor does she doubt that he will have been waiting to hear from her.

When she reaches her cabin she will enter and head straight to the terminal by her desk to attempt to contact Aldaan. Though her eyes glance longingly at her bathroom, Kylah must prioritize family over ablutions.

Graham politely expresses thanks and gratitude to be back onboard while encouraging the rest of the away team to go do whatever will help them rest and relax.

As people begin dispersing, he makes his way to his quarters.

Rawlings, after a long hot shower and putting on a clean uniform, meets Dr. Mäkeläinen in Rec Room 1 (the ship has no bar, as such) and is glad to have a glass of Saurian brandy with the good doctor.

Lt. Thalen sends Kylah's message but says it will take about 20 minutes for it to cross subspace to Elas; there is, of course, no telling how soon a reply will come.

Graham finds Marala and Nicky in their shared quarters. His wife drops her book and flies into his arms, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. Seconds later, his young stepson happily grabs him around the knees.

Gnawing a thumbnail, Kylah gets up from her chair once again and paces her cabin.

She has sent word to Aldaan. She took the much-desired, much-needed shower. Since she is off duty, her body is draped in a casual, comfortable dress--loose and flowy, unlike the restricting bodysuit purchased on Ollos or even her uniform.

Her current discomfort has nothing to do with her clothes, cleanliness or even Aldaan. Halfway through composing her ARM, Kylah grew restless, worried about Velir. Not just about his health, although that is the greatest source of concern. For the life of her she cannot think of a way to determine how he is doing. The medical staff will not tell her; they will not think she has the right to know. In truth, Velir might wish for privacy--that has always been his way.

Except he opened up to her so much on this mission! Physically, back on Ollos in the private room, with his heated mouth on her own, on the pulse beating in her throat... And above all, emotionally, on the Doregg, when he desperately revealed the alarming, uncanny manifestation of the ability to control the Chalnoth...

Which is the cause of the other part of her worry. Moments ago, dictating to her computer, she was trying to relate the incident in the Doregg corridor when she and Lt. Graham found him in such a dire state, among Lt. Onn and those three unconscious Chalnoth. But that is where her narrative cut off. She realizes now that she does not know whether those soldiers were just unconscious. Perhaps those were the three whom the Major described as having died.

Earlier, when recounting what she knew about the bar fight, Kylah affirmed devoutly that the stranger's death had been in self-defense. Velir told her that and of course it was true. But three more dead bodies, by his doing? Should she even acknowledge the possibility that he was responsible? What would Captain Singh, much less Commander Vargas, think? What will they do to him? Aldaan has long warned her to keep her own abilities secret due to the mistrust and prejudice surrounding psi skills. If Velir's have led to multiple deaths...

She has lied and lied in her life, including to Starfleet and her crewmates. Usually it has been to protect herself. Now she must do so for Velir--more selfless, to be sure, but it weighs on her nevertheless. Especially because for once, during most of this mission, she did not feel like a fraud--like someone playing dress-up in a uniform. She felt competent. Even, at times, confident. Lt. Graham had given her such generous words of praise. Earned praise, too: not just granted out of pity or consolation. What kind of Starfleet officer would he think her to be, if she lied in an AMR?

Looking across her quarters at the bathroom mirror, she lifts her chin. "I did not see it happen," she mutters aloud, words buzzing against her fingers resting on her lips. "If I saw nothing, what use is anything I could say?"

Better to omit than to lie.

Kylah's reflection nods back as she does, as if separate from her yet still in agreement. Pretending to be satisfied with this support, she returns to her desk and sits down, tapping her keypad to bring her screen back to life. She continues by simply describing the doctor's arrival and the group's leaving the scene. And when she has finished with that, she gets up again and swiftly leaves her quarters to find something to eat.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Graham says softly, a little choked up himself. "Sight for sore eyes, and all that, ok, ok, ok..."

Accepting Marala's embrace, he tousles Nikolai's hair. He clears his throat. "Nikolai - I need to ask you a favor. I'd like to take your mom out to dinner." He corrects himself. "Your beautiful mom. I hope you'd be willing to let her go for a couple of hours." He smiles. "Whatever you want from the replicator in return is on me."

When Nia awakes, smudges are all she can see, muffled noises all she can hear…and her mind’s as kludgy as an end-of-life Bussard collector.

So far, her health status seems to be ‘blurry.’

But one thing’s as clear as the crystalline skies over Risa: the air. Her lungs. This isn’t the usual Class M mix, or even the stuff they’d miracle-ized back on Ollos that she’d sent up prayers to Sid’Os for. It’s Bilitrium, blessed Bilitrium, which in comparison makes that substitute seem like polluted exhaust from one of her dad’s airships. And now she recognizes that her face is covered in a thin, semi-transparent mask that appears to be pumping pure Bilitrium into her system. The covering explains her smudgy, muffled surroundings, if not her hazy brain.

Reflexively, she lifts a hand to pull down the mask, but a blue figure appears out of nowhere, startling her while gently taking hold of her forearm. A voice mumbles something and one blue blur gestures to another.

Soft crinkling as the cover is lowered to half-mast. Nia was wrong: this wasn’t the only thing causing the blurriness - her eyeballs are coated with some kinda thick, moist substance - but even with less-than-perfect vision and so-so mental coherence, Nia recognizes Dr. Miriam Villa. Her heart rate lowers with relief.

The Chief Medical Officer stands over her in what Nia can now identify as one of Sickbay’s private recovery rooms. “You’ll need to keep the mask on for a little bit longer, Lieutenant,” Dr. Villa says in her soft yet strong voice, reassuring but not soppy. “You’ve improved significantly, but need at least another hour or so of concentrated Bilitrium exposure. How are you feeling?”

Nia starts to speak but it comes out as a gurgle. For the first time, she notices that the inside of her mouth, everything from her soft palate to her tongue and past her throat, is as gloppy as her eyeballs, coated with a cool, tasteless, gelatinous goo straight down to her belly. Claustrophobia sets in. It’s like drowning, except…not, because she can breathe. “What the fuck?” she chokes out, or tries to; the words are fortunately incoherent.

Villa rests a calming hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Nia, it’s all right - don’t panic.”

The other figure in blue, who Nia still can’t identify, nods vigorously. “There’s nothing wrong if you can’t talk right now, ma’am. In fact, it just means your body's stopped absorbing the gel. That’s a good thing.”

Nia flashes this stranger a confused look, but Villa recaptures her attention. “Mr. Alvarez is right, you are doing much better. We’ve reintroduced Bilitrium to normalize your respiratory balance, and your vital signs are nearly back to normal. But your body’s still recovering from the atmospheric deprivation, and you were severely desiccated, especially your mucosal systems. Your eyes, sinuses, throat... they were dry to the point of abrasion. That must have been very uncomfortable."

Swallowing - once, then twice, though the coating is disconcertingly unaffected - Nia just nods. Her insides have felt scratchy for days, and she vaguely remembers tasting the saltiness of blood. She keeps her anxious, questioning stare on the doctor-shaped blur, mutely pleading for the other woman to tell her what she needs to know.

Villa continues. “Actually, there were already signs of mild suboptimal hydration in those labs we processed just before you left on the mission, but I was hoping to address that later with the rest of your ongoing care. Anyway, we administered Hydronex Gel to your mucous membranes. Externally, your dermal matrix showed partial scale deployment. Likely a reflexive response to stress and atmospheric loss. For that we applied topical Hydronex-D to ease the tension and rehydrate.”

Nia absently rubs her hand along her left forearm. The prickly scale-stubble she’s dealt with since the crash has almost entirely retracted. She blinks hard, apparently weeping Hydronex tears, and Alvarez pats away the melted gel with a micro-sponge. She can see him now. Young guy. Must be new; she’d’ve noticed him.

Her gaze returns to the CMO in frustration. All this is great but they’re not easing her worries or answering the most urgent question - and she flutters her hand to her throat, gurgling impotently.

Villa nods. “Yes, let’s take care of that. Carlos was right, you’re ready to be flushed.” She indicates something behind Nia, and while the bed tilts upward into a semi-seated position, the medic returns with a cup, which he hands to Nia.

“This will dissolve the gel that’s remaining, Lt. Onn. Just water with citric acid and glucose.”

Nia nearly yanks the cup from the kid and, needing two hands to steady it, takes several gulps of what turns out to be basically hot lemonade. Every couple of seconds she tries to speak, but Villa insists that she finish the drink. Nia’s wide, insistent gaze remains fixed on Villa, and when at last she drains the cup dry, she coughs and splutters out what she’s been dying to ask this whole time:

“My crew. Are they back? Are they all right?”



Credits: SG with help from EH

Dr. Mäkeläinen is open— within reason, of course— about answering any questions Rawlings may have about his personal life, or about his career. He tells an anecdote about a hastily organized mission to investigate a mysterious viral epidemic that was decimating the crew on a self-contained underwater habitat on Enceladus; there was even talk about a mishap involving secret testing of biogenic weapons, or the involvement of foreign agents. Turned out, due to a simple human programming error (but one with far from straightforward effects) the habitat's biofilters, instead of sterilizing pathogens from the air like they should, were actually facilitating the mutation of vira with otherwise no or limited effects, like the common cold. On the subject of icy worlds (there was also that Federation prison), he asks Rawlings for more details about the latter's previous trip to Ollos, and other possibly notable "Class L" worlds he may have visited. He is also curious about what drew Rawlings to Security (not that the man is not singularly physically massive, especially up close).

One might notice Mäkeläinen is rather pensive, though in any case he does not force the conversation. There are meaningful silences. He appreciates that Rawlings himself does not seem to waste words. Some people are transparent in the way they act (and try to act) and the way they talk, but, Rawlings, he feels, goes much deeper.

Even after— especially after— thinking about his report, the Doctor still cannot help considering all the angles. What could they have done differently? Was it inevitable that Onn and Rangin come that close to death? Some of the Chalnoth did die, and they were not the only ones. The Doregg's cargo, they will receive some help, now... but the cosmos does not feature scales to be balanced.

Kylah, looking for something to eat, finds herself in Rec Room 1. Among the two dozen or so people there, she sees Ens. Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen seated together, having a drink.

Nicky hesitates for just a second, looks at his mother and then says to Graham, putting on a brave face, "Sure, if that's what you want. I'll have some pizza later."

Marala squeezes Graham and says to her son, "With extra green peppers, I promise."

Dr. Villa tells Onn, "Yes, they're all right. Everyone made it back from the Uwat ship, safe and sound... but Mr. Rangin. He's still comatose and under observation, but he's in no danger."

Rawlings says, "I've been on Enceladus twice, both times in Herschel, and both times just passing through. It was cold, cramped and boring, as I remember. I had a Security assignment on Ollos that I'm still not supposed to talk about, but it wasn't anything terribly exciting." He takes a sip from his brandy and smiles. "I went for Security in the first place, back in the day, because it seemed like a good way to see the galaxy, help people, use phasers and - every once in awhile - blow stuff up. Looking back, I think the recruiter might have overemphasized that last part."


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

Graham returns Marala's squeeze and raises an eyebrow. "And black olives?" he says questioningly to Nikolai. "If you're not planning on it, trust me, try it, old school topping on Earth. Nothing better."

On her way to the replicator, Kylah spots Mr. Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen together, and her eyebrows lift slightly in surprise. After spending three days in close confinement, she would not have expected the two to gravitate toward one another so quickly. Then again, they did some exploring of the Doregg on their own; perhaps they forged a friendship. And the doctor is new here, still; he probably does not know many others yet.

She nods at them and, if either notices her, lifts a hand in shy greeting before continuing to get herself something to eat. Staring at the replicator, she purses her lips in thought. "Beef and root vegetable stew," she decides, wishing something hearty. While she waits, she glances around in hopes of finding someone friendly to distract her from the worries of the mission and, of course, Velir. Perhaps she can find other Comms officers; she really does not know them well at all.

Happily, despite being in civilian off-duty clothing, she believes she fits in. Her dress is almost excessively plain and modest, even a less bold shade of red than her uniform. Most of all it is comfortable, like the stew will be (hopefully), and after the time they have had, comfort is uppermost on her mind.

If the stew arrives and seems edible, she will add a glass of water and, with her tray, seek out some convivial company. Or at least, potentially convivial.

Villa's news fills Nia with a paradoxical combination of exhilaration and weariness. She lets her back sink onto the partially upright bed and loosens her death-grip on the empty cup. At least they're all back and alive. Although doctors must have a different definition of "danger," if Rangin's still being in an inexplicable coma doesn't count. But Villa knows more about Coridanite biology--any biology, other than Sidonian--than she does.

"Thanks," she says in a miracle of understatement. "And...and everyone else on the ship? The prize team? The..." Nia's brow crinkles with a sudden bout of forgetfulness. The hairy guys. Why is she blanking on their names? Oh right. "Chalnoth? And the slaves, they were frozen. I felt like that myself in the water. But they really were." Frowning again at her incoherence, she has enough sense to pull her mask back on. Ahhhh there it is. Clarity. Shit, I'm not losing my ability to breathe ship air, am I?

The thought alarms her, and she repeats it aloud--without the curse--and adds, "Because Doctor, I only just spent a whole week on pure Bilitrium too. Y'know, to save resources for the extra refugees. Have I set myself back? Between that and all this, I'm running low anyway, and I don't remember when we're getting a new supply..."

Great, all she needs now is to have to request an early shipment. Vargas hates having the dangerous substance on board as it is.

Nia avoids voicing these insecurities and weakly lifts a hand. "Sorry. Getting ahead of things. Probably keeping you from a lot, too, if the prisoners are defrosting." But she doesn't really want to be alone. She'd love to see the team and thank them, but they need to decompress and rest. Or maybe they already have? She sighs at how loopy she feels and refocuses on Villa. "How long since I got here, anyway? Could be hours or days, I can't tell."

The Doctor does not fail to spot Kylah, and acknowledges her with a smile and a raised glass. She appears to be in good nick.

Nicky makes a face. "I tried black olives once. They were yucky."

Marala laughs. "I have to admit, I don't care for them, either. You can have all of mine, Boojee. And Nicky's, too, I guess!"

Kylah recognizes several people in the Rec Room, by face if not by name, but there's no one here she really knows. Rawlings, with a glance at Dr. Mäkeläinen, invites her over to their table.

Dr. Villa has a quiet word with Alvarez, and he leaves. She then turns back to Onn and says, "Everyone else on the Uwat ship, including the prize crew, is fine, as far as I know. The Chalnoth are in guest quarters aboard the Yorktown but under guard. I don't know what's going on with those in cryosleep over there. You're weak and need to rest, but you're otherwise in pretty good shape. I don't think that you did yourself any harm with your short-term bilitrium regimen; it probably saved your life. You've been here in Sickbay for," she glances at a bulkhead chromo, "about five hours."

Though disappointed to find no one else whom she feels comfortable approaching (and, honestly, having wanted to put this mission out of her mind for at least a brief time) Kylah nods and accepts Mr. Rawlings's gesture, though she will also take a swift look at Dr. Mäkeläinen to see if he wishes her company.

"It is good to see you both looking so well refreshed, at least compared to the last few days." She explains that she has begun her AMR but had to interrupt due to hunger. Suddenly very conscious of the heaping portion of stew and well-buttered rolls on her tray--and the lack of any food in front of the men--Kylah hesitates. "I suppose you have eaten already? I can dine by myself, if you are finished and were planning to leave."

If she can stay, she will ask how they are feeling and, of course, will ask the doctor for any news on Velir and Lt. Onn.

Bizhi, seeing Kylah's hesitation, waves her over as well.

"I am more tired than hungry, at this point," he says. Getting some food in him may be a good idea, though, especially if he is going to have a second drink. Perhaps a chicken sandwich from the replicator?

Just as with Rawlings, this is hardly a time to press her to talk about anything or bring up any uncomfortable subject. All of them need some time to unconsciously process everything that happened, however neatly they may appear to have bounced back. He knows Kylah must be worried about her friend (friends?); Rawlings too, for all they never broached the subject during their conversation. He is not very surprised when Kylah asks him about it. Unfortunately, he does not have much to tell her. "I visited them in Sickbay. They are stable and their lives out of danger--- evacuation came just in the nick of time. I cannot say how soon they will wake up--- the body needs to rest to heal itself--- but they would be happy to know you paid them a visit, if you like."

At Dr. Villa's last words,Nia reflexively pulls her mask down again and leans over, following the doctor's focus to check the time. It's an automatic gesture, since she has no idea what time it was when she was beamed over. Still, she squints in disbelief. Five hours? She can believe five seconds just as easily--or five months, for that matter. Sinking back down, she shakes her head.

"I won't bother the others then," she sighs. They won't have had nearly as much time back on the ship. No way she's gonna interrupt whatever they're doing to recover after the past few days.

It's selfish, she knows, but she's glad there's a lot keeping the senior officers busy right now, and probably for quite a while. Nia isn't ready to face Singh or Vargas. Or especially the Chief. Cheverez is probably the only person who loved the Tesla more than Nia. Its catastrophic failure--her catastrophic failure--is gonna be a gutwrenching post-mortem. The captain and first officer will have plenty to say about her poor judgment calls. Chief will have every right to rip her to shreds for every reckless choice, for every sloppy preparation, for every embarrassing deficiency in her so-called expert tech and piloting skills. Basically, everything Nia Onn is. Or was. Or maybe just thought she was.

And I can't blame Hypobilitria. The disaster started way before that. Doubt he'll buy hormonal issues as an excuse, either.

Nia shuts her eyes to block out the recriminations haunting her. But speaking of the latter health situation...

Now that the other staffer has left them, Nia looks up to Villa. "Mäkeläinen summarized those lab results for me. The ones from before I left," she adds, probably unnecessarily. "I'm...I know I'm not ready to talk about all that yet. My spirit's pretty much at its nadir, even when I wasn't half-asleep. But can we discuss them later? Maybe even try again?"

Nia stares at the blanket as if it holds invisible answers. "I know it's a long shot. Maybe I'm in denial. It's just...I realized one thing during this ordeal. I'm not ready to give up. Not on fertility, not on life, not on anything I stopped fighting for." Or anyone, a tiny voice in her mind whispers, but she can't go there and willfully ignores it. "It's too soon. Too. Damn. Soon."

Kylah leans back in her seat with a tiny relieved exhale. "I will try to be optimistic, then," she murmurs, more a vow to herself than conversational. She takes a roll and tears off a piece. "I would very much like to see Velir--Ensign Rangin--later, if I may. My success will depend on whether Dr. Bennett is there. He is not amenable to non-patients in Sick Bay." An understatement, but she does not know how well Dr. Mäkeläinen knows the personalities of his colleagues.

About to bite into the bread, she looks up suddenly. "Did I say 'Ensign' Rangin? I meant Lieutenant, of course. He was only promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade shortly before you came aboard. It is still odd to say. Pleasing, but odd. To me he is Velir." The dear name is spoken gently, perhaps too much so for this company, and with a flush she stuffs the piece of roll in her mouth to prevent any further foolishness.

After a spoonful of stew, she changes the subject. "I doubt Lt. Onn would be gratified by my visit. I fear I do not rate highly in her esteem. As she made clear." Kylah looks apologetically at Mr. Rawlings. "I do not blame her for lacking patience with me. In writing my AMR I was forced to recall how little I assisted during the shuttle incident. Or defending us from hostiles. Anything that did not involve my specialty. And even there..."

Her lack of general technical knowledge was glaring, and her helplessness against the violence in the bar, against those vampire creatures, and of course the Romulans galls her. Kylah shakes her head and focuses on Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Whereas you are so well-rounded in your expertise, doctor. You assisted ably in the shuttle, and came up with so many strategies and solutions--or just ideas--at every turn. Even in diplomacy and cultural awareness. Your interactions with the Chalnoth and Uwat, and even the Romulans, were laudable."

She glances at Mr. Rawlings for backup; he must have been impressed as well. Then she returns to the doctor. "I greatly admire anyone with such mastery in multiple fields. You must have done very well at the Academy. Taken a wide variety of high-level studies. Or has your time in Starfleet itself offered you such varied experiences?"

Aware she is probably pestering the man, she purses her lips. "Please forgive my curiosity if it is unwelcome. It is just that my own education was narrowly focused and--and unusually accelerated. Perhaps my time on the Yorktown will grant me...oh, I am sorry to be talking so much! I am anxious and overtired."

Dr. Villa nods sympathetically at Onn. "I understand. That's a very important realization to come to. Of course we can talk about it later, or about anything else you like." She pauses. "I'm also sorry you're feeling down. Would you like to talk to Dr. Noel sometime, perhaps?"

Rawlings grins. "Dr. Mäkeläinen is an impressive guy, no doubt. But don't sell yourself short, Ensign. You wouldn't be here if you didn't have a lot to offer, yourself."

Graham rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "So much the better for me, you barbarians," he says, concluding with a laugh.

"Hey--" he says to Marala. "Can we - if you don't mind - go to dinner by way of Sick Bay? My mission CO...I'd like to...well she had a rough go of it. I'd like her to know...ah , shit, I'd like to confirm she's OK."

Nia mulls over Dr. Villa's suggestion, allowing the momentary silence to be filled by the familiar sounds of the ship, as well as the slightly less familiar ones of Sick Bay.

She's proud. It's gonna sting to admit just how shitty she feels to anyone, especially someone who's probably obligated to report anything really troubling. Nia's also pragmatic. The mind's just another type of engine. And it's another one she suspects it'd be beyond her capacity to tackle herself. Is she so proud that she hates having to seek assistance for her critically damaged self-confidence? Hell yeah. But also, no. Because that's giving up, isn't it?

"I think I'd like that," she says, then gives a soundless chuckle. "Well, 'like' is going too far, but you know what I mean. Once I'm officially done with my duties relating to the clusterf--uh, mess of the past few days--I'll have the mental space to deal with the fallout. If Dr. Noel's got the time, I'd be grateful for the help."

The admission tires her, and she holds the mask back up over her mouth and nose for some deep breaths. She lowers it again to add, "Thanks, Doctor."

"You're embarrassing me, both of you," Mäkeläinen says good-humouredly. And it is true: he is not one for roosing. His feelings about his own performance are, as always, mixed. Kylah may feel the same way about herself; in any case, she is probably not merely fishing for compliments right now.

"Terrance is right, though. You clearly have skills," he says. "You may have saved all our lives today. Formal studies— those do not stop at the Academy, by the way— also lay the foundation to learn on your own. It is all narrowly focused compared to the infinite permutations out there. You must be prepared to deal with something you have never seen, or even imagined, before. It's why I joined Starfleet... the Yorktown does not seem likely to disappoint us in that respect. Ultimately, everything's connected."

It takes a second of confusion before Kylah realizes "Terrence" means Ens. Rawlings. She does not remember knowing that. But mostly she is left silent by the doctor's humility, and both men's generosity towards her. Uncle Aldaan was the crew's savior; Kylah's primary contribution to their rescue was her family's influence. And her language skill, she belatedly recalls when the Doregg's near-frying by the star's photosphere leaps to mind. Flushing, she nods her gratitude and listens to Dr. Mäkeläinen's advice.

"I have indeed learned a great deal over the past few months. The Academy feels very distant now. I certainly hope I shall keep gaining in wisdom and confidence." She has noted the doctor's reticence regarding speaking of his personal experiences, so does not press him for answers. After drinking some water she returns to the hearty stew and makes quick work of nearly finishing the bowl. If she can elicit some friendly conversation to learn more about Mr. Rawlings while doing so--it is really a disgrace that she did not know his name--all the better. The possibility of being considered a true comrade nourishes her as much as her meal.

Marala says, "Sure, we can stop by Sickbay before dinner, if you want." She leans in close and whispers to Graham, "Remember I prefer you not swear when Nicky can hear you, though."

Dr. Villa nods. "I'll let you rest now, and will tell Dr. Noel you'd like to see her sometime. That's why she's aboard, after all."

Bizhi still does not have much of an appetite, but he takes advantage of the moment to get himself that sandwich.

"Confidence will get you far," he tells Kylah. "Command notices officers who demonstrate initiative." He shrugs. "Nevertheless--- I do not suggest you bring this up in your promotion interview--- Socrates pointed out that the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. Now, both of you are beautiful individuals of multitudinous talents, but I myself feel very wise, some days." He smiles wryly. Bizhi is still listening, but, at an uncomfortable thought, for a beat his eyes grow infinitely distant, and he glances down to where his mechanical arm lies underneath fabric and skin.

"I am still new to the Yorktown," he works into the conversation. "My calendar's already filled itself with debriefings and seminars and group meetings... but I would like to know about some of the unofficial activities on board. Maybe a music club? (Don't know that I want to play for an audience, though.) Cooking? What are you two into, when your time's your own?"

The doctor's advice is, well, wise, but Kylah cannot help glancing at the drink by his side when he calls her and Ens. Rawlings "beautiful" in atypically florid language, then seems to grow a touch solemn. Perhaps exhaustion and the stress of the past few days has loosened his tongue? She flickers a look at the security officer to see if he, too, noticed the curiously flattering remark.

She brushes past it and--while she must admit she has never cooked in her life--is glad to inform Dr. Mäkeläinen of Lt. Thalen's encouraging of the arts aboard the ship, and the opportunities for joining other like-minded crew members. "You mention music specifically; is that a special interest of yours? I play a zith--that is, a lute, among other instruments, and have played in an ensemble here. Not regularly, but I would like to rectify that. Joining others more frequently would help both of us, as newcomers. Once we are en route to our next destination, if there is time, we should participate in what Lt. Thalen calls the Lyceum. If you wish, sir," she adds hurriedly before finishing her glass of water.

"And we can all get to know one another better, as well. The emergency we endured gave us no time to get acquainted. Regular life onboard is not quite so fraught." Kylah smiles at both men, hope fluttering within her chest like a restless bird. If Velir improves, the future looks far brighter than it did at any previous time since arriving on the Yorktown.

Graham blinks and reaches down to give Marala's hand a squeeze. "Of course, sorry," he whispers back.

It's a request about 10 million light years from anything that would occur to him, or that Jane would have ever admonished him for (she had a knack for creative cursing herself, he remembers bitter-sweetly, as on a few rare occasions it had been directed at him...)

If and when Marala's ready to go, his intention is to go to Sickbay and make professionally perfunctory inquiries after Rangin and then check in on Nia.

Rawlings says, "Yeah, the Lyceum's a great thing here aboard ship. It sponsors and presents plays, concerts, book discussions, talent shows, speeches and debates, movie nights, and on and on - at least three or four things a week. As to my own hobbies: swimming, running and choral singing. I get plenty of the first two; not so much of the third."

Marala is soon ready to go. She gives Nicky a hug and a kiss, and she and Graham make their way to Sickbay on Deck 7. She asks, as you approach its main entrance, "Would you like me to come in with you, Boojee, or would you prefer to talk to Lt. Onn alone? I don't mind, if you do."

Dr. Villa runs another scan of Onn and says, "All right, that should do for now. Are you comfortable, Lieutenant? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

After an instinctive check that her communicator is by the bedside, Nia shakes her head. "No, thanks. Just--if possible, could someone update me if Rangin's status changes? Even if I'm sleeping. He was hurt on my watch, so..." She shrugs without much energy. Villa's heard this often enough to understand.

Before the doctor leaves, Nia makes sure there's another blanket nearby. She's fairly comfortable now, but her temp will drop when she sleeps and it's always good to have the backup. If there's one within reach (or if the blanket she has is temperature-controlled and Nia can adjust it herself), she'll just let Villa go with another weary nod of gratitude.

"Lyceum? Ah! I'm not looking to put on a show, mind you, but it may be fun for some of us to join together in an informal capacity?" He is not about to admit to stage fright... "I can play the violin passably, I suppose. It is a four-stringed chordophone." His voice is not half-bad, but he is no trained choral singer.

One thing Rawlings says gets an especial reaction: "Swimming? I saw they had a few gymnasia on the recreation deck, but... there is indisputably room for it," he nods thoughtfully.

There is still time to catch a few hours of sleep before rotating back on duty--- climbing back onto the wheel, considering where they have been. Bizhi's next stop after everyone disperses will be back in his and Dr. Bennett's quarters. He briefly wonders what Lt. Graham got up to--- the man looked like he would have appreciated a drink or two.

Graham reaches down to take Marala's hand.

"That's very kind of you, Marala." He takes a long breath. "Aside from anything else, I think she feels---embarrassed about her, ah, medical condition's impact on the mission."

He shakes his head. "Which she shouldn't, but I think she does. And an, ah audience might make her feel worse. Or at least less likely to be open to hearing otherwise."

He gives her hand another squeeze. "I won't be long."

Dr. Villa frowns and tells Onn, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to promise to wake you if there's a change in Mr. Rangin's status. You need your rest. Whatever happens, it can wait until you wake up. You're not going to be getting out of bed and charging off to see him if something should happen, are you, Lieutenant?" It seems a rhetorical question. She makes sure Onn has enough blankets before leaving. Onn doesn't have a hand communicator in the room, but there is a standard small ship's comm panel on the bulkhead within easy reach.

Rawlings says, "You haven't been in the pool yet? Deck 8. Definitely worth a visit. Let me know - I'll show you sometime, and we can take a swim." He smiles when he hears Dr. Mäkeläinen's explanation of the physician's musical instrument of choice, and winks at Kylah. "Yes, I think we all know what a violin is, Doc."

Marala kisses her husband. "Of course. Take your time." She finds a chair in the Sickbay waiting room.

Graham is directed by a nurse to Onn's room. Dr. Villa is just coming out as he approaches.

"Ah hey--I mean, excuse me, doctor," Graham says. "I wanted to check in on Ni- ah, Lt. Onn." He lowers his voice. "I hope we made it back in time so there's no lasting harm."

Dr. Villa smiles. "Hello, Mr. Graham. Yes, she's doing relatively well already, and I have no doubt she'll make a full recovery. Shall I ask if she'd like any visitors?"

Graham nods and forces a smile back. "Sure, I'd be much obliged if you'd let her know I'm here."

Disappointed but not surprised that Villa won't keep her updated on Rangin's condition, Nia pulls the extra blanket over her shoulders and escapes the worry and weariness by shutting her eyes.

Graham and Onn have a good visit (which they can write about as a flashback, if they wish).

Onn learns the next morning, after she awakes, that Rangin's situation is stable but unchanged. Dr. Villa also tells her that the Captain dropped by to visit Onn a few hours after Graham was there, but insisted on not waking her.

You each get a good night's sleep and have a relatively quiet morning back on duty: Graham on Security patrol in the secondary hull, Kylah on Comms duty on the Bridge, and Dr. Mäkeläinen on Sickbay rounds, including checking on Lt. Onn.

You each make your way to Conference Room 1 at 1230 for debriefing and lunch. The Captain and First Officer are already there. Dr. Mäkeläinen accompanies Onn, who Dr. Villa allows out of bed for the debriefing with strict orders that she is to return to Sickbay if she feels at all fatigued or stressed.

"I've read your After-Mission Reports; thank you for them," the Captain says after you've selected food and drink from the bulkhead food dispenser and taken your seats. "Anything anyone wishes to add? Any points that deserve discussion here?"

Capt. Singh is having a fruit and cheese assortment, and a glass of ice water; Cmdr. Vargas has a roast beef sandwich and a large mug of coffee.

Graham has been poking at a shepherd's pie, but at the captain's comment he stands. He pulls the bottom of his uniform shirt down and tight and clears his throat.

"I. ah, would like to express my sincere gratitude for, uh, let me be blunt, saving our bacon, to you, Captain, and Yorktown's crew." He nods and then adds, "And I would like for formally nominate Ens. Kylah for a commendation for quick thinking and innovation that made it possible."

He clears his throat again. "With that said, I would also like to claim full and entire responsibility for all failures of protocol and procedure, including failure to secure the shuttle, failure to investigate Mr. Ragin's possibly homicidal incident, and any occurrences on the Uwat ship. As the senior Security officer present, I made judgment calls about life and safety, and I would accept no opposition, regardless of formal rank or other mission responsibilities. I would like to note good counsel from the doctor and Lt. Onn, but I claim all failures as mine and mine alone." He nods. "Ma'am, sir."

The Doctor was glad to see Lt. Onn on her feet, and told her so.

Dr. Mäkeläinen helps himself to a coffee and a dressed-up bagel for lunch, but he pays full attention once the discussion starts and does not eat while the Captain or the others are speaking.

When it is his turn, he says, "As eager as our officer is to fall on his sword, I must take equal responsibility. Had I problems with any judgement calls, I would have spoken up at the time. At no time did I feel pressured to stifle my opinions or that our orders were jeopardizing anyone's health and safety.

"Concerning the shuttle, it's arguably more secure, temporarily, at the bottom of a frozen lake in the middle of the forest than it would be in a more accessible location. It felt like we were pretty much out of control at that point, and I can only assume that in the hands of a lesser pilot we would have broken up in the atmosphere or augured into the terrain, not lucky enough to find that flat spot, let alone survive the landing."

Though normally ice water is Nia's favorite go-to drink, today her hands are curled around a mug of hot water with lemon. She's still not fully warm; even the normally pretty comfortable ship temperature isn't yet reaching the ice that feels like it's infecting her marrow. She plans to ask Dr. Villa for the warm lavage that, for whatever reason, the hospital on Ollos wouldn't perform.

Instead, she gets a splash of cold water when Booker suddenly takes full blame for everything that went down--and while she listens, mouth agape, Dr. Mäkeläinen follows through with more exoneration.

For the first time in days, Nia laughs without ending with a cough. Shaking her head, she lifts a hand to forestall Double-T from chiming in. "Uh, should I wait while you play the gallant knight next, or can we get to the facts?" Her eyes shift to Kylah, who's staring in dazed awe at Booker and the compliments bestowed upon her. Nia's not expecting any praise from that quarter, so she doesn't give the girl any time to respond. The question was rhetorical anyway.

She pushes herself up to her feet and turns to the Captain and Vargas, mostly the former. "Ma'am. As you know, Dr. Villa told me to hold off on writing my AMR yet. In the meantime you need to know just how full of bu--uh, tact--the others' reports are. I expect it from Lt. Graham. Taking phaser fire and sacrificing for others is kinda what he does. But Dr. Mäkeläinen? A straight-shooter, from all I've seen? That's a little surprising. Although maybe it shouldn't be. He spent most of the mission hoisting me on his shoulders and saving my ass."

Nia would flush, if her blood weren't busy trying to remember how to circulate. "Sorry, Captain; Commander. I don't mean to be vulgar. More than usual, anyway." She nods to the crew. "Point is, I put all of their lives in jeopardy. Not just by crashing the Tesla on that forsaken planet that hated Starfleet before we even arrived. But way before that, by not doing the pre-flight check myself once we were done with Hutchinson. Not taking enough reserve Bilitrium with me. Not being capable of figuring out what happened to the shuttle in the first place, much less fixing it. Choosing the wrong spot to land. And then every rushed action that put us all at risk because we had to find transport as fast as possible, that was solely 'cause of me. Lt. Rangin getting into some bar fight out of desperation to get us off planet--that was on me too. He shouldn't have been anywhere near that dive. None of them would've been except for my personal welfare.

"Along with not having time to perform due diligence on the Doregg, not figuring out we were on board a slave ship that contained multiple enemies, including the slavers, and a group of First Contact aliens who confronted me and Rangin after I mouthed off to them. And finally the bunch who I straight-up told we were Starfleet because I didn't have the brainpower to suss out that they weren't super-religious Vulcans but frickin' Romulans--Tal Shiyar, no less. I put us in such a dire situation that the Yorktown cut your mission short to fly to the rescue. Not securing the Tesla as ordered. Asking for her in the first place, just 'cause I wanted to take this insanely experimental, highly confidential and costly piece of tech out for a spin. Then destroying her."

Exhausted, Nia leans her hands on the table and stares down at her blank datapad. "I'm glad Lt. Cmdr. Cheverez isn't here. I'm not sure I could look him in the face. It's hard enough saying all this to you two. All our efforts, gone. Having to admit I abandoned our baby... something I never thought I'd do..."

She changes the subject, knowing she's in treacherous territory. "I'll say this much. I do agree with Lt. Graham's commendation rec for Ensign Kylah. I wish she hadn't had to drag you all away from Cavinre, but she did, somehow keeping our Starfleet status a secret, which is more than I did. But I'd extend the commendations to the entire crew for stepping up. The doc here...thanks to multiple injuries incurred by the crew, he was kept hopping, and all the while having to guess how to help my freakish biology. Not just physically, either. His bedside manner's impressive. He might give Dr. Noel a run for her money.

"Double-T--Ens. Rawlings--helped protect us from the Chalnoth even while, as far as I know, he'd barely recovered from a fracture post-Tesla crash. And Lt. Rangin... I don't even know exactly what happened to him on my watch. The one thing I claim success for is that for once, Ens. Kylah didn't require post-mission medical treatment. Far as I know." Again she laughs, this time ending with a slight wheeze, barely audible. "I'm saying 'far as I know' a lot. That's 'cause I spent much of the mission addle-brained or unconscious. I wasn't fit to command and I took too damn long to cede. Fortunately, Lt. Graham took on the responsibility, and did so as ably as he's run every mission I've known him to lead."

Nia lifts her gaze to meet his. "You did, Book," she mouths silently. And finally, she sinks back down to her seat. "Believe it or not," she says to Vargas and Singh, somewhat dryly, "that's the short version. The rest you'll get in my AMR, ASAP."

The Doctor forces himself to speak coolly despite the fact that his neck is on the line. "No plan survives contact with the enemy; we all know that. Can't rely on good luck, or any luck. I made sure we had adequate medical supplies, including a full standard emergency kit for a short mission. It was absolutely by the book; I checked. The fact remains, it was an unmitigated failure of the medical arm of this mission. I neglected to requisition reserve Bilitrium. I had talked to Lt. Onn earlier, but never asked for a precise inventory of how much she had on her. Hitting an unmarked quantum filament, or whatever it was, I don't know about that, but if the mission had not devolved into a medical emergency from the very beginning, things might have gone quite differently. That, at least, was one thing unequivocally under our control."

Kylah cannot help turning to Ens. Rawlings, the only other person who has yet to respond to this bizarre briefing. She has been on disastrous missions in her short time as a Starfleet officer, but never one where the highest-ranked officers were jumping over themselves to take responsibility for causing them--far more self-castigation than is warranted, in her inexpert opinion.

There was no callous disregard for safety here, as on the Sakathian station where dozens of strangers, Velir and poor Lt. JG Fujishiro were brutally infected by irresponsible scientists. And in the insanity that was the OCIII mission, there was no resentment, malicious endangerment or incompetent sabotage that led to abandoning party members to take on multiple killers on their own. Kylah's private disaster on that planet was largely her fault, and fortunately no one was affected but herself.

What makes this peculiar game of oneupsmanship in blame-taking so alarming is that Kylah can sense that each of the three officers here believes themselves to be accurate. She is less certain of Dr. Mäkeläinen, but only because she knows him so little, and his baseline emotions are still hard for her to read.

All she offers is a very brief murmured 'thank you' to her superiors' praise, and repeats what she herself admitted to in her own AMR: her regret over missing the Romulans' deception. Even that she cannot explain fully without revealing that she should have been able to tell the difference between Vulcan and Romulan methods of controlling their emotions. Then she falls silent and again shares a confused look with Mr. Rawlings.

I don't get it, Nia thinks while frowning slightly at Mäkeläinen. Is he making my point, or--is he still taking the blame for something he couldn't possibly have done anything about?

She's not gonna open her mouth again. First, she's already said enough to get demoted, at the very least. Probably this gives Vargas the opportunity she suspects he's been looking for, to ditch a skilled but annoying helmswoman: something that also, and most important to the Security Chief, removes the necessity of carting around the risky, volatile Bilitrium compound that he's never wanted anywhere near the Yorktown. Win-win. He can retire in peace knowing he's got rid of a high-maintenance officer and her potentially explosive accessories from the ship in a single stroke.

Second, it's inappropriate to say anything further until requested. Nia may be too irreverent for Vargas's liking, and maybe sometimes Singh's as well, though the Captain seems to rate her piloting highly enough to accept her quirks (or at least, tolerate them without complaint). But Nia does revere the Yorktown and respects Singh...and even tight-assed Vargas, something she'd only admit to if threatened with a phaser. And a briefing is not the time or place for a free-for-all.

So she just clutches her mug tightly enough to be lucky it's unbreakable. And averts her gaze to the slice of lemon within, floating in an aromatic but aimless circle.

The Captain seems taken aback by all that has been said, and then almost bemused. "I appreciate everyone's candor, or, I might even say... brutal honesty. Your mission didn't go as planned, to be sure. Far from it. But you all made it back alive, surviving both a dangerous First Contact and an encounter with Romulan operatives, and you helped free those being held captive in cyrosleep aboard the Uwat ship. That is much to your credit. I regret the loss of the shuttlecraft Tesla, of course, but given the various problems confronting you after leaving the Starfleet prison on Jaros II, it seems to me that you handled them about as well as anyone could have. I do not ask for perfection from any of my officers or crew. We learn more from our mistakes than our successes. You will each have learned useful lessons, I trust, and will do all the better on your next mission." She thinks a moment and then turns to Rawlings. "We haven't heard from you, though, Mr. Rawlings," she says.

"I, uh, have nothing to add to my AMR, ma'am," he says. "It was a tough mission, and not one I care to repeat, but we got through it. And, as you say, I hope we can learn from it, both the good and the bad."

"Thank you, Mr. Rawlings," she says, nodding, before turning to the First Officer. "Now, please bring us all up to date, Cmdr. Vargas."

Years ago, then-16-year-old Nia was tested by the latest resident Starfleet scientists, who were to judge her ability to leave Sidonia--really, to gauge whether she'd be of value to the Federation and was capable of the immense amount of effort it would take to acclimate her to a new life outside her family, planet, atmosphere and solar system.

One of them had been fairly stern. The other, an atypically softhearted Vulcan, was rooting for Nia, likely attached to the idea of saving her from what these offlanders considered slavery. During one of the earliest prep classes, the information seemed like a banquet crammed with platters of food that Nia couldn't possibly digest. She'd been overwhelmed, and slow to pick up the multitude of different social and biological concepts of the civilizations most prominent in the Federation.

She couldn't hide her frustration, which concerned the mentor. As a result, for several weeks Nia had been spoken to with such extreme gentle patience--well intentioned, to be sure--that she began to feel like a fragile infant at a creche. Eventually, Nia proved herself, and the toddler-level treatment vanished. But it had rankled.

Now, Nia listens to Singh's words with dread, then disbelief, and finally a kind of numb anger. Just what in the acid-spewing heavens did Villa say about me? she thinks, keeping her gaze neutral. Did she give Singh the impression I'm so choked with guilt I'm likely to turn an overloaded phaser on myself if even slightly chastized? What was that line, 'We don't expect perfection'? Holy Seht'dar's prolific balls!

Nia has to force herself not to perform a full-body cringe at the condescension--certainly unintentional, just like Dr. Li's delicate attempts to simplify questions and flatter teenaged Nia--but condescending nonetheless. Maybe the others' AMRs were so anodyne that her sudden onslaught of facts came as a total surprise to the captain, who could respond only with automatic platitudes? Bless Singh's tact, but if I 'learn more from my mistakes,' that performance must've won me the most advanced degree any Academy grad ever earned.

At the end, she just nods at Double-T for his own closed-mouthness and steadies herself. Vargas must have his own thoughts--Mother of us all, I can just imagine! But after Singh's diplomatic response Nia doubts he'll contradict her take in public. Maybe in private he'd rip Nia a new one, but even then, she's not sure he'd take a different course from their CO. After a gulp of the still-hot water, Nia lets herself purse her lips (the lemon gives her a good excuse) and turns to Vargas. If nothing else, she definitely wants to hear what's been going on.

Captain Singh's voice is a balm to the tension that has choked the room for the past several minutes. Kylah has been keeping her arms behind her back, clasping and unclasping her cold hands throughout. Now she can relax; the older woman's patient, calm demeanor is not what Kylah--nor, judging from the electric buzz of emotions she can sense from her crewmates--was expecting. She exhales softly in relief, and to her the whole group seems to do so, as well.

No...not the whole group. Kylah senses a hidden dissonance across from her. She casts a surreptitious glance at Lt. Onn, whose expression is still as a frozen pond but is being worn as a mask. Within, the helm officer is barely repressing some churning resentment, and the effort required to hide this seems to Kylah like an alarm bell, clanging discordantly enough to make Kylah wince.

Why is she not pleased? Captain Singh could not be more forgiving! Flicking her attention away before Lt. Onn notices, Kylah wrinkles her nose and nods along with Ens. Rawlings's brief but well-spoken remarks. She takes a quick look at Lt. Graham, to see if he appears as fraught as their former mission leader. Meanwhile she waits, very curious to find out from Cmdr. Vargas what has happened to the slaves, or any repercussions regarding the Romulans and Uwat...or the events at the Black Sun. And the slaves, have they been successfully awoken? There is so much she hopes to hear.

Mäkeläinen also thought they did their best (and delivered acceptable, for what that is worth, results— abstract effort counts not at all), which is what his report said. Surely the Captain is of the same mind, otherwise she would, if not rip someone a new one, have said so (she would not leave that to Vargas). That is, after all, the entire point of this meeting. There is a place for games and sous-entendres, and this is not it. He is satisfied on that score, even as he knows, without having it pointed out to him, that there are ‘useful lessons’ to be learned. Nia seems to be taking it especially hard.

He also suspects that there might be more blame to go around if there had been some bad fallout, so he pays close attention to what the First Officer is saying, expecting neutral or good news. It might be a mitigated disaster.

Graham nods in Vargas direction. "Thank you, sir--repaying the loan is the obviously honorable thing to do, I'm remiss in not having brought it up."

He clear his throat. "On that note--has there been any, uh, investigation of what happened with Beowulf previously? There were people there with, ah--earnest and honest concerns."



(NB: I can't get italics to work for some reason; maybe browser compatibility.)

Several thoughts spring to mind while Cmdr. Vargas reports, but Kylah's mouth pops open to protest the characterization of the Beowulf incident--probably coming straight from the freighter's crew themselves, no doubt--as an "unpleasant reception." But when he immediately continues with the grim fate of the Tesla, she instinctively keeps silent. She does not dare look at Lt. Onn.

When the Captain asks for questions, Kylah hesitates. The senior officers will likely wish answers to much unfinished business, and she must defer to them. Her own fear of any ramifications of Velir's altercation in the nightclub is too uncomfortable to air in front of anyone but the Captain. Her gaze takes in the non-Sidonian members of the Tesla party. How did they describe Velir's reported actions? None of them witnessed it, including herself. And of course, Velir is not in a state to have submitted an AMR.

Lt. Graham satisfies her by bringing up the Beowulf himself--and far more diplomatically than she might have. She also wishes to ask about the sole Uwat in those cryo pods, but clearly there will be nothing to learn if they have not yet recovered. She does not even know the Romulans beamed him or her away with the rest. If they did not slaughter him outright.

And that leads her to the only thing Kylah feels imperative to ask. Although it is Aldaan whose prevailing interest, from lightyears away, triggers her only words.

"Ma'am, I fully understand that this subject may be classified, and even if not it is likely presumptuous of me to ask of it, but I..." She swallows. "Will there be any interaction with Romulus over this? I know the Tal Shiyar onboard were saving their own, and did not directly harm us. But in the end, the Major plotted a course for the Doregg that would have killed us all, if Lt. Graham had not been able to steer us away."

It's not that Nia doesn't care about the rescued slaves. Of course she does. It's just that they feel only hypothetical to her. Not hypothetical, that's the wrong word. Abstract. She never saw them. Only heard about them during one or two of her brief conscious periods, when the Romulans had already discovered and revealed them to Booker and Kylah. Nevertheless she's grateful the Doregg will now take them to freedom, instead of whatever revolting, degrading destinations it had originally headed for. Lucky the Tal Shiyar was on that ship. Ha, they probably won some allies for the Romulans outta their rescue mission. Assuming Starfleet shares that little detail with the victims.

If they don't, she'll be tempted to leak the true heroes of the day. No way should she, or Starfleet by proxy, take any credit for it.

Every ounce of restraint she possesses focuses on preventing her from asking: Who's flying the Doregg? Who's doing my job? Because it's not her job, it's a privilege, and it's one she's not fit for either mentally or physically. Normally, she'd be ideal. Mastering the nuances of an utterly alien species' flight controls? Who better than Nia? That's been her primary task since leaving Sidonia. But she doesn't have the hubris to ask, or the stupidity to think her weak body and apparently questionable mental state would be considered.

Her otherwise frozen gaze blinks when Vargas mentions something-or-other Quinn. Who is that? Rich enough to arrange their own transport. Sounds like a celebrity wanting to get away from media. She struggles to recall any reference to such a passenger...but nope, her memory's not feeling generous right now.

What she's waiting for in this report, both with hope and dread, doesn't arrive. Not until Double-T opens his fat mouth--ugh, that's not fair. Maybe he's sparing her the need to ask the question. Maybe it's just natural curiosity. Either way, her whole body's in virtual stasis while listening to Vargas's words, seeing his expression. Her palms then shift to flatten on the table, fingertips bloodless.

When the others' initial questions are asked she can't keep from speaking. If you can call the croak coming from her strangled throat 'speech.'

"Is the Beowulf taking her here?" Her eyes shift to Captain Singh. "Is she already home?"

The Captain replies to Graham, "There are clearly very different recollections about what happened the last time the Beowulf was in the Ollos system. What the locals say, and what the Starfleet crew says, just don't match up. The ship's logs and sensor records appear to bear out Capt. Niinistö's account of what happened, however, showing that his ship was not the aggressor."

To Kylah she says, "Starfleet Command and the Foreign Office are aware, at the highest levels, of what happened between you and the Tal Shiar. I don't know what they will do with that information, and I suspect we may not have a need to know, at least in the short term." She smiles. "But if I do find out, and if I'm permitted to tell you, I certainly will."

She asks Onn, "Do you mean the wreckage of the Tesla? No, it will be taken to Starbase 27 for study and, I'm afraid, scrapping."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's impression of the Tal Shiar operatives, the officers, at least, is that they were intelligent, capable, flexible, resilient, rational, reasonable ruthless cold-blooded killers. Did the Federation have anything like that? Of course they do. He wonders whether the Federation counterparts are any different, ultimately. In any case, he does not expect much information concerning the Tal Shiar will be flowing their way down from the high command, in the short term or otherwise.

"One matter that concerns me," he says, "is whether there be a way to prevent what happened to the Tesla— what happened to us— from happening to anyone else. If they are able to establish definitively what it was that caused the—" he almost says "accident", but that, too, is yet to be determined— "malfunction, I imagine I will not be the only one reassured to hear about it." He exchanges a look with Nia. Having the actual wreck and raw sensor data to study will increase the chance of that, he reasons. One of the few positive outcomes of this debacle, and an important one.

Capt. Singh nods. "Yes, that's what the study of the shuttle's wreckage is intended to help determine. Early indications are that you did, as Mr. Rangin suggested soon after, hit a quantum filament."

(See posts 800, 820 and 829).

Nia, who feels like she's settled at the bottom of a frigid lake of her own since learning the Tesla's headed for scrap, doesn't speak for a moment. She dimly wonders which of the team noted Rangin's suspicion in their AMR, since neither she nor Rangin have submitted their reports, and Book... well, that seems unlikely. Double-T was suffering with a broken arm at the time and might not've caught it. Probably Kylah or Bizhi.

Well, who doesn't matter. She's just glad for him to get the credit. "Lt. Rangin was also the one to find the Doregg," she murmurs without affect. "We were lucky to have him on board." Her gaze lifts to survey her fellow officers before dropping to her hands again. "The same goes to the rest of the team. I owe you my life, and couldn't have asked for a better crew to command, when I was able." She tilts her head slightly toward Book. "Or a better leader, when I wasn't."

Since the others are standing, Nia doesn't ask permission to get to her feet, and pushes up with only a little difficulty. "Thank you for updating us, Captain Singh. Commander Vargas." She does her best to rid her tone of its dullness. "Pardon me, I know I need to complete my own report and prepare to return to duty. Are we dismissed?"

Kylah reaches her hand up to her chest upon learning the Tesla's fate. Not because she grieves the waste of what seemed a special project--she is not sentimental about machinery. But the sudden stabbing wound erupting from Lt. Onn's psyche is so sharply transmitted to Kylah, she would not be surprised to look down to see her own skin weeping blood.

She slowly drops her hand (blood-free, of course) and shakes her head in sympathy. The helm officer's face remains nearly expressionless except for her closed eyes, drawing a veil across her reaction.

Mention of Velir's suspicion about the cause of the shuttle accident proving likely correct whisks Kylah's attention back to the Captain. She cannot prevent her pride, magnified when Lt. Onn remarks on it as well. Kylahis surprised to hear someone ask to be dismissed, but she herself is now antsy to leave--unless of course there is something further from Capt. Singh or Cmdr. Vargas. Before she begins her watch, she hopes to visit Velir, and, if there is time, to return to her cabin to see whether Aldaan has responded yet.

Kylah looks hopefully at the Captain.

"Yes, thank you all," the Captain says. "Dismissed."

Free to go! Kylah is relieved to distance herself from the mixed emotions clouding the room, and thanks Capt. Singh with a bob of her head. After casting a very brief and hopefully not-too-pitying look at the mission's first C.O., she will leave with whoever departs first. She asks Dr. Mäkeläinen if he is heading straight to Sickbay. If he is, she will accompany him (with his permission, of course) to see Velir. She vaguely tells the doctor that, once Velir's psi abilities magnified so greatly on the Doregg, his ability to communicate directly to her might be triggered by her presence.

Even as she speaks, she consults her communicator to determines where her watch will be--on the Bridge or in the Comms Center. Her anxiety about Velir is palpable, and she is concerned about hearing back from her uncle. Nevertheless, she feels an atypical lightness new to her since she joined the Yorktown. It does feel good to be back on the ship, with a new, pleasing sense of camaraderie among most of the former Tesla crew.

Nia thanks her superiors and busies herself with taking her mug over to the replicator, this time asking for beef broth. She keeps her head down and speaks more slowly than usual: an effort to make sure the others have left so she can avoid them. That includes Singh and especially Vargas, although if their plan is to remain in the room for some private discussion, Nia's ready to skulk out without a word.

She's supposed to report to Dr. Villa to see if she's fit for duty. Nia grimaces as she watches the hot broth appear before her--not because she doesn't like it; to the contrary, its scent is homey and surprisingly well seasoned for replicator grub. But she's not hungry. She needs to see Cheverez and the thought nauseates her.

Still, unless Villa orders her for more recovery time--or Noel puts her in restraints after having learned who-knows-what about her psychic state from Singh and Villa--Nia's determined to get to Engineering. She may get unearned forgiveness or much-deserved anger, but either way, time to suck it up. In the end, she's a Sidonian woman. And she's survived far worse than near-suffocation, crippling shame and a broken heart.

Kylah is next expected for duty in the Communications Center. There is no news on Rangin or from her uncle.

Dr. Villa permits Onn to return to limited duty - no more than four hours a day, and in bed or remaining quietly in her quarters otherwise. When the doctor is fully satisfied by Onn's recovery, she promises, she will lift these restrictions.

The Doregg leaves with her prize crew and the Chalnoth. Hrothgar Quinn's hired transport meets up with the Yorktown, and he takes his leave. The Starfleet heavy cruiser sets a return course for the troubled world of Cavinre VII.

THE END