Star Trek RPG - Mission #4: "Codex Aelyrr"

Rangin sees that he is not specifically assigned to return to the Brold prototype in the cargo bay for his next watch, but knows he can go with Roble's approval whenever.

Thalen replies to Kylah, "Yes, of course. Mr. Soerjosoemarno can cover for you there."

The Indonesian man, overhearing, says, "Certainly, sir. Not a problem."

Mahmoud says, "Well, we definitely don't want to give you any incentive to do this again, Book."

Bennett laughs but then turns serious. "How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"

With a quick murmured "thank you" to both Thalen and Soerjosoemarno, Kylah moves slowly from the Communications Center to the nearest turbolift. She feels a bit better as soon as she is alone, which troubles her but she cannot analyze what the problem is, and so she ignores it.

Instead she pulls her communicator out. I will not be able to go to Engineering today, she thinks in irritation, remembering her desire to get her old device repaired. She starts to tap in a message but, once she arrives on her deck, the vertiginous feeling returns, and she finds that her fingers are flubbing every other word.

The pressure on her inner ears, as if ascending on a very fast turbolift, is quite uncomfortable. Though she shakes her head and slaps at her ears, neither have any effect--if anything, the head movement makes things worse.

At last she reaches her quarters and heads directly to her bed. Sitting down, she gives up on the attempt to send a text-based message and just sends a direct voice recording to Graham's account. "Mr. Graham," she says as steadily as possible. "I am very sorry but I might not be able to visit after all. I need to take a nap, and I might be coming down with some sort of... virus, or infection, I do not know. Whatever it is I should not be near you while you are recovering. I will do my best to come tomorrow. I hope you are doing well. Goodnight."

She ends the call and then hesitates. Did she just say "goodnight"? Her tongue must have slipped. Closing her eyes, she makes her second cancellation. Again she contacts Velir's voicemail account directly, knowing he is on watch.

"Kylah, this is Vel--I mean--this is Kylah. I have left my watch early, because I need to sleep. I am feeling very strange. I think I still need sleep. Did I say that already?" Kylah wipes her face with a hand and sinks down on the bed, cradling the communicator to her. She is finding it hard to concentrate. "I do not know if I will be able to have dinner with you. I doubt I can." Her words are slow in coming, and her voice is so husky it would not be audible to anyone standing six feet away. "I...am very...sorry. Please forgive..."

With a heavy sigh, she falls asleep.

Graham waves a hand. "Ah, I'll be fine...I mean, I don't think I'm hopping up out of bed to challenge Collins here to a game of basketball anytime soon, but I'll be OK..." He pauses a moment. "No need to worry about me, I've had worse."

"I don't know about you two" Collins looks at Bennett and Mahmoud, "But I want to hear how this happened, from Booker's p.o.v." She looks back to Graham.

Graham shrugs slightly. "Ah, why don't you come along when the mission team does its debriefing...I can't imagine anyone would mind."

He frowns slightly. "I hate to be a party pooper, but I might need to go down for the count here...I'm feeling more tired than I should be."

"Guess I need some extra beauty sleep." He reflexively glances toward Bennett as he says this, and immediately hopes nobody noticed. Except that Collins seems to have eyes like a hawk for that sort of thing...

But the fact remains he is tired. And would welcome sleep...except... He glances toward the flower. Nia's probably in charge of dealing with Klingons, still...She did visit, but I'd rather have been...or be...awake to see her...

Nonetheless unless she bursts through the door within the next few minutes, he's unsure he'll make it...

"Okay, then" Collins says as she leaves. "You just get back on your feet is all. Lieutenant." she nods to Bennett, then "Ensign." she nods to Mahmoud, and heads to the gym for a run around the track.

At the end of the shift, Rangin thinks over what he is going to be doing for the rest of the day. He had picked up the earlier message from Kylah and had been quite happy to let it go, but something is still bothering him... the extra thirty seconds or so of breathing. It appears that Kylah had drifted off into sleep while still trying to talk to him.

He thinks about going for a swim, something to keep him ticking over in the afternoon and then catch up on any scientific matters in the Science Labs for a little while before relaxing before perhaps getting back to work on the prototype.

But it still nags at him about how Kylah is doing, still not good after the last few days. It's just his curiousity he tells himself, not just how he feels for her, although he does worry as any crew member should for another. Then again, if it was a case of looking in on Graham or Kylah, it's a no-brainer as to who was more important to him.

He heads across to Kylah's quarters and presses the comm button, wondering if she will still want to see him. He shudders as he remembers the last time he was stood here and how badly that night went. He puts it to one side and calls again waiting to come in.

++++

A hail. Another hail. Kylah groans and lifts an impossibly heavy arm over her eyes. No, no, she has not slept in such a long time...

The hail occurs again and she cannot ignore it. A vague memory of not being able to walk earlier this morning prevents her from getting up, not wanting to make a fool of herself again. She drags her arm away and uses it to prop herself dizzily up. At least this time I am dressed.

"Come in?" she says, but the words are mostly air. She tries again, and this time changes the request. Perhaps it is someone she can brush off. "Who is it?"

++++

"Hello Kylah, It's Velir, mind if I come in. I just came to check on how you were doing." He tries to keep his voice neutral, hoping she will let him in.

There's a pause, after which he's grateful to hear a muffled voice commanding the door to open.

Stepping through, he can immediately see her, still looking tired and wan, but propped up in her bed, and looking tiredly across at him. He takes a few paces and stands to one side, not wanting to sit on the bed and giving her room, a little wary of what might happen again.

"Hi, I just came round to see how you were, I was a little worried when I got several seconds of you sleeping." Rangin pulls out the communicator and plays the message back. "Don't worry about it, I won't stay too long, just wanted to check you're okay."

+++++

Kylah has tried to untangle her messy hair and look alert while Velir entered, and now she watches--or rather, listens--as he plays a message she does not remember leaving.

She is almost too tired to be embarrassed. It does not even sound like her. She sounds... drunk. "I'm am sorry to have worried you. I just... I just seem to feel so... tired. Not just that, but distant. As if I am separated by a wall from the rest of the ship. Even with you right here."

It takes her a few seconds to realize how much it means to have him care enough to check on her. But things are still awkward and she does not want to get too personal. Instead she looks to the side and notices that her communicator is on the pillow beside her.

"They gave me this," she says, fumbling with the device--her fingers are numb again. "But I still want to find out what could have happened to the original. I have never had a communicator just die like that. Have you?"

+++++

Rangin feels relieved as Kylah answers his unsaid questions over how she is feeling. He nods in response at her comments about the communicator.

"No, I don't know what else might have caused it, but I'd be surprised if Engineering didn't have a better idea after some investigation. Anyway, I'll let you get back to sleep. Hopefully, you will feel better tomorrow."

He hesitates slightly and then dives in to ask, "Would you be okay for breakfast?"

+++

"Yes!" Kylah almost blurts the word, unintentionally sounding as if she's grabbing at any contact with him. And so I am, she thinks drowsily. "I... cannot be this bad off for another day. I do not know what is wrong."

The longer she looks at him, the more he seems like a stranger. Normally she can sense something from him, even when she has not dared try to breach is privacy. But everyone radiates some emotion. Velir, suddenly, does not. Just like her colleague earlier, in fact.

The thought is unnerving. She thought the colleague was a Vulcan, but Velir most certainly is not. [I]Although he was able to block Palver's intrusion. Maybe he has changed...

Perhaps I am just too tired. Any muscle will stop working if it is tired enough.

"Yes," she repeats in a more controlled manner. "I will meet you for breakfast, or lunch, or... whatever is best for you. I shall get sleep and then we can talk."

++++

Rangin smiles in relief, "Okay, perhaps I'll see you then. But only if you feel alright." He relaxes, feels the slight tension that might still be in the air slowly fade as he heads for the door.

"And Kylah, I forgot to say, thanks. Thanks for all you did with the Aelyrr, you were invaluable. Sleep well."

Rangin heads through the door before he becomes any more tongue-tied and decides that talking to Roble to find out what the elderly Science Officer thought about that stint.


Rangin by CIAS, Kylah by choie

Nia stands in front of the Klingon captain's cell. "Drop the field, Mr. Kawecki," she says, her head snapping to address her colleague in as dismissive a manner as possible. Her hands are once more on hips, her long legs in a relatively wide stance. She returns her focus to the prisoner in the cell, examining him with haughty interest. "St. Croix. Address the Captain as one should a man of his rank, in his own language to do him honor."

Kawecki does as Onn asks, but keeps a close eye on the prisoner. St. Croix speaks briefly and the Klingon officer, just as big and imposing as Onn remembers, says in passable Federation Standard, "What do you want?"

Nia takes a step closer, keeping her challenging gaze directly on the captain. "I wanted a good look at the opponent we defeated. I hardly had a chance to size you up properly on the Naradraen--you were too busy running from me like a scared rodent." Despite her insulting words, her voice is soft. "I'd like to know what you want, Captain.

"You know what we're interested in: the names and locations of those who hired you. But you've given nothing worthwhile to our First Officer. We might be able to return you to your people if you cooperate. But if you continue being obstinate, there's no fate for you but prison--or execution. Is it really your preference to be caged or put down like a dog?"

She drops her hands from her hips and walks slowly toward the Klingon. "Maybe it's your pride that prevented you from talking to a human like Vargas. Do you despise the Federation too much to help?" Her voice lowers. "Well. As you can plainly see, I am not human. My planet is not likely to join the Federation any time soon. Talk to me, then. Who hired you?"

He looks at her and laughs humorlessly. "A Sidonian, aren't you? A haughty woman from a dying race. I have never bedded a Sidonian, I think. It might be interesting."

Nia smiles. "You would remember if you had, Captain. I haven't tried a Klingon, myself. I suspect I'll get more opportunities to rectify that situation than you will. Especially if you continue as you are." She looks him up and down. "Too bad. However, as for dying, I'd be more concerned about your own future. I come from a planet that makes Gre'thor seem like a paradise--but I was smart enough to get out. You're being foolish enough to seek those gates. That is where you'll end up once those Aelyrr are through with you, isn't it? Sto-vo-kor's for the honored dead. A captain who murders his crew may be expedient but not honorable."

Brushing her hair from her shoulders, Nia laughs. "But the irony is that you murdered the wrong colleagues. Your surviving crew are betraying your schemes as fast as I mention the word 'deal.' Thanks to them, I know you were hired by someone in the Bavell faction, both in the past and for this particular assignment. They haven't yet given up any names, but I think they will, soon." She remembers Rangin's suggestion and raises an eyebrow, her gaze challenging the Klingon again. "You're a mercenary, Captain Khroth. Everything has its price. What do you want in exchange for your secrets?"

"Haughty, yes, even somewhat fetching in a reptilian sort of way," he says, "but a poor bluffer. Nevertheless, you amuse me... a little. Ask me five questions, and I will answer them yes or no. Then leave. I ask nothing of you."

"You're in no position to order me anywhere, Captain. I'll go when I like. If I like." Nia leans in and looks at him intently. "You're not using the brains a mercenary should possess. Why do you think they asked me to question you? A lieutenant and a pilot, when days with the ship's first officer and chief of security elicited nothing?" Her words drop to a murmur. "They know I'm not from the Federation. I wear this uniform but I don't do things the Federation way. You could benefit from that."

Nia pulls back and shrugs, hands back on her hips, and returns her voice to a normal volume. "As far as bluffing... Do you think I picked the name Bavell from thin air? I know you worked with them for at least a year, I know you were planning on destroying the Naradraen when through, and more, besides. You overestimate your crew's loyalty... and underestimate their interest in reptiles."

She smiles pleasantly. "Now. I'll ask your five questions. Let's see if you have enough intelligence to answer. And you had best be aware that I know the answers to some of them, myself--I'm just confirming to see how honest a Klingon criminal can be.

"One. How did you learn of the plan to remove the Codex using replicas?

"Two. There were other ships plundered of their relics and destroyed. Did you attack all of them yourselves, or do you have partners who handled some--and if so, who and where are they?

"Three. Who in the Bavell faction hired you? I want names."

"Four. You were heading back to Aelyrr. Where were you going to meet?"

Nia's eyes narrow slightly. "And five. Are you truly a band of mercenaries, split off from the Empire for some unknown reason--and if so, why? Or are you actually part of an effort to destabilize planets near your territory in order to conquer them?"

The captain smiles. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes."

After a moment of silent contemplation, Nia shakes her head while returning his smile. "It's a shame. If you'd been more helpful, you could've been saying those words to me in an entirely different context. But instead... well, so be it. You really prefer torture and death, then? There's at least one Aelyrr who will gladly watch the blood pour from your skin, one strip at a time, as claws rake down your back. Not an easy death.

"But I won't mourn. You've been much duller than your cohorts. Who, by the way, will be receiving much kinder treatment, thanks to their cooperation--and the fact that they have all agreed you are the prime guilty party. They expressed ignorance on many subjects, although each of them provided something of use. But to a man, they've named you as the one with all the information, all the strategy, all the contacts with the Bavell."

She backs up and lifts a hand, a resigned gesture. "So they'll get a few years in a Federation prison, likely as cushy as any Klingon pleasure establishment, after which they'll return to freedom. While you'll die an ignominious death after being treated like a scratching post." Her gaze roams his face with a hint of regret. "Too bad. You amuse me, too... almost. Let me know if you decide to act as if you have a brain in that thick skull of yours. But you'd better decide fast--our new friends on the Naradraen want you in custody."

She turns and walks from the cell. "Tell the good captain farewell, St. Croix," she says dismissively.

St. Croix complies, and Kawecki turns the forcefield barrier back on. Onn hears the Klingon captain's mocking laughter ringing down the corridor as she leaves.

Ignoring the prisoner's attempt at bravado, Nia turns to St. Croix. "Well, I think you and Kawecki can handle the rest, or if you prefer, wait until Cmdr. Vargas returns. Your facility with the language may yet come in handy. As for me... yeah, it wasn't my destiny to get anything useful from this. I'm not even sure why the Captain wanted me to come, but... an order's an order, and I liked the challenge, so I gave it my best shot." Nia shrugs good-naturedly and grins at St. Croix. "Thanks for helping with the role-play, though."

With a final nod to both security officers, she heads to the turbolift while typing out a message.

CAPTAIN SINGH, COMMANDER VARGAS: I have just finished with the interviews of two Klingons, to little joy. I'll write up a report on what I was able to glean from this, and send it to you both. Captain, if you still wish my opinion on how to deal with these prisoners...

I couldn't get much out of Captain Khroth due to his belief that I was bluffing about the punishment that might lie ahead. I think we need to show him that to the contrary, we are as serious as a disruptor blast. My recommendation: send him to the Naradraen to enjoy the hospitality of the Aelyrr... at least for the duration of our journey.

He has shown himself to be a coward. I suspect once in their hands, he'll realize it is better to speak to us than risk a fate with our new furry friends. -- LT. NIA ONN

Nia sends the message off and takes hold of the turbolift handle. "Deck seven," she says clearly, her mind already forgetting the useless interviews and thinking of one man in sickbay. She hopes, she hopes, she'll be able to see Booker at last.


Nia by me (except when she's called 'Onn'), everyone else by EH.

St. Croix nods. "Certainly, ma'am. It was actually kind of fun. I think I'll stay here for now."

Onn soon has two texts.

The first: Acknowledged, and thank you for your efforts. Starfleet Command is considering the question of custody and leaning towards keeping our guests with us for the time being, at least. SINGH.

Glad you tried, the First Officer also replies. Worth the effort, and much obliged. I appreciate the update. VARGAS.

After talking for awhile, Graham's guests see that he is exhausted and take their leave just before the duty nurse arrives to shoo them out.

After her workout, Collins decides a light bite for dinner and an early night, perhaps some reading, is in order for a change. She stops at the Mess for a turkey sandwich and some iced tea to go, then as an afterthought, a couple of brownies to share with Kylah if interested, then heads to her quarters.

An increasingly groggy Graham hopes his guests weren't offended--of course they'd probably be offended if I nodded off while they were talking to me, too...

He reaches for the terminal to type out a message.

Nia,

I

"might be asleep when you get this" was what he was going to type, but he dozes off still sitting up in his bed.

Nia arrives out of the turbolift and walks quickly into Sickbay. After asking to see Booker and being told he's asleep, her heart sinks. Damn. I didn't even get to visit him. What'll he think? She looks over in the direction of his room and tightens her jaw. Probably that I ineptly got him blasted and then didn't even have the guts to show up.

She asks to be allowed to peek in, promising she won't bother him, and finally slips into his recovery room.

At least Booker's color looks a little better, at least from what Nia can tell in the room's dimmed lights. She walks in silence to stand by the bed and gaze at him. He sleeps on, half-sitting propped up by pillows behind him.

"Oh, Book," she whispers, reaching out and gently stroking his hair without touching his face so she doesn't disturb him. Her pent-up frustration from the unproductive interviews hits her harder. She wouldn't feel as bad about not visiting him if she'd gotten something, anything, out of the Klingons that was helpful.

Damn it. She doesn't usually wallow in self-recriminations. If she beats herself up over every failure, she'd never have the guts to take as many risks as she does--or get as many successes. You'll never win if you're afraid of losing; that's what her parents taught her.

But like it or not, there are things she's afraid of losing. And looking at Booker's worn, weary face, she knows he's one of them.

Biting her lip, she leans over and, in an almost maternal gesture, pulls the thin blanket up so it covers him better. That's when notices the terminal that's been pushed aside, probably by one of the nurses, but its display still reveals what he was working on before he fell asleep.

When she sees he was writing to her, a pang of mixed emotions tugs at her insides. Was he wondering where I was? Of course, he must have been. Even if she were only his mission leader, it's her duty to visit; she should've been here, taking responsibility for one of her team's injuries suffered under her command. And as... well, whatever she is, to him, personally... it's even more important for her to be by his side.

After a deep sigh, Nia bends over and gently presses her lips against his temple. "Get well," she whispers into his warm skin. "I miss you, Book." Then she kisses him--she's careful not to wake him, but she has to kiss him.

Worried she's about to be kicked out by one of the Sickbay watchdogs, she pulls back, memorizes Booker's face in repose, and slips out as quietly as she came. Her throat and lungs ache, and this time she knows it's not because of her respiratory issues. Nia doesn't cry much--physically, Sidonians don't produce tears as readily as many other races, water being too precious to expend, and emotionally, Nia's just not the weepy type. But she has to blink to see through a glaze of tears nonetheless.

Annoyed with herself, she heads back to the Bridge to finish out her watch and report on the interrogations.

The day draws to a close and night passes as the Yorktown and Naradraen continue onwards. You all sleep, some better than others.

In everyone's comm account the next morning is this notice:

I regret to inform you that Lt. JG Fujishiro Tomoe Iota, Assistant Science Officer and Physics Officer, passed on at 0320 hours this morning. She died in the line of duty from the lingering effects of injuries sustained during the Sakathian mission; the best efforts of Dr. Villa and the Medical staff were unavailing. Lt. JG Fujishiro's family will be informed of her passing but, given our current distance from Earth, the news will not reach them for approximately two weeks. Consistent with the provisions of her Final Wishes file, a funeral service will be held at 1600 hours today in the Ship's Auditorium. All off-duty personnel are welcome. Personal friends are asked to contact Communications Lt. Thalen or Science Lt. JG Geoffrey Park immediately if they wish to play a role in the service.

May our friend and shipmate rest in peace, and may we all be inspired anew by her faithful service to Starfleet and to the people of the Federation.

SINGH, S.P., USS Yorktown, commanding.

Collins sits on the side of her bad as she reads the message. She feels a couple of tears on her cheeks and wipes them away as she goes to shower and get ready for the day.

When she comes out of the bathroom she walks to Kylah's bunk and jostles it gently. "The head's all yours, Kylah. Wakey wakey." She then dresses and pulls her hair back into her trademark ponytail. On her way out, she says over her shoulder, "Catch you later."

Collins walks slowly to the Mess, hoping to see Cooper there, because she feels the need for a hug. She only worked with Fujishiro twice, but they came aboard the Yorktown at the same time, so she feels a sense of kinship with the woman. It's part of life out here, and it's not like I haven't lost colleagues before, but this feels more personal. She sighs and enters the Mess, and scans the crowd for her paramour.

Kylah wakes up, feeling better but still with a somewhat muddled head. She looks around for Collins but the quarters seem empty. There's a dim recollection of someone jostling her bed a bit; maybe that was Collins? The older woman seems to have left quickly.

She is surprised, at first, to find herself still in uniform. Apparently donning appropriate sleepwear is getting to be a problem for her.

Checking her messages, Kylah reads the news about Fujishiro. She bows her head in regret. The science officer is Kylah's first colleague to die in the line of duty. It is hard to forget the visions of Fujishiro's injury, the black stains on her uniform, and the weakening of her body as she fell into unconsciousness. And now, knowing she never woke up... How horrible. Kylah shudders at the thought.

This explains why Lt. Collins left early. It must be especially painful for her, to lose someone injured under her command. Does Lt. Onn feel the same way about Mr. Graham?

Reminding herself of Mr. Graham's injury is what forces her out of bed. She must visit Mr. Graham as soon as possible. If necessary, she can skip breakfast if she is scheduled for a morning watch. With a frown she realizes she does not remember what her assignment is today. Before heading to the shower, she checks her terminal for any directions.

While moving to the shower, she notices her limbs are rubbery again, but thankfully nothing at all like yesterday. Kylah suspects she might need to go to Sickbay at some point, and not just to visit Mr. Graham. Maybe she pinched a nerve somehow. It would not surprise her, having been in bed such a long time. Going to sleep early yesterday probably made things worse again, if she is lying on the problem spot...

Going to sleep early... but I was awoken too. She suddenly remembers Velir. He came by yesterday--or did I dream that? Now it comes back to her: they were to have breakfast together. Oh! I cannot cancel on him again. I shall just have to leave earlier than usual. Kylah knows she had better not mention why she needs to cut things short; Velir will not be pleased by her wanting to visit Mr. Graham. Just as she surely will not tell Mr. Graham that she just had breakfast with Velir.

Men are maddening, she decides while drying her hair. I will tell Velir I am going to Engineering, as I wanted to yesterday. And I should do so for real, too. Soon she is dressed in a fresh uniform, her hair pulled back with a comb--her fingers are still clumsier than usual and cannot seem to operate a barrette--and, grabbing her new and old communicators, she is out the door, heading to the Mess.

Graham's running...or at least he's trying to, but he's not making headway. The ground seems to slip out from beneath him--it's sand, hot, slippery desert sand. And now...his legs are melting, starting from the feet up. Now he's running on legs that end at the ankle. Now stubs that stop at the knee....

And she's pulling away, receding into the distance...

JaneLizzyKylahCeciliaNia

Who is it? He can't tell, but does it matter? He can't reach her anyway as hand over hand he drags his useless torso along the sand...

"Uh..."

Graham awakes with a start and finds himself in Sickbay. Fuck, for what it's worth my legs haven't melted off, that's something...

Still groggy and sore, he checks his messages. Bummer about this Fujishiro...and...geez, Kylah can't seem to catch a break....


He sighs and lies back on the bed. No real point to getting a jump on lying around like an invalid all day, he thinks. He harbors some hope that--however much it might hurt--Villa will give him the go-ahead on rehab.

Finished with her early-morning martial arts lesson, Nia sips some water while moving to the mirrored wall, where her gym bag is. She flips a towel over her gleaming shoulders and sweeps up her communicator to read her messages.

The news about the young officer's death, though she wasn't someone Nia knew very well, sends Nia into an atypically haphazard, hurried attempt to get herself to Sickbay. The need to see Booker is overwhelming. He could so easily have gone the way Fujishiro did. That he's alive and well is a miracle--and Nia is desperate not to delay proof of this blessing any longer.

She'll change to her uniform later, and brings it along with her. Right now she's stay in the slightly damp, curve-enhancing outfit of a clingy, low-cut black top and the bottom half of a loose-fitting black yoga outfit. Her hair is messy, half-in and half-out of her ponytail, the rest curling loose around her face. She even forgets to drop the towel back into the laundry slot, wearing it like a half-cape while she stalks out of the gym to the turbolift.

Finally she's back on Deck 7 and in Sickbay. The attendants are probably sick of seeing her, but Nia doesn't care. She wordlessly tilts her head toward Booker's room and, when no one says no (although they don't say 'yes' either), she slinks quietly inside.

And he's up. His eyes are open, the first time she's able to meet his gaze in--what is it, two days? Three days? Nia's lost count. Seeing him, a rush of adrenaline and a highly rare flood of anxiety flow through her, keeping her frozen by the entrance. Finally she drops her gym bag and moves to the bed.

"Hey," she says, still tentative. She curls her fingers around the bed rail. "You're up at last. I kept trying to see you after my watch, but you slept the whole night through. You must be..." The banality of her words frustrates her, and Nia starts over. "Oh, Book, I'm sorry." Her murmur radiates concern and guilt. "This shouldn't have happened. I've been so... " She shakes her head and swallows. Her own feelings aren't important now. "How're you feeling?"

Her instinct is to wrap her fingers around his wrist, clutching it for dear life. Instead she just lowers her hand, palm outward. He should decide whether he wants her touch.

Graham's momnetarily surprised to see Nia--he's not sure why, he knew she left the flower and he certainly expected her to return--but there's an awkward moment when she pauses at the door and he sits there frozen as well.

But she breaks the spell by approaching the bed, sounding and looking, he thinks, really worried...

"Hey, hey to you, too," he replies, smiling and taking her hand in his. "It's OK, that Klingon just slagged part of my leg, he didn't give me cooties."

He leans forward and lifts their conjoined hands so he can give the back of hers a kiss.

"Ah, hell, you know, I'm mostly embarrassed." He shakes his head. "Mahmoud stopped by and I think was still too worried about whether I'd be OK to start in on jokes about getting old and slow, but I'll bet he's been working on new material..."

He gives her hand a squeeze. "Or eyesight going bad...I had my damned shot, should've taken the bastard down." His smile fades and he exhales, as he notices her outfit.

On the one hand, it's nice...really nice...

On the other, it hammers home to him that he still has no idea when he'll be up and around. He clears his throat. "I guess I won't be able to join you in the gym again for awhile, though." He shrugs. "Unless--you ever hear of three-legged races on Sidonia? I guess we could spin up some kind of league..."

He trails off, his eyes dropping down toward his legs. Then he perks back up and looks intently at Nia. "Are you doing OK? That mission was a tough assignment."

Nia can't describe how she feels once their fingers connect--his doing--and then he makes the moment even more intimate with a kiss. Her muscles were already warm and loose from the exercise, but somehow they're warmer still, and almost liquid. The underlying tension that's gripped her since the mission has finally melted.

She shakes her head slightly when he blames himself. Bending down to lean on the railing, her chest resting on her arm so that they're roughly eye level, Nia tightens her fingers. "It was tough," she murmurs, examining his face, all the tiny scars, the bristles of salt-and-pepper hair on his cheeks and chin, and especially those lovely eyes. "But it was made worse by the bad decisions on my part.

"It wasn't your fault you got wounded, Book. I misjudged the countdown. I should've let those gas canisters work longer. To this day I still don't know if they ever deployed correctly--none of the Klingons reacted to anything except our phasers. But that doesn't matter, I still should've given us fifteen seconds before beaming in. If I had, you wouldn't've..." Nia glances at his leg and lowers her voice even further. "You wouldn't be here."

Cooper is nowhere to be seen in the Mess, which is crowded. Collins can hear snatches of talk from various tables, most of it about Fujishiro - reflecting regret, surprise and curiosity.

Kylah arrives there a few minutes after Collins.

It is 0832 hours.

"Nia..." Graham's voice is huskier than he expected, as he reaches over with his free hand to touch her cheek. "Or maybe an extra fifteen seconds would have given the Klingons time enough to re-deploy into better tactical positions and waste us all on beam-in."

He clears his throat, but keeps his hand pressed against her cheek while he stares into her eyes. "Nia, yeah, you have to care about what happened--if you don't, sure, you're a sociopath, believe me there are a few of them in command positions, goo many...but you can't second guess...especially..."

Better it's me than you or anybody else, is what comes to mind, but he's pretty sure that's not a good thing to say at the moment.

"What I mean is, at least as far as I'm concerned I was--am--more than ready, willing and able to fight back against an order or a plan I think is bad. You're pretty badass, Nia, but believe me, if I wasn't onboard with it, you would have heard about it..."

He removes his hand from her cheek, and rubs his chin and clears his throat. "Look...let's, ah, look on the bright side. Since you came in, looking, ah... pretty 'bad ass' and, ah, pretty good in some other ways as well...I can attest that while my leg may need some rehab, uh, other parts remain fully functional...Fully."

Until the moment she walked through the door to the Mess, Kylah was certain there was no one there. When she arrives and sees the multitude of crewmates before her, she stares in incomprehension. She has prepared herself for the usual barrage of emotional radiation, so to speak, but now there is nothing to protect against. This could be half the Yorktown crew, talking and eating and milling about near the replicators, but to Kylah they seem like holographic projections. They are hollow.

She tries to pick someone close, anyone, and without even a hesitation forces her focus into one unknown red-shirted officer's mind, his heart. Nothing. Only her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears, nearly drowning out the discussions going on around her. Another crewmate, this time someone in science blue.

Nothing.

For the past day--ever since she overslept--there were moments where she found herself surprised by someone's presence, whereas normally she is almost always aware of living beings in the vicinity. She might not be trying to sense them, they might not be feeling anything particularly strongly. But something of their mood, their thoughts, emanates to her nonetheless. That has disappeared. She is not used to facing such blank canvases. She knew her senses were dulled; she'd told herself it was just exhaustion. But this goes far beyond that. A whole crowd of people, and she cannot sense a single one?

Almost hyperventilating, Kylah backs up against the wall and stands near the exit, afraid to move further in. What is wrong with me? I must get to Sickbay, I must-- But what can she say? Unless Dr. T'Var is on duty, Kylah cannot explain her problem. And T'Var might very well be busy dealing with Lt. Fujishiro.

She searches the Mess, her gaze wildly scanning the crowd to find Velir. She needs to touch him, to see if he is solid. If he is real.

Collins orders yogurt and granola for breakfast, and of course coffee. Yeah, coffee. That'll bring the spark back this morning. She turns, with tray in hand, about to pick a place to sit, when she notices Kylah using the wall for support. She approaches her roommate slowly.
"Are you alright? Do you need a chair?" Collins is genuinely worried about the girl. Oversleeping yesterday and looking like this this morning? "Would you like me to take you to Sickbay?"

Kylah looks with Collins in anxious examination. I should be able to feel you. Your energy. Your confidence, even when it is false. But they are gone, you are not there. She shakes her head, having the strangest feeling that she is conversing with mere air. "No. No, thank you, Lieutenant. I was supposed to have breakfast with Velir and I must not cancel again." She swallows. "I mean... I was just looking for somewhere to sit. May I join you?"

"Sure!" Collins looks around and sees a table with two empty seats a few feet away. "Come on." She allows Kylah to move to the table first, then places her tray on the table and sits. As she takes her first sip of coffee of the day she watches the girl for any signs she may be worse off than she lets on.

Nia leans into Booker's hand, closing her eyes for a few seconds to savor the feeling. She knows he's right about some things, wrong about others--she's learned a harsh lesson from that failed countdown, one she mustn't forget and can't forgive--but everything he says is appreciated. Not just because he's letting her off the hook, but because he's sincere. At least, he sounds it, and Nia's not sure Booker Graham would be able to sell insincerity.

When he says that he'd've fought her on the order, Nia inhales, ready to contradict him: there wasn't time, she didn't give him enough time. The frightening thing about command is that people trust you. Or they do, if you're competent, and whatever Nia thinks about that one decision, she knows she's a competent leader. The more you're trusted, the longer the delay between a controversial order and the response to it. Like a stubbed toe, she thinks grimly, except with potentially fatal results.

That's the whole point of command. It's why it's so vital to be right, not just certain.

Her cheek is cool without his hand warming it. But his words make her smile, and she bends in closer. "It's lucky the phaser wasn't aimed a few inches away, then. Anything functioning correctly will be rewarded, I promise." She glances toward the door and back to Booker. "I've played rehab nurse to one or two patients in Sickbay before, when the staff were otherwise occupied. At least in that area, my timing is impeccable." Closing in, it's her turn to caress his face--and she follows it with a long, tender--but not in any way tentative--kiss.

She separates only slightly to kiss his cheek, then his temple. Reluctantly she pulls back further, still staring into his eyes from inches away and smiling. But slowly the smile fades. The thought that this strong, passionate man could have so easily ended up like young Fujishiro makes her jaw tighten.

"If I could do yesterday over, I'd make damn sure I slugged that Klingon bastard who did this to you. I don't know what I was thinking, a missed opportunity like that. I only hope you'll be up and around soon enough to question him yourself."

Rangin sits on his bed and reads the note over and over. He knew the day was coming, that one day Fujishiro would succumb to the effects of Sakathian virus. A virus he had survived. But still, he feels the regret that he survived where she didn't. Logically he knew why obviously, different races with differing immune systems. But still after what had happened to the Sakathians, he is still unsure even now as to why he still survived, Dr Villa had never made it clear what the differences were. In some ways, he had already said his goodbyes to Fujishiro, the story he had read over the last week or so. But still he had hoped the team might have found something. But he knew after OCIII that if the spores there would have no effect, then it was only a matter of time...

...and there had never been anything he could have done about it, for Rangin that is the most galling thing.

He drops a request to both Lt. Cmdr Roble and Lt. JG Park requesting the chance to be at the service. While doign so, he reaches into the closet and pulls out the case with his nhorel, wondering if it would be acceptable to wear it on this occassion. He stops and thinks about it before putting it away, he will decide later.

Anyway, he still needs to get on with the rest of the day and heads for the Mess Hall to get started. Once he gets there and fills a tray up with something little more than toast and coffee, his appetite strangely absent, he looks round and notices Collins and Kylah sat together. He remembers talking to Kylah and suggesting they meet for breakfast, and besides the pair of them had been on the mission to Sakath along with Fujishiro. Perhaps they wouldn't mind if he joined them. Walking across he asks politely, "Mind if I join you?"

For a moment, Graham and Nia are speaking, touching, interacting so intimately and naturally that he....

Forgets. Forgets this doesn't make any sense, she ought to come to her senses sometime soon. Forgets he hasn't been really close to anyone since...Jane. Forgets... Aw fuck, forget it, Booker...are you going to overthink it or just appreciate the moment, come what may?

Graham scowls. "Klingons aren't worth it, if you ask me. A lost cause...take 'em down, put 'em down if you have to, but..." He shrugs. "They're too screwed up to ever give any satisfaction. One who sells out their warrior code is too pathetic. One who welcomes a 'hero's death' is too much of an idiot."

He pauses a moment. "Did you know the KIA?" He immediately regrets what he said, even though it flowed instinctively. "I mean--Fujishiro, the woman who just died? Sorry, it's...just fell into old habits from harsher times."

The Science Officer replies to Rangin, Yes, of course. I will be there myself. ROBLE.

He also receives this text: Thank you for your note. Did you know her well? Would you like to participate in the service - read or sing something, offer a tribute, etc.? PARK.

In the act of seating herself, Kylah keeps her gaze moving, trying to find someone who seems alive to her. But she doesn't look behind, toward the entrance, and that is why Velir's voice startles her.

She swivels in the chair to stare up at him, hoping somehow he will be different. But he is not. He might as well be wearing his Coridian mask for all she can sense from him. The hope flickers and extinguishes from her eyes, a reaction she hides by looking quickly toward the table as if trying to see if there is another chair for him.

"Of course," she says, jerking her hand to gesture to the empty seat. "Please sit, if it is all right with Lt. Collins. I know you and I were meant to have breakfast together, but I got here early."

She bites her lip, lonely despite the company. Searching for something to say, she blurts: "I was very sorry to learn about Lt. Fujishiro," aiming it to both of her colleagues. The rushed words make her wince. Calm down, she begs herself. "I... I did not know her well. I wish I had. She was very brave during the Sakathian mission. Of course, Lt. Collins, you must be feeling this deeply, as her commander. But I hope you do not feel resp--"

Kylah stops. It would be completely understandable for Collins to feel responsible, but Kylah has no idea if she does or not. She never realized how much she relies on the nearly imperceptible emotions that she picks up from others. Not wanting to worsen anything Collins is going through, she tries again.

"That is... we all know the risks. Since arriving on the Yorktown, I have seen that every mission has resulted in some terrible consequence, some of which we could never have expected. But knowing that does not make Lt. Fujishiro's loss any less painful," Kylah finishes quietly. She shifts to Velir. "You must be sorrowful as well?" She peers into his eyes, trying to recognize something beyond the warmth she usually finds there. It is ridiculous. Even non-empathic humans can often judge others' emotions from physical cues; it is absurd that she should feel so handicapped.

Collins nods and "presents" the empty chair to Rangin. As he settles himself, she answers Kylah's question. "Yeah," Collins says sadly, "They train us to be prepared for it, but it's never easy. I've already had my meltdown, though, and I've accepted it. I don't think I'm going to say anything at the service though. I'm really terrible at speeches." She smiles wanly, and continues eating her breakfast, while keeping an eye on Kylah, who still seems a bit out of it.

"Y'know," Collins says to Kylah between bites, "You really ought to see Doctor Villa about your exhaustion. Maybe you picked up a virus on Anubis."

Nia doesn't blink at Booker's military word choice. She just exhales and shakes her head. "I knew of her. I may have seen her during Bridge watch. As far as I know, she only joined the Yorktown a couple of months ago--maybe two or three? Too short a time to get to know someone you don't serve with directly..."

She sighs again. "And it's way too damn short a time to get killed. I don't know her record, where else she served, anything. Suppose I'll find out, if I go to the service today. Although I'd rather be with you, or take watch duty so others can attend. I'm not big on formal goodbyes. It's better here than back on Sidonia, but still, not my choice."

Her thoughts have rambled and she slowly traces some pattern on the back of Booker's hand while she looks at him. "What about you? Did you know her? Seems to me she's been in a coma since you got on board, but maybe I've got my dates crossed."

Kylah looks away from Velir and down at the table for a moment. Could this just be a virus of some kind? Is that why her body and mind have failed her so often over the past few days? "Perhaps. I was planning to go up to Sickbay anyway, to see--" The words Mr. Graham die before they are spoken. She cannot possibly reveal this in front of Velir. "To--to see how Dr. T'Var is doing," she improvises. Actually, even as she says it, she realizes that she should see how the doctor is managing. "It must be extremely hard to lose a patient, especially one with whom you worked."

She returns to Collins. "I think you could give a good speech. Your voice is strong and you speak with confidence. And you are striking in appearance. Not that you should do so if you are uncomfortable... Saying goodbye to people is difficult enough. Doing so in public is painful, with all those eyes staring at you. But sometimes it is our duty, whether we want to or not. I remember..."

Again she lets her words fade away. She does not wish to talk about herself, not when Collins and Velir are both mourning a colleague. Instead she looks apologetically back at Velir. "I am sorry, I asked but did not wait for your answer. How are you, Velir?"

Graham shakes his head. "No, I didn't know her." He pauses briefly. "And--I'm glad for your company. And the flower," he adds with a little head gesture. "But don't screw up the whole rest of your normal life just to sit here with me, OK?" He tires to sound confident, but doesn't entirely out it off. "I'm sure I'll be up and around in no time."

Frowning, Nia searches Booker's face. "I can't tell," she says slowly. "Are you trying to tell me to scram in a really polite way, or do you seriously think being with you for a half-hour is screwing up my life? Because if it's the former, I understand you're probably tired and want some alone-time. But if it's the latter..."

She squeezes his hand and strokes it tenderly with her thumb. "I've literally never screwed up my life over a man. Believe me, given my history, that means I've had hundreds of opportunities. So I certainly can't imagine starting now, with a guy who's shown me compassion, honesty, strength, bravery, a sense of humor... and some of the hottest everything-but-sex I've ever had." She lifts his hand, kissing it and eyeing him wickedly while she does. "And we're talking out of hundreds, buddy, so that's no small compliment."

Kylah's communicator shakes slightly. She sees she has a text: Would you like to perform a song during Lt. JG Fujishiro's funeral service? I've heard you're a talented musician, and it would be a nice gesture in honor of our late shipmate. THALEN.

Dr. T'Var enters Graham's room and greets her patient and Onn. She scans Graham's leg and looks at, touches and handles the wound site. He feels a slight tingling, almost a twinge, but no real pain. She says, "You're healing well, Mr. Graham, and you're free to go now, if you wish. Just don't push yourself too hard. I've spoken to Mr. Vargas. You're on desk duty for the next two days - no running, and stay off your feet as much as possible. I've sent an exercise and physical therapy schedule to your comm account for after that. All right? Any questions?"

Rangin is slowly eating breakfast and listening to the murmuring hubbub around, still trying to process the news from the morning and how the people around are reacting. He looks up at Kylah, when she asks her question and slowly puts the cutlery down on the plate.

"I'm...I'm not sure how I feel. Sad, really. She is...was a crewmember I had a healthy respect for even though I only knew her for a short space of time. I still feel wrong for managing to survive the virus, when she didn't, even though hand on heart I know there is nothing I could do about it."

He looks across the table at Collins, "I think you should say something as well, ma'am, you knew her for longer than I did. I'll hopefully be attending the service, but I said my goodbyes a little while ago." Rangin sighs and can feel himself droop slightly. "Actually Kylah, if you are heading to Sickbay to see Dr T'Var, would you mind some company?" Rangin lets out a short, sharp breath, "I need to see Mr Graham briefly."

Collins raises one eyebrow at her breakfast companions. "I didn't know her any better than either of you. We joined the Yorktown at the same time, and went on two missions together, but we never talked." She finishes her coffee and stands to bus her tray. "But I'll try to think of something to say. I'll see you later on."

Collins properly disposes of her tray, and leaves the Mess. She knows she has a little time before her watch starts, so she walks over to one of the hallway comm panels, and presses the round white TALK button. She says, "Collins to Ben Cooper."

All her life Kylah has wanted peace from the barrage of emotions forced on her by whatever deformity exists in her brain. Now she has her wish, and it is terrifyingly lonely. She stares at Velir, paying close attention to every word, every emotion he describes. She should be able to know he is ambivalent, even without infringing on his privacy. But she does not, and when he mentions that he feels guilty for surviving, she gives a little inward gasp of dismay and without thinking lifts her hand, intending to rest it on his wrist.

Usually skin-on-skin enhances, amplifies, and clarifies emotions. All it would do now is... connect. Which would be wonderful in itself, for her, but perhaps not for Velir. Things are so tentative between them.

She slides her hand back down on her lap, just in time for her to react in shock to Velir's revelation of his intent to see Mr. Graham.

His phrasing leaves things open for interpretation. Why 'see Mr. Graham briefly' instead of just visiting? She licks her lips and says, cautiously, "Yes, I would be glad of company. I might... stop in to see Mr. Graham myself." Fortunately, she feels a buzz at her hip. "Oh--my communicator. Excuse me..."

Lifting the device, she reads Thalen's message. It is flattering indeed, but it seems presumptuous of her to get up in front of the crew, some who knew Fujishiro far better than she, and play a solo piece--especially on a foreign instrument. The loss of her zither hits home again, an ache in her stomach at its demise. While she can play other stringed instruments, she does not feel nearly as confident in her skills. Besides, she does not want to be the focus of attention, nor to look as if she seeks it.

Kylah thinks for a moment, not wanting to let Thalen down either. She types back:

Thank you, sir. I would not feel comfortable performing alone, not with a new instrument. If there are other crew members who might join me, I would do my best. At the Academy I learned a few pieces, mostly old Earth composers, and performed with a string quintet. Do you think something like that would be appropriate?

Sending the message, she looks back up to find Collins saying a quick goodbye and leaving. Surprised, Kylah turns to Velir, her face so warm it must be beet red. She murmurs the explanation, "It is nothing. Lt. Thalen asked if I would play something for the service. Velir... I was not certain you would feel comfortable with me addressing this in front of Lt. Collins, but... please do not be guilty for having survived. As you said, Lt. Fujishiro was from a different planet, with different vulnerabilities and immunities. And your injuries were different too. It is terrible that she met this fate, along with so many others on board that station. I am just grateful those wounds did not take you, too."

"Questions?" Graham asks. "Well, maybe 'is this a cruel joke?'" Graham says in reply to T'Var. "Because this is even better news that I expected, and I've noticed you have more of a sense of humor than most Vulcans I've known, Doc."

He smiles and shakes his head. "But I don't think I have any serious questions...just thanks to you and whoever else may have worked on me. I really can't stand being laid up, and it makes me..." He gives Nia's hand a squeeze and glances at her apologetically. "Perhaps, ah, unreasonably...or just stupidly worried that I'm inconveniencing others."

He realizes he didn't let go of Nia's hand when T'Var entered. Now that he's thinking about in retrospect, he wonders if he should have or she was expecting him to.

But don't be an idiot, Booker--if it didn't even occur to you to let go of her hand then, which it didn't, don't second-guess it now. Especially given what she just said to you 30 seconds ago.

"Assuming I have time to hobble off to get something to eat before whatever exciting desk job I've drawn, would you like to come along?" he asks Nia.

Cooper replies, "Good morning, Jeri! Had breakfast yet?"

Kylah soon has a response: Hmm. Let me think about that. We could maybe arrange a duet. THALEN.

Dr. T'Var smiles. "All right, then, Mr. Graham. You should be discharged shortly. Take care, and remember my advice, please." She leaves. A few minutes later, an orderly brings Graham a new uniform, underclothes, socks and boots.

While T'Var is gone, Nia grins at Booker and congratulates him. "You must have superior genes to recover so quickly from a disruptor blast. And I'd love to come with you, as I believe you well know." She's not sure if he'll follow the double entendre-- probably lucky she didn't pun on T'Var's cautioning him against pushing himself hard.

"...But for propriety's sake I'd better step outside while you're dressing and washing or whatever you need to perform your ablutions." She notes T'Var's return and nods at the doctor, and then Booker, before slipping from the room.

While leaning against a wall, she folds her arms over her chest and purses her lips in thought. Is he gonna say anything about what I said to him before, or is he one of those guys who can't stand compliments? Oh well, we'll be able to chat at breakfast. With a quick scowl, Nia belatedly checks her communicator to make sure she has time in her schedule.

The communicator in Kylah's hand buzzes before Velir can respond, and she excuses herself again. A duet is not much better than a solo, but she does not want to push. It is surprising that there are not more musicians. Was there not a concert relatively recently? Perhaps there is simply no one else who was willing. That would explain why he asked me, she realizes, feeling foolish at not having realized she was likely a last-choice option.

Thank you, sir. If you can find another string instrument--a harp, cello, guitar, for example--I can think of some simple but beautiful pieces. A trio would be even better. I learned a piece at the Academy that is adapted for a plucked instrument, cello and violin. Or two flutists would work as well. Their parts are melody and harmony, not anything too difficult to pick up.

I will do my best to fulfill your request, sir, if you truly think this is something that does honor to Lt. Fujishiro and the people who cared about her.

She looks up at Velir. "I am sorry that my messages have interrupted our conversation," she says quietly, although Velir himself has been more reticent than usual. Understandable considering his feelings about--no, what he says are his feelings about Fujishiro. Kylah realizes she cannot necessarily trust her instincts in gauging others' emotions. Oh, please let T'Var be on duty!

"Where are you?" Collins asks Cooper without answering his question. "Where should I meet you? Did you see the message about Fujishiro?"

The Sickbay orderly leaves. Onn is not expected on the Bridge for almost another hour.

A few minutes later, Kylah reads, All right. Lt. JG John Brooks plays the flute, and Spec/3 Orapin Anand the khim, a kind of dulcimer. They're willing to play. Would that suit you? Please get together with them to rehearse, if so, and consider yourself off-duty at least until after the funeral. Many thanks. THALEN.

Cooper says a little embarrassedly, "Sorry, I overslept. Just read about Fujishiro - what a damn shame. I only knew her a little. Um... did you eat yet? I haven't. If you have, how about some coffee?"

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

"Don't worry about it, I'm probably not the greatest conversationalist at the moment. Thank you for your kind words, and yes I understand quite clearly that it's more a matter of biology than anything else that caused what happened. But still, we are all Federation officers and in some ways it just feels wrong that despite being the same in some ways, we are not in others." He looks up at her with a smile slowly making its way across his face. "And yes, I'm glad I survived as well, after all, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to get to know you further."

He pushes the plate away from him, a portion of it still uneaten. "I don't think I will have much of an appetite today...for a variety of reasons." He stops and looks quickly up at Kylah, " err. you're not one of them. That came out wrong, sorry." He shakes his head wondering what else he is going to say or do wrong today, even though he really hasn't, but knowing where he is heading to next.

"If you don't mind, would you mind if we headed off to Sickbay?" he asks politely.

Graham gingerly stands and tests putting pressure on his leg. Then he carefully changes clothes.

He chuckles when Nia's double entendre sinks in--then frowns for a moment when he thinks about the "superior genes" comment in light of the whole Sidonian breeding thing...

Sort of weird thing to say...but don't overthink it, Booker. Heh-at least not on an empty stomach.

He walks, also gingerly, to the door and approaches Nia.

"Ready to, uh--go?" he asks. After a moment he clears his throat. "I haven't really shown you much strength, really," he says at a volume meant only for her to hear. "I mean, swimming is probably my least impressive workout. And I totally blew my chance to challenge that Klingon to settle things the old fashioned way." He briefly raises his hands in a boxing pose.

Kylah agrees that they should head to Sickbay, touched by Velir's comment about meeting her and unable to think of an immediate reply. While they are in the turbolift, she quickly returns a message to Thalen thanking him and saying that it will be her pleasure to join the others. She adds, Can you please tell me where we should rehearse, and where I may find the instrument--I believe it was a Vulcan lute--that I may borrow?

When she and Velir arrive on Deck 7, Kylah feels a little flicker of dread. How will Mr. Graham react if he sees them together? Probably not well, if the past couple of weeks is any indication. "I do not have much time, as Lt. Thalen wishes me to rehearse as soon as possible. May I see Mr. Graham first?"

But they have already reached Sickbay, and her request is no longer an option--because the security officer is right here. Kylah is surprised to see Mr. Graham on his feet, in his uniform, looking rather well. And apparently using his fists to challenge Lt. Onn, though it must not be serious as the older woman does not seem to mind.

She instinctively moves apart from Velir...and then regrets it. The gesture was meant to protect Velir from any of Mr. Graham's accusations, but Velir could easily be insulted by her avoiding him. Unsure what to do, she stands, frozen in place.

Nia can't suppress her pleasure at seeing Booker looking so well, and she beams a smile toward him while ignoring his mock menacing posture. She clucks her tongue and brushes his sleeves free of wrinkles, then adjusts his collar. Clearly he didn't look in a mirror while dressing.

"There's all different kinds of strength," she says lightly, raising an eyebrow. "And you're more than welcome to hop down to the Brig and settle things with that so-called captain man-to-man. Or man-to-beast, as the case may be..."

Her peripheral vision catches sight of new arrivals in the Sickbay, and she naturally turns toward them. When she recognizes the pair, her smile remains intact but her mood switches to wariness. Oh crap. Them, really? Unbelievable. Doesn't this girl have the sense she was presumably born with?

She quickly murmurs under her breath, "Remember, Book, you just got discharged from this place. Don't go crazy and end up re-admitted for a spiked blood pressure. Or broken knuckles," she adds dryly with a glance at his fists.

Off to the one side, Rangin can almost feel Kylah start to peel off and stop as they see Graham and a slightly more than affectionate Lt. Onn in the front if Sickbay. With little time that he wants to actually spend here, he walks up to the pair and crosses his arms in front if him.

"Ma'am." Rangin nods politely to Lt. Onn recognising her seniority before turning to look squarely at Graham. "Mr. Graham, it was suggested that as a friend of yours I should visit to see how you were doing." Rangin keeps his tone even, as he's not sure why he's here. "It's good to see you have recovered, hopefully with no lasting effects?"

Waiting to see how Graham reacts, Rangin stays slightly out of the way just in case Graham decides to take a swing at him.

Graham feels just a little wobbly on his feet, but not enough to need a cane or crutch. His wound aches slightly.

Thalen replies to Kylah, I'll have the Vulcan lute delivered to your quarters shortly. You don't need to be there to receive it.

Dr. T'Var enters the room and, sensing the tension, raises an eyebrow. "Welcome, Mr. Rangin, Mr. Kylah," she says.

Graham's frozen in place for a moment, raising an eyebrow at Nia and glsncing briefly at Dr. T'Var. He turns toward Rangin. "As a friend...of mine?" He almost suggests that maybe Rangin ought to have himself checked out in Sickbay.

He can't even imagine what kind of game Rangin might be playing. He lowers his hands, then replies with...what would he call it? "Flat politeness?"

"There doesn't seem to be any permanent damage." After a brief pause he adds "thanks."

He glances again at Nia, then turns toward Kylah. "Mr. Kylah," he says, now in a normal conversational tone--in point of fact, with some authentic concern. "From your message, it seemed you might not have been feeling well yesterday--how are you doing?"

Kylah has been looking from Velir to Mr. Graham and back again, as if she were the one in threat of physical harm. Velir's words are almost devoid of inflection, as are Mr. Graham's. They could almost be participants in some religious rite--one spoken so often it is now rote.

Who suggested this? Who believes they are friends? She does not understand any of this.

She realizes Mr. Graham has addressed her. "Thank you, sir, I am better," she says, the use of the title automatic to her by now. "I was... I had not slept during the mission for a long time, and for some reason I have been more tired than usual. It is nothing compared to you. I am so relieved to see you like this." A smile flickers, genuinely felt, but she is terribly conscious of Velir's presence and does not wish to seem too... friendly? Pleased that he has not been permanently harmed? Why should she censor herself, when these are thoroughly natural sentiments from one colleague to another?

But she does not continue. Guiltily, she needs to find somewhere neutral, and so she turns to T'Var. "Doctor," she begins, stepping awkwardly up to the older woman. "May I see you tomorrow, at some point? I am in need of..." She bites her lip for a second and continues, "A checkup. Just to make sure my tiredness is simply to be expected after having disrupted my sleep pattern for so long. I would make it today but, with the service and all, I would rather wait. It is not an emergency."

Kylah's voice lowers. "Most of all, I am very sorry about Lt. Fujishiro. I... I hope you are all right."

Nia leans back, relaxing when it's clear this isn't going to be a boxing match. She tries to engage Kylah with an amused smile at the absurd dance the two men are engaging in, but the girl seems unable to notice anything but the potential combatants.

Booker's response almost gets a laugh from her. Boy, was I right. He can't sell insincerity, bless his heart.

Dr. T'Var says, "I greatly regret Mr. Fujishiro's death but otherwise am fine, thank you, Ensign." She thinks a moment. "You are welcome to come by after the service, if you wish; I would not wish you to have another unrestful night, if that is the problem. Otherwise, I will expect you tomorrow at... shall we say 0830?"

Kylah is about to explain that she is not worried about too little sleep, rather too much--but she does not want to elaborate in front of the others. "Yes, thank you, doctor. I had better go." When she turns, she notes Lt. Onn's apparent amusement at all this, which makes Kylah frown automatically in mute disapproval. She just bids the ranking officer a good morning, looks at Velir wondering if he will be leaving as well, and finally aims her gaze at Mr. Graham. A second or two passes as she decides whether a quick exit is best. But no. She does not want Velir to be angry with her, but neither does she want to be afraid to show concern for someone who has looked out for her in the past.

She steps nearer to the security officer. "Mr. Graham. Again I apologize for not seeing you earlier. It is wonderful that you have healed so quickly. Please take care to rest, sir." After a slight hesitation, she tentatively holds out her hand.

Rangin wonders if he should make a comment about the apparent ease with which Mr Graham has recovered at the hands of the Medical team as compared to Fujishiro. Regardless, he moves slightly to one side as Kylah holds out her hand to Graham, giving her a little room.

But then, Rangin realises, he's not the one with the problem, It's Graham who can't get over what ever Graham's problem is. And no doubt if Graham decided to start anything again, Vargas and Roble would probably tear strips off him worse than the Klingon disruptor could and Rangin had more important things to do.

"Agreed, good to see you up and around again," Rangin nods towards Graham and then shrugs, turning and moving towards Dr T'Var.

"Ma'am, I still feel I should apologise to you..." Rangin relaxes, talking almost conversationally to someone who is far less likely to be an idiot, "...for my conduct towards you on the shuttle back from Sakath station. It was wrong."

"Thank you, Ensign," T'Var replies. "It seems a long time ago, but I appreciate your saying that. Please do not trouble yourself about it further."

Graham still can't figure out what kind of act Rangin was intending to perform, but Rangin appears to have fulfilled whatever purpose he had in offering his condolences.

But whatever--he's relieved to see Kylah voluntarily asking T'Var for help with whatever it is that's putting her off.

He smiles slightly and takes her hand, first as a handshake but then adding his other hand to give hers a gently squeeze. "There's no need to apologize. And--while we're sort of on the subject of being able to deal with Klingons--or anything or anyone else that poses a threat..."--he forces himself to stay looking at Kylah, however much his instincts tempt him to glance at Ragin--"I won't let the leg keep us from our date in the gym."

He starts to let go of her hand, then adds, hastily, remembering that however human Kylah looks, their previous interactions have driven home the point that he shouldn't take for granted she's familiar with any number of things someone leading a quote-unquote "normal life" might be. "Uh--appointment, I mean. Figure of speech." He nods, trying to end on an encouraging note. "As soon as the Doc says we're both up to it, make sure to bring your knives."

Kylah's hand is comfortably warm between Mr. Graham's, and his clarification regarding the 'date' almost makes her smile. Until he mentions the knives. She also hears Velir's words to T'Var, and purses her lips but does not otherwise react.

"I had forgotten your offer. Thank you. But I do not have my knives any longer. I lost the first on the Sakathian mission, and the second--the second was one of the things stolen from me on Anubis." She focuses on their clasped hands rather than meet his gaze. "I do not like being without them. They are...were...the only weapon skill I had. I am a poor shot with a phaser. And in hand-to-hand combat, I am useless. There is no danger on board the ship, but at some point I may be able to go on a mission again. Or even on shore leave..."

With one brief shake of her head, she stops and slips her hand free. "Anyway, it can wait until you are fully recovered. Thank you, sir. Good day, Ma'am," she adds respectfully to Lt. Onn, then backs away to the exit, looking at Velir.

"Yes," Collins tells Cooper "I've eaten, but I will sit with you. Which Mess?"

Cooper asks, "How about Mess Hall 2? The eggs taste better there, somehow."

Kylah's communicator shakes again. Brooks and Anand will meet you in Rec Room 4 at 1000 to rehearse, if that suits you. I've reserved it so you'll have some privacy and quiet. THALEN.

"I'll be right there," Collins says, and heads off to meet Cooper.

Rangin nods to Dr. T'Var. "Thank you ma'am. I hope the circumstances never arise again." He turns back towards the rest of the group and notices Kylah's communicator going again. He shakes his head in amusement, it seemed the Comms. Officer is being just that: always in communication.

Rangin nods briefly to Lt. Onn. "Ma'am," before turning and heading for the exit next to Kylah. Noticing her watching him, he stops and waits to see if she is going to ask him anything.

Kylah quickly thanks Thalen and looks back up at Velir. "I will not be on duty today," she says, preceding him out of the Sickbay. Her quarters are on this deck, so she does not need to use the turbolift, but she accompanies Velir nonetheless. "I have to rehearse--I really am performing at the service this afternoon. Lt. Thalen has been very... persuasive... and has arranged everything." She clutches her communicator almost prayerfully. "I am nervous. No one knows me, or has heard me play. And it is a new instrument. I hope I do not let him down. Or Lt. Fujishiro," she adds in a murmur.

She shakes her head as they reach the turbolift, and stares up at Velir. "Is your watch on the Bridge? Or are you working with that experiment again?"

Graham sighs, watching Kylah walk away, then turns to Nia.

"I guess a Starfleet ship wouldn't have replacement Elasian knives lying around," he says quietly and ruefully. "I didn't mean to step in it there and, ah...re-open old wounds. Or maybe new wounds." He shakes his head. "Well...I guess I've still got work on tact for your list of stuff I come through on. But..." he perks up a bit. "Breakfast, still?"

Nodding, Nia holds back the impulse to slip her arm through the crook of Booker's. Wouldn't it be nice to be a normal couple, walking to some restaurant, or perhaps a garden for a picnic? But they're not, they're both Starfleet officers on their ship and she's a superior officer, to boot. Public displays of affection must be restricted to shore leaves... and even then it's not the best idea. Nia's not one for hiding her feelings or bowing to conventions, but this one she has to adhere to.

Which, frankly, sucks.

She clasps her hands behind her back and walks with Booker, relatively slowly, into the corridor. "As far as tact, you did fine. I know you're fond of the girl, and I'm not saying anything against her, but if you try to watch your step and tiptoe around everything that gets Kylah all 'het up,' to quote a friend of mine, you're gonna have some very callused toes. And I like your feet the way they are," she adds in a playful murmur.

"Now. Do you have a big appetite, or has Sickbay's exquisite menu spoiled you for our humble Mess?"

Collins arrives at Mess 2 and looks around for Cooper.

Cooper is there and waves at Collins; he has a table for two already. A tray with scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and coffee - two mugs - rests before him.

Graham glances sideways at Nia as they walk and talk, and smiles slightly. "Mess will do fine. Race you."

Just in case she's tempted to take him literally and take off, he clears his throat and adds, "Well, no."

Collins sits next to Cooper and whispers "I wish I could hug you and hold you right now, but I'll settle for an under-the-table hand squeeze" She holds her hand towards him and waits for him to take it.

"My watch is on the Bridge for today, though it will be short due to the service this afternoon. Tomorrow, I believe I will be starting work again on the prototype." Rangin turns and faces Kylah. "When it comes to the service you will do fine, I'm sure that you will do everyone proud with your ability, even if it is not on..." the words fade away as Rangin tries not to fill in that she would normally be playing her zither, which was now little more than rubble and dust.

The turbolift door opens and Rangin steps in. "Kylah, from what I've seen of your recitals, you will be fine. I'll see you later." He lets the door close behind him and calls for the bridge.

Kylah watches the turbolift door close behind Velir. She cannot tell what he is feeling--and not just because she lacks her empathic ability. He seemed so formal, so remote. He spoke to her like a polite stranger. It could very well be that he is grieving for Fujishiro, but... he did not seem to know his fellow science officer that well. Did I say something wrong? What could I have done to offend him? He did not even wish me good luck. Just "you will be fine." Again, the words of a stranger.

She starts down the corridor, goosebumps up and down her arms as if chilly. All Kylah has now is the external signs of people's emotions, and they are so difficult to read, so shallow. Velir's feelings are even harder to discern than most; he is so careful and cautious. Well-mannered, usually, even when angry. A culture of masks, she thinks, shaking her head and sighing.

Once she turns a corner, she stops. She has the strangest sense of deja vu. Kylah was almost expecting someone to be standing at the other end of the corridor, outside her door. Some memory? Confused, she starts forward, mulling over Velir's words. And then she frowns. "...From what I've seen of your recitals..."

Kylah has not performed in public--outside of Elas--since the Academy. Velir has never said he'd attended one of her student concerts while their years overlapped. Why would he not have told her before? She does not understand, and the discrepancy bothers her.

Still mulling this over, she reaches her door, presses the hand panel, and enters. But before she takes a step inside, she gets a sudden choking sensation, intense fear rising and suffocating her, as if knowing a predator is nearby. Whirling around, Kylah stares wildly down the corridor in both directions, breathing heavily.

No one is there.

She backs up and slams her hand to close and lock the door. The deja vu is stronger now, and she looks around, still backing up while wrapping her arms around her. The quarters are empty, of course. The only change from earlier this morning is a medium-sized instrument, the Vulcan lute Thalen promised her, lying on her bed. She walks up to it slowly, taking deeper, longer breaths to calm down, and brushes a finger along the lute's strings. Each note resonates deeply within her, calming her as music usually does.

Whatever just happened to cause such a panic, Kylah cannot dwell on it. There is no time: she must get reacquainted with this type of instrument, which is fairly similar to the various mandolins, lutes and guitars she learned during her music studies. Seating herself on the bed, she takes up the lute and tries to remember the right finger placements to produce the chords and melodies she usually uses to warm up. After she feels comfortable, she looks at her clock and realizes it is nearly time for the rehearsal.

Cursing at herself for having forgotten the most important part--the music--Kylah moves to her terminal and performs a search for the piece she has in mind. She takes care to transpose the parts into the appropriate voicing to match each of the three instruments that will be performing later, then sets up the program that will turn these files into printable copies--and then transfers it to her tricorder. Once she gets to the rehearsal space, which fortunately has a replicator, she will access the program again and use the replicator to produce the required sheet music.

Finished at last. Kylah grabs the lute and rushes to Rec Room 4.

Cooper takes Collins's hand with a smile and gives it a warm squeeze, then holds out a mug to her. "Want some, or am I gonna be drinking both of these?"

Onn and Graham arrive and see Cooper and Collins there; Mess Hall 2 is otherwise beginning to empty out for the morning.

Rangin finds Roble already at Science I on the Bridge, and sits down at the Science II station instead. Roble nods welcomingly to him. Capt. Singh is in the big chair and chatting quietly with Dr. Villa. The stars stream past on the main viewscreen.

In Rec Room 4, Kylah is soon joined by Command Lt. JG John Brooks, a friendly-faced young navigator with his silver flute already in hand, and Medical Spec/3 Orapin Anand, an older Thai woman who carefully takes her khim out of its case. "What would you like us to play, Ensign?" Brooks asks Kylah. "Mr. Thalen suggested we follow your lead."

After noting the presence of Collins and Cooper, Nia takes a deep breath and accompanies Booker to the replicator. "We can get real food if you want. For me, I'm running out of time before my watch, so replicated mush is on the menu." She orders a citrus and carrot juice shake, beaten with egg custard for protein and topped with wheat germ. Then she eyes Booker. "Here," she says, leaning over for a tray. "If you do get something, I'll carry it. Now, do you want to sit alone, or have a nice awkward foursome with Collins and Cooper?"

Hugging the lute to her, Kylah greets Brooks and Anand respectfully before moving to the replicator. She lifts her tricorder and sets it up to sync with the replicator, so she can transfer data between them. While concentrating on the commands, she says distractedly, "I wish to perform a work from several centuries ago. It is by a composer from--"

Kylah catches herself barely in time. She has forgotten herself; these two are not her family's royal musicians, to be ordered around as her own personal accompanists. Swallowing, Kylah starts again. "I mean... I thought, if you both find it suitable, we might play a piece from your planet--that is, Lt. Fujishiro's planet: the Pavane by Gabriel Fauré, the French composer? It is not very long, only five or six minutes, though that depends on the tempo... I think it is beautiful and... not quite sad, but pensive. What do you think, will that be all right?"

She looks back at the others hopefully, then adds in a rush, "I know it is normally a work for a small orchestra, but there are several other arrangements for smaller ensembles. I customized one for us, using your instruments' range and style of performance. The flute has the melody, the klim will play the harmony and some of the melody as well--it is usually for woodwinds such as clarinets and oboes. And the lute will take the pizzicato usually performed by the string section."

Oh be still, let them talk, she thinks to herself as she returns to focus on transferring the data, which is soon accomplished. If she has been successful, the replicator should produce several pages of sheet music for Anand; then she will do the same for Brooks, and finally for herself.

Collins smile a little. "When have I ever said 'no' to coffee?" She takes the mug and drinks. "Will you be at the service this afternoon? I've been told I should say something, but I didn't know her that well. We came aboard on the same shuttle, and worked two missions together, but I never had a conversation with her. I wouldn't know what to say."

Brooks nods. "I like the Pavane very much, although I don't think I've ever played it. It's certainly suitable for a funeral, though." Anand says, "I don't know it, but I'm sure I can pick it up." You three begin to rehearse, and it goes well. They are both talented musicians, too.

Cooper tucks into his breakfast. "Yes, I'll be there. I'm always sorry to lose a crewmate, and I think it's important to mark the occasion, sad as it is. As for what you should say - well, you know, just speak from the heart. Think of something about her that you liked, or that you think others might not know about her, and talk about that."

Rangin notices that the Yorktown and the Naradraen are both on a slightly different course than when he went off-duty yesterday.

Graham orders scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon, then glances a bit sheepishly at Nia as he doubles his order and adds fried potatoes to it.

"Uh, must be the healing...really hungry all of a sudden." He glances toward Collins and Cooper then gestures toward an empty table.

"If we sit alone you can tell me more about how great I am." After a moment, he smacked his forehead. "And--shit--I left the flower in Sick Bay...I'll hustle--er, hobble--down there before I go on duty to get it."

He reaches for his tray. "Ah--OK, you can carry it if you want to, I won't put up an argument. But it's really OK. Strength, remember?" he adds, puffing out his chest.

Nia curses inwardly. "I'm sorry, Book. I should've remembered the flower. It's something I value, I promise." Her voice softens a bit as she smiles. "Guess I was preoccupied with something I value even more."

She places her shake on the tray and eases it from his grasp. "As for strength, you might want to save that strength for more, uh, interesting endeavors. Plus, I'll have the flower taken to my quarters. You don't have to hobble anywhere."

She parks the tray on a nearby table and, not making a big deal of it, 'accidentally' kicks the chair meant for Booker backwards, so he'll find it easier to sit. Then she sits and pushes the wealth of food in front of Booker.

"Dig in." Still smiling, she lifts her drink and takes a large swallow, finishing half the shake in one go. Then she sets it down and, leaning her elbows on the table, examines Booker. "Now, about how great you are..."

Graham and Onn, and Collins and Cooper, have pleasant meals together. Rehearsal goes well for Kylah and her trio. Rangin stands an uneventful watch on the Bridge.

Time passes, and before you know it, it is ten minutes to Fujishiro's funeral.

With the watch nearly over, Rangin asks permission from the Bridge to leave so he can go and prepare for Fujishiro's funeral. He is in no doubt that Roble will be doing likewise.

While walking to the service, Nia ponders what it will be like. They are never easy, but there's something worse about this loss. Fujishiro effectively died on the Sakathian station, a victim of a particularly brutal and unpredictable enemy; she's been lying in state for several weeks. Not for the first time, Nia wonders if whoever was responsible for that pernicious lab experiment will see justice.

At least Fujishiro's family had time to receive the message that she was comatose and not expected to live. This will be heartbreaking but, hopefully, they've had time to start the grieving process.

Nia can't remember the last time someone wasn't just killed outright--or as good as--with the funeral held soon after. Normally the events occur far too soon for the family to learn the news.

It could've so easily been Booker. Nia inhales sharply at the thought and unconsciously puts a hand over her stomach, as if holding her emotions in. I would have had to tell his family... his daughter, and... his sister, he said he had just one, didn't he? A strange sensation of anxiety flutters through her. She doesn't know enough about Booker to know whom she'd have to speak to if her thickheaded actions caused his death. Of course it'll be in his personnel file, but it's not the same thing.

Nia darts her gaze around, trying to find Booker. She wants very much to sit beside him, if he doesn't mind.

Collins waits outside the chapel for Cooper so that they can sit together. As she waits, people arrive and exchange condolences with her before going in.

With a polite smile Kylah acknowledges her fellow musicians and how well they sound together. They are easily as accomplished as she is, particularly due to her unfamiliarity with the lute.

At first she feared she would never get used to it, despite her earlier practice. Starting out, she made several elementary mistakes in fingering because of the Vulcan Lute's string arrangement--twelve, versus thirty-five in an Elasian zither--not to mention its use of a different clef.

Fortunately, she soon found herself able to adjust, allowing her to stop apologizing for requiring a slower tempo early on. As the others rise, she takes a few moments to close her eyes and run through scales by touch and spatial memory alone. Of course, the tips of her fingers are raw and sore; it has been a while since she plucked or pressed down on metal strings such as are on the lute, and she lacks the calluses most experienced players of such an instrument develop on their hands.

I am glad this is such a brief piece, she thinks, gingerly picking up the sheet music after closing the lute safely in its case.

The truth is, despite the sadness of the occasion, and her own concerns about her heatlh, Kylah feels good, and proud that she agreed to participate despite her desire to hide. It is proper to give honor to a comrade in arms, and if the music can allow people to show their grief however they see fit or reflect on their memories, Kylah knows she, Brooks and Anand will have done their job.

Nervous, but pleasantly so, Kylah hurries to get washed and restyle her hair before the service. The Elasian mourning rituals demand hair that is loose, without adornment; none of the usual elaborate braiding or jewels used for ceremonies or public events.

Make-up is allowed--only family members in mourning are prohibited from such vanities during a service--and so Kylah makes the most of what she can. Her eyes are still glassy and reddish, so she brightens the lids with light sliver powder, almost invisible except for the shimmer when she turns near a light source, and darkens/lengthens her eyelashes as well. Pale cheeks get a slight dusting of color, nothing garish, just to give the impression that there is blood beneath them instead of the ghostly white pallor she has had for the past few weeks. Finally, her lips are naturally a pinkish-red but she darkens them to a more muted, maroon shade.

Then she is off, hurrying to the service while praying that their performance will please Lt. Thalen, the Captain, and all Fujishiro's friends.

Graham debates skipping the funeral in order to actually write the letter to his daughter he started--or at least thought about starting--while in Sickbay.

But this is kind of a big deal, he thinks. Especially for Collins, who was in command of the mission... No cause to be an asshole and not show up.

As he limps to the funeral, he's happy about Nia's ebullience singing his praises earlier. At the same time, as they seem to have gotten closer, in a way that's been natural and comfortable, it brings him closer and closer to a stark reality:

I've failed every woman I've ever loved...

And the final unsaid word: "Nia."

You need to know that...

But not today, for god's sake, Booker.

He talks himself down just as he finds a seat--in the back, since he didn't know the deceased at all--and Nia enters the room.

He waves, trying to attract her attention.

When Nia notices Booker's unobtrusive wave, which makes her eyes light up with more pleasure than one should have at a somber occasion, she turns enough so that she belatedly notices Collins standing at the chapel door. I must have passed her right by, she thinks in concern. Moving over to Collins, Nia nods at the younger officer, empathizing with what she must be going through. "Jeremi," she says quietly. "How are you doing?"

Roble and Rangin leave the Yorktown's Bridge together. The Captain departed with Dr. Villa about half an hour ago, leaving Lt. Bennett in command.

The Ship's Auditorium is filling up. Everyone looks somber; a few are crying. A thin, golden Celtic cross, one of several dozen religious symbols reflecting the diversity of religious faiths among the crew and kept in storage for such occasions, is centered on the bulkhead above the podium.

Cooper is approaching through the crowd in the corridor as Onn speaks to Collins.

"A little numb, thanks," Collins nods to Onn "Everyone expects me to speak, and I haven't a clue what to say. Help?" she asks the older woman quietly.

Out the corner of her eye she sees Cooper approaching and holds her hand out to him without moving her current focus from the Sidonian in front of her.

Cooper steps up and takes her hand. He smiles at Onn. "Lieutenant," he says with a small, polite nod.

"Ensign," Nia replies smoothly before returning to Collins. "I know this is hard. Just remember, the reason you're expected to speak--and I doubt that expectation is universal, but I understand if you've been asked--is that you led her last mission. So if you can, focus on that. What do you remember about her performance? What did she do? I don't remember the landing party being very big, so she must have stood out to some degree. What about the previous mission the two of you shared, I think it was the first one since both of you joined the Yorktown?"

Nia lifts a shoulder in a sort of sympathetic shrug. "Do your best, keep it brief, and let her friends give the longer speeches. Unfortunately this is a duty that all mission leaders dread, but most can't avoid. I'm genuinely sorry you have to handle this so soon. Actually... you might want to talk to Captain Singh. She'll be receptive and helpful, I'm sure of that. She's had to give far too many of these eulogies herself, I'd imagine. By which I mean, at least one."

With a light pat on Collins's elbow, Nia adds that she hopes this was helpful, though probably it wasn't. Then she excuses herself to join Booker, offering a word or two to anyone she knows on the way.

"I'm glad you came," she murmurs, sitting beside him and surreptitiously touching his hand under the guise of adjusting her skirt. "I know you didn't have to, considering your recovery and the fact you didn't know her. But being together means something. I'd like to think others'd do the same for me when it's my turn."

After making sure that there are three chairs and music stands placed near the raised platform, Kylah sits beside Anand and Brooks. She murmurs to the others that the preparations have been taken care of, and once it is time, each can easily move their chair and stand into place.

Despite the grim occasion, she cannot help but feel honored to take part, and even a new sense of companionship with the other musicians. She has forgotten what a pleasure it is to perform as one of a group.

Nagging in the back of her mind is the thought that she should be able to sense the crowd seated throughout the auditorium. While glad she does not feel overwhelmed by their mixed emotions, she is still disconcerted by the emptiness.

Kylah takes a quick look at the crew gathered thus far. She spies Mr. Graham and Lt. Onn--why are they so often together, lately?--and then sees Collins over by the door with Ens. Cooper. They have never seen me play, she thinks suddenly, and a little ripple of pride runs through her.

It seems petty, considering the circumstances, but she is very glad to have the opportunity to do something well, possibly even impress some of the crew. After being nothing but an anchor and a damsel in distress, Kylah is very grateful for the chance to display some skill and, more important, perform a service for a fallen comrade. Collins and Graham will probably be surprised that she can actually do something without needing assistance.

And Velir... She glances back but does not see him. Of course, he could be blocked by the other crew members--he is not very tall, and Kylah herself cannot see over some of the crew's heads. Kylah turns back to look at the podium, disappointed but knowing he will be here. His last words to her still seem odd. He said he saw her recitals, but that must be a falsehood, or he would have mentioned it before. Why make such an empty platitude? That is not like him.

She pushes the thoughts away and looks down to make sure her lute case is safely resting against the seat. Mentally she plays the piece, her fingers unconsciously going through the motions by pressing down on her knees. It will be a beautiful addition to the ceremony, she vows.

"I'm glad you're here," Collins tells Cooper. "Let's go sit." She searches the chapel for two adjacent seats near the back, and when she sees them she'll head there, pulling Cooper along, since she has yet to let go of his hand. They'll expect me to say something. All I can do is say she was brave. Maybe if I sit quietly, they'll skip over me.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the morbid one," Graham says, giving Nia a little nudge with his elbow.

"I figured I ought to show the flag for Collins." he adds. "I get the sense the whole shitsh--ah, that mission--really shook her up."

The Auditorium is now almost full. Rangin finds a seat inside; Roble remains in the corridor.

Collins notices the Captain, Chief Engineer and other senior staff sitting together in the front row.

The First Officer steps up to the podium and looks out over the crowd. Onn overhears someone whisper, "Fujishiro was a Christian, and so is Vargas - a Catholic, I think. The Captain isn't. Even though they weren't of the same denomination, it's his prerogative under Starfleet regs to lead the service."

"Ship's company, atten-shun!" Vargas says crisply. Everyone stands. Eight Science personnel acting as pallbearers, including Roble, carry in a dark, glossy, rounded photon torpedo casing draped in the dark-blue Federation flag. They carefully set it down on a low platform directly in front of the podium, and step back as one.

Vargas says, "Please be seated." Everyone does, including the pallbearers. "We meet today to pay our last respects to a capable and respected crewmate, Lt. JG Fujishiro Tomoe Iota, Assistant Science Officer and Physics Officer, fallen in the line of duty. She was a fine officer, and died having given the last full measure of devotion to the Federation, to Starfleet, and to this ship. As she requested, the funeral service is drawn from the prayerbook of the Reformed Christian Church of Asia. Mr. Park."

He steps aside, and Lt. JG Geoffrey Park comes to the podium. The young Korean botanist says, “Let us pray. We brought nothing into this universe, and it is certain we carry nothing out of it but our souls. The Lord giveth life, and the Lord taketh it away; blessed be the Name of the Lord our God, Creator of the Universe. Amen.”

"Amen," say many in the crowd, having bowed their heads.

Reflexively, Collins crosses herself. She wasn't raised very religiously, but her family did attend mass on Christmas and Easter. The movement of her right hand across her face and sternum is automatic.

Rangin remains quietly in the middle of the congregation, only a few odd looks passing his way as most concentrate on the funeral in front of them. He can see Kylah and the other musicians off to one side, but his nod to her probably escapes her notice, and she probably wouldn't recognise him anyway.

It feels strange wearing his nhorel, looking through the mask at this people around, almost cutting himself off from them even though he could see and hear clearly what is going on. He shouldn't, perhaps even be wearing it, Fujishiro was only a colleague for a short time. But after the escape from Sakath and the differing paths that had followed, he still considers some responsibility as to what happened. This is the final way to pay his respects to her, something he wouldn't normally do unless it is for certain religious ceremonies...but for him, this counts.

He hears the words from Lt. JG Park, and from his studies at the Academy recognises some of the words as Earth religion rather than the mild profanity that often escaped lips in times of stress or surprise. Under his own mask, and silently from the crowd, he begins his own recitation helped by the fact that no-one will be able to notice.

Rangin didn't often practice religion, nor did most Coridanites, mainly to some of the minor deities to ensure their dealings were fruitful. But the major gods were still respected in times of birth, marriage and death. And for a race that had so few people, when there should have been many, Death is the reluctant Herald, forced to take those worn out by life and seeing that fewer and fewer remain. Fujishiro may be guided by her own, but the Herald may guide her coming to the place beyond.

Graham forces himself not to shift impatiently while all the religious mumbo-jumbo goes on.

His eyes shift toward Nia, wondering if she is going to "participate" in the...whatever the recitations and gestures are.

Of course why would she follow an Earth-origin religion, if she does at all, you idiot?

It's not that he begrudges anybody the right to their believes...

...but what a fucking waste of time.

Park yields the podium to Engineering Ens. James "Jim" Delaney, who says, "I came aboard the Yorktown at the same time as Iota. She was a good friend and a great officer. One of our common bonds was our love of the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. This was a favorite passage of hers from The Return of the King, and appropriate to the occasion, I think:

'...Then Frodo kissed Merry and Pippin, and last of all Sam, and went aboard; and the sails were drawn up, and the wind blew, and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth; and the light of the glass of Galadriel that Frodo bore glimmered and was lost. And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.'"

By the end Delaney is clearly moved. He returns to his seat.

Engineering Lt. JG Nilo Coimbra then rises and leads the 18-strong Lyceum Chorus in the old hymn "Eternal Father, Strong to Save," also known as the Navy Hymn. (There are paper programs on every seat with the words for those who also wish to sing). The hymn includes, at the end, the customary 1948 Heinlein verse:

"Almighty ruler of the all
Whose power extends to great and small,
Who guides the stars with steadfast law,
Whose least creation fills with awe -
O grant Thy mercy and Thy grace
To those who venture into space...."

Security Crewman Alexandra Harper next takes the podium. She says, "A reading from the 23rd Psalm. ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.’ Amen.”

Kylah sees that she and her trio are up next.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQOzUqdOVDU
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eterna...Strong_to_Save

The prayers and music send Nia into a reflective place, which is inevitable during a funeral for a shipmate--or anyone, for that matter--and she sits, her head slightly tilted, watching Vargas, Delaney and the others pay respect to Fujishiro.

It strikes her, when Delaney speaks, that there is very little personal about the young woman. Perhaps not surprising; she was pretty new to the ship, and apparently there are no classmates from the Academy who knew her well. While the readings and prayers and poetry and music are nice, it isn't what Nia would want for someone she cares about, much less herself.

She'd want to be remembered as she was, alive, rather than as a source for others to offer up prayers for. Let A.J. talk about her multitudinous and eclectic choice of bed-mates. Have the Engineering guys reminisce about what a pain-in-the-ass she was when using one of the shuttles as a test bed for some new invention. She'd be happy--in fact, kinda proud--to think of Vargas bitching about that prank that nearly got her thrown off the ship.

Nia almost looks at Booker when she considers what, if anything, he would say about her. Hopefully there'll be time to give him some good material, she thinks, barely suppressing a mordant smile.

The prayers are meaningful because they seem to have mattered to Fujishiro. Nia doesn't bother praying to her tribe's deities, since first, she's not entirely sold on their existence--but hedges her bets and allows for the possibility, because why not?--and second, if Sid'Os and Seht'Dar and the rest exist, they don't trouble themselves with the lives of those not on Sidonia.

Sidonians have no universe-creation tale; Sid'Os and her begotten children are strictly local. It would be like appealing to Captain Singh to assist in some matter on a non-Federation ship hundreds of light years away.

So she just listens and mulls over the fragility of life--and the importance of bonding with others, to make this fragile life all the sweeter.

A surge of adrenaline floods Kylah at the realization that their group is to play next. Surreptitiously she slips the program from her lap to the gap between her chair and the one to her left, then wipes her moist hands on her skirt.

The thought strikes her that with her zither, there would be no need to do this. Moisture is--was--an integral part of how one played the instrument.

Pushing the thought aside, she glances at Brooks and Anand to see whether they are aware of the order, then looks forward to hear the chorus. Almost all music carries emotional weight, all the more under these circumstances, although yet again her lack of empathic abilities flatten the experience for her.

She has always enjoyed music multidimensionally, from listening to the notes, to watching the performers, to experiencing whatever feelings are evoked by the composition, and finally--what is missing now--to sensing the swell of emotions of those both on stage and in the audience.

Still. She is grateful to avoid the sorrow that others must be feeling now. Her own pensive grief for a lost colleague is enough. Kylah cannot help remember those horrible moments in the shuttle, when both she and Velir were aghast at Dr. T'Var's passivity. Perhaps nothing could have saved Fujishiro, but a small part of Kylah will always resent the possibility that that some, any effort, might have slowed the disease's progression. Perhaps if Waite had stayed on board, his knowledge of the experiment could have helped.

It is all too late now. No doubt T'Var has her regrets... hidden though they might be behind that Vulcan logic.

She lets the music waft over her and closes her eyes. Her brother, as with all those chosen as Dohlman, is the unofficial representative of the Creator on Elas. Once Tellun was selected to succeed Elaan, thereby making Uncle Aldaan Tel's Regent, Kylah knew certainly that the Creator must be false. Or evil.

So she does not pray to him. Instead she once again goes through the piece she, Brooks and Anand are about to play, her fingers not visibly moving this time, but the tiny, imperceptible pulse of her commands still rehearse her part on her knees.

Only when the chorus is finished does she open her eyes, take a deep breath, and prepare to reach for the lute once the trio is introduced.

Collins sits quietly, still grasping Cooper's hand. She is moved by the service so far, but feels no compelling reason to stand and speak. She cannot add anything to what has already been said, and doesn't want to appear as though she needs the attention. She is content to sit and commiserate internally.

Vargas nods to Kylah and the other two musicians.

Collins sees in the program that, after the trio plays, two other crewmates will offer reminiscences of Fujishiro, and then anyone else may.

Kylah takes the lute and, with her new partners, heads up to the platform. Once the chairs and stands are set up, she places the sheet music on her stand, the paper trembling slightly in her hands. When she finally looks at the assembled crew, she cannot help scanning the crowd, though all the faces seem a blur, which is normal for her during a concert.

Then, like a magnet, one deformed, unnaturally massive face draws her gaze. Her heart leaps in shock and she inhales sharply at the sight.

A few seconds later, she realizes: of course, it must be Velir. She has never seen his traditional, ceremonial mask before. Embarrassed for having been taken aback by someone else's culture, she drags her attention back to the music. Kylah then eyes Brooks and Anand, the three bound in their mutual silence, focus and wish to share the solemn beauty of the piece.

Kylah takes a deep breath, gives four almost invisible nods to set the tempo, and begins the plucked beginning of Faure's Pavane.

The music flows smoothly and melodically from the trio. Near the end of the piece, however, Kylah is astonished to see Ferguson and Zweller sitting next to each other. Ferguson is looking directly at her; Zweller's eyes are closed. Ferguson leans over to the other man and whispers something to him; he smiles slightly but his eyes remain shut.

Kylah is playing well, as are the others, and she is proud now that they are nearly at the end of the piece. For some reason, during a pause in her part, her gaze shifts to the audience. This time it is not Velir's mask that brings her up short. It is one young man whose eyes are closed. Even more jarring is that she recognizes him as someone who should not be on the Yorktown--nowhere near here.

Darren Zweller? But--how--

The shock stiffens her fingers for a few seconds and for the first time she not only misses her cue, but entirely loses her place in the music. Music that she has nearly memorized. But for what feels like hours she stares from Zweller--sitting next to Lt. Ferguson, of all people--down to her sheet music, trying desperately to catch up with what she missed.

Perspiration forms on her forehead and somehow she gets back on track. Then something else flashes in her mind. Zweller's presence, his scent, his words...

"This won't hurt."

Her heart is racing, and she blinks away the sweat that stings her eyes. She has no idea what she has just thought, heard, seen in her mind. It is not a memory from the Academy. In her mental vision she sees Zweller in his current uniform, not as a cadet; and in her quarters, here, not in her dorm. Was it a dream? It feels real but...

The looks she is getting from Brooks and Anand force her back to the concert. Kylah intended to do honor to Fujishiro, that is why she is here. She must concentrate.

But her playing is now robotic. It is pure muscle memory guiding her. And a nameless fear thrums through her as the piece concludes. With every note, the questions continue.

Why is Darren Zweller here? And... why is he with Ferguson?

Graham finds the music a lot more interesting than the religious mumbo-jumbo, and he's glad to see Ens. Kylah at ease and enjoying herself for a change.

Collins appreciates the beauty of the music, even though it's not her preferred listening choice. But she notices Kylah's momentary falter and tries to follow Kylah's unexpectedly drawn focus to the audience member that pulled it. She sees Ferguson sitting with one of the scientists that came aboard recently. Are we still on that mission? Didn't we finish it already? Collins' focus is now on the original current mission and thinks about how sidetracked things got over the last few days. Anubis. The Aelyrr. What exactly were we supposed to be doing, anyway?

Nia finds herself nodding off a bit during the latest piece; she supposes she still hasn't quite caught up on her sleep since the shuttle mission. It's not a reflection of the trio's music choice, which is affecting and reminds Nia of the harmonies one finds in Sidonian music. Maybe that's why it's comforting enough to relax her to such a degree. Still, she doesn't want to be rude, and she fights her instincts to close her eyes.

For about thirty seconds she fails in that particular mission, until a sudden jarring moment rouses her again. She blinks and immediately notices the cause: Ensign Kylah seems to have lost her place, causing some dissonances that don't fit with the music style. The girl is clearly shaken for a few moments before apparently returning to the score. And even then she has a haunted expression.

Nia scowls in sympathy. "Ouch," she murmurs under her breath, and glances at Booker to see if he's concerned. The expression on his face is... Good grief, he seems besotted. Not romantically, but like a proud parent. Is he so enamored of this fragile royal butterfly that he didn't even notice her flub? Nia is amused; Booker comes across like a world-weary cynic, but with these young women like Collins and Kylah, he loses his hard shell completely.

"Weird," she murmurs, barely audible enough for him to hear. "The kid seems too talented to screw up like that."

Kylah's fellow musicians glance at her with concern but keep playing, and soon, fortunately, the piece draws to its close - perfect but for her brief lapse. They remove their instruments and music stands, and return to their seats.

Science Officer Roble somberly walks up to the podium and says, "I knew that Lt. JG Fujishiro was, from the moment she first set foot aboard this ship, a young woman of great promise and remarkable ability. Assigned to the Yorktown on very short notice, she at once proved herself capable of handling any challenge. She soon became one of my most reliable and trusted officers, and was named Assistant Science Officer sooner than most officers at that point in their careers. She was unfailingly helpful and friendly, keenly insightful, a skilled and capable scientist. In fact, she was a natural. She was wise beyond her years, and always a pleasure to be around." He takes a deep breath. "One of my deepest regrets is that she had perhaps too great a respect for our difference in rank, and that, before her fateful Sakathian mission, I never really had the chance to get to know her especially well on a personal level. I would like to think that we were friends - but I will always wish we had become even closer as friends, and not just as colleagues. This ship, this crew, is diminished by her absence. In losing her we have lost someone who might have risen to the very pinnacle of the Fleet, and we have lost someone who made each of our lives just a little better. I miss her already, and I mourn her, as I know I always will - as I know we all will."

Ens. Rachel Anna Hayes, the Xenosociology Officer and Fujishiro's cabinmate, speaks next. Tears are in her eyes, and she is clearly struggling to maintain her composure. "I came aboard the Yorktown on the very same day, on the very same shuttle, as Iota did. She was everything Mr. Roble said she was, and more. She was a wonderful person, a great scientist, a valued crewmate. And she was...." She begins to sob, and rests her hand on the torpedo casing. "And... she was... the best friend... anyone could ever hope to have. She was... she was just...." Hayes breaks down, sobbing. She cannot go on, and is helped back to her seat by Roble.

Vargas stands. "If anyone else would like to share any memories of the departed, now is your opportunity."

As Kylah walks back to her chair, eyes aimed directly at the floor, her face feels as if it is radiating heat. Not just from embarrassment at her failure, but from the cause of it.

She sits down. It takes every ounce of will she possesses not to turn around, to make sure there is no mistake and that the person who threw her off is truly the man she knew--and despised--at the Academy. After all, any number of men look like him. Reddish-brown hair, handsome, tall, very strong--

Her wrist is locked in his grasp and she cannot pull herself free, so she reaches for her communicator but there is no time because he has pulled her close to wrap his arm around her waist and suddenly there is a flash of pain like a lightening strike, he lied, he lied to her, it hurts

She almost moans in fright at this vision and bites her lip, hard, to control herself. Where is this coming from? Why is she seeing such things? None of this happened, it is not real!

Kylah stares ahead at Roble, forcibly trying to pay attention to his heartfelt words. This service is not about her. She already spoiled her own contribution to honor Lt. Fujishiro, she will not disgrace herself further by showing such disrespect to a fallen officer, not to mention Roble.

Through the fog of her distraction she hears just how highly Roble esteemed Fujishiro. It is an astonishing tribute from a superior officer. How long was Fujishiro in service? By now, Kylah must have matched her length of time--active time--on the Yorktown. She has not distinguished herself nearly as admirably as Fujishiro did. The science officer's death is a true loss to the ship, to Starfleet as a whole if Roble's assessment is accurate. Then poor Ensign Hayes begins, and it is clear that Fujishiro was as good a friend as she was an officer.

Kylah's eyes fill with tears along with Hayes. Crying is understandable, and many around her are doing so. She joins in silently, because she is sad, lonely, ashamed, confused, and very frightened at what is happening to her mind.

Collins looks at Cooper and silently admits she needs to say something. She squeezes his hand and rises and approaches the queue at the podium. Solemnly, she waits her turn.

Cooper nods at Collins and squeezes back before she rises. Several other crewmembers offer their memories of Fujishiro - some funny, some moving, all heartfelt - and then it is Collins's turn.

Collins looks down at the podium, takes a breath and looks up. "There is little I can say about Lieutenant Junior Grade Fujishiro Tomoe Iota that hasn't already been said. I, too, came aboard on the same shuttle. I worked two missions with her. She was dedicated and brave. Very brave. She was an asset to her department and to this crew as a whole. And she will be missed." Collins looks at the coffin, then up to the ceiling. "Godspeed, Lieutenant." She crosses herself, clasps her hands and looks down. She takes a deep breath, then walks back to her seat.

Ajay walks up past the crowd towards the front, a few pieces running through his head, little reminders of the times he knew Iota. But then he knew most people on board, and though she hadn't been on board for long, she had touched a few people's lives.

Standing tidily at the podium , he looks out across the crowd assembled and smiles.

“Mr Johnson, you may now smile. You have achieved what you set out to do.” he begins. “These are the words that I will remember Lt. Fujishiro for.”

He raises a hand and coughs to clear his throat before continuing, “I count myself priviliged enough to have known her for the short time she was a fellow crewmember. Behind the shy exterior was a mind brimming with intelligence and humour and a person not afraid to try new challenges."

"Whether it was her determination and drive in trying to find out the wonders of the universe with her colleagues or showing patience in trying to teach several people the not-so-simple art of how to make a proper cup of tea, she managed to add a little something to our lives. And once you got to know her, you realised there was more to her than just the Science Officer. She was someone who was going to make a difference and it is our loss that she will never be able to fulfil the potential she had to offer to all. I, for one, will miss talking to her over a variety of topics, as she knew a little bit of everything. And of those things she didn't, she knew by the next time."

"I am here to mourn the passing of Iota, friend and colleague, I will honour the patience she showed me and remember the smile, as I finally achieved the goal she set me. No, I will not forget the lessons she taught me, to learn, to strive, to achieve and, above all, how to make a proper cup of tea."

Ajay turns to the last resting place of Lt Fujishiro, "Goodbye Iota, and thank you." Stepping down from the podium, he places one hand on the tube and nods in silent thought, as a stream of images run through his mind as he tries to somehow remember it all before it is lost in time, before turning and making his way back down the hall to his seat.

"Uh..." Booker grunts softly at Nia's comment. "I, ah, guess she did alright," he whispers back--without conviction.

Probably beat herself up about it, too...

That particular phrase coming to mind makes him scowl for a moment.

The tributes blend together around Kylah, who has almost stopped listening while trapped in her own bubble of dread. But two familiar voices stand out.

Lt. Collins's words are prototypically brief and stoic, but Kylah can tell--purely by observation, no special insight--that her regret and grief are genuine. Expressing her feelings is very clearly not Collins's forte. That she made an effort impresses Kylah, and despite her own distraction and wish to disappear, she weakly nods to her roommate in encouragement.

She retreats again into her thoughts when another speaker catches her attention. Mr. Johnson's easy-to-distinguish accent makes her refocus on the proceedings. She has never seen him this somber, not for such a length of time. Once again, Kylah is struck that someone who was on the ship so briefly could make such an impact on her crewmates.

Several other people offer brief reminiscences of their fallen shipmate, and then there is a pause.

Vargas comes back to the podium and says, "As requested by Lt. JG Fujishiro, I offer a reading from Psalm 107: 'O that humanity would praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to all people! Let them make the sacrifices of thanksgiving, and declare His works with rejoicing. They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.' Hearken to these words, and may they fill your hearts. Amen."

"Amen," repeat many in the crowd.

The First Officer says, "That concludes the principal portion of the funeral. Thank you for attending. In accordance with her wishes, Lt. JG Fujishiro's remains will soon be committed to the fires of a star. I have the honor of informing you that the Captain has selected a nearby, previously-unnamed star, and she has, with the approval of the Federation Stellar Cartography Commission, named it after our late shipmate. We are now approaching that star. Those wishing to attend a brief final ceremony for the committal should follow the honor guard, in orderly fashion, to the Forward Torpedo Bay. Otherwise, you are welcome to attend a reception in Rec Room 1, or consider yourselves dismissed. Ship's company... atten-shun!"

Everyone stands at attention. The Science Department pallbearers return, line up on either side of the torpedo casing and lift it as one. They silently, reverently, carry it out of the room, with the Captain, First Officer and Science Officer close behind. A recording of somber organ music begins playing as the crowd starts to break up.

"Did you want to go along, Jer?" Cooper murmurs.

Collins nods. She again takes Cooper's hand and waits to fall in line behind the honor guard. It then occurs to her that Cooper may not want to go. She looks at him. "But you don't have to," she tells him. "I can catch up with you later if you'd rather not go."

Ajay waits until it is opportune and then slips out and makes his way quickly to Rec Room 1 to make sure that the reception goes smoothly and check where he is needed to help serve.

Rangin silently moves behind the cortege as it moves out of the room. He hasn't said a word through the gathering and has no plans to do so until afterwards. He wonders for a brief moment what his shipmates are thinking, but then he will probably find out at the reception. No doubt tobe asked about his nhorel.

And then his thoughts turn once again to Fujishiro as he makes his way onwards.

Cooper squeezes Collins's hand again and says quietly, "If you're going, I'm going." They join the procession of about thirty people behind the senior officers and honor guard. The corridor has been cleared for the occasion.

Ajay sees that things are almost ready for the crowd in Rec Room 1, but his help is definitely appreciated. Mourners are soon streaming in for food, drink and the further sharing of memories.

Rangin sees Cooper and Collins holding hands and walking a dozen meters or so ahead. He finds himself next to Lt. Vivien Devereaux, the planetologist, in the procession. "Is that you, Mr. Rangin?" the Frenchwoman asks. "That's a remarkable mask."

"Ah, did you have plans...or want to go to this reception thing?" Graham asks Nia, his mood slightly darkened by the prospect that somehow, in some way, something else might be going wrong for Ens. Kylah. At least Collins seemed OK, he thinks.

Nia is still mulling over A.J.'s moving words, not having realized he knew Fujishiro that well, when there's yet another prayer and Vargas's astonishing announcement that Starfleet's naming a whole freaking star after the young woman. Was she related to someone high up? First Roble's certain, after knowing her--what, three or four weeks at most? One mission completed?--that she's an Admiral-to-be. Now she'll be honored with a star. Cripes, if I kick, they'll probably dump me into space and move on with their lives. As it should be.

Booker's comments interrupt her cynical thoughts. "Um... I guess I should make an appearance. Couple of my friends were up there speaking about her, and I'd like to see how they're doing." She lowers her voice and adds dryly, "Besides, I don't want to miss the twenty-one phaser cannon salute that's gotta be coming up."

Tilting her head, she focuses more closely on Booker. "Are you all right? If you don't want to go, that's understandable. If you'd prefer to be alone for now, or have something else to do, we can meet up later... if you want."

Before Anand and Brooks leave, Kylah murmurs an embarrassed apology for her gaffe, and compliments them on their playing. She does not get up with the rest, but picks up the lute and waits a few moments, hoping the room will be almost empty by the time she rises to leave. Or perhaps Velir will have stayed behind. He could not have missed her mistakes.

Finally she takes a deep breath and stands, holding the instrument carefully along with the sheet music. She does not wish to go to the reception but feels compelled to. It would be cowardly to let her shame over her terrible playing, or the confusion over Zweller's appearance, prevent her from showing respect to the colleagues who are mourning a friend.

While walking up the aisle, Kylah's eyes shift to pick out the spot where Velir was seated, but he is not there. In fact, when she looks at the line of people moving toward the exit, Velir is not among them. He has already left. She feels let down, although most likely he is the one who is disappointed in her.

She lags on the way toward the door, hiding behind some other crew members, and hopes she will not see either Ferguson or Zweller. And maybe I was wrong, maybe I just... imagined him. Her mind is certainly playing tricks on her; seeing Zweller might have been a hallucination, a phantom dredged up by her malfunctioning brain.

I must go to Sickbay, she thinks, staring at the floor ahead of her.

Graham glances around, looking for Kylah, then turns his attention back to Nia. "I'm, ah...fine. Nothing like a funeral to put you in a good mood, right?" He clears his throat. "That is nice of you...to go see how folks are doing." He shrugs. "I'll keep you company...as long as you don't walk too fast," he adds, smiling slightly.

Kylah's fellow musicians say nice things about the performance but she can't tell if they're being sincere.

The procession nears the Forward Torpedo Bay.

Slightly disturbed from his thoughts, Rangin glances sideways to Lt. Devereaux before nodding to answer the question.

He isn't expecting to speak, but does so anyway. "Yes, ma'am, it is remarkable and thank you. It's ceremonial, the day should be about the person we remember, not the people attending."

He pauses for a moment and then asks quietly, "Did you know Lt. Fujishiro well?"

Nia lets her eyes shine at Booker. "I don't mind walking slower. I also won't mind if you have to, y'know, lurch over and grab me. Accidentally. Anywhere you want to." Her amusement fades the longer she looks at him. "That could've been you," she murmurs, reaching to touch his elbow under the guise of helping him. "If that Klingon had shot higher, it could've so easily been you. Except there wouldn't have been enough to put in one of those makeshift coffins."

She squeezes him, gently, and runs a hand along his arm. "I wish I believed in something enough to thank them for..." The words trail off and Nia just shakes her head, looking away into the crowd.

"Yes, you're right," says Devereaux apologetically. "I'd just never seen one of those masks in person before. Sorry. I knew Iota a little bit; we worked together on a project for Mr. Roble once. I liked her very much."

http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Coridan
Another cool sf mask, from NBC's 1980 The Martian Chronicles miniseries: http://41.media.tumblr.com/d746681f4...tcdbo1_500.jpg

Kylah trudges forward, clutching the lute to her like a shield. For once she is glad of being short--it is easier to remain inconspicuous, although obviously the medium-sized instrument does not help.

Collins smiles at Cooper and squeezes his hand. As they walk, she thinks about the risks of space exploration, and of the inevitable battles with hostile peoples. If I were to die in the line of duty, I think I'd rather go from phaser or disruptor fire than from some unknown infection. And I want to go down fighting, not ambushed. Her mind wanders to all the colleagues she lost while serving on the Enterprise.

"I'm not much for 'higher powers,' myself, Nia," Graham says softly. "We can just do the best we can and keep our fingers crossed, I guess..."

He chuckles slightly, then reaches across with his opposite hand and gives Nia's a little squeeze.

"But if you believe in fate, if I was fated to go in the line of duty,then really-- any number of previous close calls ought to have finished me." He clears his throat. "I'd be happy to show all the scars in a, ah, more private place if you like..."

Nia clasps Booker's hand more tightly, then relaxes. "Yes. I like very much." She moves them forward closer to the door and the reception beyond.

"Let's get through this, first--if you're sure you're up for it. As much as I'm looking forward to that tour of past battles, T'Var warned you to take it easy. And while I hate to have doctors order me around--and I suspect you're the same way--I think she's right."

She hesitates and leans over, her words almost a purr in his ear. "At least now it's not just my physical condition that's stopping us. Honestly, if you wanted to put me off, you could've found a better way than flinging yourself haphazardly in the path of a disruptor beam."

With a crooked smile, Nia moves further into the crowd, turning so her back is to him but gazing over her shoulder. "I mean... am I that hard to say 'no' to?"

The procession reached the Forward Torpedo Bay. Through the crowd and his mask, Rangin could just see what was going on.

Vargas took up a position beside the photon torpedo launch tube hatch and, reading from notes, said, “For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto Himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, we therefore commit her body to the deeps of space and the fiery glory of a star in the vast firmament of Heaven, in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through the grace of the Lord.”

Roble, leading the honor guard, said, “Company, atten-shun." The honor guard lifted the Federation flag from the torpedo casing, which then passed through the hatch and into the launch tube. The hatch swung shut with a dull thud. They crisply folded the flag and presented it to Capt. Singh, who bowed slightly before passing it on to Roble. The flag would be sent to Fujishiro's family back on Earth.

Vargas went on, “In ancient times was heard a voice from Heaven saying: henceforth, blessed are those who die in the Lord, for they may rest from their labors. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we now commit our friend and shipmate’s body to space. May the Lord bless and keep her, and make His holy countenance to shine upon her, and grant her peace. Into Thy hands, O Lord and Creator of the Universe, we commend Thy servant Iota. Receive her into the arms of Thy mercy, and into the glorious company of Thy saints, in celestial light eternal.”

Listening from the Bridge, Lt. Bennett heard her cue. She nodded and, at the Tactical post, Lt. JG Tadeusz Kawecki carefully worked the controls which secured the inner torpedo launch tube hatch, opened the outer hatch and launched the torpedo on a preset course which would carry it to the nearby star. In just a few minutes, it would be burned to its component atoms by the blue-white heat of the star which now bore their late shipmate's name.

Vargas said, “Let us pray. Most merciful God, we beseech Thee of Thine infinite goodness to give us grace to live in Thy worship and love, and to die in Thy favor, that when Thy judgment shall come we may be found acceptable in Thy sight, through the love of Thy Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” responded the crew, even the many who were not Christians.

Lt. JG Park cleared his throat. “A reading from the Book of Revelation, Chapter 21. ‘I saw the holy city, a new Jerusalem, coming down out of Heaven. Then I heard a loud voice from the throne, saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is among all people, and He shall dwell among them, and they shall be His people. And He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there shall no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; for these things shall have passed away forever.’” His voice shook slightly by the end.

Vargas brought the service to a close. “The grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all, and with our friend Iota, forevermore. Amen.”

“Amen,” they repeated.

Security Crewman Alexandra Harper, a trumpeter with the Lyceum, had a tear in her eyes as she raised her horn to her lips. The silvery, melancholy notes of “Taps” drifted out over those assembled.

When she finished the First Officer said, “Company, dismissed.”

It was over.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9xNoEu3O8c

Collins allows the tears to cover her cheeks. She wants to curl up and sob, just to get it out of her system, but she steels herself. She looks at Cooper, and wonders how this has affected him. She's glad to have him to lean on, but has he ever lost someone before their time?
"Let's join the others at the reception" she says to him quietly.

Listening to the words, Rangin is aware of the forms that his fellow Earthling would follow. But behind his mask, he doesn't remain silent, but the words are to invoke the Herald instead.

As they are dismissed, he slips away quietly from the back, firstly to return his nhorel to his quarters and then to join the reception shortly afterwards. He will only be a minute or so behind, and it's likely that no-one will really notice his absence for the few moments he is gone.

Ajay makes his way around the room with a tray of drinks, making brief small talk with the various people there and making sure everything is in order.

Graham returns Nia's smile. Rather than lurch through the crowd after her, he gives her a little space. He keeps his eyes open for Collins, Kylah, and an opportunity to grab a beverage if any are being served.

Cooper and Collins join the reception, as do Graham and Onn. Everything is going well, and Ajay's help seems appreciated. The Captain and First Officer accept coffee from him with thanks. Rangin arrives just a little later. The room is crowded and Fujishiro is being warmly remembered, and sometimes even toasted; there are both smiles and tears to be seen.

When Kylah finally escapes the chapel, she heads straight to her quarters to drop off her music and the lute. She types a quick note to Lt. Thalen to thank him for the instrument and to let him know that she can drop it off to whoever lent it to her. Sighing, she concludes, I am afraid I let you down, sir. I am terribly sorry. I was distracted by

She bites her lip and deletes the last four words, then starts the sentence again. I do not know what happened but it was unprofessional and I apologize to both you and the others whose performances were flawless. Thank you again. -- KYLAH

At last she closes her communicator and heads reluctantly to the reception. She finds the crowd daunting--especially because they are such blanks to her, not a single discernible emotion. The multitude of guests are merely an unsettling, lifeless void.

Doing her best to stay unnoticed as she skirts her way around the perimeter of the room, Kylah only pauses to pick up a little pastry concoction, which turns out to have juicy meat hidden within. It is quite good but she vows not to take another, not wanting to be greedy.

While chewing the last morsel of the hors d'oeuvre, Kylah searches the room for Velir. Unsure whether he will be wearing his mask--which should make him easy to pick out--she slowly continues around the outskirts of the room, wishing she could see above the taller attendees... who are just as likely hiding Velir from her, too.

And the whole time she steels herself against the possibility of seeing one particular man, who would be tall enough to be seen even in a crowd. Maybe it was not Zweller. Yes, it probably was not him, she thinks, more of a prayer than a certainty.

Collins finally lets go of Cooper's hand, and after smiling warmly at him, moves around to room to talk to her colleagues. She listens to stories from people who knew Iota, and offers condolences. She also accepts condolences from those who offer them. As the hors d'oeuvres pass by, she takes something that looks like a fried dumpling, and something that looks vegetable heavy. She continues to mill about, then notices Kylah off to the side. She goes to her roommate, taking a coffee from the drink tray as she passes it.

"How are you doing?" Collins asks Kylah. "You played lovely. What's the name of that piece?"

Kylah is startled by Collins--something that would never have happened before. She looks with slight wariness at the officer; is she being sarcastic? "Thank you," she says with a tiny shake of her head. "It is from your planet, the Pavane by a French composer from the 19th century. But I did not play..." She pauses and does not continue at first, remembering that, as her tutors taught her, it is improper to disagree with someone offering a compliment.

"I mean... I was very fortunate to have such accomplished musicians beside me. Their artistry is what made the performance." Glad to change the subject, she looks more openly at her roommate. "I thought you spoke very well indeed, Lieutenant. Your words came from your heart, and did honor to Lt. Fujishiro."

"Thanks" Collins replies. "but I hardly said anything. I never know what to say. I barely passed my debate class in high school." She takes the last bite of food in her hand and wipes the grease from her fingers on the napkin wrapped around her coffee cup. "I couldn't help but notice, though, that your nerves got the best of you at one point. You looked, for a moment, like you'd seen a ghost. Are you sure you're okay?"

Graham finally spots Collins and Kylah, together, and hobbles over toward them with the best blend of dignity and speed he can manage on his bad leg,

On his way, a steward asks Graham, "May I get you something, sir?"

Kylah sees Ferguson and Zweller from across the room. They are talking to two attractive younger women, one in Engineering red, and the other in Command yellow.

Nia finds her friend among the crowd. Though he's working, she waits for a moment when he's walking with an empty tray, rather than serving, to approach him and gently touch his arm.

"That was a memorable tribute, A.J.," she murmurs. "I didn't know you knew her that well." Her hand squeezes his bicep as she looks up at him with tender concern. "I'm very sorry, honey."

Kylah inhales sharply and turns away, numb and expressionless. "I thought I saw someone," she says in response to Collins's question, her voice almost a mere breath of air. "Someone who should not be here. It was a mistake."

Through some fog of fear she sees a room full of red-, blue- and gold-uniformed officers she does not recognize, all merging together into one amorphous sea of color. Then her gaze lands on Mr. Graham and somehow this reawakens her. She feels her cheeks burn as blood rushes to her face. Lt. Collins and Mr. Graham together will likely detect too much from her. She cannot lie to them both.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant," she says, still in that emotionless near-whisper. "I have an errand I must attend to. Please excuse me."

Hoping neither Ferguson nor Zweller saw her, Kylah immerses herself into the crowd, wanting to be hidden, anonymous. The room cannot possibly be as densely packed as it suddenly seems. With everyone surrounding her, she feels terribly small--much the same way she felt on a day long ago when, as a child, she was playing in a field of tall marsh weeds and realized she was lost. Then as now, she had to push and fight to find a path back to safety, to the open air where she could breathe.

It was not a dream, she thinks while desperately trying to cut across the room to reach the exit. His presence means something. What? What?

"Okay" Collins says to Kylah's quickly disappearing form. She turns to Graham. "I'm numb. I think I spilled everything the other day when you let me vent. I'm sad, but I'll be okay." She gives him a quick gentle hug. "Thank you." She takes a step back to see all of Graham. "So, how are you?"

Kylah is almost out of the room when Zweller appears out of the crowd to her right. "Why, Ens. Kylah! How nice to see you again," he says, sounding almost sincere. He grins. "And so much of you, too!"

Almost tripping at the sound of her name, in his voice, Kylah girds herself before turning to face Darren Zweller. But seeing him so close, so insinuatingly smug, eradicates her composure and turns her into a sort of frightened, spellbound statue.

She does not even understand why she is so afraid; he can do nothing to her, he holds no power over her. And yet she is in a frozen trance while staring up at this man she has not seen for two years.

...Except she has seen him, in a way. He has been lurking in her thoughts for two days. Unexpressed, unexplained, and even unaccepted by her consciousness.

"I hoped I had imagined you," she whispers, staring ahead. Her words are as hushed as they were with Collins. "I do not understand. How... how are you here? How long have you been on the ship? You could not have been here before I joined, I would have sen--" She cuts herself off. She cannot explain that she would have felt his hostility if he had been anywhere near her.

Kylah tries to catch her breath before continuing. "And what do you mean, 'seeing so much of me'? We have not met until..." Belatedly she suspects him of a double entendre, and hurries to hug herself to hide her cleavage and neck. Her fingers hold onto her shoulders as if her arms are a shield.

A swell of deja vu tangles her thoughts. The conversation seems familiar. Suddenly she is overcome by a moment of vertigo. In her mind's eye she pictures herself falling into his arms as he holds her, clutches her to him, then lifts her up...

She struggles to get control. A trembling hand reaches up to her forehead, massaging it. That never happened! I threw my knife, he ran from my dorm room. What is happening? Zweller is still grinning down at her, and she wants to slap him. "Stop smirking at me and tell me what you are doing here!" Her flashing eyes shift to the corner where she saw him earlier. "And how do you know Lt. Ferguson?"

"Better to vent than to hold it inside," Graham says to Collins after he releases him. He gives her shoulder a quick squeeze with one hand and then shrugs. "Well, for my part I can't complain...sure could've been a lot worse..."

Graham's relieved that Collins seems to be holding up as well--or better--than he might have expected. But his attention is divided. He glances from Collins to Kylah's retreating form...which only gets as far as the Ferguson guy with whom she had some kind of dust-up during one of his patrols, and some other guy he doesn't recognize.

His ability to focus on Collins steadily degrades as he glances in Kylah's direction.

"So, what about..." he attempts to make small talk with Collins, then interrupts himself. "Aw fuck it, who am I kidding?" he leans in closer to Collins, lowers his voice, and gestures toward the trio. "Do you know what the deal is with K-- Ens. Kylah and those guys? She does not look happy over there..."

He stops, and then adds before Collins has a chance to reply. "Ah, look," he says, lowering his voice further. "I'm going to hobble over there. Do you--" he clears is throat. "Uh, if I wind up putting another asshole in a headlock Vargas'll probably do worse than that Klingon...do you want to come along and keep me from doing anything that gets me court-martialed?"

Collins snickers a little and says "On your six." She follows Graham over to Kylah and the person she's talking to, or rather shrinking from.

Having carefully stowed his nhorel and considering his duty done to Fujishiro, Rangin heads to the reception, no doubt to swap memories of the dearly departed. He can hear the hubbub from down the hall, so many people together all talking make a certain amount of noise, even when being quiet and respectful and in some ways, he's glad about it.

On stepping through the door, he is surprised to see almost in front of him, Ens. Kylah and Ens. Zweller talking away. "Oh hello Kylah, Darren," he says acknowledging both with a nod, "how's the reception going?" It's only after the words have escaped his lips that he realises that Zweller is looking smugger than usual while Kylah is looking tense and nervous. "Ah, did I interrupt something?"

"Who's smirking?" Zweller asks, arching his eyebrows innocently. "But yeah, Ferguson and I go 'way back. A great guy - you know him, too, I guess. He's told me all about you. I've been on the Yorktown working on a sensor prototype, and he's been very helpful." He sips from his coffee. "Well, don't let me keep you. 'Bye."

He nods to Rangin and says, "Hey, Velir. Excuse me, please," then moves back through the crowd towards Ferguson and the two women. Ferguson makes eye contact with Kylah and raises his glass in mock salute.

Ajay looks at Nia and smiles, the friendly concern always comforting, "Don't worry about me Nia, I'm doing fine. Only knew her for a few weeks, but got on pretty well with her. She was adventurous in the area of vegetarian food and she was always interested in trying something new, bit like you with new partners. And she did teach me to make a proper cup of tea following all the formalities, instead of that interesting English tea she was never too fond of."

He drops his voice slightly, "Scuttlebut says, a few people are a little ashamed of what happened to her, hence the little extra pomp and circumstance, if you get my drift. Anyway, here's to her memory. Did you know her much at all, I'm guessing your paths didn't cross that much."

Nia nearly asks about A.J.'s reference to "ashamed," but decides against it. This isn't the time or place.

"Unfortunately I didn't know her. I've been trying to remember times I might've served with her on the Bridge, but..." She shrugs her shoulders resignedly. "Watches on the Bridge tend to blur into one another, y'know? At least when we're just traveling in between destinations. And there's not much interaction."

She sighs and gives another shrug. "I mean, when I'm in the big chair I try to keep chatter up. It's good for morale and helps us bond as a unit... not to mention keeping everyone alert instead of zoning out, which is far too easy to do across light years.

"But I'm an anomaly in that regard. So unless she was on the Bridge while I was in command, I wouldn't have really had much interaction. Maybe if she'd been an engineer..." Nia points her chin toward Delaney across the room. "But I'm rarely dealing directly with Science folks except on some missions."

Nia twists her mouth into a flat line of distaste and reaches over to grab a veggie crudité. "Anyway, enough about me. Tell me, how is Dr. T'Var handling all this? They were on the same mission, and I know T'Var was handling her case. Have you and she talked about that? And also... how are you guys?"

Kylah just stands there stupefied, lips parted in disbelief, when Velir walks up and casually greets Mr. Zweller by his first name. And when Zweller reveals that he has known Mark Ferguson for a long time... that they have spoken "all about" her...

Even after Zweller leaves, the walls seem to be closing in, choking off her air.

"That is why," she whispers to herself as comprehension dawns, far too slowly. Ferguson calling her "Princess" when she was about to transport to the Sakathian lab. That hostile look he gave her. Then, in the rec room, his vicious overreaction and scurrilous lies he spat about her being a sexual predator...

What stories has Zweller told regarding what happened between them back at the Academy? Has he filled Ferguson's head with the belief that she, somehow, led Zweller on and then nearly stabbed him?

She finally acknowledges Velir's presence by looking dazedly over to him. "Y-you... know him?" The broken words sound like a rusty hinge, barely audible, and she starts again. "You know Mr. Zweller? How?"

Hobbled by his leg, Graham's too slow to reach Kylah before those two guys have left and Rangin of all people has joined her.

Which might be just as well, because he likes the body language of the two guys even less than Kylah's. Like a pack. Like predators drawn to someone--or something--they see as weak.

By the time he's almost reached her he's tense to the point of feeling...well, lethal.

He grimaces slightly. For god's sake, don't read too much into it, Booker. And remember she's not your daughter. And even if she were that doesn't mean you can go medieval on people because you don't like the way they look at her...

Talking himself down rationally is not entirely successful, but it helps. He spares Collins a quick glance over his shoulder as he approaches Kylah and Rangin. He looks in the direction of the two men who just left and then turns toward Kylah.

"Is everything all right?" he asks quietly.

For once Rangin isn't his primary concern.

Collins places herself between Graham and Rangin, just in case, but focuses on Kylah.

"Who Darren Zweller? We're working on the new prototype sensor together. I've known him for years though, we graduated same year from the Academy. He's a good man really, saved my hide once and I still owe him for it. Then again, he always did like to flirt. He wasn't getting overly familiar with you?" Rangin is still slightly nonplussed by what is going on. It's not something he is expecting from either Ensign.

Then Ensign Graham limps up and cuts in, as if he has some given right to interfere.

Ajay can feel the hairs prickling on the back of his neck as he looks round and then spies the group by the door.

"Oh crap, I hope you can keep a rein on 'im," he mutters under his breath while guiding Nia's attention to the scene.

Lt. Thalen and Chief Engineer Cheverez walk in, and people make way for them to pass through the crowd to the food and drink tables.

Kylah's communicator subtly shakes, and she sees a text from Zweller: Sorry to have surprised you. I thought you'd have expected me, considering the message I sent you....

It takes significant effort for Graham not to laugh out loud, never mind remain impassive, as Rangin spontaneously chimes in about how a guy Graham marked from across the room as an asshole was a great guy who'd saved his hide.

Birds of a fucking feather...

Graham starts slightly at Nia's intervention. "I..."

He glances from Nia back to Kylah. "I knew Ens. Kylah hasn't been feeling well. It seemed like she was looking...uh, not well again." Sign me up for the diplomatic corps. "Jeri- ah, Lt. Collins thought maybe she might want some company walking back to her quarters...or Sickbay."

He glances at Collins, hoping for a lifeline.

Nia turns and cannot help lifting her eyes to the ceiling in a prayer to no one in particular. "Unbelievable," she murmurs. "With Booker, I might need reins, spurs and a whip."

Before her 'friend plus' makes the comment that she knows she just invited, she lifts a mock warning finger and makes her way through the crowd.

Noticing Singh and Vargas, she hopes that their presence will force the happy little quartet at the door to break up. But no, when she finally reaches the entrance, they're still here.

Nia plants her hands on her hips and addresses everyone. "Really, people? At a funeral?" She lowers her voice to the security officers. "For heaven's sake, stand down, you two. You're about as subtle as a pair of Rigellian oxen."

There is no communicator. There is no Lt. Collins, or Mr. Graham, or Captain or First Officer or Lt. Onn or any milling crowd surrounding them.

To Kylah, there is only Velir Rangin. His mask is gone now, but he is still hidden from her. These past few weeks, while they grew closer, she has been assiduous in her vow not to invade his privacy, not to reach out to his mind and heart to find out what lay within. Now she cannot do so.

He has known Zweller for years. Zweller helped him, somehow.

He owes Zweller.

Zweller said he has known Ferguson for years. Just like Velir. Is there a connection? How can there not be?

Suddenly she sees it. Ferguson's role was obviously to be the blatant enemy. To harass her, to make her frightened and isolated. To make her need a friend.

Someone like Velir.

And did he not oblige? She fell for him, hard, because of how lonely she was, and because he seemed kind, gentle, everything the men who have hurt her were not. By the end of OC3 she was desperate for such kindness. Then, after they grew close, he began to chip away at her self-esteem. Turning cold. Accusing her of the worst motivations--really, not much different from Ferguson after all.

It was insidious. Invasive. Ingenious.

She moves her head, tiny little shakes of disbelief. Finally she answers his question, as if none of the others have spoken.

"No," she says softly, though her body remains as rigid as a block of ice. "He was not overly familiar." A humorless laugh--really, a mere exhale--escapes her, but that is all the emotion she displays--her face is blank. She continues in a small whisper. "I always believed you a loyal friend. Even when you hurt me, I defended you. I see I was right after all. I just... did not realize to whom your loyalty belonged. Now I know. Now I understand."

Gradually she becomes aware of the four others nearby. "Lt. Onn is right. This is a funeral." She looks down, somewhere in the vicinity of Velir's boots. "We can only mourn one ending at a time."

Sorrow and fear and anger are battling for control, and all it does is make her dizzy. She backs away and lifts a trembling hand--as if that would be enough to stop Booker Graham. "I am sorry. I will go. Please, do not... please leave me alone." Sweeping a final pleading look toward Mr. Graham and Lt. Collins, Kylah turns and walks, then runs, from the reception.

There's only a slight twitch of Graham's right hand as all the pieces click together: otherwise he forces himself stock still.

"Now I understand too," he says matter-of-factly, eyes squarely on Rangin.

The contempt in his eyes is replaced by an almost pleading look at his addresses Collins. "Do you think you could make sure she gets...someplace...OK? As OK as can be."

Collins is already about to follow Kylah when Graham suggests it. "I'll make sure she's okay. Don't worry." Before she goes, she turns to Lt. Onn, "Not everything Security does is about confrontation, you know. Sometimes, we're just about maintaining order." Collins leaves and hurries after Kylah.

"...'She said, confrontationally.'" Nia's words are bone dry as she tilts her head at Collins's figure without bothering to look in her direction. "That one's lucky my people evolved away from having venom sacks."

Her gaze switches from Booker to Rangin and back again. "Now that the testosterone level has lowered considerably, let's move on. Clearly Ensign Kylah's yet again at the center of some melodrama, but she's left the stage, thankfully without much of a display. So can you please take your own cues and exeunt omnes?"

She drops her volume and arch tone. "Seriously, guys. This isn't the time and it's most definitely not the place. Do I need to escort one of you out of here?"

Her last question is aimed at Booker. Nia wouldn't mind escorting him to his bed, or preferably hers since Mahmoud is certain not to interrupt them there. But if Booker wants to have some words with Rangin--or vice versa--she's not going to play nanny. As long as words are all it is.

Graham is grateful beyond words to Collins, and reminds himself to tell her that.

Then his gaze shifts to Nia rather than Rangin, which is just as well because at this point he's sad, desperately sad...

I've seen this before, less in Starfleet than in the Academy, bullies and predators who take advantage of kids from different cultures, different worlds the first time they're away from home...Only then I had a position, some authority to do something...And now? Whatever I had I've blown. And Nia doesn't...doesn't seem to understand...

"I think Kylah said all that needs to be said," he answers very softly. It tears at him to say it, for more reasons than he can figure out at the moment. "Maybe I could use a hand." He holds out an arm for Nia to take, as if to assist him given his bad leg.

Rangin stands stock still wondering what is happening and feeling as if he walked into the eye of a hurricane with people arriving and leaving faster than he can comprehend. He cannot fathom what he has said or done that would elicit such actions to take place.

Is greeting two friends such a bad thing? While his body is straight, his eyes begin to betray his bewilderment and he begins to wish he was still wearing his nhorel from only a few minutes ago.

"I...don't get it. What, what did I miss?" Rangin cannot help but feel he walked in midway on some private meeting to which he wasn't invited. He looks round at the remaining people, unable to fully close his mouth and looking for all the world, a fool stuttering nonsense to a crowd.

Unable to comprehend what just happened, perhaps the only to find out is to ask her, Kylah, why she reacted so badly. The room seems to swirl round as he turns to the door only to see the back of Collins as she heads for the exit with no sign of her.

As it appears that Lt Onn is going to leaving with Graham, he turns to the only person left...he was sure there had been someone else around, Mr Johnson, but no he had disappeared as well, leaving him standing in a group of one, by the door, alone again.

He looks around the group in the reception, feeling for all the world like the first time he had set foot on earth, fresh-faced and ready to serve in Starfleet. This time, he's a lot older, a lot wiser, but feeling more alone than he has for a long time.

You're a fool, Velir Rangin, a voice from his past whispers sweetly in his ear, unable to see what's right in front of you. Drawing in a deep breath, Rangin wonders once again, if he is doing the right thing, and somehow knowing he is not, but unable to act in any other way.

He puts on his own blank mask, smiles politely and steps into the party to make conversation and engage with the others in the group, while a part of him screams helplessly inside as to why he is such a coward not to go to Kylah.

Nia sends a sympathetic glance toward Rangin--who, even though he was apparently in the middle of it, seems to have as little clue about what just transpired as she does.

Then again, that could be a facade. Booker certainly seems to have the guy pegged as abusive or at least manipulative.

Someday I should have a sit-down with this Elasian trouble-magnet, she thinks. As annoyed by she is by the girl's propensity to stir up the worst in everyone around her, Nia can't forget Kylah's huge, hurt-filled eyes while whispering those words to Rangin. The rest of her face was bizarrely affectless, but there was crushing heartbreak in her stare.

She's so young. I don't think I was ever that young; not that way. And of course, Nia can't help thinking of her oldest daughter, almost Kylah's age now. But Sidonian girls don't grow up naive. They don't even have dreams, apart from hoping they'll be prolific and useful to the men who control them.

Nia pats Booker's arm and walks him out of the reception. She's silent for a few moments, not sure what's going on in his head, or what to say that won't piss him off.

"I hope you're not angry," she ventures. "You and Collins may not realize just how strong your attack-dog vibes were. Andy Johnson could tell something serious was about to happen from 'way across the room. I had to do something."

She pauses before trying to lighten the mood a little. "Lucky everything cooled down once Kylah left. I wonder if she gives off some kinda pheromone causing people to act on their most aggressive instincts--could be an Elasian thing, like the tears. The pheromone draws 'em in, the tears enslave them. I'm not even joking, y'know. That could really be a thing. It sure seems like emotions run pretty high whenever Ensign Kylah is around."

They're near the Turbolift now, and she stops to stand squarely in front of Booker. She gently takes hold of both his arms, then moves closer. "Your quarters or mine? I'd like to talk, but... I get if you don't feel like it."

Uncertain whether anyone is following her, but unwilling to take the risk, Kylah makes several turns into varying corridors until she herself is lost. She must find somewhere to hide, somewhere alone--she feels like a tiny rabbit fleeing the shadow of a hawk overhead, desperate to dive into a hole and fill it in behind her.

Spying a small, empty crew lounge, she rushes in and finds the head, where she ducks inside and orders the door to lock itself behind her. Kylah edges away until her back strikes the wall behind her, and she sinks down, staring at the door as if it will open any second to reveal Zweller himself advancing upon her.

Collins sets off in the direction she saw Kylah run, but doesn't see the young ensign ahead of her anywhere. As she goes along, not too quickly but at a good pace, she peers down the side corridors for any sign of her roommate. After several minutes, Collins comes to the conclusion that Kylah just doesn't want to be found right now, so she heads back to the reception and Cooper.

deleted

Hiding in the locked restroom, Kylah closes her eyes. Velir's face haunts her. She sobs at what a fool she has been. How could she have trusted him, cared for him, imagined him the first man to want nothing more than her friendship--even love?

She should have known better by now. One cannot love a mere object, and that is what she is: a thing, a tool, to be used by others. For status. Power. Wealth. Lust. Her body and her empathic skills are all anyone has valued. It has happened too many times for her to deny the truth. Now that she has no empathic power, what is left?

That much is all too clear. Kylah cannot forget Jan. Fastolfe. Even her guardian. And Velir. Tears burn her eyes and at last she lets them fall. Velir is the only one she wanted in return. She would have given herself freely to him... if only he were the man she's thought him to be. Maybe I am wrong. Please let me be wrong...

But all signs are against it. Zweller does not act alone, she remembers. Back at the Academy, Zweller did not enter her room by himself to intimidate her into sleeping with him. He had brought that other boy, and both had leered while they watched her remove her clothes under the threat of force. Zweller must like an audience.

And now he has a bigger and more powerful coterie. A superior officer, Ferguson. Why not Velir as well? Zweller has shown no remorse, and if Ferguson's behavior is to be judged, feels as viciously vindictive as he did once she turned the tables on him that night courtesy of her knife.

Kylah shakes her head. But he must know what he was attempting was reprehensible! She simply cannot believe him unable to tell the difference between right and wrong. So how he could hold such hatred for her trying to defend herself? So much hatred, and for so long? Two years! She has barely thought of him since, much less had any contact that could have rekindled his resentment.

Suddenly she remembers the text he sent her earlier. She was so focused on Velir that she could not truly take in the words. Kylah swallows and pulls the device from her belt. Her fingers are numb and shaky as she taps the tiny buttons to read his note.

Sorry to have surprised you. I thought you'd have expected me, considering the message I sent you....

She wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at the small screen without comprehension. It makes no sense. She received no other messages. Unless it was lost in her other communicator, but her data should have been saved.

Why would he even want to contact her? Why would he not have stayed hidden, hatching whatever plan he seems to have concocted with Ferguson. And maybe Velir, she thinks with a choking sob. They have surrounded me.

All this, simply because two years ago, she refused to be part of Zweller's sick sexual collection of aliens. He is mad, if he still bears that grudge. He is utterly--

Kylah stops breathing, stops blinking, stops thinking. For one ageless moment she remains there, on the cold floor, and remembers.

The note on her night stand. The one with the crossed-out word: ELASIAN

A lurch of nausea cramps her stomach. Again, she is assaulted by flashes of memory: Zweller's arm around her. Pulling her close. Jabbing her back with something metallic. "This won't hurt."

"No," she moans softly, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head bends until it touches her knees, and she rocks, closing her eyes shut as wave after wave of icy tremors run through her body. "Please, no."

It was no dream. The note makes it clear: he was definitely in her quarters. He was near her bed. Perhaps in her bed--she has no idea. She was asleep for nearly an entire day, and sick for a day after that. Did he drug her? Would he be so vile?

Yes. The man who once tried to rape her, who brought a younger cadet along for her to "initiate"... Yes, he is capable of anything.

Including not being alone, she thinks in rising horror. Including letting Ferguson... and maybe even Velir...

Zweller likes an audience.

Overtaken by nausea, Kylah crawls to the nearest stall to be sick.

Graham squeezes his eyes tightly shut for a moment as Nia gently squeezes his arms.

He's not sure if it's real or psychosomatic, but his leg is throbbing. As is his head.

And part of his desperately wants to explain what's going to Nia. Except that part of his warns that would be unfair to--or at least really, really unwelcomed by--Kylah.

And part of him is angry--he wants to shout at Nia that she doesn't understand what the hell is going, would she just listen for one fucking minute...

Graham opens his eyes, swallows, and takes her hands away from his arms--but only to fold them in his, between them.

"I want to talk, Nia...but right now I'm afraid I'm likely to say something somebody will regret. Not even sure who. Me, you, Kylah--maybe all three."

His shoulders tense and then slump. "There are things you don't know about--ah, hell." He shakes his head. "Maybe I'm just being an idiot, projecting...like I said, she's my daughter's age, sometimes even reminds me..."

He give her hands little squeeze. "But it'd be better--let's talk tomorrow. Please." He starts to let go and turn away, then pauses and turns back toward her, looking down for a moment, and then into Nia's eyes. "It's just hard to let go. A man who doesn't take of his family's no goddamned good." He gives her hands one more gentle squeeze and turns to limp toward the turbolift.

The reception goes on for a few hours more, as Fujishiro is toasted and fondly remembered, before winding down.

The Yorktown has meanwhile turned away from the newly-named star, as one with the woman whose name it now bears. The ship sails on with the Naradraen, her Aelyrr companion, towards their rendezvous with the Watney, as shipboard day turns to night....

This mission is now concluded.

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