Star Trek RPG - Mission #3: "Some Other Side of Paradise"

Rangin looks over the report, but doesn't see what he was looking for. "No, sorry, not that report, the crime report that should have been submitted with the details of the theft. The issue was only discovered last night by all concerned parties, but the details weren't passed on." Rangin looks concerned at Officer Peters. "At least not that I'm aware of."

"Could you find that one for me please?"

Not yet finding her quarry, Kylah is frustrated. She has no idea how much the rest of Fastolfe's household has heard about the results of the search; she very much wants to get to him before his staff learns of the discovery of the second transporter trace--and especially before it is communicated to their employer.

Then a thought occurs to her and, annoyed that she did not think of it before, she slips into an empty place--looking in all directions to make sure she is alone. Her hand grabs at her communicator.

"Kylah to Rangin," she says softly. "Can you speak freely? I have a question for you regarding the research you have seen regarding the loss of the spore effects."

Rangin steps back to give Officer Peters some room to look for the initial report.

"Hello, Kylah, yes I can talk, what's question?"

Kylah closes her eyes briefly. Just hearing him soothes her. "I shall try to be discreet. Were you able to take a look at the records of the anomalous patients? If so, did you notice whether any were taking any medication, or had any pre-existing conditions? I would have asked T'Var but she has an oath... I do not know if you do."

"I don't have the same oath, but I still would not answer that kind of question," Rangin gently chides Kylah. "All I will say is that I did see Dr Halsey's reports and that it did not appear that any medication that may or may not be being taken by the people examined were responsible for the loss of spores taking effect. I will also say that Dr T'Var has seen the same notes and said nothing towards that end and I did get it confirmed by Dr Lucy Anderson at the research station. If it was a factor, then we have all missed it."

Rangin pauses and thinks for a moment. "There is one thing you could do for me though. Could you find out from Lord Fastolfe, or his entourage, if they raised the issue of the missing knives with the hotel security? Thank you..."

Rangin pauses slightly, "...and I hope everything is going well over there for you."

Kylah's fingers wrap tightly around the communicator near her lips as she murmurs, "I am not sure how things are here. For some reason Mr. Graham wished to speak to me alone and was asking personal questions, and I..." She hesitates, then shakes her head. There is no time for such details. "It does not matter. Thank you for answering what you could, and I am sorry to have sounded as if I wished to pry or ask anything untoward. Something else may have been taken besides the knives--something from a bedside table. Medication was the first thing that came to mind, that is all."

Looking up, Kylah does not dare say more. "I had better go--I will ask about the security issue for you and will let you know. Take care of yourself, Velir." She closes the communicator. She is disappointed to have learned nothing new, not to mention in the attempt of gaining information perhaps she has made Velir think less of her. She returns the device to her belt and continues the search for Fastolfe.

Peters digs deeper in the WR&R Security files. "I don't see that Fastolfe or any of his staff reported the knives missing. Mr. Hsu mentioned it in his daily summary, though, as I said." He points out the relevant paragraph to Rangin.

Dan Stimmons, Lord Fastolfe's personal assistant, is clearly very reluctant to come downstairs and talk to Graham, but he does. He clutches the pharmacy bag a little more tightly, and Graham notices that he is sweating slightly. He asks, "Yes, sir?"

Lt. JG Haakon Kjaerstad emerges from an upstairs room, tricorder in hand, and sees Kylah. He seems surprised. "Mr. Kylah! May I help you?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant... Kjaerstad," Kylah says hesitantly, uncertain if she is getting his name right. She glances around, also not sure exactly in which direction she should be heading. "I am trying to find Lord Fastolfe. Have you seen him since we left?"

"Are you...feeling all right, Mr. Stimmons?" Graham asks, cocking his head and leaning forward just slightly. He gestures toward an adjoining room with chairs. "Would you like to sit down?" he offers affably enough. He shrugs slightly, "can I take your bag?" he adds, moving his left hand just slightly toward it.

Kylah has just asked the question about Fastolfe's location when she suddenly thinks of another for the Lieutenant. "Oh! No, wait, before I forget, sir--the transporter signatures that were discovered: How closely can you pinpoint when they occurred in comparison with one another? I am no technical engineer and I apologize for the rudimentary question. I know it is unlikely you can predict with any degree of specificity what time these transports were made. I was just wondering whether they were simultaneous--or nearly so--or if one was definitely initiated after the other?"

"Yes, yes he did," replies Rangin who sits back down in the chair as he struggles to contain the emotions and questions in him. How did Mr Hsu manage to put it into a report if it was not reported and no-one else mentioned it.

There were certain details of the crime known only to the person who committed it, was this an example of one of them. Rangin could feel that feeling of elation, of finding a solution to a problem, but this was more than just another science test, this was someone's life at stake. And he could still be wrong, he didn't have all the data and wouldn't find out until Kylah got back to him with the answer.

Yes, they had reported it and it was just another mistake someone had made somewhere, further muddying the waters of this case. No, they hadn't and someone was showing perfect knowledge of the case that they had no right to know...

...and it painted a large target right on Mr Hsu's back.

Kjaerstad nods. "The transporter traces were both, it appears, left in the past three to six days, based on Gh-particle decay analysis. They're very faint, and we can't tell more exactly, or if one came before the other. There are no others in the house but these. As for Fastolfe, miss, we have him right through here." The Norwegian man shows Kylah back into the second-floor sitting room, where Fastolfe and Miss Adjetey are waiting. They do not look happy. Dobson stands impassively at parade rest along one wall.

Stimmons says, "I'm fine, but no, thanks, I'll keep my bag... if that's all right." He takes the chair Graham offers, though.

Remember you can ask all the questions you want in one post, then follow up based on his answers.

About to leave, Kylah hesitates, putting a hand to her forehead to massage it as she thinks. "Three to six days? The Fastolfe party has barely even been here a full three days. Are you certain it cannot be less than that?" First we arrived here, Wilson was murdered that evening, we worked through the next day, then there was yesterday... I suppose it must almost be three days. But that is cutting it very fine. Once Kjaerstad confirms or corrects her, Kylah thanks him and walks into the room.

She sees the unhappy faces of the rock star and attorney, nods a quick greeting to Dobson, and then says, "Please excuse us, Crewman? I believe waiting just outside in the hallway should be sufficient for now. These two are not under arrest, and I wish for some privacy."

She waits for Dobson to leave, assuming the other woman listens to her, and takes a step closer to Fastolfe. "I am sorry," she says bluntly. "I know I cannot be a welcome sight to you. My questions seem to be multiplying like tribbles. But some new information has been brought to my attention and I... I am afraid I made a stupid mistake the other day when we first learned about your missing knives. I failed to ask the appropriate follow-up questions. We should have asked you to look around to see if anything else had been taken.

"I will rectify that now, Lord Fastolfe. Can you please tell me: since you arrived here, has anything else gone missing? And it need not be something you would think stolen. You might have assumed it was simply... misplaced. Or you failed to pack it. Or you could have assumed it was moved, perhaps, by one of the housecleaning staff. Anything--I need to know even if it is just a matter of your having run out of some... some trivial item like cologne or skin lotion... earlier than expected." Kylah kneels down so that she is eye-to-eye with Fastolfe. "Has anything like this occurred?"

She pauses. "If you have not noticed anything like this, I would ask that you accompany me into your bedroom and take a second look to make sure." Turning her concentration on him full-force, Kylah suddenly asks: "And finally: did you send Mr. Stimmons on some personal errand this morning?"

"Well, first things first," Graham says soothingly (for him, at least) to Stimmons. "Are you carrying any weapons, anything at all that might be a danger to me or the other officers searching the house?"

"How long have you worked for Lord Fastolfe?"
"Do you enjoy it?"
"What have you heard about the murder?"

Kjaerstad frowns, looks at his tricorder again, and adjusts the controls. He says slowly, "I suppose it could've been two days ago. Unlikely, but possible. It's not an exact science, unfortunately. I was meaning to run it by a transporter tech from the ship anyway."

Dobson leaves the room at once. Fastfolfe looks at Adjetey, who nods slightly. He says calmly, "Nothing has gone missing but my knives. I haven't run out of anything. I didn't send Stimmons out on any errand. I'll come with you to the master bedroom only if Miss Adjetey can come with me."

Stimmons chuckles nervously, and says to Graham, "Uh, no, no weapons, nothing dangerous. I've worked for Lord Fastfolfe for almost three years. I like my job very much. I heard, uh, well, that the resort manager was stabbed last night, no, the night before last, in the park outside, and that His Lordship is a suspect."

Kylah's chest tightens in growing irritation. "Of course, Ms. Adjetey should join us," she says, unable to prevent an accusatory look at Fastolfe. She murmurs quietly as she straightens: "I would not dream of entering a bedroom alone with you. I might accidentally 'bewitch' you again."

With a graceful arm gesture to the door, Kylah waits for the pair to join her on the way to the bedroom. "I take it, then," she says conversationally, although she is almost slamming her empathic abilities into Fastolfe's brain, "that Mr. Stimmons's early morning shopping trip was likely his own personal excursion?"

When they arrive in the bedroom Kylah will watch both Adjetey and Fastolfe to see where their eyes go first.

Fastolfe shrugs unconcernedly. "I don't know why he went. I don't keep track of what my staff does in their off-hours." He looks at the bed first when you enter the bedroom; Adjetey looks from left to right, sweeping the room, and not at anything in particular that Kylah notices.

Kylah walks slowly over to the bed table and examines it before shifting her gaze to Lord Fastolfe. "What do you usually keep here, Lord Fastolfe? One might expect to find items that are particularly personal or useful, things one wishes to keep close at hand before you go to bed, or when you first get up. Is everything here as it should be?"

She keeps watching him but addresses Ms. Adjetey as well now. "And before I forget, about those missing knives. Once we discovered they were gone, did you ever mention them to anyone on the hotel staff, perhaps for the purposes of putting in a claim?"

Graham nods and leans forward slightly. "Did you know Wilson, the resort manager? Any other resort staff?"

That night--were you with Lord Fastolfe?
When weren't you?
Where else did you go that night?
Did you notice anything out of place or unusual at the house, here?

Fastolfe says, "I usually keep a datapad or two by my bed for nighttime reading and notetaking, and here's the one that I remember. I don't think I had anything else by the bed since our first night here. Everything in the room appears to be pretty much as I left it, except, I suppose, for dirty laundry and the like."

Adjetey says thoughtfully, "I believe I did mention the missing knives to the head of resort security. Since it seemed likely to be connected to the murder investigation, we didn't report them stolen, as such, or apply for compensation." She looks at her boss, who nods curtly in agreement.

Stimmons replies to Graham, "I don't know any of the resort staff personally. I did go with His Lordship and Miss Adjetey to the Starfire nightclub. I was there with them the entire time, and we came back here to the house together, as well. I went nowhere else that night. I noticed nothing out of place or unusual when we returned, or during the night. I heard about Mr... Wilson, was it? Mr. Wilson's death later the next day."

Kylah tosses a brief look at Adjetey in acknowledgement of her response. She walks up to Fastolfe slowly. "Just a datapad, you say. No weapon? No medication or other... recreational personal items? I only ask because Mr. Stimmons has been to the pharmacy, and seemed in quite a hurry to bring his purchase upstairs. I thought perhaps he might have borrowed something." The thought occurs to her that if it was a sexual device of some kind, she would very much prefer not to know. She isn't sure whether to laugh or grimace at the notion.

Tilting her head, she glances around. "If you are convinced everything is in its proper place, you are a more organized person than I have ever met. Certainly far more organized than I. Over the past few days and nights that I have been on this planet, I have barely been in my own quarters except to sleep, and brought very few personal items. But one cursory look would not reassure me that nothing could have been taken. And I suspect I have far less 'dirty laundry' than you."

After measuring every inch of his face with her gaze, Kylah darts out a finger to point at the bedtable, saying bluntly: "A second transporter signature has been found. Right there. So I am afraid to tell you that something was beamed either out of or into this room--likely at the same time as the knives--at a spot located just inches from where you rest your head."

She raises an eyebrow even as she lowers her voice. "I would rather not frighten you, Lord Fastolfe. But you should realize that if something can be beamed in or out of here so easily, so can someone. And quite possibly faster than you would be able to reach those knives of yours, or for Mr. Hotchkiss to burst in to protect you."

Kylah stares up at him and tries desperately to read what might be going on inside that ego-swollen mind of his. "If you care nothing about justice, do you not care about your own safety? I do. And unlike others, it is not because I idolize some character you have created--or because I am on your payroll. Please, Lord Fastolfe--tell me what you think about this news. Tell me what you think someone might have transported in or out of this room."

Fastolfe says, "No medication, and nothing else by the side of the table since we got here. Stimmons hasn't borrowed anything from me, and he never would without my permission. I have no idea what might have been beamed into or out of here other than my knives." He seems to be getting a little angry. "Moreover, with this whole search-warrant fiasco, I don't...."

Adjetey puts his hand on his arm and he looks at her questioningly. She meets Kylah's gaze and says, "My client has nothing else to say."

Kylah ignores Adjetey and focuses on Fastolfe dispassionately. "Yes. I see you still have your priorities in order. I wish you luck with them. I also hope, probably in vain, that you have been considering the advice I gave to you regarding being alone with your staff." She reaches over and picks up the datapad, at this point no longer caring whether it angers him or not. "If there is a password or encryption to this thing, kindly unlock it so I may examine it more carefully. If this is the only item that has been on this table, perhaps it is the object someone beamed in, or out, or both."

While holding the pad with one hand, she picks up her communicator. "Kylah to Lt. Kjaerstad? If possible, could you please return to the master bedroom, or see that one of the other security officers is stationed here as well? I will be leaving and do not wish to leave the scene unguarded."

Next she walks to the entrance and looks for Dobson in the hallway. "Dobson, please accompany Lord Fastolfe and Ms. Adjetey back to the sitting room or wherever their next destination is. As long as we have permission to be in this house, I would like to ensure his lordship is not left alone." With a glance back at Fastolfe, she adds, "If you will not heed my warning, sir, I will have to enforce these precautions on you as long as I am able. It is clearly all the power I can exercise at this point--protecting you from your own bad judgment. And advice."

"Well," Graham says, leaning back and slapping his hands on his legs. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stimmons. I'll just have a look in that bag and then hopefully I won't have to impinge on your time any further."

Fastolfe curtly tells Kylah the passcode for the datapad. She sees that it contains several novels, including Nakemura's recent bestseller A Silence Unheard, Trofimov's comedy Alone on Earth Again, and Fitzgerald's classic The Great Gatsby.

Stimmons looks a little alarmed. "Is that really necessary? I'm sorry, it's just that... well, this is personal. What I bought."

"Thank you. Quite an array of literature, Lord Fastolfe. I remember reading this Great Gatsby book at the Academy. It is about a wealthy libertine who leads a glamorous but ultimately unfulfilling life with little regard for others or even himself. And he ends up murdered, does he not? Not a pleasant conclusion to his tale--but given his decisions, somewhat inevitable." Kylah smiles coolly and tosses the pad on the bed. "My apologies if I ruined the ending for you. Forewarned is forearmed."

Once Dobson has arrived to escort Fastolfe and Adjetey away, and the Lieutenant or one of the other security team is in place to guard the bedroom, Kylah will leave the bedroom and head back downstairs to see how Graham is doing with Stimmons. While walking, she also makes a mental note to check the datapads that Graham has already examined. Fastolfe must have financial data somewhere, and she would like to view it.

Graham shrugs. "Well, a judge went out of his way to sign a search warrant for this premises and persons in it for the purpose of investigating a homicide, and me being a Security officer...so, yes. But look at this way, Mr. Stimmons. Right now it's just you and me. Assuming whatever-it-is isn't related to the murder, I really don't care and have other priorities than embarrassing an innocent man." He gestures with his left hand. "It's got to happen one way or another, so let's just get it done, shall we?"

Rangin sits in the chair in the security office, deep in thought, waiting for some inspiration.

"I've read Gatsby before, Ensign," Fastolfe says, shaking his head, "but thank you for trying to spoil the ending for me. That is about what I would expect from 'Starfleet's finest' - petty and immature by nature."

Dobson leads him and Adjetey back to the sitting room.

Stimmons blushes crimson and hands Graham his pharmacy shopping bag. In it is some candy, toothpaste, and a vial of Umitril, a prescription skin cream that the Security officer is not familiar with.

It's your untimely ending I'm trying to spoil, you arrogant reprobate, though I can hardly remember why, Kylah thinks as she watches them leave. The sincere efforts she has wasted trying to help Fastolfe only make her angrier.

Since none of the security team has arrived yet, Kylah realizes she is stuck here. With nothing else to do, and bearing in mind the pharmacy bag Stimmons was holding, Kylah decides to take a journey to Fastolfe's bathroom, closets and dressers to see what, if anything, might be of interest. The security team has certainly checked adequately, but her own curiosity leads her to conduct her own more personal search.

Bending over an open drawer, she suddenly remembers to contact Velir. "Kylah to Rangin," she says tersely into her communicator, instantly regretting her tone and softening it. She does not mean to show her frustration to Velir. "Fastolfe's attorney claims they spoke with Mr. Hsu about the knives having been stolen. And by the way, despite the transporter signature, Fastolfe says nothing is missing from his bedtable. All he keeps there, allegedly, is a datapad with some night-time reading." Her tone turns bitter. "Perhaps we have been using the wrong form of pressure on him. Instead of threatening him with arrest, I wonder if he would be more disgraced if his fans knew he spends his evenings alone with a book.

"In any event, the only member of his staff who has not been questioned is the one who was not in the nightclub with the rest--Paula Goldman. If you have any suggestions on what I might ask her, I would greatly appreciate it."

Dr. T'Var calls Graham on his communicator. "I have finished speaking with Dr. Halsey; where shall I go next, Ensign?"

It is now 1002 hours.

Graham keeps his face scrupulously neutral as he hands the bag and its contents back to Stimmons--which is not hard since he has no idea what Stimmons is embarrassed about.

"See," he offers, as his communicator beeps, with a slight shrug. "Painless." He pulls out his communicator and asks Stimmons to remain seated for just a moment while he take the hail.

He steps into the other room and says quietly "Uh, well first Doc, can you tell me what 'Umitril' is for?"

Kjaerstad locks the main bedroom and assures Kylah it will remain secure.

Dr. T'Var says, "It is a topical antifungal, a very powerful one, as I recall. It is part of the standard treatment for Ithacan epidermal fungus, commonly known as the 'Ithaca Itch.'" She pauses. "Do you require a prescription, Ensign?"

Rangin answers Kylah on the communicator. "Thank you, it ties up with the reports here, I just wanted to make sure. Hmm, Paula Goldman, the usual questions I guess, what was she doing on the day? Had she met Mr Wilson? What were her dealings with the resort. What time did Fastolfe and co leave? What did she do while they were away? What time did they get back? Did she notice anything unusual in the house or hear anything unusual outside at any time?"

"You know, I'm not sure why I'm asking that one seeing as it looks as though Mr Wilson was transported there after this death, but its probably worth asking anyway, although there is one thing we never did look at. How old the bloodstains were at each site...if he was killed away from the square and moved there afterwards, do the times that blood will spilt match up at all? Thanks Kylah, you just gave me something else to go and check. I've got the readings, so a timestamp analysis from the stains based on oxidisation in the differing atmospheres between outside and the air-conditioned room and the cellular decay caused by death will help to provide a guide as to when the blood was spilled in each area compared to the other, and of course, I wonder if the blood sample will have kept a trace of the fact it was transported or whether the bloodstains in the garden were new. Some spectropic analysis should show if there is any wave residue remaining and show it either way. We never looked for it at the time, but now we know what we are looking for...Kylah, you're a genius. Rangin out."

Rangin gets up with a smile. "Officer Peters, thank you for everything. If you have any sparks of inspiration, let me know. If you will excuse me, I have some science to do."

Once Velir signs off, Kylah looks down at her communicator, not entirely certain what prompted this brainstorm. A genius, she thinks dryly as she puts the device away. I could not even decipher half of what he said.

She walks past Stimmons with a disinterested nod of acknowledgment, more interested in hearing Graham's report on their conversation than in initiating one of her own with the man. Then she swivels back to him, saying bluntly. "Excuse me, Mr. Stimmons. You are Lord Fastolfe's personal assistant and must know his possessions fairly well. Something appears to have gone missing from the bed table in his room. Do you have any idea what it might be?"

Kylah found nothing of interest in Fastfolfe's bathroom, closets and dressers, although she sees that he doesn't pack light, having brought clothes for virtually every kind of occasion. Also, one drawer in the dresser is full of erotic gadgets, the functions of some of which she can only guess at.

Stimmons looks puzzled. "No, I don't know of anything that's gone missing, other than the knives."

Peters grunts and goes to get a cup of coffee.

Oh great, Graham thinks, now the Doc thinks I have cooties.

"Uh, no...uh, thanks, Doc...just...curious." He pauses. "Rendezvous with Mr. Rangin. I'd like the two of you to compare notes and let us know if we're at the end of our rope in terms of scientific and medical analysis, or if there is anything else we...er, the two of you...could try."

Graham shakes his head as he stows his communicator, then notices Kylah is questioning Stimmons: he's ready to let Stimmons go, but returns to the room and waits before saying until he can figure out what's going on.

"I see," Kylah says to Stimmons without much inflection. "Thank you."

Graham has approached by now, and Kylah looks expectantly at him. "I have asked for Fastolfe's room to be locked and guarded, sir. Dobson is with him and Adjetey now. I can report further if you are done with Mr. Stimmons here. I have nothing to learn from him myself--unless he knows of the whereabouts of Ms. Goldman, who I believe was the only person who was not in the nightclub the night Mr. Wilson was killed." Her hands are crossed over her chest and she is aggravated, hiding it poorly.

Dr. T'Var calls Rangin by communicator. "I have left the Infirmary, Mr. Rangin, and Mr. Graham has asked me to meet with you. Where are you?"

Rangin answers the call.

"Hello Sir. I am heading for the CP to run some tests on the the blood samples we found. I'm going to see if it is possible to narrow down how soon after Mr Wilson was killed that he was transported to the park square. Also my guess is he was transported directly from the room next door instead of being moved. I just want to prove that theory as well. Also, before I forget Lt. Garcia is currently decoding some encrypted files from the Terminal in Mr Wilson's office. Is there anything you need me to do, Sir?"

Graham nods to Stimmons. "If you know Ms. Goldman's location, or think of anything else that might help with the investigation, please let us know...otherwise you're free to go, Mr. Stimmons. Thank you for your cooperation."

Graham feels a bit of sympathy for the guy: he didn't seem to be an asshole, he's got some kind of alien clap plus he works for Fastolfe to boot. He resists shaking his head and instead gestures for Kylah to step into the other room with him.

"Ah, a report is fine, Mr. Kylah," he says gently. "But are you all right?" He spreads his hands and takes a deep breath himself. "Why don't you just take a second to regroup."

"I am fine, thank you, sir," Kylah says, her voice on edge. "Fastolfe said nothing has gone missing other than the knives, and when we went into the bedroom he said he found nothing wrong. But I wonder if the fact that there are two transporter signatures in his room, yet he claims nothing other than the knives were taken, might be enough probable cause to add his ship to the warrant. It certainly indicates that he might have been the one to beam the item away, whatever it is."

She shakes her head irritably. "Nothing I said or did would get him to talk to me. I made a mistake in judgment with him when we were alone, but I never thought he would react like this." Sighing, she looks up. "What was in Mr. Stimmons's bag, Mr. Graham?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Rangin," Dr. T'Var says. "I will meet you in the CP shortly."

Stimmons tells Graham, "I think Paula is in the resort's spa," before he scurries away.

Lt. JG Kjaerstad comes downstairs moments later and reports, "We've found nothing else suspicious or incriminating in the house or its occupants, Mr. Graham. The transporter signatures both match those of the resort's transporter. I had Lt. JG Ferguson, a transporter tech, take a closer look at our readings, and he believes that the traces were left sometime in the last two to four days. Interpreting these kinds of very faint readings is as much an art as a science, though, he said."

"Understood sir, I will meet you there." Rangin replies as he makes the short journey from the Security Office to the CP.

Once inside, he starts the analysis on the blood samples they have, looking for any teleport traces and for the differences which might point to when the blood was split in the separate locations. He's actually quite glad that Dr T'Var is coming to the CP. Her knowledge is far greater than his in this area and she would have a far better chance of making the correct call on the results than he would.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Graham replies to Kjaerstad. "Good work - then if we're done here, please assign and rotate the Security team onsite as you see fit to keep an eye on things--maybe send somebody to keep Delaney company."

After ensuring Stimmons is out of earshot, he replies to Kylah. "Ah, something called 'Umitril.' Mr. Stimmons seems to have a..ah...skin condition," he says.

He's not sure what she means by a "mistake in judgment" and he wonders if he wants to know...he lets it lie for the moment.

"Look, don't take it personally Mr. Kylah, if he was uncooperative." He shrugs. "He's an asshole," he adds, mentally assigning Fastolfe to a very clear category in his taxonomy of the universe. "In any event, sounds like the spa is our next stop."

He tries gamely to lighten her mood. "After all, Ms. Goldman might be in the womens' private area and what with my charming appearance and diplomatic skills, on my own I'd probably cause a galactic incident if I barged in there..."

Again Kylah has to avoid reacting to Ferguson's name. She focuses on Kjaerstad's report, noting the signals seem to have been confirmed as originating from the resort's transporter.

As she considers this, she hears Graham's comments about Fastolfe and she can hardly disagree. Still, the fault was hers. "I take every failure personally, sir," she says matter-of-factly. "How can I not? It is my doing. I do not see how one can avoid future errors if one does not take responsibility."

She ignores Graham's comment about entering the women's locker rooms or whatever salacious joke he was attempting. It seems in bad taste for a Starfleet officer. But it is par for the course considering what she expects from most men.

"I am glad that Ferg--that the transporter technician says the traces are connected to the resort's transporter, although that does give us no better rationale for seeking a search warrant for the Chariot. I was beginning to fear Lord Fastolfe might be implicated after all. I do not want my feelings about him proven incorrect." She walks toward the entrance, still in thought. "You said Umitril," she says after a pause. She has heard this name before. Back at the Academy... sniggers about one of the popular male cadets. "That is an antifungal cream, is it not? I don't suppose... It could have nothing to do with the spores, could it? Are the spores fungal in nature? There is probably no relation--I cannot imagine the pharmacy would sell such an item if it put the spore therapy in jeopardy--but still, I am curious. What do you think?"

Once they are outside, Kylah hesitates and looks over to Graham, somewhat warily. "Now I remember. You wanted to speak to me about something before Stimmons arrived. What was it?"

T'Var meets Rangin in the murder investigation's Command Post. She helps the young Coridanite xenobiologist with his analysis of trace blood evidence from the conference room adjoining the resort's transporter room, in the park where Wilson's body was found, and from the autopsy of the corpse which she conducted aboard the Yorktown. It was definitely Wilson's blood in each case, but even after a level-1 quantum resonance scan, it is impossible to determine when, exactly, the blood was left in the conference room or the park. There was little of it, and it was fully congealed, in both places. There are faint transporter traces in both places, and on Wilson's body itself, and all are consistent with the resort's transporter signature.

Kjaerstad says to Graham, "Yes, sir. We'll leave the Fastolfe guest house and redeploy, then."

Graham and Kylah have just a few minutes' walk to reach the spa, and may talk on the way.

Graham clears his throat and squares his shoulders. Well, she sort of opened the door to this conversation, he thinks hopefully.

"Well, while we're on the topic of avoiding future errors..." He glances at her and then turns back to look ahead as they walk. "Look, your, ah, devotion to duty is obvious and commendable. And I gather things are done differently on Elas. But...I--from what I've observed, I think you need to be more, ah, judicious about boundaries..." He pauses. "With men" comes to mind given what he saw with Fastolfe and this Jan character, and maybe Ferguson too although the jury was still out. But he hopes not to go there yet. He glances back at her. "For the sake of your well-bring, and your Starfleet career."

Kylah keeps walking but stares at Graham in confusion and not a little annoyance. "Things are done differently on Elas," she repeats hollowly. "What in particular--what has my planet to do with anything? What have I done wrong? You just told me not to take things personally, but now..." His words about her well-being and career almost sound like a threat, but she cannot fathom what he means. Why bring this up now? What led to him wanting to talk to her? She had just finished the Hotchkiss interview, then they spoke to Velir, and then Graham suddenly asked to talk to her in private. Kylah is at a loss to understand what could have spurred this on.

"I am sorry, I just do not understand." Her stomach tightens and her voice turns sharp. "I wish you would speak plainly, sir."

"Well, it certainly confirms the transporter as the means of moving the body from one site of the other. He was killed somewhere between midnight and 12:30 from the autopsy and the fact he would have been seen on the cameras if he had left any earlier. Mr Delaney has already given us the details of when the transporter was used last night, so it would have to be at one of those times. You know, I'm surprised, we didn't find any blood spatters in the transporter room, stabbing someone usually leaves traces. Do you think there are likely to be at least two people were involved in the killing? Other than that, I'm not sure where to go looking next myself. Even if we assume the blood samples from the room were crested at 12:30, it's looking unlikely we can tell how long after the body was moved."

Rangin sighs disappointedy., "Oh well, another good idea while it lasted. I think I will check with Lts Garcia and Delaney, to see how far they have got. Hopefully they will have some better news for us."

Rangin contacts each of them to find out if they have any good news.

Graham clenches his jaw. Well, here goes.

"Look," he says to Kylah, trying to moderate his professional voice and sound like a friend, even though he feels sure he does not have standing with her as friend. "We all want to get the job done, however we can. But with men--ah, men like Fastolfe, or this Jan character--you don't have to throw yourself at them."

He pauses. That's the Starfleet officer advice part, he thinks. He wonders about stopping there: she's not your daughter, Booker, and even if she were, she's a grown woman and as long as it doesn't interfere with her duties she's as free as anyone to have whatever she considers a good time.

Then he reflects on the last couple days: does it seem like she's been having a good time?

"And you shouldn't," he adds, more quietly.

The air freezes in Kylah's lungs when Graham mention's Jan. And she feels as if she'll never take another breath again when Graham accuses her of throwing herself at him. And Fastolfe? What can he mean? Fastolfe took her visit the wrong way, but Graham was the one who suggested she go to him. And he cannot know what happened.

Nor can Graham know anything about Jan other than that they went to dinner. And that she was in his hotel room, yes, but that is not... Velir told me they ran into him at the nightclub, but Jan said nothing... Velir promised me Jan said nothing!

"I have no idea what you mean," she whispers, exhaling at last. "I do not throw myself at anyone. Why would you think that? How did I--do you think because I defended Lord Fastolfe I was attempting to--to seduce him? I was doing as I was told, you told me to go to him, it is not my fault he took things too far." Realization strikes her like a slap. "This is because of what happened with Lt. Ferguson. You believe his lies after all. But they are lies. I have no idea why he said such things, and I thought you believed me."

She takes a ragged breath. "I am just trying to do my duty. That is all I ever wanted. As for whatever you think happened with Jan... you are mistaken. You are very much mistaken. It was nothing like what you said. You do not know, you were not there!"

Her words splutter to a finish and she walks faster, not wanting him to see her face. But she would have to actually start jogging in order to move beyond him, her legs are so much shorter than his, and so she can only turn away and wish she could disappear into the ground.

Garcia says to Rangin, "Nothing to report here, I'm afraid. The encryption of these files is very good. Hopefully in an hour or two...?"

Delaney reports from Wilson's suite, "I think we're on the home stretch in cracking the safe's code. I tweaked the algorithm and it looks like we're 90, maybe 95% of the way there."

"I wasn't there," Graham says slowly and quietly, accelerating to get a little ahead of Kylah, then stopping. "But security cameras cover all the public areas of the resort, including the garden."

Kylah lifts her face toward Graham, uncomprehending. "The garden?" She can only stare while her mind wildly tries to piece together what he is getting at. That night remains a haze, thankfully, and it takes some time for her to take the mental journey from dinner with Jan to what happened afterwards.

They stopped to look at the stars, Jan's arm around her, always touching her, always keeping the connection between them. His hand on her face. Then she took hold of him and kissed those fingers that had grazed her cheek. He spoke, said something about the spores, said everything felt different. Then despite her own mind warning her not to, she fell against him. Kissed him. He held her and kissed even harder. And soon everything was different.

Kylah's mouth parts in shock. "Cameras..." she echoes, shaking her head in futile disbelief. "You... you were watching me? Spying on me? Why? Why would you do that? You had no right--you were not even in command then, you were only a fellow ensign!"

She backs away from him and clenches her hands into fists. "A video does not show a true picture. Just because you thought something was... untoward... that does not make it true. I know how your mind works. Everyone is guilty, everyone is base and unworthy of trust, until Ensign Graham Booker makes his final judgment. Someone else watching would have understood, would not have misinterpreted things. Were you alone? Who else was with you?" Please not Collins, please not her...

"What?" Graham says a little snappishly, as he's a bit taken aback she's so focused on who was with him. "Wha--I was with Rangin, but I don't see why the hell that matters."

He frowns. "Look," he says starting to point at her, then he pauses and draws his hands back toward his own chest. You're trying to counsel her, not chew her out, he reminds himself. But the fact she's pissed off about his use of the camera--just like Rangin--frustrates him. "Look, in my book, as a fellow ensign on a mission we'd call taking advantage of these cameras 'watching out for each other, not spying.' I'm trying to help you, dammit, not judge you..."

He rubs his hands on his legs for a moment. "What I meant before was--I don't know how you took my direction to be 'good cop' with Fastolfe, but you seemed to get a little too..." Ah hell, he thinks, nowhere to go but there. "Ah, sexual with it. Maybe..." He holds up open hands, "What I meant before was maybe men and women interact differently on Elas, but in Starfleet there are some lines that I'm saying that..." He clasps his hands in front of himself for a moment, a disarming gesture but his tone is firm. "I'm saying that you need to observe or people are going to interpret the wrong way. Or..." He feels a little sick. Somehow the lack of standing as a father he feels with Lizzy is colliding with the lack of standing as a leader he has with the mission team. But that's no justification for punking out. She was out of bounds, whether by choice or because of something else she needs help with, this is your job...

"Or your commanding officer is going to question your judgment," he says.

Rangin. Velir saw that? He did not tell me, why would he not... Kylah's heart sinks and she feels ill--but her dismay is overwhelmed by anger when Graham continues. She barely manages to keep her hands at her side rather than slapping him.

"You think I behaved--sexually? With Lord Fastolfe? I did not. I did not!" Her throat is so tight she nearly chokes. "How dare you? How dare you impute such a thing? You human males," she says, almost spitting the words. "You veer so swiftly between being prigs and libertines. And your explorations in Starfleet betray the worst of your hypocrisy. 'How fascinating other cultures are; so curious, so primitive, so inferior.' And of course, the females of these races are particularly fascinating. We have such different values, such varied ways of reproducing, it is vital to study us as you would a beast in one of your zoos--although a hands-on approach is always preferable, is it not?"

Kylah wraps her hands around her chest, nails digging into her arms even through her uniform. "All through the Academy I was mocked for being cold and frigid, simply because I did not act the way the cadets thought an Elasian woman should act. Now if I show an ounce of sympathy, a hint of friendliness, I am upbraided for behaving like an Orion slave girl. Or for giving 'the wrong impression,' as you generously put it."

She inhales and, though trembling, steps closer to him. "Tell me, sir. What if there had been a security camera in the CP yesterday? What mistaken impression might someone have received if they'd seen you lunge at me, put your hands on me, drag me over to the wall and loom over me so I could not move?"

Her glare is venemous. "Is that what this is really about? Despite that high-minded offer to resign, I suppose in truth you have now realized I am a threat to you. Now you are trying to find a basis for a defense, if I should reveal what happened--even though I have promised you I would not. But an Elasian woman is not to be trusted. So you will claim it was all part of a pattern, my own 'bad judgment.' That I provoked you. That I lured you with some whorish Elasian trick."

Kylah is doing her best not to cry but it is difficult to see Graham clearly through her tears. "I have worked as hard as anyone else to fulfill this mission and perform to the best of my abilities. But by all means, relieve me of duty if you think my judgment is so poor. All it will do is prove to me that humans are as corrupt as they believe the rest of us to be."

"Thank you Sir," Rangin replies to both of them before reporting to Dr T'Var alongside him. "A couple of hours to go on both at least. I imagine the others are still dealing with Lord Fastolfe, otherwise they would have said something by now."

He sits down slightly despondently, wondering what to do next, ticking the things he can think off on his fingers.

"Guests interviewed, security checked out, Wilson's office and suite checked, as much data on the crime scenes as we can find gathered and analysed. No sign of the other knives, no reason for the spore effects to be lost unless something happened to them to cause it. You wouldn't find any trace of a transmitter that could do that, and physiologically the effect would have worn off. The transporter used seven times, if only we could narrow down some of its usages, like the one to Lord Fastolfe's room."

Rangin stops and mouth slightly agape, "Well...why don't we try and narrow down its usages. There is the trace in the park, the trace in the guest house. There are other places we should probably be looking. The room next to the transporter should be a given... but would confirm if the body was moved before it was transported and it might be worth checking the quarters of those effected by the spore loss. There were several uses in a short span last night, likely all involved in the murder, let's see if we can pinpoint where they went. Actually, one last thing to check, can that transporter do remote to remote or does it have to go through the main room, because if not, they would have had to move the body, and given the lack of traces, they either cleaned up well or used a lot of sheeting."

Rangin smiles at the Doctor, "I'll start with the room next to the transporter and then swing out to the guest houses, see if any of them have another trace. I just hope there is enough of a trace left to find." Picking himself up, he heads for the door, another needle in a haystack to look for, but it's something that doesn't make him feel like he is sat there doing nothing.

"That must have been hard for you," Jane said, mussing his hair. "You had to be very stern with Lizzy."

Graham rubbed his eyes. "Well she's got your IQ and my stubbornness, so she can be a handful...but there are ways she needs to behave as a member of this family and she was way out of bounds this morning."

Any professional counselor would probably laugh their ass off at how I am fucking this up, Graham thinks, back in the present moment, but I'm not always wrong, dammit...

"The way cadets treated you at the Academy sounds like it hurt you, a lot," Graham says sympathetically, but he ends more firmly. "But we're not there, and I'm not them."

"Now listen here, young lady," plays through his mind--Oh, that would go over well, he thinks... He tries to choose his words carefully.

"In the CP I got caught up in a moment and the result was behavior that was unprofessional--unplanned, unintended, but on me, my responsibility, no conspiracy theories or intergalactic politics or rationalizations relevant or acceptable."

"And I'm as far from perfect or omniscient as can be, but I've been in Starfleet almost as long as you've been alive and I know what I've seen over the past couple days."

"It's never occurred to me to relieve you of duty--nor to question how hard you're willing to work. But I am going to suggest you take 30 to cool off and decide whether you want to constructively discuss the concerns I expressed in good faith and--even if only temporarily--as a goddamned superior officer."

He softens his tone as he concludes, although it is still firm: "I'm suggesting so it's off the record--I'll make it an order if necessary."

Dr. T'Var says, "I'll come with you." The park and guest houses surrounding it are a short walk away. Outside, from the sidewalk, her and Rangin's tricorders detect trace signs of transporter signatures within the guest houses of both author Rosemary Calvin and billionaire Fellim Palver.

Too angry and upset to respond, Kylah just nods her head. He thinks he is so tolerant and reasonable, she thinks viciously. Hypocrite. Hypocrite! She turns on her heel and stalks away from the resort entrance, staying to the side of the building to avoid giving Graham the impression that she plans to return to Fastolfe for some more seduction time. The very idea makes her ill.

She cannot disagree that what happened with Jan was a mistake. But it was a mistake countless male Starfleet officers have made, and far more consciously--and willingly--than she. Everyone knows of the multitudinous conquests of the great Captain Kirk... he was a role model for half the male cadets at the Academy, and not because of his brilliance as an officer. As for the other accusations about Fastolfe, Kylah will not, will not, accept them. She cannot see how she did anything that could have been interpreted as 'sexual' with the man. Unless merely being present and female counts. And considering Fastolfe's known diversity in lovers, only one of those is truly necessary.

The unfairness of Graham's intimations galls her, and Kylah desperately needs some guidance. Having walked for five minutes, she pulls out her communicator and starts to hail Rangin. But she stops. He saw me and Jan. He might believe the same as Graham. Perhaps that is why he pursued me... Wracked by doubt, Kylah does not want to believe this of Velir. It seems so unlike him. His feelings... she has not sensed them, she purposely avoided infringing on his privacy by testing to see if his emotions were real. Still, she knows he is a man of quality, of sincerity. I cannot be so wrong. There are so few people I find honorable, I cannot be wrong when I finally come across one.

Nevertheless she does not hail him. He is working. She cannot run to him with every argument she has. Then the thought occurs to her that she never did get an answer from Graham about the skin cream. Of course, he was too interested in dissecting her sex life to discuss the actual mission. She decides to send a text message to Velir and T'Var instead--they know the scientific and biological nature of the spores better than anyone. T'Var; Rangin: Question regarding new piece of evidence. One of Fastolfe's staff has prescription Umitril, an antifungal skin cream. Any possibility the spores are fungal in nature? Could they be affected by such medication? -- Kylah

As long as she is sending text messages, she adds another one, hoping to get rid of some more unfinished business. Thalen: Has anything useful been uncovered from the hotel's financial documents and guest communications forwarded to you earlier? -- Kylah

Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Kylah sinks down onto the grass, shaded by the building. She sits for a few moments and contemplates what she can do that might be purposeful, useful, instead of waiting like a misbehaving schoolgirl for the teacher to let her out of the corner. What angle can she take that the others are not looking into? Whom can she talk to who is not considered a witness or suspect?

She thinks of the financial records again and suddenly a little shock runs through her. Of course. She already had plans, tentative ones, to speak with him today. Now she might as well clear the air between them. Perhaps she will be able to explain her behavior. Most of all, she might at least understand a thread of inquiry that seems to be running through the investigation but no one seems quite able to piece together. He is an expert. And no one else will be talking to him, so I will not tread on any toes. Swallowing, Kylah looks down at her communicator again. Do not be a coward. This is the perfect time. Graham will never let you alone again. And besides, he probably expects you to spend your thirty minutes in a quick liaison, she thinks bitterly. Perhaps he hopes he can watch it on the cameras again.

Swiftly--fast enough so that she cannot change her mind--she lifts the device to her ear. "Ensign Kylah to the front desk. Will you please connect me to Jan Švehla?"

"Well, well, well, would you look at that. Two transporter traces which would give rise to the spore losing effect on two separate people." Rangin smiles at the readings. "There are a couple of other places to check for traces, namely the quarters belonging to the other two people in the group. Possibly the lift...sorry elevator, to see if Mr Wilson happened to be transported out of it. Even so, it still gives rise to certain conclusions."

Rangin smiles at the detail of the data before looking across at Dr T'Var. "What would you be willing to wager that those beams came down in the bedrooms. I think it might be a good idea to ask at the houses and see if we can get a better fix. Or rather, I will get a fix and I believe it would be better, Sir, if you notice whether the guests are aware of the situation or not."

Rangin heads up and knocks on Rosemary Calvin's door.

While waiting, he receives Kylah's text, looks at it for a moment and responds. No, Umitril will not affect spores. Spores will actually remove requirement for Umitril. Likely that Fastolfe's staff member should consider abstinence for the next two weeks until itching clears, unless fungal infection is located on scalp, in which case steer clear of said employee.

Graham continues on to the spa.

Dr. T'Var replies to Kylah by text: The spores are the seeds of the Omicron plant, which is, as you know, unique in the Galaxy, but is not fungal in nature. Spores form part of the life cycles of many plants, algae, fungi and protozoa. I agree with Mr. Rangin that Umitril or any other such cream would almost certainly have no effect on the OC3 spores in humanoid lungs. T'VAR.

Ens. Kylah notices that the weather is mirroring her mood. Dark clouds continue to roll in overhead; it looks like a storm could be not long in coming.

Lt. Thalen answers, also by text, I have someone taking a look at those records, but there's a lot of them, and it's slow going. No red flags yet. Will let you know if we find any. THALEN.

Czech businessman and bon vivant Jan Švehla comes on the line after a minute or so and says, "Kylah! I'm so glad you called. How are you?"

Rosemary Calvin answers her door. "Yes?"

Ens. Graham arrives alone at the spa, which is in a large Neoneoclassical adjoining building about ten minutes' walk from the CP. It has an impressive gateway, with rough-hewn granite walls and highly-polished brass gates. He steps inside, and a stunning blonde WR&R staffer greets him in a cool, shady antechamber filled with ferns. She chirps, "Welcome to the OC3 Spa. May I help you, sir?"

Kylah closes her eyes and shudders when she hears Jan speak. It is the first time she has heard him since she practically fled his room that night. As pleasant as his tone and light accent are, they invoke too much within her.

"I am fine, thank you, Jan. You seem--" Her voice cracks and is weaker than she intended. She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes to stare at the roiling storm clouds, and begins again. "You seem well. I hope your stay has been enjoyable. The reason I am contacting you is... I do not mean to be presumptuous, and I know this is last-minute, but I happen to have some free time now. I thought perhaps... perhaps you might be available to meet somewhere? I understand you are probably busy," she says in a rush, almost hoping she is correct.

But beneath that hope, another part of her--the instinctive, physical, almost cellular-level part--remembers how she felt when they were first together. She was as dispirited and depressed then as she is now, and for much the same reason: a dress-down from her superior officer. And being near Jan, near the spores and his own open desire for her, made it all vanish. Remember that peace? That bliss? her body seems to cajole her. It would be so easy to get it back...

Alarmed, Kylah recognizes this longing and it disgusts her. She pushes herself up to her feet, tempted to throw her communicator away altogether.

Instead her fingers tighten around the device until her knuckles turn white, and she continues. "It could only be for a half-hour or so, but I would be very grateful if you are able to meet me. You see, I wish to apologize and explain my behavior. I know I was abrupt that evening, and probably seemed very rude..."

Her voice is getting weak again. Rude. Rude was not listening to her, rude was keeping his naked body covering hers when she begged him to help her get free.

She shakes her head and forces the next words out. "So I... so I wish to clear things up, if I may. And you might also help me in the investigation, if you are willing. There are some things that have cropped up that I do not understand, financial things, and you being a banker, I thought you would not mind explaining how it all works. But mostly I would just like to be with you again." Kylah has to close her eyes again. "Please?"

Hoping that Dr T'Var is watching Mrs Calvin's emotions and seeing how she reacts Rangin nods politely to her in the doorway, "Mrs Calvin. My apologies for calling at this time of day and for interrupting your stay, however certain things have come to light from the murder that took place. You may or may not be aware but there appears to be a link between the murder and your house and we would like to confirm certain facts locally as well as check a couple of facts with your good self."

Rangin continues his explanation while watching for understanding from the person in front of him. "The first thing we need to check is that a transporter signal has been located within your house from the time of the incident and we need to get a more precise fix on its entry point and perhaps determine what was transported. To this end, we would need access briefly to this guest house, if you are willing to accommodate it."

"The second part of this is to ask if you have noticed anything missing from the night of the murder or perhaps found anything in the house you were not expecting. We believe it may also be related to the loss of effect of the spores that you are aware of. May I also say thank you for going through with the medical tests as well."

Rangin looks calmly into her eyes waiting for her reaction, which is likely to be a firm no, but is ever hopeful.

Graham blinks. Oh this would be ironic, he thinks, I just get into a giant dust up with Kylah because she thinks I've accused her of ho'ing around on the job and now I should be like "Hey, how you doin'?"

The irony of it all fuels his rueful mood. If he believed she was a veritable female Captain Kirk--or Billy Coogan--he might tell her to not get distracted while on duty, but her, eh, affairs were her business.

"You know, Booker" Billy said while they sat by a pool on Risa, both on shore leave while still in their 20's. "The best thing about being in Starfleet is getting laid." Billy flashed the grin so many people found irresistible. "Unprecedented ability to meet people and make friends, all over the galaxy....still," he said, frowning. "I am bummed Weinstein plays for the other team. I'd give a year's pay to find out what she's like in the sack."

Graham grunted, his nostrils burning as he choked and snarfed up his drink through his nose. Billy glanced over at him. "Jeez, Booker, can I take you anywhere? Anyway, do me a favor: when the waitress comes back I'm going to ask you a question. Just answer 'Yes, Captain,' OK?"

What a rockhead, Graham remembers thinking. Funny, good shot with a phaser rifle, but a real rockhead...

Kylah doesn't strike him as a Coogan/Kirk type.

Whorish. As he walked to the spa that would kept replaying in his mind. I. Never. Use. That. Word. He wanted to go back and say, his chest tight and his stomach roiling...because... He shook off the impulse. That was a long story and not Kylah's problem. Although Kylah's problem... "All through the Academy I was mocked."

He replays in his head how he could have responded differently: I understand, he could have said. Of course there's no way in hell she would believe me, he reminds himself.

He puts all that aside for the moment: back on the clock, Booker.

"Ah, well, at a place like this," he replies, glancing around and gesturing at the grand surroundings, "I'm sure in many wonderful ways." He shrugs and smiles slightly. "Unfortunately, I'm here on duty. I need to speak with a Paula Goldman, and I was told she might be here."

Jan says, "Of course, dear lady! I'd be glad to meet. Shall we have an early lunch? Say, meet at Otherworldly in ten minutes? My time is yours."

Colvin looks a little surprised by what Rangin says, but replies, "Um... all right. Please come in. I haven't noticed anything missing. What, or where, do you need to check?"

The WR&R staffer nods. "Ms. Goldman is here but is unavailable at the moment. Would you like to wait, or leave a message?"

"Thank you and I hope that it will not be for too long. We don't know precisely where to check, so I believe I will be checking downstairs, while it might be more appropriate for Dr T'Var to look for traces upstairs."

If Mrs Calvin lets them in, Rangin will start checking downstairs, and allow Dr T'Var to go upstairs to scan in the more personal areas where it would be impolite to go. Of course, if Graham were here, Rangin muses, he would insist on examining the bedroom in detail.

The only thing he does look out for is how tidy the house is, given that yesterday she refused Rangin and Kylah entry on the grounds it was a mess.

Relieved beyond measure that Jan did not suggest the same restaurant where they went to dinner--nor does he wish to meet alone--Kylah nods. "Yes, yes. The Otherworldly." She glances toward the spa entrance and the sudden possibility of Graham seeing them turns her face red. "Perhaps the restaurant has some tables that are relatively... inconspicuous? I would rather not run into my colleagues, it would be awkward." Which is putting it mildly. Then again, Kylah is the only one being forced to take a mandatory break; she should be safe. She lifts her chin in defiance. And anyway. He told me to take a break. What I do at such a time is my own aff--my own business. And if I can learn something useful about all these investors and so on, the investigation will be better for it.

"Thank you again, Jan. I will see you there soon."

She puts away her communicator and walks to the entrance nearest the restaurants. Her heart is beating so heavily she worries it might be audible. Inwardly she chants along with it: I am in control this time. I am in control. Nothing will happen... not like that, not ever again.

Graham can't help but sigh.

He's starting to second-guess himself about telling Kylah to take 30: the whole...discussion..was precipitated by his mounting concern given the accumulation of what he'd seen with Ferguson, Jan, and Fastolfe. Now he just sent her off alone, and upset to boot. The story about her being bullied made it that much worse...and closer to home.

I shouldn't have let Collins call me off that night, he thinks, frustrated with himself. Should have gone with my gut.

My gut says go look for her...but my head says that's stupid. What reason would I give? I'd just come across as condescending at best...and what could possibly happen?

He clears his throat. "I suppose I'll wait...do you know how long she'll be, by any chance?" He almost laughs. "Ah, is it possible to have a tour while I wait? Hopefully we might have some down time while we're here." Also I'd have to sell everything I own to raise the credits for one treatment, he suspects, but doesn't say.

Rangin finds nothing of interest in his scan of the downstairs (although it is a little messy) of the author's guest house. T'Var finds a very faint transporter signature in the master bedroom. There are no bedside tables; the signature appears localized on the floor near the head of the bed.

Jan walks into the restaurant ten minutes later almost to the second. He is dressed casually but in very nice clothes. He beams at the sight of Kylah, and says, "I called ahead to arrange for a private room. Would that be all right?"

THe WR&R staffer at the spa, whose name is Jill, says, "I don't know how long she'll be, but sure, I'd be glad to show you around." Graham soon sees that the spa is very large, with saunas, hot and cold pools, jacuzzis, exercise and fitness rooms, massage and aromatherapy rooms, and so on. Everything looks modern and quite clean. Several other WR&R staffers and guests pass in the halls, most looking a bit surprised to see a Starfleet Security man there.

"Well, that's curious indeed and I think indicates one thing," says Rangin, "that its unlikely it was a person coming in and out. Although the readings may be so faint, two signals may be showing as one. Can we scan the floor in the area, see if something was placed there instead?"

Rangin turns to Mrs Calvin. "Actually. Mrs Calvin did you notice if anything was located in this area, not something of yours, but perhaps something that you might have considered fixtures or fittings, a small box perhaps or other item. Something you may have thought that the cleaners would have removed."

Mrs. Calvin squints and thinks, finally saying, "No, there was nothing on the floor there that I ever saw. I would've tripped over it if there had been."

T'Var's readings indicate only a single faint transporter signature. It seems to match that of the resort's transporter.

In the spa, a door opens near Graham and Jill, and a short, fat and very sweaty woman wrapped in a towel steps out. "Ah, here's Ms. Goldman now!" Jill says. "Ma'am, this is Ensign Grance. He's from Starfleet and wishes to speak to you."

"Is that so?" the fat woman says gruffly, looking at Graham and pulling her towel a little tighter around her ample frame. "What about?"

"Excuse for just one moment please Mrs Calvin, I just need to confirm something with Dr T'Var." Rangin politely asks Mrs Calvin.

Walking off to one side with Dr T'Var, Rangin queries the results found. "So, if I understand this correctly Sir, we have one signal, either in or out. Mrs Calvin is certain she noticed nothing there before the night and there is nothing there now. So whatever was transported could move under its own power. From her statements just now, something has to have been transported in. The same thing would have had to have happened in other houses as well. The only thing I can currently think of being transported at this point, without being suspicious at all, is Mrs Calvin herself, whether knowingly or unknowingly...and I would hazard a guess Dr Halsey would not have looked for that in his medical."

"That leaves two things we could try to confirm. Was she transported in, perhaps knowingly or unknowingly? Or if it was not her, can we find any other evidence of anyone else being in this guest house at that time, which might still be lingering? Actually if she was transported in, how did she get out before without being noticed. May have to go back over whatever footage we have and the witness statements, although I doubt anything will turn up."

He looks up at the Vulcan alongside. "What do you think?"

Dr. T'Var frowns. "Given both the location and the relatively small size of the affected area, I strongly doubt Mrs. Calvin herself was transported. I agree that she would certainly be aware of having been beamed in or out, unless, I suppose, she were unconscious at the time."

She scans Mrs. Calvin, with the author's bemused permission, and finds no indication that she has been transported at any time recently other than when she beamed down from the liner which brought her to OC3 - and the ship's transporter signature is definitely different from that of the resort.

"Thank you Mrs Calvin, that has cleared a few things up. The only question then we have is...what was beamed in or out. If it wasn't a person, then what was it. It wasn't there in the evening and was gone by morning. So either it moved by itself or someone else took it during that period."

Rangin looks across at the guest. "I'm sorry to say this, Mrs Calvin, but it appears someone may have been here that night, I would guess collecting whatever was beamed into your room, but I do want to point out I could be wrong." he says solemnly. "I'm sorry to ask this again, Mrs Calvin, but are you sure nothing was out of place or different when you awoke the following morning in this guest house, after the spores lost effect? Please think again, it is important."

He looks across at Dr T'Var, "Sir, perhaps we should see if we can find any further traces of what it might have been or if someone might have come to collect it. Any indent in the carpet, logs from the doors and so on..."

Rangin tries to keep his face calm but inside he can feel his mind trying to turn over what might have happened here and probably in the two other houses.

Under normal circumstances, Graham would consider himself lucky. Goldman is a suspect--that doesn't mean she's guilty, but asking questions when someone isn't expecting them and is a little off balance can be a better way to get at the whole truth than a situation where the interviewee is in comfortable surroundings and has had a chance to prepare.

But he's distracted: I should have sent somebody to check on Ensign Kylah, he thinks. The story about her family background and the academy are nagging at him, as is her apparent alone-ness on the Yorktown.

Predators can smell prey. I learned that a long time ago. He realizes he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts.

"Ah, it's Graham, Ensign Graham, Starfleet Security, Miss Goldman," Graham says, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "You're Fas-- Lord Fastolfe's assistant, is that correct? We're interviewing his staff concerning the murder of Mr. Wilson. I'd appreciate it if you'd answer a few questions." He pauses and gestures slightly toward the towel-clad woman. "Under the circumstances I suppose we can skip executing our search warrant."

He glances at Jill. "Perhaps there's an unoccupied treatment room we could use for a few minutes?"

Calvin is certain nothing has been moved or is out of place. Rangin and T'Var look and scan carefully, but find no other sign that something was on the carpet, or that anyone has been in the guest house other than Calvin and those she authorized.

"It's Ms. Goldman," the fat woman says, "not Miss." Jill shows her and Graham to a nearby lounge, small but comfortable, with two chairs, a couch and a low table. Jill also brings Goldman a plush white bathrobe into which Goldman changes before Graham follows her into the room. The publicist settles onto the couch, taking up most of it.

"Mrs Calvin, thank you very much for your time and willingness to help out. We have a few more answers, but also some more questions that require answering. Sir, is there anything else you can think of?"

Once Dr T'Var is finished and they have headed for the exit and Rangin will contact Lt Delaney and ask if the tricorders would be good enough to notice separate transports if they were close in time, or whether that would be detectable.

Finally, he will turn to Dr T'Var and ask. "If we cannot find trace of a person or object transported in or out, what are the odds that it was not a solid object. Sir, would it be possible to beam in a quantity of epinephrine or something similar as a gas into the area and cause the loss of spore effect as the body reacts to it. I also think we will find the same thing, we will find the same thing occurred at Felim Palver's guest house. We should really check the Vice Admiral's room and that of Lt Cmdr. Ebling to see if the same has occurred to them."

Dr. T'Var says slowly, "I'm not sure you could beam in an uncontained and inchoate quantity of gas in such a way as to have a definite physiological effect on someone in the room." She thinks some more. "I suppose you might beam in a dispenser or container of some kind that distributed it, though, and then beam it back out again. If there were, say, an aerosolized spray of epinephrine in someone's closed room while he or she was sleeping, it might dispel the spores' effect and not be noticed until the person woke up. It would also be metabolized quickly enough that no scannable portion would later remain. We should certainly check Mr. Palver's and Vice Adm. Hardin's rooms, but Lt. Cmdr. Ebling did not lose the spores' effect, did she?"

"No, she didn't, Sir. But then why would you miss out one person in the group if you were going to do this kind of thing. That in itself would make no sense."

Rangin considers the situation for a moment. "Do we know for certain what the effects of the spores are on Tellarites, not to mention whether epinephrine would be an effective remover of the effects for them. Also, if it is a dispenser of some kind, then teleporting it in and out over the course of a few seconds may only register as one power drain or signal on our tricorders. There are seven transporter surges we need to explain, and not, as I have probably wrongly assumed, individual transports, Three go to the guests houses, one goes to the park for Mr Wilson's body. That leaves three unexplained."

Rangin's begins to shake his head slowly, "...possibly two for the other quarters and one for the getaway. Of course, this doesn't answer the one question. Why?"

Rangin straightens up, a look of resolve to start cracking through the enigma facing them.

"Sir, you're correct. Lets check Fellim Palver's house. But while we head there, Sir, unless you know the answer, which would not surprise me, I would suggest contacting the research station and confirming the effects on Tellarites. Also, Sir, please excuse my curiousity, but did Dr Halsey say anything else of interest after I left?"

"Please call me by name, Ensign," T'Var says gently, "or, if you must be formal, 'Doctor' or 'ma'am.' I am still unaccustomed to being referred to as 'sir.' Dr. Anderson said earlier that the spores were safe and effective on Tellarites, but that not much research had been done on their race and the spores in particular. Dr. Halsey, when I just spoke to him, had little to add to what he had said before. He is still puzzled by the loss of the spores' effects on Palver and the others."

In a few minutes, the doctor and the xenobiologist stand outside the Rhaandarite billionaire's guest house.

Kylah's stomach lurches when she sees Jan so close again, there in Otherworldly restaurant, smiling at her, almost beckoning her with his eyes. Why did she do this, why did she think she could handle this? And then the mention of a private room... I cannot, I cannot... After a deep breath, she swallows and girds herself. Do not be ridiculous. It is a restaurant. He will not... I will not do anything untoward. I am in control, she repeats, hoping each echo of these words will make them true.

"Yes, of course. It is good to see you again." Kylah tries to channel her mother, whose calm demeanor could always be relied upon whenever in a social setting. She steps forward, keeping her hands clasped together.

Jan notices her hands and does not reach for them, but squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you called," he says. "I've missed you."

The maitre'd, all smiles, whisks them to a small but plush private room at the back of the restaurant. The walls are papered in the dark red Theban style; two chairs await them at a table covered with a white damask tablecloth and loaded with fine silver and crystal glassware. The maitre'd disappears, a waiter appears and takes their orders, pours the wine which Jan ordered for them both, and then withdraws, leaving the two alone.

"So how are you doing, Kylah?" Jan asks. "Is the investigation going well?"

Kylah watches the waiter leave, trying to clamp down on the instinct to follow him out the door. It was all she could do to tolerate Jan's kiss without flinching, and the room is far more intimate than she ever expected. And wine... She vows not to touch it. Or Jan, for that matter--either physically or mentally. She does not dare press outward even slightly to gauge his mood or intentions.

"I... It is keeping us very busy," she says, slipping the napkin from the table to her lap so she has something to grasp in her hand. The truth is, while she is grateful he did not start off by getting too personal--other than the kiss--she knows she will have to bring the topic up herself. She needs to tell him... she must, for her own sake, express her confusion regarding what happened between them.

However, since it is possible things might turn ugly... he might grow defensive if he believes she is accusing him of coercing or even forcing her into sex. Kylah is glad to start with a safer topic. "There are so many different angles we must consider. Any death leaves much that is complicated behind. And Mr. Wilson--oh, I just realized I have no idea if you knew him. If so, I am sorry."

Kylah finds herself relaxing now that she is in more familiar territory; much of what she has done for two days, it seems, has been offering condolences. "As I was saying, Mr. Wilson left behind a multitude of complications, and we have had some trouble determining what is normal and what might relate to his murder. I am at a particular loss, because much of it is financial or business-related, with contracts and investments and shares and licenses, and I... well, I have never had to deal with that before. That is why I thought of you--since you are in finance yourself, I hoped you would help me make sense of things."

"Of course, I'd be glad to," Jan says.

Kylah thanks him and tries to gather her thoughts. She quickly explains why Starfleet was here in the first place--the Wrigley Resorts & Recreation contract renewal. "Even now, there seems to be little cause to object to the company's role here. But others interested in this land--resort competitors--would not know that. In confidence, without revealing any names, we have identified several current guests who have some relationship to different WR&R competitors. But they are just investors, not owners. In your experience, could someone have such a large investment in a competitor that they would visit WR&R and somehow... attempt to influence the contract renewal?"

"It's possible, I suppose," he says. "A scandal such as a murder, or evidence of wrongdoing by the company that your investigation revealed, might count against WR&R when Starfleet decides whether or not to renew."

Kylah nods doubtfully. "Wrongdoing, yes, but a murder... the company is a victim as well. I cannot see our holding it against WR&R, unless Mr. Wilson's killing was some unified action on their part, which seems..." She shakes her head and refocuses. "Perhaps there was some attempt to influence things. The connection between all these investors being here and Mr. Wilson's death seems too coincidental to ignore. I wonder if Mr. Wilson might have been approached, or even complicit, with some scheme to benefit one or more of the investors, and had a change of heart, making him a danger to them. But why would people with different company interests band together in such a way? That is what makes so little sense. Is there any sort of investor, or someone with some other kind of financial interest of which I am ignorant, who could benefit no matter what happens to the contract?"

He says thoughtfully, "Yes, there might be some investors who have hedged their bets and stand to win regardless of whether or not WR&R keeps its franchise. Or maybe they have inside information and know what's going to happen - or think they do - before anyone else. Insider trading is against the law, of course, but it happens."

"Knowing too much is a double-edged sword," Kylah murmurs, staring at her glass full of blood-red wine. She tightens her grip on the napkin and moves on. "What I also do not understand is the importance of this particular spot of land. Assuming some competitors were hoping to sabotage the license renewal... why would they bother? The whole planet is wide open. Spores are not in the sole jurisdiction of WR&R. Why not just colonize some other section and build that up?"

"Well, as I understand it, WR&R has an exclusive franchise here. The planet is under Starfleet jurisdiction and no one else can build on OC3 without Starfleet's say-so. Obviously WR&R would object to any other resort or similar facility opening here, as that would mean fewer credits in their pockets."

Frowning in thought, Kylah looks back up at Jan. "Yes, that reminds me partly why I thought you might help--you specialize in something like this, do you not? Something to do with colonizing. So much has happened, I forget what you told me. What is your area of expertise again? Could you explain how it works?"

"I'm an investment banker," he says, after drinking a little wine. "Mostly colonial bonds, communications and timber. Colonial bonds are floated - offered to potential investors - to raise money to pay for exploration, colonization, or capital improvements of an already-established colony, such as housing construction, sewer and water improvements, orbital stations, environmental systems, and so on."

It all seems a barrage of words to Kylah--she deeply regrets how little education she has had in financial affairs--but she does her best to concentrate and understand how everything might fall together, assuming any of this has something to do with the case. "That does make more sense now. Yes, colonial bonds was the term I had forgotten. You were clearly the right person to go to, you know so much." She smiles in gratitude, though something is now skittering around her brain, some little puzzle piece trying to find its proper place. "I wonder, have you heard if there are such bonds for OC3? And if so, who would offer them? A company like WR&R, or the owner of the land, such as Starfleet? It seems to me that, as you describe it, there are some different opportunities for corruption, if someone who was in charge of awarding contracts--or gathering funds through these colonial bonds, for example--were willing to sell his influence." Her voice softens as she tries to work things out, almost forgetting Jan is there. "I wonder if someone like Mr. Wilson had learned of a scheme... or was a potential leak in such a scandal... He did have things he was keeping secret...."

"It would somehow seem wrong to call you T'Var given your rank, Ma'am," Rangin replies slightly abashed, "but if you insist, although I'm not sure what the others will make of it." He grins for a moment, "that's their problem."

At the door, Rangin mutters under his breath. "Second verse, same as the first, twice as long, and twice as worst." He knocks on the door ready to start talking to Fellim Palver if he is in, and using the same detail as last time, hoping that he would be just as receiving to their request.

Palver is in, and does not take much persuading to allow you to enter. There is a bedside table in his bedroom, and a virtually identical transporter signature lingers there, as well, your tricorders reveal.

Graham stifles the urge to roll his eyes. 'Miss,' 'Ms.' what the hell's the difference? he wonders. Actually he does wonder what the difference is. But more importantly who the fuck cares...

And what the hell did I just do. The dumbest thing you've done on this mission (and there's serious competition) was let Ensign Kylah go off on her 'interview' mission alone and you just sent went out of your stupid goddamned way to send her off on her own upset and with no back up or cover...


He can't actually muster much ire toward 'Ms.' Goldman because he's too pissed off at himself.

"Of course," he says tightly, "Ms. Goldman."

What the hell do I do now, tell the Security team to locate Kylah because I'm a moron... He minutely shakes his head. For all you know, moron, you're in the room with Wilson's killer.


"I understand you're his Lordship's assistant."

How long have you worked for Lord Fastolfe?
Do you enjoy it?
What have you heard about Wilson's murder?
Where were you that night?

"I'm his publicist," the woman says flatly. "Not his assistant. I've worked for His High-and-Mightyship for four years, and I hate it. I heard the manager of this fleabag 'resort' snuffed it, but know nothing more than that. I was at the guest house that night. I didn't go out with the others to dinner or the nightclub. I went to bed early, maybe 10 or so, and woke up late, and that's when I heard about his death."

In the private room at the restaurant, Kylah trails off. Wilson's secrets. The secure files. The mysterious abbreviations. Co. Bd. "Corporate board, surely," she had said dismissively to Graham. But... 'Co. Bd.' Could it be... Colonial bonds? Kylah realizes she has forgotten to breathe and quick inhales before she looks back up at Jan. She is probably wrong; she must be wrong. "I am sorry," she says hoarsely, knowing her face is flushed and unable to do anything about it. "I am talking to myself and not letting you answer."

He smiles. "That's all right. If I recall correctly, WR&R neither needed nor sought any bonds for building this resort. They had enough cash on hand to pay out of pocket, as it were. It was a somewhat speculative investment for them, you understand, because they might lose their franchise, and they're hardly going to pack everything up and move it somewhere else - wouldn't be at all cost-effective - if Starfleet chooses another company. They'd probably just sell the resort facilities to their successor, even if at a loss. But it seems to have been very worthwhile for the company so far. This is a very important property for the company, and WR&R's stock has been a steady performer for many years."

"You do know a great deal about this. I suppose you must have researched things before you went on your vacation." Kylah's heart is racing again and she does her best to simply look interested and attentive. But she feels ill. Because with what she is now suspecting, she realizes she has no choice but to do what she promised herself she would not do. Slowly, carefully, with the dread of someone inching across a frozen lake in fear of breaking the ice and falling into a black abyss, Kylah pushes her mind toward Jan's emotions as she asks her next questions. "Have you yourself dealt with any investments relating to the resort or the land?"

Jan still seems to be entirely under the influence of the spores, just as he had been when they first met. He says, "No. I have some WR&R stock, but not all that much - less than three percent or so of my portfolio, I think. The resort is valuable, of course, but the land itself? Really not much at all. WR&R typically wouldn't want mineral rights or anything like that; they just needed somewhere to build the resort. It's access to the spores that's invaluable, not the land itself. The galaxy is full of rocky planets, and all of them have land - some more hospitable than others, obviously."

She nods. "I wonder if you know anything about Vice Adm. Hardin, the Comptroller General, who is staying here now? I am embarrassed to admit I never heard of him myself, but since you are so knowledgeable...."

"Hmm. The name sounds familiar, sort of, but I don't know him. I don't think we've ever met. I actually know very few people in Starfleet." He shrugs a little and smiles warmly. "Present company excluded, of course."

Kylah tries to determine if he is being sincere. His answers would be a great relief, if true. "Is it possible that, for some reason, WR&R has less cash than it is letting on? That they might be thinking of offering colonial bonds to expand or improve their property?" She hesitates. She could be breaking confidence, but he is simply a goldmine of knowledge, and it would be a shame to miss the opportunity.... "I realize I am belated in reassuring you that as a guest that you are safe here. Mrs. Hsu is the acting manager--do you know her?--and she has been most helpful. Our Starfleet Security is everywhere, and of course the resort security is quite skilled as well. That is run by Mrs. Hsu's husband, the head of security. I do not know if you have had any dealings with him during your long stay? But he is doing his best."

He seems entirely sincere. "I can't say I'm privy to every last detail of WR&R's finances, but I've heard nothing to suggest they're in a cash crunch. I guess... if their franchise is renewed, and if they're squeezed financially, and if they want to expand or overhaul the resort, then yes, they could try to get bonds, or get a loan, even offer a new class of stock, just like any company could."

"Thank you." Kylah decides to change subjects. "I should also ask you if you are feeling well. Some people have had problems with the spores' effects. If you do, you should inform Dr. Halsey--are you familiar with him? He seems quite competent, although I am worried that the spores seem to be losing their effectiveness."

"I don't know Dr. Halsey, either," he says. "But I feel fine. Never better." He leans a little closer and smiles again, almost shyly. "But I'd feel even better if that night were not our last together."

Now she knows she must address this deeply personal matter. How to begin? "Jan..." she begins, looking down at the tablecloth as her throat tightens. "I do want to ask you... if we may talk about our--our time together. First I want you to know that I have not confided in anyone about it. But one of my colleagues...friends... mentioned that he spoke to you about me. At the nightclub, not very long after we--after I left you. Ens. Rangin said you told him nothing but expressed concern for me. I want to thank you for that." Blinking, she raises her gaze tentatively. "I was aghast that anyone, even Vel... even a close friend, would question you about me. I hope you did not take it amiss and were able to enjoy the rest of your evening. You stayed at the nightclub?"

He looks at her quite seriously, and says quietly, "I did take offense, at the time. I was a little angry. But I'm sure he meant no harm. He was concerned about you, as I was - as I still am. I stayed at the nightclub for maybe another half-hour. What matters to me now, though, Kylah, dear, sweet Kylah, is that you're all right, and that things are all right between us. Are they? Is there something you want to tell me? It pains me that there seems to be a wall between us that wasn't there before."

Only a half-hour. This brings her up short again. That would still give him no alibi... But no, why is she still assuming he needs one, if she is wrong about the bonds? And wrong about the "S" on the other file, too--that it might have referred to Jan's last name.

As they thank Palver and leave the residence, Rangin turns to Dr T'Var, "Same as Mrs Calvin, and I would guess that Fastolfe's would be just the same. Ok...," Rangin forces himself to keep speaking evenly, "...T'Var, I guess we should now check on two hotel rooms, starting with the Vice Admiral."

Rangin waits for the obvious dressing down for addressing a more senior officer so familiarly while on duty even if it was at request.

Graham would have a field day with this attitude, Rangin considers the thought of the big gorilla grunting, beating on his chest and generally acting outraged, about lack of respect. Rangin wasn't sure Graham knew what respect was, it was not like Graham had ever shown much towards his colleagues. After all, we were all far too young and inexperienced...

The good doctor obviously does not mind Rangin's use of her name. The two go to Vice Adm. Hardin's hotel suite; two plainclothes Yorktown Security guards recognize and admit them. Hardin looks a little surprised to see the two in blue, but welcomes them and asks, "Any progress on the murder investigation?" A tricorder scan shows no sign of transporter activity anywhere in the suite.

Kylah forces herself back to the equally unpleasant topic of their night together. A far lesser tragedy than a murder, but she cannot help be nearly as disturbed by it. "I did want to... I need to explain that," she says weakly. "You already know I reacted badly to what happened with us. I did not hide it well. The thing is, Jan, I know you meant no harm, you would never have intended that. And you could not have known why what we did was a mistake, I was giving you so many mixed signals..."

She hears herself and knows she is making no sense. How can she possibly explain without revealing how the spores affected her? Her mind races and then alights on a fairly lame, but at least not impossible, rationale. "The--the truth is that I was not myself. Whenever we were close, I was being influenced by the spores. Your own spores. I did not know, I did not realize, that apparently my people have a sort of... affinity, vulnerability... perhaps you might even call it an allergy... to the spores. Even without inhaling them, if we are too close to someone who is affected, when we touch or--or do more--" Kylah's face is on fire and she has to look away. "They transfer to us. That is what happened to me. The spores were intoxicating. And my judgment was so poor anyway. I knew something was wrong but I liked the way I felt. At least, at first. But things... things spun out of control. I felt I was being pushed down a path I was not ready to take."

"But, Kylah...."

She holds up her hand. She shakes her head and feels tears burning her eyes, which she blinks away. "Please... this is very hard for me. I know it was my responsibility to get out of the situation while I could. I do not want you to think I am accusing you. I know I was kissing you back, that I did not resist when you undressed me...." Reciting it this way makes her entire body feel filthy all over again, as if once again covered with her perspiration, with his, with the heat of his skin on her, with him inside her and trapping her...

She shuts her eyes against the memories and forces herself to continue. "Physically, I was reacting just as nature would intend. But mentally, emotionally, I was not ready. I was not ready. I'm sorry, Jan. I know this is not what you wanted to hear. I was desperate to stop, I did not want to continue, but could not gain control of my actions while we were so close, while the spores were... passing from you to me. Influencing me, carrying me along, no matter how hard I tried to free myself. And Jan... I did ask you for help. I told you I did not want this. I was trying to tell you."

He is speechless.

Swallowing, she continues. "I am not saying what you did was... unnatural, or anything that most people would not do. But what upsets me is the fact that when I asked you to let me go, when I pleaded with you to understand that I was not ready. You told me I could leave, that it was up to me. Perhaps with most women that would have been enough. They would have pushed you off and left. But I could not. I physically could not."

The tears have won, blinding her. She hastily dabs at her eyes with the napkin. "I have felt ashamed and guilty for the past two days. Disgusted by how weak I was. I have blamed myself entirely. But slowly I do remember that there was something you could have done. The truth is, Jan... while you gave me one last chance to leave, you assumed when I did not, that was not a 'no.' But you did not wait for a 'yes.' And I never gave you one. I could not have. I would never have been with someone I did not love."

The last words are almost a sob and she barely controls herself. "That is why I am distant. Since that night I have thought only I was guilty of stupidity and recklessness. But you... again, I am not accusing you of anything criminal or base. I just want you to know that I wish you had listened to what I was saying, rather than what I seemed to be doing. I know it may seem that actions speak louder than words. Sometimes that is true, but not always, not in that situation. I think women have suffered because some men believe that our physical reactions are proof enough of consent. But they are not. They are not. But... I had to say this. I had to tell you, if only for myself. And I thought perhaps next time, in some similar situation, that--that might guide you. I am sorry," she says, and now she does crumple into tears, muffling her words with her napkin. "I am very, very sorry."

After a long pause he says quietly, his voice shaking a little, "You have nothing to apologize for, Kylah. I'm the one who owes you an apology. I thought you were enjoying yourself. I really did. I thought you wanted to be there, making love, growing... closer together. I had no idea the spores, my spores... my consciousness was having that effect upon you. What can I... how can I make things better?"

"You cannot. There is nothing to be done. But... it means a lot to me that you are just listening. That you are not defensive or angry or accusing me of lying." Kylah again blots her eyes and sets her hands back down on her lap, meeting his gaze again. "It matters that you want to help. I was so afraid to see you again. I have avoided much of the resort, as much as possible, for fear of seeing you and not knowing how I would react. I so much feared losing control again that I felt threatened by you--even though, deep down, I know you would not hurt me. Without even trying, without you even realizing it... that night, I turned you into a kind of... monster."

He stares at her.

Guiltily, she lifts her hand onto the table and touches the shining cutlery, rubbing its cool metal against her burning skin. "I even thought you might... you might be involved in the crime. Mr. Wilson's death, I mean. I know it was my own fear doing this; I was creating this demon whom I could blame for everything horrible that happened." She sighs and shakes her head. "There was even a moment just before... when you mentioned the colonial bonds... you see, there is a file, a secured file we cannot yet interpret or decrypt. And it has abbreviations in its name that everyone has assumed meant company board, or corporate board. But just now, I associated it with colonial bonds. And thus, you."

Kylah closes her eyes in embarrassment before looking at him again. "I am sorry. It was unworthy, I should not have had such thoughts. But the coincidence struck me, and I was already afraid of you, and... I was stupid, it was a passing moment. I only tell you now, because I... I want to be truthful with you. To show you just how terrified I have been. And to apologize, because now you have been understanding and... so helpful, as well. Will you forgive me?"

He shakes his head, obviously troubled. "Again, there is nothing to forgive, Kylah. You've done nothing wrong, really. But... if, as you say, there is nothing I can do for you... I think perhaps I should go now. I'll pay for the meal before I go." He stands abruptly, pushing back his chair. "Will you excuse me, please?"

A bit startled, Kylah rises as well. "I have made you angry. Or embarrassed. But please, let me say this before you go?" She looks worriedly at Jan. Why does she feel so guilty now? Yet she does. "One of the reasons you can do nothing for me is because... you have done what I needed most from you. You listened. You did not deride my feelings. You did not cast aspersions on my character. You have no idea what that means, Jan. I have known many men who would not have reacted with such sensitivity." She takes a deep breath. "I must still live with what we did, and the way it happened, and my own mistakes. I think it will be easier to do so, now that you have let me express what I had to, the way you did." Tentatively, she lifts her arm. "Will you... will you shake hands with me?"

"Of course, if you wish it." Jan takes her hand and shakes it once, twice, before letting go. "If ever you want to talk again... if there is a chance, any chance at all, that we might still have a future together, despite all that has happened... I hope you'll get in touch. Tomorrow, next week, next year... whenever. You're a beautiful, fascinating young woman, and I want nothing more in all the worlds than to try to make amends for... what happened. Even... to win your love." He frowns ruefully. "But if I never hear from you again, I'll understand. So for now... goodbye, Kylah."

He leaves.

"Yes Sir, some progress," Rangin replies cheerily to the Vice Admiral, "Dr T'Var and I are following up on some details on the transporter and the last group to be introduced to the spores, which included yourself, Sir. I believe Ensigns Graham and Kylah are talking to Lord Fastolfe. Thank you for your time and patience, Sir"

After they leave, "Ok, one last place to check out, Ma'am, T'Var...I will get this right one day..." bumbles Rangin as they head for the last place to check out, Lt Cmdr Ebling's room. "Maybe it was just the three of the guests and not the two Starfleet officers, which is just as curious."

"Certainly, Ensign," says the Starfleet Comptroller General, smiling. "Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

Dr. T'Var points out the increasingly cloudy skies to Rangin as they go. Lt. Cmdr. Ebling is not in, nor are her plainclothes guards. A tricorder scan from outside her hotel suite reveals no transporter trace at all.

Now alone in The Otherworldly's plush private room, Kylah stares after Jan. Her thoughts are churning along with her emotions.

The conversation went far better than she imagined it would. She expressed everything she wanted to say. And Jan was in every way a gentleman. He did not accuse her of lying. He listened and was clearly regretful that she did not enjoy their evening together. He said such gallant, flattering things, compliments such as she has rarely heard from anyone sincerely, other than Velir. He took her hand and assured her she was not to blame. He cares for her and still wants more.

Yes, the brief meeting should be considered a rare success.

Why does she not feel that? Why does she feel guilty? As if she let him down? Hurt him?

And she feels something else as well. A restless, frustrated surge of... anger. But at what, or whom, she cannot determine.

Kylah turns back to the table, picks up the wine glass and takes a lengthy sip. The sweet warmth soothes her dry throat. Then, replacing it, she looks over at Jan's glass. If she still felt him a suspect--if she still felt the terror that she did when, for a second, everything seemed to coalesce, when the secret files and a possible motive all merged together and formed an image of Jan as murderer--Kylah would be tempted to take the glass and test it for fingerprints.

But it would be wrong. He did not give his permission. Even in the incredibly unlikely possibility that he were guilty, the fingerprints probably would be inadmissible.

He did not do this. He is not a monster. He is just a man.

Kylah raises her glass and takes another sip. Her blood feels warmer now. She lowers the glass and holds it for a while, contemplating the remaining wine. She wanted closure and she probably has it. She should feel she has it. But does not. Somehow, something in this conversation did not go as well as she wanted it to. But she is not sure why, or what it was. It is not enough. Why can it never be enough? What more can I do, what more could he have done?

If nothing else, she accomplished what she needed to regarding the investigation. She learned more. And perhaps she is right about one thing--perhaps the Co. Bd. does indeed mean 'colonial bonds.' It need not relate to Jan. Perhaps Wilson was receiving an offer, somewhere. Or perhaps he learned someone else was receiving a bribe. It is an angle that might be worth pursuing. I can be satisfied at that, at least.

She leaves the room, absently puts her glass down on a nearby waiter's tray, and walks out of the restaurant. Kylah is not satisfied. She is on edge. It is not fair that she should be the one to feel guilty after that discussion. Why? Why?

Outside now, the storm clouds above reflect her own internal torment.

Before she enters the spa resort where she last saw Graham, she stops and looks up at the sky. Rain on me, she pleads. Send hail onto me. Batter me with your precipitation.

She waits a few moments, but nothing happens.

It does not matter. The sky cannot cleanse her.

With a sharp intake of breath, Kylah enters the spa and looks for Graham.

Kylah passes through the shiny brass gates of the spa and in the fern-shaded antechamber meets a very attractive blonde WR&R staffer, who chirps, "Welcome to the OC3 Spa. May I help you, ma'am?"

Rangin looks out of the window at the end of the hall watching the oncoming storm. "Looks like a big one, T'Var. I'm surprised they're allowed this close to the resort." he says with a grim smile.

Eyes fixed outside at the black clouds, "Well, we got our results. Either three or six to the guest houses with one last one for Mr Wilson. I don't think we are going to find any more, at least not easily. But we know more than we did. It might be worth checking the medical supplies to see if they are down three sets of dispensers and a certain amount of ephiniphrine. It's the most likely place they would be, if that kind of mechanism was used."

Black clouds and heavy rain to wash things away, but what?: guilt, evidence, fear, hope?

"We'd better hurry, we don't want to get caught in that." Rangin turns for the lift to head for the medical centre.

Kylah nods at the receptionist or hostess or whatever she is. "Good morning. Or I suppose it might be afternoon by now..." Though she starts to look down for her chronometer, she then decides she does not really care. "I am looking for a male colleague, Ensign Graham. Gray hair, green eyes, strong-looking. Can you tell me if you have seen him? He was intending to interview a woman named Paula Goldman and may have asked for her here?"

Graham can't help but smile slightly and shake his head. "Must be kind of a challenge to publicize a guy you can't stand." He weighs asking further questions or not: she might have been in the house alone, but the transporter signatures suggest that something other than one of the occupants physically sneaking around the house was in play. And being cooped up in a small room with a surly, sweaty woman while wondering whether Ens. Kylah was all right was getting old fast.

He closes his eyes for a moment as his head starts to hurt. "Thank you Ms. Goldman, I appreciate your time. If anything comes to mind that might help us in our investigation please let me know. If we need to ask you further questions we will be in touch, but right now you're free to go."

T'Var says, "I have not heard that WR&R has a weather-control grid here; I suspect it does not."

In the Infirmary, Dr. Halsey says he has no aerosol dispensers and never has. He has a small stock of epinephrine but is quickly able to confirm that none is missing.

The spa hostess grins at Kylah and says, "You left out, 'Wearing a Starfleet uniform like me.' As soon as I saw you, I thought you might be looking for him." She pages him; Graham hears the page just as Goldman, with a harrumph, slouches out of the room.

Rangin shakes his head miserably as he leaves. "Well there goes another possible theory up in smoke, we could check with the research station but that doesn't bear thinking about and the only other alternative is someone bought them down with them. But that just leaves the few who came down in the last couple of days and I haven't seen anything around that would be similar to that."

Kicking at an inoffensive piece of gravel as he walks along, Rangin is frustrated by the ideas being knocked down. "I honestly thought we could be on to something with that. Something small, transporting in and out and resulting in the loss of spores. It's making just as much sense as the rest of this case."

"Why those three, why not others resident here, what's so important about those three...well, we don't know it was just those three. I wonder if the situation would have been the same if Mr Wilson had given in and Lord Fastolfe had got his way about the guest house."

Looking across to T'Var, "Is it briefly worth checking around the other guest houses? We still have an hour or so to wait before anything. Perhaps the scene where it looks like Mr Wilson died, perhaps we might find something new..."

"...oh wait a moment. Where would be the best place to hide anything like that. Wilson's safe. Why those three, they are the only ones outside of Starfleet who saw the attack on Mr Wilson and know about the knives. Also, why those people possibly, if one of them is a killer, then it would mask the issues with the losing the spore effects from the adrenaline rush of killing someone. But then, why not just pick three random people, well because the killer knows for absolute certainty that at that point in time, those other people will be under the effect of the spores. Not to mention no-one else apparently reported it."

Rangin slumps, thoughts all jumbled and out of place. "Why do I feel I am missing something," he demands of the sky above, "it's like playing chess with only a few pieces and you can't see the other side."

Rangin turns back to the stoic Vulcan alongside. "No, it still doesn't make any sense. T'Var given the benefit of your wisdom and experience, what do you suggest, I fear I am leading us from one blind alley to the next."

"You are too hard on yourself, Ensign," Dr. T'Var says. "Each of your theories has been plausible. I think we are very close to a solution. I am willing to check the other guest houses with you." She calls the Starfleet research station and asks Dr. Lucy Anderson to inventory any aerosol dispensers or epinephrine on hand there. After a few minutes, Dr. Anderson gives the same answer as Dr. Halsey had in the Infirmary.

Graham's communicator beeps; it's Delaney. "The decryption protocol for Wilson's hidden safe is in its final minutes, it looks like, Mr. Graham. Want to be here when I open it?"

"Thank you T'Var, that actually means a lot."

Rangin calms himself slightly, to try and put an analytical mind to better use instead of running off whatever he thought of next. "Let's try the other houses, who knows, we might find some more signals...and once we find that common thread it will probably make sense. Who knows, if it was done with dispensers, they may be too powerful for the hotel rooms and may have overlapped into multiple rooms causing a lot more problems. Of course, there is one other thing it could be, I've overlooked and you would probably mention later. I've assumed it was just epinephrine. What if it was also contained a sleeping agent, which would allow any person to enter or exit the guest houses without fear of waking anyone else? It would make getting Fastolfe's knives so much easier...but that makes no sense. It would mean Wilson was killed by something else other than one of those knives as the killer would not have had access to them until after the murder and they would have to have been transported somewhere unknown after the event."

Rangin shrugs, "I'm sure we'll find out in due course, so to the other guest houses I guess. Who knows, maybe we will get lucky. Ok, I know, Vulcan's don't do luck, Ma'am."

She smiles a little. "The Universe is a stranger and more mysterious place than we can possibly know, Ensign. Vulcans do not, as a rule, place as much stock in luck as some Humans, true. But we acknowledge that there is always a place for chance occurrences going your way, and some people do seem 'luckier' than others, even when preparation and planning is taken into account."

Tricorders in hand, T'Var and Rangin walk around the park. They find no indications of transporter signatures other than those already known: where Wilson's body was found, and in the guest houses of Fastolfe, Palver and Calvin.

Graham's leaving the room without much energy or enthusiasm in response to the spa attendant's page when he gets Delaney's hail.

"Hell yes!" Graham responds with gusto. "On my way." He dramatically picks up his pace and moves quickly and decisively, intending to quickly breeze by and take care of whatever the staffer needs and get to the safe on the double.

We've been slogging through 100 kinds of shit on this mission--some of it to be sure of my own making--maybe now we can make a damned arrest.

Kylah thanks the hostess, avoiding the dry comment that if Graham were wearing the identical outfit his legs might not be shown to their best advantage, and turns around to wait, her arms folded over her chest. She contemplates what she can possibly do that is worthwhile right now. The only real lead she has is the very dim possibility that she is right about the meaning of that file abbreviation. Pulling out her communicator, she types:

RANGIN: Apologies for bothering you again. May have a theory about one of Wilson's secured files and am wondering where the original files are now? Are they w/Garcia or does he just have a copy? Want to make sure the originals are safe from tampering. Thank you - Kylah

After sending the note, she sighs and looks at the screen. She would rather speak to Velir, but does not wish to interrupt. Even sending the text message makes her feel like a clinging vine, desperate for the sunlight that is Velir's calming presence. But in reality her mood is turning even blacker than the skies at the prospect of seeing Graham again.

At that moment, Graham enters the spa anteroom with a full head of steam, headed for the exit. Jill says a little hurriedly, "This other Starfleet officer asked to see you, sir."

"Other Stafleet officer" hits Graham's ears and for a split second he feels panic: it's Kjaerstad or one of the Security team, I knew I should have sent somebody to find Kylah...

Then as he snaps his head around he sees it is Kylah and feels a tremendous sense of relief. He masks it as thoroughly as he can: since his worries were obviously unfounded, conveying his anxiety now could surely only cause more of some kind of argument.

"Ah, good," he says perhaps a bit too officiously, gesturing that she should follow him. "Delaney's almost cracked the safe, why don't you..." as he steps closer to Kylah his eyes narrow a bit. Something seems...off. "Why don't you come along."

"Certainly, sir." Kylah pushes herself away from the desk and moves toward the exit. "Well done to Lt. Delaney. It is marvelous to hear that the safe might be opened. And how fortunate that I have been allowed back on duty in time to see it." She replaces her communicator in its holster--only successful after two tries, the first one sloppily aimed due to her frustration and perhaps a hint of the wine as well. "I cannot say my detention period was wasted, so I thank you for that, sir. And how did your interview go?"

While walking round the park with T'Var, looking for traces Rangin received Kylah's note.

"Kylah must be busy", he muses to himself and looks across at Fastolfe's house expecting to see the rest of the group still there, but the absence of them guards makes him think. Rangin shugs and thinks that they must just be following some good leads up if they were no longer there.

Kylah: Lt. Garcia in Mr Wilson's Office with terminal and original data. Data should be in safe hands. He will be in contact when decryption of files complete. Hope your theories are accurate. Rangin

"Sorry about that T'Var, Ens. Kylah had a question about the data on Mr Wilson's office terminal. Shall we continue." Rangin picks up his tricorder again and continues the walk. "You know, we never did get to go on that hike and this seems a poor substitute somehow. Do you think we will get a chance after this is over?"

Graham gestures that they should talk as they walk.

"Surly and sweaty," he responds, shaking his head. As he does so, his eyes narrow.

He can't tell from Kylah's oddly-worded response whether she's being sarcastic or not. Or...he leans down and in closer, probably closer that she'd like but he's done this a hundred times.

"Have you been drinking, Ensign?" he asks quietly but firmly.

Kylah pulls off to the side and walks more quickly, looking up at the sky as if concerned the rain will begin any moment--which, in truth, it may very well do. At last she is a few steps ahead of him so he cannot see her face. "Indeed I have, Ensign," she responds tartly. "If a half-glass counts as drinking. You did not put any restrictions on my behavior during those thirty minutes, and I chose to do what I felt necessary. Afterward, since I needed some wine, I had some." She tries to switch the subject. "It is a shame Ms. Goldman was not cooperative. Are Dr. T'Var and Ensign Rangin meeting us to see the opening?"

Graham swears he's reliving a moment with his daughter: to be sure. all things considered Graham thought she probably had better judgment and made better decisions than he did, but nonetheless she had still gone through her years as a headstrong and impulsive teenager.

There's this moment, Graham thinks, when you didn't know if she was OK and suddenly you are relieved beyond measure: all you want to do is say 'thank god you're safe.' But then as you piece things together you come around to 'what the hell were you thinking' and 'maybe you need to be grounded...' I'm having a moment like this now...

He clenches his jaw. "I didn't know that restrictions were necessary. But perhaps I was wrong," he replies. "We'll discuss this later," he says with finality.

He hails Rangin and T'Var--"This is Graham. Delaney may be about to open the safe if you are free and able to join us for the big reveal."

T'Var answers Graham, "Understood; we will meet you in Wilson's suite shortly." She closes the antenna lid of her communicator and says to Rangin, "A hike would be a nice break from this investigation, when it's finally over. Please count me in. For now, have you seen - and scanned - as much as you wanted around the guest house/park area?"

We'll discuss this later. Kylah's face burns and so do her lungs as her exertion requires more breathing. Who does Graham think he is? Who does he think she is? A child? No, she is an adult who, if she so chooses, may take some wine with lunch... an early lunch. Albeit, admittedly, one with no food. She might be slightly affected by the alcohol but she is hardly drunk or even impaired.

She did nothing wrong. To the contrary, she may have learned something useful. But does he care? No. We'll discuss this later. Those are the words of a parent--or worse, Kylah thinks darkly, a Guardian.

Snapping open her communicator, she notices the message from Velir. She is relieved that the files are in safe hands, but not surprised. Velir would not forget something like that. Why is he still an Ensign? Kylah wonders, still resentful that she must take orders from someone like Graham. He deserves a commendation for all he has done. He was nearly killed in the line of duty for the last mission. Does Starfleet not recognize talent and intelligence? Is it only bullies and those with seething ambition who thrive in this ideal Federation? Or those with connections, she adds with a thought to her own posting to the Yorktown. If she is an Ensign serving on board such a reputable ship with an accelerated degree fresh out of the Academy, someone like Velir Rangin should be a full Lieutenant by now.

Kylah again puts her communicator away, this time managing it on the first try. She lifts her chin with dignity and walks straight and true to the entrance near the staff residence area.

Rangin puts the tricorder away. "I think I've scanned everything thrice over. If I think of something new, I've probably got a scan of it recorded somewhere. And its not like we don't have some useful information from our work. Hopefully, it will be useful in conjunction with another evidence we might find."

"Ok, Let's see what the excellent Lt. Delaney has managed to uncover. I hope its something useful. If we do, it might make Lt. Collins feel better seeing as she did find it. Shall we?" Rangin gestures down the path to T'Var.

"Do you know how the Lt. is doing?" he asks as they start their walk back to the hotel.

Dr. T'Var says, "I cannot go into the details of her care, but last I heard, she is resting comfortably and should be able to return to duty soon."

Graham, Kylah, Rangin and T'Var arrive at the door to Wilson's suite within seconds of each other. Delaney answers the door, lets you all in, and leads you to the bedroom, where his tricorder and Wilson's communicator are set up on a low table. A light on the communicator is steadily blinking green. The young engineer, grinning, says, "The decryption sequence just finished; these Holdfast safes are tough. Ready to open it when you are, Mr. Graham."

"That's good to hear," answers Rangin about Lt Collins.

He greets Booker and Kylah at the door with a nod. "Hope you have had better luck than I have," he says quietly to Kylah with as they all enter, "and I hope we find something evidentially worthwhile inside."

He waits alongside the others for Graham to give the word.

When Kylah sees Velir again she feels a strange ache inside her chest. It is not painful and might not even be physical. She is glad to see him but still torn about her discussion with Jan, not to mention Graham's accusations about her behavior with men. She does not move nearer, though she wishes to, and just shrugs noncommittally to Velir's question.

She looks at the safe, genuinely curious but also guarded. A worried thought occurs to her. "Lt. Delaney, I do not suppose... is there any possibility that opening this will trigger some sort of defensive device, perhaps put in place against anyone who accessed the safe by hacking into it? Might it be prudent to place some sort of containment field around it? Assuming that is even possible," she finishes in a murmur.

Graham raises an eyebrow. "It's your call, Lieutenant, I'll rely on your judgment as to whether opening this thing is going to kill us all or not. Whenever you're ready, let 'er rip."

Delaney's call? Kylah shifts her gaze briefly to Graham, then back to Delaney. Has Graham forgotten that despite his exalted position he is a Security officer? What happened to his all-consuming need for caution and vigilance? Should it not be better to be safe than sorry? She swallows and keeps her mouth shut. If Delaney does not recommend precaution, she is uncertain what to do. She does not wish to leave the room and reveal cowardice, but she is not willing to be exposed to some strange security measure like a blast of tear gas or an electric pulse or heaven only knows what. And she certainly does not want the others harmed either. Perhaps T'Var will step in? The Vulcan seems to value safety.

Let us see. Collins' leadership nearly got two of our people killed. Perhaps Graham wishes to top her record. An unusual goal for a pair of Security officers, but at this rate nothing surprises me. Kylah almost laughs and she lowers her head slightly to keep the instinct at bay. Perhaps the wine has affected her. She is not usually this giddy even when afraid.

Delaney says confidently, "I've given it a thorough scan. There's no indication of a boobytrap or any other hazard. I think we'll be fine; I'm certainly not going to leave." He presses a small tab on his tricorder's display panel, and Wilson's communicator chimes softly three times.

At once, on an otherwise-plain wall of the bedroom, previously invisible to the naked eye, a large, waist-high rectangular opening appears. A matte black drawer slides out into the room, and its lid, also black, rises as it does so. You can all see that the drawer is about two-thirds full of paper, plastic and rare metal currency. Most money matters are handled via computerized data transfer these days, of course, but here is a small fortune in hard cash: Federation credits, Proximan crowns, Rhaandarite monits, United States dollars, Russian rubles, Japanese neoyen, and Andorian standards. Most of the money is still neatly-bound in the original wrappers of the respective central banks. There is also a small handheld data pad.

Graham whistles softly. "Somebody had his hand in the cookie jar," he says to no one in particular. He claps Delaney on the shoulder. "Also, good job getting his bad boy open. And not killing us."

He glances around at the team. "I'm guessing this may not be encrypted since it was stored here in Wilson's own little Fort Knox - shall we find out?" he adds, gesturing toward the data pad.

Kylah exhales in relief and tries to make sense of the wealth in front of her while Graham speaks. "Yes, congratulations, Lt. Delaney," she says sincerely as her eyes roam the money. Bribery, she thinks at once, doubting that she needs to say the word--it is so very obvious a possibility. Or even blackmail?

She switches focus to the datapad. Her fingers almost itch with the desire to snatch it up, and since she is the crew member who deals most with information, she does not hesitate to reach forward for the device.

There is a low whistle from Rangin, "That could buy a lot of things," he says as he peers further inside, "I guess we know how he paid for the safe, if he always had that kind of money. Wonder who else knew about it?"

Rangin notices a movement next to him, "Wait...", he reaches up and catches the hand reaching forward, "...it's a safe full of evidence. Who knows whose fingerprints are over that cash and that datapad." Realising he is holding Kylah's hand, and seeing her beginning to redden, he pulls it back slowly, and lets go. "Sorry." he apologises, looking slightly guiltily, "I just think it might be prudent."

Looking back round at the others, "Did anyone bring any evidence bags and gloves, because this is something we definitely want to log. We don't want to be accused of seeing any of this going missing."

Surprised by the touch of Velir's hand, Kylah does not draw away and turns to him. She then realizes her mistake and flushes in embarrassment--both for being so careless and unthinking as to wish to grab evidence, and of course because being in contact with Velir in front of everyone makes her feel as if a spotlight has suddenly been aimed at them. Foolish. When he lets go, she pulls her hand back, holding it against her abdomen. "Of course," she says under her breath as she turns back to the safe. "Perhaps we--you could test for a transporter signature? It might determine whether anything was hidden here recently."

Graham's more bemused than anything else that in response to what he intended to be an invitation for input from the team Kylah attempted to pounce on the data pad, followed by Rangin--correctly enough, to be fair--intercepting her as if Graham weren't even in the room.

Well he thinks I'm an idiot, he thinks, so that's easy enough to understand. Maybe she's just eager to get back to the ship. I sure am...

The thought of giving Bennett her gift pops into his head and he feels himself skin start to flush. Jeez Booker, what will be even more embarrassing is turning beet red in front of everyone for no reason. He pushes the idea (and his increasing misgivings about it) from his mind.

He doesn't bother to try to credit ideas or explain his original intent--no one wants to hear it anyway, he muses.

"Yeah," he says, "full workup, scans and physical examination, I think you all know the drill after the last couple days--first please scan for transporter signatures, Lt. Delaney, so we get a clean read, then I'll have Yorktown beam down anything we don't have on hand."

After Delaney completes his scan Graham requests any items they need.

There is no transporter signature anywhere in the room, or indeed, in the entire suite. The only fingerprints on the datapad and the other contents of the safe are Wilson's. Graham asks the Yorktown to beam down evidence bags and sterile gloves, which soon arrive.

Graham's not sure what to make of the interaction between Rangin and Kylah, which seemed a little...stilted...

On the other hand, based on what she's told me she's coming from a tradition of a hundred kinds of weird within Elasian culture, and he seems to be some sort of Coridanite version of a flower child, so should I expect their interactions to make a lot of sense to me? he thinks.

He clears his throat while pulling on gloves. "Well, suit up," he says to the whole group. "When you're ready, you are our comms specialist," he says to Kylah, gesturing again to the pad, at the same time looking closely to try to gauge her mindset and mood, wondering if he's helping or harming her--and the investigation--by giving her the lead with it.

With a nod and a cool, quickly murmured "Yes, Mr. Graham," Kylah pulls on the gloves. She keeps eyeing the money in doubt. "How could there be no fingerprints but Mr. Wilson's?" she says, almost to herself. "Unless he created them himself from a replicator, someone else must have handled these credits and bills at some point. Dr. T'Var, Ensign Rangin... I suppose there are no traces of biological matter, either--hair, skin cells, DNA, anything?"

Confounded, Kylah shakes her head and reaches toward the datapad again. She taps on the pad and begins her attempt to access whatever might be stored within.

Dr. T'Var says, "Most if not all of this currency would have shown obvious signs of having been replicated or transported, if it ever had been. I have read that it is a common anti-counterfeiting safeguard, but it means that the money must be physically moved from place to place, and not beamed anywhere. That is one of the reasons hard currency is somewhat rare nowadays, although there are always some uses for it. And not all humanoids routinely leave behind scannable traces of hair, skin cells, DNA and so forth, Ensign. If, as appears to be the case, this currency is fresh from the engravers or printers, or from a bank, it could indeed be as pristine as it appears."

The datapad is password-protected.

"Crap," Graham says, seeing that the pad is password-protected. "Another delay--although I'm sure our crypto guy, uh--Garcia--can crack it." He gesture at the currency, trying to take stock of how much of each type is there and how it is distributed. "T'Var's doubly right, in that bad guys moving dirty money take great pains to use pristine currency and keep it that way. Any trace or even blemish can be something which could be tracked or used as evidence. One of the prime uses is getting transactions completely off the grid in ways that any kind of electronic transfer can't."

He scratches his chin. "We need to record and photograph the order of what money is where--on top, on the bottom, what's next to what--before we disturb it. Then count it of course. Unless someone has their heart set on doing that, I'm inclined to get a couple Security officers with good forensics skills and frosty attention to detail in here to do this while Garcia works on the pad. This group--" he spreads his hands. "Theories based on this discovery? Any dots connect for anybody now that we've discovered Wilson's secret stash?"

The already frayed edges of Kylah's temper are beginning to unravel, but she is able to keep her voice casual. "I see, thank you, Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var. It just seemed odd that Wilson was a human who presumably perspired, bled, and shed skin cells and hair, yet even he left nothing other than fingerprints on money he handled, or on a datapad he presumably used, or anywhere else in a safe he owned for years. I am sorry for wasting time in mentioning what I felt was an anomaly. But I suppose everything is unusual to a neophyte," she adds with a shrug and a distant smile. Then she resolves to say nothing further. It seems pointless to respond to Graham's request since she is sure she has nothing unique to add.

Without much hope or enthusiasm she makes another attempt to get inside the datapad using the same password from Wilson's communicator along with likely permutations before returning it to the safe so the others can take their images and scans and whatever else they all do.

As she does, she muses that it does seem highly ironic that she is constantly being stymied by some impossible-to-crack code when she herself is skilled enough to have created her own secret codes in order to communicate illicit information with her uncle right under Starfleet's nose. Perhaps the Berthold rays are inhibiting her, she thinks dryly.

Kylah gets that lucky break she's been waiting for; the datapad has the same password as Wilson's communicator! The Communications ensign sees that there are six files on the datapad. At a glance, it appears that four of them track money taken from WR&R operations accounts in increasingly-large sums, untraceably and cumulatively, over the past 14 years. The other two appear to be records of disbursements or transfers to two separate individuals over the past three years. No names appear, but one is designated "H." and the other is "Q." Each had a numbered account at the Bank of Velssere. Graham immediately recognizes the name; it is notorious for asset concealment, and has long been rumored to have ties to Orion piracy and criminal syndicates.

The sight of the money was certainly impressive but it was just that, a lot of money. It may as well be a pile of dilithium crystals for all the help it would be. "Nope no ideas, just more dots to try and figure out. It looks like Mr Wilson was either embezzling funds or laundering money. Possibly both. If so, its probably as good a motive as any for his murder. H, that could be anybody. Q, might have a bit more luck with that one. Wonder who was around the resort three to four years ago or so with that initial."

Rangin turns to Kylah. He felt a little responsible for the the comments she had received about the fingerprints, it had been his though in the first place which had raised the subject and he was surprised, they hadn't been aimed at him. "I wouldn't worry about it, I was expecting a little more than just traces of Mr Wilson inside the safe. Shame really. By the way, when was the last transaction on that datapad, anything from while we were here or a little while ago? Can we tell when the safe was last opened?" The question is also aimed at Lt Delaney.

Looking back into the safe, Rangin continues, "Know what's really annoying, this is one of the few shielded places in the resort and we have a pair of knives out there with a unique chemical signature that we can't find. If they are not here, then where are they? "This also doesn't appear linked to the transporter signatures Dr T'Var and I found in Calvin's and Palver's guest houses."

Well, if he was stumped, perhaps it would be time to call on the person with the most experience here see if he could be any use or whether there was nothing to Graham after all. He was the one with the many years of security and so on. Cmdr. Vargas had put him in charge, so he must have been capable of something at some point. Or was he going to be as washed up and anachronistic as his actions so far had made him out to be.

"Frankly, I'm all out of ideas. so, " Rangin turns round to Graham, "Sir, what, in your experience, should we do next?" Rangin says it as smoothly and diplomatically as ever, holding Graham's gaze, and waiting for his response.

Graham practically slaps his forehead and yells "ah ha!" as Kylah's unexpectedly strong response makes things fall into place for him. She's been implicitly or explicitly or both to need approbation, approval--given what she told me about the Elasian Grand Poobah or whatever the hell it was, probably specifically from men... He's not sure what to do with this information--but at least I have a lead as to what might be going on and how to do something about it, he thinks.

But speaking of leads... Graham's pleasantly surprised Rangin is voluntarily asking his advice.

He punches his fist into his hand. "First...Bank of Velssere. Long suspected to be a conduit for crime syndicates and Orion pirates. Those sons of bitches..."

He can't hide the heat in his voice.

The officer's image on the subspace comm screen blurs for a second as he shakes his head. "The investigation was inconclusive, that's all I have for you. I'm sorry."

Booker has to resist punching the console. "Dammit Johann, we served together. She was my wife."

His former colleague and the lead investigator into the death of Jane and her companions frowned. "Jeez Booker...look, off the record, OK?"

Graham's jaw is clenched so tightly he can barely speak. "Off the record."

"Orion pirates, that's my...best guess," Lt. Johann Barnes replied softly. "Well, it's what I'd put in the report if I had any hard evidence at all."

A few minutes later, one of his shipmates asked Booker where he was going in such a hurry. "I'm going to AWOL to find some Orion pirates, and kill them," he replied flatly. His colleague laughed--"Ha, ha--you Security guys have a strange idea of fun." And Booker continued on his way to the shuttle bay

He clears his throat and brings his mind back to the present. "Those sons of bitches bite down hard and don't let go. If Wilson was involved with them, he'd be an utter fool to think he could double-cross them to his own benefit and survive. That makes it more likely that he wanted out...which brings me to the Admiral and Ebling. He reacted a lot more strongly than I would have expected to the news of Wilson's death, and I swear she was coy about their dealings with him. We need to see what they know about this."

"Second...'H and Q.' Maybe they're people, we should crunch some data including correlations between occurrences of both. But maybe it's a cute way to say 'H.Q.' as in headquarters... Maybe WR&R is laundering money or double-dipping somehow..."

"Third...where the hell are the damned knives?" He shakes his head. "We need to scan the whole rock and see if there are any shielded areas at all besides this one."

"Finally...could something have changed hands or been passed in the sporing up session we attended...information, something physical? The transporter signatures were in the houses--the rooms--of the other non-Starfleet folks who were there. As if someone were looking for something. Could the spore exposure carry...I don't know, something?" he asks, glancing at T'Var.

He shakes his head and shrugs. "That's all I got, but those are for to-dos, with number one top of my list." He sighs. "Wish I had more...thoughts?" he asks the team.

The most recent transaction on the datapad, a payment of FC5000 (five thousand Federation credits), is from six days ago, to "Q." The most recent transaction for "H" is from more than two months ago, a payment of FC2000. There is no way to determine when the safe was last opened.

Delaney checks WR&R records and sees that there have been several hundred people with first or last names beginning with "H," including guests and staff, since the resort opened. There have been 27 with first or last names beginning with "Q."

Upon request from Graham, Lt. Cmdr. Roble scans the surface of the planet using the Yorktown's main sensor array, and does not detect the missing knives, with their unique metallurgical composition, anywhere. He finds no other shielded areas either.

Dr. T'Var says, "I'm afraid I don't understand your question, Mr. Graham."

Graham laughs. "That's because it might be totally stupid, Doc. I was wondering if the exposure process to the spores could have carried--or also carried--anything else: memories, bio-markers, brainwave patterns, something that would come out in someone's dreams..."

Expecting failure only to see the pad open up after her efforts... Kylah actually feels weak with the surprised relief that sudden floods through her. She sinks into a chair before examining the information and passing everything along to Graham. No one acknowledges her for opening the pad that they thought was yet another obstacle, but she is glad for the achievement nonetheless.

She thinks about it all. "Embezzlement for such a long time, and in increasing sums..." she murmurs. She is not unfamiliar with different forms of corruption, although it is relatively new to label it as such. On Elas, secretive payments between business owners and a member of the government who could influence legislation or award a government contract is called Ru-haleer, roughly translating to 'obeisance.' It is a normal, even expected, part of doing business with the government. The higher the fee paid by the Ru-hal--the donor--to the Council member, the more respect and confidence he was showing his or her patron.

It was only when either side did not follow through on the implied bond--either the Ru-hal could not make the agreed payment or the patron demanded more but delivered less--that the situation became an ethical matter.

Kylah ruminates on the possibilities of one of these being similar to what happened. "The increasing amounts for more than a decade may indicate that the thief either grew bolder over time, or had more demands on him. If it was the latter, I would lean toward blackmail or extortion. People with a victim under their thumb tend to insist on more, they will take as much as they can get, because their victim only grows weaker the more she compromises her--" She stops abruptly, wishing she had not said quite as much, and then hurries on. "I just mean, the more someone gives in, the more advantage others will take on them.'

She moves on as quickly as she can. "As for these new transfers in the past three years... That is about as long as the resort has been in business, is it not? So I would think it possible that the transfers are connected with the resort itself. Not just this contract renewal, but before. Perhaps the winning of the bid in the first place."

She looks down at her hands as if still seeing the datapad screen. "There have been too many H references to think it a coincidence. First the message Wilson sent himself regarding the H file. Then another file labeled H and S. Now we add Q." Scowling, she clasps her hands. "Vice Admiral Hardin is... it would be foolish to ignore him as a possibility. I am also thinking back to the interview Ensign Rangin and I had with the Hwuen. Several times--I did not mention this to you, Velir, I am sorry--when we spoke about the Hwuen's dealings with the Federation, and Hardin specifically, I had the distinct impression that Prolun Jaxo was lying.

"The first time was when Ensign Rangin asked him whether he knew about the contract renewal, and the Jaxo claimed he did not. Next, when I asked him about whether the spore therapy had worn off, and he said no. Then, a bit later, when I wondered if he would consider a partnership of some sort with the Federation--well, this did not seem a lie as much as... discomfort. Awkwardness--which from someone as arrogant as 'the Jaxo' was noteworthy." Kylah takes a deep breath. "And finally, when I spoke of Admiral Hardin. Jaxo claimed he had heard of him, but was unaware that he was currently at the resort. I did not believe him."

She casts a glance at the doctor. She knows her descriptions may be useless--she certainly cannot reveal how she knew the Hwuen was lying, much less awkward. T'Var will know, but with the others, Kylah can use nothing but 'intuition' to explain her feelings. To be honest, the emotions she sensed from the Hwuen were so strange and inchoate that she herself wasn't certain of them at the time.

Finally, after a longer pause, she says with some reluctance: "Also, there is the matter of the other secured file. The one with Co Bd on it. Not long ago when I was--on a break--I had a conversation that made me reconsider what those abbreviations might mean. You see, he... the person I met with is an investment banker involved in communication, timber, and--and colonial bonds. These bonds raise money for exploration and colonization of new land--or construction on an existing colony. As for as he knows, WR&R did not require such bonds itself. But... still. I just thought... I thought the possibility that such bonds could be related to the file name might be worth mentioning." Kylah's voice drops in volume on the last sentence until she falls silent.

"Ah," says Dr. T'Var. "No, there is nothing in the research to date to suggest that the spores would have that effect, Mr. Graham."

Delaney listens closely to Kylah and says, "That could be. If only Wilson weren't so damned cryptic in naming his files! But why, specifically, did you think the Jaxo was lying about Vice Adm. Hardin?"

Kylah looks blankly up at Delaney, glad she cannot accidentally--or purposely--transmit emotions rather than receive them. Because if she could, the senior officer would be wondering why he suddenly felt such overwhelming annoyance.

"It is difficult to explain precisely, Lieutenant, without your having been there to hear what I heard, and to see what I saw. I can only say that as part of my upbringing, I was fortunate enough to be present while my family entertained races from many different planets. One skill I developed--and enhanced, thanks to my Academy training--was the ability to quickly learn different languages. Including the subtleties of body language. Do not get me wrong, I am far from infallible. But I would not recommend trying to bluff should we ever play a game of poker."

Her smile is slight and fleeting. "In any event, as a result, despite my unfamiliarity with the Hwuen, I noted a difference in the Jaxo's behavior when asked a simple question he would have no difficulty answering, such as the length of his stay, as opposed to something he seemed to prefer to remain hidden."

Kylah moves smoothly to a new subject. "As far as being cryptic... it is true Mr. Wilson was extraordinarily secretive, apparently for good reason, but not completely opaque. The prime consistency is the constant repetition of the letter H. Whether it is a person's name, or title, or race such as the Hwuen... this H seems likely to have been his primary contact, partner, victim, or tormentor--the role depends on exactly what this money represents. As to the Q: may we see a list of those guest names?"

If Wilson was working with the Orion Syndicate, then someone did us a favour, thinks Rangin.

"No apologies necessary about Prolun Jaxo, Kylah. It was difficult enough for the pair of us. I felt like I was talking to a brick wall, but that's why you're in Comms and I'm in Science. At least someone was capable of working out what he was or wasn't saying. Well done on the password, was that the same one as his communicator and do you think it would work on those encrypted files as well? The ones that Lt. Garcia is working on? Might save some time, if it was."

Rangin turns to Lt Delaney, "I do have one question, the transport signal showed a small item being transported in and out. Would that count as one power surge or two. If it's two, that accounts for all the power surges found."

"Whatever it was that was beamed in and out was done over the course of the night. The guests didn't see anything when they went to bed and likewise when they woke up. Dr T'Var and I also checked Hardin's and Ebling's quarters but found nothing there. We also checked levels of ephiniphrine from the infirmary and research station, but levels are accounted for. So someone bought their own."

"Another thing that is bugging me about the knives, I checked the video footage, what there was of it, from the night before. Couldn't see anyone going in or out of Fastolfe's house, other than him and his entourage, which makes getting hold of those knives to murder Wilson really difficult. If those missing knives are anywhere now, they will be destroyed on the Yorktown or the Chariot. Only two places left to look."

Rangin scowls slightly, "One thing, if this was the Orion Syndicate, it probably means one of their agents is still around...somewhere."

Graham’s mood is lightened by the constructive discussion among the team and the focus on solving the problem at hand. Why the hell can’t we stay that way, he starts to think—and then answers himself. At least Collins had an excuse, he thinks, remembering her lying in a pool of her own blood. And not that she probably gives a damn about my opinion at this point, but T’Var’s been rock solid, I should make a note of it in my log…

“All right then, we’ve don’t have a clear answer, but we have some new theories to pursue. If anyone wants to bet, I'll put my money on ‘H’ and ‘Q’ being ‘headquarters’ and ‘co bd’ being ‘company board.’ I’ll give Wilson the benefit of the doubt and say maybe he wanted out of a long-running scam. I’m keen to talk to Harding and Ebling about what we’ve found.”

He turns to Kylah and tries to sound as affirming as possible. “On the other hand. ‘Co bd’ meaning ‘colonial bonds’ is a good idea…ah, a very good idea, it may very well be right. And ‘H’ could mean ‘Hwen.” He pauses. “If this is true, it may point at Starfleet—was the whole deal rotten? Or is Starfleet using WR&R or this facility for some kind of covert operation?”

“Finally I suppose we can’t rule out ‘H’ standing for Halsey, the guy certainly seemed weird. Any thought on that from folks who spoke with him?”

“The next step clear in my mind is talking to the Admiral and his assistant. But I’ll take input and recommendations…”

Delaney chuckles. "I'm no good at poker, Mr. Kylah, so I'll have to take your word for it." He accesses the WR&R staff and guest rosters and brings up all of the Qs. None of the names seem familiar or significant to anyone in the Yorktown landing party.

Lt. Garcia tries the same password, when told of it by Kylah via communicator, but it does not work on Wilson's office computer. "That's OK, though," he says. "I tweaked the decryption algorithm a few minutes ago, using a Stanislaus variant, and I think I'm onto something here. Should have an answer for you in, oh, the next hour or so. Hopefully sooner."

Delaney says to Rangin, "An object such as an aerosol dispenser could be only partially rematerialized, do its work, and then be beamed out again, and it would still show as only a single transporter event. It would take a pretty skilled operator, though."

"Dr. Halsey is a somewhat odd person, even by Human standards," Dr. T'Var tells Graham, "but I have sensed nothing from him to suggest that he is a murderer."

As Rangin compliments her and makes his suggestion regarding the secure files, Kylah nods gratefully and sends Garcia a message with Wilson's password. It is hard to believe Wilson would be so sloppy as to duplicate passwords, even if he did with both his communicator and this incriminating datapad. She is not surprised when Garcia responds in the negative.

She listens to the theories put forth by both Velir and Graham. Headquarters. Really? And I suppose the mysterious S stands for Starfleet. She says nothing to object to this, however. When the others finish speaking, she addresses Delaney first. "As you say, transporting a possible epinephrine dispenser so quickly would require a skilled transporter operator. But we already know he or she managed to transport two or three specific knives, at least three unidentified objects from three different guest rooms, a dead body, and possibly the murderer himself, all in a fairly brief period of time.

"And the logs were wiped. These plans required pinpoint accuracy, excellent timing, and good fortune. Clearly this was no cadet on his first day of training," she says with another little smile. She does like Delaney, despite his annoying habit of raising niggling doubts at inopportune moments. She has not forgotten he was the one who insisted Wilson had never referred to a woman living in the yellow house, when quite clearly the man had done so.

Next she turns to Graham. "To answer your question, Mr. Graham, I would just mention that the other H names to consider are Hsu and Hardin. Hardin's role as Comptroller cannot be avoided when considering we are talking shifting funds around." Her brow lowers in a slight frown. "Actually, considering the currency and the bookkeeping details, one notices that the incoming funds appear to be varied, while the outgoing money is all in Federation Credits. That may suggest money laundering. And I do wonder, with H having received that last payment so long ago... one wonders if this person, or entity, was being cut out of the loop. Maybe Mr. Wilson went rogue, as it were. And perhaps H did not appreciate this fact."

She says nothing about the colonial bonds. She realizes she is fortunate enough that Graham did not ask her precisely whom she met during her break. But something is tickling her mind about H. "Velir," she begins, "when Mr. Graham and I went to the CP, you were in the process of looking through the notes left in Mr. Wilson's trash. Was there not one that referenced someone with the initials HY? Something about a filing, whatever that meant? It is probably completely unrelated, but any time I see an H in this case I believe we must consider it carefully. Admittedly the only person with a Y name I can recall is Prolun Jaxo's aide, Yonil I believe his name was. He was the one who stayed behind while the Jaxo was out the night of the murder." Kylah looks up at Velir. "Do you remember what I mean?"

She shakes her head and turns back to Graham. "In any event, yes, I would very much wish to speak with Vice Admiral Hardin, or at least be present when you do, Mr. Graham," she continues quietly, reflecting on the fact that it would be useful to get some reading on the man whom she has never spoken directly with. "And as I said, there is still Mr. Hsu. Although it is increasingly unlikely that this murder was personal or a direct reaction to Hsu finding out about his wife's infidelity, I simply cannot get past the fact that there are so many points at which security failed in a single twelve-hour period.

"Someone knew these systems inside and out, or had the schematics at any rate. This person pulled things off right under the noses of the security team, such as replacing the video after Wilson was dead, deleting the transporter logs, transporting a dead body just at the right time to avoid one of the patrolling security guards. In the best-case scenario, Hsu and his staff are inept; at worst, he is complicit. So I agree Hardin must be interviewed, but so must Hsu--using our original plan, perhaps altered to take into account some of our new findings."

Rangin listens to the discussion going round, partly paying attention and partly trying to quell a sense of anger. If this was an Orion Syndicate operation, he wanted to do something about it, find who did it, stop it in its track. A little payback for times past. But he would do it properly, as a Starfleet officer, not as he might have once done without qualm where the end was justified by any means necessary. But they were so few here, with so much to do. Well, few in this room, but plenty of people to help out.

Graham was just going to concentrate on what he was going to do, well it was time to get everyone involved. Split it down, hand it out.

"Well, Q could just as well be the pet name for his wife and its their retirement fund. Or perhaps its a fancy lawyer on retainer. I don't think its guest related, but if there are any Q's who turned up three years ago, it might be worth a look. As for Co. Bd, I think Kylah is on the lright lines, but I'd go with a more generic Corporate Bonds than something specific to colonising the planet. Its still all about the money though."

Rangin nods for a moment in thought, "Right. I remember those notes, they just appeared to be scraps of memos to jog Mr Wilson's mind. I didn't pay them that much attention and they didn't seem that important. Then again, as we have access to his terminal, it might be worth trying to match them up with any correspondence or action over the last week or so, see if any of them stand out. Lt Garcia is there, lets give him something to do while waiting for the algorithms to complete."

Rangin turns to Lt. Delaney, "Sir, if what you say is true, then its possible there are three more transporter signals around. Finding them should also be a priority. We have plenty of security around keeping an eye on the place,"

and then looks across at Graham, "perhaps they can sweep the resort for any more signals. It's likely to be faster than Dr T'Var and I trying to do the lot ourselves."

before turning back to Delaney, "Also, would someone have to be in the transporter room to be carrying out this kind of operation or could it have been done remotely. If yes, where could that have been set up, I'm guessing the average guest room wouldn't be suitable?" Rangin hopes the young Lt. will either go looking or ruin it and say it could be done from anywhere..

Rangin starts to pace back and forth, "the other thing we are missing is a motive, both for Mr Wilson's death and for the incidents in the three guest rooms. Why those three, why not any others, or perhaps more people. frankly the only connection with those three guests is three missing knives. What do they know which other guests don't. Why target them, other than they were in the last introduction when Fastolfe pulled that stunt. It can't be a spore issue, the readings I got from the plants then and afterwards were confirmed as correct by the research station and no-one else has been re-introduced at least from the resorts stocks. And none of them are 'H' or 'S'. There are probably a couple of thousand people or so at this resort. Might take a little while, but a list of all names and species beginning with H or S won't be as large and we can probably discard a lot of them from alibis or lack of involvement, narrow it down to a list of couple dozen if possible. See how remains who fits. That'll be a fun job," Rangin finishes deprecatingly.

"And I guess one last question to ponder. Those seven transports took place between 0137 and 0151. Wilson was killed somewhere between 11:30 to 12:30. Someone was sat there with his dead body for at least an hour setting this up and going through with it. Might be worth checking out the conference room again, to see if we missed anything." He is looking at Dr T'Var as he finishes. She would easily be the most experienced to work out if they had missed anything from either the transporter room or where Wilson looks to have been killed.

He stops pacing, turns back to Graham and inclines his head with a wry smile. "Well, you did ask for some input and recommendations..."

I assume the "HY" to which Kylah refers is from post 2349.

Delaney crosschecks the WR&R staff and guest listings and sees only one "HY," Hiram Young, an accountant on the WR&R staff here.

Lt. Garcia begins checking on the notes from Wilson's trash: Ask J. about pool budget, Dinner w/ ML next Tues., Check on R's Form 817, Tell HY about Simmons filing.

A tricorder sweep for transporter signatures confirms those already known, and also reveals a large one in the conference room adjoining the resort's transporter room. No other signature is found.

Yeah I don't know what went wrong with that link, sorry! Was supposed to link directly there.

Nodding, Kylah listens to Delaney. "Even if this Mr. Young has nothing to do with any of this, it seems to me an accountant might be able to assist us with determining just how Mr. Wilson managed to get such unfettered, unnoticed access to WR&R funds for such a long time. Which reminds me... I cannot recall if we have access to Mr. Wilson's employee file. If so, perhaps we should take another close look at it through this new prism of information about his apparent activities."

She thinks for a moment. "I have been wondering about the mysterious 'S' reference as well. Perhaps Sylvia Aubrey might rate another look. I would like to perform some basic research on her background--her birthplace, her biographical data--which I assume should be easily accessible."

After a pause, she finally returns her gaze to Graham, waiting for him to say something, give some feedback, instigate some activity.



I don't remember, is there an internet (or the Alpha-quadrant equivalent) where we can just look people up?

Graham can imagine that Rangin could come up with many recommendations for him--like 'volunteer yourself as s subject at Starfleet's primate research lab,' he thinks. Nonetheless the streak of oh, five or so minutes of everyone cooperatively focused on the job further buoyees his mood. He shrugs amiably. "The only person you know for sure is wrong is the one claims to know everything," he replies to the scientist. "I just hope Mr. Kylah doesn't rub my nose it when she turns out to be right about 'c-o-b-d.'"

He scratches his chin. "All right, so we've got one new insight we can use..." he points to the contents of the safe. "Wilson's secret pile of cash. We've also got mysteries that are as opaque--or more so--than they were earlier: all the transporter activity, and why those three specific guests."

"In that light, I think our best course of action is this: Kylah and I will talk to Hardin and Ebling. Rangin and T'Var, you find this accountant guy and do the same. In the meantime, Delaney--uh, I mean Lt. Delaney, I'm hoping there's some magic you can do about this transporter stuff...if you focus on it for an hour, is there more you can learn about when, what, and where from. Is there any evidence n off-world transporter was used...that could get us access to Fastolfe's ship. Or even...was the Starfleet research station's transporter used that night? Aim to brief the lot of us when we can put our heads together on this again."

"I'll also ask Yorktown personnel to research our three special guests, the bank accounts, and for that matter any cases or rumors of Orion pirate or other criminal activities associated with WR&R or its staff, with our new discoveries in mind. Hopefully, all this will shake something loose...Any questions?"

He's energized by getting back into action with at least some hope of a breakthrough--but also apprehensive, as experience suggests his last question might somehow trigger some sort of blow up...

"Yes, Mr. Graham," Kylah says, her heart sinking a little at the thought that she will still be paired with him. She asked for it, there was no possible way he would not take on the Hardin interview, nor would he let her see the Vice Admiral alone. Still... Her resentment over his accusations is still cold and rock-hard in the pit of her stomach.

"Two days ago we asked the Yorktown for a background check on Mr. Wilson. It was supposed to take two or three days. I know it is likely longer, but I wondered if we might follow up on that. And I also think we must follow up with Barbara Wilson. I find it peculiar indeed that she has not contacted you after learning of the death of her husband under mysterious circumstances. Requiring some time for her to process her grief is to be expected, but the fact that she has shown a total lack of curiosity or even anger is... odd.

Mrs. Hsu gave no indication that Wilson was the type for such underhanded activities. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson knew more of his personality--I should hope so, given their marriage. Perhaps she knows something of his financial needs than anyone here."

Find the accountant and talk to him, wow , what a great job that will be. Rangin keeps a calm face and glances across at T'Var to see what she thinks, but the Doctor is as impassive as usual.

Considering that at least Graham has actually got it in mind for lots of people to do things at the same time, instead of only having enough brain cells to rub together to consider his own actions, its a start. Collins may have been younger and inexperienced, but Graham should certainly have known better. Maybe he lost his faculties when he got dropped from Cmdr....probably straight onto his head. But rather than try and interrupt things, at least the group was doing something.

"Not from me...", Rangin answers to Graham calmly.

Rangin nods at T'Var and pulls out tricorder with the list of WR&R personnel he had received early on and looks up the accountant. If he is there, Rangin will open his communicator and request a meeting for himself and T'Var with Hiram Young as soon as possible.

Kylah does have access to Wilson's WR&R personnel file, and to Federation records generally. What, in particular, does she wish to look at there?

Delaney says, "OK, I'll do some more digging into transporter issues."

Lt. Thalen, Communications Officer of the Yorktown, says, "The background check on Wilson is still underway. The message to Mrs. Wilson went out, advising her of her husband's death and the investigation, but I have no confirmation of receipt, and no response." He will have Communications staff conduct the research that Graham mentioned. See post 2949.

Hiram Young soon answers Rangin: "I'll meet with you whenever and wherever you wish. I want to see Mr. Wilson's murderer caught as soon as possible." T'Var is ready to continue working with the young xenobiologist.

From the personnel file, Kylah would like to check:

- How long Wilson has worked at WR&R
- His previous employment (presumably most employee files will include a CV)
- What his position was when he began, as well as any other positions/promotions he received prior to becoming manager of the current resort
- Any general notes in his record made by his superiors

On whatever-the-equivalent-of-the-Internet is, Kylah wants to look up Sylvia Aubrey's biography: where she was born, how old she is, whether she's still active as an actress, any news items indicating money troubles. Also, any general information she can pull up about Hardin's career and background would be useful too.

"Thank you Mr Young, then shall we say your Office in about ten minutes." Rangin completes the communication and nods to Dr T'Var, while pulling up details of where that office actually is.

Once there, Rangin will greet them and start asking about the accountancy procedures for the resort:

• Who handled the money for it.
• How is it all accounted for
• What part did Mr Wilson play
• Who made the decisions made about how the money was handed out
• How did he find working for Mr Wilson
• What was the Simmons filing Mr Wilson asked him to do
• Were there any recent unpopular decisions made recently

Once Rangin is reasonably sure the Hwen Young is on the level:

• Were there any other recent transactions that caught your eye
• Were you aware of any problems or impropriety in the financial records.
• What was the financial position of WR&R with respects to this resort

Rangin is not going to ask him about Mr Wilson's embezzlement just yet, waiting to see what kind of ansers he gets first.

Kylah learns that Wilson majored in business at the University of Rigel, earned his MBA at Wharton, and joined the company right after that. He worked for WR&R for almost 20 years before his death, at all of the company's major resorts and recreation areas, including Paris, Serengeti Reservation and the Bahamas on Earth; various sites on Wrigley's Planet; Jamieson Resort on Arcadia; and the Seascape artificial island on Pacifica. He also did stints in the company HQ's budget and personnel offices. He seemed to have been a golden boy and his superiors all gave him glowing reviews.

Sylvia Aubrey was born Cynthia Maxton in Kansas City, Kansas, USA, on Earth. She is now 72. After early stardom, she has worked only intermittently as an actress in the past decade or so. There is no indication in any Federation public records, or entertainment, fan or gossip media sources, that she has had money problems.

Vice Adm. Patrick Hardin was born in Tombaugh on Pluto, was near the top of his class at Starfleet Academy, and has served in Starfleet for more than 40 years. After several early starship assignments as a junior officer, he was given administrative and accounting assignments on various starbases, where he excelled and shot up through the ranks. He has spent most of the last decade at Starfleet Command in San Francisco.

Hiram (not Hwen) Young is a serious young black man who seems eager to help. He says, "Mr. Wilson decided what would happen with the money at the resort, consistent with our annual budget. All income and expenditures were subject to my review and countersignature, as I'm the chief financial officer or CFO here on OC3. It's all accounted for under WR&R's proprietary bookkeeping system, and also reviewed quarterly by WR&R Corporate's own accounting and tax staff. I liked working for Mr. Wilson very much; he was a hard worker and a smart, considerate boss. The Simmons filing was to approve indefinite medical leave for Cassandra Simmons, a Buildings and Grounds staffer, who became very ill last week and wanted to return home to be with her family on Berengaria VII. I put the paperwork through and it was approved by Corporate. I can't think of any recent unpopular decisions he made." Rangin, convinced Young is on the level, asks him the other questions, to which Young replies, "No other recent transactions caught my eye. I was certainly aware of no problems or impropriety with the financial records, or I would have immediately reported them, of course! I'm not sure I understand your last question - do you mean, where they pleased with how much money we were making? Because they definitely were. This resort is a real profit center for WR&R."

Kylah decides while she is digging into pasts, she will do the same for Halsey, Mr. Hsu and Mrs. Hsu--assuming we have all the employee files available. She checks the Federation records for Lt. Ebling, Dr. Anderson and Lt. Palver--she is very curious to see if there is some related-by-marriage link to Fellim Palver, as unlikely as it seems.

After a hesitation, she does a quick search for Jan to see if there is anything noteworthy in his past, or any apparent connections between his company and any of the guests, staff or Starfleet.




yep gonna make EH use up all his creative biography-writing skills! :D

"Mr Young, thank you for being honest and co-operative." Rangin smiles apologetically at him, "but unfortunately, we may have some concerning news about Mr Wilson, WR&R and the financial matters around the running of this resort. I want to make it clear that the following is confidential and was discovered as part of the investigation into Mr Wilson's death and so your discretion is appreciated. However, we would also ask that, at this moment in time and given its evidential status, you do not inform anyone else of the details until we have ascertained their validity."

Rangin pauses slightly. "It appears that there are some financial irregularities concerning the running of the resort and we need to determine whether they are actually resort based or if Mr Wilson had some sidelines that were not on the books. Either way, given your position as CFO, I'm sure you will be as keen as ourselves to get to the bottom of this."

Rangin recalls a couple of the transactions from memory and asks Mr Young to bring up the appropriate records to start tracking them down, some from the embezzling that Mr Wilson looks to have carried out and the last transaction to "Q" to see if any of it is on the books.

Graham'a further gratified as the team appears to take up their tasks with enthusiasm. Kylah seems to need a few moments before going to find the Admiral and Ebling as she's thrown herself into working away at the computer. Graham thinks better of asking what she's doing, worrying she'd decide he was second-guessing her, and instead occupies the time by checking Starfleet Security records--and any other formal or informal sources he can bring to mind--on the latest news about the Bank of Velssere, hard-currency smuggling, and major crime syndicates.

Bring it on, choie!

Lt. Cmdr. Ebling has had a distinguished Starfleet career so far, and is actually the highest-ranked Tellarite in the Fleet. She had several starship postings before her assignment to Starfleet Command as flag aide to Hardin.

Dr. Lucy Anderson is from Australia, as you know, and has had a moderately successful career to date - neither stellar nor disappointing. She has done solid research and writing and seems well-regarded. No disciplinary action has ever been taken against her by either the Federation or the United Earth medical associations.

Kylah can find no direct familial link between Lt. Christopher Palver and Fellim Palver, although the Starfleet researcher is part of a Rhaandarite group marriage of that relatively-common name.

Federation public records either confirm, or at least do not contradict, everything Jan Švehla told Kylah about himself. She finds nothing especially noteworthy in his past, nor any apparent connections between his company, Starfleet, or any of the OC3 guests or staff.

Young seems startled by Rangin's statement, and then even a little offended. He says, "I assure you that the resort's books are in perfect order. I don't need to look any further into them."

Graham accesses Starfleet Security records, as high as his security clearance will take him, and other sources as to the Bank of Velssere. It confirms what he already knew. Velssere is a neutral world along the Orion frontier with a robust and very profitable banking system renowned - or notorious, depending on how you look at it - for keeping the secrets of its many depositors, some of whom are not the most savory folk. A classified investigative report from three months ago reviewed hard currency transactions along the frontier, which had shown a slight uptick since the previous year. Another, even more highly-classified report discussed longstanding rumors that the Klingon Empire might be conducting some kind of economic warfare against the Federation or its allies, but found no hard proof of it. There have been no significant developments in Orion piracy or related criminal syndicate activities in the past year or so, other than the high-profile convictions of three Orion men and four women for conducting slavery. The cases were in the Federation District Court on Altair IV, and are now on appeal.

Presumably we don't have the employee records of the Hsus and Halsey?

Kylah draws her hands away from the terminal and sets them on her lap, looking dolefully at the screen. As usual, her research has come up blank. Apparently aside from Fastolfe, everyone involved in the case is as pure as the driven snow--or remarkably good at covering his or her tracks. She exhales in frustration.

Turning to the mission leader, she notices Graham is also busy reading his own screen. Perhaps he is having more luck than she.

She looks back at the monitor, gnawing at her bottom lip in thought. After a hesitation and some considerable thought, she logs in to her private account and types the following message.

TO: Collins, Jeremi,

I hope you do not think it forward of me to write to you. I have only a brief moment before heading off to a new assignment, but I wished to express my concern for your health. I know this message is overdue. But in addition to the busy nature of the current investigation, and the knowledge that you might not be in a condition to view any communications... I was and am not entirely certain whether you would welcome hearing from me. Nevertheless I want to let you know that we are all thinking of you and I hope you are doing as well as possible in the circumstances.

Of course Dr. T'Var has not breached any confidentiality and has told us nothing other than the barest details--that you are recovering, and we all know you are being treated with the best of care. Still, I am aware this may be an extremely difficult time for you and while you are a strong person, some types of recoveries take longer than others. Please take care of yourself--and let others take care of you, when needed.

My apologies if this message is untoward considering all that has passed between us. I just wanted to let you know that my best wishes--and indeed those of all the crew--are with you.

-- KYLAH

It takes a moment for her to send the note off, but she does. Another troubled sigh escapes her. She hopes she did the right thing.

"My Young, I apologise if I have offended you or insulted your professional pride in keeping the finances of this resort running smoothly. However, I have a datapad full of transactions which appear to be a possible motive for the murder of Mr Wilson. You said not five or ten minutes ago that you wanted to see Mr Wilson's murderer caught as soon as possible and we need your help."

"Given the exemplary assistance that everyone else in the resort has provided, even when their capability has been questioned, it has all been done with the understanding that we need to find out who did it and that our knowledge of what occurs here is incomplete. I would hope that you would extend us the same courtesy as your fellow WR&R employees have done so."

"Now, I can understand why you would think the accounts are secure. But I would hope that you would be willing to investigate any problems that are been raised. These transactions are a possible motive for his murder and we need your assistance to confirm whether they are or not. Please will you confirm within the accounts the following details..."

Rangin waits for Hiram Young to respond.

Graham notes an audible sigh from Kylah. He clears his throat. "Are you all right? Ah...I mean, are you ready to go?"

Kylah nods. "Yes, Mr. Graham. I am sorry if I delayed you. I was looking up the histories of some of the people we have encountered." She quickly relates the not-particularly-illuminating details that she has seen, omitting the information about Jan. Finishing, she adds: "I was about to look into the employment records for the Hsus and Dr. Halsey as well, if we have access to them, but I can do that later if you wish to get to Vice Admiral Hardin as soon as possible."

Graham listens attentively. "I wish I'd found something esepcially useful myself, but didn't have much luck either," he says in response. "Still, doing this background research is a fine idea--a few minutes now may give us something useful for subsequent interviews, please proceed with your inquiry at Halsey and the Hsus."

Graham's in fact eager to poke at Hardin and Ebling's story again, which he'shad questions about since he first interviewed them, but figures a few minutes now versus later are six of one and a half-dozen of the other-- and all things considered, better to err on the side of approval, given what I've surmised so far, he thinks.

After a moment's pause he adds, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Young seems somewhat mollified. "What do you mean by 'My Young'? Well, let me see the data you've got, and I'll compare it to the resort's accounts."

Kylah does have access to the WR&R personnel database. Lionel and Mattie Hsu were married just over seven years ago. They have no children. Both have been with WR&R for almost a decade, and appear to have spotless records. They have not moved around as much in their careers as Wilson did; each worked on Arcadia and Mellia XII before coming to OC3.

Dr. Robert Halsey has worked for WR&R for just two years; before that he was a ship's doctor for the Topgallant Line, primarily within the Solar System, and later on the Earth-to-Arcadia route. His performance evaluations for both WR&R and Topgallant are adequate but not glowing. He has never been professionally disciplined.

When Graham asks if she needs assistance, Kylah shakes her head absently since she is in the middle of reading the employees' records. Having scanned it through, she then reads off the basics of what she has just learned. Then she leans back again.

"What strikes me immediately," she says thoughtfully, "is Dr. Halsey's background, or lack of it. He worked for this Topgallant Line--I presume this is a transportation fleet in your star system--without much distinction, and then, just when WR&R signs its contract with Starfleet for a project that represents a tremendous financial risk to the company, he is hired to oversee the program that is basically their new venture's entire reason for existing?" Her right eyebrow rises. "Why was this... this mediocrity given such a prestigious post? Did he have some highly placed relative or contact...? Unless... Arcadia... I just saw that name."

She frowns a bit, then looks down at the notes she has been taking on the biographies. "Yes. This may be a coincidence, but Halsey worked most recently on an Earth-to-Arcadia route. Going back to Mr. Wilson, I see he was posted on Arcadia himself--at WR&R's Jamieson Resort there. Perhaps they knew each other? Was Halsey hired directly by Wilson, and if so, why?"

Kylah pushes her chair back and turns to Graham. "I suppose it is a thin possibility but... it is odd that such a position would be granted to someone with Halsey's background. What would make WR&R hire this nonentity, someone with no apparent background in running a top-level clinic, or advancing new medical technologies, or anything especially distinguished? Does that seem strange to you?"

Heh, that was a typo, that was supposed to be Mr Young.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr Young." Rangin passes over the sample of transactions, "If we could start with these, I would be grateful to see what you can find. If you require more data, then I can certainly see about getting hold of it."

Graham scowls, then rubs his chin and nods. "Any connection is something to explore...conspiracy between the two of them? Blackmail? Drug addiction?" He racks his brain for any controlled substances starting with "Q," particularly that a doctor might have ready access to.

"Perhaps we should swing by Halsey's office," he adds. He pauses a moment. "That's good work," he says slowly, not overdoing it but trying to make sure he sounds like he means it rather than simply tossing off a flip compliment.

"Thank you, Mr. Graham." Kylah glances back at the screen. "Oh... I neglected to notice that the Hsus were also on Arcadia. I cannot tell if they were both there at the same time as Mr. Wilson, however. It does not appear that Topgallant is related to WR&R. I would like to know how Dr. Halsey got his job. It has prestige even if it is not a very arduous position. He does not even oversee the spore introductions, which..."

She shakes her head. "That is something that bothered me. I do not think Dr. T'Var ever expressed concern about this, and I suppose in retrospect it is a minor detail considering the new direction of our mission, but if we are still involved in recommending the contract renewal, I would say the conspicuous lack of medical oversight during the most vital part of the process--the introduction of these foreign bodies to a variety of races who may have never experienced them before--is a highly significant omission. Even negligent. There was no one medical in the room with us when we watched Dr. Hardin and the others introduced to the spores, was there? What if someone had had an allergic reaction? Went into anaphylactic shock? To say nothing of the psychological follow-up post-treatment that we know is lacking..."

Kylah trails off and looks down at her hands, then back up to the screen. "I am sorry," she murmurs, awkward. Having such intimate knowledge of how the spores feel makes this a more personal matter for her than it should be. "This is not of import now. But... well, perhaps it does indicate the problems of Dr. Halsey having been hired. A more conscientious doctor might have made sure of such things. Which brings us back to Halsey's hiring: who recommended him, and why. So in short, yes, I believe it might be useful to talk to him." The likelihood of Halsey speaking to her seems dim. Kylah's shoulders slump slightly. Has she had a conversation with anyone in this resort that has not ended with her being either abruptly abandoned or ordered to leave? Even by her own crewmates.

She stands up and subconsciously pulls her sleeves further down over her wrists, covering more of herself as if cold. Stay focused. "I suppose all of the 'H' names will be covered today. We should speak with Mr. Hsu, it is long past time, do you not agree? And I believe another talk with Mrs. Hsu is in order, considering the new details about Mr. Wilson. If they were close, if he needed more funds for something... she might know."

Young begins looking more closely at the financial and budgeting data.

His WR&R personnel records show that Dr. Halsey was assigned to the OC3 post by N.L. Nabors, assistant vice president for personnel, and not Wilson. It appears to have been a routine appointment, and there is no indication that Wilson asked for it to be done.

Dr. T'Var says, "You raise several good points, Ensign. If I were running this resort, I would have a doctor present during spore introductions, for the reasons you state. But after so many safe and uneventful introductions since the resort's establishment, it may have been that a budget-conscious company decided against it. Dr. Halsey told us himself that only the Starfleet research station is focused on research; he sees his duties now as caring for the staff's and guests' other health issues. I believe WR&R wants only to make more money, not to really understand the spores better."

Delaney hears out Kylah and T'Var, adding thoughtfully, "I don't know that the multiple references to Arcadia are anything other than a coincidence. It's a major Federation world in this region, after all."

Graham knows that the Topgallant Line is a large passenger and cargo transport company. It has a very good reputation, and no ties to WR&R of which he is aware, although it travels to many WR&R facilities, as do its competitors.

Rangin will politely wait for Hiram Young to come back with some details.

Kylah looks incredulously at Dr. T'Var. For someone who spent the entire first day of the mission sighing about there being 'something' wrong with the resort though she couldn't say what, the Vulcan's current excusing of their negligence is odd. Perhaps she has taken too much tea with Dr. Halsey.

"I see. Thank you, Lt. Delaney and Dr. T'Var. As to your points, doctor, I am not certain why you believe I was asking Halsey to perform research, as I do not think I mentioned it as a necessity," she says in an even voice. "And it would seem to me that being present in case of a deadly anaphylactic shock or other reactions during the guests' first contact with the spores would be a rather integral part of the job of caring for the health of the guests--and possibly any staffers as well. One can hardly say he is too busy, as the hospital is almost always empty every time we have been there. As far as the expenditure is concerned, I cannot see how requiring his presence--or at least that of his assistant if he is otherwise occupied--for twenty minutes of the introduction process would cost WR&R more money. Of course I am a layperson, not a doctor."

She slips off her chair and goes to stand by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. "If you wish to interview Vice Admiral Hardin, Mr. Graham, I am ready to leave."

Graham glances from person to person as the debate about Halsey and Arcadia plays out.

He's a little bemused, as it is a constructive conversation, on the other hand he thought he'd indicated that Rangin and T'Var should have gone together, and the interaction seems...somewhat awkward. But, he thinks, nothing to worry about...

He's not sure what to make of Kylah's pose and demeanor. But you're not so stupid to ask her about it in front of a whole group, he thinks, simply nodding.

"Ah, right, let's go," he says, extending a hand to indicate that she should lead the way out.

With a tight nod, Kylah exits and heads in the direction of the guest rooms.

Young tells Rangin he will need some time to review the records and cross-check. "I don't know how long it will take, but I'll try to be fast," he says.

Delaney says he will go and see if he can help Garcia crack the last two Wilson files' encryption.

Graham and Kylah both notice the darkening skies as they walk to the guest wing. The Comptroller General's two plainclothes Security guards admit them to his quarters. The admiral has his feet up and is reading an old leatherbound book, but he rises when they enter the room. "Mr. Graham, Mr. Kylah. How are you? What can I do for you today?"

"Thank you Mr Young, your time and effort is appreciated. Please let me know when you have something or if you need anything further. I'm sure you will be faster without me hanging around like some nervous passenger." Rangin nods and leaves the office.

Once outside he contacts Dr T'Var. "Ma'am, Ensgin Rangin here. I've passed the data across to Mr Young and he is currently examining the financial records. Did Ensign Graham leave any further tasks to undertake? I imagine he is currently interviewing the Vice Adm. by now."

Rangin waits for the Doctor to respond, although given Graham's single minded nature, the answer is likely to be no, leaving Rangin free to follow up his own ideas...again.

"We're..." he's momentarily not sure what to say. "All right, sir," Graham replies, "thank you."

"We're sorry to disturb you, but we've discovered some important new information relevant to Mr. Wilson's murder, and we hope you'll be able to help us make sense of it."

Graham hasn't ruled anything out--including the possibility Hardin could have been receiving kickbacks or something like that, although he considers that unlikely. Regardless, a certain amount of deference is necessary when dealing with a flag officer--and so far Graham has liked the old guy.

He glances to Kylah briefly, then continues. "Before we go on, may I ask, however--now that you've had some time to reflect, perhaps--is there anything at all you might want to add to what you told me previously about your interactions with Wilson, now or in the past, or your role as comptroller and this facility?"

Kylah says nothing but she inwardly winces at Graham's not-particularly-opaque question. It sounds precisely like a law officer preparing to spring a trap on a suspect whom he believes has lied about an alibi. But since all her instincts seem to have been proven wrong, there is little point in second-guessing anyone else.

She remains still and silent, and just focuses on the Vice Admiral's emotions.

Dr. T'Var, who had slipped out earlier while Rangin was talking to Young, replies to the Coridanite via communicator, "I think you can do as you see fit, Ensign, unless you'd like to contact Mr. Graham directly."

Vice Adm. Hardin raises an eyebrow and says, "No, I don't think so. I've already told you everything I know. What new information have you found, if I may ask?" Kylah senses that he is very self-controlled and calm.

It is now 1203 hours.

"No, I'm sure that Mr Graham can well do with out my interrupting his vital meeting with the Vice Admiral. Far be it for me to spoil his interview. But I believe there are a few things for me to follow up. Rangin out."

Rangin smiles, a little bit of freedom, a chance to carry out a few little investigations of his own. Just one problem, he hadn't a clue where to start. Rangin shrugged, better start at the beginning again then as he starts sending out a series of messages. Time to get everyone involved in one way or another.

To the Security team on the USS Yorktown, any further luck identifying the fingerprints or their possible origin from the data sent up from the alleged murder weapon?

To the Medical team, any further autopsy or evidence from Mr Wilson's corpse, DNA under fingernails, other signs of stress to the body or does it appear he was stabbed while he was unconscious?

To Dr Halsey, once again apologising for intruding on his valuable time and if it will not break any ethics, but could he say if Mr Wilson was nervous around doctors (remembering his reaction to T'Var scanning him) and whether Halsey had treated Mr Wilson that afternoon for anything, (remembering the vanishing limp).

With that, Rangin heads for the murder scene. Not the park where the body was found, but the room next to the transporter. Its pretty inconceivable that absolutely no trace of anything was found apart from a set of bloodstains, unless someone had decided to teleport out all trace of any non Wilson DNA in one go. But that would mean a massive burst covering the whole room, Hmmm, not to mention Rangin couldn't remember if anyone had checked the transporter room itself. If that was clear, then chances were someone had been using a remote.

Rangin drops a note to Lt Delaney, asking the technical question of if someone was going to remote access the transporter, could it be done from anywhere in the resort or would it have to be done from a specific place?

With that done, Rangin heads off, thinking he had still forgotten something...ah yes. Lunch. He wondered how long the others would be before a debrief and they could all take a break. Kylah could probably do with the time away from Graham to relax from the knucklehead. She didn't look happiest having to go to those interviews with him.

"Of course, sir," Graham answers, intending to reply to both the Admiral's statement and his question. He realizes he's pulled his shoulders back into a bolt-upright attention pose...it's not like Hardin was being a stickler about rank, he thinks, but old habits die hard.

"We've discovered that Wilson was taking money from WR&R accounts and secretly moving hard currency of all types, a lot, for quite some time. Lately he's been funneling it to accounts at the Bank of Velssere."

Rangin learns that there have been no matches from Federation records to the other fingerprints on the murder weapon.

There has been no second autopsy of Wilson's remains. No DNA material was found under his fingernails, and there were no other signs of stress to the body not already noted. Although the brainscan evidence is somewhat ambiguous, it appears more likely than not that Wilson was conscious when he was stabbed to death.

Dr. Halsey looks up from a datapad, smiles and actually seems in a pretty good mood. He says, "No, Wilson was never nervous around doctors that I saw. I did treat him for a sprained ankle that afternoon."

Rangin scans the resort's conference room and adjoining transporter room. He checks the Starfleet Engineering database on transporter technique and sees that it is possible to do a roomwide exposed-surface transport to remove contamination or to generally clean ("an extreme form of dusting," one report humorously calls it). Whatever is removed can be beamed elsewhere, or atomized.

Delaney, now in Wilson's office with Lt. Garcia, thinks about it and says, "Unless someone brought a pretty sophisticated and bulky control console with them, any use of the transporter would have to be on-site, that is, in the transporter room itself. The resort's transporter just isn't that fancy."

Vice Adm. Hardin says in response to Graham, "Really? I'm surprised. I didn't have any inkling that Wilson would be up to something like that."

general, remember you can ask multiple questions or make multiple statements in a single post, and then follow up.

Kylah still says nothing, but plans on paying close attention to Hardin's emotions throughout the conversation. She has been suspicious of him since first learning that he was going for a vacation at a resort whose contract is up for renewal with Starfleet, and so naturally her interest is highly piqued.

Even when they first walked in, Kylah felt his mood was oddly buoyant--a man whose vacation has been spoiled first by the murder of a longtime associate and then by the loss of the spore treatment that was supposedly his sole reason for coming to this resort. Now that Graham has revealed the apparently embezzled funds, Kylah's focus sharpens.

His words alone sound like a melody sung off-key. Someone he's known for years as a contact here at WR&R, trusted enough to run the sole commercial venture on this planet, has been stealing from that very company... and this is his blasé reaction? The man sounds like a Vulcan. Are his emotions just as repressed?

Collins has been going stir-crazy in Sickbay. It's been less than two days, but she's never been one to sit still, and she's itching to get to the Gym. She asks to see Dr. Villa to get approval to return to her quarters and possibly even to duty.

The nurse leaves the three-bed recovery ward, empty but for Collins, and soon the Yorktown's Chief Medical Officer enters. She says lightly, "I understand you're starting to climb the bulkheads, Lieutenant...?"

"You have no idea, Doctor," Jeremi replies with a smile. "I cannot remember the last time I've been this inactive."

Dr. Villa checks the biomedical display over the bed, and looks over a datapad with Collins's records since her return from Omicron Ceti III. "You're making a good recovery so far, but I'm not sure about discharging you just yet. Would you like to walk around the corridor a little with me, and see how you feel after that?"

"Do you think you can keep up with me?" Collins asks as she practically leaps out of bed. Then she realizes she's wearing, essentially, pajamas. "Uh, maybe I'll get dressed first." She smiles and looks around for her clothes.

"No need to put on your uniform just yet," Villa says. "Easy does it." She goes to a closet and fetches a long, warm, dark blue robe with the Starfleet Medical caduceus insignia on its breast. "Try this."

Collins finds, once she's on her feet, that she is not quite as ready to go as she thought. After using the bathroom, she feels a little light-headed, and is glad to have Villa's arm to lean upon as they leave Sickbay together and head down the corridor. It's not too crowded at the moment, but several crewmates greet them as they pass by.

"I don't get it," Collins says to Villa. "I'm in great shape, fit and athletic. Why is this so difficult? And what can I do to fix it?"

"A miscarriage is rarely as easy as the woman would prefer." She coughs. "And in your case, you have some biochemical issues that have complicated the situation."

Jeremi stops walking and turns to face Dr. Villa. "What biochemical issues? What are you talking about?" She feels her heart start to pound a little with the fear of discovery.

Dr. Villa chooses her words carefully. "There are certain biochemical markers in your blood and spinal fluid that are... troubling. If I ask you questions about them, you're going to have to answer. And if you answer truthfully, there are likely going to be consequences for your career. That's something that, at least for the moment, I'd prefer to avoid. Suffice to say that the aftermath of your miscarriage is already somewhat different than most."

Dammitdammitdammit, Collins was sure she had been so careful. But fortunately, Dr. Villa is being discreet. So, this time, I really will quit. Or maybe save it for R&R only. She asks, "But I'll be okay, right? When I'm ready to be a mom in the future, I'll still be able to be, right?" Jeremi's voice is a little more anxious than she'd like it to be, and her heart rate has not yet slowed down.

"Yes, I think so. But it would be much better if you would not maintain the habit which you may have had up to now. Understood?" Dr. Villa sounds sterner than Collins has ever heard her before.

"Yes, ma'am," Suddenly Collins feels completely exhausted. "I think I'd like to get back into bed now," she says quietly, breathing slowly and purposefully to try to regulate her heart rate.

"Of course," says the doctor, her voice kindly once more, as she guides the Security officer back to Sickbay.

Once in bed, with Dr. Villa having left her alone, Collins closes her eyes, but that does not keep the tears from running down her cheeks.









Dr. Villa's dialogue by Elendil's Heir; Collins' dialogue by anyrose

Graham resists narrowing his eyes at Hardin's response. He was all broken up about 'Tony' being killed before, I'd think he'd show more of a reaction, he thinks. He glance briefly at Kylah, who seems to be paying attention with commendable intensity, then continues.

Are you aware of any hard-currency smuggling investigations that might be relevant to what's happening here?
Were there ever any irregularities of any type with this facility's books?
Have there been any occurrences over the course of WR&R's contract that might take on new meaning given this discovery--for instance, did their profit drop or spike unexpectedly?

Rangin ponders the readings and mutters to himself, appreciative of the fine conversation. "Strange, if they had shifted Mr Wilson out first, they would have atomised everywhere including the blood stains left behind. Instead it looks like they, and I use the words advisedly, must have done the deep clean first on everything before moving the body. That would account for no residue anywhere except for the stains underneath the body."

Rangin takes a deeper scan of the area of the bloodstains, perhaps something might have been left behind. It might also have accounted for the lack of evidence on Mr Wilson's body.

Vice Adm. Hardin responds to Graham's questions:

Are you aware of any hard-currency smuggling investigations that might be relevant to what's happening here? - "No, that's not one of my responsibilities, obviously, but I've heard of nothing of the sort going on here, or with any other person or organization with whom Starfleet has contracts."
Were there ever any irregularities of any type with this facility's books? - "Absolutely not. We insist on rigorous accounting standards and full financial disclosure."
Have there been any occurrences over the course of WR&R's contract that might take on new meaning given this discovery--for instance, did their profit drop or spike unexpectedly? - "I don't follow their profits and losses, stock price or general operations all that closely, as again, that isn't my responsibility, but no, I can't think of any such occurrences."

Kylah now has the sense that Hardin is not being completely honest, but she can't quite put her finger on it.

Rangin's additional scan further confirms that, as it had earlier appeared, Wilson was stabbed to death here, bled out to at least some extent, and was then beamed away along with most but not all of the blood he lost.

While Kylah tries to determine which facts Hardin could be obfuscating in this last round of questions, she darts her memory back to Graham's report of his first interview with Hardin, the morning after Wilson's murder.

That is when a little electric tingle ripples down her spine. Things are not adding up.

Not entirely true... something is adding up: the number of inconsistencies in people's responses. And in at least two cases, they are the same inconsistency--or to put it as baldly as possible, the same lie.

She realizes her heart is pounding. Calm yourself. Do not be precipitate. Every other instinct you have had was wrong. Look at the documents first. Perhaps your memory is faulty. Perhaps the witnesses' memories are wrong. Perhaps he just misspoke, misremembered.

She gnaws the inside of her lip, knowing she must not speak before Graham has finished his questions. This does not bother her; she needs time to decide how to form her questions properly. However, she changes her stance just a little, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. Hopefully, Graham might notice and realize that she does wish to talk whenever he is through. Or, she thinks ruefully, he will believe I am trying to catch Hardin's eye as part of some Elasian seduction ritual I use with every male.

Despite the fleeting moment of humor, Kylah's mind is still busy trying to harness her thoughts into coherence. She could so easily ruin everything with a single badly constructed phrase, a sole poorly chosen word. Has that not been the fatal flaw that has ruined things time and time again--not only during this mission, but throughout her life?

It might be better to remain silent and ask later.

Graham can't keep his eyes from narrowing slightly. "Sir--far be it from me from telling you--or even fully-understanding--what the responsibilities of an admiral such as yourself are, but as an investigator I'm sitting on more than a decade's worth of possible hiving cash off a Starfleet contract to feed Orion pirates or worse..."

He realizes Hardin could shut things down real fast by ordering them to leave him the hell alone, so he adopts an inquisitive rater than confrontational posture (at least for the moment).

"Perhaps you can help me understand sir, whose responsibility this kind of serious situation might be..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Kylah is fidgeting as if she has ants in her pants, as the old Terran saying goes, and he worries she may be feeling the need to defer to him.

"Ah, and Ens. Kylah has done exemplary research on these matters, she may have questions as well," he adds, sincerely recognizing that she does seem to have been working hard at it, without really knowing what she might have to say. That ought to at least give her an opening, he thinks.

Kylah hides her dismay that Graham's tone even approached incredulity when addressing the Vice Admiral. It could change the mood completely and her questions could now seem confrontational or even accusatory if she does not couch them well enough. Ditraa and her tutor, she suddenly thinks. On Kylah's infrequent visits home, she has seen just how her ridiculously precocious, flirtatious teenaged sister managed to get stellar reports from the tutor despite being vapid and ignorant.

She immediately ducks and shakes her head in embarrassment at Graham's flattery, a flustered but sweet smile on her lips. "Oh no, Mr. Graham, please, you are too generous." She aims a shy glance toward Hardin. "Please pardon me, Vice Admiral Hardin," she says deferentially. "I am really only here to assist my senior officers as best I can, mostly when some writing or communication is needed. But I am still just... well, you know I was not out of the Academy for two months before I was posted to the Yorktown..."

Her hand flutters toward her tricorder and, lifting it to inspect its screen, she toys with the keypad. "And here I am, on only my second mission, an ordinary evaluation turns into a criminal investigation. I am quite overwhelmed.

"Do not get me wrong, Ensign Graham has mentored me splendidly, just as Lieutenant Thalen has back on the ship. I do so value men of long experience. But I must own my mistakes, and I fear it is all I can do to track the data so I do not forget anything." With a frown she taps some keys as if having lost whatever it was she was looking up. "Excuse me again, sir. I fear I am a bit intimidated. Even though you were so welcoming to me back on the ship during that dinner..."

At last she seems to have found the data she was looking for. "There we are." She again looks up with an earnest, self-deprecating smile. "My questions are really just a matter of confirming the various dealings Mr. Wilson and the WR&R staff had with outsiders, and tracking Mr. Wilson's movements the night he died.

- "First, I should say that I am sorry, sir," she adds with a much more sober tone. "I understand you worked with him for some time. Even though you were not close, that must have been a shock. But Mr. Graham, I do beg your pardon; while I am sure there were some lengthy preliminary negotiations to be worked out, WR&R has only had a contract with Starfleet regarding this resort for two--or at the most three years. Is that correct, Vice Admiral?"

- "Or are there more WR&R properties that are licensees of Starfleet? Do you have other projects on which you worked with Mr. Wilson or WR&R?

- "Perhaps you have worked with Mattie Hsu, as well, or do you--I mean, did you only deal with Mr. Wilson?"

- "I apologize for my digression. As I was saying, it has been my job to try to keep track of all of Mr. Wilson's activities the day and night he was killed. I know you may have answered these questions before, but I must make certain I have this down correctly. Let us start with the contacts you had with him that day. I suppose after you beamed down to the ship--you preceded us, as I recall--you must have been greeted by him, is that true? Who else was there?

- "And you went to the orientation. May I ask who performed that, sir?

- "After that was, I believe, the introduction. Did you see or speak to him after that?"

Throughout his responses she avidly takes down all his words. "Thank you, sir. Of course we are also interested in whether anyone saw anything unusual, or any altercations... even just a light that should have been on, but wasn't. Do you recall anything like that throughout the day? I would imagine even though you were here for a vacation, someone in your position probably notices more than the average traveler.

- "It is especially important to notice such things, for you see, as I am sure Ensign Graham has mentioned, the security here at the resort that night was just... well, I do not wish to speak ill of anyone with whom you have worked. Mr. Hsu does a fine job, I am sure, but you must have heard of all the security failures that occurred that evening. Do you remember, did Mr. Wilson ever discuss security issues with you? Have you ever heard of such things happening before, here? Did any of the compliance problems ever include security lapses?

- "Do you know Mr. Hsu? From your general knowledge, are you satisfied that he was doing all he could to keep the resort as safe as possible?

- "What about Mrs. Hsu? I understand she has been with WR&R for quite a while. Do you have any impressions of her? Did you ever notice any... well, difficulties, or rivalry, between her and Mr. Wilson? As his second-in-command... I believe in your earlier interview with Mr. Graham you mentioned that corporate politics could be difficult. Do you think with Mr. Wilson's death, she might make a good replacement?"

Kylah pauses. Her other questions will depend on some of his answers.

Hardin widens his eyes at Graham's mention of Orion pirates. He says, "Hell, I had no idea. Please, won't you sit down?"

He sits in his suite's comfortable living room, and takes a deep breath. "Investigations of smuggling, or financial malfeasance involving Starfleet contracts, are conducted by Starfleet Security, not by me or my staff in the Office of the Comptroller General. Investigations of corporate misconduct otherwise would be carried out by the Federation Economic Crimes Office. We make referrals to either of them from time to time when we suspect there's something not quite kosher going on, but we've never had to do so as to the OC3 resort franchise. Of course we would give our full cooperation to any such investigation; that should go without saying."

He smiles kindly at Kylah and says, "Yes, you're right about contract negotiations with Wrigley Resorts & Recreation. This is a very lucrative franchise for them, as they knew it would be. There were other bidders then, and there will probably be other bidders now. This is the only franchise that WR&R holds from Starfleet, I believe. I did not work with Mr. Wilson or WR&R on any other projects; resorts are not really what we 'do.' I had a few dealings with Mrs. Hsu, but most of the time I was dealing with Mr. Wilson or other WR&R higher-ups. I did not see Mr. Wilson on the day we beamed down any sooner than you did - we beamed down together to the Starfleet research station, and he met us there with Mrs. Hsu, remember?" See post 453.

The vice admiral thinks for a moment. "Our orientation was led by a WR&R staffer; I don't remember her name. Wilson and Hsu were there for most of the time, although Wilson stepped out briefly at one point, and then returned. I don't think I saw him again after that." He shakes his head apologetically and says, "I can't remember anything out of the ordinary here until Mr. Graham came to see me the next morning, and told me of Wilson's death. That's when I realized that the spores' effect was gone. I don't think Wilson ever discussed security issues with me; there were none of any significance, I guess, or at least none that had any bearing on WR&R franchise."

He rubs his earlobe. "I know Mr. Hsu a little, probably even less than I know his wife, which isn't much. I have no particular opinion about his competence. Obviously he failed to keep the resort's security system from being hacked, and he failed to prevent Wilson's murder, so that doesn't reflect well on him, I suppose. I have a good impression of Mrs. Hsu, all in all. Wilson seemed to rely upon her, and place great confidence in her. I never noticed any difficulties or rivalry between her and Wilson; far from it. They were a very effective team, from all I saw. I think she has the potential to be an excellent successor of his... although of course I'd far prefer it be under less tragic circumstances."

Kylah's sense of his untruthfulness is less strong now, but still perceptible.

Kylah listens carefully and takes notes with the diligence of a cadet on the first day of her first Academy class. She apologizes in a murmur for her apparent mistake regarding the beam-down and shakes her head at herself, but does not otherwise interrupt him during his responses.

"Of course, sir. I am sure we all wish the circumstances were not so awful. I know people who have been put into the awkward position of taking on responsibilities before their time due to such tragedies," she says after his last response, thinking of herself and her parents' deaths. And even now; she should not be in such a role only two months after graduation. "It is a grave honor one must bear."

Swallowing, Kylah looks back down at her tricorder. "Just some more things, sir. I should get back to tracking everyone's movements that day and evening... So, let me just make sure I have not lost my place again, I know you had said you did not see Mr. Wilson after the introduction, that is correct, yes? And then I was going to ask... tsk, where was I...?

"Oh! Yes, here it is. In addition to Mr. Wilson, we are trying to triangulate where certain people were, to confirm their alibis, such as they are. No matter if they are wealthy celebrities--" Kylah shuts her mouth quickly and gives a short shake of her head. "Forgive me, but you saw the awful confrontation between Lord Fastolfe and Mr. Wilson. We are treading lightly, but..." She darts a worried look at Graham and quickly returns to the Vice Admiral. "If I may be so bold as to make one digression, sir, do you think we handled that incident appropriately? You were there, and I would be interested in your opinion. I am sure Mr. Graham would as well. I hope you felt your safety was always assured.

"Anyway... to continue and try and trace everyone's steps, as much as possible: Some people have said they were just taking a promenade along the gardens and grounds." It is astonishing how easily one may blur the truth with words such as 'some' or 'many.' A lesson she learned early listening to the adroit adults around her. "May I ask if you were out of doors at all that evening, sir? Because it would be helpful if you saw any of the following people anywhere: Mr. Hsu, Mrs. Hsu, Lord Fastolfe, Rosemary Calvin, or Fellim Palver? Oh, and was Lt. Cmdr. Ebling with you, do you think she might be able to confirm some of these names for us when we speak with her? It would be helpful if she was elsewhere, because then we could possibly account for even more people through her own statements.

"Or did you see any of us, for that matter? Some of us were at the nightclub, others were at different restaurants..." Astonishingly, she manages not to blush. "Of course if you spent the evening in your room just relaxing, I doubt you could have noticed anyone unless they happened to fly by your window a few stories up here," she adds with a little smile.

More serious now, she lowers her tricorder. "We are also very concerned about the spores having lost their effectiveness with so many people who took the treatment the same day you did. Your safety is paramount, as is that of the guests'. Fortunately Lt. Cmdr. Ebling was apparently not so unfortunate, but... At any rate. The others seem to have noticed their treatments' effectiveness having vanished overnight, or as soon as they woke up. I know you were given the bad news almost immediately after you woke up, so it is difficult to determine exactly what might have happened in your case..." Something that I hope Mr. Graham realizes was one of the biggest lapses in judgment made in this investigation, even worse than my 'throwing myself' at men, she thinks flatly, though she shows no disapproval on her face. "Looking back, can you say for certain that you lost the spores' effectiveness as a result of learning the news about Mr. Wilson, or is there any possibility it had occurred earlier, while you were sleeping, for example?

- "Fortunately you seem to be taking this with laudable equanimity, sir. Others who had this problem are not so sanguine. I know this seems unimportant considering the tragedy, but we were originally here to evaluate the resort during this renewal period, and I would like to explore that for a moment--it would be a shame if WR&R suffered because we were unable to finish that work at all. Have you found the resort to your liking, otherwise? What would you say about the accommodations and features here, are they well-run? Have you taken advantage of the spa, for example? Your room here, it has been kept well, cleaned regularly, your needs attended to...?" She looks around briefly with interest, then returns to smile bashfully at him. "If I may make a personal remark, Vice Admiral, you are looking more hale and hearty than I remember you back on the ship. The vacation seems to have done you much good--even without the spores, I am happy to observe. Would you stay here again even if there were no spore therapy involved? If another resort were to open up without offering the therapy, I wonder if its guests would be nearly as happy.

- "Oh, but another resort could not open here, is that right? Earlier today I spoke with an independent investment banker who seemed very aware of such things--surprisingly so, but I suppose this is his business... and he said that WR&R would object, and... well, he implied Starfleet would most likely obey WR&R's objections. I could hardly believe him, but I am so unknowledgeable about these things. Surely with an entire planet available, it is not for WR&R to make such determinations on other ventures or partnerships Starfleet might undertake, is it? It seems such a waste of a vast, beautiful planet and its unique resources..."

Her face turns even more sober. "Speaking of other ventures, there is something else that has been troubling me. It is a bit off the topic, but I feel it important to mention. As part of our investigation, another ensign and I spoke with a non-Federation citizen, someone who seems very high up in his government: the Hwuen Prolun Jaxo. He was a challenge to speak to, for their ways are not our own, and we did our best to be as courteous as we could. He did imply... He is a man of great pride. He said that he was possibly doing business with the Federation, and that he knew you. At least that is what I think he said. His language and the hand gestures... I have met many different races and did my best, but there were some gaps in our ability to communicate. Am I correct? Do you know him, and what position he plays in his government? I could not quite make that out...

- "I do hope I did not err in speaking with him, sir. I appreciate that it is not for someone at my level to know what negotiations are taking place, but I thought you should know what he said, just in case there is a need to be discreet. To be frank, he implied some... unsavory things about the sort of activities that they would prefer to do at a resort. It did not seem like anything of which Starfleet would approve, if they were ever to make a bid for a license of some kind."

She lowers her gaze artlessly. "Of course, it is not my place to judge different cultures. I know the Federation was uncertain about some of my planet's customs, especially due to our then-in-process alliance with Troyius. But thanks to the assistance of Captain Kirk among others, we learned how to fit in and better cooperate, and in turn I believe others learned--I hope--to appreciate us as well. No doubt, if the Hwuen ever join the Federation, a similar adjustment will be made.

- "Speaking of the license renewal and other matters, do you know if there are any bonds related to OC3 or the planet itself? We found some files that seem to indicate there might have been, but we are not certain as they are encrypted. The guest I mentioned earlier, the banker, explained that colonial bonds, for example, might be issued to raise money and invest in the infrastructure, construction, new ventures, and so on. Are you aware of anything like that here? Mr. Svehla was not certain if there was any need for such things here, as WR&R was so profitable..." Kylah is careful not to even shift her gaze from Hardin, afraid to see what Graham might think at her mentioning Jan's name--besides the vital necessity of maintaining her empathic link with the Vice Admiral as well.

"Oh! And finally... well, this is more for my understanding than anything. Among Mr. Wilson's possessions was, as Mr. Graham said, a great deal of physical money, much of it in a variety of different currencies, completely untouched--seemingly straight from the various mints. Not just Federation credits, but Proximan crowns, Rhaandarite monits, Terran rubles... To be honest, many of the currencies match the home planets of some of the guests here. In your experience, sir, what could possibly be some explanations for this coincidence? Mr. Graham tried to explain it to me, he says it must be criminal activity, but... of what sort? All the outlays mentioned on Mr. Wilson's datapad seemed to be in Federation credits. It is like a foreign exchange was taking place. But many of the people here were first-time guests, as well. Although many, also possibly not coincidentally, were stockholders in other would-be licensees. Could Mr. Wilson... knowing him, did he ever seem stressed or nervous about the idea of an audit or anyone checking up on the finances?"

Well son of a bitch, Graham thinks as he listens to Kylah's line of inquiry, some folks may have been doing some business...

He's also both gratified and alarmed. She remained silent until I gave her...leave to speak, they might say in archaic language, and then she kisses my ass in ways that--as far as I'm concerned--are 1,000 percent unwarranted...and that after she's obviously done a ton of work...

A specific phrase comes to mind: she's killing herself to try to prove herself.

You've taken unnecessary risks, yourself, Booker, he thinks. But the difference is that was because you're old and stupid. She's young and vulnerable, and you need to fix this.

Hardin responds to Kylah's questions:

She says, "...If I may be so bold as to make one digression, sir, do you think we handled that incident appropriately? You were there, and I would be interested in your opinion. I am sure Mr. Graham would as well. I hope you felt your safety was always assured."
- "I never felt in danger," he says, "and yes, I think it was appropriately handled. Mr. Wilson didn't want to press charges, I guess, and it seemed he just wanted to mollify that fop Fastolfe. You might have made an arrest notwithstanding Wilson's wishes, in that situation, but I understand why you did not."

"Anyway... to continue and try and trace everyone's steps, as much as possible: Some people have said they were just taking a promenade along the gardens and grounds.... May I ask if you were out of doors at all that evening, sir? Because it would be helpful if you saw any of the following people anywhere: Mr. Hsu, Mrs. Hsu, Lord Fastolfe, Rosemary Calvin, or Fellim Palver? Oh, and was Lt. Cmdr. Ebling with you, do you think she might be able to confirm some of these names for us when we speak with her? It would be helpful if she was elsewhere, because then we could possibly account for even more people through her own statements."
- "I didn't go out of doors, as in off the premises, but I was in the open air walking to and from dinner, the nightclub, and this hotel tower," he says. "Mr. Ebling wasn't with me, and I didn't see any of the other folks you mentioned."

"Or did you see any of us, for that matter? Some of us were at the nightclub, others were at different restaurants... Of course if you spent the evening in your room just relaxing, I doubt you could have noticed anyone unless they happened to fly by your window a few stories up here," she adds with a little smile.
- He says, "I did go to the Starfire nightclub that night, but I don't think I noticed any of the Yorktown personnel."

More serious now, she lowers her tricorder. "We are also very concerned about the spores having lost their effectiveness with so many people who took the treatment the same day you did. Your safety is paramount, as is that of the guests'. Fortunately Lt. Cmdr. Ebling was apparently not so unfortunate, but... At any rate. The others seem to have noticed their treatments' effectiveness having vanished overnight, or as soon as they woke up. I know you were given the bad news almost immediately after you woke up, so it is difficult to determine exactly what might have happened in your case... Looking back, can you say for certain that you lost the spores' effectiveness as a result of learning the news about Mr. Wilson, or is there any possibility it had occurred earlier, while you were sleeping, for example?"
- He nods, his expression serious. "I've thought a lot about that. It's possible I lost the spores' effect while sleeping, and I can't be sure one way or another, but deep down I think it happened when I heard about Wilson's death. My emotional response surprised even me, to be honest. I think it was a combination of the news being so shocking and unexpected, and my previously-calm state from the spores. Too great a shift, you know? It was just too much."

"Fortunately you seem to be taking this with laudable equanimity, sir. Others who had this problem are not so sanguine. I know this seems unimportant considering the tragedy, but we were originally here to evaluate the resort during this renewal period, and I would like to explore that for a moment--it would be a shame if WR&R suffered because we were unable to finish that work at all. Have you found the resort to your liking, otherwise? What would you say about the accommodations and features here, are they well-run? Have you taken advantage of the spa, for example? Your room here, it has been kept well, cleaned regularly, your needs attended to...? ...If I may make a personal remark, Vice Admiral, you are looking more hale and hearty than I remember you back on the ship. The vacation seems to have done you much good--even without the spores, I am happy to observe. Would you stay here again even if there were no spore therapy involved? If another resort were to open up without offering the therapy, I wonder if its guests would be nearly as happy."
- "Thanks for the compliment. Well, other than the knife incident with Fastolfe, and his stabbing of... I mean, sorry, the death of Wilson, and my loss of the spores' effect, yes, I like this place a lot. Haven't been to the spa yet, but I might yet. I did feel a lot better once I got the spore treatment, and I'd be willing to come back if that were again an option." He chuckles a little ruefully. "I hope my next visit, if there is one, isn't nearly as eventful. And if I understand your implication, Ensign, yes, I think the spores are vital to the resort's appeal. There are plenty of other garden spots in the quadrant to go to rather than have to come all the way out here, if the spores weren't available. OC3 is just a bit too far off the beaten track otherwise."

"Oh, but another resort could not open here, is that right? Earlier today I spoke with an independent investment banker who seemed very aware of such things--surprisingly so, but I suppose this is his business... and he said that WR&R would object, and... well, he implied Starfleet would most likely obey WR&R's objections. I could hardly believe him, but I am so unknowledgeable about these things. Surely with an entire planet available, it is not for WR&R to make such determinations on other ventures or partnerships Starfleet might undertake, is it? It seems such a waste of a vast, beautiful planet and its unique resources..."
- "Yes, the WR&R's resort franchise is exclusive. That was understood by both sides, the company and Starfleet, from the outset, and included in the franchise agreement. They obviously don't want to reduce their profits by splitting rights to the spores with anyone else. The planet has no particular value otherwise; it's a Class-M rock but with very dangerous radiation."

Her face turns even more sober. "Speaking of other ventures, there is something else that has been troubling me. It is a bit off the topic, but I feel it important to mention. As part of our investigation, another ensign and I spoke with a non-Federation citizen, someone who seems very high up in his government: the Hwuen Prolun Jaxo. He was a challenge to speak to, for their ways are not our own, and we did our best to be as courteous as we could. He did imply... He is a man of great pride. He said that he was possibly doing business with the Federation, and that he knew you. At least that is what I think he said. His language and the hand gestures... I have met many different races and did my best, but there were some gaps in our ability to communicate. Am I correct? Do you know him, and what position he plays in his government? I could not quite make that out..."
- Vice Adm. Hardin says, "Yes, I dealt with him a few years ago. The Hwuen were interested in industrial-scale helium extraction on Yorthe VII, and I was involved in the preliminary contract negotiations. He was one of their three top negotiators, if I remember right. The Hwuen polity is somewhat complicated, but the closest analogy would be to consider him like the leader of a large nation in pre-United Earth days, powerful but not omnipotent, independent of his peers in some ways, but very dependent on them in others." He spreads his hands. "I'm sorry, but I don't know Elasian history well enough to give you a comparison closer to home."

"I do hope I did not err in speaking with him, sir. I appreciate that it is not for someone at my level to know what negotiations are taking place, but I thought you should know what he said, just in case there is a need to be discreet. To be frank, he implied some... unsavory things about the sort of activities that they would prefer to do at a resort. It did not seem like anything of which Starfleet would approve, if they were ever to make a bid for a license of some kind."
- He smiles a little. "I'm sure you did nothing wrong. I've heard some things about Hwuen... recreational activities, shall we say, and no, it probably wouldn't be fit for polite Federation company. But I'm not aware of any Hwuen person, state or business interested in taking over from WR&R here. There may be, but not that I've heard about."

She lowers her gaze artlessly. "Of course, it is not my place to judge different cultures. I know the Federation was uncertain about some of my planet's customs, especially due to our then-in-process alliance with Troyius. But thanks to the assistance of Captain Kirk among others, we learned how to fit in and better cooperate, and in turn I believe others learned--I hope--to appreciate us as well. No doubt, if the Hwuen ever join the Federation, a similar adjustment will be made."
- He says, "I suspect you're right. If it came to that, though, I doubt they could run the business any better or more profitably than WR&R or some other Federation-incorporated company."

"Speaking of the license renewal and other matters, do you know if there are any bonds related to OC3 or the planet itself? We found some files that seem to indicate there might have been, but we are not certain as they are encrypted. The guest I mentioned earlier, the banker, explained that colonial bonds, for example, might be issued to raise money and invest in the infrastructure, construction, new ventures, and so on. Are you aware of anything like that here? Mr. Svehla was not certain if there was any need for such things here, as WR&R was so profitable..."
- He says with certainty, "No. No bonds were issued by WR&R or anyone else to fund this resort. WR&R bore all of its expenses out of pocket."

"Oh! And finally... well, this is more for my understanding than anything. Among Mr. Wilson's possessions was, as Mr. Graham said, a great deal of physical money, much of it in a variety of different currencies, completely untouched--seemingly straight from the various mints. Not just Federation credits, but Proximan crowns, Rhaandarite monits, Terran rubles... To be honest, many of the currencies match the home planets of some of the guests here. In your experience, sir, what could possibly be some explanations for this coincidence? Mr. Graham tried to explain it to me, he says it must be criminal activity, but... of what sort? All the outlays mentioned on Mr. Wilson's datapad seemed to be in Federation credits. It is like a foreign exchange was taking place. But many of the people here were first-time guests, as well. Although many, also possibly not coincidentally, were stockholders in other would-be licensees. Could Mr. Wilson... knowing him, did he ever seem stressed or nervous about the idea of an audit or anyone checking up on the finances?"
- Hardin frowns. "No, Wilson never said anything at all about his own finances. Never came up. I had the impression that he was well-off, but nothing more than that. I don't know why he would've had a stash of hard currency like that. I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Graham; it certainly does look suspicious."

Kylah's impression of his general truthfulness continues to hold as to these answers.

After a serious nod, Kylah hesitates to add her notes and then lifts her gaze to Hardin's, daring a small grateful smile. "Thank you, sir. I cannot tell you how helpful you have been. I would not ask either you or Mr. Graham to spend any more of your time--or patience--on my questions. But I know you will agree with me that the timeline of the night in question is absolutely vital. Indeed, Mr. Graham has ably taught me the importance of keeping a strict account of people, for the safety of themselves and others."

She extends her appreciative look to Graham before returning to Hardin, now more urgent. "You see, sir, one of the-- that is to say, one or more of the people I mentioned, and some others still, are using the nightclub as an alibi. They claim to have been there at certain times. And he--some tend toward rather... noticeable behavior, so it is doubtful you would have missed them. But I should not say too much, it would be unprofessional during an investigation.

"All I wish to know is if you could tell me when you were at the club, for how long?" Kylah darts a respectful but questioning look at her mission commander, almost as if trying to draw the correct words from him. "Because if they claim to have been there at a certain time, and you did not see them, then that might indicate they were... hiding something about where they were. It might be harmless, it might not, it might even be something that is illicit but nothing to do with the murder. But we do need to know, either way."

She smiles back at Hardin. "So do you remember, sir? When you were at the nightclub, and when you left?" Kylah exhales, tilting her head apologetically. "I promise that will be all."

Graham's concentration on Hardin's answers and appreciation of Kylah's adept handling of his questioning is momentarily interrupted by a flash of alarm as she gives him a--a what, come hither look?

He wishes he knew more about Elas. If I'd known I was going to be in command--and was on the ball, focused on the job--I would have done due diligence on every member of the team before beamdown, he thinks ruefully, but blaming no one but himself. Should have done it anyway to help Collins, you've been around long enough to know you should help newbies, rank aside.

He vaguely recalls something about Elasian women, even high-ranking government officials, wearing revealing clothing--was there some cultural thing about performing for men?

He notes it would be odd to whip out his tricorder to check so sets it aside--and speaking of checking his tricorder...

He's sure Mahmoud said Hardin was seen talking to Wilson at the night club.

He'd like to confirm that before out and out calling the Admiral a liar, but for the moment, Kylah is on to something.

"Yes, sir, we appreciate your patience, and hope not to test its boundaries on your vacation--but as Mr. Kylah mentions, who-saw-who in the nightclub is at the crux of untangling Wilson's last movements and who may have had the opportunity to confront him in private."

Hardin nods. "I think I got there around 10 and left after an hour or so. Maybe later? I can't be sure; that's just a rough estimate. I didn't have a chrono and wasn't really paying attention to the time." He smiles. "One of the nice things about being on shore leave."

There is a boom of thunder audible through the suite's windows along one wall, followed by another, slightly softer one. Rain begins to fall outside as the storm finally begins.

After making note of Hardin's schedule, Kylah starts to smile but is shaken by the sound of thunder. Her attention is momentarily distracted as she glances out of the window in surprise. She has not heard or seen a rainstorm in... well, she cannot even remember. What with the pleasant weather at the Academy, her brief journey home, and then her time on the ship and Sakathian station... Four months? Five months? How strange to be so disconnected from natural phenomena.

Quickly she faces Hardin. "Thank you again, sir. This will be extremely useful in checking with the witness accounts and the possible suspects' own statements."

She hesitates. She needs to ensure that Graham does not push Hardin any further. Graham's edginess is quite evident to her, probably due to his obvious hatred of the Orion Syndicate and what Wilson's bank activity might mean. The security officer's doubting words earlier did not seem to faze Hardin much--perhaps Kylah's fawning managed to distract and soothe the Vice Admiral from reacting defensively--but who knows what else Graham might say to touch off an ugly scene? Especially if he has paid as close attention to the Starfire witness statements as she has and recognizes what she has been aiming for this whole time.

All her rather exhausting playacting will be for naught if Graham suddenly leans forward and accuses Hardin of taking a laissez-faire attitude toward Wilson's possible corruption--or points out the apparent omission in his reported activities.

An idea strikes her, and she looks up at Graham with the expression of a student eager to impress her teacher. "Mr. Graham, perhaps we should make cross-checking all the various timelines and accounts a top priority? Before we question anyone whose story does not match up? That would be the proper thing to do, would it not?"

She falls silent and gazes at him expectantly, a protégé hoping for a pat on her head from her mentor for giving the correct response. Of course, one presumes actual mentors do not usually spy on their protégés with cameras, drag them bodily across a room in a violent attack, and accuse them of acting sexually with every man they meet. But Kylah has been presenting a false front ever since entering the room. She has no problem with continuing this façade.

Graham's feeling some adrenaline flowing. There was no magic to untangling a mystery like this when information was scarce and you were sure somebody somewhere was lying--you just kept at it, systematically asking questions and comparing notes until you found something that didn't square, a chink in the armor as it were around a person of interest's or suspect's stories.

This inconsistency in Hardin's story--and his obvious obliviousness or stubborn refusal to communicate the truth--is progress. To be sure, they aren't ready to exploit it--to make the most of it they need to compare notes and come up with a game plan.

In fact Kylah is suggestion exactly the right thing--except she's looking at me like she needs me to give her a cookie and a pat on the head, he thinks. Oh shit, or a pat on the a--. No, jeez, let's assume it's "head."

He tries to choose his words and demeanor carefully. Reinforcing the underlying dynamic, whatever that is, would be bad--but so would failing to give her positive reinforcement when she's doing good work.

"Yes, Mr. Kylah," Graham answers sincerely if a bit stiffly. "Your recommendation is a continuation of your consistent thoroughness." He nods to Hardin. "Thank you, sir, this have been very helpful. We appreciate your time."

If Hardin does not add anything or otherwise object Graham turns to leave, gesturing gently for Kylah to precede him.

Looking at what's left in the room, Rangin shakes his head. Whoever had done this had been fairly thorough, at least to cover their own or possibly their colleagues tracks. There was no point looking round here further and with the security evidence absent and the lack of data to identify who might have opened the door, why waste more time here.

Hearing the crack of thunder outside, Rangin decides its an appropriate time to leave, while wondering what to look at next. All the houses had been checked, Mr Wilson's suite pored over in detail, the same went for his office. What little evidence there was seemed to be as complete as they could find, maybe the others would have had more luck with the interviews.

Shrugging slightly, he headed back to the CP. He would think of something on the way.