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

Collins takes one of the appetizers as the tray passes by her. Damn that's good, she thinks, so I'm not going to ask what it's made from. She smiles and circulates through the crowd, participating in the conversations that catch her fancy.

T'Var is quite impressed with her surroundings. Everything neat and clean. Everything in its proper place. And the appetizers smell wonderful!

After acknowledging Dr. Villa's welcome, T'Var asks, "Could you recommend an appetizer for me to try -- and the best wine to accompany it?"

Graham can't help but smile. He's seen many events like this--only from the door, where he was posted making sure no one uninvited got in. He realizes he's probably doing a bad job of making small talk, but he can't help but focus on scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary or signs of a security risk; he feels slightly out of place without a phaser, and his hand unconsciously drops to his hip for a second. He sighs: OK Booker, free food and booze and a VIP ticket. Probably not going to happen every day, so relax and take advantage of it...

The elegant, elaborate room is almost comforting to Kylah, somewhat ironically since as familiar as she is with such trappings thanks to her upbringing back on Elas, she always hated the events that required them.

She takes a glass of the Picard '50--vowing to herself that this will be her sole drink tonight--and thanks the steward before she takes a sip. Cool, dry and just sweet enough. Kylah searches the room for someone who seems welcoming. Examining the other women, she starts to regret having styled her hair quite as formally, following the tradition of Elas to weave her hair into braids and let them fall loosely around her head. The sweep of gold eyeshadow on her lids above her inky black eyes matches the gilding of her uniform. At least she left her lips natural, since they have enough color that using lipstick is unnecessary. It is a formal event, she justifies to herself. Honoring my culture's traditions is appropriate for a social gathering, even among crewmembers.

While glancing around, she spots the newcomer, Ensign Graham, by the doorway. He's scanning the room like a professional guard, as if he expects there to be some sort of trouble. For a moment she can't tell if he's here as a guest or for undercover security. Not for the first time, she wonders why she's been invited to this event. It seems a strange mixture of people. The senior officers and even assistant chiefs such as Collins and Delaney make sense. But mere ensigns like her and Graham, two of the newest members on board? And Rangin too, though at least he's served on the ship longer than a mere month.

The thought of Rangin makes Kylah stand a little straighter, lower the glass, and sweep her gaze across the room. Is he here yet? She doesn't see him immediately and decides it would be well to be seen interacting with others instead of drinking by herself. Her instinct is to greet her fellow newcomer, but Graham might be on duty and she remembers back on Elas it was considered bad form to distract a security guard's attention. Instead she draws closer to Lt. Thalen, and when his conversation with Lt. JG Bennett pauses she gives him a courteous but somewhat hopeful nod. "Good evening, sir," she says, and then greets Bennett as well.

As Rangin heads into the dinner with everyone standing around, he reminds himself to be social, good company and to smile regardless of who might be here and what gets said. It is a little disconcerting to him to be invited to such a meal,especially given the notable presence, but as he looks round he is slightly relieved to other people there he recognises.

He accepts a glass of wine and an appetiser as they go by and looks round. Seeing Kylah already involved in conversation as are the others, he heads across to Ensign Graham.

"Evening, have I missed anything yet?"

Graham nods to acknowledge Rangin’s greeting and then shrugs his shoulders. “Nope,” he replies. After a brief pause he smiles slightly and adds, “I mean, nothing besides my scintillating conversation.” He shifts uncomfortably and tugs at the collar of his dress shirt. “You science guys get invited to things like this a lot? For my part, I’m thinking guarding the door at soirees like this is an easier assignment than getting all dressed up and ‘mingling.’ Your—ah…friend there, Ens. Kylah...she seems to be pretty good at it, though.”

Cmdr. Vargas comes over to Collins and says, "Good to see you, Lieutenant. How are you this evening?"

Dr. Villa says to T'Var, "I'm partial to the chablis, but it might not be to your taste. Some find it too dry, but I think it's just right. And the Edoan savory crackers are quite good." She subtly glances around and moves a little closer. "I've been looking over the latest scans of Mr. Fujishiro. The Sakathian virus seems to be mutating. Nothing dangerous, at least not yet, but it's spread to a majority of her white blood cells now and shows no sign of slowing down."

The Andorian communications chief raises his glass and says cheerily, "Hello, Kylah! Glad you could come. How's everything?"

Bennett adds, "You look amazing. You must give me some tips on how you do your hair." The navigator has her lustrous brown hair up in an elegant chignon for the occasion.

A passing steward asks Graham, "Something to drink, sir?"

"I'm fine, Commander, thank you. And you?" Collins smiles politely. She is more than just a little intimidated by Vargas, but she hides it well. She wonders if she'll be trying to impress him her entire career.

Kylah wears her most pleasant expression and says, "Everything is very good, thank you, sir. I am learning more about the ship and my duties every day, and hope soon to be a credit to the Yorktown." She thanks Bennett modestly and returns the compliment, as she herself has never been able to keep her hair nearly as smooth and silky straight.

She tilts her glass, from which she's only had two sips. "This is a marvelous wine. I have never heard of this vineyard before. Is it from Earth?"

Past Thalen's shoulder she sees Graham and Rangin, and notices the former glancing in her direction. She lifts her glass slightly in a silent greeting, then returns her polite gaze to the two senior officers.

"Yeah," Graham says, a little too abruptly, taking a glass of wine from the steward. Kylah seems to gesture in his direction: probably to Rangin, given whatever they have going on, but he's not sure, and the degree to which she reminds him of his daughter has been gnawing at him. "You are not ugly," she said earlier. At the back of his mind, the young ensign's face elides into Elizabeth's, only she is saying "It wasn't your fault." He drinks half the glass of wine at a gulp. But she would never say that, Graham thinks. Because it was.

Graham silently wishes a Klingon suicide commando squad would blast through the side bulkhead to spare him the rest of the evening's social niceties. He finishes the glass and grabs another before the steward can get too far away.

Rangin smiles at Graham's comment.

"Invited to one of these, are you kidding. I only get to go to science symposiums, where the sparkling repartee is yet another lead scientist grandstanding his latest work as being better than all the others. As an ensign, all I'm supposed to to do is nod, be grateful I'm in their presence and be suitably awestruck by how intelligent they are."

Rangin looks across at where Kylah is talking away and notices the slight hesitation in Graham's comment before turning back to face him. "She's in communications, so she should be good at talking to people. She's from a slightly different culture, a bit formal in most situations and sometimes takes things the wrong way, but her heart's in the right place."

He waits while Graham accepts the drink from the steward, and shakes his head slightly when also offered, he doesn't plan on drinking that much this evening.

"Somehow I think saying you should relax will only make you more tense. I doubt you're the only one wondering what on earth a bunch of Ensigns are doing here, but we may as well enjoy it."

All thoughts of food and drink disappear as T'Var takes in what Villa has just shared with her about Fujishiro. The doctor can't wait to leave the dinner and follow up on this new information.

"Dr. Bucci and I will look into this mutation as soon as possible," T'Var assures Villa. "Perhaps this is the breakthrough we need."

Vargas says to Collins, "I'm just fine, thank you. How are you feeling? Well, I hope...?" He glances meaningfully at her belly.

Thalen has a glass of the Picard '50 himself, takes a sip and says to Kylah, "It is rather good, isn't it? It's definitely from Earth - a small vineyard in Belgium, I think... or is it France? Croatia?"

"France, I think," Bennett says. "The Captain told me once."

Delaney comes over to Rangin and Graham. "Gentlemen! Good to see you both. Booker, someone told me you were a commander once for two weeks. Is that right? I'd love to hear the story."

Dr. Villa purses her lips. "Well, perhaps, T'Var, but I doubt it. Don't get your hopes up. She remains in a persistent vegetative state, and her higher brain function has been almost zeroed."

"Oh," Collins says, a little surprised. She puts her hand on her abdomen "that. Fine. I haven't felt nauseated in over 36 hours." She's surprised Vargas asked about her pregnancy since he seemed indifferent to it when she told him and the Captain. "I'm still mulling over my options."

Graham grits his teeth. Anytime now for that Klingon suicide squad would be just…. damned…fine, he thinks.

“Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he grunts, taking a swig of wine. He takes a second to swallow a brief flash of anger; it seems pretty clear Delaney isn’t trying to needle him, and it’s not as if his service record is a secret (well, most of it, anyway). He reminds himself it was certain to come up sooner or later… Of course, he adds as a mental note—just my luck that it is here in front of the whole command staff.

“Ah, you know, there really isn’t much to tell,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and trying to come across as good-natured rather than sarcastic. “It’s just that Starfleet doesn’t like it much when officers go AWOL and create a diplomatic incident.” He takes another sip of wine, doubting anyone will let it drop there but giving the delay tactic a shot.

Kylah has only half-listened to the banter between Bennett and Thalen. She's been getting a strong sense of discomfort--barely suppressed shame mixed with anger--from someone not far away, and it is impossible to ignore. She looks over and sees Rangin and Graham have been joined by Delaney, who's talking to the new security officer. Considering Delaney's pleasant grin and Rangin's usual calm demeanor, Kylah easily homes in on Graham as the person who quite clearly feels as if he'd rather stun himself than be at this event... a feeling that's only worsened since Delaney started speaking.

Her empathy is acute. How many formal dinners did she attend as a shy child or even on visits home from the Academy, hating how awkward she felt among the strangers? The memory gives Kylah an idea.

After making a swift calculation, she excuses herself to her superiors before moving with unusual vivacity over to the men by the door. Of course she knows she's about to make herself sound like a scatterbrained fool or a drunk--or both--but right now her mission is to remove the source of discomfort.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting, Lt. Delaney... Mr. Rangin," she adds with a slightly softer tone before she focuses her attention on the newcomer. "Mr. Graham, you are from Earth, are you not?" She places a hand on his arm, lifting her glass with the other one. "Perhaps you can settle a question for me. Lieutenants Thalen and Bennett just confirmed that this wonderful wine is apparently from your planet, some place called France. Is this anywhere near San Francisco? It seems likely as I remember other cadets saying there were many vineyards near the Academy." She turns to Delaney and adds conversationally, "I was sometimes invited to go to winetasting outings but was far too studious to attend. If a wine such as this is an example of what is produced there, I fear I missed out."

Graham feels a moment of relief as Ensign Kylah approaches at a moment miraculously timed to let him off the hook.

“It’s…there are lots of vineyards near San Francisco,” he mumbles in response to her question. “France is on the other side of the planet, though. But if you’re headed to Europe, you’re better off stopping in Scotland for whisky, in my opinion…I…”

He has to suppress a deep sense of shame as she touches his arm: really, Booker? You’re going…to hide…behind…her? Every syllable of each thought is accusatory.

He speaks more loudly. “You know—you’re just in time, Ensign!” He says to Kylah, pointing a thumb sharply at his other two crewmates—“I was telling Rangin and Delaney here how I got busted from Lt. Commander to Ensign, and almost thrown out of Starfleet to boot.” He waves over a wine steward. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m just getting started. But leave room in case more folks want to gather around…”

Vargas looks a little surprised, but says, "Of course, Mr. Collins. I didn't mean to pry. I know you'll do what's best." He clears his throat and looks around the room, his gaze finally alighting on Graham. "Our newest Security officer seems quite popular, wouldn't you say? How does he strike you so far?"

Across the room, and still well out of Vargas's earshot, Delaney realizes too late that perhaps Graham is actually not all that enthused about telling the story. "Oh, uh, Booker, jeez, I'm sorry. If you'd rather not say, you don't...."

Kylah steps back abruptly, dismayed and confused by Graham's determination to reveal something that's obviously causing him distress. She has no idea what he did to get demoted but it cannot be a pleasant memory despite the ebullient facade the man is presenting. Did her clumsy attempt to distract him actually goad him into this? Kylah stares helplessly at Rangin, wondering what he must think of her. Probably nothing very much at all, she suspects with a pang.

Finally she turns with hopeful eyes to Delaney when he speaks up. Maybe Graham will listen to him... Maybe Vargas will speak up... Maybe the Captain will arrive and silence them all before the security officer says something he truly regrets.

He shakes his head. "But we've already gotten started. So...” Graham’s muscles tense, and he flexes his knees slightly he gets into telling the story.

No one to be mad at but yourself, Booker, he thinks. Own it.

He tries to make sure he looks into each of his crewmate’s eyes as he starts the story.

Look at Delaney.

“I had a lead on some real bad guys—slaving was just the tip of the iceberg.”

Look at Rangin.

“Following up on it was…uh, outside the mission parameters of my assignment at the time.”

Look at Kylah.

“But it was persona…” his voice catches. He can’t finish the word “personal” and look at the young woman his daughter’s age at the same time. He turns and winds up looking at the wall. “I had my reasons, it doesn’t matter.”

He takes another swig of wine and a clenches a fist. “So I trace this big shot trader my informant says I need to talk to all the way to a colony on frontier of Federation space. Their story is that they’ve set up a self-regulating syndicate of merchants, so you get all the opportunities of trading in neutral space, but it’s legit—they screen and weed out all the crooks and bad actors.” He shrugs. “Only problem is, the ship isn’t going anywhere near it. So I take a shuttlecraft and go.”

“I track this guy down…he’s human, but deep into dealing with the Orions. I want to have a little chat, except he’s not so keen on sticking around. Only I’m not so keen on letting him go.” He unconsciously traces the scar down his face and looks at Delaney. “I got hurt. He got…” he looks around and points at T’Var. “The doctor would say the clinical definition is ‘dead.’”

He hops side to side a little bit. He remembers pain, a haze of blood. He remembers being removed from the hospital facility and taken into custody by Starfleet security. Some guys I knew, he thinks—I was pissed at first, but then I realized Captain Gral sent them to get me off planet so I wouldn’t be disappeared by the locals.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. The trading syndicate is screaming bloody murder. It looks like I’m going up on manslaughter charges. But my captain…” he pauses. thinking of the tough old Tellarite he’d let down in so many ways. “My captain at the time on the Liffey…he made sure Starfleet poked around. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Turns out the dead guy had been vetted and approved by the local syndicate, but was dirty as hell if you actually took the time to look.”

He smiles grimly and spreads his arms. “So there it is: I run off half-cocked, and the locals are saying I’m a murderous Federation vigilante. But the fact is the guy was such bad news that either the syndicate was corrupt or totally incompetent—he deserved to be on the wrong end of a phaser a hundred times over. So all of a sudden everybody—Federation, locals—wants this whole incident to disappear.”

Graham isn’t sure whether he’s growling or shouting at this point. “Priceless, isn’t it? I take out a bad guy, only the fact that I had no evidence for doing so means Starfleet needs to make the thing go away. And the fact that he was a bad guy means there’s nobody to press charges against me. But you’ve got to pay the piper.” He shakes his head. “Captain Gral said he would take me back, after I got busted down to ensign. But I didn’t deserve it. He’d done enough.”

He finishes his glass. “Good wine.” He grins wolfishly. “What do you think’s for dinner?” he asks his crewmates.

There's a slight pang of jealousy from Rangin as Kylah touches Graham on the arm before his own words come back to haunt him. Different Cullture. How could he have been foolish to recognise it as anything else. She really was just being friends on leave, nothing more. Fortunately, Kylah was looking at Graham at the time, so the slight tinge of red colouring Rangin's face will not give anything away.

Distracted by Kylah for a moment, Rangin was about to say something but Graham starts his story before he can think of anything to say. Although he does seem desperate to get something off his chest. He politely listens while Graham finished his story.

As he's speaking, Rangin keeps his own counsel about Graham. But anyone who can get to LT Commander is worthy of respect. Anyone who takes on the Orion Syndicate or affiliates alone is certifiable, or desperate. Rangin is well aware of how corrupt and dangerous they can be.

Responding to Graham with a raised glass and a calm demeanour, "That's one hell of a story, somehow I doubt dinner will match it. It will be probably be something small, exotic and unidentifiable."

T'Var frowns. "I understand," she tells Villa. "However, I also believe in hope. It is most logical. 'Where there is life, there is hope', after all."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll work out fine." Collins tells Vargas, "I haven't spoken to him much, yet. I'll bet he's full of stories." She looks over to the group talking to Graham, rather listening to him. "If you'll excuse me, Commander?" Her body language is pointing towards that group. She very much would like to hear some of Graham's war stories.

Kylah hardly knows which part of Graham's tale is most horrible, and combined with the flood of emotions she's sensing from him, the violence and corruption and injustice he's just related make her stomach churn. She might expect to find Ensign Graham among Aldaan's employees--if not for the weight of regret that's so obviously crushing him. Quite honestly, she's torn between being frightened of and sympathetic toward this man.

His lighthearted pretense at the end is met by Rangin's, and Kylah is genuinely confused at how they can joke after such a tale. But it must be what's expected--perhaps of men, perhaps of Starfleet officers. She has many questions, one first and foremost, about something he either accidentally or intentionally omitted. But she immediately quashes her instincts. If she ever speaks to Graham again--though it is probably doubtful their paths will meet often on the ship--and if she feels safe enough, maybe she will ask.

Or maybe not. When he had been about to mention the reason behind his obsessive hunt for the slavers, he couldn't even look at her. Why? He had looked at the others frankly enough. Did her questions earlier make her seem so shallow that Graham thought her sensibilities too delicate, her mind too flighty, to treat as an equal? Those who do not meet her gaze usually have contempt for her or simply dismiss her worth. It is a sore point for Kylah and she knows she might be wrong to take it personally. This man has many demons and who knows what lies behind his actions... any of them.

She cannot match the insouciance, feigned or otherwise, of the men. She merely takes another sip of wine, the glass clinking against her teeth due to her trembling hand, and remains silent.

"Of course," Vargas says, slightly lifting his glass in salute to Collins. She joins the group around Graham and is able to hear most of his story.

Delaney has turned beet red by the time Graham finishes. He mumbles something apologetic and makes a beeline for Thalen and Bennett.

Dr. Villa says with a rueful smile, "Oh, I'm always hopeful, T'Var. But I've been in this game long enough, I'm also a realist."

Collins picks up the story around “Here’s where it gets interesting.”. She listens with interest and wonders about the part of the story she missed.
In answer to Graham's question, Collins says "Rubber chicken in a cream sauce, undercooked veggies, and an overcooked potato" and gives the group a big smile.

Graham chuckles and gives Collins a brief mock salute.

This Rangin’s got a dry sense of humor, he thinks—not bad for a Science Guy. And Collins just may be all right after all.

He wants to catch the obviously embarrassed Delany before he bolts, but the engineer moves too quickly. The guy shouldn’t feel bad, Graham thinks. God knows I’ve put my foot in mouth a thousand times.

And maybe I’ve done it again—he glances at Kylah. “A different culture,” Rangin had said. But different in what way? Graham’s frustrated that he seems to have—what? Hurt her feelings? Made her angry? Convinced her I’m a sorry excuse for a fa—he catches himself. For an officer, not for a father.

Unless she can read minds, she only has a basis for the former judgment, not the latter, he thinks. I left that part of the story out tonight.

Hell, maybe she can read minds, he muses. He sighs and lets his gaze pass over Lt. Bennett. There’s at least one reason to be in favor of forcing everyone to put on a dress uniform, anyway.

Bennett looks over and notices Graham's gaze. She smiles and gives a little nod, then goes back to talking to Thalen and Delaney. Graham suddenly notices his palms sweating a bit.

The doors whoosh open and Capt. Singh, Vice Adm. Hardin and Lt. Cmdr. Ebling enter. You all stand to attention. The Captain says, "As you were. Welcome to the Wardroom, Admiral. If I may introduce you to my officers...?"

Hardin takes a moment to shake hands and speak with each of you. Several of you notice that he seems friendly but tired.

To T'Var he says, "A pleasure, Doctor. Some of the best physicians I know are Vulcans. Do you get back to your homeworld often?"

To Collins, "Anyone whom Mr. Vargas chooses to have at his right hand must be an exceptional officer indeed. I understand your Sakathian mission was difficult?"

To Kylah, "It's good to meet you, Ensign. I hope you'll be one of many Elasian officers to join Starfleet. Long life to you, and success to your House."

To Rangin, "As it happens, xenobiology is a hobby of mine, Mr. Rangin. Tell me, do you have a particular favorite among the Bolian estuarine crabs?"

To Graham, "I think we were both on the Swift recently, Ensign. I hope you'll forgive me for not being more sociable; my health is not what it once was."

Ebling, his Tellarite flag aide, stays nearby at all times, but says little.

Collins's joke cements the notion in Kylah's mind that everyone is intending to ignore Ensign Graham's story. Not that she blames them, but somehow... somehow she feels it's wrong not to acknowledge everything he's just revealed. The man took a huge risk--at least, she would consider it a risk; from the way the others are reacting, one might assume Starfleet officers find such things common occurences, from justifying a murder after-the-fact to the original crimes going unpunished. And the Federation once considered Elasians barely civilized?

Unable--maybe unwilling--to let the story go by without some more significant response, Kylah finally looks directly up at the tall man and murmurs gently, "I am glad you were not more grievously injured, Mr. Graham. That was a dangerous mission and it is fortunate you are here to tell us about it."

Looking quickly away, she wrestles to think of something similar to the others' comments, not wanting to seem out of place. What would her mother have said? Never the wrong thing at the wrong time, that much is certain. She was a pure diplomat till the end.

Kylah swallows and makes an effort, looking from Collins to Rangin with a bright-eyed gaze. "I hope for the sake of our reputations as hosts, you are all underestimating the Yorktown's chef," she says with as casual an air as she can manage. "We do not want to insult the Comptroller. But then it might be beneficiary after all. Perhaps he will help lobby for an increased allocation of funds to the ships' kitchen resources."

Even as her last word leaves her lips, the doors open and the Captain and the guests enter. She inhales sharply and stands straighter. When the Vice Admiral takes the trouble to greet her personally, she bows her head in honor of the recognition. "Thank you very much, sir. I hope that I, and my House, may endeavor to reflect all that is good and honorable in the Federation." Though apparently there is less of that than I thought, she thinks.

"Thank you, sir," Collins responds, "Difficult, yes. But I am pleased with how my team responded."

Graham isn’t sure whether Kylah is mocking him or being genuinely kind…the latter is much harder for him to deal with. He’s wrestling with whether he should make a joke, or whether he can manage to choke out “thank you” when the Vice Admiral enters the room.

The brass greets folks by name: impressive, and a little strange. When he greets Kylah, Graham is shocked: son of a bitch, she’s Elasian, he thinks. If she’s carrying concealed weapons and I haven’t noticed, I’m getting sloppy.

He clocks himself back in and looks for signs of weapons on her —he thinks it’s knives that the women carry—but is interrupted by the Vice Admiral himself.

Graham shakes his head. “You didn’t miss anything—sir—my… social skills…aren’t what they once were. I…” he pauses; the guy seems genuinely nice. “I’m no doctor, but if there’s anything I can do, say the word, Admiral.”

Rangin grins at her response while meeting her gaze and is about to compliment Kylah on the response when the doors opened.

He takes his place lining up with everyone up as the Vice Admiral comes round.

Outwardly urbane, the thoughts going round Rangin's head are a lot simpler. She's a royalty from Elas, relax, take it easy, she's still just an ensign...who still mixes things up...and gets all confused...and she's still a friend.

Rangin smiles as he is greeted. "Thank you sir, I believe my favourites are still the first I saw when I was in Bokitu by the Bay of Bolse."

"A pleasure and an honor, sir," T'Var replies. "I have not visited my home world in quite some time. However, I consider Starfleet to be my home as well."

The admiral says, "I'm sure you will, Ens. Kylah. Good luck to you."

He replies to Collins, "Of course. It's good to have shipmates on whom you can rely."

He bestows a weary smile on Graham and says quietly, "Thank you, Ensign; I appreciate it."

To the Yorktown's xenobiologist he says, "Bokitu by the Bay of Bolse, eh? You have a gift for alliteration, Mr. Rangin. The crabs there certainly are remarkable, even if they do taste terrible."

To T'Var he says, "Ah, there's nothing like Sasek's Canyon in the early fall. I hope you'll have the chance to get back there sometime soon, Doctor."

The Captain's Yeoman, acting as maitre 'd, invites you all to sit down. Your places are marked with calligraphed cards. The Captain is at the head of the table, with the Comptroller General to her right and the First Officer to her left. Among the junior officers, Kylah and Rangin are next to each other, as are Drs. T'Var and Noel. Collins and Lt. Cmdr. Ebling find themselves side by side, and likewise Graham and Bennett. The other senior officers are seated here and there.

Soon dinner is served by the Mess stewards. Notwithstanding Rangin's and Collins's predictions, it is quite good. An icy salad of Spican mixed greens is followed by cups of piping hot Earth seafood bisque, then by thickly-sliced Morranian beef with a peppery mustard glaze, and mixed vegetables. Graham's not sure he's ever eaten as well on a Starfleet vessel.

Wine and other beverages, or refills, are offered anew as the meal goes on.

Collins chats amicably with the Tellarite woman. Ebling is only the third, no, second she's ever met. She keeps it to small talk because she has one ear focused on Ensign Graham sitting across from her. She listens for an opening in his conversation to engage him. There is something appealing about him. She's not attracted to him in that way, but she does feel drawn to him.

If Rangin gets the chance and is allowed to do so, he will hold Kylah's chair for her, while attempting to be a gentleman.

He looks down slightly nervously at the dinner and leans slightly across to her with a whisper. "You know, this was one of the few parts of Starfleet I didn't pay much attention to. How does this go again?"

Kylah is surprised by Rangin pulling out her chair, but remembers it's an Earth custom. Elasian women are usually not treated as delicate objects who require such niceties--of course, the entire royal family is treated with deference by servants, but it is not gender-based. And yet Kylah doesn't mind the gesture, because it seems to indicate...

She's not entirely sure what it indicates. But it's an act of kindness. Unnecessary, but those are the most pleasant ones. She thanks him and gives him one of her rare smiles, trying not to assume anything about his motives. After all, if he were seated beside Noel, Bennett, Collins or T'Var he might do the same.

His question also charms her. "Do you mean the utensils?" she asks, also in a whisper. "As I was taught, the Earth custom is to use those on the farthest side away from the plate first, then move inward with each course." Hoping to reassure him, Kylah adds: "I only remember this because it was an enforced lesson to us on Elas. Until we were about to join the Federation, we never used anything other than knives and--with broths--a sort of..." The appropriate equivalent for the Elasian caleera escapes her. She looks down at the spoon, but that doesn't quite match it--far too small and inefficient. At last, glancing at the center of the table where the tureen of bisque sits, she nods gratefully toward the silver utensil within. "Something like that. I do not know the word... A... a scoop? Ladle," she suddenly corrects, embarrassed. And you pride yourself on your knowledge of foreign languages!

She quickly departs from the subject to greet Noel, across from her, and--somewhat awkwardly--Pourtash, to her left. Kylah has not forgotten his aiming his phaser at her back on the research station, and she doubts she ever will.

Graham gives Lt. Bennett a gentle nudge with his elbow. "I guess we're having dinner, ma'am."

During the meal, Ebling opens up a bit more with Collins. She has been the Vice Admiral's flag aide for eight months, and before that was most recently assigned to the USS Minsk, a light cruiser frequently on convoy duty along the Orion frontier. She seems introverted by nature but is pleasant enough.

Pourtash and Dr. Noel seem to hit it off, and include Kylah in their conversation about recent novels. These days, Dr. Noel is engrossed in Longworth's Last Days of the Tyrants, a novel about the African unification of the late 21st century.

Bennett laughs and nudges Graham back. "So it seems, Mr. Graham. But not quite the setting you originally had in mind, is it? How are you and Faisal getting on as cabinmates, anyway?"

Those close enough to the head of the table overhear Hardin telling Singh about an early assignment he had: "Our Chief Engineer asked me to program the ship's computer to give answers to the most common, otherwise-unanswerable or joke questions that it had been asked. Let me see if I remember... for 'What are you wearing?,' I input 'I'm as naked as the day I was activated.' For 'Will you marry me?,' it was 'Thank you. I'm flattered, but I just don't think it would last.' For 'What's the meaning of life?,' it was '42.' Old, old joke. Do you know it? No matter. Quite a surprise for those who asked, though."

They laugh, and the Captain, smiling, says to the Chief Engineer, "What a marvelous idea. See to it, will you, Mr. Cheverez?"

"First thing in the morning, ma'am," he replies, chuckling as he raises his glass.

Graham gestures at the fine spread. "Well, obviously ma'am the fact that onight we're not being serenaded by strolling musicians is a big let down compared to what old Security grunts like me are used to...," he says to Bennett. "Faisal's solid. Delusional about his snoring, which he refuses to cop to. But it's good to see him...we were assign--."

Edbling and Collins are talking just across the table: he overhears the words "Orion frontier."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says to the two of them, a little too intensely. Calm down, Booker, he tells himself; there's a cold, hard hatred starting to well up in his gut. "Did I hear that you served on the Orion frontier? I've...spent some time there. Any headway lately against the bast--" he pauses and collects himself before he crushes the wine glass he's holding in his hand. "I mean, what's the latest word around the patrol fleet?"

"Thanks Kylah." responds Rangin.

While Kylah is greeting the others next to her, Rangin greets Dr T'Var across from him and Lt. Cmdr. Roble next to him, before examining the cutlery in preparation and then digging in to the course,.

"Good evening, Mr. Rangin," T'Var says with a smile. "You look well. I hope you are feeling better?"

Kylah listens politely to the discussion, though she hasn't read the novels Pourtash and Noel have. She enjoys the food, which is quite good, and especially appreciates the peppery sauce of the beef.

When there's a lull, she tries to engage Lt. Cheverez in conversation--difficult considering she knows nothing about either engineering or Cheverez personally. "Are you an avid reader yourself, sir?"

The Tellarite woman picks up her glass of ale in one lightly-furred paw and says, "We escorted five convoys while I was aboard the Minsk, and were twice attacked. We took some casualties and had one freighter badly damaged, but destroyed the pirate sloops both times. Most of the time I was rather bored on convoy duty, but when it got exciting, it was very exciting." She takes a sip and looks at Graham shrewdly. "You've had some run-ins of your own with the Orions, Ensign?"

Cheverez tells Kylah, "Now and then I'll tackle a novel, but I like poetry and short stories more. For the past month or so I've been reading the collected works of Ryti, the Finnish poet. Have you read any of his work? Very homespun stuff, but it has a depth and a seriousness that appeals to me."

"Dr T'Var, good evening to you too." replies Rangin. "Yes, I am feeling better thank you, although still getting back to full fitness. I only managed half of what I normally would while swimming this morning. I know it will take time, but at least I am still walking around."

Rangin looks slightly glum and continues. "My apologies for asking but how is Fujishiro? Still no change from before?"

Collins picks up on Graham's, what, hatred? anger? He doesn't like Orions, that's for sure. She leans in to listen to story.

The name Cheverez mentions is unknown to Kylah, and she worries she'll seem incredibly poor-read compared to everyone else on the ship. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of him, sir, though I too prefer poems. Oral narratives are very important to my people, along with stories told in song or dance. I think that is why I am drawn to Klingon operas so much, and miss the gifts of recordings I left behind by--" Kylah almost chokes on her words as she cuts herself off. What am I saying? I cannot bring up the Klingons here! She desperately tries to think of something to cover. "--By other races that value music similarly, such as the Catullans or Vulcans. But at any rate I shall make it a point to read Ryti's poems, thank you for the recommendation, sir."

She looks down at her plate and aims her full attention on cutting a piece of beef, as if it's not already incredibly tender.

Graham shakes his head slightly. "Someone comes at you in a fair fight--I can't hate them. Doesn't mean I'll hesitate to put them down, but doesn't mean I'll like it either." He shrugs and tries to smile a little. "In some alternate universe I'd bet Klingons and Irishmen would even get along: loud singing, strong drink...ah, strong women..." His smile fades. "But if your reason to live is preying on the helpless, those you think are weaker than you...well...You don't deserve to...I've done some to remedy that situation." He takes a sip of wine: But not enough--not yet, he thinks, and almost says but thinks better of it.

As he sips his wine, he sees Collins leaning forward slightly. Guess she likes war stories...or wait...me? Was that head shake thing around Kylah some kind of female jealousy thing? He mentally reminds himself of his track record assessing these sorts of things: don't even try to guess, Booker, just do your job and don't screw up.. He can't help but grimace a little. "More."

"Do you have a favorite Elasian poem, Mr. Kylah?" the Filipino engineer asks. "And if you know it by heart, would you feel comfortable telling it to me?"

"How would you compare the Klingons and the Orions when it comes to preying on the helpless, Mr. Graham?" Bennett asks, setting down her fork. "Have you dealt with both?"

“’Dealt with,’” Graham says, shaking his head a little. “That’s a funny phrase. Yeah—I guess so. It was a little more violent than like this, you know, sitting around a table sipping wine...”

He turns to look at Bennett. “I’m not trying to hand out any compliments here, ma’am. The Orions seek out the weak—and they don’t even pretend otherwise. Now the Klingons—yeah, from what I’ve seen they’ll kill anyone who gets in their way, period— so-called ‘warrior’s honor’ notwithstanding.” He pauses to take a sip of wine and shrugs.

“Maybe that’s worse--pretending to have honor, a code. After Culloden, there were Grahams among the wounded Scots massacred by the so-called ‘civilized’ damned English…”

Oh hell, Booker Charles Graham, he thinks. You’re talking to “Cecilia Bennett.” She’s English, you idiot.

More than a little amused, Collins puts down her fork, picks up her wine, and braces for a lovely argument.

Kylah hears the discussion of the Klingons in the distance and she struggles to focus on Cheverez's question. She nearly asks him to repeat it, but then catches herself.

A favorite poem? One springs to mind immediately, though it makes her cheeks burn at the thought of reciting it aloud. She glances to the Coridanite man on her right for a brief second before looking back at Cheverez.

"Yes, sir. There is one, an old poem. I... I have long been trying to set it to a song, but I have never been happy with the tune. It is more than two thousand years old, from a book we know only as Songs of Shareenah. This particular work is called Her Unheard Lament." She clears her throat and, in a soft voice, recites:

"Who am I?
I am a dull moon in a sea of galaxies,
A cold pebble buried deep in an endless beach,
A dried blade of grass hidden in a tall garden.

Who is my rival?
She is a speeding meteor,
She is gleaming quartz,
She is a precious flower in bud.

And you, my secret beloved: Who are you?
You are the world around which I circle,
The sunlight I am denied,
The rain for which I thirst.

As you draw her near, the meteor blazes with incandescence;
Beneath your heated touch, the quartz melts to smoothest glass;
And the flower unfurls to accept your cool, moist kiss.

The dim moon can only witness such glory from a distance;
The pebble is shunned for the shining prize;
And the blade of grass remains
forever parched,
forever dwarfed
beneath the bright, dewy, velvet blossom."

After a pause, Kylah looks down at her plate again.

Bennett says mildly, "Well, that was rather a long time ago, Mr. Graham. I'd like to think both the Scots and the English are just a bit more civilized now."

"I'll drink to that," says Thalen, raising his glass.

"As will I," says Dr. Villa, chuckling. "Who knows? Perhaps you'll give the Klingons and the Orions something to aspire to."

Cheverez sits for a moment after Kylah has finished her poem, and then says, "That was... quite remarkable, Ensign. Thank you." He smiles. "Clearly I need to read more Elasian poetry."

"Likewise," Dr. Noel says. "Many thanks for that, Mr. Kylah."

Pourtash nods. He seems rather moved, as well.

Before long the meal is finished and cleared away, and dessert is presented: tart but sweet lemon cake, and coffee or tea for those who wish it. After that, Saurian brandy is passed around, although some of you choose other beverages. Then Singh nods to Kylah, the juniormost officer present. The Communications ensign knows what is expected of her and rises, glass in hand, to propose the traditional first toast of a shipboard dinner: “The United Federation of Planets!”

You all stand and repeat “The Federation!,” and drink.

The Vice Admiral, as the senior officer present, then offers the traditional second toast: “The ship!”

“The ship!” say all.

While talking to Dr T'var and Roble, Rangin's ears prick up at the talk of the Orions from further down the table as it seems that Mr Graham dislikes them as much as he does. After all, they were responsible for trying to sabotage the talks to admit Coridan to the Federation and have been plundering the planet for their own personal gain for several decades, if not longer.

It's only after a few moments that he realises that Kylah is reciting poetry right next to him and looking round the end of the table, although the poem is perhaps not to his taste, she has the full attention of all.

"Please excuse me," he asks of the two of them while turning to listen. He watches as she completes her poem and gains her plaudits. He wishes he knew what to say to her to show his appreciation, which is written across his face, but for once is slightly tongue-tied.

He's happy to join in the toasts when they are held.

After the two formal toasts, Collins raises her glass and says "To Captain Sundri Parvinder Singh!"

You all drink. The Captain then graciously says, "And to Vice Admiral Hardin!"

Another toast or two, and the Saurian brandy makes its way around the table again.

Kylah completes the toasts with everyone, more enthusiastic about the later toasts than her own, which she barely remembered having to give until the Captain sent her the meaningful look. She spoke it well enough, but she felt like a hypocrite toasting the Federation after hearing Graham's tale earlier--and especially after sending her own secret message to Aldaan this morning.

At least the poem came across better. She's a bit embarrassed at having chosen that one to recite, one of the more sensual of the Shareenah songs, but the others seemed to approve. At least, most of those near her did. Rangin alone said nothing, and since she could not see him while thanking the others for their kind words, she has no idea whether he was paying attention or if he thought it too sentimental, or worse, that she was too emotive and making a fool of herself... If she had less will power she would have reached outward to sense his feelings, but she is afraid to breach that line. Not only because it breaks a rule she's created for herself--to do so only when necessary--but because she's afraid of what she will find. Or will not find.

If her confusing emotions toward Rangin continue to grow, she knows the temptation to gauge his own toward her will also increase. She will have to talk with T'Var about this temptation, she suspects.

In the meantime she drinks and just pretends to be a proud Starfleet member, instead of one sending its secrets to benefit her planet--and that of the Federation's despised enemy. She reflects wryly that it is very fortunate none of the others around the table are empaths.

Though she finds alcohol a bit distasteful, T'Var drinks with everyone as each toast is made.

Vice Adm. Hardin finally stands and says, "Thank you all for a wonderful evening. I appreciate the warm welcome you've extended to Lt. Cmdr. Ebling and me. But the hour grows late, and this old man thinks he should be getting to bed. Good night to you all." He looks quite tired. You all rise; he makes a small bow and departs. Ebling lingers for a few minutes more over Saurian brandy, and then also leaves.

Stewards offer coffee, tea and more brandy. After awhile, the Science Officer and Chief Medical Officer say their goodnights and take their leave, then the Chief Engineer and Pourtash. The Captain and First Officer talk quietly at their end of the table.

It is now 2250. You may each stay, or go, as you wish.

"Mr. Graham," Collins says as she rises, "How about that bout, tomorrow after watch?"

The camaraderie of the evening reminds Graham of happy times, but the toasts call to mind darker thoughts: “To the day those that die are only those that deserve it,” he’s been thinking, staring into his glass. He tries to perk up: your demons shouldn’t ruin other peoples’ evening, Booker, he thinks.

Graham instinctively rises as the ACOS stands.

“Yeah, sure…I mean, sorry I was late before, L-T.” He forces a smile. “So it should be your choice of how we beat the hell out of each other…ma’am.”

He turns to Bennett. “Likewise, sorry, ma’am…I was out of line. My grandfather…from the stories he told, you’d think 1746 CE was yesterday. But there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since Highlanders* fought Redcoats.”

*Pronounced HEE-LAND-ers.

Kylah is a bit surprised that the Admiral and Ebling took their leave without any indication as to the rationale for the event. The whole thing seems a puzzlement to her.

She looks at Rangin beside her and, after a surreptitious but pointed glance down at the other end of the table, murmurs: "I must say this was a delicious meal, yet I still wonder why this particular guest list was chosen. I certainly cannot fathom why I was asked. Not that I am unhappy to have been here--quite the opposite!" she adds in haste, focusing perhaps more intently on Rangin's face than she realizes. Kylah hopes to gain insight about this man just as normal people do--from physical cues. "Did you... did you enjoy yourself, I hope?"

Rangin smiles at Kylah's comment and looks back around the table before focusing on her. "Yes. Yes, I did enjoy myself. I am also at a loss as to why we were invited, perhaps as some kind of reward, or perhaps because we represent a far larger set of worlds than just a few more people from Earth. I never realised you were from Elas, though, and your recital of its poetry was most impressive."

Rangin stops for a moment and looks down slightly. "I will admit, poetry in general is not something that I have encountered much of, so you would probably have to explain what it means in terms of symbolism and so on," before then smiling back at Kylah and meeting her gaze in obvious appreciation of her recital, "but I can certainly appreciate the nerve and elan it takes to recite it flawlessly off the cuff at the dinner table."

"Hmm, my choice?" Collins smiles and raises one eyebrow. "I'll let you know tomorrow. Good night, all." Collins leaves the room and heads back to her quarters.

The little ripple of pleasure that runs through Kylah when Rangin compliments her is unexpected and new, as tangible as a finger tickling the underside of her arm, and she has to take a moment to let herself drink it in. Why am I affected so? She is not completely unused to praise but coming from someone who matters--not on a professional but personal level--is something nearly unknown to her. Not even her family has doled out compliments to her in a long while.

Kylah inhales and exhales once to hold on to the feeling, knowing she may well be treasuring his words beyond their intended value, and then says, "Thank you, Velir. I...do not know if it was flawless, as a performance, but I have been fortunate to have a memory that allows for lengthy recitals. As a child I used to confound--and I admit, bore--my tutors with acting out the Earth playwright William Shakespeare's works. I think that is why they taught me The Songs of Shareenah. It is from the larger ten-book Parisiaad, the holy text followed by many on Elas. Yet these poems are largely secular and even... somewhat controversial in their treatment of certain fleshly matters." She gazes at her hands folded on her lap for a second, a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable by a memory, then quickly brushes it aside.

"As to the meaning... The speaker is the peasant Shareenah, who in the fifth book of the Parisiaad will become a powerful warrior-queen--the first female Dohlman, if one takes the book as truth. As a young girl she was in love with Dariuus, the son of the noble family to whom her family was... what is the equivalent... beholden, I suppose, though the truth is that she was little more than a slave; in those days most poor families were required to work for a select number of families of royal blood, and in return were allowed to live in huts on their land and retain a small portion of crops for themselves.

"At any rate," Kylah says, shaking her head, "Shareenah was considered plain and shy, unable to speak without a stammer, except for when she sang. Thus she could not speak to Dariuus, who never noticed her. She could but watch as this young man became enamored with the beautiful and accomplished daughter of another wealthy House. She grew embittered and followed the lovers to their trysts.

"The poem speaks of her watching their courtship and their--their secret physical encounters... and she uses metaphors to describe her yearning, and her lack of worth compared to her glittering rival, together with the majesty of Dariuus himself. Although when she uses the word 'rival' it is... sarcasm, almost; she knows she herself will never be a consideration for Dariuus's love and thus there is really no rivalry at all. She explains how invisible and unnoticed she is compared to the other girl, who sparkles and can sing Dariuus's praises while Shareenah remains overlooked and silent."

Kylah hesitates while trying to measure Rangin's interest in the story. Is she as boring to him as she was to her tutors? She quickly adds: "Her epic tale is told through sixty songs, and eventually, when her people enter a war with another land, she herself becomes a skilled warrior. Her conquests allow her to rise to a higher position than even Dariuus and his new bride. Once she is Dohlman, she exalts Dariuus to the status of a Council member to keep him close to her and to hear him speak to her at last, though she still cannot utter a word in return.

"Then one of her envious Council members notes the favors she has been granting to Dariuus, and, in jealousy, lies to her about his loyalty, claiming Dariuus plans a rebellion. Shareenah is enraged but while she first wants to grant mercy, she knows that in order to prove her strength and maintain her power she must execute Dariuus and his entire family, which she does by her own hand. The first and only words she says to Dariuus, spoken just before she kills him, are 'Forgive me, beloved.' She remains alone for years, ruling with greater and greater cruelty, until eventually she commits suicide over Dariuus's grave, with the same knife she used to stab him--his blood still on it. In that way their bodies are finally one."

Kylah ends her tale with a wry smile. "This is what my people consider the greatest love story in our history. Not Shareenah's love for Dariuus--but her love of power, strong enough to destroy her beloved, and even herself, to retain it. It is taught as a lesson to be lauded, but it seems to me more of a warning. But then, as I have been often told, I would have made a poor Dohlman myself, and it was thus called a blessing when I no longer qualified." She meets Rangin's gaze and concludes quietly: "I consider it a blessing too."

T'Var is unsure as to whether she should stay or leave. Despite her dislike of alcohol, she finds this brandy quite good. Perhaps another glass might be in order.

The doctor sighs. She is disappointed that their guests gave no indication as to why they are on board. T'Var prefers to know exactly what's going on and why. She feels a bit restless at the moment.

Judging by the smile on Kylah's face, Rangin seems to have made her happy, after all she did recite the poem straight off.

He fixes his smile but begins to regret his kind words shortly afterwards, as he realises she is about to actually tell him what the poem is all about. Rangin was just being polite, he's really not that much of a person for poetry, but as she seems certain to continue, the least he can do is sit there and be polite.

Rangin thinks to himself to just keep smiling but his eyebrow is certainly raised by Kylah's comment about "certain fleshly matters". Fortunately she was looking down at the time, as he struggles to control the brief glance up and down her curves. A little voice in the back of her head wonders how innocent she is, given the flush in her cheeks and he struggles to wonder what the implication is.

As Kylah continues, with her story he continues listening and wondering how much applies to Kylah herself. When she pauses slightly to see if he was paying attention, Rangin mutters a quiet "Go on." He keeps his smile in place, allowing her to continue, the poetry may not be of interest, but it would be impolite not to pay attention and besides, he may learn something of interest.

And then right at the end, she mentions she is no longer qualified to be Dohlman and it freezes in Rangin's brain. His smile towards her is genuine, but from experience he knows that no-one is ever free from such a position. Circumstances can always change and if someone wanted her back as Dohlman it could happen. In some ways, she has been well brought up, in other ways, so naive. She is going to need all the help she can get. Does he really want to get to know someone who could be involved in such intrigue, then he considers that he is used to the corruption on Coridan and the Orion Syndicate. Rangin guesses that counts as learning something of interest indeed.

Rangin pauses for a moment and then nods, "An interesting tale and well told. Although some would say it is a lesson in power. Others might say that power can corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. If you consider it a blessing and that you want none of it, then good for you. Find your own path, find your own friends, find your own way."

Even as Kylah finishes she blinks quickly and fights every instinct to reach out to Rangin--in every sense of the word. She knows, she knows something flickered within him at her mention of her ineligibility for Dohlman. Is he glad? Disappointed? Has he been friends with her merely because he expected her to be-- no, that can't be it, he didn't even know she was from Elas until tonight. That is what he said, but... She feels her mouth go dry. The terror of being used yet again is ever-present. Used by her parents to purchase a potential Dohlman, by her Guardian once he learned her potential lay in other areas... The thought of it happening again, of practically inviting it as she is now, galls her.

It would be so easy to be certain. Just a push, a tight focus on Velir, his thoughts and feelings...

She glances away and--T'Var is still here. T'Var, apparently not paying attention, but Kylah is so grateful for her presence she almost gasps in relief. The Vulcan is a reminder of control. Of boundaries. She had none until she left Elas. Now she must remember that sometimes it is better not to know. As much as she wants to protect herself, she must not violate Velir's trust. Even if he is not worthy of her own.

But he must be. She looks back and sees his kind face. He cannot be what she fears. Listen to his words. They are correct. He could just be saying the right thing, telling her to shun power, implying that he too seems not to desire it--but isn't that what Aldaan told her when he first flattered her with his attention when she was little more than a child? What could have been a greater lie? Stop. Velir's words are correct. And he is not Aldaan. I would know. I would know.

She nods. "Yes. I have tried to make the right friends," she says, every word spoken so carefully she feels they're made of glass. "I do not do so easily. And power... I would only have power and control over my own life. That is all I ask, for now. It may be too much, but I will attain it someday."

Suddenly she remembers her meeting tomorrow morning with Ferguson. Speaking with him directly; that is taking control, isn't it? She almost reveals this to Rangin but at the last moment remembers how he told her to keep away, to forget the incident. He might not approve. True, Kylah will do as she feels best anyway, is certain that clearing up the matter with Ferguson is the honest and forthright thing: indeed, the opposite of how she has been raised. The man who frightened her so easily will explain his strange comment and look, probably a misunderstanding as she hopes, and then the matter will be done with.

But she does not want to displease this man in front of her. Right now she believes, she needs to believe Velir Rangin to be a forthright person himself. And if he is, and if he possibly cares for her in any way, Kylah wants his approval. She will tell him when the matter is over with, and he might even be proud of her.

"I should go," she says, suddenly excited, wanting the night to be over, the morning meeting to arrive, and afterwards, the ability to tell Velir of her success. That she is no longer frightened of Ferguson and she made it happen in a direct, mature way. "It is getting late and I have an important task tomorrow. But I do thank you for listening, and for your advice." And for being the right kind of friend... I hope... She leaves the rest unsaid, but does take his hand with a gentle squeeze before snatching it away.

Kylah bids goodnight to Dr. T'Var, more warmly for a reason the doctor could not possibly understand. And then, feeling brave, she goes up to the Captain and Vargas.

"Thank you, Captain Singh; Commander Vargas. It was a special evening and I am greatly honored and privileged to have been allowed to attend." She hesitates and, newly brave, adds: "If it is not too forward... may I ask why I was given so thoughtful and gracious an invitation?"

Bennett's dark brown eyes are sparkling. She says softly, "No need to apologize, and no offense taken, Mr. Graham, truly. I didn't think you were blaming me personally for redcoat depredations. It has indeed been a very long time, and as the Scots and the English have been partners in a United Kingdom for so many centuries since, I'd say there's no particular reason to nurse old grudges, and every reason to forget them."

A steward unobtrusively refills the good doctor's brandy snifter, and she cups it in her hand, her warmer-than-human body temperature having the desired effect.

The Captain smiles and leans forward. "I like a mix of people at my official dinners, Mr. Kylah. The Comptroller General was kind enough to approve my proposed guest list with nary a change. I'm - we're - glad you could attend."

Kylah thanks the commanding officers one last time, and, after giving a farewell nod to the remaining guests--although Bennett is primarily paying attention to Graham and vice versa--takes a last glance back at Rangin before leaving. She is glad to head back to her quarters, and is in such a good mood that she takes the time to break the mutual awkwardness between her and her roommate--which has consisted of almost complete silence and avoidance since they left quarantine--to ask Collins if she had an enjoyable time at the dinner.

"It was fine." Collins answers as she comes out of the head, already in pajamas, brushing her hair. "I like getting all gussied up every now and then." She sits on her bed and grabs the lotion from her nightstand. "How about you? Was this your first function in Starfleet?"

Graham acknowledges Bennett’s gracious words—and yanks his eyes off her before he stares long enough at her eyes to make things creepy.

Well, he thinks, maybe I could forget 'old' grudges. But not now, and not ever, the new ones.


He notices Rangin and Kylah are having some kind of heart-to-heart conversation and he thinks it best not to interrupt. He’s surprised to see T’Var lingering over her drink. His impression of Vulcans has been that they rarely drink and don’t much enjoy it when they do.

After Kylah seems to finish with Rangin, then speaks briefly to T’Var and moves on, Graham moves closer to the Vulcan.

“So, Doctor—it seems I’ve been misinformed about Vulcan drinking habits.” He shrugs. “Of course, maybe it’s just that it’s illogical to burn brain cells drinking swill at the cheap bars I usually hang out in when you can hold out for the good stuff at dinners like this.”

"My first function, yes," Kylah says slowly, now undressed in her favorite indigo silk nightgown. She doesn't want to discuss the dinner held when she was first told of her posting to the Yorktown. It was certainly not something most Academy graduates received and really, Kylah herself had been superfluous anyway; she had been dismissed literally the instant she finished her last bite of steak by her Guardian and the Federation officials who had arranged for the gathering. That had been the start of her conviction that something was not quite... right... about the way she had been posted here.

"The meal was excellent and I thought the Admiral very affable, if somewhat... overworked. I hope he will find rest on the planet when we arrive." She finishes washing her face, removes the dozen tiny gold clips binding her braids, and runs a damp hand through her curls. Then she walks out of the head, moving to her bed. She hugs her knees to her chest and looks across at Collins. She knows they have never had a true woman-to-woman conversation but Kylah wants to make absolutely certain she is making the right choice. Her differences with Collins are numerous but she cannot fault the other woman's down-to-earth manner when dealing with others. At least, as long as we are not in a non-life-or-death situation.

Kylah watches Collins using her moisturizer on her skin with hypnotic sweeps of her hands, and finally speaks. "May I ask you a question, please? Do you not think it best, when someone has said something to you that you find puzzling... to ask this person directly about it? I mean, rather than worrying and inventing possible answers for yourself?"

Collins stares at Kylah for a moment, then resumes her nightly routine, working on her feet and ankles now. "There's nothing puzzling about what you said. In fact I agree with you - the man obviously needs a vacation."

As Rangin looks at Kylah, he can see her thoughts churning, but he has no idea what they are and what he has said to cause those emotions to bubble to the surface.

As she turns away, Rangin's face drops slightly for a moment, thoughtful and brows knotted as he considers her words. What kind of person would happily give up a chance of being the ruler of her planet? Maybe that's why she's in Starfleet, a chance to escape the past and not be part of the future. He smiles as she turns back from looking at Dr T'var, inwardly wondering if a better role model for escaping the past would be Mr Graham instead of the serene Vulcan.

As she bids him goodnight and squeezes his hand, he can see she has made her mind up about something. Abouit what he isn't sure, but the purposeful look on her face is writ large.

"You're welcome. Good night and sleep well."

As she heads off, shivers go down Rangin's spine from her squeeze of his hand. Was she just happy with the advice, was she just being friendly or is there something more he just didn't recognise?

As she talks to the Captain, Rangin shakes his head sadly. He's much older than her, not to mention smaller. She's someone who could have ruled her planet, he would have wound up being a vet on Coridan if he hadn't escaped. Escaped, he thinks ruefully, perhaps that's what she's doing. Either way, he's got to be seeing more there than really is. He looks at the glass and wonders whether its him talking or the glass. Stifling a yawn, he realises he is tired after all.

Different Culture is what he told Graham, and that's probably all it is. He chuckles as he takes the final sip of the brandy. No, being friendly was all it was likely to be. Nothing else.

As she leaves, he nods in her direction as she glances one last time at him. As most have left, he makes the rounds of the few remaining, thanking the Captain for the dinner and bidding the rest good night, before returning to his quarters to sleep.

Kylah's face falls at Collins's answer. She must truly dislike me to so misunderstand. With a struggle against her stubborn nature, she persists. "No, that is not what I meant. I was asking for advice on a personal matter. Someone said something to me a few weeks ago that has greatly troubled me. I have wondered what this person meant and at last have decided to meet with him and simply ask. To... to clear the air, as they say. I wish to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him tell me himself; I may have simply misunderstood. Is that the course you would take?"

T'Var smiles at Graham and gestures for him to take a seat. "I think you will find that I am most definitely not your typical Vulcan."

The doctor calls the steward over. "May I interest you in a glass of this fine brandy?" she asks Graham.

"Oh!" Collins says with half a laugh. "Yes, it's usually best to talk to the person. Would have been better to have said something weeks ago. But better now than not at all." She switches position to work on her other foot and ankle. "Of course, there's always the chance that whoever it is has completely forgotten about it by now and would not know what you were talking about." Jeremi looks at her roommate and sees the anxiety this incident has caused her. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Collins's words make Kylah exhale in relief. The offer is tempting, but a quick consideration of the circumstances makes her shake her head, somewhat reluctantly. "That is most kind of you. But I suspect this is a private matter, not just for me but for...for this person. Even if it were not," she adds in a lighter tone, "having such a conversation in the company of a superior officer--and a security officer, at that--would be far too intimidating."

She pulls her covers up over her legs and plays with the blanket's hem. "You are right that ideally I should have said something earlier. But this occured almost immediately prior to our mission and when we returned... there were other things burdening me." Kylah swallows and then hurries on, not wanting to go further into that topic or the detente between her and Collins will be ruined. "Still, while it was a few weeks ago, I do not think he will have forgotten what passed between us. It was a brief interaction but very... significant."

Kylah again thinks of Ferguson and the hostility she felt from him just before he beamed her off the ship. She definitely doesn't relish being alone with the man. She tells herself just what she did this morning: there's every possibility she simply reminded him of someone else. Given the fact that they are complete strangers, it's truly the only explanation that make sense. It's the one she's hoping for, anyway.

She lies down and looks at Collins. "I am sure asking this person directly will bring the matter to a satisfying conclusion. I do thank you, for both your advice and the offer. It is most appreciated."

"Fine brandy, no less," Graham, says to T'Var as he sits down. "How can I disobey a doctor's orders?"

"You're welcome." Collins puts the lotion away and gets under the covers. "G'night" she says as she rolls over onto her side facing away from Kylah.

T'Var and Graham enjoy a nightcap together, and are among the last to leave the Wardroom. The corridor lights are by then dimmed for shipboard "night."

Rangin goes through his evening routine and then lies in bed for awhile, thinking of the dinner and his conversation with Kylah, but slumber soon claims him.

Collins drops off to sleep without difficulty, as well, but Kylah, still worried about her meeting with Ferguson the next day, tosses and turns a bit before drifting off.

The Yorktown sails steadily on, and the night passes without incident.

You each awake the next morning to find a message on your comm account; you are to attend a mission briefing regarding Omicron Ceti III in the Captain's Conference Room at 1400. Rangin also finds a message from Science Officer Roble, asking him to be prepared to brief the senior staff on the first colonization effort and the Enterprise's mission there.

Credit where credit is due, Graham thinks as he gets ready for the day: I’m glad Vargas is going “old school” and keeping up onboard foot patrol.

He’s eager to get to it, and hurries to ensure he’s right on time to report to Lt. JG Jones—given that he’ll be on patrol, he figures he can grab coffee at one of the common areas on his beat.

Even without having had his morning coffee yet, the adrenaline starts to flow as he heads to Security. There have been Grahams walking a beat since they were cops on the South Side of Boston in the 1900s, back on Earth. He has generations worth of stories about why it matters and how it should be done.

There’s an art and a science to it, he reflects. Every beat has its unique rhythm, its smells, its sound—and its cast of characters, good, bad, and mysterious. When you get plugged into it, you can feel when something’s not quite right. And as you learn more, it draws you in deeper: probing every dark corner, drawing out the people who are too preoccupied or shy—or intimidated, or scared—to share what they know about what’s really going on, just out of sight.

To be sure, a top-of-the-line Starfleet ship is a pretty rarefied and generally safe environment, he thinks. And some things have indeed changed; he remembers the wisdom passed down from the old days back in Boston’s South Side:

“Your first day on a new beat, you ask around. Find the biggest, baddest baddie, the son of a bitch everyone—even the other bad guys and gangsters—are afraid of. You find him, you stand eye-to-eye with him…and you kick ‘em in the balls, laddie. You win that fight, it’s your beat from then on.“

Graham is OK with pre-emptive beatings no longer being a tool in the toolbox—but he holds to the underlying principle. Fear, not just crime, is the enemy. Fear undermines communities; fear cripples lives. Finding it and killing it on your beat is your job, Booker. It’s why you are here—it’s what you are for:

Every decent, hard-working sensible person on that beat—your responsibility.

Every well-meaning but awkward or not-so-bright goofball—your responsibility.

Every bully, every bad actor, every scumbag—they are on your beat now.


He plans to make sure he can visit as many of the main common and recreational areas he can in the morning so he can start to meet people and get a sense of folks’ routines. And, he reminds himself, get some damn coffee.

Collins wakes, dresses, heads to the mess for coffee and a protein bar, then reports to the bridge for watch.

The face in the mirror looks too tired, too young, too pale and too nervous to Kylah. She doesn't usually wear much makeup, certainly not on duty. But she won't be on duty until later, so she adds a hint of blush to her cheeks and a dash of shadow to make her sleep-deprived eyes seem wider and brighter. Her hair, she wears loose for once, and pushes the curls forward over her shoulders. She tried it pulled back in her usual clip, but somehow that felt too vulnerable; letting the thick curls hang down hides more of her face. It also makes her look less like she did when Ferguson spoke to her in that transporter room.

Annoyed, she drops the unused clip with a clatter and strides out to the main quarters. This is absurd, she thinks in irritation. He will either apologize and explain he mistook me, or... or he will simply reveal himself to dislike Elasians. In which case the conversation will end and we will part. There is nothing to fear, stop acting like a first year cadet taking her first test!

A glance at the clock shows that it's 09:15. No more stalling. As she takes a deep breath, one pleasant thought flashes through her mind: tonight she has plans to teach Rangin poker. By then all this will be over. Now, beyond this ridiculous business with Ferguson, she has a mission briefing--imagine, a new ensign asked to be part of a second mission, so soon!--and another evening with Velir to look forward to. This will be a good day.

More confident and with her chin held high, Kylah walks out to find Rec Room 3.

Graham reports to the Security Office promptly at 0800. Lt. JG Ryan Jones, the Security duty officer, is a trim, fit black man about a decade younger and a head shorter than Graham, with a bonecrushing handshake and an upbeat, vigorous manner. "Good to meet you, Mr. Graham," he says, looking Graham right in the eye. "I understand Mr. Three Crows has already briefed you? Outstanding. Draw a phaser-2 and a communicator from the Armory, and then let me know what you'd like your patrol route to be."

Collins finds all is well on the Bridge. The Captain is in the center chair, talking quietly with Dr. Villa, who stands beside her. They nod in greeting as you take up your post. Collins sees on the Security duty roster that Graham will begin his first watch this morning.

Rangin yawns widely as he sees the messages. He may have slept well, but is still feeling sleepy. He reads them again: another briefing, and he's been asked to prepare something for it. Well, there isn't that much to do in the xenobiology department at the moment and it will give him more of an opportunity to research the station there and see what else they have. It will probably take more than a couple of hours to do, so even if his shift doesn't start until 12:00, so he may as well go in early. Obviously Science Officer Roble has found ways of keeping him busy without over taxing him.

He drops a brief message to Kylah asking if she is still up for teaching him poker and if so where and when she wants to meet, before heading to the mess hall for a brief breakfast.

Hopefully it will be quiet, so he can head straight off.

T'Var begins the day with her regular grooming routine, will enjoy a cup of Vulcan spice tea with toasted bread and strawberry jam, then head to Sickbay.

The doctor looks forward to the mission briefing and learning more about their next assignment.

There are five other people in Rec Room 3 when Kylah walks in. She recognizes Ferguson at once, seated alone at a table. He has a cup of coffee in front of him and gestures for her to take a seat. "Good morning, Ensign. What can I do for you?" he says. He doesn't smile or offer to shake hands, but calmly looks her in the eye.

Kylah's heart thrums nervously but she sits and meets Ferguson's gaze as evenly as possible. "Thank you for meeting with me, sir. This may seem trivial to you, but it has nagged at me for some time and I appreciate your assistance. Do you recall the day, some weeks ago, when you were at the transporter console in charge of beaming me and members of the landing party to the Sakathian research station?"

He frowns and looks off into the distance. "Vaguely. Why do you ask?"

Even while speaking, Kylah has been measuring the man's emotions. It's not difficult: she has the strong sense that he does not like her, is insincere and is hiding something. Her voice remains low but intense. "I ask, Lieutenant, because when I was getting up onto the transporter pad, you said something to me--something very obviously intended for my ears alone. You said 'Up you go, princess,' and followed it with a look I can only describe as hostile and almost... insinuating." She leans in further. "I wish to know the reason for all this. Why you called me 'princess' when I am not one. Why you looked at me with such contempt. Why you would do either of those things to someone you have never met before--and why even now, you can barely look at me with any degree of courtesy." Kylah's hands clench her knees beneath the table and she pulls back slightly. "That is why I ask. Sir."

She sees a flash of anger cross his face, but it is quickly concealed. He clears his throat and says blandly, "I don't remember anything like that happening, Ensign. I don't even know you. Perhaps you were thinking of someone else, from some other time?"

For some perverse reason, his brief inability to contain the emotion so obviously within him gives Kylah more confidence. "I assure you my ability to recall conversations is quite strong. And I cannot believe you would have reached your current rank with such a poor memory." Her voice lowers further, but sharpens with a steel-like edge. "Lieutenant Ferguson. Since it is just you and I, sitting here, I do not see why you bother with a denial. I have no recording device, and I highly doubt one would even be needed. There is no one within earshot. If you have something against me, or my family, or Elasians in general, and wish to make this opinion known--and quite clearly you do or you would not have behaved in such a way--then have the courage of a Starfleet officer and say it."

He takes a sip of coffee, puts it down and smiles thinly. "Thank you, Ensign, for sharing your views with me. When you contacted me, I wondered if I should even bother meeting with you, and now I know the answer. Is there anything else you'd like to say that won't get you put on report, before I dismiss you to return to your duties?"

Kylah looks down for a moment, first to control her own rising anger, then to channel the man she most loathes. For once she finds some advantage to having lived under her Guardian's tutelage.

At last she slowly returns her focus to Ferguson. "I will say this. I am someone who has never wronged you, and indeed, until your attempt at intimidation on that transporter pad, I would never have even noted your existence. However..." She hardens her tone. "As you clearly know of my family, you should also know that I am not without resources. If I am forced to, I will use them to learn the precise source of your hostility toward me. Further, there will be consequences from that quarter if any harm should befall me. Think on that."

She stands up, clenching the edge of the table with white fingers as she leans forward to murmur softly: "And also think on the fact that I have recently faced--and caused--death. After such an experience, the idea of being put on report by a bullying, lying coward holds no fear for me."

Ferguson also stands up, more abruptly. He slams his coffee cup down and pushes his chair back. Heads turn as he says very loudly, almost shouting, "I am not going to sleep with you, Ensign, now or ever! I don't find you attractive in the least, so please... stop... asking me!" He storms out of the room without looking back.

Graham checks that his phaser is set to stun--wouldn't do to vaporize someone or burn a hole in a bulkhead on his first patrol.

"I'd like to focus on the ship's main common areas this morning," he says to Jones.

Jones nods. "Very well - that would include the rec rooms, gym and pool, crew lounges, mess halls, chapel and auditorium." He looks off and thinks a moment. "Oh, and the Arboretum. Take your time and do it right. Good luck, Ensign."

The instant Ferguson rises so aggressively, Kylah takes a startled backward step, hands tightened into fists. But this cannot prepare her for the shock of what he's saying. His words--backed by a wall of malicious glee hidden behind a facade of indignation--slam against her with the impact of a brutal, backhanded slap.

First confusion, then dawning anger choke Kylah's throat while she vainly searches for a response, but he strides away before she can find her voice. For a few seconds she just stares after him, mouth parted in impotent outrage. It is only when Kylah turns around that she realizes the others in the rec room are watching, having heard Ferguson's vehement accusation--clearly orchestrated for this very purpose. She needs no empathic abilities to know what they must be thinking.

Now Kylah truly does feel as if someone has struck her. With a burning face and eyes stinging with tears, she swiftly averts her gaze down to the table to hide her reaction. There's no other escape: her body is far too stiff with mortification and fury to budge from where she stands.

"How dare he," she whispers to herself, hands trembling while still clenched in useless fists at her sides. "How dare he?"

Graham isn't surprised that his patrol starts off quiet. About an hour and a half in to his shift, her approaches the door to Rec Room 3 and decides to have a look inside. As he steps in, he hears a noise--it's a cup slamming on a table--and keys in on it. Across the room, he sees an officer he doesn't recognize jumping to his feet: it's a movement that's close enough in his mind to someone kicking off a bar fight by jumping up and throwing their chair backward that his hand drops to his phaser and he takes several quick steps forward, angling around people and furniture aggressively while he takes in what's going on.

He's surprised to see that Ensign Kylah is standing facing Shouter on the other side of the table; he's more surprised by what the man says to her. Shouter's already leaving as Graham approaches the table. Graham weighs holding him up, but doing so might escalate the situation--not that he's unwilling to do that when necessary, but he's completely unsure what's going on. Kylah doesn't look like she's going anywhere, I can track this guy down later, he decides. Graham does does give Shouter a good clear stare as he walks away, but continues toward Kylah.

First responsibility, he thinks: help re-establish a sense of order. Show every one in the room things are under control. He takes an authoritative stance next to the obviously upset ensign and first conspicuously surveys the room. Then he softens his stance a bit and leans forward: reassure, he thinks. She's putative victim here--well, maybe, he reminds himself.

"Are you all right, Ensign?," he says, trying to read her body language and expression as she responds.

Kylah hears a vaguely familiar voice addressing her--just when she'd rather render herself invisible. She glances up and realizes it's Ensign Graham, and somehow this makes the whole thing worse. An older man, Aldaan's age, hearing what Ferguson said...

"I--I am fine. This was a personal matter, please do not--I did not mean to--" Unable to keep the tears at bay, she manages to unclench her fists and hugs herself as she blurts helplessly: "I do not understand. I said nothing to provoke that. I spoke softly, I had no intention of causing such a scene, and then he purposely shamed me with such a vile..." Kylah can't continue until she catches her breath. "I just do not know why he despises me so!"

She knows Graham is still beside her, probably watching her cautiously. Running her mind through the incident--both incidents, now--Kylah realizes there is nothing for which she can report Ferguson. All she has regarding their first interaction weeks ago is a snide comment and the wave of hostile intent she knows he felt, but her certainty stems from an ability she cannot reveal. And this, just now? What can she possibly accuse him of? Lying? Ferguson would insist she is the one lying, with far greater reason to be believed--and the witnesses to prove it. Witnesses who will gossip. A ship is a large place but a small community. Even assuming Ferguson himself doesn't spread the rumor, this will undoubtedly be heard by many others before too long.

Miserable but knowing she must say something, if only to Graham, Kylah lifts a weak hand, gesturing toward the other side of the table as if she can still see Ferguson through her blurry gaze. "None of what he said was true," she says in a shaky voice. "None of it." Staring sightlessly, thinking not only of Ferguson but of her Guardian, she whispers: "How do some men do this? How do they know just what to say to make you feel so utterly... small?"

Rangin finds Pourtash and Bennett in the Mess Hall, and breaks his fast with them.

Dr. T'Var has by that time already arrived in Sickbay, where Dr. Bucci is treating two Engineering crewmen accidentally exposed to warp drive coolant, neither fatally.

Things remain quiet on the Bridge for Collins. The starship remains on course and on schedule for Omicron Ceti III.

Graham listens carefully to Kylah's reply. There's a history, he thinks—not that she sounds excited to tell me about it. And: "It's personal." He's heard that before: there weren't a lot of abusive situations in the Starfleet ranks, but she's young, and Shouter's a more senior officer. What was it Rangin had said? She's from a "different culture." Graham thinks of her interactions with Rangin that he's observed: he's skeptical she was hounding Shouter for sex, based on what seemed like awkward shyness in her interactions with Science Guy. Well, first things first, he notes. Take care of your beat: Reinforce control of the space. Show everyone that it's the disruptive actor who has to leave the public space, not the person like them. Then take care of your--he hesitates to use the word ‘victim.’ ’Her,’ he thinks. She needs to own the space too, and he can't do anything if she won't open up.

"Sounds like there's a history with this--what was his name?" he says, professionally but softly.

Kylah brushes away her tears, annoyed that others are seeing this--but grateful for Graham's tone. He is far less, well, brutish than his story last night implied. "Lt. JG Mark Ferguson," she murmurs. Then a wave of defensiveness hits her—history, yes, she knows what he is implying--and her voice hardens. "There is no history. This was the first time I have ever spoken a word to him."

Graham thinks, I'll be damned if those are fake tears, and it seems like she's still struggling to compose herself--so he's not sure what to make of her answer, but decides it's best not to push. Keep de-escalating any sense of conflict, keep her talking, he reminds himself. He briefly muses: Booker, why are you so much less of a failure at interacting with people right after they've been menaced, beaten or shot than in every day life? He provides his own answer: Because at these moments you believe that even you are better than no one at all.

He shrugs. "Well, Fergie seems a little high-strung," he says, not jokingly but with a little bit of a lighter tone. He gestures toward an empty table. "Why don't we sit down and you can tell me about what happened?"

Graham's words are neutral, and Kylah cannot help but reach out to gauge that he is trying, in his way, to calm her. But she would rather leave altogether, flee this now-loathsome room where the witnesses still present are watching her being interrogated by a Security officer....

She looks up at him, almost desperate. "Please," she says, her voice soft but intense. "Please do not make me stay. Everyone will see...." She starts to put her hand out to take his arm but then jerks it back. Her hands are damp with her tears, and she knows what an effect they might have. She's never exhibited this power yet, but she has never tried. Perhaps that is why Ferguson thought he could make such a vicious accusation, she thinks bitterly. Jokes by cadets regarding the sexual thrall of Elasian women and their tears haunted her throughout her Academy years. Her anger rising again, she backs away. "There is nothing to tell. It was my mistake, I--I should not have asked to speak with him. I had no idea he would react in such a way."

Two of those in the rec room slip out the door together; Kylah knows neither of them. One looks oddly at her as he goes by.

Graham shakes his head. "You're not on trial here, Ens--" Calling her by her title seems too formal, but he doesn't feel quite right just using her name, either, while ‘on the job.’ "Ensign Kylah." He tries to speak as gently and casually as he can. "Thing is, I just get a little concerned when anyone's crying on my beat..."

Graham's is even more keenly aware of her apparent reluctance to touch him or to stand too close. He sees no evidence of bruising, but this raises a warning flag based on his experience. A hard undertone comes back into his voice. "...or when people slam things around, too." He's sure that he did not see Ferguson's hands flinch in any way that suggested he might have been inclined toward hitting her and was perhaps holding back because he was in a public place...but then he starts to second-guess himself. No, I'm sure, he thinks. She's smaller than Elizabeth, for God's sake. If I'd seen a millimeter's twitch he'd have found himself with my hand on his neck and his head hard against a bulkhead.

Regardless of what Kylah wants to disclose right now, Shouter and I are going to have a little chat soon, Graham thinks. "No more questions for now, I promise," he says, holding up his hands. "At least let me walk you to wherever you're going next."

"Please," Kylah exhales. "I must get to the Communications Center." When they leave the room for the corridor at last and reach the turbolift, she's so relieved to have left the staring eyes of the other crewmembers that she's almost dizzy. She quickly wipes her hands on her uniform until she's certain they're dry, then takes hold of Graham's arm for an instant to balance herself. Staring up at him, she whispers, "Thank you, Mr. Graham. You have done all you can and I appreciate it." With a blush she releases him, belatedly realizing that such a touch could be misconstrued in light of Ferguson's insinuation. But somehow Graham seems protective, not accusatory, and certainly not lecherous. When the turbolift arrives, she enters and looks at him with as much gratitude and dignity as she can.

And when the doors close and she's alone, she covers her eyes with her free hand: not to weep further, but to wipe her eyes dry. She cannot, she will not, show any tears before her colleagues. At last in relative control, she grasps the nearest handhold and says hoarsely: "Deck Six."

nm

"Good Morning" says Rangin seeing if either of them had overindulged from last night.

"That was an excellent dinner last night, although I still have no idea how I would up on the guest list." He tucks into the meal in front of him before asking Pourtash, "So, what did you think of Ensign Kylah's poetry recital?"

Bennett and Pourtash seem none the worse for wear. The lovely young Englishwoman nods and says, "I've heard the Captain say many times that she likes to have a variety of people, of all ranks and specialties, at her dinner parties." She takes a sip of tea.

The Persian helmsman pops a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I liked it. I don't know much about Elasian poetry, but that was a nice way to be introduced to it. And you?"

"Never heard that type before until last night. It's not my cup of tea", Rangin says with a smile and a nod to the cup in Bennett's hands, "but it was pretty good. She gave me a rundown on what the poem symbolises and where it came from afterwards."

He continues munching away on breakfast, lost slightly in thought as he remembers back to last night, before changing the subject

"So, anyone any idea what the spa facilities are like on Omicron Ceti III?"

Since everything is calm, Collins decides to look into the Omicron Ceti III colony logs. She reads about the Berthold Rays, the several failed colonies, and the Enterprise's visit. Before my time, she thinks.

"Don't know," says Pourtash, "but I bet we'll find out more at the mission briefing."

The Communications Center entrance lies ahead, and Kylah has to gather her strength again before passing through the doors. Her muscles are tense and sore. She actually dreads seeing other crewmembers.

Logically, she knows that as fast as rumors spread, especially salacious ones, they can't move this quickly. Not unless my alleged sexual desperation is deserving of a shipwide announcement, Kylah thinks with a weak flicker of dark humor. But logic is not emotion, as she knows all too well. She feels naked and vulnerable. Just as Ferguson obviously intended and so skillfully engineered.

She enters at last, forcing herself not to check to see if any of her colleagues were among those in the Rec Room--unlikely since she recognized no one there, but she isn't familiar with the entire Communications crew--and goes to get her assignments for the day. Of course, her regular duties will be cut short at 14:00, when the mission briefing starts. She remembers how enthusiastic she was about this earlier; now she's so drained of emotion she considers it a chore she'd rather decline. She doesn't even know who else will be there, and that worries her as well.

A dull outrage burns in her breast. Shall I be afraid of my shipmates from now on? Kylah of the grand House of the Silver Weeping Tree, cowed merely by a petty, vicious little man's lie? The thought strengthers her somewhat. She tightens her jaw and keeps walking to the supervisor on duty.

Once given her tasks and seated at her terminal, Kylah notices the message from Rangin--and for an instant a pang of nausea clutches her stomach. Fortunately the communication turns out to be about their poker lesson tonight but the sickening feeling doesn't go away. She quickly closes the message, too frozen to respond.

What if he hears of this?

After the turbolift doors close, Graham puts his hands on his hips. Hell of a morning, he thinks. He checks the time: prior to the mission briefing, he'll finally grab a coffee and work his way through the ship's common areas on a path toward the Captain's Conference Room.

He makes a mental note of who he wants to talk to in order to suss out what's going on with Kylah and this Ferguson character--he's not at all sure, but in his book the situation falls squarely into the "something that's not right" category.

He wonders if Dr. T'Var sharked some of that fine brandy from last night. She seems to know Kylah pretty well, he notes. Another reason to drop by later, if possible.

No one's going to get hurt because you're not there, he muses.

A little voice at the back of his mind adds: Again. At best, Booker, no one's going to get hurt again.

Kylah finds two other people already in the Yorktown's Communications Center, Ens. Meredith Davis and Spec/1 Jeremy Miller. She knows neither well. They smile and nod in greeting, and then turn back to their work.

The rest of Graham's watch passes without incident. He gets a better sense of both the layout and the vast size of the ship, especially as compared to the Invictus.

Kylah is relieved to receive and return the amicable greetings from her colleagues, which helps her focus a bit better on her work. But she is not in top form and her distraction is affecting her ability to concentrate. After two hours she takes a moment, biting her lip in thought, and then starts to write a quick note to T'Var, planning to ask if they might have a 'training session' later this week. She certainly needs the doctor's help with emotional control. Perhaps by then she will be able to reveal this morning's encounter with Ferguson. Only to T'Var can she explain freely about her empathic certainty that the Lieutenant remembered exactly what he said to her in the transporter room...

Suddenly Kylah's eyes narrow. Why did he lie about that? Wouldn't it have been easier just to brush the incident aside, perhaps claiming that he'd heard of her royal family and was merely making a joke? Of course that's a lie itself, considering the hostility she's aware was behind the words, but Ferguson doesn't know she's empathic. Wouldn't simply making light of the situation have been the smarter thing to do? Why did he choose to deny the entire encounter? It seems a foolish mistake on his part. Or perhaps a necessity?

That he not only denied it, but escalated the situation so cruelly, only makes Kylah more determined to understand why he's so desperate to hide what links him with her, what causes his hatred. What could be so secret he cannot even risk share it in private, yet causes him to shame and discredit her in public?

Kylah shakes her head and finishes the message to T'Var. She says nothing of Ferguson, of course, but just asks for an appointment later this week. Next her mind switches to Graham. He won't take this upon himself, will he? After what he revealed at the dinner last night, the security officer is clearly the type not to let things drop. But this was such a minor situation, to others, anyway. Admittedly there probably aren't that many other internal shipwide incidents to report, so unfortunately he might at least make a note of it.

The thought makes her inhale sharply. Collins is his superior. Will she find out? She will undoubtedly remember last night's discussion... With growing alarm Kylah recalls precisely what she said to her roommate: 'I do not think he will have forgotten what passed between us. It was a brief interaction but very... significant.'

She nearly groans aloud at her stupidity. The comment sounds just like someone overestimating a fleeting romantic encounter--or worse, misinterpreting a non-romantic situation entirely. Ferguson himself could not have scripted her words better.

Disgusted, Kylah forces herself to return to her duties.

And the message from Rangin remains unanswered.

Having had a nice relaxing breakfast with Bennett and Pourtash, Rangin heads for the Science Offices to construct his briefing report. Wandering along, nodding and smiling at the other crew, he considers the task ahead. He's already got a bit of a head start on his research, so it should be a nice relaxing day ahead until the briefing at 14:00.

T'Var responds quickly to Kylah's message:

"I look forward to our first training session -- whenever it is most convenient for you."

Kylah notices the reply from T'Var. When she has a moment free from her duties, she responds: "Thank you for your reply, doctor. If our schedules permit, would tomorrow at 18:00 be acceptable? I apologize for the short notice but fear the matter is more pressing than expected. I appreciate your willingness to accommodate me, if possible."

After some thought, Kylah summons up the courage to send a reply to Rangin's message, realizing she risks more from procrastinating than simply responding. "I apologize, I was greatly looking forward to our lesson, but have been ill this morning; it is possible I will not be good company, much less a teacher of any worth. May we wait until a little later to see if things improve?"

Kylah stares at the screen, irritated by her own insecurities and worried that she will give offense. She finishes: "I do hope very much to see you and will be sorry if I cannot. If I am feeling able, could you please suggest a location? I am not yet entirely familiar with the ship's amenities."

She sends off the message, flooded with relief at having answered Rangin at last, but regret that she is still so anxious about the prospect of seeing him--or perhaps more accurately, being seen. After a few moments of returning to work, Kylah suddenly wishes she could have thought of a good excuse to add, regarding their meeting place: Anywhere but Rec Room 3.

T'Var responds to Kylah in the affirmative and makes a note of it on her schedule.

The time comes for the mission briefing, and you each report to the Captain's Conference Room. The senior officers gather there with you; Vice Adm. Hardin and his flag aide are not in attendance.

The Captain nods to Lt. Cmdr. Roble, and the Science Officer says, "Good afternoon, everyone. We'll arrive at Omicron Ceti III tomorrow morning, and I've asked Mr. Rangin to give us a preliminary briefing as to the first occasion Starfleet had to visit the planet. I'll then bring you up to date on the current situation, and the reason for our mission. Ensign?"

“Thank you, sir.” Rangin nods, acknowledging Science Officer Roble. He stands to address the group. He cues the display screen, which shows images to accompany his briefing. A cloud-wreathed Class M world appears.

“This is Omicron Ceti III," he says, "which was considered suitable for colonization as an agricultural planet. It has mild weather and a fertile soil capable of growing anything. Unfortunately, it's also bombarded by a very high level of Berthold Rays." A wavelength profile of the rays appears. "The effect of these rays is to destroy all animal cells within a week or so, rendering habitation of the planet by most humanoids impossible. This type of radiation was unknown when the planet was discovered and first settled.”

Rangin takes a small sip of water, allowing the detail to sink in.

“Several colonist parties tried to settle on the planet, but all failed due to the unknown effects of the radiation, with one exception, led by Elias Sandoval." A picture of a ruggedly handsome older man appears. "Noted botanist Leila Kalomi, part of the colony's leadership--," an image of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, "--discovered that certain airborne spores created by unique plants on the planet gave immunity to the effects of Berthold Rays." A picture of strange, bulbously-leafed plants with long stems. "This allowed the colonists to survive on the surface. The spores also had certain other side effects: positive ones such as incredible health and even the regrowth of excised organs such as appendixes, but negative ones such as placidity, euphoria and an irresistible need to introduce the spores to others. So please... remember not to sniff the flowers.”

He pauses again briefly as the others chuckle.

“Following the discovery of Berthold Rays, the planet was visited by the USS Enterprise three years ago to check on the colonists, who were all expected to have perished by then. However, Sandoval and the other colonists were found still alive," an image of people in coveralls in a rustic settlement, "and, in time, the effects of the spores were also noted. Virtually the entire starship crew fell under the influence of the spores, and they abandoned ship. Fortunately, Capt. Kirk," here, a picture of the famous officer, "discovered that the influence of the spores could be dispelled by the surge of adrenaline caused by a strong emotional response. That secondary discovery also led to the eventual evacuation of the colonists, as they were no longer protected.”

“Sir,” he says, nodding to Roble before taking his seat again.

Rangin sat down, exhausted but exhilarated from giving the presentation, especially at short notice. Then again, he thought, it had been fun to put it together and had spent the entire time working on it from when he had finished breakfast until a few minutes ago, stopping only for a snack sometime mid-morning.

As he made himself comfortable in his chair, his stomach started to tell him he had been working a bit hard and could do with topping up. For now the glass of water, in front of him, would have to do.

Looking round the room at the rest of the crew attending, he finally became aware of who was sitting where. His glance was drawn to one side where Kylah was sitting, and he remembered that he hadn't seen a reply from her yet. Actually, Rangin thought to himself, he had been too busy to see if there had been a reply. Perhaps he could ask as the briefing broke up, but for now all he could do is give a brief nod and a smile in her direction, while still paying attention to the rest of the briefing.

Collins only half listens. She'd read all this for herself hours ago. Her mind wanders randomly as she feigns rapt attention.

Kylah listens to Rangin's presentation, trying to focus as much as possible on the details but unable to dispel her awkward awareness of Ensign Graham's proximity. She still feels ridiculously on display and fears her distraction might be obvious to both him and especially Rangin. The events described are vaguely familar to her, since she did a brief look-up of Omicron Ceti III after learning it was the ship's destination, but most of the details are new. His concise, professional recitation of the facts is impressive and even in her present mood, Kylah can't help her pleasure at how well he's done.

When he's through, she sees him casting a look in her direction, smiling. She nods back, wanting to smile but so tense that she worries she'll end up with a grimace instead. Also, Graham's presence inhibits her. Kylah has no idea how she might appear to him. First accused of trying to seduce one man, now being friendly with another...

So instead of greeting Rangin as warmly as she wishes, Kylah is quick to return her attention to the front of the room when he takes his seat. At the very least she must pay better attention to what's going on. This is her career, and she wishes to be a professional. Being chosen for a mission is an honor, especially after last time's debacle, and Kylah doesn't want to ruin her chances.

Graham listens to the initial briefing and finds its implications somewhat entertaining: so, as a Security officer, what am I supposed to do: shoot hot blondes bearing flowers?

Still, without pointy-headed types like Robles and Rangin, rockheads like him would be easy prey to things like Berthold Rays and hopped-up flower children. He nods recognition and encouragement to Rangin after Scicence Guy speaks his piece.

Likewise, he nods and acknowledgment to Collins and hello to Ens. Kylah.

"Thank you, Mr. Rangin," Roble says. He clasps his hands on the tabletop. "Starfleet immediately realized the potential of the planet for both medical research and therapeutic exposure to the spores. Within months of the Sandoval colonists' evacuation, Starfleet opened a research station there, and Berthold Rays and the spores have been under intensive study ever since. Although the planet's unique properties were initially classified, it wasn't long before word got out, and several major corporations then expressed interest in opening facilities on Omicron Ceti III. After competitive bidding, Starfleet awarded a two-year contract to Wrigley Resorts & Recreation Ltd." You have all heard of Wrigley before, and some of you have been to their best-known resort, Wrigley's Pleasure Planet.* "They built a clinic and spa not far from the Starfleet research station, and their guests now pay through the nose to be exposed to the spores both for healing and, as odd as it sounds, stress-free vacations. The company has been very successful in its business there, and their contract is now up for renewal."

"Their very lucrative contract," Capt. Singh says dryly. "And as you might expect, they're eager to stay."

Roble nods. "Indeed they are. Our mission is to check in on the research station and the WR&R facilities, resupply them, evaluate their operations, and make a recommendation to Starfleet as to whether or not the contract should be renewed. We'll also be dropping off Vice Adm. Hardin, who will be a guest of the spa." He looks around. "Any questions?"

* http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Wrig...leasure_Planet

Kylah finds herself more interested in the planet now that Roble has revealed that the spores are no longer a binary sort of drug--where one must either successfully evade their powers or be kept in an indefinite state of false bliss. She leans forward a little and listens intently. The spores must have been controlled if a research station has been successfully housed there, and this spa as well. She's tempted to ask this question but stifles the impulse. During her first mission briefing, she remembers drawing attention to herself and coming across poorly by asking too many questions. Right now the last thing she wants is to be noticed at all. So she remains silent in thought.

At least this explains the exhausted-looking Hardin's place aboard the ship. She wonders what he is experiencing that regular medical treatment cannot provide.

Thinking personally, the notion of finding peace fills Kylah with longing. For a moment she hopes that, if she's part of the mission, she might be allowed to test the spores herself. On the other hand, given her own lack of control over her emotions, she suspects she's bound to be disappointed. The spores' pacifying effects probably would not last very long with her. She could very easily imagine having to take such a spa treatment multiple times--which seems like an addiction. And dangerous.

But seductive.

T'Var listens with rapt attention. She has no questions.

The doctor wonders whether there will be time for some rest and relaxation while on this mission. The crew could certainly use it after the last one.

"Sir, what criteria are we using to determine if Wrigley's should be allowed to keep the contract?", asks Rangin followed by a pause before he continues with a smile. "Also, if we are evaluating the resort, does this mean we will be forced to try it out to see how good it is?"

Capt. Singh says, "You should use your best judgment. Some factors to consider: Is WR&R doing a good job? Is its staff open and cooperative with you? Would the Federation be well-served by allowing WR&R to continue its operations on the planet?" She returns Rangin's smile. "And as to sampling the resort's offerings, no, that's not part of your assignment."

Despite her sense that the spores wouldn't have much of a lasting effect on her, Kylah is disappointed by Singh's answer. She's glad Rangin asked the question, at least, even if he was possibly joking.

She glances at T'Var, who is remaining silent. Kylah wonders if she herself is just ignorant and not understanding the situation adequately; at last she decides her curiosity is greater than her desire to hide in plain sight.

"Commander, forgive me if I missed the explanation," she says quietly. "But if the last colonists were forced to evacuate due to the spores' influence, how are the current researchers being protected from exposure? And... do we know how the Spa 'cleanses' the spores from their clients' systems? If the method is still as it was during the Enterprise's mission--inducing emotional strife--that seems an odd finish to what is intended to be a relaxing holiday."

"As I understand it," Roble says, "the research station is simply kept clear of the spores, and no one is permitted to bring them into the station except under controlled circumstances. I'm not sure how visitors to the resort rid themselves of the effect of the spores; that's something you may wish to ask when you go."

Collins is disappointed that she won't be allowed to take advantage of the spa.

Rangin is slightly disappointed in the brief, but all the missions can't always be exciting. If he has a choice he would prefer to look round the research station rather than the spa - staying away from temptation.

"Sir, are we to be split into teams to look round areas separately either the spa or the research station, or are we authorise to look round both as far as we can?"

"You should have a look at both," the Captain says. "Lt. JG Collins will command the landing party, which will include Dr. T'Var, Lt. JG Delaney, and Ensigns Rangin, Kylah and Graham. Mr. Collins, you may divide your team as you see fit, or keep it as one group the entire time. I would suggest the latter, but it's up to you."

Overall, Graham's pleased a fellow Security officer will be in charge. As he's seen it play out, a good Security man or woman is more likely to stay focused on bringing people home safe rather than collecting just one more exotic rock or not stepping on the local carnivorous plants. Still he's not entirely certain how Collins will perform in command and hopes to get a better sense of her style when they spar later.

He is amused by the fact that they won't be "stress testing" the spa facilities, so to speak. Now that would a sight to see, he thinks. All of us in our robes, maybe fuzzy slippers...Still, my cuticles are looking a little ragged, he muses, looking down at his hands.

Collins reverie is broken. Command? Really? You've got to be kidding me! After that Sakathian disaster? "Yes, sir. Thank you sir. We'll start off all together," She addresses the others, "If the situation warrants it, we'll split up." Her voice is confident even if her inner demons are not. "How long until we arrive?"

"As I said, we'll arrive tomorrow morning," the Captain says, with a glance at Vargas.

See post 310.

Graham winces as Collins asks a question that's already been answered. A good team doesn't let the bad guys nail your officers on a mission, and you do your best to have their back at HQ too. He struggles to come up with something to break the tension.

"Ah, phaser one's or phaser two's sir? It seems to be a Federation-governed, civilian environment but with the...ah...prospect of dangerous flowers," he asks.

"Forgive me, sir. 'Morning' is a broad term. I was asking what hour." Collins quickly covers, realizing she daydreamed right through that bit.

To Graham, she says "I believe the Type Ones will be sufficient, unless the Captain disagrees?" She looks towards Singh.

The Captain nods. "Phaser-1s should suffice. And our ETA is 0915, I believe."

It takes all of Kylah's acting ability, such as it is, to avoid reacting outwardly at the announcement of the mission crew. She quickly clamps her jaw shut and stares straight ahead. How can they? Who is Collins related to? Why do they not just ask a rank newcomer like me to lead, as long as they wish another disaster? I could certainly not do worse.

Her nails dig into her palms. It's her fault, she knows; first she chose not to include her accusations in the written report out of discretion, and then proved too cowardly to address the captain and Vargas in person about the multitude of errors and lapses of judgment of which she believed Collins guilty during the Sakathian mission.

And she's certain none of the others would have addressed it either. T'Var prefers to avoid conflict; Pourtash is far too diffident; Rangin... She hesitates, not wanting to think badly of him. Kylah knows he felt just as strongly about Collins's cruel suggestion about handcuffing Porr to his wife. Well, he was ill, he may well not have remembered to say anything, she decides while knowing it's a rationalization. Of course that still leaves Delaney and Hayes. Delaney had not been pleased about Collins ignoring his suggestion and choosing to test the transporters using herself.

No, it was her responsibility, and she should have said something earlier. Now it is too late. And even as Kylah thinks this, she hears Collins asking a question that was plainly answered right at the beginning of the briefing. Showing the same forgetful distraction she displayed multiple times on the last mission. It's all Kylah can do not to groan aloud.

Between Collins and Ferguson, Kylah is truly beginning to wonder just who chose the Lieutenants JG on this ship. Whoever it was has questionable judgment indeed.

At least this seems like a peaceful mission--not dangerous animals or experimenting, and even if the worst happens and someone inhales some spores, it doesn't seem as if having too much bliss would be a bad thing. She can't even fathom what her own role will be on such a mission. At least last time her use of languages and diplomacy came in handy--or it might have, with different superior officers, she thinks dryly. What can she possibly bring to this landing party? Well, it's her job, and she must do her duty.

Kylah just wants to close her eyes and go back to sleep, now feeling as ill as she claimed she did to Rangin in her message. What a miserable day.

Rangin was waiting for the collective groan to go round the table at the mention of Lt JG Collins leading the away party. Either she is being given a second chance, and being honest after the Sakathian missions she did deserve it, or she's sleeping with the right person.

Her response to finding it out though, was less than impressive. Rangin sighed inwardly. He was hoping all the details he had put into the last report would not be revisited. Her distracted nature perhaps made it seem as if that would be the case.

Regardless there was a mission to sort out and chances are she would need prompting into the right direction. Besides she was in Security, her job was to lead from the front and look brave. It would be the job of people like himself, Delaney and T'Var to actually plan out what they were going to do. Kylah's job would probably be to work out if the people down there were being honest or not.

"Sir, if could recommend the following:", Rangin addresses to the table in the directions of Collins.

"As the research station has been there longer, I would suggest starting there as they can probably fill us in on more details of the planet. It would also provide a more thorough scientific grounding on what effects the spores and the planet have than any report which has been filed as well as anything untoward to look out for. Not to mention being able to advise on the current state of the spa."

He takes a sip of water.

"Once we have completed that, we would be in a better position to look over the spa and ensure it is up to standard."

He turns to look at Capt Vargas while still addressing all. "Also given that Vice Adm. Hardin and Lt. Cmdr. Ebling will be attending the spa, would it be possible to ask them to provide their opinion of the place as well, which they would only be able to do after they have spent some time there?"

Collins nods at Rangin's suggestion. "Yes, that is what I was intending. Thank you. As for the Admiral and his aide, I would like to assign them two security guards apart from the landing party. Just in case."

T'Var notices the tension in the meeting room when Collins is given command of the mission.

The doctor believes Collins to be a good leader -- despite what happened on their last mission. And T'Var is sure the captain would not have given command to Collins again if she did not believe so, either.

"A most interesting mission for us," T'Var says. "And a most interesting place to visit."

The Captain scratches her ear. "I didn't say that Lt. Cmdr. Ebling will be accompanying the Vice Admiral down to the planet, Mr. Rangin, and I don't know that she will. As to Security guards, I'm not sure it's necessary, and in any event, they might then be at risk of accidential exposure to the spores. Mr. Collins, those are issues you may wish to address with the Vice Admiral."

Dr. Villa adds, "Members of the landing party will need anti-radiation booster shots before you go, due to the Berthold Rays, so please come to Sickbay by 2100 tonight."

"Thank you, Doctor," Singh says. "Anything further?"

Rangin listens to the fact that the aide will not be accompanying the Vice Admiral with surprise. Why would she accompany him all this distance if she was not going to the spa as well?

"Sir, my apologies. I assumed that as the Vice Admiral and his aide were travelling together, that would also be the case for the spa as well.", he says contritely, adding "Nothing further Sir."

Collins is uneasy at having a Tellerite unaccompanied aboard the Yorktown, but she's sure the Captain has thought of this; She'll ask the Captain and Cmdr. Vargas about it in private.

"Captain," Kylah says while still making sure to keep her gaze well away from Collins: "Forgive me if this has been answered, but: do you have an estimate how long we should take for our investigation? And will Admiral Hardin remain on the planet once we're through, or will he be leaving with us?"

She hesitates, then adds with a look at Dr. Villa, "These anti-radiation booster shots--or indeed, the conditions on the planet itself. Are they of any danger to anyone with a... pre-existing condition?"

Her thoughts are on both Rangin's lingering recovery--though she trusts Rangin to look after himself--and Collins's pregnancy. Not that Kylah knows whether Collins plans to carry the fetus to term; Collins hasn't even mentioned her status to Kylah, but this has been something Kylah's known for some time. But quite honestly, Kylah's low-boil anger that began with her Rec Room confrontation this morning is now on high simmer, and she is on edge enough as it is. If there's any way she can get someone, anyone, to question the inclusion of Collins on this mission, Kylah plans to take advantage of the opportunity.

As Kylah finishes, Rangin bites down on his tongue to prevent himself saying anything although the look he gives Kylah leaves little doubt he is less than impressed with her question. But it's none of his business and he's staying well out of it.

Singh says, "I expect we'll be there no more than a week or so, unless Mr. Collins decides you need more time. Vice Adm. Hardin will be returning with us to Starbase 27."

Dr. Villa says, "The ARB shots are completely safe, I assure you. I can't think of any preexisting condition that might be affected by them, but if you or any other member of the landing party has a particular health concern, please see me privately. You should generally try to limit your exposure to direct sunlight on the planet, if possible, but with the shots you really should have no problem."

Kylah nods to the captain and thanks the doctor. She hasn't ignored the look from Rangin, but right now she's too tense and angry to care what precisely has upset him. He can't know about Collins, so it must be that he suspects she thinks he's not up to the mission? For all he knows I'm inquiring about myself, she thinks sullenly. If he cared, perhaps he'd consider my own health.

Then again, if word gets around that she's apparently a sex-starved predator, perhaps having Rangin speculating about what illnesses she might be carrying is not ideal for a relationship. If any actually exists outside her own head, which right now Kylah is doubting.

She cannot believe the whirlwind of emotions going through her. Is someone affecting her or is this horrible mood all her own making? And that's when it occurs to her that since the mission begins tomorrow, she'll have no time for a session with Dr. T'Var after all. Just when she needs it most.

Collins shifts uncomfortably in her chair, and begins to bounce her knee up and down. Not now! The mission starts in the morning! Hang on just a few more days!

Graham glances around the room. No one would ever call me a skilled psychoanalyst, he thinks, but something's going on here: does Kylah's somewhat oblique question imply she might have some sort of...ailment, maybe an embarrassing one...maybe one that factors in to the confrontation with Ferguson? The strange look she got from Rangin might be related to that...Graham's not enthusiastic about that line of thinking, but he has to take what's going on into account.

Except the fact that Collins is clearly agitated now doesn't fit with this at all..or could it? He unconsciously shakes his head a little. Well, I still want to figure out what's behind the dust-up in Rec Room 3. And I suppose I can trust Villa's word...but T'Var definitely seems solid. She gets the shot, no worries on my part, they can inject away...

The discussion continues for awhile longer. "If there's nothing else, then...?" the Captain finally asks, looking around. "Very well. Thank you, everyone. Dismissed."

It is now just past 1600 hours, and your watches are all now concluded for the day.

Rangin thoughts are caught between the Scylla of the mission briefing and the Charybdis of Kylah's question.

A pre-existing condition could apply to so many things, there was no nothing untoward in the question, just something medical. The alternative, unthinkable as it was but if true, would mean she was effectively announcing to the briefing room that she was pregnant, given its usual meaning.

Rangin puzzles over the dates, and what he knows of Kylah. If true, surely it would have occurred before she came onboard the Yorktown. It would almost make a horrible amount of sense, Elasian princess farmed off to a Federation starship...he was being stupid. If she was, no-one else had really reacted and surely the medical staff would have known by now.

No, the likelier option was that she did have a medical condition affected by radiation, and there were plenty of those, and she was concerned about it, though why she brought it up here and not with the Doctor in private was anybody's guess. Rangin didn't think she would be as unprofessional as to not want to go on the mission and support her roommate and colleague and try this as an excuse. Then again, given the last mission, perhaps he wasn't so sure.

As the meeting breaks up, Rangin heads across to Kylah, his face back to its usual calm demeanour.

"Hi, I haven't had a chance to check any messages because of the presentation. Are we still on for poker tonight?"

Rangin can't help it. There is an involuntary flicker of his eyes down Kylah's body, down to her stomach and then back to her face.

Kylah realizes her muscles have tightened throughout the meeting, to the point where she's actually sore when the briefing finally ends. She tries to relax as she stands up, but then hears Rangin's voice and suddenly she's tensed up, bracing herself again.

When she looks at him, he's no longer apparently annoyed by her. And he says he never got her message. He still wants to meet, she thinks with a flash of relief. Of course he hasn't heard anything. But then--why is he looking up and down her body like that? Vulnerable again, she crosses her arms over her chest, flushing. Maybe he has heard something; maybe that's why he's interested--interested in playing substitute for Ferguson.

This is unworthy, she tells herself, aghast that she's questioning Velir Rangin's motives like this. She has no idea what's making him scrutinize her figure like that so openly but there must be some less... unsavory reason. Kylah just can't think of what it is. "I did reply," she murmurs, not meeting his gaze. "I have not been feeling well today and asked if we could see how I feel before deciding whether to meet. As it turns out..." She looks back up at him with a sort of embarrassed defiance. "I am actually feeling worse. Could we postpone the lesson until after the mission? I am sorry... I had been looking forward to it, but I just don't think I..."

Kylah trails off, uncertain how to continue. Finally she just lifts her chin in hopes of salvaging some dignity by remaining professional. "Your presentation was most effective and helpful. I will be proud to serve on another mission with you." She apologizes again and turns away. Miserable and angry and as fractious as a horse who's just been injured.

She quickly finds T'Var before the doctor leaves. "Doctor," she whispers urgently. "We will not be able to meet tomorrow. Is it--do you have any time at all this evening? I understand we must both prepare for the mission but..." Kylah swallows. "I am greatly troubled and could use any help you can provide. Please?"

"Of course," T'Var replies. "Whatever I can do to assist you, Kylah."

Collins forgets about her desire to discuss Ebling with the Captain, instead stands and looks at Graham. "Fifteen minutes in the gym?" As she stands there, she digs her fingernails into her palms for a few seconds. Physical exertion will help. Yeah.

Graham nods to Collins. "See you there, L-T." After all the apparent complexities of this meeting, he's looking forward to some good old-fashioned sparring.

Collins heads to the Gym to warm up before her "meeting" with Ens. Graham. Boxing? No. Fencing? Maybe. Basketball! Yeah! she decides while changing in the locker room. Out on the floor, she stretches a bit then goes over to the ball rack to choose her 'weapon'.

Graham emerges from the men's locker room and sees Collins is already in the Gym--but he breathes a sign of relief that, unlike last time, she does not appear to have been waiting long. He trots over to her: "So L-T, what'll it be: fists, weapons, pillowfight? Your call!" He claps his hands together once, shakes his shoulders lose, and flexes his knees a bit.

Still facing the rack, Collins smiles, grabs a basketball, turns and fires it at Graham. "How about a little one-on-one? If you think you can take me!" She sprints over to the court and takes up a defensive position in front of the basket.

Graham makes a note of how quickly she covers the distance, follows her at a trot and returns the smile. He turns the ball over in his hands contemplatively. He gives the ball a couple bounces. "I was expecting more hitting, less bouncing..." he feints to her right to gauge her reaction (at about 85% of effort, so as not to give his full range of movement and speed away). "But then again, I haven't seen you play before." He feints right again (this time at 80% of effort, to encourage her to believe the first move was all-out). "But are we just playing for pride here, L-T? Truth be told, I don't have much left, really. Might not be fully motivated to teach you everything you need to know about this game if that's all that's on the table."

Graham hopes his age and best Academy instructor manner gives his bluff some credibility: he's played basketball, but he's by no means an expert, and he assumes Collins has picked it because it's a favorite sport of hers.

Collins is aware Graham is testing the waters with his opening moves. But she's never fallen prey to head games. "Don't hold back, Ensign [this she says with playful emphasis]. My great grandfather played for the Boston Celtics. It's in my blood."

Graham's a bit taken aback. "Boston, eh?" He smiles authentically. "You might not be so bad after all...for an officer." With that he lowers his right shoulder but drives left, hoping to angle around her close enough but create enough space to put a left-handed layup in the net.

Collins starts to move left but springs to the right, not in time to prevent his shot, but enough to throw off his aim so that he misses. She recovers the ball and takes it to the top of the key.

Crap, Graham thinks, if she has a good outside shot I'm screwed. "Where've you been assigned, before this?" Graham asks, throwing a few jabs toward the ball while he talks.

She starts to drive towards the basket sideways, with her back towards Graham. "I was on Starbase 11 for two years, then a year on the Enterprise before being assigned here." About two yards from the basket she starts to go right but as the ball comes back up to her hand, in one swift move, she grabs it, jumps up and spins to face the basket and shoots - and it's good. She smiles proudly. "I lost some friends while on the Enterprise." She states plainly, remembering how many Security personnel did not return from missions.

Graham collects the ball and takes it back outside, dribbling methodically. He nods. "I know what it is to lose friends." And more than friends, he thinks, before putting that out of his mind. "When I was grounded...I mean, ah...privileged to be teaching at the Academy...every fresh-faced kid wanted to serve on the Enterprise. Far be it from the likes of me to criticize--Kirk got the job done--but some of us old-school Security instructors used to call him James T. 'K-I-A.'"

He starts to back up against Collins, pushing her back--not enough to be called a foul, but exerting some pressure, to see how she'll react. Push back? Yield? Fist in the kidneys? All interesting responses, albeit some more painful than others...

Collins matches Graham move for move, again making it difficult for him to shoot. "I never went on any missions while I was aboard the Enterprise," Collins says, only slightly out of breath. "I spent most of my tour on patrol duty." With her lower peripheral vision, she watches Graham's feet trying to gauge when he was ready to take aim - her intent to jump when he does and block the shot.

Graham makes the shot, tying the score. The game goes on for another twenty minutes with the lead going back and forth, but finally in Collins' favor. After she makes the last basket, she turns to see Graham bent forward, his hands on his knees, panting, but happy. He straightens up, double-times it over to the towel bin near the entrance to the locker rooms, and grabs two. He meets Collins as she walks in that direction, and hands one to her before wiping his own forehead. "Congrats, L-T. I'd say next time would go down differently, but I think the fact is you're pretty damn good at basketball."

After a moment's pause he adds, "Do you know Ens. Kylah well?"

Collins looks at him quizzically. "A little young for you, no?" She smiles and winks. "She's my roommate, but I can't say I know her that well. She's a competent junior officer, but she doesn't seem to trust anyone very much. Except maybe Dr. T'Var. You'd get more from the good doctor than from me." She starts towards the locker room, then turns. "Why?"

"Ah, yeah, she's about my daughter's age..." Graham says, then chides himself: Collins probably doesn't care. And even if you were asking about that, there's no Federation law against chasing younger women...focus, Booker. "Things got a little weird between her and some lieutenant named Ferguson while I was on patrol. Nothing big enough to file a report about, but when weird things happen on my beat, I like to figure out what's going on. She clearly didn't want to talk about it...but the doc seems solid; that's a good lead."

"Just put it your daily log. Never hurts to have a record of it, just in case." Collins throws the used towel in the hamper. "I'll see you in the morning. Thanks for the game." She decides to shower back in her quarters and goes into the locker room to grab her things.

Graham wanders over to a heavy bag and throws a few punches, lightly at first, then with more conviction. The game was a good workout--but didn't provide quite the same outlet as hitting something. Or having a drink, he thinks, a little ruefully. He's not sure why he mentioned his daughter to Collins, but having thought of her his mood has darkened. He's self-aware enough to know why: part of him wants to call her, part of him feels he has no right to intrude on her life. Missions usually created permission in his mind: after all, I'm sure she hates me, but I think she'd still want to know if I was going on a mission from which I might not come back. But what would I say about this one? "Lizzy, I'm going on a mission, and I might get...massaged."

He throws a volley of all-out punches targeted at where the half-dozen most damaging points on an Orion's anatomy would be if the bag were a greenie, and then stops, breathing heavily. Maybe T'Var does have some of that brandy, he wonders. And I've got to go get my shot anyway...and ask about Kylah if I have the opportunity. He heads to his quarters to shower quickly and change into off-duty clothes.

Rangin can guess at what he has to done to make her feel insecure, with the flush and crossing of arms just making him inwardly kick himself all the more. He is just about to tell Kylah that he hopes it wasn't serious and to get well soon, when she blurts out about the presentation and then hurries off to see Dr T'Var.

Obviously something medical is wrong with her, little else makes sense, but hopefully she will be fine by the morning and anything longer-term under control.

He wanders back to his quarters and picks up Kylah's message. He drops one back about finally picking up her message, don't worry about it, we can do poker lessons later, hopes she gets better and hopefully see her in the morning.

He changes into something more relaxing and heads to sickbay for the shot. Once he has done that he will be off to one of the rec rooms to see if anyone wants a game of chess or two. He hasn't played for a while and is feeling rusty, and he could do with the mental stimulation.

After her shower, Collins dresses and heads to Sick Bay for her shot. As she walks, she battles with her inner self. What the hell was that this afternoon? What? I just wanted some. No! There's a mission! Never right before a mission! Well, maybe right after. I could ask for a couple of days off? No! This is why I was only ever on patrol last posting! Collins shakes her head and picks up her pace.

Kylah asks T'Var if they might meet after the anti-radiation shots are given out. Once they've arranged for her to visit T'Var's quarters, Kylah leaves and suddenly realizes how hungry she is. With no time for breakfast and no appetite for lunch, Kylah hasn't eaten a thing today.

She hesitates before deciding to go to the mess hall. Well, there's no choice, is there? She knows she can't starve herself just because she's paranoid about one small incident from this morning having made the gossip mill rounds of the ship. Admittedly the greater fear is of seeing Mark Ferguson's smug face again.

In her own quarters she splashes some water on her face, girds herself, and once she's waited long enough she heads to the mess for dinner. She just wishes she weren't entering--and dining--alone. Kylah hastens to take her meal tray to an empty table and does her best to focus all attention on the food. Her best, however, is not good enough, and her gaze shifts surreptitiously in desperate hopes of not seeing Ferguson anywhere in the vicinity. The ship is huge, the likelihood is small. But the mere possibility is enough to make her uneasy.

Graham sees Mahmoud in their quarters. The Libyan man is reading something on the Library Computer terminal's screen.

Rangin gets his shot from Dr. Villa. He finds no takers in the rec room for a chess game, unfortunately.

Collins comes in for her shot, which Dr. Villa also administers, a few minutes after Rangin has left.

Kylah sees no sign of Lt. JG Ferguson. There are about two dozen other people in the Mess Hall, none of whom she knows well.

Collins reflexively rubs her arm, even though the hypospray didn't hurt. She's just always done that since her first needle shot as a child. She thanks the doctor and heads to the Mess for some dinner.

"Still into the teen romance novels, Faisal?" Graham jokes, seeing his roommate reading.

Relieved, Kylah quickly finishes what she can bear of the meal and leaves the Mess in a hurry.

She goes straight to Dr. Villa to get her anti-rad shot. Once that's done with, she will wait until the appointed time* to visit Dr. T'Var.

* whenever that is

Collins sees Cmdr. Vargas having dinner alone in the Mess Hall to which she goes. He has a data tablet in hand, and nods to her. There are perhaps three dozen other people in the room, a few of whom she knows.

"Funny guy," Mahmoud says to Graham, who can see the front page of The Solar Post on the screen. Mahmoud is apparently catching up on the news from Earth.

Kylah's shot is administered by Dr. Bucci, as Dr. Villa is attending to another patient at the time.

Earth, Graham thinks. Elizabeth's on Earth.

It's a long way away, he thinks, then: better that way, it's a place where her father's mistakes won't get her... He shakes his head. What the hell's wrong with you Booker? You're on mission tomorrow.

A plan crystallizes. It's a stupid plan, he thinks. But better than nothing. He grabs something from his cabin and puts it in a shoulder bag, then head to Sickbay to get his shot.

As Kylah waits for her shot to be administered, she looks at Dr. Bucci, with whom she's had little contact with whom she's boarded the ship. To make conversation, she says, "May I ask, Dr. Bucci: how is Lt. Fujishiro doing?"

Collins acknowledges Vargas' greeting, then chooses an empty table so she can eat in peace.

The plump Italian doctor frowns and says, "We're really not supposed to discuss other patients' medical conditions, but... no change, I'm afraid." He picks up a hypospray, fits it with a vial of medicine and then stops. "Dr. Villa told me you'd expressed some concern about the ARB shots in the mission briefing. Do you have any other questions, Ensign? Informed consent is key."

Kylah sees Graham enter Sickbay and pause in the doorway.

Collins eats her dinner alone. A loud, boisterous group of Science techs leaves the Mess Hall as she is finishing.

Collins busses her tray and leaves the Mess. She decides to check out the rec room just to see who's there.

Rangin isn't too fussed by the lack of takers for chess, so he starts playing against the computer on an easier level than usual to practice against. He will probably have some food later.

Distracted for a moment with thoughts of Fujishiro, Kylah is a bit taken aback by Bucci's question about the ARB. She wonders how he learned about her alleged reservations about the shots, then realizes it was likely through Villa.

Now a movement in the doorway catches her attention and there's Ens. Graham. A sense of claustrophobia begins to set in. Is my entire day to be haunted by him?

Her focus returns to Bucci. "My concerns were answered by Dr. Villa, thank you," she says tightly. "As you say, being informed is important. I do wish we knew in advance how those exposed to the spores are currently being decontaminated. It seems worrisome to bring a Starfleet admiral to have this treatment while we know so little about it."

Graham holds up abruptly after almost barging in on Ens. Kylah and one of the medical staff. He can't hear what they are saying, but the doc--he's not sure of his name--is frowning, and Kylah doesn't look too happy.

This piques his interest given the day's events, but if there's a reason she needs medical attention the last thing he wants to do is interfere with that.

"Ah, hi, Ensign. Kylah. Ensign Kylah. Sorry to barge in. I can come back later if you're discussing something serious." He shakes his head and raises a hand. "Not that it has to be serious for me to leave you two some privacy." He looks at the doctor. "Actually, if you could point me to--is Dr. T'Var in?"

Collins arrives at Rec Room 3 and see several people there, including Rangin, who is playing chess against the computer.

"Maybe the admiral knows more than we do," Dr. Bucci tells Kylah unconcernedly. He gives her the shot, then turns to Graham. "No apology necessary - we're done. Dr. T'Var is off-duty, I'm afraid. What can I do for you?"

Having the shot administered doesn't even register with Kylah--she's too shocked that Graham is now seemingly even anticipating her movements: seeking out T'Var as if he knows she had plans with the doctor herself! Perhaps he overheard her asking T'Var for an appointment tonight. It's utterly irrational but this day has been one of wildly swinging emotions and Kylah is far too exhausted and on edge to let reason rule her behavior.

She doesn't even thank Bucci for the ARB, but instead walks up to meet Graham in the doorframe, ignoring the vast difference in their heights and staring up at him with eyes glaring with accusation. "I am disappointed, Mr. Graham," she mutters icily. "I thought you were doing me a kindness by accompanying me to the Turbolift this morning. Now I begin to think otherwise. Are you following me? Dogging my every step? I have an appointment with Dr. T'Var, as I suspect you know, and you are certainly right that my health is none of your business. I suppose you believe what--what was said earlier about me? That I am some sort of menace who must be tracked?" Kylah lowers her voice further. " I very much resent it. I do not wish to be treated like a prime suspect or an unruly child."

Dr. Bucci puts down the hypospray with a frown. He was not close enough to hear what Kylah said, but noticed how she strode up to Graham, and her less-than-friendly expression. "Is there a problem?" he asks.

Collins walks over to Rangin. "How about a human opponent?" She asks before she sits down.

Rangin looks up from his winning position against the computer. "You know, I don't believe I have had the pleasure of playing you before."

He quickly sets up the board and offers Collins the choice of colour.

As she makes her choice, Rangin enquires politely, "Looking forward to the mission tomorrow?"

Collins chooses black. As they set up the board, she answers "Yes and no. It seems like an easy gig, but that's when things go wrong like crazy."

T'Var spends her off duty time deep in meditation. She allows her mind to wander from thought to thought....

The doctor is concerned about Kylah's emotional state and how best to help her before this new mission begins. T'Var is also curious about Graham. He is unique -- as most humans are. T'Var looks forward to learning more about him. And what of Collins? Will she rise to the occasion as mission leader or falter?

T'Var clears her mind of these thoughts and returns her focus to the small lit candle in front of her. She follows the movement of the flame. She breathes deeply in and out. She finds her center....

Graham's first instinct is to try and deflect her accusation with humor: I was just looking for a drinking buddy, he thinks. But that wouldn't be accurate, he concedes: in fact, I was looking for an excuse to drink.

He's seen a stare like that before, looking up at him: more than ten years ago, a precocious twelve-year old telling him he was all wrong, he didn't know anything, and he was a tyrant and an ogre to boot. And then later, more quietly but just as insistently, his wife explaining that young girl was right, and that he would have to relent and allow their daughter to go on her first date. "The only thing Lizzy has wrong," Jane had said in her most professorial tone, "Is that you're not at like an ogre. Much more like a troll: less a club-wielding marauder, more a sinewy loner who likes to lurk under bridges gnawing old bones."

He can't remember his daughter smiling wider before or since than when he marched--grimly--back downstairs--but then told her he'd changed his mind. The hug lasted only a second before she ran off to tell her best friend and call some boy, but it is an ineffable, unparalleled memory of happiness, tinged only a little but with the loss he felt at that moment of a childhood that had so quickly passed.

The same words come to mind now as then: "No," Graham says softly and a little distantly. "Not a child. Not anymore."

He gives Kylah a little smile and nods, sliding out of the doorway toward the doctor so he's not in the way if she wants to leave.

He hitches up his sleeve. "I hope not, doctor," he says in quiet voice. Then a little more quickly and firmly: "But I hope you can make this quick, I realize there's something important I need to do this evening."

"Make what quick?" the doctor asks. He looks from Graham to Kylah, then back again. "Ah! Are you here for an ARB shot, too?"

Kylah backs away, her anger skittering around her chest as if it's looking for something to grab onto. She doesn't understand what Graham meant--not a child, not anymore--but she certainly recognizes his attempt at pacifying her. It was almost paternal. Or what she remembers of a true father figure, anyway. She hasn't had much luck with those. They always wanted something she could not, or would not, provide.

Turning around without acknowledging Graham's comment, she hurries down the corridor. And soon finds herself in front of T'Var's door for their appointment.

Graham sees Kylah leaving out of the corner of his eye. "Right," he answers, "some might say being bombarded with radiation that kills all animal cells couldn't make me look any worse, doc, but I figure I won't take any chances."

Rangin starts with his usual pawn opening. "Who knows, but I'm looking forward to it. Congrats on getting to run the next one, though."

"Thanks." Collins looks up from the board after making her move. "What would you have done differently?"

"You must be Ens. Graham, then," Dr. Bucci says. "Welcome aboard. Here you go...." He checks the hypospray, administers the shot and then excuses himself to speak to an orderly.

Several more people enter Rec Room 3, including Pourtash. There are now about a dozen people there. Two Communications techs begin playing Go, and a group of Engineering crewmates set up an Altairian backgammon board.

Graham leaves Sickbay with a sense of purpose.He secures a datapad, and so as not to disturb Faisal (who he last saw in their room) decides to head to one of the ship's common areas. Given Kylah's earlier reaction to seeing him, he decides Rec Room 3 is a safe bet--he suspects it is unlikely he'll accidentally run into her there. As he enters he notices Lt. "Larry Bird" Collins and Science Guy playing a game together--he nods toward them before taking a seat in as quiet and isolated a spot he can find.

Although he can't quite bring himself to relate the story that came to mind earlier, he starts dictating a letter. "Hi, Lizzy. It's...me. A lot of the time I send you messages when I arrive somewhere that you're most likely to have heard about because of a crime or a battle. Not this time. You'll never guess what the planet we're beaming down to tomorrow is famous for..."

While he talks, he pulls up information about Omicron Ceti III and weaves particularly interesting bits into his letter.

"Not stood by the door", says Rangin with a grin as he ponders his next move, "perhaps held on to my dignity for a little longer while being treated as a Sakathian buffet."

He makes his move and continues speaking.

"Seriously, there probably wasn't much we could have done differently. Have someone on the shuttle, no transporter. Hunker down and wait it out, we'd never have made it. Could we have acted better given the circumstances, well, that call is above my rank, but probably yes."

Kylah presses the panel outside T'Var's door again, impatient to talk to the doctor before she must study for the mission. She knows T'Var can't solve her problems or teach her every control method the Vulcan knows, but having even some ability to calm herself and take command of her emotions--and block others' out--would be a tremendous relief.

She waits and wonders if T'Var might have been called elsewhere, even though that other doctor--Bucci, was that it?--said she was already off-duty.

Pourtash ambles over and greets Collins and Rangin. "Altairian backgammon was never really my thing. Mind if I watch?"

Lt. JG Cecilia Bennett enters Rec Room 3, a datapad in hand. She looks around, sees Graham and smiles.

Seeing Bennett enter and smile in his direction, Graham is pleasantly surprised: much moreso by the smile than by her simply happening by Rec Room 3. He pauses his dictation; seeing she has a datapad, he waves his own datapad at her and then gestures gamely toward an empty chair at his table.

"Feel Free", replies Rangin, "We've only just begun."

T'Var answers the door and gestures for Kylah to come inside.

"I would like to know how you are feeling at the moment," she says. "Then, perhaps, I can assist you in the best possible way with the limited time we have."

Collins smiles at Pourtash as he sits down. "We were discussing the Sakathian mission," she says as she takes her turn, then looks at Rangin "The first thing I would have done differently is held on to my phaser. I'd still like to know what the Sakathians were trying to accomplish and why it went so wrong."

Bennett walks over to Graham and takes the proferred seat. "Hello, Ens... oh, may I just call you Booker? We're both off-duty; you're welcome to call me Cecilia, by the way."

Pourtash also sits. "The Sakathians wanted to change themselves," he says, scratching one ear. "To become more than - different from - what they are. They did it in a very dangerous way. We learned our lesson back in the Eugenics Wars; maybe they'll learn from this, too."

Kylah enters and thanks Dr. T'Var for seeing her. But she's taken aback by the sudden question; she wasn't expecting it.

"How am I feeling now," she says slowly. Her eyes scan the room as if trying to find the words to describe what's going on inside her. "Overwhelmed." The word is an exhale, and she rubs her cold hands together before crossing her arms over her chest. "Like a bottle of liquids that do not mix well together--and if jostled too much the container will explode. There is too much going on within me, today in particular, and I--I fear going on a mission in such a state. Especially with these particular crew members," Kylah adds bitterly.

“Of course ma’am—I mean, Cecilia,” Graham answers.

“So, ah,” he says, setting his pad down, leaning forward on one elbow and adopting his best sultry voice, “what brings a nice girl like you to a heavy cruiser like this?” He sits back and grins a little. “Actually,” he says, gesturing at her datapad and using his normal speaking voice, “Believe it or not—if you have some work to do I really can sit here quietly, sharing the table and not bothering you.”

Bennett smiles; Graham really does find her quite dazzling. "I don't have any work to do at the moment, but I do have some good news." She hands him her datapad, which is showing a message from Starfleet Personnel. The timecode indicates it arrived ten minutes ago:

PROMOTIONS APPROVED - USS YORKTOWN, NCC-1717:

BENNETT, Cecilia E., Navigator - promoted to Lieutenant
CHEVEREZ, Edgardo, Chief Engineer - promoted to Lieutenant Commander
GRAL, NFN, Botanist - promoted to Lieutenant
GUZMAN, Luisa, Relief Navigator - promoted to Lieutenant (Junior Grade)
RUSSELL, Josiah F., Security officer - promoted to Ensign

"It would have been nice if we knew that going in." Collins half mumbles as she studies the chess board

Graham nods slowly. “You know, there’s an old saying, ‘virtue is its own reward.’” He leans down and removes the item he took from his room earlier from the shoulder bag. “Of course, me, I think that’s total BS,” he adds.

He puts the bottle on the table. “But—less than an hour ago, I was looking for an excuse to open this—and drink too much of it. Then I got bawled out just for trying to do my job, and that snapped me out of it. And now…” He gives her datapad a little tap. “Here’s a perfect reason to share a toast. A reasonable, normal-sized toast. It’s from Springbank, single malt, West Coast of Scotland. Made by hand, no replicators or robotics or anything." He pauses for a second. "That is, if you want to, of course..Cecilia. Lieutenant Cecilia."

"I would be delighted," she says, chuckling. "Let me get a pair of glasses."

Graham is ready to pour when Bennett returns with glasses. He hesitates, bottle at a forty-five degree angle. "Hold on...what's the "e" for...as in Bennett, Cecilia,'E'?"

"They didn't want to be different," responds Rangin to Pourtash while waiting for the next move. "Those in power wanted control and found someone willing to try something unusual to give it to them. That's what it comes down to in the end, power. If they wanted to change for the better, they would not have been hiding it. I wonder what will happen to Dr Waite?"

"Oh, what fun would it be if I just told you?" Bennett asks, her eyes dancing. "You'll have to guess. Now pour, please."

Pourtash says, "That was part of it, sure, but I think it was mostly about changing themselves, transforming themselves, becoming a new culture. That's always risky."