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

While he is amused by Graham getting tongue-twisted over the difference between an Ensign and a Lieutenant, Rangin cannot help roll his eyes at the comments over drinks. He wonders if there isn’t a time when Graham wouldn’t be drawn towards the smell of alcohol.

“I think that is all then. Many thanks Captain, I think we will be back in touch shortly.” Rangin puts the datapad away and relaxes slightly, looking forward to be heading back.

"Glad to help," Capt. Danaher says. "Just let me know, once you get back to your ship, when we may expect our forty guests' arrival."

Rangin nods back to the Captain. "Of course", he answers politely, "we should have an answer within an hour. Then a little while longer to inform the colonists and transport them across."

He nods professionally to her and waits for her to escort them back to the transporter room.

She does, and you both beam back to the Yorktown without incident.

"I'd like to run criminal record checks on folks under consideration to be sent over, and personally eyeball the group we wind up with," Graham says to Rangin once they are back onboard Yorktown. "I ran into some rough types looking to make trouble while on routine patrol, they're definitely the sort likely to make trouble for a few civilian security officers if we didn't weed them out."

Graham waits patiently for a response from Rangin - like it or not, he's in charge of the mission, so the scheme for picking candidate to transfer is up to him. And, he mentally notes, technically I'd need his permission to proceed.

He restrains a sigh.

Awkward though it might have been, if it wasn't Graham himself in charge of the away mission, he wishes it could have been Nia.

While Graham and Rangin talk, Chief Nguyen reports the return of the boarding party to Lt. Thalen, the duty Communications officer, who in turn informs Lt. Onn.

Nia has spent the last half-hour or so* listening to status reports and other BCDO tasks ** and, when not otherwise occupied, sitting and trying not to think about... that topic she's been trying not to think about since the day the Yorktown sped away from Novy Rostov.

Now she straightens her posture, which has been professional but relaxed, and thanks Thalen. "Excellent. Hopefully they didn't run across any hitches to the plan. But if there are any issues, I'm sure we can remedy them." She takes a quick look at the chronometer. As she thought, about 30 minutes. * The intrepid duo sure got there and back fast enough.

Nia wonders if Rangin had taken her light suggestion that he should feel free to flex his muscles a bit--new rank, being in command--while over at the Ain't She. The guy deserves a bit of his own back.

Though she's usually been on Booker's side in the conflicts between the two, she's always known that her... “ex” ... has done his own muscle-flexing--literal and figurative-- in confrontations with the xenobiologist.

Well, Rangin's still in charge, as far as the logistics of the transfer are concerned, and presumably he'll shortly send a status update before his work continues. If she wants to get an idea if her admittedly petty and feeble attempt to irk Booker worked, she'll just have to wait.

But... does she, though?

Nia crosses her legs, an amused smile back on her lips.. "Thalen, put me through to Lt. Rangin, please."




* Wild guess as to how long the boys were over there. Sound about right?
** Um... whatever those might be.

"Yes, ma'am," Thalen says.

Rangin's communicator beeps.

Half an hour sounds about right, thanks.

Rangin is listening to Graham’s comments and to his own annoyance finds himself agreeing with his Security point of view.

He doesn’t have much in the way of an idea who to send across, it seems more likely that he will have to spend a little more time looking through the lists, although it seems that smaller families might be the best option.

At the beep of the communicator, he holds the conversation to check who it is. “It seems our illustrious acting captain would like a word. Sure there's not a message you would like me to pass across?”

Before Graham can answer, Rangin holds up the communicator to answer, “Yes, Ma’am. Rangin here.”

"Glad you're back, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'll handle everything from here. Just wanted to know if you found the space livable and suitable. And if you'd like anyone else to assist you and the quartermaster. Besides Lt. Graham, of course." Nia knows Rangin's unlikely to have put her on speaker--he probably has more tact than she's displaying right now--but hey, he might pass it along anyway.

"Also, any thoughts about whether we'd want an officer or two over there?" For a second she's tempted to have him assign Booker and his new soon-to-be-family to a bunk. Heat suffuses her cheeks when she realizes just how angry she is, just how fervently she wants them all off the damn ship.

Who are you?

Casting her eyes down to her lap, she shifts in her suddenly uncomfortable chair and adds in a murmur, "Of course, I'd like both your opinions on that."

Rangin listens to Acting Captain Nia’s questions and waits for an appropriate time to answer them. “Thank you Ma’am, the ship is fine and will be able to take the 40 or so colonists as recommended. We didn’t find any problems there, it looks a little cozy, but should suit some of our quieter colonists just fine. Making a shortlist with Lt. Onyibe should be quick work.”

While talking, he keeps his eyes on Graham to see if he has anything to add while Rangin is speaking, which he is likely to add to the end.

“As for an officer in support, well it would take away from giving the colonists space, but an attache of sorts would help smooth details between the ships. I’d recommend someone from either Comms or Security if that was the case.”

An idea crosses his mind, and Rangin can’t tell if it is totally brilliant or truly stupid, but as an opportunity it has so many options. After all, a cushy job on another ship would mean he was owed for it and it would keep things nice and quiet on the USS Yorktown for the next few days. Not to mention splitting up the pair for a few days in the name of duty.

“Perhaps Lt Graham might enjoy taking that role Ma’am?”

Rangin nods to Graham as if to say what a favour he is being gifted while fixing him with a smile normally seen on a backstreet merchant who is offering the world. He can’t help it, it’s the Coridanite in him.

Graham is momentarily speechless at Rangin's transparent attempt to make him twist the knife in Nia.

Or maybe it's about twisting the knife in him, and Nia's feelings are just acceptable collateral damage.

He's a goddamned straight up sadist.

Graham clenches his jaw and takes a moment to compose a measured response.

"I'd prefer to stay close to my...new family," he replies tightly and evenly--and a little low, as if that might shield Nia from being reminded of his recent, abrupt engagement. He clears his throat. "Whether that's here, or if they are included among the colonists transferred...wherever is best for the mission, of course."

He'd sooner bite off his own tongue than end with a "sir," officer rank and position as mission leader be damned.

Rangin can feel the amused smirk freeze on his face as Graham replies.

“New family...what new family?” he slowly blurts out without thinking, as the look Graham is giving one him is one that Rangin is not expecting.

“Errr. I thought…” What on earth is Rangin missing, “that you were with…” isn’t he still supposed to be with Lt Onn, “Lt Onn? No?”

The colour drains from his face as he realises, he has a very angry Graham in front of him and, perhaps more importantly, an acting Captain Lt Onn at the other end of a communicator.

Oh crap.

Onn can hear all of this discussion, as can those closest to her on the Bridge: Leventhal at Helm, Pourtash at Nav and Thalen at Communications. Pourtash glances over his shoulder for just a moment before turning resolutely forward again.

Graham isn't sure if the vein throbbing near his temple is plainly visible from ten feet away, but it feels like it.

He almost - almost - buys Rangin's surprise as authentic rather than feigned. But there's little doubt in his mind this is all about pretending to be innocent while zinging him (and maybe Nia as well, perhaps just to provoke me all the more).

"The lieutenant is aware of my recent engagement," he replies tightly, through clenched teeth.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Nia can't believe the words broadcasting over her chair's comm unit. She feels like the pilot of a helpless shuttle trapped in a tumbling roll, with no thrusters to stabilize or regain control of the vessel. And worse, she's the one who caused the damage in the first place.

Mustering whatever shreds of dignity she has left, she straightens and quickly calculates that showing any embarrassment or anger will only make this worse. She forces an amused smile.

"Gentlemen," she says in as light a tone as she can manage. "You're captivating all of us on the Bridge, but perhaps this drama should wait until the Lyceum is open again. Now kindly get to work on choosing the transfers--civilians and any crew members deemed necessary." Her voice sharpens. "Understood?"

“Recent engagement? Really?” Rangin cannot help but blurt out defensively at Graham’s accusation, before the Lt Onn’s voice comes clear over the communicator and suddenly he wonders if Graham is referring to her instead.

He looks across at the device as if it is a live snake before quickly speaking into it again. “Yes Ma’am, on it right away, Rangin out.” before closing the device over. Slowly his gaze turns back to Graham, hoping to see him still several feet away and hopefully far enough that Rangin would have a head start should Graham decide to take matters into his own, very well trained, years of practice, security hardened, hands.

“Engagement?” the words spill out, “To Lt Onn?” Rangin can’t believe it. “Really? You two?”

He forces his face into a half rictus grin, as best as he can manage. “Err. Congratulations?” he offers, half hoping and half guessing it might mollify Lt Graham.

Graham's right hand reflexively clenches and unclenches into a fist, scar tissue over a long-ago knife wound tightening and releasing more than enough to make him aware of it.

"You really can't help it, can you?" he replies almost incredulously. "Playing with people's feeling. Raking them through the coals."

He shakes his head and clenches his teeth before continuing. "With a colonist, as you well know, I'm sure. So you can drop the act, because if you wanted to stick a knife in my back by embarrassing Ni--Lt. Onn, someone I still and always will care about, congratulations, mission accomplished." He takes conscious control of his hand and gives a tight mock salute, Old Earth style.

"Now can we cut the shit and get on with the mission?"

You piece of shit prick bastard.

He holds that last part back unsaid, not wanting Rangin to have the satisfaction of hearing his frustration.

nm

Rangin blinks a couple of times unsure of what is happening as he tries to put his thoughts together before he gestures to Lt. Graham so they head out of the transporter room, a few choice words and emotions beginning to bubble to the surface of his mind.

“I’m sorry, I think I have missed something important. Did you just say you are no longer with Lt Onn and are engaged to a colonist? Already?” Rangin’s jaw hangs open slightly at the news, which is still a complete surprise to him. “Are you kidding me? I mean, hey, well done. I guess congratulations are in order."

But Rangin just can't believe that Graham is casually switching partners. He stands up straight and looks Graham up and down, “You know what, I’ll even do you a favour, seeing as I really don’t give a damn about your love life and decline the invite now.” He cocks his head to one side and then other considering what options to go for. “Hey, I know how about a quick honeymoon on the Ain’t she a Beaut?”

The more he thinks about it, the more this is Graham all over, say one thing, do another.

“But you know what?” He jabs a finger in Graham’s direction, “You don’t get to stand there and say just how much you care for Lt Onn, while also dumping her and deciding to hitch up with someone else. There are plenty of words to describe people like that and while I’m sure you got plenty of good reasons for doing it, from here it looks like you took the choice to split with independent Lt. I'll-Fuck-you-When-I'm-Ready for your long lost, and probably very-pliant and demure, childhood sweetheart.

“I. Just. Don’t. Care. You’re an arsehole to me, you’re an arsehole to others, so why stop with the girlfriend?” Rangin makes a sound of disgust just thinking about what Graham is actually doing. “Don’t worry about the colonists, I’ll sort it. At least it might get you out of my sight.”

Graham blinks, multiple times, as Rangin goes full nutso.

Yes, Graham is angry. But he assumes: this is a game. Rangin's trying to play me.

Despite his--substantial--anger--he stops trying to process the flood of invective.

At the end of thr tirade, Graham steps forward, within the range of Rangin's jabbing finger, as close as he can get without initiating contact more contact.

"You don't know a damned thing about me, or for that matter, what it means to care for anyone," he says icily.

He doesn't wait for a reply, turning away and heading toward his new family most likley to give them the news of the change of quarters. But he very damned much also wants to find a chance to contact Nia, too.

Both men's communicators soon beep. It is Lt. Juliet Onyibe, the Ship's Quartermaster, who says over a three-way channel, "I understand you're back aboard. Who should we be beaming over to the Ain't She, gentlemen?"

Rangin watches Graham leave noting the complete lack of denial of anything that he had said. By a person’s actions, so shall ye know them or something like that. And nothing Graham had done is changing Rangin’s opinion of the one walking away.

“Care for anyone? I’ve cared far too much for someone.” he mutters under his breath, “Oh, I know what it means, more than you know.”

As the communicator beeps and Ranging hears the question come through, he puts on a more relaxed face and politely responds. “Of course, Ma’am. I’m on my way to you now with the initial details and I’d like to confirm them with you.”

He starts to head towards her office, but keeping the call open to see if anything else is said.

Of the people he has in mind, well the ship could handle a mix of people and sending someone across to keep an eye on them would be a good idea as well.

And besides, Rangin is a Coridanite of his word, for all that ever meant to a Earthling, but Graham can have his brief honeymoon with Marala. A bit of time away with the new family, well why not. Also, the two miners in Lt Onn’s cabin, she could do with a bit of breathing space given the upcoming nuptials and besides, didn’t she need a chance to settle her respiratory breathing back again. Mr Yakovlev and his family from earlier would also be a good candidate for two of the cabins. Rangin is sure Lt Onyibe would agree to that. And there are likely a few others around.

Yes, Rangin thinks as he looks down the list, it is always good to make people happy....

"Thank you, Mr. Rangin," the Quartermaster says. "Please come by my office at your convenience."

Graham makes his way through the still-crowded corridors to Marala and Nikolai's quarters.

Rangin picks up his pace as he heads for Lt Onyibe’s quarters. What had been an interesting, albeit short, mission had soured quickly thanks to Graham deciding that his love life was the most important thing on the ship and blowing up at a casual joke. Just who does Graham think he is?

It doesn’t matter now, just time to pass across the details of the colonists and leave the sorry mess behind. He continues searching through the colonists data to pick out another thirty possibilities, once Marala’s son and her elderly companion had been included. Pairs of people if he can manage it, able to share the cramped quarters on the new ship rather than be forced into sharing anew. Once that is done, it should be easy enough to reshuffle people back into any quarter spaces that get opened, perhaps Lt Onn excepted if the option was necessary.

By the time he reaches the office, Rangin is fairly certain he has a good mix of people, and he presses the chime to let Lt Onyibe he is outside.

Nia watches the immobile ship on the viewscreen. After Rangin cut the connection--cutting off a superior officer, maybe the extra stripe's gone to his head already--she'd played it cool on the Bridge. Even brushed aside the men's personal remarks with a snarky comment about Security and Science catching up to the well-known propensity of Engineers to gossip.* Kept things light before settling back to normal.

Now, staring at the stars ahead, she brushes a fingertip along her lips. What in the fiery acid sky could have led Booker to bring up something so private? His 'new family.' He's not even bloody married yet and he's already taken these strangers into his heart. Well. Not strangers to him, exactly. And Rangin piles it on because he apparently doesn't know the ins and outs of Booker Graham's love life. Or mine, she thinks grimly.

Not even five days ago, all this was just a last-minute plan. A scheme. A way to slip past the lottery's idiotic rules and get Marala and her kid safely on board. Nia knows she herself played her part well back in Vargas's office, lying her ass off like a jilted lover. Apparently she gave Booker some ideas because the lies seemed to... stick.

She's done her best to forget the last moments before Booker tossed her out of the metaphorical airlock, but they crawl into her mind like flesh-eating bacteria.

* * *

Now that she's finally done with her watch, already light years away from the radioactive remains of Novy Rostov, Nia doesn't think twice about her own trajectory. She's got to find out what happened to Marala and Nikolai, and she can't do that without a communicator, which hasn't been returned after her confinement thank you very much, Vargas.

The closer Nia gets to Security, her stride turns into something just short of a jog. Her hunt has reaped its rewards faster than she thought, because there's Booker, just Booker, exiting the room.

His eyes are preoccupied with something on his own communicator, and since Nia doesn't want every redshirt to know their business, she remains silent despite her instinct to shout his name. Her jog slows back to a measured pace.

"Book," she says quietly, trying to take him in, his stance, his appearance, his expression, the flicker of his eyelashes when he squints... he probably doesn't know he does that... but most of all, his emotion. Is he grieving? Is he content? "I can't believe you're right here. I've been dying to talk to you for hours, but they took my communicator and--well, you know that part, but they suddenly drafted me for Bridge duty and forgot to return it to me, and I couldn't get in touch while on watch so..."

She realizes she's rambling like a plebe, and takes a deep breath while reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. Somehow that grounds her. "Sorry. What's going on? What happened?

Graham seems surprised by Nia's presence.

"I--uh. well, yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't reach you earlier." Stowing his communicator, he uses his free hand to give the hand on his forearm a gentle squeeze. "A lot has happened."

Nia stares at him, still unable to read his expression. Seems like it should be straightforward enough: Grief in the worst case, triumph in the best. But it's not exactly either. What else could matter?

Beneath her grip on his arm, her thumb strokes gently, trying to soothe herself and Booker. "Tell me. Marala and Nikolai. Are they--please tell me they're onboard?"

"Oh--ah, yeah," Graham replies. He...squirms. At least, that’s what it looks like. Or as if he’s swallowed something that didn’t go down quite right. He clears his throat and nods. "Yes, they are onboard. They're safe now."

They're safe. Nia's knees almost buckle with relief, and since she's got someone to lean on--and an occasion to do it--she takes advantage of Book's strong, stable presence. She flings her arms around him in a triumphant embrace. "We did it," she whispers into his cheek, then corrects herself. "You did it. I just--If I feel this happy I can't imagine the somersaults your heart must be doing."

Self-conscious, she backs away a few inches and takes hold of his hands. "Sorry, if you're a newlywed this probably doesn't look so good," she murmurs before grinning. "Then again, congrats are allowed. It's not--"

Suddenly she notices that the fingers of his left hand--entwined within those of her right--are warm but barely squeezing her own. And more than that, they're... empty. Nia looks down and blinks in surprise.

"No ring? I know it was a quickie ceremony but I'd've thought someone would at least lend you something shiny." She gives him one of her tilting smiles and waggles his hand. "Hope Marala made out better in the jewelry department. Not that it matters long term," she adds in a playful whisper. "But it'll be a keepsake after the divorce."

Something in his gaze--mostly the impression that he's raised some kind of internal deflector shield--makes her falter. "Book, is... is something wrong?"

* * *

The stars have disappeared, hidden by Nia's wince. She unconsciously shakes her head at her own ridiculous optimism. Her embarrassing elation. Her self-satisfaction at a job oh-so-brilliantly done. 'Mission accomplished', she'd thought. Right. Too fucking accomplished.

She opens her eyes and exhales. She doesn't want to dredge up the rest of that conversation, not now--she's beginning to nauseate herself. If she doesn't vent to someone soon, she'll turn into a soppy mess. Giya. Or Ajay? Nia hurriedly avoids the former. It'd be pretty insensitive of Nia to complain about an affair to a friend who's literally denied one. So: Ajay. They're closer anyway. Oh, let him have some free-time soon!

In the meantime, she shifts in her chair and looks at the Comms officer behind her. "So, Lieutenant," she says brightly. "Tell me the plot of that play you mentioned. Not On My Ship** or something, wasn't it? Please tell me it's a comedy. We need some laughs."




* I have no idea if this is a thing, but Nia's mentioned it a couple of times before so I'm running with it!

** Her memory's fuzzy.

"Come," says Lt. Onyibe. Rangin enters and she waves him to the only seat before her small desk. She sets down a datapad and nods to him. "Thanks for coming by, Mr. Rangin. Your thoughts, please, on who ought to go over to the Ain't She...?"

“Certainly Ma’am,” Rangin greets the officer behind the desk as he raises his datapad to read from it.

“A brief run down on the ship. Forty people split roughly into twenty cabins, so couples, pairs or families of four are probably a better fit to go across. Also, they have little in the way of security, so sending across less ribald individuals and perhaps someone to keep an eye on them, act as a aide to their Captain, and so the list I can suggest is.”

He looks down to the datapad and back up, “Let’s start with the Yakovlev and his family of four. I think a couple of cabins over there should satisfy their need to have new cabins and perhaps respect the size of those on offer. It should also provide yourself a little respite as well.” Rangin smiles over the top of it hoping to see some sign of relief from Lt Onyibe.

He rattles off the various pairs and couples he has identified from the list, slipping in the two miners currently occupying Lt Onn’s cabin before moving on to the final four places. “Finally, to act as a representative for the Yorktown, I’d like to suggest Lt Graham from Security. He also got on well with the Captain when we went across and would be good to keep an eye on all and sundry. I’m also aware of certain upcoming personal events he is having, so a chance to get away from here for a few days, even if nominally working, well, I’m sure you can understand? The other places would, of course, be the upcoming family and friend, he is due to join.”

He lowers the datapad and offers it across to here with the details on it for Lt Onyibe if she needs it.

Onyibe takes the datepad. "That's good to know, Mr. Rangin. I'll look this over and discuss it with the First Officer and the Captain, and I'll be in touch again if any questions arise. If there's nothing else for now, you're dismissed, and thanks again."

“No Ma’am, nothing else,” Rangin responds calmly, pride in being thanked for doing a good job opens up a smile on his face.

As he is dismissed, he heads out of the Quartermaster’s office and lets the door close behind him before taking a deep breath of thinking over what he just did.

Did he really just give Graham a matrimonial gift of a break away on another ship? What was he thinking? Ok, it gets Graham out of Rangin’s way for a few days, but the more he thinks about it as he walks down the corridor, the more he thinks he should have gone for it himself.

Letting rage get the better of him. Surely Rangin knows that is not a clever thing to do, but what’s done is done. But Graham is not the only person who will be affected. Hopefully Kylah might have a nice surprise as well, although if this is happening soon he had better let her know. She will only have had a couple of hours sleep by now, so better to drop her a message when she can pick it up than disturb her. A brief one about her overcrowding problem, and the hope she will understand what he means.

That done, Rangin heads off to get some accessories, the new ones to show his new rank.

In her cabin, Kylah enjoys a much-needed deep slumber. But her new habit of keeping her communicator as close as possible--currently, it is under her pillow for easy retrieval--means that when it buzzes with a new message, the vibration beneath her left ear rouses her.

"No, no," she groans, opening bleary eyes. "Not yet, give me a few hours..."

But she cannot ignore any potential responsibility, not if she ever wants to get back to single watches. With great reluctance--and some difficulty--she props herself on her elbow and pulls out the communicator.

A message from Velir? Wiping a hand across her eyes to clear her blurred view of the world, Kylah rises to a seated position and reads what her friend has to say.

He has only written the bare bones of a message, and his tone is light, but Kylah reads with increasing alarm. "'...Helped ease the burden on Lt. Onn's cabin,''' she repeats aloud, now holding the communicator in two hands."'...You shouldn't hear any complaints from guests...'"

Her hands drop into her lap as she stares out at her quarters. His message is oblique but he is talking about her stowaways, of course. He must have taken it upon himself to get them transferred to the new ship. A gracious gesture... but Kylah specifically ruled that out as a bad idea! "Oh! Oh Velir," she whispers, aghast despite his kind intent. "What did you do?"

Calling attention to that cabin is so dangerous. Why did he not remember? If offered the chance to leave, Mrs. Soerdajaya would leap at the opportunity, but of course their names are not anywhere on the manifest, and they will have to give false names or get caught... or give false names and get caught.

There is no way to contact her guests by communicator. Which leaves only one thing to do. Somehow she stumbles out of bed and wobbles to her closet. She flings off her sleeping gown, dressing in record time--although she skips her stockings, which take too long to bother with. Her boots are tall enough for it not to matter.

Fully clothed, but with uncombed hair and bare legs underneath the skirt of her uniform, Kylah rushes out the door and heads to Lt. Onn's quarters.

Graham's first instinct when he reaches the doors to the quarters he now shares with Marala and Nikolai is to make a beeline for a stiff drink.

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and emphasizes to himself that
this
is not
an option.


Trying to clear his mind so he can show up as a good husband and a good father--or at least not a shitty one--he opens the door to enter.

What accessories does Rangin have in mind? Another Science blue shirt with his shiny new cuff braid, perhaps?

Kylah makes her way through the crowded ship's corridors to Onn's quarters. Nothing appears amiss from the outside.

Graham finds Marala within, curled up on the small couch with a datapad. She smiles when she sees him, stretching as lazily as a cat. "I was just reading a bit. Nikki is taking a nap in the other room. How are you, Boojee?"

Graham blinks and swallows.

Marala was always beautiful, he thinks. Still is.

But it's hard to parse through the urgency of trying to save her from the disaster at the colony, the intimacy they once shared, and what it means now to be husband and wife--with all that entails.

At least he's glad it entails here looking happy and comfortable here on this couch.

If I made Lt. Commander again, it would mean better quarters, a better life for Marala and Nikolai both...

He half chuckles to himself. Even as a LT. J.G. I can afford the, uh...outfit, I guess--lingerie--I remember seeing in a magazine as a teenager that I imagined Marala wearing, assuming it's something that can still be found...

"OK," he grunts, then recovers...he forces a smile, then sits down next to Marala. "Hey, come here..." He gently grabs her hand and kisses the back of it, then takes a deep breath and sighs as if he's off the clock and back at home.

"There's a civilian ship alongside...come to help with transporting folks. I--we--I may be assigned to go over there to help out their limited security. With you and Nikolai, of course--a little side trip off Yorktown, if that's OK."

She takes him into her arms, kisses him on the cheek and considers. "I don't know... Nikki has already had so many changes in his life in such a short period of time. I'm not sure moving again is for the best. Do you think you'd have to go?"

Graham relaxes into her arms for a moment...but not as far as he'd like. Because the answer to her question isn't an easy one.

"Ah, well..." he sighs. "my job--my duty--is orders. Taking them and giving them. If the orders come down, I could try to...get out of it, ask for alternatives. But that's not how it works--or, will work, for--for us, mostly." He squeezes her hand. "I dreamed about being Starfleet, when we were kids." He shrugs. "Now I am, and it's a double-edged sword."

He holds her eyes. "One we're 'officially' family, and Nikkolai will never want for any fundamentals, ever again, as my family or--yeah, shit, even as my widow and orphan. But the price--I swore an oath to take orders."

He takes another deep breath. "I hope we could make it a--ah, a little trip, something nice, not something bad. I'm not sure it would be good for us to rock the boat, right now..."

Now he looks down, frowning, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry, Marala. I'd like to offer you and Nikolai everything good, on a platter. You deserve it." He shakes his head. "But I can't, not by a long shot."

She hugs him closer. "I know that. I also know you'll always do your best for us. That's all I expect of you, and all I ask. And if you get assigned to this other ship, well, of course we'll go with you."

Rangin heads off to get the slight, but also very important change, in cuff braid to show his new rank. It may only be something small, but it feels surprisingly important, a major goal achieved from where he came from.

A Coridanite reaching this rank, perhaps he ought to go and check with the other few in his group who joined Starfleet and see how far they have progressed. It was always a friendly rivalry in the group of travellers from a different planet, having to fit on against all the other species on Earth, but it kept them all as honest as a Coridanite could be.

And once that is done, it’s time to show of his new rank around the Science area. Of course, everyone is likely to know by now, but the faux surprise and honest congratulations will certainly help to lift his spirits.

At Lt. Onn's door, Kylah pauses, unconsciously bouncing a little on her toes in nervousness. Tamping down her anxiety, she presses the door chime. If she hears one of the stowaways, she'll identify herself the formal way as planned--Kylah of the House of the Silver Weeping Tree. Otherwise, she'll either give her name or enter, depending on the response.

For expediency's sake I'm assuming Thalen responded to my question at the end of this post. Wasn't important anyway.

Nia asks Thalen to ask Lts. Onyibe and Rangin for an ETA. "I'm sure they're busy arranging the retrieval of... however many extra supplies the Ain't She needs--food and water rations, bedding if needed, basic medical supplies, and so on."

The medical supplies and rations are probably Rangin's area, she figures. And all those things need people to lug them to the transporter rooms. She continues to Thalen, "Let them know they've got authority to conscript any crew they need for organizing the passengers, gathering and transferring the supplies... whatever's necessary."

Of course, she's aware that Onyibe doesn't need her permission, but Rangin might. Just seems more tactful to tell them both at once.

Normally she'd be addressing Booker too, and not doing so now feels... awkward. Unfamiliar. Well, Rangin will tell him whatever needs to be done. He won't be happy but...

...But Booker Graham's happiness is out of her hands now. That's another woman's job, to the extent that anyone aside from Booker himself can help lift the grief and anger still deeply embedded in his heart.

She clears her throat and pushes on. "Once the passengers have been notified, give everyone a strict thirty minute deadline. Every moment we aren't pushing toward our destination is lost time, as I'm sure the colonists'll agree. So, tell them they have until...." (She glances at the nearest chronometer and finishes her instructions with a deadline that's one half-hour from now.)

Rangin soon has a sharp-looking new blue uniform shirt, with the single intermittent gold braid of a lieutenant (junior grade) on the cuff, to show off. His Science colleagues are pleased and congratulatory when he tells them; several of them had indeed already known about it. Rangin's friend Lt. JG Geoffrey Park, the botanist, shakes his hand and says, "This is great! You've got to let me buy you a drink after we're off-duty, Velir."

Ens. Giya, the Deltan chemist, says with a smile, "And the second round is on me, if you promise not to let all this power go to your head and start bossing us all around. Well done, Lieutenant!"

When Kylah hits the chime, there is a long pause, and the muffled sounds of someone moving around inside. Eventually the door opens, revealing one of the two Russian miners from Novy Rostov she had earlier learned about. "Yes?" he says in a voice thick with sleep.

Thalen says, "Moson's play Not In My House is a drama, about a hundred years old, about a widowed woman who lives with two of her daughters in... I believe the Earth phrase is 'genteel poverty.' When her third daughter returns home after many years away, it exposes various rivalries, secrets and jealousies among the four. It is considered one of the greatest modern Andorian plays." He acknowledges Onn's orders for Rangin and Onyibe.

The Quartermaster adds, "I should have a list of evacuees ready for your approval shortly, ma'am, and then we can begin beaming people and supplies over."

Sorry I overlooked Onn's earlier question to Thalen. Please PM me if I miss something like that.

Kylah hesitates before responding to the stranger in the doorway. "Good afternoon," she says--although she realizes she does not know how long she has been asleep. Perhaps it is evening now. But she soldiers on. "Forgive me for waking you, sir. I am Ensign Kylah. Assistant Communications Officer," she adds, almost apologetically. It is rare for her title to enter into conversations.

Her gaze flits past the miner to whatever she can see of the quarters from here, then returns to him. "I... I believe you are sharing this space with three others. One of whom asked me to contact her if she received a message. Is Mrs.--"

Kylah pauses awkwardly. Hazy from her own tired state, she did not plan what to say. Which is a problem, since she wishes to avoid naming Mrs. Soerdajaya. She exhales in relief when she remembers that the three other temporary inhabitants of this cabin are male. There is no need for specifics. "Is she here?"

Rangin takes the well-wishes with a wry smile. “I’m all open to receiving as many drinks on offer as I can. Last time, I was promoted to Ensign, I had to buy for everyone instead. A perk of the promotion, or so sweet naive me was told at the time.”

He looks round at the assorted Science members, “I think it’s going to be a long time before I remember who I’m supposed to outrank and how I keep being told to clear the lab again.”

"The Indonesian woman?" the man asks, in Federation Standard with a thick Russian accent. He yawns and rubs his eyes. "No, she and the man with her left not long ago. Said she'd found new quarters."

Kylah's communicator vibrates slightly with an incoming text.

Rangin's Science colleagues laugh. "Rank hath its privileges," says Ens. Chris Johnson, the sensor specialist, grinning. "That shouldn't be a problem from now on."

Kylah looks blankly at the tired man. Indonesian? Is that what Mrs. Soerdajaya is? She just assumed they were all Russian. But then humans have so many ways of distinguishing themselves from one another, it was always difficult for Kylah to distinguish them all. Or even remember them. Elas has five continents divided into a dozen or so regions. But they are all, in the end, Elasian. One's family is more important than what region one is from.

But all this is a distraction from the miner's related information. "New quarters," she repeats stupidly, as if learning new vocabulary. "But I told them--"

Her communicator interrupts her--probably for the best--and she makes a vague apology before grabbing at the device to check the text message, all while backing away from the door.

Graham squeezes his eyes shut, returning Marala's embrace, taking a moment to avoid tearing up.

Or pulling back. Someone believed this once before, and...

"What..." he clears his throat. "What does Nikolai like? I mean--spaceships, painting, ju jitsu...? Whatever Starfleet opportunities life in Starfleet can offer, I'd like to make sure--make sure he has every opportunity."

While enjoying the plaudits from his fellow colleagues, Rangin realises he has a call that has been there for some time, while he has been, well distracted by his new braid and that he is expected to be responding to the bridge request..

Excusing himself for a few moments, he replies quickly to Lt Thalen, with the details that Lt Onyibe had all the findings from the visit and should be finalising the list of colonists and other equipment and rations that would need to be transported across.

Once done, he pauses for a moment, before rapidly sending off a brief text message to Lt Onn, that she can pick up at her leisure.

ONN LT. - Thank you for the opportunity to help out with the colonists. I hope my recommendations are acceptable. RANGIN LT. JG.

The door slides shut and Kylah is able to read an incoming text: M. and I have arranged to be beamed to the other ship. We should not show up on any passenger lists, here or there. If all goes well you'll never see us again. Despite all the problems along the way, I'm grateful for your and your House's assistance. S.

Marala smiles. "Starfleet, nullball and eating, in that order. At least two of the three shouldn't be a problem, I'm guessing...?"

Onn's communicator now vibrates slightly with an incoming text.

Nia tells Thalen to thank Lt. Onyibe just as she feels the little buzz on her waist. She snatches up her communicator more rapidly than usual. If 'usual' means 'before last week.' Because the nauseating truth is, she's been grabbing at that device as if she were a Security officer grabbing at a phaser in when faced with a Klingon. Each time, expecting... no, hoping...

But, as it's been all week, it's not him. The opposite of him. Sort of.

Rangin's message is brief. Nia thought he'd still be involved with things regarding the refugee-offloading mission. But they--him and Onyibe and anyone else they conscripted to help with this--have likely worked this out. Onyibe would tell her if things weren't getting done because Rangin hadn't pulled his weight. From what she knows of the guy, he doesn't seem the shirking type.

RANGIN, LT JG - You're welcome, and thanks in return. Good job. Maybe that doesn't really need saying, because what else would you do? But it was a big help, and in less than ideal circumstances.

BTW, that recipient line up there: I'm going to keep using your rank just until it gets properly imprinted in my brain. Otherwise maybe at some point we'll be Nia and

Her thumb freezes, hovering over the keypad. She looks blankly at her tiny screen. Nothing. She knows she knows his first name but right now it's not anywhere in her mental database. Great. A Sidonian woman of 34 is just shy of ancient, but she didn't think memory loss would kick in already. You're distracted. It happens. Not to her, though. It takes a lot to rattle her.

The past week probably counts. She sighs and shakes her head, scowling; then she taps the backspace key a few times, starting where she left off.

BTW, that recipient line up there: I'm going to keep using your rank just until it gets properly imprinted in my brain. Otherwise maybe at some point we'll be on a first name basis.

-- ONN, LT

She sends the message and stuffs the communicator back onto her belt. Only then does she remember that she could've just looked the damn name up using her console. Just to be perverse, she doesn't do so now. Crossing her legs, she remains in control on the Bridge and reminds herself that at least here, she is in control.

Only her back bumping into the wall opposite Lt. Onn's quarters reminds Kylah where she is, or makes her aware that she forgot to stop walking--the message on her screen has practically put her in a trance.

She looks up, not really seeing anything. They are gone. Out of her hands. Whether that is a bad or good thing, she cannot tell.

Did Velir have anything to do with this? Kylah is confused by what she remembers of his message. Would he really have helped a pair of stowaways in such an extraordinary way? She does not believe so, not if it involved falsifying records, which seems to be implied here.

Slowly she lowers her communicator, still holding it prayerfully in both hands. As Mrs. Soerdajaya said, she will not hear from them again; not if they are successful. Of course they could be discovered at any point in the journey, from beaming out to beaming in, from every day on board the other ship to the moment they stop off onto Beta Antares and--Kylah hopes--onward to wherever they plan to go.

There may continue to be danger. Who knows what sort of post-mission follow-up reports will be undertaken, or what information they could possibly turn up. But overall... if everything does go right...

Kylah blinks, sighs in relief, and looks almost dreamily across at Lt. Onn's cabin. I owe her a great deal. I must thank her! If we have shore leave on Beta Antares, I shall find a gift, of... of something. And for Velir, too. Oh, I should never have doubted him! She thanks the stars that she did not seek him out when upset.

A wave of exhaustion ends in a yawn that Kylah quickly hides behind her hand. With no further delay, she turns to find her way back to her quarters and the bed that is beckoning her.

Graham returns Marala's smile. "Well, my, ah, career in Starfleet hasn't always been, uh, exemplary...I guess there's a lot to catch up on. But..." He gives a thumbs up. "I definitely know a lot of people in a lot of different roles who can give Nikolai an introduction to careers in Starfleet."

Mrs. Soerdajaya's text blinks three times and fades away. Kylah then cannot find it anywhere in her communicator or comm account; it has disappeared as completely as if it were never there.

Onn's latest stint as BCDO ends without further incident.

Marala squeezes her future husband again and kisses him. "I know he'd get a kick out of that. And if you know any famous nullball players, well, that'd be just fine, too...."

The forty selected Novy Rostov evacuees beam over to the Ain't She A Butte without any problems, thanks to Onyibe's, Rangin's and Graham's preparations. The Yorktown, Ain't She and the other ships in the convoy arrive at Beta Antares IV a few days later and take up orbit. The great majority of evacuees beam down to the surface, where Federation colonial resettlement personnel stand ready to help them. The heavy cruiser is put back in proper order by her crew, soon once again "ship-shape and Bristol fashion," and shore leave was granted to any crewmember whose duties did not require them to remain aboard. The Van Gogh painting Poppy Flowers is taken by shuttlecraft, under heavy guard, to the New Getty Museum on the planet for temporary display. The Sarafina is returned to her owners by the Yorktown's prize crew, but her captain remains in custody, charged with several offenses for refusing to assist in NR's evacuation and then resisting the seizure of his ship.

Three days after the Yorktown's arrival at Beta Antares IV, Lt. JG Booker Graham's and Marala Gromov's hastily-arranged wedding ceremony is about to begin in the ship's Arboretum on Deck 22. All of the crew are invited. Graham is in full dress uniform, as is his best man, his longtime friend, cabinmate and fellow Security officer, Ens. Faisal Mahmoud. The bride, whom Graham (like his fiancee, a traditionalist in some ways but not in others) has not yet seen in her wedding dress, is in an adjoining compartment for the moment. With her is her son, Nikolai; her friend and maid of honor, Dr. Denise Cobb (the NR physician who assisted Dr. Nathaniel Bennett what seems like an eternity ago); and her and Nikolai's old family friend, Jeremy Cornwall, who was delighted to accept the bride's request to walk her down the aisle.

A few dozen Yorktown crewmembers and NR friends of the bride's are already in the Arboretum, the flowers, bushes and shrubs of which have never looked better. Three rows of chairs await senior officers and selected guests, facing a small, elegant arch set up for the occasion. A Lyceum quintet is playing soft music in one corner; a tempting array of food and drink await the guests on nearby tables for later.

The Captain and First Officer enter, also in dress uniform. They spot Graham and Mahmoud, and approach. The junior officers come to attention. Singh shakes the groom's hand, smiling broadly. "At ease, gentlemen. I haven't done a wedding in a long time, Mr. Graham. Many thanks again for asking me to officiate."

Graham nods to his commanding officer. His smile is a best effort, too much going on in his head and heart to match hers.

Nonetheless, he speaks with conviction. "I'm honored you accepted, Captain. And..." He clears his throat. "I'll always be grateful you...made this possible."

Standing by the Lyceum quintet, Kylah listens to the music with pleasure. Her gaze flicks over to Lt.JG Graham, hoping to speak with him just to wish him luck, but the Captain is occupying his attention and Kylah certainly will not interrupt. How handsome he looks! The dress uniform suits him. She is hardly close enough to sense exactly what he is feeling--not that she would, as he is entitled to his privacy. But even from here, she knows him well enough to note that he seems on edge. But that is natural. Nervousness and anticipation are so very common ahead of such a ceremony.

The Arboretum is its usual pastoral self, so lush with plants, trees, flowers she cannot name. What a beautiful place for a lovely occasion. Something for every sense--even taste, she notes with a little longing inspection of the table laden with food. Ever since the ship reached Beta Antares without incident or word from Mrs. Soerdajaya, Kylah's appetite has been robust for the first time in ages.

She places a hand on her abdomen, almost affectionately. Barely a week ago she received a new uniform to match her smaller figure. Now, dressed in a pink satin gown--something she only brought with her from home because it would be unthinkable not to have one formal dress--she suspects if she keeps eating the way she has, this will again fit her properly, instead of being less form-fitting than Elasian style dictates.

Her eyes scan the room to see if Velir is here. She did not get a chance to ask him if he would attend, and considering the unfortunate tension between him and Lt. Graham, she thinks it unlikely. Still... she glances over to the chair set aside for her. It would have been nice for him to be among the crowd.

Whenever there is a free moment to approach the groom-to-be, Kylah will make her way. Until then she listens to the music and--if the ensemble finishes before Lt. Graham is available--she will compliment them on a beautiful performance so far.

Nia exits the turbolift and moves toward the entrance to the wedding venue. Unconsciously she smooths her uniform and pauses, stepping to the side to let others through.

The Arboretum. Why did it have to be the Arboretum?

Their first real night together. He's provided a picnic, music; honesty. They told each other some of their histories, feeling achingly vulnerable yet also unaccountably safe, being so open with each other. The murder of his beloved wife; her breeding contracts and lost children. But they shared much more pleasant things, too. Gossip. Silly trivia about their Academy days. Books, films, music, sports. And after...

Time passes and when Nia has licked her fingers of the sticky-sweet juice from the last slice of pear, there's a longer pause as she looks across at Booker--easier to do now that the candles have melted down considerably. The music from his tricorder fills in the silence. "It'd be a shame to waste the accompaniment," she murmurs. Smoothly getting to her feet, she holds out a hand to him. "Dance with me?"

"Dance?" Booker blurts out, surprised by the question. He laughs. "Well, yeah, maybe you are 'full of surprises.' But I guess did bring music." He takes her hand and stands up. "I, ah, really hope your scales protect your feet, though..."

It's only a short distance for their lips to move across each others' cheeks into a kiss. Kisses. They are passionate, but not rushed: it's as if the quiet intimacy can and should continue indefinitely...

Nia could happily continue swaying gently up against this muscular, tender man, feeling his mouth on hers--as delicious as anything from that picnic basket--until the tricorder runs out of music. But... not tonight. Damn it, she thinks, but pushes the thought away because she wants just one more kiss...

Finally she breaks to catch her breath. "Book," she whispers, brushing her fingers against his firm jawline. "Book, it's...getting late..."

Graham stops his rhythmic (well, sort of rhythmic) swaying and touches her cheek. "You're right..." He sighs as well. "It wouldn't be in keeping with a proper picnic if I didn't walk you home," he offers. A few moments later--basket packed--they walk arm-in-arm, unhurried, to her quarters. Neither feels the need to speak--in fact, the tricorder is still playing its strolling musician soundtrack--but once they reach Nia's door Graham's the first to break the silence.

"One more dance, inside?" he asks quietly, holding her eyes.

She hesitates once again but smiles and takes his free hand in hers with both tenderness and conviction. She gestures toward the door and leads him in as it swishes open.

Nia's eyes close at the memory of the rest of that night. So much exquisite pleasure, but they hadn't really even started when she'd fucked up. She was supposed to start her overnight Bilitrium treatment, but with Book in her bed, she'd let time get away from her. Sex with him was more important to her than breathing. That should've been flattering, she thinks dryly. But she'd crashed and he'd helped her all night. Held her all night.

With a shake of her head as if annoyed by a fly, she brushes her hair back--she's worn it loose, the one concession to beauty she's made other than the not-very-beautiful dress uniform. Okay. Strategy: to avoid looking at Booker. Find someone, anyone, to laugh with. Ajay. Giya. Even Delaney and his goofy puns.

Nia lifts her chin, squares her shoulders and enters the Arboretum.

"Understood, Mr. Graham, and you're welcome," the Captain says with a knowing look. She, Graham, Vargas and Mahmoud chat briefly before the two senior officers drift off to talk to others gathering in the Arboretum. Mahmoud decides to check on a few last-minute details before the ceremony begins.

Lt. Cecilia Bennett, in a sea-green gown with her dark hair up in an elegant chignon, enters on the arm of Lt. Guillaume Vaudreuil. They greet several other friends.

The Lyceum ensemble is still playing, but Kylah - whose own stylish pink gown has already drawn several admiring glances - sees that Graham is, for the moment at least, alone.

Onn enters the Arboretum and notices several familiar faces, including the Captain and First Officer, as well as some unfamiliar ones, which she knows must be of NR evacuees still on the ship. She sees Mahmoud walk away from Graham, leaving him by himself.

Given a choice of attending Graham’s wedding or cleaning out a pen of Denebian Slime Devils then the choice was obvious. Do neither and find something more interesting to do. Let Graham have his day, everyone else on the ship can be happy for him, but something still feels rotten in Rangin’s thoughts about the whole situation.

No, best thing to do is ignore it, shore leave somewhere far away out of sight and out of mind. There is no point being around and making the entire crew uncomfortable given the current animosity between the pair. Rangin is not stupid enough to incur the wrath of the senior officers should anything happen.

And as things often happen when the pair of them are around, the gods forbid that Kylah is in the mix as well, that just staying away is the most sensible thing to do.

Since the accident, Rangin decides that any form of excitement can wait for another day and if Lt. Cmdr. Roble allows it, Rangin will be spending some peaceful time away from it all.

It was never ending, first cooking for all the refugees and now spinning up a wedding banquet on the spot. Fortunately a few calls ahead to Beta Antares and quick restock of supplies had helped Andy Johnson to alleviate some of the pain this could have caused. As he looks round from his vantage point, he watches the various staff getting the food ready before nodding to himself at the job well done. Dressed in his finest, neatly pressed and buttoned up, Ajay heads to the arboretum, partly to get an idea of the guests for the reception and to enjoy the ceremony, safe in the knowledge that it is not him getting hitched.

As he enters slightly after most others he spots one lone figure and he sidles quietly up to her.

"Afternoon Lt. Onn, it's been a while. How are you?" he says without the hint of innuendo that normally peppered their conversations.

Pleased to find Lt. Graham free for a moment, Kylah weaves her way through the guests until she has reached the groom-to-be.

She looks up at him and smiles. It is still a rare expression--not only because her own circumstances have seldom given her cause to use it, but because smiling is infrequent for Elasians in general. But right now, she feels very happy and cannot hide it.

Delicately she reaches a hand out to touch his wrist, and--if he offers--to shake his hand. "I know you are busy. I just wanted to wish you good luck. You look very elegant. I know I have seen you in dress uniform before, but... not with..." Kylah's free hand gestures vaguely as she tries to find the right words. "Not the way you look today. I am very happy for you. Even if I do not--"

Even if she does not entirely understand this sudden change in his romantic circumstances. Just over a week ago, she found him in Lt. Onn's quarters, and it was clear they were together. Not just together, but.. together. But it is not her business to ask. Men are still inscrutable, in many ways.

"Even if I do not know Ms. Gromov. I hope I will have the chance to rectify that," she adds shyly. "How are you? Are you ready for all this?"

Nia sees Booker alone, temporarily, and her body actually jerks with the immediately halted impulse to head straight to him. No. What would she say? Congrats? Not now. Maybe after, if she can stomach it. What a coward she's turned out to be. Shameful.

Forcing her gaze away from Book, she can't avoid noticing Cece on the arm of Vaudreuil. Somehow this doesn't surprise her. She's long been aware of Vaudreuill's admiration for the Navigator. It's about time he acted on it.

The other woman's beautiful gown makes Nia self-conscious. So elegant, graceful, feminine. And now a small, pink-clad figure hurrying toward Booker catches Nia's attention too, mainly for wearing... Good grief. Nia has a rather revealing negligee that offers more chest coverage.

She smells a pleasantly familiar aftershave, and immediately after it registers, an equally familiar voice murmurs beside her. Nia sighs in relief and turns. Ajay looks better than anyone has a right to in his uniform. "Now that you're here, I'm doing well. You're a sight for sore eyes, and yeah. It's been way too long." The urge to hug him is overwhelming--almost as much as the desire for him to hug her.

A sure sign she's not doing as 'well' as she claims. She's not a huggy person, nor is Ajay. Usually, if their bodies touch they're not fully clothed.

"We've got a lot to catch up on, mate," she says under her breath with a smile plastered on her face. "Because I'm actually kinda sucky. How about you? Are you here as a guest or will you be on duty to deal with the spread. Which looks great, by the way."

Graham's surprised - pleasantly surprised - to see what looks like an authentic smile from Kylah.

God knows she deserves it after everything she's been through, whether or not some bad judgment calls might've made things harder than they had to be.

Graham accepts her offered handshake. He shakes his head slightly. "You're too kind, Kylah. I'm the lucky one here...assuming, Ms. Gromov, for her part, is indeed ready for this."

He pauses and sighs. "But I can't say it's not... weird, I guess. I wanted nothing more than this when we were 17. Now--" he shakes his head. "It's a hell of a way to wind up at that childhood dream... a lot in between...." A hint of pain can't help but leak into his tone. He pushes it back.

"But -- hey, ...the song?" He perks himself up. "If you're willing and able to play it... you don't have to, but -- speaking of the past -- it would be... a nice surprise for her."

Shore leave having been granted to any crewmember whose duties did not require them to remain aboard, Rangin may beam down to Beta Antares IV if he wishes. It is a fairly typical Class-M Federation member world with the usual mix of cities, towns, open spaces and both indoor and outdoor recreation.

Before speaking to Onn, Johnson saw that all was in readiness with the refreshments on offer in the Arboretum; the Mess stewards have things well in hand.

“Me, I’m knackered after all the colonists needed feeding for the last few days and could do with some more downtime bed-wise,” Ajay replies conversationally but hiding the traces of tiredness as he stands next to Nia. While he is not totally on the job at the moment, he is not going to let the team down by appearing as anything less than a highly trained professional.

“I’m on drinks for after the event, at least making sure glasses go out full and come back empty. I do have a couple of interesting bottles stashed away if you’re interested. The spread will be fine, I just hope Ms. Gromov’s Karavai* tastes as good as it looks. She spent a little while in the Galley putting it together, although I’d not be surprised if Lt Graham knew nothing about it.”

While it’s easy to chat about the bride and groom, it’s probably doing nothing got Nia, so Ajay decides to change up the topic and possibly divert her current train of thoughts.

“So, enough about them, and yeah, life kinda sucks as well. Once the reception is over, I’m on the first shift for the drinks, then free for the rest of the evening. If you wanna go commiserate, indulge in that alcohol I mentioned, and go laugh at how bad we both suck, I’m up for that.”

Ajay winces slightly at the last comment, it could be taken either way and a few months ago, it would have meant an open invitation. But at the wedding of her very-recent EX, it’s probably not the comment she is looking for.




* Karavai - Russian Wedding Bread

Kylah can see and feel the emotions churning within Mr. Graham's gaze and his heart. She cannot identify exactly what is causing it, but knowing what little she does of his past, she can guess.

She covers his hand with her own, sandwiching them together. "The path was long and painful," she says softly. "But you have your daughter. And the memories of her mother, which I know you will always cherish. You deserve joy, and I wish it for you."

She smiles again. "As for the piece... yes, sir, I have learned it. My lute is by my chair." Kylah glances over to the seat against the wall, the case for the borrowed Vulcan lute tucked underneath. "The song is beautiful and I hope I do it justice. I forgot to ask, though: Do you wish it to be the processional, or has Mrs. Gromov already chosen that?"

Nia, despite her promise to herself, is glancing over to Booker and Kylah. Though distracted, she matches Ajay's banter. "I don't recall you ever complaining about how bad I sucked."

At last she drags her attention back to her friend. "Yeah, I would absolutely love to get drunk. Really sloppy, no-holds-barred, obnoxiously drunk. Engies-on-shore-leave drunk. But you forget alcohol won't do it for me. The hardest rotgut might as well be a milkshake."

Most Sidonian lifeforms evolved the ability to synthesize almost any water-based fluid and filter out any impurities. Alcohol, mud, even urine--all could be life-sustaining, if not ideal.

"Certain drugs work, as I learned during my experimental spree at the Academy," she muses, then sighs. "But those days are long gone. Any wonder I specialize in other forms of recreation?"

Out of the corner of her eye she spies Cece again, and that glimpse--plus the sight of Kylah seconds ago--only makes her move closer to Johnson. "I'll take you up on the invite even without the drinks. But first... Aje... I'm gonna ask you something that I really hate myself for asking. I don't believe it's gonna come out of my mouth but--you're literally the only person in the galaxy I trust not to mock the hell out of me for it."

She pushes her hair back, smooths the front of her dress uniform again, and faces him square on. Her eyes staring up at him are wide green and atypically vulnerable. "Do I... look... okay?"

Not for the first time, Graham is struck by the contrast between small, smooth hands and his scarred mitts. Scarred from suffering pain, scarred from dishing pain out.

But the moment gives his something to hold onto: you keep showing up so Kylah's hands, Lizzie's hands...Nikolai's hands...never have to look like mine,

"Well..." he clears his throat. "Well, I deserve some credit for 'playing dumb,' in this case, in any event." He gives Kylah a small smile. "Ms--Marala--is expecting a traditional wedding staple, 'Here Comes the Bride.' I didn't bring anything else up." He nods contemplatively. "Let her take her first step...then, have at it...and--thank you."

Mahmoud comes back over. He smiles at the Communications officer and says, "Hello, Ens. Kylah. You look great!" He says to Graham, "I think we're ready to start. You OK, Book?"

When Ens. Mahmoud appears, Kylah blinks in surprise and offers a quick "Thank you" for the kind compliment. "Best of luck again, sir," she adds to Mr. Graham, before backing away and heading to her chair. On the way she spots Mr. Johnson and Lt. Onn, and while the latter seems proud and confident, Kylah cannot help wondering how she really feels. This was all so sudden. But Mr. Graham clearly has no regrets, and Lt. Onn is standing quite close to the young chef. Perhaps she and Mr. Johnson are now...

She shakes her head and sits down. The romantic entanglements on the Yorktown are none of her business. Just one, her own. And it is hardly... that is, she and Velir are not really...

Biting the inside of her cheek, Kylah turns around to see if Velir has arrived. She had already made up her mind that he would likely not attend, but she never asked him, and it strikes her that she should have. She discreetly--as discreetly as possible, anyway--slips her communicator out from where it's been warmly nestled, tucked in her dress's bodice. Then types a very quick note.

RANGIN, VELIR, LT.JG. - The wedding is about to start, if you had plans to attend. Or are you taking shore leave? I just wondered if I would see you here. -- KYLAH

Once the message is sent, she keeps the device in one hand, making sure to mute the notification sound, and then takes the Vulcan Lute carefully out of its case. It will remain down by the side of her chair, leaning up against the wall, to be ready for her when it is time.

"I'm good, Faisal," Graham replies quietly after Kylah leaves. "I'm glad you're here."

He squints and growls, but nonetheless isn't able to suppress a smile. "Try not to step on Marala's foot or anything, 'K?"

Mahmoud chuckles. "That's the plan. Other than not losing the rings, I think keeping clear of the bride's feet is right near the top of every best man's list of key responsibilities."

The Captain makes her way to the wedding arch, a small book in her hands, and stands beneath it. People begin taking their seats. Jeremy Cornwall comes into the Arboretum, peers around, exchanges a nod with Mahmoud, and disappears again.

Getting away from the USS Yorktown was a good idea and taking shore leave to avoid the ceremony's an even better one.

Sitting on a hillside in glorious sunshine in one of the national parks and seeing the sweeping forests in front of him reminding him of home, although without the illegal mining and dropships swooping in and out of the area as quickly and as stealthily as they could.

Rangin is not sure why he is thinking of it, but listening to the sounds of the birds around helps to give a little peace to whatever his is thinking.

The message comes in and he absent-mindedly opens and reads it. Ah, well, there goes his sense of calm as Kylah brings himself back into the harsh reality that someone several kilometers above the surface, Graham is getting married. Rangin had been hoping that being on the other side of the planet might help get him a little further away, but it is not meant to be.

Wait, what was the old earth custom. He holds up the communicator and snaps a picture of the beautiful vista in front of him and sends the image back to Kylah.

KYLAH, ENS. - Wish you were here. VELIR

He sends the message off and then sits back to once again relax.

“You’ve looked better, I’ll be honest.” Ajay replies casually to Nia’s question, “Didn’t think you the type to get misty-eyed over someone, so he must have been good. Hope he makes the next one as happy as he did you for those weeks, but life’s what it is, roll with it and move on.”

He looks around at the rest of the congregation and sees a lot of happy, smiling faces, all looking to wish the best towards the happy couple.

Ajay looks over at the ceremony beginning to form up, “You know, If you want someone to come sit next to you and hand hankies across as things go on, I’m happy to do so. Just let me know if you're going to object, so I can sit on you.”

He looks back towards his long time partner in, well, many things. “Time to let him go, NIa. It was never meant to be. Be happy for him in his new life. I’ve seen enough vids of weddings where a calamitous ex makes a fool of herself. Then again, you’re not the type to throw yourself at the groom, more find some poor unsuspecting fool with a penchant for pretty ladies and make off with him.”

Ajay can’t help grinning at her remembering several times that Nia has done precisely that, including one very boring event when he first met her. “Don’t worry, you still got plenty of friends to lean into if you need them. And If you’re still bored, always dangerous with you, I’ll introduce you to a few things that will have an impact and, yeah, I have a bucket of ice on standby.”

Kylah feels the buzz in her hand just as she spots the Captain approaching. She takes a swift look at her inbox, and the beautiful, bucolic image Velir sent her--and most of all, the implied invitation of his brief message.

Glancing up to make sure no one is paying attention, she lets her thumbs fly to dash off a response to his Wish you were here....

VELIR - Perhaps, if there is time after the ceremony--and if you do wish it--I could be? -- KYLAH

She closes the communicator and, feeling a little guilty, tucks it back out of sight. As a guest she should remain attentive and thoughtful during this happy day in Lt. Graham's life. Still, she smiles inwardly and rubs her bare arms, now tingling with goose bumps at the prospect of being somewhere so lovely with Velir. At his request.

Nia has to shift her gaze quickly away from her friend, not wanting to show how disappointed, and even a little hurt, she is. He's been around long enough to know that when a woman asks a man how she looks, the blunt, unvarnished truth is rarely the right answer. But Ajay isn't just any man, and she knows that. She loves that. So she has no one but herself to blame for his not being willing to pacify or feed her ego.

"Well. Gotta admit, that's... not the answer I wanted," she says, watching Singh move up to the groom-to-be. "But maybe it's the one I needed. You're right. Wasn't in the cards. Something always got in the way. That's why I don't actually know how 'good' he was. We hadn't even gotten that far..."

She shrugs and, tilting her head in the direction of a couple of empty chairs, starts to lead him forward. When she reaches the first empty seat she realizes she'll have an unobstructed view of Booker. And vice versa. But the latter would only matter if he looks.

He would've been good, she knows. Not just the way Ajay means. Book would've been good for her. But... again: didn't happen, won't happen.

After sweeping her hand underneath her skirt, she sits down. "Of course I'll move on. I'm amazing at choosing options when there's only one left. As for the fools I can grab, unsuspecting or otherwise--yeah, I know, that's never been a problem. This just felt..."

No sense finishing that sentence, so she just pats the seat beside her waiting for Ajay to park himself. Suddenly she sees another day just last week; another visit to this very floor. When he told her about Marala.

Booker raises a fist, arm tense and trembling, wanting to lash out at something. He turns away, takes a deep breath, and then turns back to Nia, almost whispering: "If it...ah...if something should prevent me from serving on Yorktown in the future, I want you to know...you're as special as anyone has ever been to me, too, Nia."

While Booker speaks, Nia's eyes widen, and her lips part in a deep breath. Once he's done--saying such humbling, loving things to her--she finally exhales. "Oh no... oh, Book..." She stares at his deep eyes and, briefly wordless, lifts his hand up for a tender kiss before leaning her cheek upon it.

"First, thank you for that. I--I don't really know what to say." The misty, exotic scent of the room fills her lungs as she tries to find the right words. "You aren't going anywhere," she says firmly. "Or at least--if you go, I'll be right beside you. Because if you have to do anything--" Nia pauses. She steps closer to Book. "Whatever you need to do, I'll help."

Nia looks intently at Book's strong, weathered face. She touches his cheek. "Promise me you won't do anything rash," she says, before lifting an eyebrow. "Which I define as anything you'd do without telling me. I want to help, if I can. Don't shut me out."

Don't shut me out. Nia almost laughs at herself. So noble, so heartfelt. But she'd meant it. She wanted to help, and she did. And truth is, she'd do it again.

She sighs. "The same biology that makes me unable to drink makes me unable to cry. Not much, anyway. So keep your hankie. But don't worry, I have no plans to wail and object. Although if you're offering a lapdance, I won't object to that, either." Nia leans over to kiss his cheek, murmurs a soft "Thanks, Aje". And--with a bright smile that might as well be a papier-mâché mask--turns to face the future that just one week ago, when Booker told her just how much she meant to him, she'd never have foretold.

"Please be seated," says the Captain, "and let us begin."

As the crowd settles in, Mahmoud takes his place beside Graham, a few paces to the Captain's left.

The Lyceum ensemble plays a stirring tune, and Nikolai comes down the aisle between the chairs, dressed in a dark civilian suit just his size. He looks nervous but dignified - as much as anyone his age can be - and is clearly glad to finally take his seat in the front row. Dr. Cobb is next, in a dark green dress; she comes down the aisle and stands to the Captain's right.

Next comes Marala, on Jeremy Cornwall's arm. The old man is dressed similarly to Nikolai. Marala's dress is simple but beautiful. No frills, with nothing to be added or subtracted - just like her, and blue like her eyes, too, the groom thinks as he looks at her, almost transfixed. The dress hugs somewhat more pronounced curves than she had back in the day, when she and Booker were teenagers, but it is unmistakable. Booker recognizes it as her prom dress, or something very similar to it, from what he thought had been their last date, long ago. She carries a bouquet of perfect lilies, taken from the Arboretum less than half an hour earlier, and is beaming with happiness. When she and Cornwall stand before the Captain, he kisses the bride on the cheek, smiles at Graham and gently places her hand in his before sitting next to Nikolai. The music draws to a sweet close.

Capt. Singh smiles at the bride and groom and then looks out into the shining faces of the crowd. The Arboretum is by now quite full; many more of the Yorktown's crew are watching shipwide over the comm system. She clears her throat and says, "Since the days of Earth’s first wooden sailing ships, all captains have enjoyed the happy privilege of joining two people in the bonds of matrimony. And so it is my honor to unite you, Marala Gromov, and you, Lt. (Junior Grade) Booker Graham, in marriage. I do so in the sight of your shipmates and friends, and in accordance with our many customs and beliefs, so that you may pledge your love and fidelity to one another. Today, even as we remember those so recently lost on Novy Rostov, we come together to celebrate this happy occasion, and the beginning of a life together for two people unexpectedly but joyously reunited after many years apart." She consults her book. “The bride and groom have written their own vows, consistent with, and drawing from, the traditions of their homeworld of Earth.”

So much flashes fast and furiously in Graham's mind: there was a time when the two things I hoped for most, and despaired of ever having, were a commission in Starfleet and Marala at my side.

And yet in between then and now, I loved a wife, lost a wife...and Marala lost a husband.

He's grateful the Captain is calling the shots, because he's overwhelmed--by the thought of Marala and Nikolai being left behind on the colony.

It's never more clear that was not going to happen--if it cost me everything. How could it have been a possibility for a moment...

That doesn't matter, Booker, he reminds himself. It's in the past.

And YOUR past doesn't matter either--it's all about doing right by Marala and Nikolai. And Lizzie. Doing better by her.

Appreciate the moment, you idiot, he tells himself. You loved--love--Marala. And for some reason this beautiful strong woman loved--and loves--you.

Kylah leans forward attentively to hear all of the Captain's preamble and, especially, the couple's vows. She is now not certain when Lt. Graham wishes her to play the song, as there was no opportunity during the processional after all. But she trusts that he will give her a bit of a warning when the time is near. Kylah frowns, trying to recall the traditions of a secular marriage ceremony so she can guess when a song would be appropriate. Perhaps while they exchange the rings?

Though the prospect of marriage is not a pleasant one for Kylah herself, she can see what a beautiful notion it is when undertaken by people who are actually in love. She releases a contented little sigh and continues to watch.

The bride and groom turn to face one another and take both of each other’s hands as Singh reads, “The union of a husband and wife in heart, body and mind is intended by the Creator of the Universe for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort they may thus give one another in time of adversity; for sexual and emotional fulfillment; and for the creation and nurturing of children, when such is the will of the Creator and of those entering into this most holy joining. Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into hastily, or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the principles for which it was established long ago. Into this sacred union our friends Marala and Booker now come.”

She looks up. “If anyone has just cause why they should not be lawfully married, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

They really use the 'does anyone object' part? Nia almost laughs. She thought it was a dramatic device used by old films. She can't think of what would cause someone to voice an objection in the middle of a wedding. Why wait until the last possible moment? If Nia had objections, she'd make 'em clear as soon as possible.

But she hadn't even objected when Book told her that no, this wasn't just a fake wedding used as an excuse to save Marala's life. Apparently during the interim between Nia's having suggested it, her hours in confinement and then on Bridge watch, and finally her bumping into him in the corridor outside Security, he'd gone and made a huge life decision. He and Marala were truly in love, presumably always had been, and this was the Real Thing.

Nia had five seconds to process this and, maybe because she was shocked or defiant or proud, she just congratulated him. No big deal. Said a few casual things she barely remembers and then got the hell away from there.

She sits still now, doesn't blink or shift or even breathe. Just maintains her pleasant, calm facade and stares at Booker's face while waiting for this whole fucking thing to be over.

Ajay sits quietly next to NIa as the ceremony continuing, trying to keep focus on the couple up front, but his mind keep wandering around looking at the people even as his ears keep listening in. In general, most of the people here seems rapt in attention as if they have never seen a wedding before. A few dabbed eyes, a few noses blown, a few people thinking like him and waiting for the reception to open.

Then his ears pick up the vows and he side-eyes across to Nia, seeing her sat still and unmoving with more than a hint of granite in her face. If she plays poker, she could bluff anything on that face.

At the call for just cause ringing out from the captain, Ajay reaches a hand out and wraps it around her upper arm, not as a way to stop her leaping up, he knows she is far better than that, but as a gesture of solidarity at what she is losing at this moment in time.

The Captain looks around, Cmdr. Vargas raises an eyebrow, and the half-serious glare which Mahmoud turns to the crowd elicits a few chuckles, but the room is otherwise silent.

Singh continues, “Very well. Marala, willingly, freely and by your most solemn vow, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you swear to love him, to comfort and honor him, forgiving him when he errs; in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer; and, forsaking all others, to be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

The bride smiles at Graham, a sweet, shy smile that reminded him in spades that this was once the person with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. “I do,” she says, and squeezes his hands.

Singh turns to Graham. “Booker, willingly, freely and by your most solemn vow, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you swear to love her, to comfort and honor her, forgiving her when she errs; in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer; and, forsaking all others, to be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

At her friend's warm, supportive touch, Nia leans just slightly toward him, a micron closer, allowing the comfort because she needs it. Really, this is worse than she expected, every word by the Captain and now Marala herself sinking into her gut like depth charges striking her with a shocking thud.

"Forgiving him when he errs," Nia hears, and swallows with difficulty, her throat so tight it's painful. Like when he calls you 'Jane' after a night in your arms, for example. Or was that just me? So forgettable, just a placeholder between the great loves of his life?

Nia takes a deep breath and exhales. Almost done now.

The words "as long as you both shall live" hurt.

A momentary white hot lance of pain knifing through his gut. Jane took that vow. I took that vow with--for--her.

But it passes, with--at most--a slight wince, he thinks, maybe an little involuntary twitch of his hands.

Maybe this is a shot a redemption. Maybe this my chance to repay Marala for all she did for me when we were kids and I was--a mess. A different mess than I've been since, but one that might not have made it out of adolescence in any kind of a good way.

Despite the momentary invocation of painful memories, he doesn't want a drink.

He wants to say "yes."

He glances down at their entwined hands, and then comes back hold Marala's eyes.

I'm so much stronger than I was, then.

He returns her squeeze, gently but firmly.

"I do, Captain."

Marala is close to tears - happy ones, Graham can tell - but she does not cry.

Singh nods to the bride's friend and maid of honor, Dr. Denise Cobb, who steps forward and faces the crowd.

In a clear voice, glancing now and then at a small book in her hand, she says, "A reading from St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians: 'If I speak in the tongues of people and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor, and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I was grown, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.'"



On the planet below, Rangin sees someone else approaching, coming through the woods along the hillside trail.

Relaxing on the hillside, Rangin lowers the binoculars he had been using for spotting the animals in the area and looks across at the person coming up the trail.

While they are in the area, the animals will certainly be hiding until they have passed, given their obviousness to the surroundings.

Too early for Kylah, probably some more walkers on the path, he thinks to himself as he raises the binoculars once again to get an early view of who they might be.

Kylah wraps her arms around her middle, hugging herself as she listens to the beautiful speech. Much, but not all, is familiar--she must have read it either at the Academy or during her private tutelage back home, where she focused on learning Federation Standard and human culture. She has to correct her earlier speculation--this is not a secular ceremony after all, given this passage and the earlier reference to a Creator. This surprises her, as she does not picture Lt. Graham as religious. Of course, the service might have been requested by Mrs. Gromov. Almost Mrs. Graham now.

She closes her eyes to commit to memory the lines that she found particularly moving. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Patience. Kindness. Protection. Will anyone love her in such a way?

Trust. Hope. Perseverance. Will she ever exhibit such qualities? Ever be brave enough to exhibit them? Or choose the right person with whom to exhibit them?

When she sees a mental image of Velir's face, she opens her eyes. That is impossible. They are friends, yes, perhaps a little more, but he would never... no. It is impossible.

Even if it were possible for him to have such faith in her, she will not let herself dream of making such a commitment to him or any man. Not of her own choice. Not until she is no longer under her uncle's guardianship. Fourteen months more.

Kylah watches the couple with admiration--how much they have been through and suffered, to find each other again!--and, just as strongly, yearning. With no religious belief, certainly none in any benevolent creator or greater power, she cannot pray. But she hopes with all her heart that the passage's final words are true, and that she will somehow fulfill them.

Love never fails.

When the speech starts and it turns out to be related to one of the human tribal faiths, Nia zones out and can't help a quick visual survey of the Arboretum crowd. Many seem mesmerized. Kylah, for one, looks ready to burst into rapturous applause. And if she keeps leaning over, she's gonna burst herself right out of that ridiculous neckline.

This possibility raises a tiny smile. Now that'd certainly take attention away from the lovebirds.

Despite Nia's irreverent thoughts, the woman's speech slowly breaks through her disinterest. The repetition, that's what gets her. It's a cleverly crafted text, beautifully achieving its purpose of hammering home one singular, sentimental message.

If, back at the Academy, Nia had been assigned to write something wholly, utterly foreign, something to express notions that are downright anathema to Sidonian culture... well, she'd do a terrible job, she's no poet or any artsy type. But Nia wouldn't need anything original, 'cause this speech would be dead on. Even ignoring the language barrier, no Sidonian--or at least none in the Ve region, Nia's homeland--would comprehend a single word.

Unfortunately, Nia does. And all she hears is: Without love, you mean nothing. You are nothing.

She could lead a mission and save thousands of lives; she could discover new civilizations and introduce them to the wonders of the universe; she could be lauded as the best pilot in the Alpha Quadrant; she could--as she did-- have as many children as her body could produce in eight short years, performing the most treasured, most sacred act of her people.

But she's alone. And here, on this ship among a population of nearly 500 who are nothing like her and who literally breathe different air, that's what matters.

Of course Ajay next to her doesn't think that way; Nia knows that. Some of the others, too, probably many. Still, this litany of reminders slamming toward her one by one... it seems almost hostile. Dangerous. She's trying to navigate a deadly asteroid field in a shuttle with shields at 10% and fried thrusters.

She sits back as if bracing for impact, frozen but inwardly screaming at herself in contempt. It's an ancient made-up myth like Sid'Os, just pretty words written who-knows-how-many millennia ago. It's not about me. Or about me and Book, I didn't even know him that long, and obviously not as well as I thought. So why am I such a mess, I shouldn't be reacting like this, what the fuck is going on?

To the crew she stays as serene as a sated dezora lying on a sun-baked rock. But the asteroids are tearing the shuttle apart and Nia Onn has no idea how to escape.

Singh says, “Will those of you witnessing this ceremony do all in your power, with love, truth and reason, to uphold Marala and Booker in their marriage? If so, please say 'We will.'”

Virtually everyone says loudly, “We will!!!”

The Captain then nods to Mahmoud, who produces two simple gold rings. Singh raises a hand and says, “Bless these rings, O great and infinite Creator, that they may be signs of the vows by which Marala and Booker have bound themselves to each other in love, now and forever.”

The couple places the rings on each other’s fingers. Singh says, “Mr. Graham, you may kiss the bride.” She grins. “That’s an order.”



Rangin sees that two unfamiliar humanoid aliens are approaching. They both appear to be male. Each is dressed in oddly stiff-looking clothing and carries a metal pole or walking stick; one also has a backpack of sorts.

It takes Graham a second to process the reality of what's happening...

It was only Nia, so recently, that made me think I might fall in love again.

And now I'm marrying the first woman who made me feel I could be a man worthy of love.

To save her life, and that of her--as I failed to do for the mother of my daughter.

What's gone can't come back, Booker.

What's here is your chance to do right by a beautiful woman and soul.

When Marala had romantic overtures toward him on the colony, he had demurred.

Not any more.

He bends and gives her a kiss that's gentle but insistent enough to try to convey that's where he now stands.

A rush of warm and pleasant feelings suffuses Kylah's heart, so happy for the couple after losing so much. Hurriedly she picks up the lute, concerned that she might have missed the opportunity to play the song Lt. Graham wished. Now seems to be an appropriate time, she hopes, and softly begins to play Greensleeves.

Given the joyful moment of this kiss, she makes a quick judgement call to start at the middle section before returning to the more melancholic part of the tune. Also, she decides not to sing. First, because she is not the focus of this event and would not want to draw attention from where it belongs. But mostly, the beginning lyrics are not appropriate for the event. The object of the singer's adoration has 'cast him off discourteously,' obviously not returning his love. Hardly descriptive of the newlyweds.

Amid almost universal gladness in the surrounding crowd, Kylah cannot help noticing one jarringly out-of-sync emotional reaction--pain is the closest way to describe it. The feelings are too diffuse, and the feelings of delight around her are too powerful, to identify the source. Of course she continues playing--the lovely song is quite simple for her--but darts her gaze around to see if anyone needs help.

Curiously, despite the strength of the emotion, strong enough to reach Kylah in a fairly crowded audience, she can see no one in visible distress. A good sign, she supposes, although the feeling remains, like a dissonant note in an otherwise perfectly harmonious chorus.

She refocuses on the music and the lucky married couple before her.

Walkers, Rangin thinks to himself, probably following the same trail that he did to get up to this lovely spot.

He turns back to the view in front of him and looks back around to see if he can catch a glimpse of more of the wildlife.

Marala returns Graham's kiss with definite enthusiasm. When they both came up for air, to general merriment and shouts of encouragement, the Captain, smiling, quiets the crowd. “Just a little bit more to go, please, everyone.” She reads from her book, “As Booker and Marala have here given themselves to each other by solemn vows, by the joining of hands and the exchange of rings, I now declare, by the authority vested in me by Starfleet Command and the United Federation of Planets, that they are husband and wife. May the Eternal Guardian of us all, the God of all Earth and the vast and boundless Universe beyond, bless and keep them, both now and forevermore. Those whom the Creator has joined together, let no one put asunder. Amen.”

“Amen,” Vargas and many others in the assembled crowd say. Singh snaps her book shut, confetti flies, Kylah's lovely tune is more or less drowned out (although not before Marala blurts out with obvious delight, "Oh, Boojee, you remembered!"), and the crowd surges forward to congratulate the newlyweds. Mahmoud is second only to the Captain in embracing Graham and kissing the radiantly-smiling bride; Nikolai is not far behind.



Rangin sees a small flock of birds about a kilometer to the northeast; with his binoculars, he identifies them Jefford's sparrows, a somewhat common native species. The two aliens reach him and stop; they do not seem winded from their climb. One bows slightly and says in a calm, rather flat voice, "Hello, friend. Enjoying your day, yes?" The Coridanite xenobiologist doesn't recognize their species: they are each pale blue, hairless, with a prominent cranial ridge and irregular, dark-blue markings on both face and throat. They have what appear to be ear slits set well back on either side of their heads.

The aliens look like this guy, of a species as yet unnamed on ST: https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Grathon_Tolar

Kylah smiles as the celebration begins, especially when Marala expresses her surprise about Greensleeves. Music is such a vital aspect of memories of all kinds, good or bad, and it is clear Lt. Graham evoked some happy, meaningful experience from their past.

But Kylah can hardly hear herself, and she knows she is superfluous. Drawing the song to a close, she returns it to its case with great care. I do not even remember who gave this Lt. Thalen for me to borrow. She wonders if that person is here now; she really should thank them.

After snapping the case shut, she stands and watches the couple's friends offering their congratulations. Her hands massage each other absently while she glances around for someone friendly--perhaps Lt. Thalen, Mr. Alvarez or Ens. Sasok, with whom she was able to assist in fixing that errant exploration probe and they had some nice rapport. Or Dr. T'var, she must be here if not on duty. Kylah would rather be sociable than walk through the crowd alone. Still, while she continues to look, she joins the line so she, too, can congratulate the couple.

Kylah does not spot Thalen or Alvarez in the noisy crowd. Ens. Sasok is across the Arboretum, talking to Lt. Cmdr. Roble and a gaggle of other Science personnel. Dr. T'Var is not far from them, smiling at something Dr. Villa is saying to her. Kylah recognizes a bearded young officer, also in Science blue, approaching her: Ens. Frederick Mayhew, the ship's new geologist, whom she met not long ago. He comes up to her, a big smile on his face. "That was a beautiful tune, Kylah. What was it? I didn't recognize it, although I probably should."

Rangin looks across at the two walkers and his eyes light up at the new species in front of him and he really wishes he has a tricorder about now, as he starts making mental notes of their appearance and wondering where they had come from or if there were any other spacefaring species they were closely related to.

“Good day to you both and yes, it’s a lovely day indeed with a beautiful view. If you don’t mind me asking, have you travelled far?”

Suddenly missing out on Graham’s nuptials is the good option.

Kylah smiles at Mr. Mayhew. They shared a pleasant albeit brief breakfast earlier in the week--breakfast for him, lunch for her. She cannot actually be certain he found it as pleasant, since she was exhausted and barely sentient after yet another double watch.

She thanks him for the compliment. "It is called 'Greensleeves.' From your sixteenth century, I believe. The sixteenth century," she corrects herself. How odd, it has been a long time since she made an error regarding the Terran (and thus mostly Starfleet-standard) century system. "Lt. Graham said it was a special song to him and Ms. Gro--Mrs. Graham."

With another smile, Kylah glances at Mr. Graham. "He would be delighted to have heard me use that name. Of course by now many people have probably repeated it to him... perhaps to the point of excess. Though I doubt there is such a thing as 'excess' to either of them, on that front."

An amused little shrug brings her focus back to Mr. Mayhew. "Have you been to many marriage ceremonies, Mr...." No, he has used her name casually; she has not yet done so, but she reciprocates with a slightly tentative, "Frederick?"

"

“Boojee?” Ajay whispers quietly to Nia trying not to chuckle, “I didn’t know that one. Did you know?”

He remains seated next to her watching the rest of the crowd surge forward and while he can appreciate the elation of the rest of the group, someone needs to, if not watch out for Nia because she’s a big girl and can take care of herself, provide a little support and such like to get her through this because Nia watching her lover of a few days ago marrying his childhood sweetheart - just because she is there - is going to be on one of those top-ten lists of worst life moments ever.

“You holding up ok?” he asks slightly more seriously this time, waiting to see how she is reacting to the hubbub around.

The kiss is everything Nia feared. She watches dully and applauds just as dully. She's just noticed music coming from somewhere when the bride exclaims in joy.

Nia blinks in disbelief and feels a swell of... something. Humor? Not really. But also not... not humor. Somehow that makes sense to her.

Feeling like one of the dozen curious xenobiologists who virtually swarmed around her as soon as she stepped onto her first Class M-based starship--examining her, studying her, except now she's the one doing the objective viewing of herself--she turns to Ajay to respond to his questions.

"Thanks. I'm okay." Rising, she smooths her skirt, then waits for him to join her in line. When he does, she adds under her breath, "Maybe a little better now that I realize he's gonna have to hear that ridiculous nickname for the rest of his life."

The alien who had not spoken before says to Rangin, "We have come up from the city, friend. A most pleasant walk, yes." They both look very attentively at Rangin. It is almost but not quite creepy.

Mayhew says, "Oh, God, yes. I've heard that reading from Corinthians at least a million times. I have four older sisters and so many big cousins that I probably averaged three weddings a year before I joined Starfleet. Too much of a good thing sometimes, y'know - not so many since, fortunately. How about you?"

Graham and his new bride are still surrounded by lots of happy, smiling people. The noise has now died down somewhat, and the Lyceum ensemble resumes playing.

Kylah is impressed by Mr. Mayhew's experience of having so many siblings and cousins to share such celebrations. "This is only my second. My cousin Elaan was married less than a year ago. She is now Queen of Troyius, our neighbor planet. The ceremony was...very different."

She pauses, taking in the greenery, unusual and sweet-smelling flowers, along with the warm lamps that tend to them all; the exquisite music, including the song that was deeply meaningful to the bride and groom; the casual ease of the ceremony itself. And above all, the couple.

From the few times she has been able to see them, and from what she has felt this afternoon, she knows they do love each other. Kylah cannot quite pinpoint the exact flavor of their connection--that of beloved friends, or nostalgic childhood sweethearts, or the deep abiding relationship that has been nurtured from a seed to a blossom, weathering storms as well as sunny days. The sort I would wish, with a husband, she thinks with a tiny wistful sigh.

Something tells her that the Grahams do not quite have this--not yet. Theirs is a connection that began so long ago, was quickly extinguished, lengthily separated into two lifetimes, and now abruptly, serendipitously rekindled. But they can develop the other, deeper love in time.

The entire service, with all the natural beauty, high-spirited friends and colleagues, deeply felt spiritual passages, and mutually loving couple--it could not have been more different from Elaan's ceremony. Kylah expresses this to Mr. Mayhew as tactfully as possible.

"Marriage is not sentimental," she begins. "If you were to attend an Elasian wedding, you might find it closer to watching a theater production. Or an athletic competition. Most marriages are arranged, you see, at least for noble houses. So with the weddings themselves, much is... performative, for lack of a better word." The thought reminds her of her sister, Ditraa, who is already assessing suitors. "I suppose the next I will attend will be for my younger sister. She is already sixteen, after all. But then again, I might not be able to take such a trip."

Noticing that things are slightly calmer around the Arboretum, Kylah nods toward the reception line. "I should like to speak with them. Would you join me? Oh.. I am sorry, perhaps you prefer to enjoy the food and drinks. I do not want to presume you wish to speak with them, if you do not know Lt. Graham very well."

Mayhew smiles - he has a nice smile - and says, "No, I'd be happy to come with you - thanks for asking. I know the groom a little and the bride not at all."

Gladhanding a big crowd is far from Graham's strong suit or comfort zone, yet he's authentically in a good mood. And there are high points--including a quick and sincere whisper in his friend Ens. Mahmoud's ear. "I might not have lived to be here without you, Faisal. Thank you."

And watching Marala.

Jane handled situations like this because she was...aloof. Not hostile, or arrogant, but with a prestigious PhD and a family pedigree that stretched back to the founding of the American colonies on Earth, it was as if the center of gravity and the laws governing social interaction would magically warp and reform around her.

Marala was so different--opposite, in some ways. A down-to-earth no-nonsense hard worker with generations of the same lined up behind her in mines and fields and factories...yet it was as if the same thing happened. She seemed effortless accepting congratulations and expressing thanks, all the while holding firmly to his arm--not out of fear or possessiveness, he felt, yet...we're going to turn where she turns, step where she steps.

A little bit of the awe he felt when the girl he felt certain was the most desirable in his whole high school decided to spend time with a younger him returns.

Faisal squeezes his other arm and whispers, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Book. I'm so happy for you both, even though it means I'll be losing my roomie."

Rangin nods at the polite response, but his curiosity is still unsatiated. “If you don’t mind me asking further, which planet are you from? I’m from Coridan III,” he asks, hoping for an answer and wondering where in the Alpha Quadrant they may hail from. Perhaps some new planet that has just discovered warp travel and joined the Federation.

He can see their attentive inquisitiveness about him, but it’s probably no more than the same look showing across his face as well, for all his desire to hide it.

"We are from Dardari," the other one says. They seem to take turns talking. "We do not mind your query. We have never visited this world before. It is very pleasant and most interesting."

Rangin notices, out of a corner of his eye, someone else coming up the trail. It appears to be a male Human.

Kylah and Mayhew finally reach the newlyweds.

Kylah waits until the bride has finished accepting the latest well-wisher's well-wishing. She cannot help sending pleased little glances at Lt. Graham, who seems so buoyant he might float up to the Arboretum's bright ceiling--though no brighter than he is. His eyes are aglow.

But she must address Mrs. Graham first. If that is what she will be called. After that thought, Kylah suddenly wonders what she should call herself. More times than she can remember, she has been on either side of such a receiving line at social events. Of course, she has always used her full name then.

When the older woman looks toward her, Kylah gives her a warm appreciative smile. As usual, it takes some effort. Smiles are rarely natural for her, but these are Terran humans. Just as she speaks other people's own languages when possible, despite the existence of the Universal Translator, Kylah defers to foreign customs.

Her decision about her introduction has been made. She is not wearing a uniform and at such a personal occasion she firmly believes her own full name is proper. "I am Kylah, of the Elasian Royal House of the Silver Weeping Tree. I am so happy for you, madam, and grateful to share with you one fraction of the joy you must feel on this glorious day." She bows her head slightly in a nod, then lifts her chin. "We have met, albeit briefly, but you have been swarmed by so many people we must blur together."

She edges slightly to her left, closer to Lt. Graham, aware of the long line still remaining. "I am a communications officer, an Ensign, and I am fortunate enough to have served on many missions with Lieutenant--with your husband." Her smile is sincere, and even warmer. How thrilling to call him such a lovely word.

"My hope is that he considers me a--a friend, as I consider him. He has protected me more than once. Much more than once. I owe him my life." Kylah's voice softens. "And if you bring him the happiness he deserves, I will be in your debt, as well."

The bride smiles warmly at Kylah and gives her a quick hug. "Thank you, Ens. Kylah. I'm sure going to try! It's good to see you again. Booker has told me a little about you, and we're so glad you were able to be here with us today."

"Ens. Frederick Mayhew, ma'am," Kylah's companion says to her next, bowing a little. "Please accept my warmest congratulations and very best wishes. I hope you have many happy years together."

Mäkeläinen hikes up the narrow trail on Beta Antares IV. He pauses occasionally to examine the odd plant or tree. At one point he zones out for a few minutes, watching unfamiliar insects go about their business around an overturned rock. The beautiful day and luxurious setting are enough to lull anyone into a meditative mood. It must be something instinctual to the human psyche, for, while he has visited such biomes as an adult, it is about as different as can be from the cold, sterile waste back on Mars, or the utilitarian corridors of a starship or deep-space station.

Antares is quite far from the Solar system. Right now he can be little more than a tourist, but he would love to organize a proper expedition here sometime, perhaps up a tropical mountain. Such a complex tapestry of life must conceal still unknown wonders, as well as subtle dangers. The inconceivable alternative is to remain blissfully unaware. But bugs have to leave the shelter of their rock and take their chances.

"You will proceed to Beta Antares IV and report to Captn. Singh for duty aboard the USS Yorktown." He must have impressed someone back on the Eriksson, despite, or thanks to, his far-out theories (the results, however, speak for themselves), because nobody gets aboard a Constitution-class with a "satisfied to have" fitness report. Having got this shot, he was going to have to work his arse off.

An anxious and excited Bizhi spent his first couple of days on Beta Antares IV checking out the city. The local history museum and the New Getty were interesting. So were the local markets. From a vendor at the Garden of the Hordes he picked up a variety of Kobir's Nectar planted in a jar, and he was looking forward to experimenting with some of the local spices (not that he was a particularly experienced cook, but he would start with some recipes, possibly tweak them, until he found something delicious).

The planet's nightlife was nothing special, to be honest; everyone was so tame and pleasant. (Nothing wrong with that.) He enjoyed conversing with the locals. Years of working with patients certainly helped, but he was a natural good listener, and they would sometimes tell weird stories when slightly toasted, especially since he made at least a token effort to break the ice by communicating without a universal translator. Apparently, one of the first group of men to steal fire from the gods nearly got his tongue burnt off. A fetching wag told Bizhi about some kind of mythical large cat that could speak with the dead, and that, especially if he only had a couple of days, he should absolutely check out the forests where it reportedly lived. So, there he was. No magical cats so far, but the vista was everything they said it was.

Dardari, Rangin thinks to himself, no that planet or place didn’t register at this point in time with anywhere he knows, he could always look it up later. Ah, if only he had a scanner here.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is. However, you are right, it is a beautiful place here.” Rangin can’t help but gaze back out over the scenery drinking it in like an oasis of colour in the desert of space.

He looks back across to the two of them .“Well, perhaps you would like to stay a while and tell me some more about yourselves, I’d be only too happy to hear all about you.” He nods to them politely hoping they will mention more of their species while he tries to remember if anr when he had ever heard of Dardari.

"We are explorers," the other alien says, continuing their alternating speaking order. "We like to go to new places and enjoy new experiences. The galaxy is vast and full of wonders, and we want to sense them all, if we can. I see you are wearing a uniform - you are of Starfleet, no? From one of the ships in orbit?"

The man lower down the slope is getting closer, and Rangin sees that he's in Starfleet uniform, too.

Dr. Mäkeläinen sees what appear to be a Human in Starfleet uniform, in a blue shirt like his, talking to two unfamiliar aliens farther up the trail from where he is.

The line moves incrementally forward and Nia keeps up the slow pace, her body as cold and unnaturally sluggish as if encased in clay. She's been keeping her body angled toward Ajay, rather than watching the finish line and the newlyweds waiting in the winner's circle.

"Seht'dar's Holy Balls, how much longer," she mutters, half to herself, half to Ajay. Deciding to answer her own question, she twists her head to cast a glance behind her, takes in the crowd sharply enough to count how many stand between her and the happy couple, then swiftly snaps back to face her friend, all in a blink of an eye.

It's a smooth motion that might win the all-time record for the little-known sport of "turning your head, assessing the territory, then making sure no one actually caught you assessing the territory." At the medal ceremony she'll thank her reptilian ancestors.

Onn and Ajay finally reach the end of the line. Mrs. Marala Gromov Graham (as Onn had just overheard someone say her new name was), smiling, extends a hand to Onn. Her husband, still listening to the person just ahead of Onn in line, hasn't noticed the Sidonian woman yet.

Bizhi was not expecting solitude on the well-beaten track, and had already encountered a few hikers. Starfleet, though---in sciences blue, no less---accompanied by a couple of fellows he realizes he cannot quite place, not even the species---intriguing. He brushes dust off his uniform as he nears.

“I’m currently serving in Starfleet on board the USS Yorktown. Just taking a bit of shore leave to stretch my legs and see something other than yet another corridor and I completely agree with you, the universe is full of wonders just waiting to be found.”

“Of course I should not be surprised that even here, I find something I do now know. Dardari is not a planet I know, of course I would be hard pressed to know them all, where about’s is it? I’m always interested in new places and peoples I haven’t met before.”

Rangin nods enthusiastically, encouraging them to start talking and perhaps giving him some hints as to what he is missing.

Her hand is warm, Nia thinks--strange that this is her first thought. "Congratulations, Marala," she says with a smile. "Took you two long enough to get together."

She's proud of herself for that one. Sounds like a jokey reference to their past.

But no. It is not.

"Nikolai seems thrilled, too. I won't say I hope you'll all be very happy--because I have no doubt you will." Ugh, how banal. Booker's presence just inches away is throwing her even further off her game. Lucky her sweat glands are almost dormant outside of extreme heat--if not, she'd be drenched.

To avoid his edging into her peripheral vision, she focuses solely on Marala. "It's so good to have an occasion to bring us a little cheer after so much tragedy. Very generous of you to provide it," she adds with another smile.

The other alien says to Rangin, "Ah, the Yorktown. Yes yes. A fine ship, we hear. Dardari is in the Juvek Nebula, about 60 light years from here. It is a cold planet with much ice and snow, but it is home. There are over a billion people there, and we have over the years settled seven other systems and established many colonies, but none are as large."

Bizhi is now almost up to the other Starfleet officer and the two aliens.

Marala chuckles and says, "Our pleasure. Boo-- Booker and I both really wanted to share the occasion with his shipmates and my friends from the colony. We're so pleased you could join us, Lt. Onn."

Lt. Onn.

Overhearing Marala's words makes Graham's stomach seize up.

He wouldn't have blamed her if she didn't attend--but he also knows, of course, that she wouldn't do that, however uncomfortable attending might be for her.

He wishes there was something he could say to make something--anything--better, but comes up empty.

"Nia..." he turns and blurts her name out like he's unhinged. "Um," he clears his throat. "Nia," he repeats like a normal human being who is actually in his right mind. "I, ah, I'm glad you're could be here."

Or well maybe it would be easier if you weren't--dammit, Booker, she didn't punk out, don't you let her down.

'Wanted to share the occasion with his shipmates... So pleased you could join us, Lt. Onn...'

Nia doesn't know what she was expecting--she certainly doesn't need or want undying gratitude, much less friendship, but--not this.

She's nodding her head and smiling, and now she's introducing Ajay as the ship's cook who's likely responsible for their cake, although she has no idea if there is a cake or not. But all the while...

I'm 'Lt. Onn'? Just another of his shipmates? Really?

Do you remember what I did for you? How hard I fought to find you a way off that planet? I brainstormed plans with you so you could survive, and now you barely remember me? You don't remember that I disobeyed orders so me and my shuttle could help save your son? That I took the phaser fire of Vargas's anger, torpedoed my wanna-be promotion, put my whole career in jeopardy--maybe even my freedom, if all my worrying and running around and lying gets me a court-martial?

Do you know all I risked? What I sacrificed?

Who I sacrificed?

Someone's saying her name. Someone who remembers her name. She grins at Ajay, he's probably being charming and rakish--and blesses him for knowing she wouldn't want to talk to Booker under Marala's beaming, sweetly triumphant gaze.

When she's put it off as long as possible, she turns and steps closer, so they're directly in front of one another. That's how they always were together. Direct. Upfront.

Of course all that changed, not even a week ago. She might as well stay the course.

"Congratulations, Groom. And thanks, I'm glad to be here too. More to the point, I'm glad Marala can be here. And Nikolai." She glances at the little boy, her throat constricting painfully, then returns to Booker. Extending her hand, she continues, her voice soft and hoarse. "Otherwise, what was it all for?"

Reaching the front of the line with Nia, Ajay steps forward to meet Lt Graham and spare Nia from having to directly face him. Holding out a hand, he greets him warmly.

“Congratulations, Mr Graham, I hope you have a very, happy, life together.” Ajay resists the urge to call him Boojee, deciding that keeping things calm and simple would be best for Nia, who is engaging with the new Mrs. Graham. “I guess that as it’s all been a rush, you’ll have a lot of things to get used to. Only suggestion I’ve got is you’re gonna need to let out the waistband on that uniform, your new missus is a seriously good cook.”

'Lt Onn'…, oh great there goes the neighbourhood.

Ajay smiles politely as he is introduced to Mrs Graham, even though they have met before and
smartly swaps places with Nia allowing her to stand facing.

“Mrs Graham, I hope you have a happy life with Mr Graham. All the best for the future.

Ajay steps back slightly having finished, allowing Nia a little space and waiting for her to finish as well.

"Many thanks," the bride says to Ajay. She couldn't help but overhear what he said to Graham and adds, with a glint in her eye, "But how do you know about my cooking?"

Bizhi sees that the small group is in the middle of a conversation. When he is a few paces away, he salutes.

Not knowing anything about the aliens, if they acknowledge him, he greets them with a polite "Good afternoon." The officer gets a "Sir" on top of that. (Good thing he does not have to guess the gender of the unknown aliens, though that would have been a good quiz question back in medical school!)

The aliens notice Bizhi at once, of course, and one says in what is perhaps a bemused tone, "Two Starfleet officers... meeting two Dardarien, no less! Greetings to you, sir."

Bizhi has never seen this kind of alien before, and does not recognize them.

See posts 288 and 292 for descriptions.

Graham accepts the cook--er, chef--Ajay's congratulations with a polite smile and nod.

Nia, on the other hand... he winces at her words as she extends a hand. He takes, and squeezes maybe a little harder than he would have intended--"'What was it all for'," he replies quietly. "That's often a hard question to ask, and, ah...sometimes the answer is even harder," he adds, forcing herself to hold her eyes.

"I hope you don't suffer from regret, Nia," he continues, even more softly. "And where you do on account of me--I'm sorry."

Nia's response is immediate and unwavering. "I don't regret what I did at Novy Rostov, unforeseen consequences be damned. Do you really think I'd change a thing? I'd do it again if you needed it."

Then she drops her gaze to their joined hands, his large fingers with thick knuckles and scars; her darker skin gleaming silver with iridescent scales. There are more scales than are usually visible, she realizes--they've emerged without her noticing. Unconsciously her body's reacting to a threat, protecting her. From what?

From his pity. He thinks I'm suffering.

Nia trusts her natural instincts. He will not pity me.

She pats the top of his hand encouragingly and, looking back up, tilts her head with a slow, sly smile. "And there's no need to apologize. Things wouldn't have lasted much longer, anyway. Told you before, Lieutenant: I'm like my shuttles. Jump in and you'll get one hell of an exhilarating ride. But no one expects a long-term excursion."

Leaning forward, she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. "Be happy, Booker."

She releases her grasp and slips her arm through Ajay's, tugging at his elbow. "C'mon mate, those mushroom appetizer thingies have my name on them." If Ajay can tear himself away from the bride, she'll steer him toward the nearest silver tray. And, even though breathing is painful and her heavy lungs feel like she's overdue for her Bilitrium fix, she flashes a last grin at Booker behind her.

'Booker.' Does it sound as formal to him as it does to her? She usually called him 'Book' when they were alone.

But Nia doubts they'll be alone again.

Unlike some previous special events Kylah has attended, this afternoon she does not finish even a single glass of wine. She leaves one, half-full, on the proffered tray and thanks the crewman who accepted it. She did not stint on the wide variety of nibble-worthy food, either. I will gain weight, she thinks, not minding if her curves fill out properly again.

This whole week she's enjoyed her meals in a way she hasn't in ages. Due to the rationing the crew was making do with less, true, but Kylah suspects she would have eaten her fill even with the normal portions. The stringent control of her appetite that has become her habit seems less necessary now.

It is getting late. Not very late, but Kylah is not certain how much longer she has to get down to the planet. Turning to Mr. Mayhew, who has been enjoyable company, she smiles. "Frederick, do you happen to know when we are leaving orbit?"

Ajay drops an evil grin at Mrs. Graham’s surprise at his comment about her cooking.

“I’ve seen you up to your elbows in flour in my galley and you know what you’re doing. If he decides not to appreciate it, “ Ajay nods his head aside in Graham’s direction, “I’d be happy to take his place, little Matushka.”

As he straightens up, he can feel Nia’s grasp on his elbow and the slight tug in the direction away from the happy couple and towards the reception. “If you’ll excuse me, there are some tasty morsels on offer that need tending to.”

Ajay lets himself be led off by Nia without looking back and concentrating on the food ahead. “How ya doin’ little miss runabout?,” he says quietly to Nia’s ears only while squeezing the hand in the crook of his elbow.

“And a good afternoon to you too,” Rangin responds to the human, slightly surprised by the sir. He is beginning to feel a little crowded, sitting as he is on the hillside and now surrounded by three other people.

“Lt Rangin, serving on board the Yorktown and currently enjoying the view.” He waits to see if the other man introduces himself. If there were any insignia, Rangin is a little bit blind to it from his current seated position.

"Things wouldn't have lasted much longer, anyway."

Graham's response to Nia's parting words and grin is a smile more wan and sad than he would have liked.

It was the first time since I lost Jane I thought something might last...and Nia doesn't care.

Or at least she says she doesn't.

"Booker" is one step away from "Lt. Graham."

She's lost to me.

That settles in on him.

It was a fait accompli that their romantic relationship had to end because of the whole...Novy Rostov - Marala...situation...but more than that.

He takes her best wishes for happiness as best he can, but, for the moment--he's sad.

Two Starfleet officers, indeed. Who started the custom of wearing uniforms everywhere outside of normal duty, Bizhi wonders, not for the first time. Does it send the message they think they are sending? And what message is that?

He is a little surprised upon hearing Rangin's posting, but quickly covers it up. "Didn't mean to interrupt you," he addresses the group. "Ens. Mäkeläinen, Starfleet Medical Corps. The Yorktown— I've just been assigned there!"

Mrs. Graham winces a little and says to Ajay, "Oh, of course. Sorry. My head's been in such a whirl I almost forgot my little wedding baking project. Thanks again for your help with that." Just before Onn turns away with Ajay, she says to the Sidonian woman, as well, "And many, many thanks again for all you did to help Nikolai and me, Lieutenant. We'll never forget it."

When the helmswoman and the chef are gone, and before the next well-wisher comes up, Marala looks concernedly at her husband, squeezes his arm and asks quietly, "Are you all right, Boojee?"

Down on the planet, the other alien says, "Ah, two Starfleet officers, and both assigned to the same ship, as well. This is yegelek indeed."

Mayhew shrugs a little and replies to Kylah, "Nothing's definite yet, I guess, but the scuttlebutt is that we won't be here for more than another couple of days." Looking over the very impressive array of food and drink on offer, he selects two small Kaferian apple tarts (offering one to Kylah) and a glass of champagne.

A platter of Riskian cheese pastries just now catches her eye; they look delicious.

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Kaferian_apple
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki..._cheese_pastry

Graham's attention is snapped back to focus on Marala--his wife.

"Oh--ah, don't let me rain on our wedding day," he replies quietly. He touches the hand squeezing his arm with his free hand. "It's just that a lot happened, fast--and--it never sat well with me, when people get hurt. I'm night and day better at preventing it than I was we were kids, at least in some ways--but in others?" He takes a deep breath. "There's always something to wish you did better, you know?" He forces a small smile and gives her hand a squeeze.

She squeezes back, and kisses him. "I know. I really do. And I love you, now more than ever." Then she turns to greet the next guests.

With eyes widening both at Frederick Mayhew's response and his gift of the apple tart--not to mention the cheese pastries passing by--Kylah is a bit overloaded with stimuli.

"A couple of days? How scatterbrained of me," she says, keeping track of the moving pastry platter. "I did not realize--that is, I thought we might be leaving today." So Velir will likely not be in such a rush to beam back to the ship, and Kylah can spend a little more time here before joining him.

That settled, there is still the matter of the food. The apple tart is already in her hand; would it look unseemly to her colleague if she grabs yet another morsel?

It does not take long for her to make the decision. A few steps closer to the steward and one short arm-reach later, Kylah snags her prize, thanks the steward, and begs Frederick's pardon, lifting both treats. "I know how greedy this must look... " Her manner is slightly sheepish but not without humor. "But cheese just goes so marvelously with apples."

Bizhi looks the lieutenant in the eyes, then turns to address the second alien. “If you three don't know each other, then we must have all read the same guidebook. The view is spectacular. But, yegelek— how does it usually manifest?”

Mayhew grins. "Of course. And if you can't eat, drink and be merry at a wedding, when can you?"

The other alien says, "Yegelek is...." It pauses. "It is a notable alignment of similar factors or things, perhaps by coincidence but perhaps not, which is of interest in and of itself. It may be humorous, neutral, or actually cause for concern." It thinks further. "I do not know an exact equivalent for the term in Federation Standard."

Kylah smiles and thanks Frederick. She takes a few bites of the tart, then of the cheese pastry, and declares them quite good. Soon they are both gone. If she is honest, she would happily have more, but decides against it.

"What a lovely affair," she says, looking around the Arboretum. "I hope we see more happy days like this."

She turns back to Frederick. "I should be going. Thank you for--for your company. Often I find crowds overwhelming, but being able to focus on just one person helps me. Especially," she adds, afraid he will think she just needed him as a sort of distraction, "someone as kind and funny as you. I am so glad you thought to approach me."

Nia just smiles vaguely at Marala's words and steps quickly away, making a beeline for those mushroom pastry things she now has to eat. Absurd that she needs to give a performance. But she's been doing that all day, and will probably have to keep it up every time they're on the Bridge or on a mission together.

She plucks one of the appetizers off its platter and pops one into her mouth. It's actually delicious, and if she had an appetite she'd happily park herself here and eat half of the platter. She sweeps her gaze across the room casually, the way normal guests would, and speaks to Ajay just as casually.

"Funny, I haven't seen Vargas yet. 'Course I haven't really looked for him, either." Even this minimum level of banter is exhausting. She picks up a napkin and wipes the crumbs from her fingers. "The band is still here. I wonder why--oh shit. Is there gonna be dancing too?"

When she and Booker had a picnic here, dancing had been on the menu then, too.

"All right. I'm done. You think it's obvious if I take off now before I get sick?" A better question is, does she care? "Well, I'm going anyway. Don't get too pie-eyed on the champagne."

Mayhew looks sorry to see the young Communications officer go. He says, "My pleasure, Kylah. I, uh, I really enjoyed your company." He blushes. "Would you, uh, like to go out sometime? Maybe visit the planet or something?"

Onn is able to spot Vargas across the crowded Arboretum, talking to the Captain. A passing steward offers her and Ajay glasses of champagne from a tray.

The Lyceum ensemble isn't playing dance music... at least, not yet.

"Oh, I am actually going down--" Kylah has started speaking before really processing Frederick's blush. Now her own face turns warm as well. "That is... I do have plans there now, but... but I do not think I will see the whole of Beta Antares." She almost winces. What an absolutely ridiculous thing to say. No, she is not joining an expedition to visit every corner of an entire planet.

The truth is that she is reluctant to accept any offer that she is unwilling to undertake. Is she entirely unwilling? Frederick is quite likable, and seems gentlemanly. Much like the medic who has been so kind to her, Mr. Alvarez. And Velir.

Yes. Exactly. Velir.

They are not together. They may never be. She must acknowledge that their relationship might only seem warm in comparison to the icy tundra where it has dwelled for months. After being devastated by his rejections, Kylah does not want--if it should happen once more--to be left lost and lonely again.

"I meant to say... well, I would like to see more of it. We will be here for a couple of days, as you mentioned, so I suppose... that is, there is no reason--" Kylah pauses her babble and takes a deep breath to compose herself. "Yes. Yes, that would be nice, thank you."

Kylah smiles, a little nervously, and gestures toward the instrument case left by her chair. "I must... excuse me." She says goodbye again and sidles by anyone in her path to retrieve the borrowed Vulcan Lute. When she picks it up, she will turn to see if Lt. Graham is free.

If Lt. Graham is free, she will make her way to thank and congratulate him again.

If not, she will head off to a transporter room. She should probably change and deposit the lute case in her quarters, but for some reason she has a sudden need to see Velir.

Nia's about to refuse the champagne, since all it means to her is sweetish fizzy water, but when she (rather stupidly) takes a look up front and sees the Grahams, she swipes up the glass, lifts it to them brightly in salute, and downs it in a single gulp.

Then she sets the empty glass down, thanks the steward, pats Ajay's shoulder in gratitude, then gets the holy hell out of there.

Bizhi considers, in turn. "The Federation, now that is made up of hundreds of different worlds, and as many races. And each one, in its own way, casts a light upon the black seas of infinity. And among all those languages, and all those peoples, certain fundamental concepts overlap. More often than one would expect. So there are many words, but an exact equivalent? That is not something I can presume to say without knowing a lot more about it."

He would love to pursue this further, but Lt. Rangin is sitting right there, and Bizhi is not sure how the latter feels about this unplanned gathering. He himself was off thinking about plants and insects only a couple of minutes ago. He does automatically make a mental note to look up information about---Dardari, was it?--- in the library computer later, in any case.

"Of course," Mayhew says, grinning even more. "Thanks, Kylah. That'll be great! Well, let's talk later then. Goodbye."

Graham and his bride, Kylah sees, are both very busy at the moment with other wedding guests. The party has spilled out of the Arboretum into the adjoining corridors, but she is able to extricate herself and then make her way to Transporter Room 3. Chief Nguyen is behind the control console.

Onn also leaves the party behind.

Down on the planet, the other alien says, "Yes, we have learned a great deal about your Federation recently. Languages, including those of the Federation, have many things in common, but some significant differences, as well, and of course some words which do not translate well, or at all."

Kylah greets Chief Nguyen and asks him if he could beam her down to the planet, all while opening her communicator.

She writes a quick text to Velir.

VELIR - Are you still down on the planet? I would like to join you, if you still wish and are not busy. If so, can you send me the location, please? Or the coordinates for Chief Nguyen, if you have them. -- KYLAH

After sending, she smiles and lifts her communicator, as if the Chief will understand what it means. She realizes this and almost laughs. "I am just waiting for the coordinates. I am sorry you were unable to go to Lt. Graham's wedding. Will your watch be over soon? The reception is really just starting."

She suddenly wonders if perhaps Chief Nguyen does not wish to go, for one reason or another. Wanting to give him a way to say so without seeming impolite, she adds, "Of course not everyone enjoys parties. It is quite crowded."

Reaching her quarters at last, Nia pushes her way through the door that doesn’t seem to open nearly fast enough. Her cabin’s a mess, fairly status quo, especially since she’s only just returned after spending the past week in a glorified storage locker and hasn’t had time or inclination to unpack.

When she hears her friend’s tread behind her she groans in exasperation. “Andy Johnson, you do not have to hover over me like a nurse at a creche. I appreciate the concern, I swear, but I’ve just gotta be angry and miserable for a while. I’m entitled to pout on my own after that… that…”

How to finish this sentence? That ‘farce’? That ‘sham’? No. The ceremony was real, the emotions were real. That’s the whole fucking problem.

Deflating, she takes off her boots, then pads slowly to her closet to toss them inside. Next comes her dress uniform, which falls to the floor before she kicks it to join the boots. Now in her lingerie--not self-conscious in front of Ajay, this is practically overdressed compared to the majority of time they’ve spent in her quarters--she rolls her stiff shoulder muscles while staring dully at the closet’s contents. “Whatever it was. I just want to sleep. Preferably in a cocoon.”

Ajay wanders into Nia's familiar cabin and dumps himself on the corner of the bed, keeping an apparently drunken eye on Nia, although the half empty bottle he had been obviously swigging from hadn’t changed volume from the time he had picked it up. Along with that Nia had obviously not noticed the few people who had been keeping an eye on her over the last few hours. The last thing they wanted to do was give her the opportunity to mope until later, and well, now is later.

“'Occasion', is the word I think you’re looking for. Although I wouldn’t worry too much, I think most people are looking for an excuse to unwind after the last couple of weeks and got to use today as it. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of sore heads in the morning and I’m pretty sure Vargas is going to have his work cut out trying to suppress all the footage of all the worst dancing going on.”

He scans an eye over Nia, and sees her trying to ease out some kinks in her muscles. “You want a hand with those shoulders?”

+ + + +

After staring into the abyss of her closet, Nia reaches for her jade green robe. Something else she associates with Booker. Ridiculous. Depression gives way to anger. “No, I don’t want to feel relaxed right now. I’m feeling a rant coming on.” She yanks the robe from its hanger and practically flings it onto her body.

“Did you hear her? Right at the last minute, ‘oh right, you’re the one who helped save my kid’s life, here’s some gratitude.’ Five minutes earlier she didn’t even recognize me.”

Nia slams her hands on her hips and tilts her head toward her mirror. “I’m easy to forget, right? Just another tall, dark-skinned long-haired lizard woman who spent the day conjuring one absurd idea after another to protect her. She probably only put two and two together when she saw me talking to Boojee.”

The bitter words reverberate in her head, and she grimaces and rubs her temple. “Damn it. Listen to me, Aje. She didn’t do anything wrong. I’m aiming phaser fire at the wrong target.”

+ + + +

“Well, you’re right about that at least,” Ajay continues on as he shifts slightly on the bed to stop one leg going dead. “Couple of weeks ago, she was doing fine on a mining colony. Now she’s minus one colony, most of her friends and she didn’t even get to pack a suitcase of mementos before she left. To her, you’re probably just another alien starfleet uniform with all the worry in her eyes.

Thinking about it, you probably only spent a couple of hours with her and she hasn’t seen you for days after. At least she remembered you.”

He takes a swig from the bottle, for real this time and tries not to choke on the bubbles rising in his throat. “Now Boojee on the other hand, and I’m sorry to say this, not only dumped you for his ex but went and hitched up with her. And yeah, yeah, you can say that they had no option to keep her onboard, but she could have married that Cromwell bloke instead.

"Nah, he’s the one who owes you some real thanks and apologies, although…”, Ajay stops to take another swig, “...what you are probably seeing now between them is that rose-tinted nostalgic view of that first flush of love.

"What’s likely to happen over the next few months is, all those set-in-their-ways things they’re used to doing are going to grate and grind and they will be stuck with each other in their own personal hells. If they do get on and make it work, then there is something so sickening about that, that you’re probably best clear.”

Ajay toys with the bottle looking at the bubble swirling around, seeing them fizz against the side of the glass. “This one is different for you, isn’t it. “



Nia by SidonianGal, Ajay by Ajay. Fasten your seatbelts.

Sat on the hillside, Rangin wonders how he suddenly came to go from a peaceful quiet hillside to be in the middle of this little congregation. No matter where he goes, something interesting always seems to be happening.

He is brought back to normality by the sound of his communicator. “One moment, please?”

He checks the message and as he sees who it is from a smile forms on his face. He sends the coordinates back along with a quick message.

KYLAH -- I’m enjoying the view and would be happy for you to join me. There are still a few hours before it gets too dark. Coordinates attached, see you shortly I hope. -- VELIR

Rangin sends the message back and then looks around at the rest of the group before standing up and brushing the grass off the back of his legs.

“Well, much fun though this is, if you will excuse me, I appear to have a visitor coming my way.” he politely says to the group, “It has been good to meet you,” he addresses to the two Dardari “ and I hope to see you on board the Yorktown Mr. Mäkeläinen. Once you have settled in, let me know and I would be happy to show you round.”

Kylah immediately hears her communicator and, reading the message, smiles again. She passes along the coordinates to Chief Nguyen.

This is different, isn't it. A straightforward question. Nia lets her hand drop to her side, meets Ajay's gaze, and gives a straightforward answer.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “It is. Look at me. Have you ever seen me like this? Mourning over a man? But Book is… He moved me. I don’t know why. He’s been through so much, and all it’s there in his eyes. And he tries so hard to do the right thing by everyone--what he thinks is right. Or what he thinks is the least bad. But he can’t let himself off the hook and… "

Nia shakes her head, aching for him. "I don’t know. It's not just his 'dark past,' I'm not some idiot trying to change someone. I’ve met guys with dark histories before, everyone’s got their own pain. And I’ve heard lots of drunken pity-parties from some who only wanted my sympathy while naked.

"I gave it to them not ‘cause I bought their lines--they could’ve saved all that B.S. I just wanted a good time for a night or two and then bye-bye, off to the next.”

Sighing, she looks down at the robe’s belt, which she’s currently tying closed. “But look what he's done to my mindset. I really thought I’d make a go of it with Book. And him with me. Like a real couple. Monogamous and everything. Not even so much because he changed me, although he did. But… I changed him. I had an effect on him. At least... I think I did.”

Her thoughts drift back to their conversations over the past few weeks, and slowly the frown leaves her face. It takes a moment to put her thoughts into words.

“I did. I know I did,” she says gently. "He’s a widower--I’m pretty sure I've told you that. His wife, Jane…he adored her. Like, head-over-heels adored her, and had this precious child with her, and the two of them were his whole universe. There's never been a doubt in my mind that she'll always be first in his heart. I never expected that to change--I wouldn't be that presumptuous. But... well, not that long ago, we were in bed. And he called me by her name.”

Her gaze darts up to Ajay. “Not that way, it's not what it sounds like. He'd had been a long day and he'd almost fallen asleep. I was holding him close, and just before drifting off, he wished me goodnight. And called me 'Jane.'

"It stung a bit, but honestly, it was a compliment. He felt safe and cared for, same as he did with her. How? Who lets himself get that vulnerable with me? Who’s ever done that?"

Her lips part slightly as she inhales, facing a moment that turns her heart over. “Also… he told me he never thought he’d fall in love again until he met me. The way that made me feel... I--I thought he was trying to tell me--”

She cuts herself off and her hands jerk apart the knot she’s just tied, anger again flickering to life. “But no. He didn’t mean he actually was in love with me. Obviously. Just that I'd started his engine again. I was the warm-up act, the trial run. Got him primed. Reminded him what a woman felt like in his arms, in his bed. How her mouth tastes, how she tastes…”

Nia turns away from Ajay, glaring at her reflection in her mirror. “But I get it. In the end, the women he's wants, the ones he’s into… Jane, Marala, even CeCe with that little flirtation thing they had for a while... they're all so much more womanly. More feminine, anyway. Beautiful. Probably strong, in their way, but not hard. And they’re all human.

“Meanwhile I’m not soft, I hang around with engies rebuilding a shuttle, I've ordered him around on missions--a couple of them, anyway." She lifts her fingers to trace the scales on edges of her face and collar bone, leading down to her breasts and running further, unseen, on the skin beneath her silver silk camisole. "And I’m definitely not human," she says softly.

Her arms suddenly fold across her chest. "I never stood a chance in the long run. On the bright side, hey, at least he got his practice in, until he met someone he could actually fall in love with. And now Mrs. Boojee’s gonna reap the rewards of all my patience and hard work." She turns to Ajay with a crooked smile. "Looks like she owes me again.”

+ + + +

Ajay is not sure he has ever seen Nia so screwed up over a lover before, and he wonders if there is something else going on that he doesn't know about. Dropping the drunken act he looks straight across at her.

"You? A starter course? You're kidding me, right? For fuck’s sake Nia, scuttlebutt had Graham in deep over you. If that colony had not gone up, Marala would still be on that planet and you'd be getting hot and heavy with Mr Buggerup about now and planning a future together. Don't fucking do yourself down over the fact Graham had the stupid fucking idea to piss off and marry some Russian crumpet. It's the kind of thing you get in an advice column: Am I an idiot if I dump my current squeeze for this bint I met thirty years ago who is sitting on an exploding rock?"

Picking up the bottle, Ajay starts pacing around, giving Nia a bit more room before finally putting it down on the desk.

"I'm not helping much, am I?" He asks quietly as he turns round and sees she has moved.



Nia by SidonialGal, Ajay by me.

Nia snorts despite herself, then sits on the bed, leaning an elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. “You are helping. At least I can end this crappy day knowing someone's called Marala Gromov Graham ‘Russian crumpet’.”

She sends Ajay a wry glance. “The quickie marriage thing was a crazy idea, but it wasn’t just him. I pushed him to marry her, do whatever it takes, 'no half measures' period. Why did I think this’d just be a ploy? He told me flat out that she’s ‘as special to him as anyone he’s known,’ unquote. I should’ve listened. Maybe that was his way of breaking it to me gently. Except… after he said that…"

Nia shuts her eyes, listening to the echo of Booker’s voice. "He said the same about me. "‘You’re as special as anyone I’ve ever known, too.’ I don’t hear that very often. Maybe not ever. And truth be told, I felt the same about him.”

If she had tear ducts worth a damn, she’d cry right now. Instead she sighs. “I don’t know, Aje. I can’t believe what a wreck I am. It’s not me. I thought I’d had my fill of making promises to men. No commitments ever--not breeding contracts, not making dinner plans for next week. With Booker, though… I actually started thinking ahead...” Nia swallows and stands up again to pace. “It sucks. I hate feeling like this. It’d be easier if there was something actually wrong. Physically. Then I could go to Sickbay and get it taken care of.”

She pauses and grabs at the lifeline. “That might actually be part of the issue. Not being sick, but... a hormone thing? Screwing with my emotions? Maybe it’s time to change up my birth control doses. Maybe my body’s adapted again, figured out how to defend itself against the evil invader that’s trying to stop ovulation. Which…” She laughs. “Talk about ironic. I haven’t even needed birth control for the past two months. Probably the only two-month drought since I joined the Academy. Well, since second year, anyway. My ovaries must be wondering what the hell happened.”

Sobering, she leans back against her dresser, arms crossed, and stares at Ajay’s shoes. Usually they make her smile because he has the biggest feet she’s ever seen, despite his being so… graceful looking, for lack of a better term. But her face is solemn, pensive.

“That’s part of it too. Not ovulation, but… " Now she's going someplace she doesn't want to, but she senses it needs to drawn out, like the venom after a snake bite.

"With Marala, Book’s getting a pre-made family. Not just a wife but that beautiful boy. A son. He's absolutely nuts over his daughter, don't get me wrong--he’s not the type to be disappointed that his firstborn was a girl. But he’s gotta be thrilled about Nikolai. And Booker will be such a great father.” The words catch in her throat and are almost a whisper. “I can’t give him that. I… I could, physically, but after everything back home, the idea of being pregnant…”

On cue, a swell of panic has to be beaten down. After a moment, she shakes her head. “There it is, Ajay. That’s the real killer. I watched the two of them up there today and I just feel so damned... useless. Used up. And old. I mean, going strictly by years, Marala’s older--she’s about Booker’s age so, what, probably early 50s I guess? So she's got 16 years on me. But... if you look at it as a percentage of our lifespans… How long do you humans live, like 100 or so? More?”

Ajay considers the question. "100 years old? That's the average these Star dates. If you're lucky with medical advances 120 is a possibility."

A hundred and twenty. A lifetime that long is beyond Nia’s imagination. “Right. So she’s not even half done. Me… I’m practically running on fumes. Back home, I’d have maybe ten years, a dozen maybe. Starfleet doctors and xenobiologists and everyone else who's poked around my business claim that, since I left Sidonia relatively young, avoided extra years of radiation, I’ve bought myself time. They say I probably have a lot longer. Probably.

“I never told that to Booker, but in the end he made the smart choice. Marala should be around for his whole lifetime. If he was with me, he might've outlived another wife. He shouldn’t have to experience that. I wouldn’t wish that on him.”

She rubs her dry, painful eyes, so very tired and ancient and unattractive. She doesn't know how to fix this, but she has to. She can't bear this feeling anymore. She needs to escape.

Nia slowly lowers her hand and meets Ajay’s gaze. “Aje…” Her breathing is shallow and her voice unusually fragile. “You and Dr. T’Var… are you… exclusive?”



Nia by me, Ajay by Ajay.

Chief Nguyen shrugs. "I don't particularly enjoy either weddings or crowds, so I don't mind. And someone has to be on duty here, after all. But thanks for asking, Ens. Kylah." He acknowledges the coordinates from Rangin and beams Kylah down to the planet's surface.

She finds herself on a hillside trail in thickly-wooded country. A beautiful, wide-open sky arches overhead, with a few puffy clouds scudding by high above. It is late afternoon, judging by the position of the sun, which is casting long shadows. Rangin is there, of course, and not far away Kylah sees another young Human in a blue Starfleet uniform shirt and regulation black pants and boots, and also two near-identical bald aliens with pale blue skin and mottled darker-blue markings.

It is always an adjustment to find oneself in an unfamiliar location surrounded mostly by strangers. Though Kylah is a little disconcerted, a pleasant breeze brushes past her, and in addition to delivering the sweet smell of grass, it lifts her curls and flutters her gown's airy fabric against her legs. The effect is immediate and delightful--she feels refreshed, as if just risen from a bath.

Her quick, light step would have revealed her happiness to see Velir even if she were not beaming. "How pretty this place is," she says when close enough to greet him. "You always manage to find the best spots on shore leave. If there is a pub nearby with huge hamburgers, this time I will be ready... if somewhat overdressed," she adds with an apologetic glance down. On Elas, her outfit would be unremarkable, and Kylah is not self-conscious in it. The large instrument case she is still carrying, on the other hand, does stand out. It must seem an odd accessory to the formal gown.

Reaching him, she nods pleasantly toward the others close by, near enough to Velir to have been in conversation. She looks with friendly curiosity at the blue... people? Beings? And nods at the Starfleet officer, who seems as curious about the unknown beings as she is, and--to her eye--just as friendly. To Velir, she murmurs sotto voce, "You have been here only a short time--have you already discovered new life forms?"

Rangin smiles at the sight of Kylah who is looking sunny and cheerful, the smile as bright and beautiful as the scenery he is looking at. He kicks himself and she reminds him how pretty she can be. He is standing a little further apart from the rest of the group and moves slightly to join her to the spot she beams down to.

“Hello Kylah, it’s great you could come down, I was hoping the view would be to your liking,” then he drops his voice to the same quiet tone that Kylah is using. “It was all quiet until 30 minutes ago, then the new life forms discovered me this time round. Planet called Dardari that I’ve never heard of before and I now have an itch to scratch in finding out more about it.”

He nods across at the lone human in the group, “the last of the trio is Ensign Mäkeläinen, recently posted to the Yorktown as well,”

He turns back to Kylah, once again captivated by the smile she wears all too seldomly, “Shall we wander?”

Nia's question throws Ajay. “Me? T’Var? We’re exclusively single at the moment. It didn’t work out. We tried for a while, but it didn’t click. I didn’t get her and she didn’t get me. I’ve no regrets on trying, it was fun for a while, but..yeah I thought that one might be serious as well. Turns out, it’s another in a long line of not this time.”

Ajay frowns and then looks across trying to catch the meaning behind the question. “You know I didn’t even think about that, but if it had worked out she’d outlive me by several decades. Maybe we were doing each other a favour after all. Hey, wait a minute, are you using my lack of love life to change the topic?”

Ajay walks across to where she is standing up and wraps his arms around her. “C’mon, you’re not used up, or old, or anything other than the stunning lady I know and respect.” He squeezes her tightly and affectionately before loosening off, “besides the depth of love for someone is how much you miss them when they are gone, no matter how short a period of time it is that you have known them.” He lets go and steps back slightly,

“Damn it you’ve got me oilo…eulo…spouting fancy words at you. Ah who cares, you’re a damn fine woman, no ifs, no buts. Actually, a lot of butt and in great shape too.” Ajay can’t resist pointing out one of Nia’s salient features wondering if the levity might help to cheer her slightly.

“Definitely. Not. Old.” he states while pointing at her. “You’ve still got a few good years ahead of you, and I’ll be cheering you along all the way.”

Nia listens, on edge but gradually growing calmer as Ajay continues to be, well, Ajay. The longer he talks, the more her lips curl in a smile, although one that flickers on and off. He's distracting her, but her heart still hurts.

When he’s done, she shakes her head and steps up to him until she’s only inches away. Her eyes search his for any signs that this is a mistake. After a moment’s judgment she drapes her arms around his neck.

“That’s not why I asked about you and T’Var,” she murmurs.

"Oohhh." Ajay utters when the light finally dawns on what Nia is really looking for. "You know, you only had to ask," before diving in.

With their kiss Nia closes her eyes and sighs, full of need and familiarity and relief and desire. Heartache, too. That’s not going away; it’s there, just as Booker is still there.

But for now, in the circle of her best friend’s arms, Nia at last finds the comfort she’s been seeking.



Nia by me, Ajay by Ajay.

The aliens look with interest at Kylah. One says, "Another Human, also from the Yorktown? But not dressed as the others, no no no."

Kylah just has time to nod at Velir's suggestion before she hears the Dardarien commenting on her arrival. She walks closer, and sets down her case to have her hands free--this way she can put her palms together, shake their hands, or whatever 'greeting' gesture they might wish to share (if any).

"Good afternoon, it is an honor to meet you. I am indeed a member of the Yorktown crew, although I am not in uniform due to attending a special event on our ship. My name is Ensign Kylah, from the planet Elas. May I ask your names? --That is, if you use any? Not every culture does."

She includes the young officer with her smile. "Ens. Mäkeläinen. I would welcome you aboard, but... of course we are not on board." Her shoulders lift with a tiny self-deprecating shrug, and after a glance at Velir, who of course matches the newcomer's science blue, she turns back. "I am a communications officer. May I ask, what is your department?"

Bizhi watches the lieutenant fiddle with his communicator. Should he take him up on his offer and look him up later, on board? He is the first Yorktown crewmember he has run into, just before commencing a long and---he hopes---fruitful mission. It could be yegelek.

The woman in the evening gown turns out to be another officer from the Yorktown. He knew he was not the only one to think twice about automatically wearing a Starfleet uniform everywhere! Unfortunately, propriety precludes commenting about it to his new alien friends, at least not yet. Never got these fellows' names, Bizhi realizes. He lets the aliens introduce themselves.

He smiles affably at Kylah and shakes her hand. "Pleased to meet you. Call me Bizhi. I'm the new Assistant Medical Officer, though I don't have to report for duty until tomorrow morning. I've just been transferred. In fact, you two are the first crew members from the ship I've met." It drives home that he will have to make new friends, absorb the scuttlebutt, get used to life aboard the Yorktown and his superiors' quirks, make a good first impression. He should remember to call his sister, too.

Another new medical officer! Kylah shakes her head ruefully. "I hope you will pardon me if I say I hope I do not require your therapeutic skills very soon. I have had far too many visits to Sickbay since I arrived." She almost mentions Velir as well, since he too has had health problems and injuries. This, however, is not hers to reveal.

"My familiarity with the medical staff means I can assure you that your colleagues are all extremely talented and very friendly." Mostly true, at any rate. Ensign Mäkeläinen--Bizhi--seems far more personable than Dr. Bennett--not that his would be a high standard to meet.

She changes the subject, her interest piqued. "Am I right in detecting a slight Martian accent? Your voice puts me in mind of my Symmetric Cryptography instructor at the Academy, who was from one of the colonies there." After a hesitation she adds quickly, "Please forgive the personal question... Language and diction are two of my specialties..." Kylah sends an apologetic glance to both Bizhi and Velir, although even as she does, she wonders why she thinks Velir will take offense.

"Places like this," he indicates the idyllic view, "it's easy to push all that away into a corner of your psyche." He pauses for a second. For better or for worse. "I saw plenty of action serving on the Eriksson. It's probably bad luck to talk about such things, but, yeah, if you or any of your friends end up on my table, you're in good hands. I'll patch you right up, better than new. Better not to think about that, though."

Kylah's mention of Mars pulls Bizhi into sharp focus. A proud Martian, he has little patience with people who assume he is from Earth, or with clueless or racist people prattling about Mars, even if they think they mean well. He looks Kylah over again. From Elas---came right out and introduced herself that way. He has never been there, but is familiar with the name from various Federation bulletins, including a so-called "scientific" one that described the inhabitants as vicious and arrogant savages, plus a little extra special dose of sexism concerning the women. Switch around a few features and it could have been similar bullshit about Mars, if they thought they could get away with it, or the Klingons.

So they have that much in common. And he approves of her choice not to bother with a regulation uniform. She was right about his accent, too.

"Born and raised," he replies to her question. "I never even got off-planet until I was a teenager." He adds, "The frontier, out here, is more like home than many of the so-called core worlds."

One mottled blue alien says, "I am Grathon Vebel, at your service." The other says, "And I am Grathon Ropto, likewise at your service." They both make a sidewise-nod gesture.

In the Arboretum, Graham has lost track of how many people have come up to wish him and his new bride well. The reception line has finally come to an end, but the party is still going full-blast. After Mahmoud hushes the crowd, he and the maid of honor offer heartfelt toasts. Graham and Marala then cut a piece of Russian wedding cake and share a few bites, to the applause and cheers of all, before Marala kisses him and whispers, "Probably time we were on our way, my love, unless you'd like to stay a bit longer. Jeremy has agreed to keep an eye on Nikolai tonight."

"My love."

So...unforced. Natural. Factual.

Marala was always like that.

So Graham knows he can believe it. And hope that he doesn't let her down.

And all things aside, she was my first love...and everything about her is...'more her' than when we were kids.

"Good man, Jeremy," Graham replies quietly. He smiles slightly and gives Marala's hand a squeeze. "I owe him a nice bottle of scotch, maybe."

"I'm ready to go when you are, Marala," he concludes.

The doctor's words are wise, although he seems to have a philosophy surprisingly near superstition. There is a religious sect on Elas that focuses strongly on healing--her parents took her to some services as a little girl in hopes of 'curing' her, but it did little since the so-called healers could not even identify Kylah's specific problem. Which showed just how worthless their alleged spiritual insight actually was. Aside from them, however, she is used to medical professionals being all too blunt and forthright.

But she can tell Bizhi means to reassure her, and she appreciates the effort. She cannot keep from murmuring, "I understand, sir; many people feel that it is bad luck to consider unpleasant possibilities. But... in my experience, bad things happen whether one talks about them or not."

Reflecting on darker times is not her intention on such a day. She shakes off the thoughts and concentrates on his response about his homeworld and--though she has made no attempt to--senses that he is a hair defensive on the subject. She can hardly blame him.

"I agree, it is sometimes a relief to be farther away from the more 'familiar' worlds whose residents populate most of Starfleet. Elas has not yet joined the Federation, and Coridan--" Kylah nods toward Velir, assuming that he has shared his background-- "is relatively new. I have certainly experienced some insularity on the part of some from the better-established member planets. It is hard to understand why a planet so very near to Earth is misunderstood the way Mars is. Which is why it is important to have as many representatives from varied backgrounds as possible. That is Starfleet's guiding principle, after all. Meeting new civilizations and friends."

She turns to the Dardarien. "...Such as yourselves. Although the Universal Translator has done such a very good job with your language thus far, so your people must be better known here than my own poor knowledge reflects. I am sorry to admit how ignorant I am about your world and culture, forgive me. May I ask if 'Grathon' is a form of address, or a shared family name?"

The two aliens look at each other for a moment, then back to Kylah. One says, "It is a shared family name, of sorts, but it is... more complicated than that. 'Family' has many meanings, even in Federation Standard, I believe?"

Bizhi's communicator beeps. He sees he has a text marked URGENT: Dr. Mäkeläinen, please report to First Officer Vargas aboard the Yorktown immediately. GARCIA, Lt. JG Ernesto, Communications Officer.

Rangin hangs back slightly, amused by who the situation is turning out. While he doesn’t mind talking to people, and the more scientific, the better, Kylah is quite happily showing why she can be such a good communications officer, perhaps without even realising that she is doing it.

He has to admit that he did miss that Bizhi came from Mars, but then most humans sound alike to him, in the same way as most humans could not pick up the dialects between the different regions on Coridan.

And some people wondered why they kept Kylah around, despite everything that happened. Well, this is why. She is damn good at her job, whether they know it or not.

Keeping back, Rangin lets the conversation continue as it will, happy to keep observing.

Marala takes Graham's hand and says, "It's expected that the bride and groom not stay too long at their own party. Let's say our goodbyes and be on our way."

They do and, before too long, find themselves standing in the corridor outside Marala's quarters. She looks at him expectantly, a wry smile playing around her lips.

He quickly glances at his communicator. "I just received new orders," Bizhi announces matter-of-factly. "I am afraid they need me on the Yorktown immediately." He looks at each of the other two officers for any reaction to this development.

That takes care of plans for this evening. He was considering reporting early anyway to have time to get his bearings, but now he rapidly goes through the possibilities in his mind as to what could be so urgent. A medical emergency? As part of the job, he always has to be prepared for such possibilities. But who on the ship thought to call him specifically, before he had ever set foot on board, instead of whoever is currently on duty, or a more senior physician? He will find out soon enough; right now, he has to keep his mind on point, and the gears have already shifted.

"It was a pleasure meeting all of you," he says to the group, "I have a feeling the conversation was just getting started."

He was just going for a day hike and is not carrying much of consequence, though he does have essential medical supplies like a first-aid kit with basic hypos and smart dressings. He has a tweaked tricorder he has been using to scan interesting-looking plants and a PADD with his notes and personal and professional logs. Between his cyberarm and other tools he could perform emergency surgery on someone in the field, if he had to (Kylah was right about always having to consider unpleasant possibilities, though he knows from working with traumatized patients that that can be a delicate balance, and, deep down in his own soul, he fears there are things and experiences out there of which no sane being may conceive. His reaction is to push himself harder to try and prepare. What alternative is there?) He will have his personal belongings sent up later.

Bizhi flips open his communicator. "Yorktown, this is Ensign Mäkeläinen, the new Assistant Medical Officer. I have orders to come on board. Requesting permission to beam up." He transmits the appropriate orders and coordinates.

At the Dardarien's remark about family, Kylah has to nod. "My apologies, you are right, I was inexact. 'Family' has many different meanings both in language and culture. My closest family member has no less strong a bond just because he shares no biological link to me. I do not know anyone who does share such a link, nor would I consider them family even if I--"

She breaks off with a flush, realizing she is getting far too personal, and smiles to cede the point. "I am grateful to have had the chance to meet you both. May our people have the opportunity to learn more about one another someday."

To Bizhi, who has been abruptly called to the ship, Kylah looks concerned. "I do hope this is not a medical emergency. Whenever you wish, I would be happy to help show you around. Or to share a meal, or... well, whatever you like. Although I am sure your fellow medical officers will be hospitable. For now, we--that is, Velir--Ensign--I mean, Lieutenant Rangin and I--" She darts a quick flustered glance toward the man in question before returning to Bizhi. "We will be staying down here for a little while longer."

The afternoon's shadows have lengthened and without her noticing, the sky seems to have turned to a duskier shade. Kylah bids the aliens a farewell, and a more temporary goodbye to her new colleague. She will wait until Bizhi either leaves to a new beam-up spot, or is transported to the ship from here.

As soon as it is no longer inappropriate, she turns her full face to Velir with an open delight she would not show to anyone else. It is fortunate that she is busy holding on to the instrument case, because the desire to reach out, to take his hand, is almost overwhelming.

"I am sorry to have been so chatty. It is just... the day has been so full. In a good way. The best way." Kylah tilts her head and searches his gaze. "It seems a very long time since we have just... talked. I feel very lucky to have the chance again."

She smiles ruefully and gestures toward the path. "Now I will be silent, I promise. Tell me how your day has been..."

"Ah--I guess should carry you over the threshold, if we want to hold to tradition," Graham offers his new bride.

Bizhi hears directly from Transporter Room 1. "Acknowledged, Dr. Mäkeläinen. Please stand by for beamup."

"Thank you, miss," one of the aliens says to Kylah. "It is time we made our way farther along the trail. Best wishes to you all in all your future treks among the stars." They move away.

Marala says, her smile broadening, "Please do, my dear Boojee." She places her arms around his neck.

Rangin smailes at the infectious nature of Kylah’s delight, happy to see her looking better then she has done for a long while. He can forgive the near slip over his new rank, after all, he still feels like an Ensign some days despite the new braid. He waits for the others to wander away a little further before responding to Kylah’s question.

“I’ve had a really quiet, peaceful, day even with everything going on aboard the Yorktown. I took the opportunity to avoid all the occasion and instead come and find some beautiful scenery to gaze over. I seem to be doubly blessed at this moment.”

“That’s all there really is too it, however I am glad you did decide to come down, though I wasn’t sure if you would be staying at the reception. You’re still holding onto the instrument, so I do hope your part went well.?”

Graham can't help but smile in return. "Of course," he says quietly. He accepts her grasp his neck, stoops, and lifts her.

He's sure she's weighs at least a little more than when they were teenagers, unsurprisingly. But he's..10, 100, infinitely? stronger than he was then.

That's something at least.

I can 'sweep her off her feet.'

Kylah is just now realizing that Velir has paid her a compliment by noting the additional beauty he is enjoying. The words are deftly subtle, not objectifying the way so many men comment on her appearance. Still her face blooms with heat, and she looks down at the case in her grasp. She has not heard his praise in a very long time. Even when they were close, he was not inclined to remark on such things. It means much more to her now.

"Thank you," she whispers, then continues as if her skin were not tingling with pleasure. "I--the song went well, I think. It was not much noticed, to be honest, as it came after the kiss, and that was all people focused on. As it should be." Kylah looks up at Velir and has a flash of a fantasy, what it would be like to kiss him in public, at such an occasion. Or in private, with no music or applause but the chorus in her heart...

"But Mrs. Gromov--Graham--seemed to recognize it," she blurts, shifting her gaze quickly to the path. "That is all Mr. Graham wanted. It was so good to see him that happy. After all the trauma we have all been through."

She does not want to remember the awfulness of the past week, but if nothing else there is one thing she must address. The case feels heavy and she sets it down, rubbing her hands together and falling still. "Velir... I know this may open up a subject that is unpleasant, but... with all the double watches I have been on, and the extra work you have been doing...

"I have not had a chance to adequately express just how much--how very much I owe you." Kylah's voice softens, although there is no one nearby aside from tiny animals just barely visible among the grass and trees. "Without your help I could not have saved my--my uncle's friend. It went against your principles, and--and you may not believe it, but it went against mine, it did, but I truly felt I had no choice."

She bites her lips and after a moment's regret quickly shakes her head. "No, my feelings were unimportant. It was your principles that mattered, and which makes your kindness even more extraordinary. And I just want to thank you. I fulfilled my duty and saved the lives I needed to, and you have no idea what it meant, that you... that you let me. I am so sorry for putting you in that position, and yet am so grateful..."

Staring up at him, she swallows, words seeming too insignificant to share her feelings. Kylah sways a little nearer, as if gravity itself has altered and now centers on Velir Rangin. Before she can second-guess the instinct, she takes a micro-step forward and gives him the slightest, swiftest kiss on his cheek, lips doing little more than brushing his skin, before she ducks her head down to stare at the case in front of her. "Thank you for being my truest friend."

Mäkeläinen is standing by for beam-up, of course.

If there was time before transport to utter a brief yet sincere valediction to the aliens and to his fellow crewmates, take it as read that he did so.

Kylah did indeed hear Bizhi's goodbye and let's say she returned it. :) - choie

Beside Kylah, Rangin can feel the brush of her lips on his cheek and the electric buzz of pleasure that starts in his head and races down his spine. The smile quivers on his lips at the sudden tingle of excitement that rushes through him.

Something comes unbidden to mind, a hillside, a flash of lightning, a feeling of electricity from just a small peck on the cheek. A few things click in his mind and the smile becomes even broader.

“If you don’t mind, would you like me to carry your case for you?” he politely asks Kylah, all the while slipping one hand into hers.

* * *

Startled by Velir’s handclasp, Kylah braces herself for the uncontrolled emotional onslaught that has passed between them whenever their hands have touched--ever since his orbital skydiving accident not long ago that triggered the dormant Sakathian virus symptoms.

But she feels nothing like the terror and violent memories she experienced before. His hand is warm, just like the calm emotions radiating steadily toward her. They are a reflection of her own, in fact.

Of course--that is the difference. Both times they shared this empathic bond, it was during her extreme panic, the dread of imminent danger. Her own emotions had been magnified and mirrored back to her, along with his reaction. A feedback loop that only worsened every second they were in contact.

A flicker of disappointment nags at her. Is this just her delight that she senses? Not his, after all?

“Carry my case,” she repeats, a little dazed. “Oh. Yes, yes please.” As he bends to pick the lute case with his other hand--not letting go of her, though it would be natural to do so--Kylah continues to watch him. He has not accepted her apology--not with words--but he must have forgiven her, he would not seem this gentle or fond otherwise. He has not objected to the kiss, either. Indeed, his smile is wider.

Her doubt fades and her own rare smile--not so rare, today--returns. The pleasure is not just hers, not a mere reflection. It is mutual, passing from him to her as well. They share this happiness, this peace, together. His strength emboldening hers, her affection matched by his.

Unlike every time they have so much as brushed against one another in the recent past, Kylah does not recoil from his grasp. Instead, her fingers return his affectionate squeeze, and another ripple of contentment flows through them like warm honey.

“Velir,” she says--shy but daring to ask anyway. “Do you… do you feel that too?”

* * *

Thoughts of discoveries and being able to help fade as Kylah’s question registers. He is not sure if he heard it or felt it, but this overwhelming sense of peace, of happiness, feels both familiar and yet more powerful, more emotional than he knows or has perhaps not felt for so long.

Standing in glorious sunshine, overlooking a beautiful scene and holding onto Kylah’s hand as if some parts of the past had never happened.

"I... I feel…" and his voice trails off, not having the words to describe it.

He looks across at her and squeezes her hand again, not wanting to say anything further that might spoil this moment before leading her onwards towards the sunset.




Rangin by me, Kylah by choie.

Marala is perhaps a bit heavier than Graham remembers, but he carries her with ease across the threshold and into her quarters. "Mission accomplished," she laughs as the doors whoosh shut behind them. Still in his arms, she takes his head in her hands and kisses him - a long, slow passionate kiss. "Thank you, Boojee."

Dr. Mäkeläinen says his farewells and disappears into the transporter beam, soon rematerializing in Transporter Room 1. A small, older Asian man in red Engineering coveralls is behind the console, and a slim, very attractive young Anglo woman in a Command yellow dress stands beside him. "Welcome aboard the Yorktown, Doctor," she says. She has a beautiful smile, he can't help but notice. "I'm Lt. Cecilia Bennett, the New Crew Liaison Officer."

Rangin and Kylah enjoy their time together on the planet's surface before, as the star-filled night comes on, returning to the ship.

She's happy. Honest to fucking god happy.

Graham accepts Marala's kiss fully--how could he not, she's the first woman he ever loved, as attractive as ever, and she's now his wife.

But a lot flashes once it ends. Jane shouldn't have died. At least not without me. Nia...Nia deserved...I don't know. A lot better. Love, yes...not the way things happened.

But right here, right now, I've made Marala happy.

"You never need to thank me for ever being the man you deserve in spades," Graham replies, giving her a squeeze. "But I hope I can give you a hundred reasons to think about doing so every day."

“Ma'am,” Bizhi acknowledges, “Chief.”

The lieutenant, Bennett, has beautiful eyes. She is— smiling? Not a horrible emergency, then? “It's an honour to be here. I've been looking forward to working with all of you. But,” he prods, “could you tell me what's going on? I was expecting to meet you tonight, or at least in the morning, to be sure. But the First Officer wants to see me stat?”

Marala kisses him again, more lightly, and smiles. "Then I'd say you're already off to a great start, my love."

Bennett says, "This is Chief Nguyen, one of our best transporter chiefs. Thanks for your help, Chief." He nods. "This way, please, Doctor." She strides out, saying as she goes, "Yes, Cmdr. Vargas thought it best to have you come aboard right away. I'll let him explain why." She accompanies Bizhi down the corridor to the nearest turbolift, telling him more about the USS Yorktown and her crew, and the shipboard wedding which just concluded.

Bizhi is able to unwind infinitesimally, enough to start taking in the reality of being aboard a new ship: bulkheads and corridors, crewmembers going about their business. All routine, but this particular instance of it new to him. Ideally, not for long.

He appreciates Bennett's infodump. She really has liaising honed to a fine art, and makes him feel welcome. It also goes toward reinforcing his impression of what appears to be a crack crew. Especially appreciated regarding the transporter chief; not that Bizhi is apprehensive about beaming up, exactly, but the theory and every known experiment shows the process to be almost suspiciously reliable.

A big shipboard wedding, that sounds like an notable event. That accounts for Kylah's gown and instrument case. A big turnout is not surprising; people want to believe in love, hang on to such emotions, all the more so when they spend their time on isolated, dangerous missions. There are no Starfleet regulations against romance, is what they say. Bizhi himself is no monk, but as a surgeon on board a starship such things are already more complicated. Who knows who might end up being one of his patients? Then it is a matter of ethics. Nor would he want to visualize their injured or lifeless body lying in front of him. Many of the young, single doctors dealt with the stress by hooking up with each other, or at least with someone on the medical staff. A natural consequence of propinquity.

He will have to check in with the Captain, then the senior medical officer. But he cannot begin to plan such details before finding out what Cmdr. Vargas wants.

As planetary night falls, Rangin and Kylah eventually return to the ship.

Bennett leads Bizhi to the spartan office of Cmdr. Pablo Vargas, who somewhat offhandedly welcomes him aboard the ship, adding, "I heard you'd already arrived in-system and thought you'd want to get an early start, especially since we don't know for sure yet when we're breaking orbit. Report to the Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Villa, after you leave here."

Dr. Miriam Villa, a small, energetic, middle-aged woman with spiky hair, rolls her eyes a bit when Bizhi visits Sickbay and tells her what the First Officer said. "He's more impatient than I am," she confides. "It's good to have you aboard, but there was no particular reason for you to cut short your shore leave, really. Sorry about that." She shows him around Sickbay, introduces him to the other Medical staff and describes a current study she's undertaken on Rigellian lung disorders. Bennett then shows him to his quarters, which he will be sharing with Dr. Nathaniel Bennett ("A cousin of mine," the navigator tells him, "and a Sickbay colleague of yours"), who's not there at the moment. She also gives Bizhi a data pad with lots of information for new crewmembers, and encourages him with a friendly smile to call if he has any questions, before leaving.

Graham and Marala enjoy a very happy wedding night together.

The next morning, the Yorktown's daily announcements on each of your comm accounts include the news that a preliminary hearing will be held in Conference Room 1 at 1100 hours as to the case of Federation v. Paul Hutchinson AKA Annette White. None of you are on duty at that time, if you wish to attend. Graham and Onn, in fact, are ordered to attend, pursuant to a separate notice from the Starfleet Judge Advocate General's Office, "... and be prepared to give testimony as to the surrender and apprehension of defendant, a fugitive at the time, to personnel of USS Yorktown at the Novy Rostov colony."



For more: https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...vocate_General

The snap of Nia’s hair clip signifies the last step of her preparation, and she backs up a little from the mirror. The image staring back at her seems no different from any other day, or night for that matter: Mass of springy, tightly coiled russet-colored hair tamed into a low ponytail. Gold uniform with its thick gold Lieutenant’s braid and standard figure-conforming shape that displays her strong form softened by curves. Black tights and boots showing off long legs.

And, for the first time since fleeing Novy Rostov, eyes that don’t seem like a haunted wraith who’s lost her puppy.

The sliding door behind her whooshes open, sending steam from the shower to fog up the mirror. Rolling her eyes, she wipes the condensation away with her sleeve. “You’re ruining my contemplation of this dazzling vision before me. Shut the door!”

Ajay is busy toweling himself off when he is sure he can hear Nia saying something. He sticks his head around into the main cabin and sees her standing tall, the very image of a prim and proper officer of Starfleet, only this time with a happier look on her face.

“Sorry, was that you wanting to see a glorious vision in front of you? Well I’m right here.” He’s looking for those tell-tale creases round her eyes and perhaps an annoyed, but amused, flicker of eyes in his general direction. He wanders a little closer, well aware that all he has to defend his modesty is one small towel, not that it ever came between them.

“Thanks for last night, that was different. You look a little more relaxed as well, not to mention, damn fine in that uniform.” While teasing her playfully is something that comes naturally, he still wants to make sure she's beginning to get over Graham. “Joking aside, how are you doing?” he asks in a more unusually serious tone.

Kylah sighs in rapture, eyes closed to savor the moment. The morsel she is chewing so delightedly is not quite Bellaque, but of course, it could not be: that Elasian pastry cannot possibly be replicated, by machine or non-Elasian hand--though Chef Johnson once made an excellent attempt that was delicious in its own way.

Still, while the taste of the syrup-drenched waffle in front of her might not measure up to a Terran's standard of its freshly made counterpart... it is certainly satisfying her sweet tooth.

The Mess does not seem as crowded as usual, she observes while finishing her meal. Perhaps many have eaten earlier. Or have gone down to the planet. Kylah mentally shrugs and sets the fork down. She takes a discreet lick of her thumb, sticky with syrup.

A good night's sleep, this delicious breakfast, nothing on her agenda today except perhaps attending the unusual hearing later, if she decides to go... Kylah could not feel better. Her happiness is not even dependent on any of that. Resuming her friendship with Velir Rangin... Friendship? Maybe more, maybe someday soon, if they continue to talk and rebuild the trust that once existed between them.

Their long stroll together had been sweet, full of light-hearted conversation and warm, content silences. And once the sky turned into an indigo blanket sprinkled with stars, they readied themselves to beam up to the ship and Velir had lifted his communicator to call Chief Nguyen. But his eyes caught Kylah's and he did not speak. She had stared up at him. The breeze whispered between them, seemed to beckon them closer. And...

Kylah flushes and takes her napkin to blot her mouth. If she is to attend a hearing about a man who slaughtered his family--allegedly--she does not want to associate any of it with what happened, or what could have happened, last night.

She wonders if Velir will be attending the hearing. Or any of her more friendly colleagues. Lt. Thalen, she suspects he would wish to attend. Lt. Zheng, the temporary roommate she has not seen since they arrived at Beta Antares. Or Dr. T'Var, Frederick Mayhew, Carlos Alvarez,,, or the new arrival, Dr. Mäkeläinen, for that matter. What a horrid incident with which to begin his career on the Yorktown. At least it cannot compare to the awfulness of the Novy Rostov tragedy, which was Dr. Bennett's introduction.

Grasping her tray before standing up, she twists around in her seat to see if any of them are nearby.

As it happens, Dr. T'Var is just coming through the Mess door. She sees Kylah, nods and comes over. "Good morning, Kylah," she says, in as friendly a way as a Vulcan is probably capable of. "How are you today?"

Nia catches the reflection of Ajay’s concerned gaze behind her. “You had to ruin the moment with sincerity.” She returns to her own face in the glass, measures herself up, then turns around. “Honestly? I feel… okay. Settled.”

She moves to him and lifts a hand, thumb gently brushing a hint of shaving foam from his cheek. “I’m the one who’s grateful. I could’ve hooked up with almost anyone yesterday, but I didn’t want sex. Not just sex.” Her quick, quirky smile melts into affection. “I needed to feel cared for. Cared about. For the first time in what feels like forever--even though it’s only been a week, an endless, shitty week.”

Nia’s fingers move from brushing away the soap to combing through Ajay’s damp mop of black curls. Then she turns from tender to playful, scruffing his hair. “I know I’m risking feeding your already outsized ego, but Aje, I don’t think a single soul on this ship could’ve given me what I wanted the way you did. Other than…”

...Other than the man who made her feel like worthless cargo dumped out into space. Her throat tightens, but she quickly catches herself and smiles again. “Sorry. It’s gonna take a little while. Maybe a long one.” Nia exhales, looks up and down at Ajay's nearly naked form, and raises an appreciative eyebrow. “Speaking of length…You look pretty damn fine in your 'uniform' yourself. I've got this hearing to deal with, but you’re still on shore leave. Maybe you can go down to the planet and make use of it?”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that I do care about you. Although I don’t think you’d care for a wet handprint on your backside before you leave the cabin. People would talk.” Ajay raises one slightly damp hand and waves it at Nia.

“As for planetside, already been there. Restock of the supplies needed fetching.” Ajay catches himself before he mentions the wedding reception needing several of those. “But, it’s got some pretty bits to it, so I’m sure I can find some tropical taverna to drink the night away. I’ll recce ‘em and let you know. You’ll need a drink after the hearing, I know I always do.” He looks her squarely in the eye with an evil grin , “Don’t ask!”

He looks at how prepared she is for the day compared to his current state of dress or lack of it. “Look, if you wanna head off, get some grub beforehand, and then sort out the trial thingy, I’ll tidy up here, don’t you worry about it. Go, be an officer and an upstanding one at that for the day, then relax this evening. I can invite a few others if you want to make a party of it. After all, friends are for when life gets shit and you need a pick-me-up.

Having fully dried off, Ajay dangles the towel from one hand before nonchalantly flipping it over one shoulder. “Of course, if I’m going to do anything, I’d better get dressed as well.”

Kylah's eyes brighten. She has a special affection for the doctor, even though they have not spent much time together recently. Sliding her chair over to make space, she nods to the one beside her. "Please, sit down, unless you are already engaged with other company elsewhere."

Regardless of whether T'Var accepts the offer, Kylah folds her hands together on her lap and leans forward, like a schoolgirl anxious to impress a tutor with how much she knows. "I am doing well, thank you. Very well indeed." How often has she been able to say that to anyone--while actually meaning it?

"The wedding yesterday was so beautiful, and spending time on the planet... do you know, I cannot remember the last time I was actually outdoors in the fresh air? I suppose it was on Sigma Iota. But while that was outdoors, the air was certainly not fresh."

She almost laughs at imagining Dr. T'var, Velir and Lt. Graham in those bizarre mobster outfits from ancient Earth, transported from the dingy urban streets to the pastoral paths of Beta Antares. Of course her own 1920s-era dress would look no less silly. "The important thing is that I went down and back without sustaining an injury. That is a first."

Kylah shrugs and puts a hand on her chest. "My apologies, Doctor. I rarely have such pleasantries to impart. But enough of me. I saw you at the wedding, I believe. Did you enjoy it? How did it compare to ones back home?"

Grinning at Ajay's shamelessness--one of the many things she loves about him--Nia lifts a palm as if to ward him off. "Depending on what you want to do, the towel might've been more than enough. But sure, stay, make yourself pretty for the locals dirtside. You know where everything is." Her lip curls in amusement. "As you reminded me last night."

She turns to leave, sweeping a datapad up from her sloppy desk. But when she reaches the door and it whooshes open, she lifts her face toward her dearest friend.

"No joking, Aje. Thank you for... for everything. You’ve given me myself back. After this past week, especially after yesterday... not even Booker could do that.”

Parting from him with a warm smile, Nia strides out to the corridor to find some coffee.

Bizhi is too new to know exactly how he should take it, but is more bemused than upset that Vargas seemingly did not leave him to his own judgment on how to spend his own shore leave. After all, barring exigent circumstances, if he wanted to report on board later in the evening or even in the morning it would be his business, although it is always a good idea to report the day before and have a little more time to get settled and oriented.

He really enjoys meeting Dr. Villa and the other staff. Meeting the team also marks his true arrival as part of the crew. He hopes he soon gets a chance to prove himself by asking for and taking on some responsibility. He is anxious about making a good impression, or at least something is causing some muscular tension; he is well versed in the physical and mental symptoms. Fortunately, he knows from experience that work is the best cure for his particular brand of nervous energy, certainly better in all respects than pyrrolydinic stimulants or subspace-induced synaptic polarization.

Left to his own devices, Bizhi first gets his hands on some coffee. Back in his quarters, he reviews his assigned watches, stations, and appointments, and takes the time to study Bennett's data packet in detail. He makes the necessary arrangements to have the rest of his personal belongings sent up; he does not have that much baggage, certainly nothing that takes up limited space or that [the other] Bennett would mind, but there are his extra clothes, a few hanging plants, sample jars, compact high-tech tools, even a couple of real, paper books. Also, various odd alien artefacts he has picked up here and there on his travels.

He has not forgotten his resolution to contact his sister, Ishi, but is not quite sure what to say to her. She would be happy simply to hear from him, even something bland. Too easy to lose touch, and Martians are not the sentimental sort. Finally, he ends up recording a video message that will be relayed to Mars across the subspace network: Issa, sorry it's been so long. It's too easy to lose track of time. You would love Antares; you might think no place lives up to its holos, but in this case you would be wrong. There is life everywhere, and you should see it for yourself! I'm squared away on my new ship now, and we'll be breaking orbit soon. From what I was able to see, everything is done here on a very high level. It's a busy place, stuff is constantly happening, and I'm sure in a matter of weeks I'll already have a lifetime's worth of crazy stories, but don't worry. Take care of yourself.

The morning announcement of a judicial hearing seems notable. For one thing, it is highly unusual that such a hearing would take place aboard a Starfleet vessel or otherwise even involve the Fleet, but the word is that some of the Yorktown's officers were involved. Something about a fugitive killer. Purely judicial matters are not something Bizhi would normally pay any attention to, but, on the other hand, there promises to be some interesting forensic pathology; apparently the guy got a top-shelf identity swap with all the trimmings at some Orion clinic, and learning the details of who, when, where, and what was done would be well worth it. The real full monty is definitely beyond the skills of the average patcher. Bizhi thinks maybe he can see how it could be pulled off, at least assuming access to bleeding-edge Orion or Rigelian equipment, or some of the stuff the Romulans are rumoured to have, or equivalent-level tech, at a minimum. Mere cosmetic changes are much more accessible, but would not fool a deep medical scan.

With a word of apology, Dr. T'Var gets a plate of chopped fruit and a mug of steaming hot lisin tea before sitting down with Kylah. She then says, with a small Vulcan smile, "I'm glad your visit to the planet went well, and did not require me to then see you in Sickbay in my professional capacity." As to weddings, she says, "Vulcan weddings tend to be quieter and more formal affairs than this one, as well as considerably less... demonstrative, as I am sure it will not surprise you to learn. But I enjoyed seeing Mr. Graham 'get hitched,' as the saying goes, and hope that he and his wife will be very happy together."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's personal effects are beamed up from the surface and delivered to his new quarters without difficulty; his subspace message to his sister Ishi is also sent through.

That morning, Graham and Onn are separately and briefly interviewed by Lt. Cmdr. Emmett Baird of the Starfleet JAG Corps and his co-counsel, Lt. Sarah Foley, who have reviewed your reports about what happened on Novy Rostov and just have a few questions of their own.



At the appointed hour, the hearing convenes. The room is not overcrowded; most of the Yorktown's crew apparently prefer to enjoy shore leave than to attend such functions.

Everyone stands as Capt. Sundri Parvinder Singh of the Yorktown enters with two other officers and takes the center chair along the long edge of the Theban marble table; as the senior officer present, she is also presiding officer of the hearing. Capt. Enoch Potter of the USS Viraat, the Yorktown's sister ship, takes the seat to her right; to Singh's left sits Cmdr. Kiichi Norita, commanding officer of the scoutship USS Rodgers. Both ships had responded to the crisis on Novy Rostov and returned to Beta Antares IV with their fair share of the evacuees. All three officers are in Starfleet dress uniform and have datapads close at hand. "Please be seated," Singh says.

Facing the hearing panel from behind another, smaller table are the defendant, looking much as she did on Novy Rostov but now in a featureless dark coverall, with two redshirts seated behind her. A civilian lawyer from Beta Antares IV, Emily Martin, sits beside her, her hands folded and a stack of datapads before her. At another, identical table to their right, the two JAG officers sit calmly.

Singh picks up a small wooden mallet and gently raps the ship's bell on the table two times, then twice again, then twice more, in the time-honored custom of Starfleet jurisprudence. "This hearing will come to order," she says.

Nia stands and sits as required, her hands surreptitiously tucked underneath her thighs to warm them up. Nervousness has sapped the blood away from them, while wary alertness draws out her protective scales.

She's not exactly sure what she's anxious about, other than being in the presence of a murderer. It's not the first time, and probably won't be the last. But this sorta thing doesn't exactly get to be a habit. At least not in her job. Security officers, on the other hand...

Her eyes shift to Booker for a millisecond before returning to gaze at Paul Hutchinson. Nia would've preferred to leave him behind. Now look at the time and effort being expended on the guy. But no, we had to waste space on this fucker. Meanwhile we got in trouble for saving a nine-year-old!

She presses her lips together into a thin, tilting smile. Correction: she's the one who got into trouble. Booker got a wedding celebration.

Wryly amused at the inequity, Nia can only give a nearly silent chuckle and shake her head. The bitterness is dull now--not gone, but not sharp. Six hours of fucking'll do that, she thinks, and risks laughter again before sobering appropriately.

Hands warm again, they need something to do, so she pulls them up and takes the datapad beside her, holding on to it with a much tighter grip than necessary.

Especially after his stint doing planet-side law enforcement, this kind of proceeding is second nature to Graham.

He's only thrown off by not knowing how to interact with Nia. If at all.

He takes a deep breath and holds back a sigh. Well I guess if she ever wants the time of day from me, she'll let me know.

Dr. Mäkeläinen has plenty to do and plenty to get acquainted with, but he has not been on board long enough to pick up any extra extra work. He decides that the potential scientific parts of the testimony make the unusual, sombre hearing worth attending. He is not directly involved in any way, but something about the affair gives him the creeps. He does not go out of his way to collect scuttlebutt about it.

In the morning, before the hearing, he is out of the mess and in Sickbay before 0800. He makes sure to touch base with everyone and get familiar with all of the stations and with where everything is, and to understand everyone's duties.

Dr. Mäkeläinen learns even more about Sickbay, its layout, operations and staff today, and is welcomed by virtually everyone he meets. The sole exception is his cabinmate, Dr. Nathaniel Bennett, to whom he's introduced in the Medical lab. The young physician shakes his hand with no great enthusiasm and says, almost bored, "At last, the man who's robbing me of my privacy has arrived. Hello, Doctor."

At the hearing, Onn and Graham remain seated, not far and yet a world away from each other, ready for their turns to testify, if needed.

As the tone of the bell fades away, Capt. Singh says, "By order of Rear Adm. George Barnstable, Judge Advocate General, the Starfleet convening authority, and pursuant to Starfleet regulations as to felony courts-martial, I hereby call this hearing to order." For the record, she introduces herself, the other members of the court-martial panel and counsel for both the prosecution and the defense. "Defense counsel has advised the court that, defendant having undergone an identity swap including a sex change, she now considers herself female and asks that she be referred to accordingly. The court and all parties will comply with this request. This is a preliminary hearing to advise the defendant of the charges against her, to answer any questions she might have, and to enter her plea on the record. I now turn to the Judge Advocate, Lt. Cmdr. Baird."

The lead prosecution counsel, a lanky, balding black man in his thirties, rises. "Thank you, Madame President. The defendant, Paul Hutchinson AKA Annette White, is charged by the United Federation of Planets with two counts of homicide in the first degree, alleging that she murdered her wife, Patricia Hutchinson, and her son, Kevin Hutchinson, age 7, both by poisoning. This occurred approximately two years ago, on or about Stardate 3142.7. Defendant was a lieutenant of Starfleet Engineering at the time, subject to Starfleet discipline, and the two victims were both poisoned and within four days died at Starbase 9, a Starfleet facility then and now under Federation jurisdiction. While an investigation was still underway, defendant fled Starbase 9, contrary to the direct order of a superior officer, and disappeared, giving rise to the single count of obstruction of justice also brought against him, er, her."

He looks at his datapad, then continues, "A warrant for defendant's arrest was subsequently issued by the Federation District Court on Pelham III. Her whereabouts were unknown until just a few days ago. At that time, still a fugitive from justice and having undergone an identity swap to further obstruct the due course of justice and avoid apprehension, she revealed herself on Novy Rostov to personnel of the USS Yorktown, the ship on which this honorable court is now in session. Had she not then been facing imminent death along with many of the Novy Rostov colonists under circumstances unfortunately all too well-known to those now present, the Federation has no reason to believe that she would otherwise have stepped forward. She was taken into lawful custody pursuant to the warrant, advised of her rights, assigned counsel and brought without delay to Beta Antares IV, the world which this ship now orbits."

Having slipped into the large room with just moments to spare, Kylah is now settled on one of the chairs in back. She is curious about the legal process; the closest she has come to such an affair was her interview with the investigators of the attack on Anubis. And once the kidnappers had been caught, there was no trial--at least, none that required her participation.

She frowns slightly. It has not been that long. Is it possible the matter is still being adjudicated? Will she be required to make a statement of some sort? She files this question away, preferring to keep that incident a memory for now.

Instead she listens keenly to the prosecutor, embarrassed to have missed most of the captain's speech. Kylah is surprised to see the defendant/alleged killer, a woman rather than a man as Kylah had heard. Like most gossip, it has proven unreliable. She tries to get a good look at Annette White. Is she using any defense other than 'not guilty'? And if she is guilty, will it show?

Can I tell? Kylah's eyes open wide, alarmed by her own idea. Of course she could try to gauge the defendant's emotions and thoughts. It would be easy to do so. But it would be wrong, terribly wrong. And likely illegal, anyway. Else the prosecution would simply call in a Vulcan to perform a mind meld. Besides, what good would it do? Anything Kylah learned would have to remain a secret anyway. Until and unless Kylah's empathic abilities are revealed to everyone--which, she prays fervently, will never happen--whatever useful information Kylah might sense would have to remain just as hidden.

Still, the temptation is now uppermost in her mind and Kylah wishes very, very much that it had not occurred to her at all. She forces her gaze away from Annette White to focus on the prosecutor, or on Captain Singh, or basically anyone else in the makeshift courtroom other than the one person whose deeds and thoughts are the entire purpose of the hearing.

Furrowing her brow, Nia crosses her arms across her chest and her right leg over her left. Shielding herself, in a way, from the ugly crime. Too, she's also not pleased by the captain's admonitions regarding how to refer to the killer. Oh yes, a woman. Now. How convenient to have figured out her true identity only after slaughtering her family and needing a full ID swap!

Bull. But a clever defense strategy, Nia grants. From what she's seen, Federation culture generally extends sympathy to women, more than men. Quite the opposite on Sidonia. If Paul-Annette Hutchison-White killed a still-fertile breeding asset and--worse--a child? Death would be swift.

She realizes she's exhaled huffily in contempt, and immediately dials back her emotions. Again she casts a side-eye toward Booker. No way he's any more thrilled by this than she is. But he's a pro. How many times has he had to testify in such cases? What will he be like, answering questions from defense and prosecution? She's curious. She'll be a lot weaker than he will, that's for sure. But probably most of the other non-Security people will be.

Speaking of other witnesses... Is Rangin here? Nia turns slightly to check the audience. He was the one who identified all the fugitive's surgeries and the Orion connection and so on, wasn't he? Or was that Bennett? Nia sits back, mentally shrugging. The events on that day are--not surprisingly--a blur. Facing the front, Nia concentrates on the speeches and wishes she still had the kind of relationship with Booker where they'd feel like... partners. Maybe never. Maybe tomorrow.

But one thing's for certain: not today.

Rangin sits in the science lab at the screen in front of him as he scans through articles from his time in the field as a xenobiologist. It’s occupying his attention for more than the current hearing going on, but he is paying it half a mind to it, curious to see how it will go down.

Admittedly, he would have left them behind, they hadn’t been selected in the lottery and there would likely be a certain amount of catharsis for the relatives of the victims knowing he had met a very final end from an exploding star. Somehow, Rangin is finding it difficult to wrap his head around the waste of time and resources because as far as he is concerned justice is not being done.

He metaphorically kicks himself for thinking so hard on it, when he is looking up something far more important, if he is correct.

Where was it, where was it? Rangin stops on an article on tranquilising animals in the field, not just through pharmaceutical methods, but also by electrical, with enough of a jolt to stun the nervous system.

He drums his fingers on the desk wondering if this is part of the answer to the riddle Kylah set him a while ago with a burnt-out communicator. He will have to dig a little further to find out.

As he sits back, his thoughts drift back to Kylah and the walk in the gloaming they had last night. He cannot help but smile, the closeness they had together, the intertwined hands, the close embrace just before they beamed up. Rangin wonders if he is going too fast, too quick, but when it came to matters like this it always seemed to happen.

And yet, here he is, still smiling about it.

The prosecutor speaks for a few more minutes about the case and then concludes, "Accordingly, Madame President, the Federation asks that this honorable court take the defendant's plea today and set a schedule for pretrials and discovery. This is a complex case, for the reasons I've explained, and I anticipate that a general court-martial trial might not begin for some months yet, most likely on Starbase 9." He sits.

"Thank you, Mr. Baird," Capt. Singh says.

The defendant leans towards her civilian lawyer and they converse - calmly at first, but then the defendant becomes more agitated. The lawyer seems to be trying to soothe her.

Capt. Singh asks mildly, "Is there a problem, counsel?"

Atty. Emily Martin, an older woman with sad eyes and broad shoulders, rises and says, "No, Madame President. My client had some things she wanted to tell me, and now she has. I thank opposing counsel for his summary of the case."

"Have you had enough time to discuss the case with your client up to today, Ms. Martin?"

"At this point in the proceedings, yes, ma'am, but of course we have a lot more to talk about. While the Yorktown was en route from Novy Rostov, I was able to talk with and see my client over a secure, confidential subspace channel, and I thank you, Madame President, for making that available to us."

"Certainly. I should note for the record, you're appearing today as civilian counsel, as permitted under Starfleet regulations, but you may also have a JAG Corps officer appointed to the defense team. This would be with the usual safeguards to ensure the compartmentalization of information and the ethical representation of Starfleet co-counsel, of course, as the prosecution team, obviously, is comprised of two other JAG officers. Ms. Hutchinson, do you wish to have the services of a JAG officer, as well?"

"No, Madame President," Hutchinson says, "but...."

Martin says, somewhat curtly, "Hold off on that other point for now, please, Ms. White. There's still time yet."

"But...."

Martin quickly says, "A moment, please, Madame President," sits down and leans close to her client, talking quietly but animatedly. Soon she rises again and says, "We're now ready to proceed, Madame President, and thank you." The defendant crosses her arms and leans back in her chair.

"Is that so, Ms. Hutchinson?" Singh asks.

The defendant doesn't look happy, but says, "Yes, Madame President."

Literally on the edge of her seat, Kylah listens to all this with rapt attention. She tries to understand the proceedings, the legal terminology, the various officers who seem like dignitaries in their formal uniforms, but it all remains somewhat arcane to her.

The interaction between the defendant and her counsel, however, is much less obscure--at least, the general impression of what seems to be a significant disagreement between the two. Kylah shakes her head slightly every time Ms. Hutchinson tries to speak over her own attorney. Clearly the older woman knows the law and strategy better than her client. Why are they so at odds?

It is madness to side with a murderer--an alleged murderer. But with almost everyone in the room against the defendant, she cannot help sympathizing. And if she were in Ms. Hutchinson's position, she would wish to have a say in her own defense strategy. What could the disagreement be? Looking at the defendant's unhappy expression, Kylah grows more and more uncomfortable--and less and less confident that attending this hearing was a good idea.