Graham smiles slightly, and accepts the extended hand which he shakes firmly but gently. "I do very well. And thank you for asking." He tilts his head toward Marala. "I'm pretty sure you're mom is very proud of you, from what I've heard."
Printable View
Graham smiles slightly, and accepts the extended hand which he shakes firmly but gently. "I do very well. And thank you for asking." He tilts his head toward Marala. "I'm pretty sure you're mom is very proud of you, from what I've heard."
Swallowing the last of the small pastry, which was indeed quite good--she smiled at Irina after the first couple of bites--Kylah takes the proffered wine glass and gives a little deprecatory shake of her head. "Spasibo ... Ya izuchal russkiy yazyk v Akademii Zvezdnogo Flota. Khotel by ya svobodno govorit' na vashem yazyke."
Her gaze falls on Velir, and again she shakes her head. "Forgive me, I should not exclude you--I am not sure how well the UT works here. She asked me where I learned Russian. I just told her it was at the Academy, and that I wish I could speak her language more fluently."
Kylah purposely omits Mrs. Voronko's compliment of her accent, and not just out of modesty. Lessons at the Academy notwithstanding, whatever talent she possesses for pronouncing Slavic languages is mostly due to her interactions with Klingons. Their language--tlhIngan Hol--requires very similar consonants and vowels, not to mention glottal stops, which are infrequent in Federation standard.
But expertise in tlhIngan Hol is is most certainly not something to boast about; not to Velir, and indeed the Russian colonists might not appreciate their native language being compared to that of an enemy. She quickly changes the subject. "The pastry was delicious. Thank you, Irina, for recommending it."
The girl reminds her of Ditraa, when her sister was this young. Which was just before Kylah left for the Academy; a lifetime ago.
"Mrs. Voronko, do you work in the government as well?" she asks before taking an experimental sip of wine.
Kylah's translation is pretty accurate. And yep, "Zvezdnogo Flota" is indeed how they say "Starfleet" in Russian--well, in the non-Cyrillic alphabet. God bless ST's popularity.
"I really am," Marala says, bending down and hugging her son. "Thanks again, Jeremy. I'm going to get Nikolai to bed - yes, right now," she says in a firm aside to him as the boy begins to protest, "but you're welcome to stick around and talk with Boo-- uh, with Lt. Graham and me."
The older man shakes his head. He looks tired. "No, thanks. I have an errand to run and then I should be getting to bed myself. Goodnight, Nikolai. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graham." He shakes hands again and leaves.
"What ship are you from, sir?" Nikolai, still perky, asks Graham. "Is it orbiting now? How long will you be here?"
His mother pulls on his arm and starts to draw him away. "You heard me, buster. It's late. Time for bed."
Mrs. Voronko says, "No, I'm an accountant for Con-Am. I've been keeping their books for almost 20 years now."
Her daughters sit down on a couch together and start to whisper back and forth.
Graham stands up and smiles. "It's always important to listen to your mother. Yorktown is her name, we'll be in orbit for just a few hours. I strongly suspect I'll be able to send a vid about the ship to your Mom that you can watch later...when it's not time for bed."
"Wow, that'd be great! Thanks, Mr. Graham!" Nikolai says excitedly before being taken off to bed.
After a few minutes, Marala reappears, smiling but a little tired-looking. "Lord knows I love him, but he's always been a handful." She puts her hands on her hips and says, "Sit down, sit down, please, Boojee! It's so good to see you again. Would you like a drink? Something to eat?"
"I..." Graham takes a moment, swallows, looking at Marala. The tiredness he senses tugs at his heartstrings.
Or, more accurately, it's as if a particularly buff Gorn wrapped his heartstrings around its teeth and pulled like there was no tomorrow...
"Well, I'm technically on duty, but if you'd like to toast, to...old friends. I'll clink a glass and down whatever's your pleasure," he says.
Kylah nods, takes another sip but barely lets more liquid past her lips--she is not going to repeat the display she made at the Captain's dinner--and casts a furtive glance at Velir. He is still not participating, seemingly kilometers away; perhaps even lightyears. On Coridan?
She quickly returns to her hosts. "And are you a long-term resident here? Were your parents colonists as well?"
Marala smiles. "I have just the thing." She goes into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. She pours two icy-cold shots, hands one to Graham and raises hers. Her eyes are shining. "To old friends, too long parted, but finally reunited... better late than never."
Mrs. Voronko says, "Yes, I was born and raised here. My family doesn't go back quite as far here as my husband's, but we've been here for a long time. Do you not like the wine, Ensign? I'm sorry. May I get you something else?"
Kylah, her eyes widening, shakes her head quickly. She forgot that Russians--at least those she has read about--take social drinking seriously. After she girds herself, she takes a larger sip of the wine, feeling a warmth in her belly that is pleasant but a signal that despite this being merely wine, it is stronger than those she is used to.
"Not at all, Madam," she says, her tongue quickly drawing in some of the lingering tart-sweet flavor from her lower lip. Since she wears no makeup, she suspects one upside of the wine will be to give her face some needed color. "This is delicious. I just... do not want to get too far ahead of my colleagues. I am sure they will be arriving soon."
She turns slightly toward the door in a rather silly gesture, as if expecting to see Graham, St. Croix, Coimbra, Bennett or even Dr. Roble to march in on cue. Then her attention returns to the General and his wife.
"By coincidence, both Ensign Rangin and I come from planets heavy with rich deposits of valuable resources. And both have had various rivals fight for control. Indeed, some conflicts have yet to be resolved..."
Of course as soon as she says this, her face flushes, and she dives back into the wine to hide her tactlessness. Velir would not want to be reminded of Coridan's ugly past, and Kylah most assuredly does not want anyone to be aware of Elas's ugly present, playing the Federation and Klingons against one another.
Swallowing, she continues. "I...I just meant... I am curious if there has ever been any concern about... outsiders. Things seem so civilized here, so well coordinated among the various mining companies. I just hope there is no danger of anyone else hoping to wrest control from the present colonists."
"I'd like to supervise Mrs. Kostoyev's placement here." Nathaniel says, his tone relays it was not a request, but something he expects to happen.
This visit was determined to be boring, Nathaniel thinks. He supposes he should be grateful that there hadn't been a disaster or a crisis like on so many other missions to other worlds.
Nathaniel then sees a text inviting him to dinner with the Governor and the rest of the landing crew. He figures he might as well do that for the time being.
"Let me know when she arrives." He says as he walks out.
The Governor's wife says, "Oh, there are problems, occasional tensions or misunderstandings, even lawsuits from time to time, but nothing too bad. There's been mining here since within weeks of First Landing, so after this long we know how to do it without anyone having to lose their tempers - or their profits."
There is a chime at the door. Lt. Coimbra, looking a little dustier than before, enters the apartment and greets the Governor. A few seconds later, he's followed by Ens. St. Croix and NR Chief of Security Mezentsev. Drinks are served, snacks are munched and the noise level increases a bit.
Dr. Cobb crosses her arms and says pleasantly, "You're welcome to observe, Dr. Bennett, and I'd welcome any suggestions you might have, but if by 'supervise' you mean give orders to my staff, I'm afraid not. I'll certainly see to that you're notified when she arrives, though."
Nathaniel can talk further with her, or go to the Governor's cocktail party.
Graham nods and clinks Marala's glass. "Aye," he says, holding her eyes. He pauses before downing the drink. "And here's to having an unexpected opportunity to say 'thank you' - for everything, way back when."
Rangin is used to the welcoming nature of most miners. Given the situations they found themselves in, they always had a certain sense of community and if they invited you in, you were fairly safe. But if you got on the wrong side of them, the whole community would rally together. Well, except where the Orion Syndicate mattered, but that is a different matter.
He listens to Kylah talking enough for both of them and the pleasantries being passed back and forth.
He considers the pastry and if he feels like it, but it seems unappetising for some reason. No doubt cooked well, but he just doesn’t feel in the mood. The vodka on the other hand, well it is after hours and he is technically toasting to their health.
Once the small tumbler is in his hand, “I apologise that my Russian is not as good as Ens. Kylah’s, but За здоровье!*” He raises the glass to his hosts in acknowledgement and takes a sip.
“What Ens. Kylah is trying to say delicately, is that I am from Coridan and it has been a while since I was last down a mine. Please excuse my vagueness, I had forgotten, how much I remembered.”
*pronounced "za zdorov'ye"-- "to your health."
Kylah is glad to see the others from their party--at least, some of them--and holds off on a better explanation of her question, since Mrs. Voronko did not seem to understand where Kylah was headed.
And then Velir speaks out of nowhere, now holding a small glass of clear liquid; Kylah did not hear what he requested. He seems extremely distracted and she wonders if it was a good idea for him to be in such surroundings. Lt. Graham could not have known, and perhaps even Velir did not realize how it would affect him. But Kylah feels it, and it worries her.
After a moment she shakes herself free of the invisible, delicate rope linking her and Velir--which she suspects is only noticed by her--and moves closer to the Voronkos.
"If I may, Governor? I do not think I was clear earlier... by 'outsiders' I did not mean other miners here on Novy Rostov. To the contrary, I repeat my compliments on how well you have maintained a positive atmosphere of cooperative competition." She smiles politely.
"What I meant by problems from outsiders was... have you ever been noticed by off-planet explorers? Ones who might have plans for the resources you colonists have successfully discovered and mined for generations."
Kylah holds her glass with both hands curved around the bowl. Which would be correct for brandy, but not wine--which she prefers cold to warm. Still, she needs the reassurance, somehow.
"Other planets have been fought for with less wealth at stake. I suppose I should be leaving such questions to our security officers. St. Croix has probably spoken about this with your own Security expert, and I am sure Lt. Graham--"
She stops. No, she is not at all sure Lt. Graham is thinking of security right now. It is not her business. If Lt. Onn had not been so kind to her... if the two had not treated her almost as--as parents, in a strange way... Kylah would probably not wonder about Lt. Graham and this woman from his past.
But again... it is not her business, and certainly not a subject to be brought up here. She goes on easily: "...I am sure he has already read your history. But I have not, so forgive my ignorance. Have you had to defend yourselves? From, say, Romulans? The Orion Syndicate?" Kylah swallows and cannot help the slightest hesitation before she finishes: "Klingons?"
Marala tosses back her drink, gestures towards the couch and sits down herself. "Tell me everything about you since we last saw each other, Boojee. The good and the bad - I want to hear it all."
The other Russian-speakers in the room return Rangin's toast in kind. Coimbra and St. Croix have drinks of their own, now, and the party is picking up a bit. A pleasant hum of conversation and occasional laughter fills the room. The Governor comes over, puts his arm around his wife's waist and listens attentively to Kylah's questions. He says, "No, fortunately, we're too far off the beaten track to have attracted any hostile aliens' attention. The Klingons are the closest, of those you mention, and even when Federation-Klingon relations were at their worst, we never had any problems like that."
"That is very good to know, sir," Kylah says, somewhat slowly. A weight seems to be pressing down on her insides, and it is not the wine. She wishes she could erase what she just heard.
The trouble with knowledge is that it is--for her, and more particularly for her Uncle Aldaan--currency. Ever since her parents died, she has been required to provide him with such currency, one way or another, in one form or another. Each time the price grew higher, the cost more dear.
In the last few seconds she has learned something that could be valuable to the Klingons; something of which they are apparently unaware. Which means it is precisely the sort of currency Aldaan expects... demands... from her.
And now? After the dreadful, shameful mishaps, errors in judgment, and personal losses during her time on the Yorktown, all of which have led Kylah to receive first his ice-cold rage, and now this month-long ominous silence?
If she wants to get back into some measure of favor with him, this would be a start: a resource-rich planet ripe for plucking, remote and likely with defensive capability that is no match for a Klingon attack.
Why did I ask, oh why did I ask? Kylah's grip around the glass tightens until the pressure is great enough that she fears it is at risk of breaking. She nods and smiles and tries in vain to think of something to say. Her gaze flickers to Velir, wishing he would rouse himself, talk about mining, anything at all, to help extract her from this discussion. But he will not rescue her, possibly would not do so even if he knew she needs him.
She hurries to return to the Governor.
"I... I am sorry Lt. Graham has not yet arrived," she stammers. "I am sure he means no disrespect. It must have been a surprise to discover an old friend here. Ms. Gromov..." She hesitates and, desperate for something to say, adds more bluntly than she intended: "Is she married?"
"That's all right," the Governor says, smiling a little conspiratorially. "It was obvious they had some catching-up to do."
"She's widowed now," his wife tells Kylah. "Poor dear. A lovely woman, very hard-working, and raising a little boy on her own."
As the party begins to fill out slightly, Rangin begins to relax chatting to a few of the guests and making polite conversation. He lets the general hubbub wash over him, engaging in some brief chatter on mining here and some comments on the community there. The first communal event he had been to since his accident and he can feel a warm glow of companionship, or maybe it’s just the vodka. As he looks around he can see the others from the USS Yorktown only to realise that Kylah has been standing behind him for most of it, or perhaps he just hadn’t noticed her.
Feeling a little guilty that she has been left to the Governor and his wife, even though as a diplomat, she is far more experienced in talking to such. People. But after the last couple of days, well without Graham around, someone should keep an eye on her. He makes his excuses to the current group and heads across in time to hear her question about Ms. Gromov.
...one of those desperate silence filler questions…
which if it lasts, then he will continue as if nothing has happened. “Governor, have you ever considered expanding the variety of flora and fauna you have here?”
Voronko sips his wine and thinks a moment. "No, I can't say I have. What do you have in mind, Ens. Rangin?" He smiles. "Should we create a jungle, or a zoo?"
"Well..." Graham takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. "A tall order, I guess..."
He clears his throat. "Just let me check my communicator that buzzed earlier..." He smiles slightly. "Sorry, burdens of rank, you know. Didn't have them even a few weeks ago."
He can't help but frown as he reads Kylah's message. Not because there's anything wrong with her proposal, but rather because, selfishly, he'd prefer more time with Marala.
Good diplomacy work, Ensign. He texts in response. We'll be along shortly.
Once he replies he takes a deep breath. "So...my sister Fiona, you may remember she was having a lot of, ah, trouble when we were kids. She's OK now." He nods. "All good."
"Uh, well...I guess most other things are more, ah, not all good. I got married, we had a daughter. I made Lt. Commander. Climbing the ladder like I wanted to once I discovered Starfkeet...And then--"
He rubs his hands together, once again keenly aware of the many scars. "My wife died--no she was killed. I, uh...I went looking for whoever did it, to kill them. I guess, I, ah, did kill one guy. Got busted down to Ensign." He shakes his head. "This probably isn't what you want to hear, Marala."
He swallows. "But now I'm back on a ship, assistant chief of Security. Our--my--daughter is on Earth, she's in gradudate school. Smart like her mother."
He pauses. "We're both here...and I'm so...very glad to see you, Marala. but I'm guessing for both of us things didn't go one hundred percent as planned."
Kylah cannot ignore Velir's approach, and it takes a moment to focus on the governor's wife as she must. Something is drawing her to him. Not in the romantic sense, not even in the friendship they once shared. This is almost physical, while simultaneously... intangible.
Yet it seems to be one-sided: it is clear Velir does not feel as she does. He has barely looked at her since she arrived on the Bridge this morning. There is no sense in it.
She frowns and tries to detach her attention from this... whatever it is. Mrs. Voronko has told her something serious, and Kylah concentrates as best she can. "I am sorry to hear that," she says, tilting her head in concern. "Forgive me if this is too personal--may I ask, how did her husband pass away? Was it a mine accident?"
Marala takes Graham's hand and squeezes it. "No, they didn't, but honey, it's so good to see you now." She pours another vodka for herself, but sips it this time and doesn't toss it back as she did the first. She holds up the bottle for Graham, questioning, and pours him another if he wants it. She goes on, "After my family moved I ended up at the University of Singapore - I think you probably heard about that - and got my civil engineering degree. I kicked around in different jobs for awhile, including on Luna and Arcadia, and even spent a year aboard a freighter. Then I met Leo - Leonid Semyonovich Gromov. A Russian, as you probably guessed; he was handsome, and smart, and kind, and really a wonderful man. He proposed nine days after we met; I said no for awhile but he wore me down. It only took another week or so, and we were married by the end of the month. We were very, very happy together."
She smiles wistfully and takes another sip. "Leo was a mining expert and had moved around a lot, too. He was hired by NRMC just after I got pregnant. I can't say I'd been yearning to move to Novy Rostov but we both came to love it. Nikolai was born not long after we arrived, so he's a native, and we've been here ever since. I was able to get a job with the company, too, and everything was going great until Leo was killed in a cave-in. Even these days, with all our sensors and computers and structural analysis, those still happen now and then." Her expression is bleak. "I was devastated, and you can imagine how Nikolai took it, but we'd made a lot of friends here and they helped us through it."
Mrs. Voronko nods sadly. "Yes, a mining accident. Very tragic - he and two others were killed. It was a terrible day for the colony."
Graham accepts her offer of another drink and listens attentively.
When Marala finishes, he offers his glass for her to clink. "To the memory of those we've lost. And to the family and the friends we are lucky enough to have and cherish today." After a brief pause he smiles slightly. "Present company most definitely included."
"Hear, hear." Marala raises her glass and drinks the toast. She gazes at Graham for a moment, then carefully sets her glass down, leans forward, takes his face in her hands and kisses him.
Kylah's expression turns pained. "I am sorry to hear that. Was this--oh, excuse me, please..." She belatedly realizes that what she thought was someone jostling her in the increasing crowd was the slight jump of her communicator.
The message inside is straightforward enough, and the compliment is greatly appreciated--although she does not feel she has done enough to warrant much praise, simply for accepting an invitation. As no response appears required, she returns the device to her hip.
"Forgive me," she says, looking up at the older woman, and adds a glance at the Governor--although he is speaking with Velir now. "Lt. Graham says he--well, he and Ms. Gromov, I believe--will arrive soon."
After a fleeting, downcast look that passes somewhere in the range of Velir's chest, Kylah redirects her attention and recalls what she was about to ask Mrs. Voronko. "Was this tragedy recent?"
Graham is initially taken aback, utterly surprised. And then he puts a hand on her shoulder and returns her kiss, intensely.
There's so such behind reciprocating: the grief and loss they just shared, the surprise and joy at seeing her unexpectedly, and...back then I was a scared, weak kid, now I could be the person--the man--I always wanted to be for and with her...
But I can't.
There's Nia, of course, but whatever angst and complexity that introduces--and it feels like probably "a lot"-- is simply pre-empted by the fact that he knows he has to go. Not just in a few hours back to the ship, but, really, in a few minutes to the soiree Kylah engineered. And in this situation there's no good outcome...
After a moment--maybe two moments, that feel both endless and far too short--and with effort, but he knows it has to happen--he stops pulling her closer and draws back. "Marala--I...there's no--there's no good way for us to--ah, to jump into anything, anything beyond this moment. I--there's a thing with the Governor happening right now my team set up."
He looks into her eyes, blinks, catches them again. " I know, right now--I'll treasure this kiss forever, no matter what. But...I don't know what I'm doing or saying, but I know I have to go."
He takes a deep breath and pulls back his hand to touch one of hers along his face. "I always wished I was a better man back in the day, Marala. Being one comes with doing my duty."
Mrs. Voronko confides to Kylah, "Almost two years ago, I think it was. It almost seems like it was yesterday."
Marala puts her hand over Graham's, holding it against her cheek. She looks into his eyes and asks quietly, "After all these years... can't your duty wait for just a little while longer?"
Rangin hears the Governor's reply and can't help but grin slightly at the thought of a jungle tucked away in one part of the the door. He had been in a few in his time, always finding them a little oppressive but full of life and wonder. The idea of a zoo, especially a small one where people can get used to more animals than a household pet is a good idea. It brings a little bit of the universe closer to home, trapped in this dome. He can remember the time he spent in one of Coridan's own zoos and loving every moment of it. Surely something similar here could only be of benefit to the colonists.
But then the tone of the conversations takes a decidedly sombre turn and he finds himself fidgeting slightly. Mining always was, is and forever would be a dangerous proposition despite everything. Every town in Coridan near a mine had its own memorials to those lost below ground.
Rangin sighs deeply, "They always feel so after they happen," he says quietly, "and I'm sure you have done everything since to make sure it never happens again." He sips the drink, feeling the vodka slowly burn down his throat.
Damn, this was getting morbid, they were supposed to be a standard evening meeting and it seems to be heading nowhere. Rangin takes a deep breath, stands slightly straighter and attempts not to sound either disrespectful or flippant.
“Governor, from what you said earlier, a zoo is very good idea? Mrs. Voronko, do you think there would be a place for such a thing? Ensign Kylah?”
The Governor grunts. "There was some talk of a zoo when I was a teenager, but nothing ever came of it. Too expensive and not enough interest, I think, although maybe people would feel differently about it now."
His wife thinks briefly, and says, "Depending on its size, there are plenty of places here where it might go. The bigger, the more problematic, though, of course."
Kylah, about to respond to Mrs. Voronko's comment about the length of time since the mine accident, is left with mouth parted in surprise when Velir addresses first the governor's wife, then--for some reason--Kylah herself. About zoos, of all things.
She looks down at her glass, takes a small sip, and then waits for the others to respond, listening to Mrs. Voronko's opinion about larger zoos being troublesome.
Since Velir has specifically asked her thoughts, Kylah is obliged to speak. She does so softly: "And yet smaller ones would contain either too few animals, or not enough space for comfort."
Her gaze shifts to the view outside. There is a dome surrounding all these colonists. To someone on the outside, the people of Novy Rostov are the ones in a cage. For their own safety, to be sure, but still: walls are walls.
"I never liked seeing wild animals confined," she murmurs, half to herself. Then she shakes her head, not wanting to insult what the others appear to enjoy. "But if it is the only way to introduce the native citizens here to new living creatures... and if the animals were humanely kept..." Her words hang as she she shrugs and smiles slightly, letting the rest be filled in however they choose.
Kylah wonders if it is right to monopolize the Governor and his wife. Again sipping her wine, she lets her eyes scan the room in an effort to find St. Croix, Coimbra and Bennett--the latter of whom she has not noticed arriving. Perhaps there is a problem with the quarantine? As it stands now, there are only four Starfleet officers here, and she and Velir are sticking with the highest-ranked... Rostovians? Rostovites? What do they call themselves?
It strikes her that if Lt. Graham believes she is doing a proper diplomatic job, she had better actually fulfill his expectations. She searches for anyone who seems interested in meeting someone from Starfleet, as the Governor and Mr. Weinstein assured her would likely be the case. While doing so, she concentrates harder on using her empathic sense as another tool to find someone particularly hoping to speak to her or one of her colleagues.
The Governor says offhandedly, "Well, if we were to have a zoo, I'd certainly want it to be humanely run. For instance, it'd have to include enough room for the animals to move around in a way that was healthy for them, you know?" He takes a sip of his wine. "We could accommodate guinea pigs and spiders, I suppose; I can't imagine we'd ever have enough room for an elephant or a navaarn."
Kylah sees St. Croix and Coimbra across the room, talking and apparently having a good time with Weinstein and the others. Dr. Bennett has still not appeared. She does not get a particular empathic impression from anyone other than the general mood of polite good cheer.
The door chimes and one of the Voronko twins goes to answer it.
Graham blinks and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head just slightly. "We're not kids anymore, and I--."
He stands up, taking her hand in his. "But I don't feel good about showing up randomly and shortly disappearing, and, in the meantime... uh..." He swallows. "Marala, I love you. I've always loved you. I always will." He squeezes her hand. "I may be wrong. But I feel like our memories and what we have deserves more than ten minutes or thirty minutes or whatever it is before I--I have to go. I know I have to go. If that wasn't the case...hell, I don't know. But it is."
Marala stands, squeezes his hand and ruefully smiles. "Yes, of course you're right, Boojee. I understand. Just know that you're always welcome here." She looks in on Nikolai, now sound asleep, and bids Graham goodnight with a kiss on the cheek.
A little at a loss--the Governor has shut down Velir's suggestion, and Kylah cannot think of anything else to ask these literally insular people--she almost resorts to the easy distraction of her wine glass.
Instead, she seeks out an appropriate place where she can set the glass down, half of the drink still remaining. "Pardon me, Governor... Mrs. Voronko... If you do not mind, I would be grateful for the opportunity to meet more of your friends. Will you excuse me?"
She wishes she could take Velir with her, as she is eyeing his own vodka glass and the rapidity with which he's disposing of its contents. Although she has seen him hold his spirits well--at least, better than she can, which is not saying much--she has not been able to predict his behavior of late.
But then she hears the door chime, and her hopes rise. She moves a little closer, expecting Lt. Graham. And if it is Dr. Bennett, Kylah suspects she had better be there before he says something rude to the Voronkos' young daughter.
The door opens and the past slaps Nathaniel right in the face. Leona stood there staring up at him as she smiles, a quizzical look on her tiny face. But as quickly as the past had gripped him, reality of the present brings dark, painful reminders. This wasn’t Leona, this child only looks like her. Leona is dead... they all are dead. Gone. Nathaniel would never see that face again. He’d never see any of them again. As a wave of powerful emotions from grief, to anger, to rage wash over him, he knows he has to go. He has to get out of here. He couldn’t be around this girl, not with her looking at him like that, like Leona once did. He turns to escape and prays no one saw him standing in the doorway.
The Voronko girl calls down the hallway after Nathaniel, "Hello? Hello, sir?"
When Kylah approaches her she says, puzzled, "There was a man in Starfleet uniform at the door, but he turned and left right after I opened the door. He didn't say anything."
Coming from the opposite end of the hall are now two men and a woman, all in civilian clothes.
Nathaniel hears the girls voice, but proceeds to move down the hall. He couldn’t go back, not with that child looking so much like Leona. He hadn’t forgotten the past. The past is why he was here, why he’d joined the crew of the Yorktown. But he has not prepared for this. He doesn’t think he’d ever be prepared for that.
As he reaches the end, closer to escape, for some reason he stops and turns back to the door. He sees the two men and the woman approaching from the other end of the corridor. Curious, he wonders what that was all about. Who are they? And are they headed for the party?
Nathaniel sees the trio approach the same doorway he just left. The girl at the door lets them in, and the door closes behind them.
The Voronko twin introduces Kylah to the new arrivals - Pavel and Elena Antonov, and Song Chon Kun. The Antonovs are an older Russian couple, and Song is a middle-aged Korean man. Mrs. Antonov trills, "Ens. Kayla, is it? Well, aren't you the cutest Starfleet officer I've ever seen!" She grabs Kylah's arm and puts her own through it. "I've always been so interested in Starfleet. Did you know, I almost joined when I was younger? It's true. You serve on the Yorktown, is that right? How long have you been in Starfleet? What do you do on your ship? Oh, I have so many questions for you...." She practically drags Kylah towards an available couch.
Mr. Antonov and Mr. Song exchange glances and head for the bar.
Graham gives Marala's hand a parting squeeze, and then leaves--"grudging but inevitable."
He's conflicted by te fact that he wishes things could be different - could they be 17 again, but only a better 17?
But the fact is I am still struggling to open up to Nia. I know I can't really be there for Marala. I wish I could.
Once clear of her place, he does his best - and looks for some signposts or guidance - to find his way to the shindig Kylah set up.
There are directories or maps at most major intersections in the rabbits'-warren of Novy Rostov's underground corridors, and after a few wrong turns Graham finds himself at the Voronkos' door.
Graham takes a deep breath and rings the chime.
The door is opened by a very pretty girl, about 14, who introduces herself as Irina Voronko, daughter of the Governor. She invites you in. You see a large, very comfortable apartment with a wide picture window looking out over the desolate, reddish-orange surface of the planet. Rangin and Coimbra are talking to various civilians (not all of whom you've seen before), as is St. Croix, who raises her glass in a polite toast when she sees you enter. Kylah seems to have been snagged by an older woman with lots of questions. There is food and drink on offer. The Governor gives you a friendly wave from across the room.
Nathaniel realizes he is being an idiot. What the hell is he doing running from a child? Besides, he needs to be here. He has to start getting to know these damnedable people if his plan will ever bear fruit. Besides he could use a drink. Here the drinks will be free. And who knows there could be.... other distractions as well. Steeling himself, he goes back to the door and rings the bell.
The same girl answers the door. She is plainly surprised to see you again and seems about to say something, but then thinks better of it. Instead, she simply introduces herself as Irina Voronko, daughter of the Governor, and invites you in. The place is much as Graham saw it when he entered a few minutes ago. Four other civilians enter just after Nathaniel and they join the party, too.
Another pretty girl - apparently Irina's twin sister - puts some music on. With that added to the several conversations already underway, it's getting a bit noisy.
Kylah cannot fathom how all this happened so suddenly. Mrs. Antonov is chattering away while Kylah looks up at each ring of the door chime. At first she was certain the person who had run, the person from whom she felt such guilt and discomfort, was Lt. Graham. She knows a bit of his emotions and they match up with the disappearing trace that Kylah sensed.
And yet it wasn't. Could it possibly have been Dr. Bennett? It makes no sense. The girl did say he wore a Starfleet uniform, and unless more team members have beamed down, Dr. Bennett and Lt. Graham were the only ones unaccounted for at the party.
Now she has been almost dragged to the sofa. "I--I--well, thank you," she says to Mrs. Antonov's odd compliment... if that was, indeed, how it was intended. Cute? She has never thought of herself that way. She explains her Communications role in as few words as possible, afraid of being interrupted by the garrulous older woman.
She waits for a chance to get a word in edgewise, and finally something that has tickled her mind since hearing their name bears fruit. "We actually have an officer named Antonov. His first name is Michael... no, Mikhail, I believe. Is this any relation?"
In truth, she doubts there is any connection, given this couple’s curiosity about Starfleet. Surely they would be in touch with a relative who is actually part of a major starship. Still, it is something to ask.
Even as she speaks, she looks around like a small animal searching for a hawk. So many strangers... Then, instead of the unfamiliar, she seeks out the few she knows. St. Croix, Coimbra--Velir, of course. Lt. Graham arrives and she exhales, relieved, especially when he is, followed soon by Dr. Bennett. The medical officer is particularly gratifying:. If he had remained absent much longer she would have contacted him to ensure his safety.
If Kylah is able to get more questions in, she will ask (loudly, to be heard over the music and discussions): "What do you and Mr. Antonov do on the colony? Have you been here all your lives? And who was that gentleman who entered with you--a friend?"
Mrs. Antonov says, "I don't know of any relatives in Starfleet; I'm sure I would know of them if there were any. Mikhail, you say? Hmm. I should contact him and see if he and my husband - that's my husband, Pavel, over there, he's my husband, a dear man, really - are any relation to each other." To Kylah's later questions, she says, "I own and run a small gift shop, and Pavel is retired from the mines. Yes, we're natives - we've both lived here all our lives. The other gentleman - you mean Mr. Song? We don't really know him very well. He goes to our church, I think, but I doubt I've seen him more than three or four times before tonight." She takes a drink and then a deep breath. "But you must tell me more about yourself, Ens. Kenda. Where are you from? Why did you join Starfleet? Why is your ship here at Novy Rostov? Will you be here long? Are you in command of this... group of Starfleet people? Have you had any interesting adventures in your time in Starfleet?"
This woman's remarkable chatter makes Kylah take automatic breaths, hoping Mrs. Antonov will do a little more of that rather than her speech. Kylah's old nurse was chatty as well, but nothing like this.
She does wonder about Mr. Song. That look he and Mr. Antonov exchanged seemed more than strangers. Then again, perhaps they were sharing some relief at getting a rest from Mrs. Antonov's river of words.
Ensign Kenda. Kylah tries not to smile, and now finds herself in an awkward position. She did not correct Mrs. Antonov the first time, and now with this second jumble of her name, Kylah feels it would be unkind to correct her. Then again, it would be worse if someone else were to do it. A simple way around the gaffe strikes her.
"My friends call me Kylah. I would be honored if you would, as well. I do not stand on formality." Which is, of course, one of her bigger lies, but she would rather lie than hurt the woman's feelings. "I hope this is not presumptuous, but may I ask what your religion is? I am very interested in other cultures. I wish, if it were allowed and we had time, I could see one of your services."
She hurries through her background. "I am from Elas, which is still in final negotiations to join the Federation. I joined Starfleet because my family wished to place one of us as a measure of good faith..." Which is an even more egregious lie than before. She rushes on: "...and I thought it was the best option to learn more about the worlds and people outside my home planet. And I certainly have," she adds quietly.
Hardly able to describe all the 'adventures' she has been through--even if she wanted to, and she most assuredly does not--Kylah just says, "I only joined three--nearly four months ago." How is that possible? So much in so little time... and I feel so much older... "But I have been fortunate to be on a few missions--assisting with a scientific experiment, although that turned into a disease outbreak; inspecting conditions at a resort, which also became... more challenging than we expected."
Kylah's hands are clasped and they turn a bloodless white from pressure as she does her best to maintain her cool demeanor. "We made First Contact with a previously unknown race and helped them retrieve a religious artifact. Finally, we stepped in to search for and free hostages. Quite a variety, I suppose. Although my role in most of these was peripheral.
"As for why we are here: we provided passage for a few new colonists. Our ship's captain, Captain Singh, likes to send groups like ours--landing parties, we are called--to be cordial, and interact with people such as you and Mr. Antonov... generally, to learn more about each place we visit." Kylah does not think there is anything wrong with explaining their mission, since it is so straightforward.
Finally, Kylah has to smile at the thought of her being the leader of a mission. "No, I am not in charge at all; it is flattering that you would think me so. In fact, I am the most junior member of the team. Our mission leader has just arrived--Lt. Graham, over there. He is from Earth. I can introduce you, if you like..." She starts to get up. Perhaps it is unfair to foist this woman on Lt. Graham but... well, he was late.
"Fascinating - thank you for being so helpful and forthcoming," Mrs. Antonov says warmly, leaning over and squeezing Kylah's hand. "Just fascinating! Pavel says I ask too many questions, but I always say, how else am I to learn?" She drains her glass and answers the Communications officer's questions: "We're Russian Orthodox, sweetie - always have been. A lot of people here are. A very well-established church here, very respectable. You'd be most welcome to come to one of our services - I'd love to introduce you to Father Boris. Lovely man, just lovely. And meet your commander? Now? Oh, thank you, Ens. Kimba. That would be wonderful!" She stands with Kylah, grabs her arm again and starts marching towards Graham.
Kylah gives up hope on the woman getting her name correct. How strange, though... 'Kylah' is not that difficult to pronounce. Still, the room is noisy, which might explain the woman's hearing comprehension. Kylah must do her best to talk a little louder and more clearly.
"I am sure Lt. Graham will be delighted to meet you, Mrs. Antonov," she says, and suddenly wonders how the older woman will butcher his name. Perhaps I should have called him 'Grem' or 'Grom.' She might end up saying the correct version by accident. The thought is the closest she has come to genuine amusement in a long time.
Still, the pressure from the woman's grasp is beginning to feel uncomfortable--as is her proximity. Is Mrs. Antonov finding it difficult to walk? Kylah cannot think of a graceful way to tell her to let go, especially if the woman has a disability or even just joint pain and needs the support.
"If it is more comfortable for you to remain seated," she says delicately, while she pushes forward a gentle empathic test to see if the woman is in distress of any kind, "I can bring Lt. Graham over here."
Mrs. Antonov does not appear to be in any distress. She's just bossy and hands-on.