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

The tightness in her chest--which Kylah did not even know was there--relaxes when she sees the text from Velir, despite his revealing that he, too, has not been able to fulfill their objective. She cannot help prioritizing his welfare, even while she fears for whatever might happen with Lt. Onn.

"Unfortunately we have been unable to find a ship yet," she says in answer to Dr. Mäkeläinen, closing the communicator, then looks back up at him. "That was Ensign--I mean, Lt. Rangin. It is a relatively new promotion," she explains a little shyly. "He has had no luck either. I originally thought we should separate to search for help, but things are somewhat more... fraught... than I realized. Any mention of our Starfleet status seems to close down discussion. I do not like having to hide or get aboard a ship under false pretenses, but--that might be necessary. Albeit dangerous if we should subsequently be found out mid-journey."

She looks from Dr. Mäkeläinen to Ens. Rawlings. "Please, you are more experienced than I. Whatever you think, I will follow your lead." Then she looks down at the doctor's medical tricorder. "Oh! I should have asked. Did you find anything about the men out there? One of them..." Kylah blinks, haunted by the awful memory. "The Axanar. He was killed right in front of us. And no one cared. No one did a thing."

With a sideways glance toward Booker, basically meant to impart What the ever-lovin' fuck is this setup supposed to be?, Nia hesitantly nods her thanks to the Kressari and takes a seat. She thinks she caught the name but isn't 100% sure--Merdu, Mendu, something like that.

Rather than risking insult she tries to go for tact. "Thank you for letting us to speak with you, ma'am." Her eyes flicker up toward the human bodyguard, wondering if he's supposed to be addressed as well. Usually not, but who knows with other cultures. Nia's never met anyone from the Kressari race and has no clue about them, other than identifying one.

So she just gives the silent human a tiny smile before shifting her gaze to Booker. He knows the lay of the land in this dive better than she does. Nia figures it best to let him do the talking unless he indicates otherwise.

“We are told an occasional body or two is not an uncommon sight in front of this place, ” says Mäkeläinen. “I'm afraid his attacker did for him. He was already dead by the time we arrived. The other man, the human... nothing conclusive. No sign of toxins or injuries. As far as I can tell, he froze to death. Just who he was, and how he came to be unconscious outside, well, something is queer about the whole thing. We must pass on our findings to a competent authority, or what passes for one in this city, ideally before someone makes off with the corpse.

“Does highlight that we should stick together. For our business here, there is no reason Starfleet needs to come into it. We're not in uniform. The monits are coming directly from us, not Starfleet. We keep it a simple, straightforward transaction, and there will be no need to lie about anything. The pilot will not need to hear our entire life stories.”

Mendu, the old Kressari female, nods slowly and says, in a small and scratchy voice and in poor Federation Standard, "Hear you need ship. Where going?"

Kylah nods her agreement. "Yes, we ought not to share any information of our...'affiliation' too quickly. Although..." She takes a quick glance around to make sure she's not speaking too loudly to be noticed; when she continues, her enthusiasm diminishes. "That may be difficult once we find a vessel and attempt to board. I would imagine even the most rudimentary security practices would require a scan for weapons or undesirable belongings. Our phasers, communicators, uniforms will give us away eventually. Do you not think so?"

The news of the poor unknown man, frozen and lying outside, disturbs her. "Did he have nothing with him? Identification, money, nothing? Did it seem as if he had been robbed? I do not doubt that your determination was correct, Doctor. I just meant, perhaps things were taken after he died. No doubt the authorities will attend to this, as you say. I just... to lie there without a name, like disposed cargo from a ship. It is so..." Kylah cannot think of word and shrugs helplessly.

Graham glances at Nia as she diplomatically greets Mendu, then returns the Kressari woman's nod.

With just the slightest, slow lean forward, he replies "Cavinre system."

Kylah voiced just what he was thinking. Lying there... perhaps the men outside, whatever their past sins, have someone who cares for them? Who will soon be wondering why they have not come home, what blind fate was theirs? Mäkeläinen says, "It is not pleasant to contemplate what these people must see on a regular basis to inure them to something like that. Perhaps, though, while hating Starfleet may be the popular sentiment du jour on the local media, people that hard-boiled are likely to be mercenary enough when it comes to a straightforward business mission. And they must know Starfleet officers are nothing like the true villains they deal with all the time. There is no bounty on our heads. I freely admit, however, I have no experience dealing with men who will literally stab someone in the back. We had better be vigilant, and perhaps we shall be safer going with a lone pilot than on a large freighter where we are outnumbered, if we have a choice."

Checking again that nobody is obviously listening in, he continues, "We did not find much outside. It is surprising the bodies themselves were still there. If they were robbed, the thieves weren't thorough. The human had a foreign communicator, and even stranger papers, impregnated with a chemical substance but not visible ink. Is that something you have heard of? Seems like enough to make a preliminary identification, if we only had the right knowledge. Not to mention, someone, or some computer, will probably recognize him, and also the man you saw killed. It seems foolish to brazenly ask about them in here, however."

The doctor's thoughts about the potential concerns of their Starfleet status being discovered are rational and reassuring. He reminds Kylah somewhat of Dr. T'Var, in some ways, although of course he is not a Vulcan and is not nearly as impenetrable as his colleague.

His mention of these substance-coated papers catches her off-guard--immediately triggering thoughts drawn from the combination of her communications training and the endless lessons from her Uncle about encryption and secrecy.

"I wonder if the paper contains information written in--well, I believe a common term would be 'invisible ink.'" Her voice, though still quiet, grows more animated as she delves into a subject that for once is entirely in her bailiwick. "In professional espionage, the most secure encryption method is to use one code or compound to create the message, paired with only one item--a unique one--to reveal it. The equivalent of an old-fashioned 'one-time pad' cipher. There is simply no way to solve or crack it without the single...key..."

Hesitating, she flushes and is glad the club is dark. This is, of course, precisely the method she uses with Uncle Aldaan. She frowns for a second before continuing.

"But... that presumes a great level of sophistication, and that might not be the case here. One can create rudimentary invisible messages quite easily. Why, even something as simple as lemon juice would work, and is common. Lemons contain carbon compounds that are essentially colorless, so one just needs to paint a message with it, and it would be invisible until one applies a low level of heat, which breaks down the--"

Suddenly aware that she is perhaps too engaged in the topic, she shakes her head and smiles in embarrassment at both Dr. Mäkeläinen and Ens. Rawlings. "Forgive me, this is likely dull. All I mean to say is, such a message will turn brown if warmed. A light bulb or candle. Or the lowest setting of a phaser, probably. Even one of your medical instruments." Kylah tilts her head in curiosity. "Could the substance simply be juice?"

Mendu nods thoughtfully. "Hmm. Cavinre. Long way. Some options, though. Maybe ship for you; maybe more than one." She picks up and consults a datapad, then looks back at Graham, and then Onn. "How much you pay for such information?"

Kylah notices Rangin emerging from the dark at the back of the bar, coming towards you. He is not running, but is walking quickly. He has a bruise on one cheek and his collar is roughly torn. She has an immediate and strong psi impression from him: a mix of anger, fear and shame.

Nia tries not to frown but her attention shifts to Booker for a second, then looks back. "We can pay whatever you'd usually charge. But... sorry, I'm not too sharp today... do you mean payment for the information, or the trip?" Her heart's beating faster with impatience and she tries to calm down, since the more upset she gets the more energy she expends, and that'll cost her. "Ma'am, please, I don't mean to be disrespectful but we're in a hurry. I thought you were a captain yourself. How many intermediaries is this gonna take?"

Graham puts a steadying hand on Nia's arm. "What my colleague is getting at," he says in a low, slow, confident voice, "is that we have no problem meeting or beating going rates." He leans a little bit forward and raises an eyebrow. "But the payoff for us is bigger the faster we get there..." He leans back a little bit. "And we are willing to share the upside with anyone who helps make that happen." He releases Nia's arm and spreads his hands. "Present company included."

Mäkeläinen is still talking to Kylah when he sees the roughed-up-looking officer approaching. He is taken aback and is about to ask Rangin whether he is all right, but refrains because, one, he does not look so badly hurt that he needs medical attention, and two, it would be a rather stupid question.

Nia closes her eyes for a second to still her thoughts and movements, even though her real problem is that soon she'll be too damn still. Booker's hand on her arm is both a well-timed warning and a comfort. She's not sure which she needs more.

She glances at him--not gratefully or ungratefully; not really with much of anything except conflict. She knows she should delegate leadership to him now. He's already the brains and brawn of the mission. Well, Double-T's probably more the brawn. Why am I thinking about that?

That much, Nia can answer: Because what else can she do without screaming? This old fossil's taking her time and I don't have the same amount in the vault she has.

Look at her. How old even is she? Back home, Nia'd probably look like that if by some miracle she made it to 45. Irony: Her mother urged her to leave to spare her the typical early death of Sidonian women. Now it turns out her life expectency's shorter off-planet. Sweet mother of us all, Book made the right choice.

Inside the fuzzy mittens, Nia's hands ball into impossibly tight fists. It really is lucky he's beside her. She's ready to jump on the table and shout "Anyone with a ship here who'd like a couple thousand credits, and/or a real good time, to get me off this frozen rock?"

In fact, she's not entirely clear on why that'd be a bad idea. But it must be or it would've been tried long before the six teamed back up. Probably not the "real good time" part, because no way would Booker allow Kylah to trade anything so much as a hair from her head. But the money, he would've tried if the atmosphere was right.

But if things are dicey in this club--and given the apparently growing pile of bodies outside, they seem to be--Nia's shouting crazy offers like that is likely a very, very bad idea. She can risk herself but she absolutely will not do a thing to put anyone in harm's way. More than I already have.

Nia bites down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She quickly stares down at the table, counts to five, and gets herself together so when she tilts her head back up she doesn't look like a desperate psycho strapped to a ticking bomb.

Except that's what she is. And each beat of her heart is a second closer to time's up.

Kylah's lips part as she stares in alarm at her injured colleague--friend. The lurch of her heart seems like it is choking her.

"Velir!" she whispers, then moves quickly toward him, pushing aside anyone she needs to--and is capable of pushing. Unlike Lt. Onn's behavior toward Lt. Graham--refusing to touch him--Kylah does not hesitate to reach out her hands, hoping he'll clasp them, or let her steady his arms. Anything she can do to help.

"Oh Velir," she says in distress, peering into his eyes, then his bruises and torn clothes. She longs to reach to touch his brow, to brush away his disheveled hair. But instinctively she refrains. She knows he is proud and not fond of being pitied. In private, perhaps. Not here. Hopefully he will at least let her comfort him. "What happened? Dr. Mäkeläinen is right back there, let me take you to him."

Mendu wheezes a dry laugh. "No captain, I. But I know them here, all of them. No other 'intermediaries,' no. I put you in touch, direct. Yes." She looks from Onn to Graham. "Let's say... 1000 monits for information, four possible ships. You hire any, another 1000 monits. Deal?"

Rangin looks, for just a moment, like he might fall into Kylah's arms, but Dr. Mäkeläinen's presence seems to bring him up short. He takes a deep breath and then tells you both, in a low voice which you can barely hear over the noise of the bar, "I was asking around for a ship off this rock. I had some leads... some good possibilities. Still do. But a roughneck from the Four Little Diamonds took a dislike to me. He said something, then he attacked me. We fought and... I killed him." He looks straight at Kylah with haunted eyes. "I killed him. I had no choice. It happened too quickly. It was him or me." Kylah can sense the torment pouring off him like the crashing of waves.

Mäkeläinen has never been a Federation zealot; there are plenty of things wrong with it and valid criticisms of it, but he cannot help but feel solidarity with his crewmate, presumably assaulted merely for being a Starfleet officer.

Then Lt. Rangin mentions killing someone in a fight.

Two things immediately occur to Bizhi. "Are his friends after you right now, looking for payback? Looking for the rest of us? We may need to get away from here, immediately." After a beat, he adds, "Are you sure he's dead? I must try to help him, if there is any chance." At his peril, if the crowd figures out who he is. Perhaps if he played up his Martian accent, as opposed to Federation Standard? But, on the off chance someone did recognize it, it would not be hard to put two and two together.

Kylah stares into Velir's eyes as he relates the story, gasping when he mentions the attack. Then, his emotions flooding toward her, she hears him reveal its horrifying conclusion. Of course the alternative--his being unable to stop the brute--would have been a far worse outcome, but... She exhales a barely audible No, oh no, and the club turns into a blur through her unshed tears.

Now she grasps his left hand in both of hers, not caring if the gesture risks her being overwhelmed by the contact*, and squeezes it to keep him grounded in now, where he is--standing before her, and with friends. She is about to speak when the Doctor wisely asks the pertinent questions.

She adds fervently to Velir, "It was self-defense, of course you had to, of course! Are you injured?" Kylah resists all she wishes to say and do--for now--and turns to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Can you tell if he is hurt?"

Her eyes shift to Ens. Rawlings nearby, then back to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "If you check upstairs you must not go alone." Her anger rises and she blurts, "Indeed why must you go at all? Let them toss him outside with the rest!" She knows very well that the doctor has his duty towards the possibly wounded stranger--but she is too upset to care. Again she faces Velir and waits for his response while clutching his hand.



* - Of course if he's wearing gloves that would hopefully prevent the worst level of emotional impact... ;)

Graham glances at Nia, looking for her acceptance of Mendu's offer.

Except however sincere he is about respecting her as leader of the away team, he's also not going to waste one damned minute haggling over monits when her life is literally on the line.

"That seems to me like a fair offer," he replies. "If you are lieu-- my friend," he adds, addressing Nia.

Expecting Booker to speak first, Nia waits until her anxiety bubbles over before she looks at him--only to find he's staring right back at her, just as expectantly. Oh. Is this my move? She's about to ask if he thinks this is reasonable when, fortunately, he takes the decisive move. Ish.

"If I am your...?" She's confused for a second--well, longer than a second; her mind's really preoccupied and not functioning at top speed. With a tiny shake of her head she shrugs helplessly and looks at the Kressari. "I agree it's fair. It's fine. Please, Book, pay her?" Hopefully the money part of this transaction can be taken care of easily. "What ships," she says to the other female whose name she's still uncertain of, and she doesn't want to risk offense. "What are the captains' names, if you know them?"

Rangin says flatly, "He's dead. I'm sure of it. I threatened his shipmate if she followed me, and I think I scared her enough to keep her glued to his seat, at least for now." He rubs his bruised cheek. "The man grabbed me and hit me, but I'm all right." He laughs shakily and then shakes his head. "Better than him, anyway."

With his communicator, Graham transfers a thousand monits from his account to the tiny alien woman. Mendu nods and then, consulting her data pad, says, "Ships, captains, yes. Four that may be useful to you: Zephyr, clipper bark, Capt. Green, bound for Messina. Dierdre, free trader, Capt. Hvraty, bound for Altair IV. Four Little Diamonds, freighter, Capt. Billings, headed for Krasni. And... Astral Queen, transport, Capt. Daily, headed to Gruden Prime."

"You--you threatened..." Kylah echoes, peering into Velir's eyes in growing unease. It is hard to hear such words coming from someone who is so honorable and who can be, disregarding the most difficult times in their relationship, so calm and almost clinically polite.

But he was just in a frightening situation all alone, and the truth is, he is from a background where he has had to scrap and fight defensively in order to avoid... whatever dangers he has met. Kylah does not fully know. They have not spoken very much of his background. Or hers.

If she had been armed back in the horrid warehouse on Anubis months ago, she might have been able to prevent the brutal beating she received. She could have stunned the men instead of being left broken and bleeding--left for dead. That such a thing could have happened to Velir makes her ill.

"As long as you are sure you are all right--physically," she rushes on, searching him again for anything that looks like a serious wound but also to gauge his emotions. The doctor will check his status, but she needs to confirm it herself. In the meantime she asks, "What--how--how exactly did you--"

Kylah glances down at his belt to see if she can spot his phaser. Is that what he used? But no, that suspicion is unworthy of her. Shock must be wreaking havoc on her mind. Velir could not have used a phaser, since of course he would have just stunned the brute. It must have been a knife or some improvised weapon; indeed, perhaps the attacker's own.

She meets Velir's gaze again apologetically. "It does not matter. This was self-defense and I am sure witnesses will back you up." Without releasing Velir's hand, she swivels, desperate to see if she can find Lt. Graham, then suddenly looks back at Velir. "Witnesses! Was there only one other crew member? No one seems to have followed you so perhaps no one will seek revenge. I am sorry, I am rambling. Dr. Mäkeläinen? Ens. Rawlings? Do you--what should we do?"

Rangin's account leaves Bizhi at a demur. He cannot really argue with him now, especially while he is still in psychological shock. As for his antagonist, it could be that the man is certainly dead— a close-range, full-power phaser blast would leave little room for doubt, for instance, but they still do not know for sure exactly what happened.

He turns to Ens. Kylah. "I think you were right to be concerned, and this is clearly not the end of it. We need to get out of here before someone starts another fight. There is an alley just down the street. I suggest you accompany Mr. Rangin and wait there. Better not stand here in plain sight; even if the dead man's friends are not already looking for him specifically, if people think we were involved with the recent orbital incident and that a Starfleet officer just murdered one of their colleagues, it would be unwise for an identified Starfleet officer to linger here just now. I will go in with Mr. Rawlings and get the others."

"I still owe you that drink," he says to Ens. Rawlings, "but we seem to— I will not say we have worn out our welcome, because we never had one."

One reason for suggesting this plan is that, should his friends agree to it, on their way into the bowels of the bar he can coincidentally get a look at what is left of the man Rangin fought. Rangin may be a trained biologist and he has no reason to doubt he knows what a dead man looks like, but he had to clear out of there in a hurry, and probably does not have much practical experience in the ways even someone unconscious and bleeding out, or with a hole blasted through them, may be resuscitated.

Graham wracks his brain for anything he might know about which ships might be fastest and which destinations are closest to Cavinre.

"Thank you," he says to Mendu. "Any pointers to where these folks might be?"

Kylah tries to hold Velir's attention, hoping he can see that they do not blame him. At least, it does not sound as if the Doctor believes him guilty of anything but defending himself. Dr. Mäkeläinen appears to be cool and collected, though Kylah has not tried to gauge his emotions and has no thought to, first because she sees no need to breach his privacy, but second, she is consumed with doing the same to Velir's.

"Yes, the Doctor is right. But--but should we speak to Lt. Graham? And Lt. Onn," she adds hastily. Then, the thought of Velir's fairly justified concerns about Lt. Graham strikes her, and Kylah swiftly squeezes his hand before whispering, "He--they will understand, too. I promise."

She shifts to the security officer. "Do you agree, Mr. Rawlings? With the Doctor's plan? Do you need to report to Lt. Graham?"

Messina. Altair IV. Krasni. Gruden Prime. Once she hears the destinations of these four ships, Nia performs a quick calculation of whether she's heard of them and if she can estimate how far they are, what direction they're headed, and how long any of the journeys would take at top speed. Of course, it depends on each ship's capabilities--and, possibly, their captain's willingness to push their limits.

If she doesn't know any of the above, she'll check whatever technology she can. She needs a starmap to make any truly accurate estimate.

Rangin says hollowly, "Yes, he just had a single shipmate with him. I really don't think... well, I don't know. But I don't think we have to worry about her, at least immediately."

Rawlings says to Kylah, "This is a rough bar on a rough world. Life is cheap and it's possible nothing more will come of... what Mr. Rangin has done. But you never know for sure." To her later question he replies, "Yes, we could do that. It might be for the best that we lower our profile in here, or at least get Mr. Rangin out of the public eye. I don't have to report to Mr. Graham at any particular time."

To Dr. Mäkeläinen he says crisply, "I'll do whatever you say, Doc. Of the four of us right here, you're the ranking officer."

Mendu briefly describes the appearance of the officers or crew of the four ships, all of whom, she believes, are at this moment represented here in the bar.

Onn has heard of all the worlds Mendu mentioned. She knows that Messina and Krasni are more or less on the way to Cavinre. Altair IV is well beyond it, but Cavinre would not be a major diversion from a course to it. Gruden Prime is in the same general direction as Cavinre from Ollos, but would be a good bit more off the beaten track, perhaps more than a starship captain, especially one on a timetable, might want to go.

Ranking officer? Dr. Mäkeläinen had thought Rangin was a bit senior, though this is not the time to get into it. He realizes that, although Rangin is one of the first Yorktown shipmates he met, he still knows next to nothing about the man's past. And, instead of having a drink right now and swapping stories, here they are, their close and personal interactions with colorful locals not quite going the way he had envisioned.

He answers Ens. Rawlings dispassionately: "I'm loath to split us up. But I think it imprudent to parade Mr. Rangin in front of a gloak whose friend he just felled." No telling what she will do, even if the incident amounted to no more than light afternoon entertainment for everyone else around.

He looks at Kylah and Rangin inscrutably. Finally he says, "Stay together. Mr. Rawlings and I had a quick look around earlier. Neighbourhood looks rather shady, this place definitely included. No need to skulk around in the cold, maybe this bar has some semi-private parlours, or you might find something promising on an adjacent street--- I leave it up to you, just watch each other's backs and keep your communicators handy.

"I won't go alone, either. Mr. Rawlings, you're with me." We are hardly unobtrusive, but we just walked in; nobody should pay us much attention, yet. Bizhi will head where he remembers Lt. Graham and the Tellarite going. If they cannot trace the path all the way to the right private table, he will try to reach Graham via silent communicator message. Now, on the way, if he does notice the aftermath of Rangin's fracas, he will feign ignorance and disappointment at missing the fun, and try to casually observe whether Rangin's opponent looks as very dead as described.

Graham takes a deep breath. "Thank you, Mendu. I--we--won't forget this."

He turns toward Onn and gives her arm a gentle squeeze, looking deeply into--although fearful of--what he might see in her eyes.

He expects intelligence and strength but also fears...how long can she...be...

"Are you ready? Do you have any ideas where we should start first?"

"One sec." Nia, who's opened up her communicator to tap the ships, captain's names and destinations into a memo to herself, takes a moment to corral her racing thoughts. She distractedly remembers to thank Mendu -- Mendu, right, that's what I heard -- before turning to Booker.

The kind touch of her arm and the intense gaze he's aiming at her take her aback by their impact. She meets his eyes and tries to soak up his strength and confidence. What seems like confidence, anyway.

She tries to echo it in her own demeanor, though she suspects there's something pathetic in the attempt. Still, it's all she's got. "I need a starmap to be sure. But if my memory's solid, the Zephyr and Four Little Diamonds are the best options--Messina and Krassni are the most direct routes to Cavinre. If they're washouts, the Deirdre could work. Astral Queen, probably not. It's carrying passengers, I doubt they'll wanna divert. A very distant fourth, anyway, and it'd cost us big. Too bad, I like the name."

Girding herself, she slides off the stool. A touch of vertigo makes the club dip around her, but she maintains balance by briefly leaning against Booker. She covers and pretends it's just accidental. "Sorry," she mutters. Once she's feeling steady she looks back at him.

"Well, three main contenders and six of us. Should we split into groups of two?" She hesitates. "Except if we're talking to captains I think they'll be likelier to help a fellow pilot out. Or at least a high-ranked officer. Indie captains can be the biggest primadonnas in space." A weak but wry smile flickers on her lips before she turns serious again. "But... it's more efficient. You decide. They'd need to be circumspect as hell. No pushiness. Let us know if the prospects need any persuading."



Edited to fix Astral Queen's purpose - thanks EH!

Kylah cannot help but bristle a little at the security officer's words. She takes a worried glance at Velir, knowing the inadvertent slight probably does not matter at the moment, but as a proud man he does not need anyone taking away his earned status right now. Keeping her voice very quiet but firm, she says, "I meant whether you should report the incident to Lt. Graham, Ens. Rawlings. Also, I believe you mean Lieutenant Junior Grade Rangin." After another flashed look at the man whose hand clasped in hers feels limp, she does not think him in the best shape to make decisions. Dr. Mäkeläinen is the right person to come up with strategy, and his sounds reasonable. Although she is a little concerned at being the one to guard Velir.

But they are gone and she is left alone with him. "We had better move, if you are able. We can be less noticeable walking among the crowd than just standing here. We could go outside, or--what did the Doctor call them? Private parlors? I suppose for small parties. Let us see if there is such a thing."

Kylah tugs gently at his hand. "Please, Velir. We must go." Assuming she can get the shocked man walking, she sends her gaze darting around the strangers' faces, hoping to recognize the bouncer they saw earlier--or anyone else who appears to be staff. If she finds any likely candidates she will ask them, "Pardon me? My friend and I are looking for someplace private. Does this club offer anything where we can be alone?" After a quick thought she adds, "And where we will not be disturbed?"

Rawlings nods. "You're right. My apologies, Mr. Rangin." Rangin seems too distracted to notice, or care.

Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings head back into the depths of the bar. They don't have to go too far to find Graham and Onn rising from a table where a wizened alien woman is sitting, a likely bodyguard close by. You do not see any signs of Rangin's deadly earlier confrontation along the way.

A Human waiter shows Kylah and Rangin to a private booth equipped with a shadowfield, operated by a tabletop control, to keep anyone else in the club from being able to see them. The couchlike seating is plush and very comfortable. The charge is 50 monits. "Anything to eat, drink or take, folks?" the waiter asks.

"Well...four of us," Graham follows up Nia's statement, seeing just Rawlings and the doctor approach. Once they are close enough he acknowledges them with a nod. After a glance at Nia he tells them "we have some leads on ships."

"Anything to... 'take'?" Kylah asks, feeling slow until the light dawns. "Oh. Oh, no, thank you. We would like..." She glances at Velir's benumbed face, then returns to the waiter. "Something soothing." Her mind rushes through the menu of drinks she knows.

"One hot buttered rum--Altairian rum, if possible, or whatever is best if not." She turns to Velir. "You will like this, it is very rich and calming." Kylah also knows the sugar will be good for his shock.

Returning to the staffer, she goes on. "And for me, a Vulcan mocha, made with heavy cream. No liqueur, just plain, please." She does not mind if Velir relaxes, but she had better stay alert.

She eyes the booth. It is very comfortable and she is impressed by the technology that keeps it so private. Beneath the table she rubs Velir's hand to warm him. "Do you wish anything to eat? You probably should have something to settle yourself. Soup." Kylah, not giving him time to answer or demur, faces the waiter. "One bowl of... whatever soup your customers most enjoy. And rolls, buttered rolls."

At Booker's light correction, Nia turns to see the Doctor and Double-T. Annoyance percolates in her chest. "Seht'dar's holy balls, I literally told that girl to stay in one spot!" She can't help a frustrated glare at Rawlings. The Doc doesn't know Kylah's history well enough to understand what a trouble-magnet she is, but Double-T should've known to keep her under tight surveillance.

But she quickly softens her look and shakes her head in a mute apology. Morale's probably low and Nia doesn't want to sour anyone's memory of her, if the worst happens. Let's just hope she's not off causing some intersystem incident. She rubs her mittens together. It's hard to come across as intimidating while wearing these things.

"All right. If she's with Rangin he'll keep her out of trouble. Anyway, like Booker says, we just got four possible rides outta here--two good leads, one maybe, and one unlikely. Might as well start with the best options first." She glances down at her communicator. "First one's the Zephyr, captained by someone named Green. They're headed to Messina and taking us to Cavinre shouldn't cause a problem for them, if there's room."

Lifting her gaze to Mäkeläinen and Rawlings, she sighs. "You boys take that one. Booker, that sound reasonable? They can find out if the Zephyr's willing to take us on, and when they're departing. Offer extra if they can make it even sooner. You and me'll do the same with the others." She leans against the stool, a little tired, and runs one mittened hand over her face. "I'm sorry, Doc. Double-T. I didn't even ask. How'd you do? Got any good news for us?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen acknowledges the alien woman, presumably a local entrepreneuse whom it would be better not to slight, with a respectful, understated nod.

He exchanges a look with Rawlings and goes ahead and replies to Nia: "Some news, anyway. We may want to avoid the Four Little Diamonds. Mr. Rangin discovered they were not keen on our clientage, and quick to express their displeasure tangibly. One of them did not survive the resulting discussion. I told Mr. Kylah to take Rangin and lie low, just in case the remaining crewmember decides to do something impetuous."

Is this my brain fog? The hypobilitria? Am I even hearing weird things now? Nia just stares stupidly at Mäkeläinen, trying to parse his words. "Didn't survive a discussion? I don't--do you mean--"

She yanks the mitten off her right hand and massages her temples while looking at the Doc, then Double-T. The meaning sinks in and she drops her hand to grip the edge of the stool so she can remain upright. Multiple scenarios of what this might mean for Rangin--for the whole team--not to mention her own chances of fleeing this planet--flood Nia's brain. She can't even begin to formulate a rational response.

All she can do is turn to Booker. This is his territory.

"What?" Graham's eyes bulge. "What the f--Rangin...killed someone?"

He's mad, as much at himself as anyone else. I should have Rawlings sit on his ass and keep the fucker out of trouble...making trouble for us...

What runs through his mind runs from "protocol" through "homicidal," but he takes a moment to compose himself.

HIs voice tight, as measured as he can be. "Doctor--in your professional opinion, as things stand, would failing to rendezvous the ship as soon as possible pose a serious threat to Lt. Onn's life?"

The waiter takes Kylah's order and returns in a few minutes with a tray bearing hot buttered Altairian rum, a Vulcan mocha with heavy cream and no liqueur, and a big bowl of vegetable soup ("Carrots, potatoes, rice, celery and tomatoes; most people like it," he explains) with steam rising from it. There are no rolls available, buttered or not, unfortunately. The charge: 62.7 monits. Kylah pays from the crew account, and the waiter leaves, passing back out through the shadowfield.

After a pause, Rangin picks up his spoon and tucks into the soup. "Not bad," he says, and begins eating a little faster.

Rawlings replies to Onn, "Not much more to add to what the Doc said. I do think the sooner we're out of here, the better, though."

"We'd be gambling with her life," says Dr. Mäkeläinen. He feels a bit of déjà vu from Lt. Graham's question. It may be difficult to communicate all the details of Nia's condition and what she is enduring, but the medical conclusion is unequivocal. He looks at Nia. "This experimental treatment is not guaranteed to keep her metabolism stable for more than a few days, a week, tops. Medically speaking, arranging the rendezvous must take priority over our other orders. We simply cannot spend an extra week here, even if we do not get through everything on our list."

"There is also some news, by the way, about the anonymous stiff outside," he interjects, addressing Nia directly again, "but that can wait. Still don't know who he was, and we will probably have to hand everything off to the local authority."

As Velir eats, Kylah lifts her drink with both hands, warming them, and watches him with a combination of concern and affection. It is good that he is hungry. Likely he is famished after expending so much energy between the actual fight and the burst of adrenaline.

"Have some of your drink, too," she says before taking a long sip of her own. The sweet, creamy coffee drink is luxurious and she makes an unconscious little mmm sound of pleasure. (She is disappointed about the rolls. She could happily eat a diet of nothing but bread and chocolate.)

Then she sets the mug down, keeping her fingers curled against it. "I would let you eat and drink in peace, but I do not know how long we are allowed to stay in this section. It must be for business meetings. Or maybe criminal dealings..." She shrugs, her imagination not working very well this morning, and glances around to see if there is any evident technology that might indicate the usual use of the booth. "My point is, someone might have a reservation and we might be forced to--to leave."

Or, her real fear: some law officer or vengeance-seeking patron will burst in on them to arrest or otherwise haul Velir away. "Please, Velir... can you tell me what happened? Your side of things? Did it have to do with that Starfleet ship--the Beowulf? We encountered hostility ourselves, when a group discovered we too were Starfleet. My fault, of course," she adds abashedly. Then she shifts her hand to gently touch Velir's forearm. "I know this was not your fault. What made this person so angry?"

Nia is still pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, as if trying to block the stress and concern from bursting out of her skull. Her eyes take in all three men as they talk, but also flick over their shoulders to scan the room to see if there's anyone heading in their direction.

The doctor's prognosis is both relieving and terrifying. "So, a few days? That oughtta be enough. More than enough. If we're not detained because of..." The latest fucking catastrophe. She tries to keep from hyperventilating, because while it's a natural impulse it won't be any use. And she also just realizes that if Mäkeläinen's right about the name of the ship the victim captained, the crew's just lost access to one of the two best options they had for getting out of here.

"Okay," she says hoarsely. "Where is he? And Kylah? Oh fuck me, was this fight over her?" Nia flicks a glance at Booker, who himself has gone after Rangin over the Elasian. More than once, in fact. So this wouldn't be the first time Kylah was at the center of a mess. "Forget it. Later. I'm sure it was self-defense."

Maybe. Nia's not sure of anything at this point--except that they need to get away from this table. If this old woman considers basic information about ship schedules worth selling for a few thousand, who knows what she could get for a frickin' murder conspiracy?

Pushing herself away from the stool she's been leaning on, Nia motions for the men to follow her through the crowd to find a place they can congregate without a spotlight. She speaks to Booker along the way.

"We need to get them and put a guard on Rangin. And a leash on Kylah to keep her in one place," she can't help but muttering. "Judging from the pile of bodies on the doorstep, am I right in guessing no one's in a hurry to investigate things like this? That'd be an advantage. Ugh, listen to me," she adds under her breath. A member of her crew has killed someone and she's looking for ways to flee their responsibility. So much for upholding the honor of Starfleet.

"Book." She clutches his arm like she's drowning. "Tell me. What do we do? Do we just forget about this club and get the hell out? Or make arrangements as fast as we can with the--the--other ship whatsername recommended?" Nia realizes she's already forgotten the clipper she originally assigned to Mäkeläinen and Rawlings. A lapse that's pretty damn unsettling for someone who's spent a lifetime remembering all kinds of details about ships.

Tamping down that latest worry, she address Mäkeläinen. "Just... where's Rangin and Kylah? And what's this news you have about the dead guy? The other dead guy. Gotta be specific in this place, apparently."

"Yes, there must be a third corpse out there by now. Judging by the lack of any bustle, no one seems particularly put off or interested...." While talking to Lt. Onn, Dr. Mäkeläinen sends a simple message over the Tesla crew's communicator channel:

Attn KYLAH — we are returning wi Lts. Graham and Onn. Where are you? — MÄKELÄINEN

He tells Nia about the earlier discoveries outside: "To summarize, it seems he froze to death, but there is no sign of any wounds or poisons, and it's not clear whether whatever happened to him happened outside, or inside, the bar or if someone dumped him there during the night, knowing an extra body would go unremarked. At some point he appears to have handled those pages I found (I am assuming he was alive and conscious at the time because they were later folded up in his pocket) which are blank to human vision, by the way, yet impregnated with an unknown organic substance. Whether it be an exotic toxin that does not register on a medical tricorder, some sort of 'invisible ink', a spill of one of the more unusual drinks they serve here, or any combination thereof— that needs a proper lab and a forensic investigation. So does analysis of his communicator, of the disposition of the body, reconstruction of the circumstances surrounding his death including tracing his identity... all that is beyond the scope of emergency response. And, though I admit I am intrigued, if our unknown friend was some kind of spy, or whatever goes on around here, we need to be all the more careful. After we hand this off, we can't afford to get detained here during the ensuing investigation."

Graham nods acknowledgment to the doctor, listens to Nia and the crosstalk, the grunts.

He mouths to Nia: "You're right."

He pulls out his communicator to make a recorded record.

"Mr. Rawlings, you will rendezvous with Mr. Rangin and Mr. Kylah. You will inform the former that as a Starfleet officer who has admitted the use of lethal force in a non-military setting he is subject to investigation. He will yield his phaser to you, and if he does not complyly with any and all of your instructions, you are authorized to use non-lethal force against him."

He pause for a moment and clears his throat.

"As senior Security officer present I am deferring further investigation of lethal use of force by a Starfleet officer until such time as it can be conducted without imminent danger or loss of life due to exigent medical circumstances." He states this as much for the communicator as his colleagues.

He stops the recording. "Nia, as mission commander you can override my decision." His voice softens to almost a whisper. "Please, don't."

"If no one objects, Doctor, you're with us. More specifically, Lt. Onn. The three of us are going to get a goddamned ship."

While watching her companion swallow his soup before answering her questions, Kylah gives a little start at the buzz against her abdomen. "Just a moment--I have a message," she explains to Velir, doing her best to keep the dread from her tone, then pulls out her communicator.

She sighs in relief. No outsiders appear to be involved... yet. "It is from the Doctor. He and Mr. Rawlings are with the others. I just need to tell them where we are." Her thumb pauses over her communicator typing pad, however. Kylah is not entirely certain where they are.

MÄKELÄINEN, DR. - We are in a private booth, but I am afraid there is a privacy shield that will prevent you from

Kylah pauses mid-sentence. Should she turn off the shield? She examines the tabletop controls to see if she can easily do so, but is concerned that revealing themselves will result in onlookers finding Velir.

"If I disengage the shield," she murmurs while searching, "we will have to sit in such a way that keeps your face hidden from the outside. Or at least be prepared to block you from being seen. I suppose if we sit close and I pretend to--"

Her words cut off when at last she realizes that this plush, private booth is likely not just for business meetings. Or at least, the business that gets done here is not what she was picturing.

Kylah's face is florid with a blush--mainly because the truth is, now she almost hopes a stranger walks by--and she just bends her head to finish the not-very-informative message to the Doctor.

MÄKELÄINEN, DR. - We are in a private booth, but I am afraid there is a privacy shield that will prevent you from seeing us. I will see if I can get better details of our location; if I cannot I will disengage the shield. More information to follow. -- KYLAH, ENS.

Kylah is not pleased to offer so little about their whereabouts, but she is loath to wait until she figures it out. If there is any delay, the others might be concerned that something has happened to them. So she sends the less-than-helpful message with a sigh of frustration. Next she stands and tries to see if there is any signage on the room--a room number, name, anything to differentiate this from any of the other similar booths.

(If she finds a booth designation to pass along to the Doctor, she will send it along. If not, she will try to contact the waiter using the small tabletop console, which probably has a way to alert the staff. If that does not work, she will just have to disengage the shield and ask Velir's permission to, well, sit very close to him indeed. A tough assignment but one must do whatever one can!)

First Nia expends her energy focusing on the Doctor's findings about Unknown Corpse #1. Almost against her will, her interest is briefly piqued by the possibility of some espionage activity. But both he and Booker are right, of course. This is a distraction and, thanks to whatever happened to Rangin to produce Unknown Corpse #2, they've got more urgent problems to deal with.

Thankfully, by the grace of Sid'Os's mercy, Booker then puts on his professional mantle of commanding security officer and proceeds to be just as efficient, comprehensive and assuring as one could want. Especially Nia. As he speaks she feels her own shoulders slumping, not in defeat but relief. She can't bear this burden much longer. If Book's able to help her carry it--probably to carry it himself, as he likely soon will--Nia is more than willing.

"Yes," she breathes, not sure if it's audible in the club, so she adds a nod and meets his gaze with a combination of gratitude, admiration and--still, even now--fear. She clears her throat and tries again. "Yes. Proceed as necessary. I trust you."

With their crew. With their mission. And with her life.

Mäkeläinen tells the rest, "They are still here, in one of the booths, but beyond a privacy screen so we can't see or hear them. Let's see..."

Rawlings acknowledges Graham's order: "Aye, sir."

Kylah sees that there is a small label on the control panel designating this as Booth 4. She passes the information along to Dr. Mäkeläinen.

Rangin finishes his soup and takes a long draw from his Altairian rum. He shudders just a little and says quietly, "I was asking around at different tables, trying to see what kind of options we had for a ship off this frozen rock. I'd ruled out several ships but found three decent options, but I hadn't been called by any of our crew to return, so I decided to see if I could find just one more possibility. Just one, you know?" He laughs shakily. "I was talking to these two crewmembers from the Four Little Diamonds. The bigger one, the man, recognized pretty quickly that I was in Starfleet, I don't know how. He had friends on the ship that the Beowulf destroyed. He was drunk, too, I think, at least a little. He pulled a knife and was waving it at me, jabbing it at me, really close at hand. I was kind of stuck between the bench and the table and couldn't get away. I tried to disarm him but he was stronger, and then things sort of changed, his mood, his expression, and I knew he was going to try to kill me. I was able to turn the knife against him, but he wouldn't let go, and I couldn't take it away, and... well." He looks even more downcast, and drinks more of his rum. "It was him or me. I had to do it. You believe me, don't you, Kylah?"

"They should be seated at Booth 4," Dr. Mäkeläinen explains, "wherever that is. Best to confirm it's the right one before barging in, as whoever is meeting behind a privacy shield may not appreciate being interrupted. Seems like it pays to bring your own if you want a full screen, incidentally: there is no way a subspace message should have made it through a proper cloak."

Mäkeläinen feels for Lt. Rangin. "Subject to investigation", certainly, but did Graham have to make that damning official recording?

He collects his thoughts. So Rawlings is off to--- mind Kylah and Rangin? That leaves them down at least one team. "Pardon... so we are looking for the Zephyr?"

Velir's tale is somehow both better and far worse than Kylah expected. She has sat back beside him, her arm resting against his, and listens intently. The struggle with the knife makes her gasp. "Oh my heart," she whispers, calling him by the Elasian endearment for the first time. "Of course I believe you. I did not realize he had such a weapon or that the fight was so--so--"

So visceral--and worse, so nearly lost. She does not know how large or strong the vicious stranger was, but Velir is fairly short and not especially muscular. But he must have learned to fight on Coridan. Possibly even the Academy. She knows he experienced prejudice there. With a stubborn shake of her head she refuses to consider what might have happened if he had been less physically capable.

"I did not realize it was a knife. For some reason, I thought a phaser... but of course, of course you would not shoot a man to kill. And you would not have had such a weapon unless it was this Captain's. This proves it was self-defense. No one could think otherwise." Now that they are alone, she brushes her fingertips through his mussed hair, neatening the soft locks and tenderly soothing his brow while avoiding any of the wounds.

Biting her lip, Kylah watches him in silence for a moment before broaching a possibly difficult subject. "And another thing on your side: your telepathy. I know it is still fairly new and you have not had much time to practice, but you have better instincts about what the man had in mind. You knew or at least had a glimpse into what he was thinking. And reacted accordingly to protect yourself."

She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder. "I am so sorry. It must have been awful. A knife... it is not like a phaser." Kylah, who has used throwing knives before, is not thinking of them. Back in Sigma Iota, she had been stabbed. Fortunately she does not remember the pain--not without concentrating, and she does not wish to--but the fear, and the look in the assailant's eye so close to her...

"Were there any other witnesses? Did the other crewperson say anything? Was she angry too? I do not mean to ask you so many questions, but... it might be best while it is fresh." Again she lightly combs his hair and tucks it behind his ears. And with her own impulsive instinct, draws near and kisses the vulnerable spot on his temple where his muscle twitches. "I believe you, Velir," she whispers. "I believe in you. Never doubt that."

"The Zephyr, right, Doc," Nia says, grateful for his providing the name. "Captain Brown. Brown?" Scowling, she opens her communicator note section again. "No. Green." She glances at Rawlings. "Go find the others, Double-T. Stay with them where they are. Right?" she adds, turning to Booker for confirmation. "No sense in traipsing them around the club. Most people will be checking out the huge handsome man and the shapely girl in the leotard before noticing Rangin. But if anyone's specifically looking for him... Well, it's best to stay put. I think." Again Nia looks to Book for confirmation that she's making some semblance of professional sense.

She looks down at the floor--too dark to really see, and that's probably a good thing--in concentration, then lifts her head again. "Doc," she says as stoically as she can fake it. "I need a worst-case scenario. Even with this miracle substitute, what's the shortest I've got. Do we know? Not just for coma or even death, but for..." One mittened hand waves vaguely. "Sentience. Sound mind, if not sound body."