Graham nods his approval of Nia's comments and orders, then winces as she asks the doctor about...the end of the line, for her.
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Graham nods his approval of Nia's comments and orders, then winces as she asks the doctor about...the end of the line, for her.
Dr. Mäkeläinen deduces that she must be feeling terrible, physically and mentally, to ask such a question.
“It doesn't work like that, like a clock,” he begins, “but you will need more rest than usual. Pushing yourself...” An intense look enters his eyes. “No one is coming to relieve us. You want a number to plan around. Dr. Anikwata estimated a week, give or take. A minimum, then, maintaining normal levels of activity or worse, could be half that as a safety factor. If we then assume a supervening rapid increase in tolerance, which is not guaranteed but you asked for a pessimistic scenario, so a geometric progression causing you to run through the remaining doses with increasing rapidity... ” Dr. Mäkeläinen runs through the calculation in his head rapidly, “...two more days, after which we may find additional doses won't help. But, no, we do not know.”
Rawlings goes looking for Booth 4.
Rangin leans into Kylah, too, and squeezes her hand. He looks like he's about to cry, but doesn't. He says, "It wasn't the captain of that ship... maybe not even an officer. I don't remember. The telepathy... yes, that could have given me some subconscious warning, some psi, uh, premonition of what he intended to do. I hadn't thought of that before, but you may be right." He thinks and fumbles for his drink again. "The other crewmember... she looked very upset, but I don't remember her saying anything. But she must have, right? It's all a blur. There were other witnesses, I guess, but, Kylah, dear, dear Kylah, you've seen this place. Life is cheap. No one cares." He shudders.
Nia's faced down many enemy starship captains. Bluffed through hundreds of profitable hands of poker. She handled the whiplash of going from sleeping in the arms of her boyfriend one day, to saving the life of his childhood sweetheart the next, and finally, mere days later, having to watch and smile at their wedding--losing the man Nia belatedly realized she loves.
She even, as an obscenely young girl, managed to have unwanted, contracted sex without vomiting.
So keeping her face a mask now, while Dr. Mäkeläinen responds to her questions with his professional but uncompromising truth, isn't difficult. Nia expected the worst anyway. Still, it takes a few heartbeats' worth of silence--not really silence, not in this hellish club--for Nia to respond. "Oh."
She doesn't dare look at Booker. Her gaze rests heavily on Mäkeläinen as she waits... until she wakes up to the fact that she doesn't know what she's waiting for. A chuckle that's half a cough escapes her. "Well, hell. That's what I get for asking. Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate the unvarnished truth. I genuinely do." Once again she studies the floor in thought.
So. A week--if she suddenly develops good luck--the only thing that's in as short supply as Bilitrium. But there's no sense thinking about the best-case scenario. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Given the past two weeks Nia's had, she knows where her odds lie.
So on the opposite end of the spectrum... she might only have two days. Normally, that should be more than enough. If she still had the Tesla and gunned her at full speed, they'd reach Cavinre in... Nia's not actually sure. Seven hours? She thinks they were about seven hours away when everything went pear-shaped. Trouble is, she can't recall how far off-course--if at all--they ended up.
"I need a starmap," she mutters. "Rangin should have access on this tricorder. I don't know exactly where we are, how long it'll take to reach the Yorktown. Can't recall how much we veered to end up here. If this system was just along the way, great. Seven or eight hours. Cakewalk. Bags of time."
But Nia's pretty sure Ollos wasn't on the way. She had the Tesla's original flight plan memorized, like any solid Helm officer. The Ollos System does not ring a bell. True, her memory could just be dimming along with the rest of her body. Who knows.
She shakes her head. "Don't think resting's in the cards for me yet, Doc. I can rest en route to the Yorktown." Then she does the laugh-cough combo again. "Assuming, that is, we find a ride. ...On a ship that's at least as fast as our fastest shuttle. ...With no stops along the way. ...And a captain willing to leave right now." Nia's smile twists before it fades. "Easy peasy."
At last she turns to Booker, trying to keep her humor, but his lovely, expressive eyes have their impact, and she wavers. Then, swallowing, she straightens again. "Better get our asses in gear, Lieutenant. To the Zephyr, right? You lead."
A whirling vortex of emotions seem to spin Kylah around in one direction, then the next, battered by her own feelings along with Velir's, though she is not trying to read him. She does not dare to do so, given his state of mind. All she can do is listen and try to make sense of everything.
Not the captain, why did I think it was the captain? It does not matter. The woman must have seen him. Will she care? Is she as callous as the rest of the people in this place? But... there are others. There will be others, not even just the victim's crewmates. The victim knew Velir was Starfleet, so likely the woman does as well. If word of the death spreads, coupled with the Beowulf incident...
Kylah shudders when she recalls the hostility of those men at the bar. They were drunk already and in poor control of their anger. How will they react? They will recognize us, me and Lt. Graham. They will know... Her own fears are spinning into a frenzy and she does her best to breathe deeply. She can be of no use to Velir if she too is distraught.
What draws her out of the storm is not her own strength. It is Velir's hand, clutching her own. His eyes, so needy and vulnerable. Above all it is his "Kylah, dear, dear Kylah."
He has never spoken to her like this before. Never so open, never so warm, never so close--physically, yes, they have been closer, but it is not the same. This is infinitely more precious. It is what she has longed for, all these months. That this horrific event should be the source of such a bittersweet reward... Guilt stirs in her breast and she tries to push it away, along with the inappropriate happiness. But the room blurs and she is near tears herself, from joy, from sorrow, from empathy, from fear.
She starts to lift her face to his, to kiss him as tenderly as he deserves. Until--
Her tears. She remembers her tears. She cannot, she must not let them touch Velir. He is vulnerable, he is telepathic. The effect of Elasian tears in such a situation... oh no, no! She does not want to receive Velir Rangin's love like that.
Body rigid with alarm, Kylah instinctively jerks away from him. She stares wildly at the table and is relieved to see the cocktail napkin beneath her drink. Grabbing at it spills the mocha, but that does not matter. Gratitude and relief calm her as she blots her eyes. Soon she is sure there is no more risk of crying.
"Velir," she says, absently blotting the spilled liquid until giving it up and turning back to him. "This will be solved. You have five crewmates to protect you. Six if you count Mr. Rawlings twice," she adds with a weak attempt at making him smile. "We are safe in this room. Perhaps the witnesses saw the truth--that is a good thing. As for this woman... maybe she disliked him. We do not like all of our crewmates. And he sounds like a terrible--"
She cuts off that train of thought. Speaking ill of the man does not feel right, and may not help Velir. Easily she changes direction. "None of that matters. The others will find a ship, we can sneak you out, and we will leave this wasteland behind us. And though you think it impossible now, you will recover from this trauma. It will recede. I promise. I promise."
It takes Graham a moment to reply, eyes transfixed on Nia. So strong in this moment...
He grunts and nods. "Understood, ma'am." He pauses. "Doc, you're behind Nia. You have her back. If anything goes wrong from a Security standpoint, and it just might, given what's happened so far in this shithole, you do not wait, you do not hesitate, you get her the fuck out of here or back to Rawlings..." There's a brief pause, because all he can think about is medical support and security protection for Nia at the moment. "Uh, and the others."
He rubs his chin. "Eyes open for the Zephyr captain, let's move out...ah, as casual as we can..."
If Onn and the doctor follow, Graham does so.
"Aye," says Mäkeläinen. Given recent experience, it is probably for the best that no one go off alone. With only three individuals, that means all must stay together, making it harder to look casual and not like a team making a sweep. He hangs back in proximity to Nia, just a couple of comrades (or perhaps flirting strangers) out for a good time, by no means anyone deserving of extra scrutiny, he hopes.
"What kind of ship is the Zephyr?" he asks, as they [presumably] slowly diffuse through the bar. It may be trivial to find some crew from a large ship, and different kinds of ships may have distinct styles of dress, even uniforms for some. "The most nonchalant move may be to accost anyone, say we are looking for the Zephyr, or for Captain Green, and would they be so kind as to point them out."
Rangin looks puzzled and then hurt at how Kylah jerked back from him. He seems not to have heard what she just said. He asks, "What's wrong, Kylah? Why did... why did you react like that?"
Graham knows that the Zephyr is a clipper bark, a kind of fast, sleek, relatively small civilian transport. He knows nothing about Capt. Green. The starship is bound for Messina, a Class-M world and Federation member; he vaguely remembers that most of its original settlers were of Italian and southern European origin. After a few minutes of looking, with Onn and the good doctor in tow, he sees a plain-looking young Human woman with a Zephyr crew patch on the shoulder of her dark orange coveralls, sitting in a booth with two Saurians, talking over drinks. The woman appears to be unarmed, but each Saurian has a small phaser rifle leaning against the table.
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...nd_information
Kylah stares at Velir for a puzzled second or two until it dawns on her that he has misinterpreted her actions. Aghast, she clasps his hand with both of hers.
"Oh no--no, my own heart, that had nothing to do with you. I mean, it did, just not the way you think. I was afraid. Of me, not you. I am not saying this very well. It is just..." Her gaze slips away from his and focuses on their hands, together. "I feel the horror of what you have gone through, and seeing you this way hurts. I care so very much. I wanted you to know. And I was going to kiss you," she says, very softly. "Not on your cheek as before. A real kiss."
Though she is still looking down, she cannot hide her flushing face. "Before I could, I realized I was starting to cry. I could not risk..." Her fingertips touch her cheek. "My tears. The Elasian... you know. I did not want to expose you to them. If I were to kiss you while weeping, they would have touched you, and you would...react. To them, not to me.
"I wish you to care for me, the way you used to. I have wanted it for so long, Velir, you know I have. But I do not want to regain affection that way, through some--some physical and emotional reaction compelled through artifice. It must be a choice, your choice, or it means nothing. So that is why I pulled away. To stop crying. To prevent that."
She glances at the crumpled napkin on the table, then slowly, slowly, lifts her head to meet his gaze. "But Velir," she whispers, releasing his hand and gently cupping his cheek as she draws nearer, mere millimeters away. Her longing stare searches his hazel-brown eyes. "There are no tears now. May I...?"
If he shows willingness, Kylah will close the space between them with a tender, ardent kiss.
Graham shrugs and gives the doctor a nod. "Good advice but it looks like we got lucky for a change," he replies, tilting his head toward Green.
Then he exhales. Turning toward Onn and the doctor he mutters. "Rifles, for fuck's sake. Stay behind me." He pauses. "Not that it will matter if they slag half the building.
Assuming Onn or the doctor do not intervene, he proceeds to approach the table slowly. Hands held disarmingly up just below chest level, he clears his throat. "We're, ah, looking for Captain Green, of the Zephyr."
Rangin smiles crookedly, nods once and then draws Kylah in for a kiss which seems to last forever. It is quite possibly the best kiss she has ever had.
Then you hear a cough and realize Ens. Rawlings is standing right there by the booth. "I'm sorry," he says, looking embarrassed. "I knocked before I came through the privacy field, but no one answered. Uh... maybe you didn't hear me."
The Human woman says something quickly in an alien language to the Saurians, who turn and regard Graham with their characteristic blank stare. They don't reach for their weapons, however. "I'm Satchell, Third Mate of the Zephyr," she says in Federation Standard. "The Captain's not here at the moment. What can I do for you?"
Dr. Mäkeläinen stays sidled near Lt. Onn as before and does not interfere while Lt. Graham talks to them; he will come sit at the table only if invited.
He observes the trio curiously, and in a hopefully non-threatening manner. He is not fazed by the phaser rifles: as he himself observed earlier, it figures many or most of the patrons are packing phasers, disruptors, knives, stiletti, disintegrators, lasers, and other lethal weapons, and it is exceptions like the Third Mate, lounging about (apparently) unarmed, who thereby project confidence and mastery.
The position of being protected by two men is, for Nia, not a typical scenario. Normally she might bristle. But normally she has some natural ability to protect herself, defend herself. Right now despite feeling considerably better than yesterday, Nia's not ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone. Her eyesight's dim and her breathing is--
Her medical inventory stops short when Booker points out the Zepher crew. The Saurians almost cheer her up. Well well. Lizardy types unite. Maybe this is a good sign? She looks nothing like them, except perhaps her scales, but they're not hugely evident right now. Nia decides to concentrate on increasing her scale coverage. Keeping them withheld hasn't worked--not perfectly, anyway. Maybe letting nature take over will be easier.
While Booker takes lead on the parley, such as it is, Nia closes her eyes briefly and concentrates. And... nothing.
Sighing, she searches for something that might provide some motivation for the stubborn little scales to help her out. She settles on the weapons carried by the Zephyr crewmates. At this distance the three Yorktown teammates could be fried with one blast. Again she shuts her eyes, this time vividly imagining what might happen if the strangers also hold a grudge against Starfleet.
This time, the thrill of anxiety helps her defensive instincts do their job. Soon she can feel less of the air around her--blocked from her skin by her gleaming silver-green biological armor and thus no longer providing any of the room's pleasant heat. But now she might look more as if she shares some minuscule common ground with the Saurians.
It won't really do anything; Nia knows that. It's only infinitesimally likely that it might create some subconscious bonding with the strangers. But she wants to believe, and figures she's entitled to a little magical thinking. Maybe her scales will add a little good fortune. She's entitled to some of that, too. Maybe.
Graham nods and moves closer--slowly--then rests his hands on the table.
"I'm Graham...Booker Graham." He gestures with his head behind him. "My colleagues and I have a, ah, business proposition. We're looking for transit off-planet. A fast ship like the Zephyr --we'd be willing to make it worthwhile."
Automatically pulling away from Velir--but not very quickly--Kylah lets her eyes linger on him, both to make sure she is not hallucinating and to show him just how... extraordinary that was.
Her attention reluctantly shifts from him to Ens. Rawlings. Knowing that he witnessed their kiss--kisses--she cannot help the embarrassment sweeping over her and burning her face.
But it is not enough to make her smile disappear.
Her hand slides down Velir's arm, caressing the muscles beneath his clothes, and rests on the booth's cushion, where she clutches his hand under the table. "Mr. Rawlings," she begins, and as if watching herself from outside, marvels at how calm and confident she sounds. "No. We did not hear anything. I am sorry."
Excellent liar though she is, Kylah is unable to sound convincingly apologetic.
But as she lets the sight of Rawlings slowly drag her from this dream--this cloud of bliss--a dose of reality seeps in. "Why are you here? What is happening? Have you found a way off planet?"
The Human woman thinks for a moment, then nods and speaks again to the Saurians. They reply briefly in the same piping alien tongue, pick up their rifles and move to a vacant table not far away. They closely watch what happens next, and their phaser rifles, although not quite brandished or pointed at the Yorktown crewmates, are obviously at the ready.
Satchell gestures to the two seats now available. No others appear open nearby; someone will have to remain standing. The Zephyr officer sips from her glass - some smoky gray liquid that Graham doesn't recognize - looks a bit askance at him and asks, "What sort of business proposition do you have, Mr. Graham? Starfleet business, or something else?"
Rangin squeezes Kylah's hand back. She has a strong psi sense that he is more at ease now - still shaken by his earlier act, still under stress, certainly, but doing better to now be so close, even intimate, with her.
Rawlings is clearly ready to change the subject. However, he seems to find the new subject equally uncomfortable. "I was ordered to find you, ma'am. Both of you. Mr. Graham and the others are asking around, looking for a ship offworld, right now, here in the bar. No luck yet, and Mr. Onn's health status is... not ideal." He clears his throat and his brow furrows. "Uh, Mr. Rangin, I've been ordered to tell you that, as a Starfleet officer who has admitted the use of lethal force in a non-military setting, you are now subject to investigation. I hereby order you to yield your phaser to me, and comply with all of my instructions until we get back to the rest of the party." He holds out his hand.
Rangin stares at him in disbelief.
The Doctor is obviously not going to leave Onn standing there, and Graham is already talking, so he leaves the seats to them.
His attention is piqued by Satchell's casual reference to their Starfleet affiliation. The entire city and half the planet probably knows about the crash, and it stands to reason it might be easy enough for anyone who took an active interest to discover their identities, but why would an arbitrary third officer recognize them? Someone tipped her off. Or, at least as likely, it seems Starfleet officers simply are that recognizable, and anyone who has been around can pick them out in seconds no matter what they are wearing. Rangin discovered this the hard way. But Satchell, in line with Mäkeläinen's original hopes for this place, seems interested in nothing so much as an easy profit right now. It seems all Lt. Graham has to do is say the right words.
Nia's not going to play the martyr by not sitting when there's an invitation in the offing, so she gladly leans her hand on the table and takes the load off her feet.
She catches Satchell's remark and it's a second before she recognizes that their cover, such as it was, has been blown. How? I don't look Starfleet, neither do the boys. Even if they know Rangin's Starfleet, how did it get around that Book's also an officer? Maybe people saw them all together. Great.
As for Satchell's question, Nia gives a one-shoulder shrug, accompanied by a polite, weary smile. "Which answer'll get us the ride?"
The relative silence in the private booth allows the thumping music to compete with Kylah's heart, which she feels pulsing in her temples. Her hand takes tighter hold of Velir's. "Of course there must be an investigation," she says faintly. "But that will have to wait until we get home, surely? With Lt. Onn's condition and--and the danger here--"
A shock of alarm jolts her and she quickly checks to see if the privacy barrier is still in place. (If it is not, she will hit the controls to return its functionality.)
"Mr. Rawlings, please. I know you are doing your duty, under orders from... from a commanding officer. And this is no doubt standard procedure, perfectly understandable as a precaution; no judgment or suspicion is being placed upon him." The latter is said in hopes of reassuring Velir.
"However, these are unusual circumstances. Between this and the Beowolf incident, who knows what vicious brutes might seek him out? Velir needs to be able to defend himself. Not that I doubt your ability to guard him--protect him. But you know anything might happen." She turns from beseeching Mr. Rawlings to doing the same to Velir. "Is that how you feel?"
Satchell turns her gaze from Graham to Onn and says, "For a bunch of reasons, it would be much better if it weren't Starfleet business."
Rawlings looks unhappy, but he says evenly, "I have my orders, and now so do you, Mr. Rangin." He keeps his hand outstretched and Rangin, after a long pause, his face a mask, pulls out his phaser-1 and puts it in the Security officer's huge hand. Rawlings immediately tucks it away, and adds, in a lighter tone, "Now let's go see the others, all right?"
Graham takes a breath and leans forward just slightly. "Well, you're correct that we are Starfleet. But as to the "business"--what we're looking for is nothing more nor less than a ship that can get us where we're supposed to be, after an unintended detour left us stuck here."
He spread his hands. "Nothing more or less complicated than that."
Nia's stare has been fixed on the tabletop since Satchell responded, and now through Booker's proposal as well. She tries to hold her face as blank as possible, but can't help the tiniest wince when he flat-out admits to being Starfleet in his first sentence.
When he's finished, professionally concise and sharp as always, Nia finally blinks and tilts her head to catch his gaze. Her eyes send him affection, appreciation and regret. If the Universal Translator could work for wordless expressions, he'd be hearing: Oh Book. I hope that's enough, honey. I just don't know.
He's chosen a strategy--being upfront yet tightlipped--and maybe this woman will approve of his candor. If that's the case, Nia's not going to undermine it. So she leaves Booker's statement alone. He's put their cards on the table. Not all their cards; not--perhaps--their ace in the hole. But she won't play that unless this doesn't go as hoped.
Kylah does not watch the handover of Velir's phaser to Mr. Rawlings. It is a moment of embarrassment for him--undeserved embarrassment--and Velir Rangin is a proud man. He would not want her to witness this.
"Is it safe to join them?" she asks, voice tight as a violin string. "To loiter in a group where some of us are known to be Starfleet? Before we know there will be a quick way to escape?" Turning to Velir, she tries to engage his rational wisdom, such a big part of who he is. "What do you think would be best to do, Velir? I mean Lieutenant," she adds pointedly with a defiant little glance at Mr. Rawlings before looking back. "If you are not under arrest, sir, I do not see a reason why as ranking officer here, you should not play a part in deciding our next move."
The sudden thought comes too belatedly for her to amend her words: What if he is under arrest?
This Satchell really has us at a disadvantage, does she not? Frankly, Bizhi is not entirely sure he would go for it were he in her place. Sure, the dosh is good (and business is business), but how much would her personal share really come to, and would it be worth dealing with a group that increasingly looks like trouble and desperation? Moreover, can they trust her and her shipmates (insofar as it is possible to rely on anyone here) assuming they do accept this commission?
One thing to try to lower the urgency, or at least it cannot hurt. Well, it couid hurt, but probably not. "Where are my manners? Can I offer everybody another drink?"
Satchell rubs her chin and says, "That sounds do-able. Where do you want to go, exactly?" Before Graham or Onn answer, her gaze flickers to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Sure, thanks. A Saurian brandy, please - and one for each of my friends over there, too, if you're feeling particularly generous."
Rawlings shrugs. "Seemed to me that Mr. Onn and Mr. Graham wanted the party gathered together, but they didn't specifically order that. I suppose we might cramp their style while they're looking for a ship."
Rangin nods. "Let's stay here for now, then. They can always ask us to come when they're ready."
Bizhi is conscious that it may not be ideal for him (or Graham or Onn) to be drinking, but, for the sake of camaraderie...
"Three Saurian brandies, then. And, since this isn't Starfleet business," he catches Booker's eye, "a fourth?" Nia definitely should not be imbibing any intoxicants and he knows it and she knows it. He signals her to trust him and orders her an Altairian--- no, Algolian--- tonic water with orange juice and real grenadine, should be impressive-looking enough not to seem out of place, and a shot of Old Janx Spirit, slice of lime for himself.
Graham nods to the doctor. "Hell yes. Good man." He hunkers down at the table, glances at Onn, and the focuses on Satchell. "Maybe we can clink our glasses, not as 'Starfleet' and 'not Starfleet' or whatever else, but as mariners all, doing some business that's good for everyone involved...and talk about our destination."
Satchell smiles and replies to Graham, "Why not?"
Dr. Mäkeläinen is able to get a waiter's attention, and soon the drinks are brought and served. He pays from the Tesla shipmates' monit account. The two Saurians raise their glasses in mute salute and each take a sip; they don't put away their rifles, however. Satchell drinks a toast with Graham and his shipmates, saying, "To our mutual success" as you all clink glasses. She then asks, waiting for your answers:
"So... where to?"
"How many of you need passage?"
"What sort of timetable are you on?"
"When will you be ready to leave?"
"What's your budget?"
"Any special needs or requests en route?"
Asked at all once to save time and move things along. Please answer, and ask any questions of your own, in the same way.
Bizhi raises his glass in a toast to the Saurians, whom he has been studying with curiosity.
This is not the place to hash out their precise orders and all of their private business. Getting off-world is officially their highest priority, but he knows they can look forward to probably meeting again with the Portmaster or Port security and also figuring out how to secure a shuttle currently resting at the bottom of a frozen lake. Diving? All that will eat up time, potentially even a couple of days. Dr. Mäkeläinen does not repeat or contradict the other officers' answers, but during the conversation he explains that, as far as he is concerned, the one inflexible requirement is that they need to be in Cavinre by the end of five days, that's Federation standard days. "We heard your ship was fast and small and that is what we are looking for. We are willing to pay for haste and for lack of complications. Frills are not an issue; speaking for myself, I am perfectly willing to share a cabin, bunk below decks, whatever it takes." Not sure about the budget--- IIRC we had ~20k monits but have been rapidly burning through them. But, before offering a substantial proportion of what is left and/or haggling, they need to start with their knowledge of how much private space travel costs. Dr. M. might suggest a reasonable-sounding (not suspiciously large) payment in monits up front with the offer of a bonus in Credits when they get there.
He inquires about the Zephyr's medical facilities.
Satchell nods thoughtfully, and replies:
"We're not going directly to Cavinre, but we'll pass relatively close by there."
"How many people did you say?"
"We could get you within a day's journey of Cavinre in just over three days' time."
"I expect we'll break orbit in," she glances at her at her wrist chrono, "four hours or so."
"Typical passenger fare is 10k monits a head. Pending approval of the Captain, of course."
"The Zephyr has a small but fully-equipped Sickbay. No doctor in the crew, but we've got a certified space medic. She's good."
"Anything else?"
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Kylah is grateful to Mr. Rawlings for not being too... too Security. And of course she admires Velir's aplomb. His preternatural patience is getting a workout.
Aware of the awkward circumstances, she tries to make a better attempt at cleaning the table of her spilled drink. Her cheeks turn warm and likely the color of a tomato when her mind drifts back to Mr. Rawlings walking in on the pair of them. Even more blush-inducing is the fact that this time, this place, and these circumstances are how she and Velir chose to have a passionate kiss.
It is not how she would have wished them to return to the closeness they shared prior to everything that culminated in their rift on Anubis. It was difficult enough even before that, getting beyond her mistake with Jan on OCIII.
Why must violence and heartache mark every milestone in their relationship?
Kylah does not linger on the possibility that their kisses were out of his need for comfort after this dreadful incident. After her soaked cocktail napkin turns out to be not too successful with mopping up the mocha, she sighs and looks up to realize Mr. Rawlings is still standing. "I am sorry, please have a seat," she says, automatically starting to move to make room for him before acknowledging that it would practically put her in Velir's lap.
She tries to sound undistressed while putting the napkin on the table. "Well. I think I need another. I did not have very much before--I spilled it. What about you, Mr. Rawlings? May I order something for you?" She turns to the man beside her. "Another drink, Velir? Perhaps something to eat. I might get something myself." Kylah looks at him hopefully, though understanding he may not have much of an appetite.
After sipping her drink in an attempt to look nonchalant, Nia casts a grateful glance at the doctor. She had no idea what he'd got her, but of course it wasn't anything that'd harm her. The same can't be said of his own choice. She notices his drink and lifts an eyebrow. The man must have guts of steel.
She listens carefully to the questions and answers with steadily decreasing hope. Three days the best you can do? What if you use a pilot who.s actually competent at the helm?
Then again, her own shuttle's at the bottom of the sea, so she's not exactly in a position to judge. She keeps her gaze steadily on her drink, not wanting to show her frustration or disappointment.
Still, four days--including the one it'll take to get to Cavinre--is cutting things fine. Nia sets her glass down with the purposeful, deliberate care she'd use if it was a grenade. "There's six of us," she says quietly. One of the others'll have to say about the fare. I haven't had time to learn the exchange rate. But..." She lifts her chin so she can look at the other woman. "No way you can make the trip a little more... direct? For a price? We'd really like to shave a day off that ETA, if possible."
She pauses. Maybe one of their destinations has faster ships available. Glancing over to Booker, unsure of herself--if she's sounding desperate, if she's screwing up the negotiation such as it is--she clears her throat before continuing. "Where're you headed for? If it's somewhere with plenty of ships in orbit, we might spare you having to go near Cavinre at all."
"My friend [we are all friends here, not Starfleet officers] is right— time is of the essence. Getting that close to Cavinre is highly useful, but not if we end up stranded again. Unless there are guaranteed to be hourly ferries?"
Regarding the price, "That may seem fair, but it is still a lot of monits, considering we'd be sharing accommodations. But, supposing we agree, what would your captain say to our proposal of accepting the bulk of the fare in credits? Not only is that more useful to you, considering where you are headed, it will end up substantially more money. Economies of scale," Mäkeläinen explains spuriously but hopefully plausibly after a couple of Saurian brandies. He hopes he is not called upon to do any detailed figuring with his own spirits already starting to lovingly fry his synapses.
Graham listens attentively and nods--mostly appreciatively--as Satchell speaks.
After the back and forth between her, Onn, and the doctor, Graham takes a contemplative sip of his drink and leans forward again.
"As my colleagues have emphasized, getting where we need to be sooner rather than later is...of, ah significant value."
He rubs his chin. "Whether credits or monist, by hook or by crook we're willing to meet the standard...but, how about...a day faster's worth an extra 20 percent, and two days is worth 30?"
Rawlings considers the cushioned bench on which Rangin and Kylah are sitting, then sits down. He is a very large man, and it's a tight fit. "Nothing for me, thanks," he says pleasantly to Kylah.
"Nor I," Rangin says, more tersely. After a few seconds of awkward silence he jumps to his feet. "You know, I think we should go find the others, after all. Graham might make some idiotic deal for another ship, when one of my prospects would actually be better for us all. Let's go."
Satchell rubs her chin as she listens to Onn and Graham. "That could be appealing to the Captain," she says. "We're headed to Messina, and then Dremenn IV, but for the right amount of monits - or Federation credits - a diversion might be possible." In response to Dr. Mäkeläinen, she lets out a single harsh laugh. "Hourly ferries, to Cavinre? Pull the other one! Have you been to Cavinre? It's not exactly a place most people are eager to go to. Not a tourist hotspot, to say the least."
She speaks to the nearby Saurians in the alien language from before, smiling, and they both begin to make guttural noises, their shoulders shaking slightly.
Lt. Graham unilaterally haggling the sum upwards makes Bizhi think, Let's not come off as utterly desperate— even if we are!
The credits themselves mean nothing, though. They merely serve a purpose: that the Zephyr's operators end up mollified and drop them off at Cavinre, their purses heavier, with some relaxed sessions of story-swapping on the way and fond memories all around. Things can easily still take a turn for the much, much worse.
For now, everybody is laughing and smiling and he lets himself relax. He feels a bit awkward standing up by the table like this, or that could be the effects of the spirit on his proprioception. He moves to join the Saurians at their table, unless it looks like they will object.
Satchell's words help loosen the knot in her stomach, and she grips her glass with both hands as if giving it a hug. She watches Dr. M. walk toward the Saurians, wondering if he knows the language. Wouldn't surprise her. He seems pretty well-rounded.
She turns and gives Satchell a small smile. "He's a doctor, not an anthropologist. But actually I've seen 'tourists' who seem to revel in taking risks. Making a trip to see misery, danger and unrest, just for bragging rights."
Wasn't particularly fun to be on the other side of that, even though in Sidonia's case it was Starfleet scientists and they meant well, at least. "Anyway... I'll--we'll be grateful for anything you can do for any reasonable fee. For varying definitions of 'reasonable.'" Nia looks at Booker and tries a warmer smile before she adds, "And I guess your captain'll do most of the defining. Hope they'll figure one out quickly.
"Can we get in touch with Green now? Or is there more of a hierarchy thing and you'll take the proposal yourself? I don't mean to rush, but if you're departing in four, we should probably start the, uh, process, if you don't mind. We're gonna have to find alternatives in the meantime. Unless you have more questions," she continues, now to Booker.
Her gaze shifts slightly behind him, taking in the doctor and the Saurians again, this time more warily. The gun-toting partners don't seem the most friendly chaps. She tries to communicate a silent inquiry toward Booker, hoping he considers it's okay for Mäkeläinen to make himself comfy over by them. Despite sharing scales and coldbloodedness--the latter only in the biological sense, at least--Nia knows almost nothing about them.
"Can we chat privately for a sec', Book--er," she corrects quickly. Maybe it's weird to use the nickname now. Sucks having to question herself on how to address a friend. Then again it sucks even more that they're "friends" at all.
Surprised and a little worried, Kylah stares at Velir for a second or two before she replies somewhat awkwardly, "Oh--I am sorry, I did not realize you had other prospects before...everything. But certainly, if you think it best to go...."
But she is not very certain. She is now self-conscious over his brusque manner, especially in front of Mr. Rawlings, since she cannot ask Velir anything very personal. Not that she blames Velir for his being extremely tense right now.
While sliding/wiggling her way across the booth seat after him, she gives Mr. Rawlings an apologetic look for having gotten him to cram himself into the booth only for him to squeeze his way back out immediately after. Once standing, she gnaws her lower lip before asking the security officer, "How should we best prevent --that is--what is the safest way to go?"
Graham arches an eyebrow at Nia's request. "Of course," he responds, quickly. "If you'll excuse us," he says to Satchell amicably, throwing an acknowledging glance toward the Saurians as well.
If Satchell agrees, Nia will draw Booker aside to add some distance between them and the human Zephyr crewmate, but still close enough to see what's going on with the Saurians.
"Sorry," she says in an undertone. "Just wanted to know... we've got four hours, if this deal goes through. But should we look for backups in the meantime? Maybe some are leaving earlier, or flying faster or closer. Of course, Rangin killed our chances at the other good prospect." Nia tries to be humorous but there's a thread of bitterness stitched within the words. "But maybe one of the other two..."
She glances over to the Doc and the Saurians. Sounds like a band. "What do you know about Saurians? These guys look easy to displease. I don't want the crew put into any danger because we're too focused on me. We need to look up the Zephyr's rep. If it checks out as legit, great. But otherwise..."
Finally looking up at Booker, she hesitates just for a moment. "Okay. I'd like to think I'm objective enough to consider my crew first. I always try to make choices that are optimal for the crew, or whatever I'm at the helm of. But this situation... feels different. I worry that I'm too selfish to think straight. Ever since yesterday, I'm conscious of every breath I take, 'cause each one is poisoning me. it's as if I've lost control of my mag boots during an EVA, and now I'm floating outside with a leaking tank. The ship's left me far behind and I'm suffocating. And there's nowhere to go."
She stares, haunted, at something that she can't really see. "There's no shore to crawl to, no surface to swim to. I'm in the ocean of space and there's no escape." Her focus returns to Booker. "And I want to get the hell out of here so bad I might do anything, agree to anything."
Her breathing is ragged and she places a hand on her abdomen, hoping to reconnect with the present time and place. "Sorry. I shouldn't pour my emotions out on you--I'm not your problem anymore." Nia's awkward and unsure, but she has to get herself together, and does. "But. You're second-in-command. You're supposed to tell me even things I don't want to hear. And that means you have to be objective about our priorities. Maybe it's presumptuous of me to even suggest that. You're a professional. Takes a lotta hubris to think you'd have any difficulty just because we..."
Nia's gaze skitters away like a rodent seeking cover: to the floor, to the Saurians, then to the doctor. "Point is, if you start to doubt my decision making, seek him out." She lifts her chin in Mäkeläinen's direction. "He'll give you solid advice for sure. I mean, he wants the best outcome for his patient, but he's rational and smart as hell. I don't know him well enough yet to tell you more than that, but that's my take anyway.
"Double-T and I have a history, but you know it wasn't serious. I don't think he'd have any problem with objectivity. But in my experience, not sure about yours and you've worked with him... He's not an advisor or leader. Doesn't have the best overall view. Don't tell him I said it, I trust him as a solid officer and am really fond of him, but I'm being honest with you."
She tilts her head, almost amused at the thought that strikes her. "Frankly I'm sure you'd disagree, but to me, the most rational, strategic thinker on the crew's probably Rangin, but circumstances--and your history--make me think you wouldn't go to him. Kylah..." Nia cough-chuckles a little, now more the former than the latter. "Yeah, no. Well, you know her better than I am. She'll probably be a good comforter, if anyone needs it."
With a sigh, she faces the truth. "I'm giving you this rundown of my thoughts of the crew because... you'll probably be leading them. If I'm in some bad mental or physical state and I start to sound irrational... Will you be sure to think of the crew first, before me? Take the safest ship that's fast. Not just the fastest. I'm not saying you have to hold out until we get private cabins with gold saunas and velvet pillows. But your safety--I mean all the crew's safety--is of primary importance. Not mine. You know that, you've been in command. If there's anything sketchy or hinky that puts you on your guard... pick what's best for the others. I'm not an irreplaceable loss now that the Tesla's gone and we don't need a pilot or engineer." Nia shrugs. "Don't throw good money after bad, is what I'm saying.
"If I'm not listening or it seems like my perspective's outta whack, call me out on it. And please consult with Mäkeläinen. My mind's not 100% even now and I think he'll help you judge. Remember he has the power to relieve me of command. Listen to him."
Nia places her hand on his arm for a second. The fuzzy mitten can't transmit her touch, and her body temp's too low to transmit any warmth. But it's contact. "Will you promise me, Booker?"
Satchell casually waves Onn and Graham away for them to go talk privately. "Sure, go ahead. I'll call my Captain and see if we can't work something out." She pulls out a communicator.
Rawlings shrugs and extracts himself from the booth without breaking anything. "Follow me," he says. "No problem. I'll take you to them."
Rangin replies to Kylah, "Yeah, as I said, I have leads on three other possible ships to get us out of here. One of them could be the one we need."
See post 1347.
Kylah seems doomed to blush a lot today. She nods at Velir's response. "Forgive me, Velir, I was paying attention. But what you told me after was so overwhelming, and we were talking so much, and between all that and... everything..." Unconsciously she looks at the booth, then darts her attention back to Velir. "Well, I forgot. It is very good news. Only you would focus on that now, after what you have been through."
She tries to smile at him, then turns to Ensign Rawlings and lifts her arm toward the door. "I suppose you must lead, please, Mr. Rawlings."
Mäkeläinen regards Graham and Onn talking. There was also something he wanted to discuss with them in private, but that can wait. Not long, though, not if they are in fact going to be in orbit in a few hours. That would certainly be the optimal way forward from a medical perspective, with immediate access to a sickbay and an expensive, yet crucial diversion directly to their destination. Unless there is a faster, more direct ship they can hire? If they had had just a bit more time to spare, they could have posted an ad on the local comms network. The Zephyr is supposed to be pretty fast, though, and they have at least a couple more leads.
He smiles at his current companions and works on his drink. He tries to listen to what Satchell may be saying over her communicator.
Rawlings nods and leaves the booth, passing through the privacy shield, and then his broad bulk clearing a path through the crowded bar not unlike a seagoing vessel passing through an ice field. Kylah and Rangin follow in his wake. You soon see Graham and Onn talking to each other, standing near a booth in which is seated a Human woman in orange coveralls, a communicator in hand. Dr. Mäkeläinen is standing nearby, too, and Kylah notices that two armed Saurians are sitting alertly in a nearby booth.
The good doctor is just a little too far away, and the bar is quite a bit too noisy, for him to hear what Satchell is saying.
What Nia's saying is a lot to take in.
Graham blinks and takes a deep breath. "You were never, are not now, and never will be a 'problem,' please believe me..."
He pauses and takes another deep breath. "Whatever else has happened."
Graham places his hand on hers. "I promise. And--every contact here is a risk, but I'll do my best to suss out other options, hedge our bets."
He rubs his chin, taking stock all she's said. "Yeah, the doctor...I trust his uh, I trust his opinion on your..." The word is like wrenching a chunk out of his heart. "Prospects," he says, his mouth suddenly as dry as he imagines Nia's home world.
Taking in the tableau, Kylah is drawn to what looks like Lt. Onn and Lt. Graham in a serious conversation. Then she sees Dr. Mäkeläinen's welcome familiar face, and then of course the Saurians are hard to miss. Along with their weapons.
She is immediately alert. None of the group is close enough for her to attempt to sense emphatically what the mood here is--not with the distractions of the other patrons. But she has eyes, and she can see the tension in her senior officers' stances, and the relaxed state of the woman and the doctor. She cannot tell anything about the Saurians, but the fact that they have two weapons in plain view is concerning, to say the least.
Her hand reaches out to Mr. Rawlings's sleeve. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to stay here--both of you," she adds with a quick look at Velir. "Until Lt. Graham indicates that it is safe for Lt. Rangin to approach. I will go see Dr. Mäkeläinen. It is probably a good sign that Lt. Graham considers it safe to leave him sitting with armed... men?" Kylah frowns slightly, realizing she is unsure how to distinguish genders in the Saurians. Or if they have genders at all.
If Mr. Rawlings does not object, Kylah casts an optimistic glance at Velir, one that is warm and full of even more intense affection for him. Then she will head nonchalantly towards the trio of strangers and the Doctor. Kylah's approach is slow, and she is concentrating fiercely on the strangers' emotions.
She does not believe she will recognize anything from the Saurians--she knows so little about them, and does not remember if they are 'readable' via psi scrutiny. But she must try. She is more confident about the female, possibly human but humans' appearance is not unique; Kylah could be mistaken for one herself.
If all seems relatively safe, she will go to Dr. Mäkeläinen. And, having no idea yet if their identities should be obscured, she calls him Bizhi before asking carefully if he is... well.
Bizhi sees Kylah hesitating to approach, so we waves her over, indicating to the Zephyrites she is with him. "Yes, I am fine. Good news, in fact. Assuming their captain is receptive, for a suitably extravagant fee they seem willing to drop us off right at Cavinre. We would leave in a few hours."
He notices her look at the armed Saurians with trepidity and whispers, "They pegged us as Starfleet directly. It does not seem they intend to do anything unfortunate. At least, not here. They did let us know right away they knew what we were. Stay canny, but they may be just what they seem, which is we were looking for: regular jacks with a fast ship, who are headed in that direction anyway. Merely made it clear they cannot be involved in Starfleet business. We are a private group of passengers looking for transportation, as far as anyone is concerned."
Nia's reaction to Booker's reassurance about her 'problem' remark is a little shrug and almost invisible shake of her head. When he takes her hand and promises her that he won't let her endanger the crew more than she has--not his words, of course, but that was her meaning and he's agreed either way... she sighs a soft thank you, eyes closing in relief.
"Prospects," she echoes contemplatively. Nia appreciates his tact about her situation, coupled with what looks like as close to dread as she's seen on him since Novy Rostov. She gives him a soft smile. "I was born with no prospects. Whatever I've got now is extra."
Squeezing his hand, she tilts her head in the direction of the table. "'Kay. Let's see what this captain has to say about the cargo-bay's worth of credits you're tossing their way--"
Her words break off at the sight of Double-T's easily recognizable figure, and the much smaller one of a certain xenobiologist nearby. Nia emits a low, exasperated grunt. "Oh great." She glances back at Booker and shifts her eyes to indicate the source of her aggravation. "Do we want him around when we're trying to close this deal?"
"How wonderful to hear," Kylah says, grateful to have some good news. The sooner they get off the planet, the better for all of them--though of course, none so much as Velir and Lt. Onn. With a happier nod to the Saurians--she is desperately trying to recall any hint of their language that she might have picked up from home or the Academy--Kylah takes a seat, if one is available.
She does her best to avoid sneaking a peek at Velir, and searches her head for something safe to say. A hint of the scent of lime nudges her memory. "Oh! I forgot those things you found on--outside. The papers? Have you determined what that material was? Could it be lemon juice?" She takes a discreet look at the woman speaking on her communicator, curious but also making sure she is not listening. Then Kylah faces Dr. Mäkeläinen again. "It would just take warming it to see..."
Kylah pauses and frowns slightly, taking another look at the woman's uniform, particularly the shoulder patch. The name is familiar. She has heard it recently. Did Velir mention it? She again focuses on the doctor, now distracted but still curious about what he might have discovered.