Star Trek RPG - Mission #4: "Codex Aelyrr"

"I--" Graham starts to reply then shuts his mouth.

He's almost too embarrassed to speak.

"You're--right." His instinct is to apologize, but as she runs a hand through his hair he feels she doesn't want him to say "sorry" a thousand times.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts. He shifts so he's facing her and gently takes the straps he'd dislodged and carefully places them onto her shoulders. "I'd be crazy not to want to have sex with you--even under, um--the right circumstances. But I want to make love with you more--Nia," he says slowly.

He leans against her--the shock of the moment when she gasped has disarmed both his anger and arousal. "Tell me something I need to know about you to--become the "right" man to make love with Nia Onn."

Nia's racing heartbeat is slowly returning to normal, and she's caught her breath. Touched by his making the distinction between sex and making love, she chuckles low in her throat at his question. "Now, it'd be cheating if I tell you how," she says lightly, but since he's obviously sincere she sobers up. "I actually don't know what it takes. Sex is kinda... what I do. But 'making love'... there's only been one or two men who've made those scales go away. One of them is here, and we're best friends, with sex as an added bonus. Or at least, it was until he decided to try monogamy on for size." She laughs again. "But we're still friends. I can tell him anything, and vice versa. So I guess the answer is, I need someone to know me. And someone I know. Mutual sharing, layer by layer. Like unpeeling an onion."

She gets up off the bed and reaches out a hand to Booker, who grasps it and stands up too. "I hope we can do that, Book. I hope... you want to. Because if this was just a taste of what the real thing would be like with you, I..." Nia looks down, almost shy--she's never shy, what the hell? "I want the real Booker. Very, very much."

"The real Booker Graham." On the one hand, he's not sure who that is. Or if he's worth a damn anymore...

But...

He stands, holding one of her hands in his, looking at her as he did when he first walked in to the Observation Lounge: she's present, alive...here.

"I--ah...your perfume, it reminded me...reminded me of maybe who the real Graham was. Or--is."

"I hope neither of us wants to give up on this..."

He leans forward and gives her a kiss that would be chaste except that it continues far longer than one between acquaintances.

"...until I can make sure that he shows up to be with you."

He hopes she feels as he does--and tries to convey with his eyes--that enough has been said that night--not too little, and not too much. The right time to go...

He gives her hand one last gentle squeeze as he says goodnight and backs out of the room.

Once the door has whooshed shut and he's alone in the corridor, the urge to punch a bulkhead has long past. Instead he trails a finger along the wall, walking slowly, pensive.

Your life is like a lock with no key, Booker. But it feels like...a door has been opened.

He wonders what that means for him and for Nia. He doesn't come with an answer during his slow walk to his own bed, but for once he's ruminating on something that feels good.

Thus concludes the big date. Nia=SidonianGal Graham=general_urko

Getting no response, Kylah just stares at the harp for a while. Collins has probably given up on her for the night. She does not seem interested in anything but Kylah's love life, such as it is; no interest in Elas, or her family.

It strikes her that this is typical of the humans she has met since the Academy. They display little curiosity toward aspects of Elasian culture, but highly prurient fascination about, for example, exactly how Elasian women enslave men, and how many, and how often.

But Collins seems almost naïve, rather than prurient; her thoughts on Velir and Kylah are simplistic and innocent. Kylah does not understand it. How can anyone have witnessed what Collins did in that Sickbay and remain optimistic?

With a sigh, she curls under the covers and turns away from the harp. He did say he was willing to talk, she admits, remembering the feel of Velir's arms around her. He promised we would. Maybe... he will listen, really listen, this time? She shakes her head and settles down to go to sleep. But before she does, she says a prayer for Fujishiro, wondering if the poor woman will last the night. I hope she is not alone now, she thinks, closing her eyes.

Rangin reads on. The duty nurse looks in briefly, and awhile later, Dr. T'Var. Fujishiro does not respond.

Sleep comes soon for Kylah, and in time, Collins feels her own eyelids growing heavy.

The Yorktown sails ever farther into space.

Nia watches the door close behind Booker--and she has to imagine her feet have been glued to the floor in order to keep from dashing after him. She knows it was the right decision but... damn, the feel of his rough skin against her face, the sweet force of his tongue, the delicious agony from his fingers and mouth...

And not just the sensuality of it all, because that was somewhat stained by knowing he wasn't really there. But him. He's an enigma. He's self-deprecating--almost to a fault--yet also physically sure of himself, evident in his walk, his movements when he didn't think she was looking. Darkness surrounds him, something impenetrable thanks to her knowing so little about him; and yet he's funny, he's optimistic and a romantic.

He's smart and has a lifetime of stories, but when she spoke he paid close attention: not just waiting for her to shut up until he got the chance to speak again, but listened. He's awkward at times, bafflingly so, but then... there was nothing awkward in those hands as they expertly taunted her breasts and slid up between her legs, so close to satisfying her aching...

She suddenly half-groans, half-laughs, lifting her gaze to the ceiling in disbelief. "Nia, Nia, Nia. Did you seriously just let that man walk out of here?"

Shaking her head, she takes two seconds to shrug out of the green dress and shimmy out of her underwear, swooping downwards to pick them up from the floor and hang the dress in her closet and toss the underwear in the hamper. In the bathroom she splashes water on her face, then exits to find the Pacifican Water Lily bowl from the far table and put it beside the snowglobe on her bedside table.

"Main lights out; bed lamp on, half-power," she says, looking at both gifts. The two of them look lovely in the dim light, and she smiles. Reaching for her lightly perfumed skin lotion, she strokes it on her scales, from her temples to her neck, shoulders, arms and finally down her sides.

Next the bottle is tossed aside, the lights are extinguished, and now, her sinuous body naked beneath the bedcovers, Nia fantasizes what will happen--hopefully soon--when Booker Graham is back here, his mind totally focused on her, his hands no longer angry, and Nia more than receptive to each... delicious... touch...

As the night draws on, Rangin continues to read to Fujishiro, now lost in the world he is describing and hoping that Fujishiro can hear. It's a pretty forlorn hope really, but he ignores it in favour of the story. Taking a sip of water to keep his throat wet he keeps on speaking. The tones from the machines have blended into the background, tuned out in favour of the sounds of the action taking place on the pages in front of him.

To Rangin, all that matters is that making sure he stands vigil for Fujishiro, as one affected to another. He may blame himself for not doing enough, but he knows in his heart that the only real person to blame for it is Dr Waite, his silence condemning her to this fate. He couldn't blame Dr T'Var, her own ethics had prevented her acting, even if Rangin didn't believe in them, but he still thought that, just perhaps, she could have done more.

This wasn't the first time he had done this. A stint in Cordas Zoo soon gave a healthy appreciation for mortality and when he had been injured in the M-5 disaster, a couple of friends had come to visit more often than not until he had recovered, while in the bed next to him, another of his friends had died from their injuries...and then there was the one incident he should never have survived.

Rangin stops for a moment and looks across at Fujishiro, trying to commit her features to memory. As his eyes scan over her face, one hand unconsciously slides to his ribs and he can slowly feel the pull of them through his uniform. There may be no mark there, but Rangin would swear he could feel each break, each one mark of cowardice and helplessness. At least here he could pay respects to Fujishiro in relative peace, not begging for his life while his friend was taken away and vanished by the Orion Syndicate. Closing his eyes, he can still picture the scene and he shivers. A raid that went wrong, four of them trying to show how clever they were and it all went so horribly, horribly wrong.

Rangin gulps for air as he opens his eyes again, focusing once more on the here and now as the tone of the machines fills the air banishing the voices and sounds of places past, where he died a little inside, just as he is doing now. He cannot hope to grasp why he keeps surviving when those around him don't. Perhaps, perhaps it would be best not to get too attached to anyone, just to see them ending up like Fujishiro in front of him.

But no, this time, here and now is for Fujishiro; to honour her as a colleague and friend, others can wait. He sits back down and takes another sip of water and begins to finish the story.

Once completed, he sits there for a while, remembering her from the few memories he had from the time he worked with her, before rising and bowing slightly towards the figure. "Goodbye, Fujishiro, may you be alone no longer."

Rangin leaves Sickbay for his quarters, wondering when he is next going to be in this position again.

Mahmoud is working at their shared desk when Graham walks in. He looks up and smiles. "Hey, Booker. Where've you been?"

Rangin finds his quarters empty when he gets there. A few minutes later, his cabinmate Ens. Charles Gordon walks in wearing workout gear, a towel around his neck. "How's it going, Velir? Have a good day?"

Graham rubs his chin, still reflective but acknowledging his old friend's question.

"Well...first Vargas ripped me a new one, then Collins had a good cry on my shoulder, and then Ni--uh, Lt. Onn served me a really nice dinner." He sighs and shrugs. "Perfectly normal day, I guess. How was yours--trigger any galactic incidents? Discover a secret family you never knew you had?"

Mahmoud says, "Yes, one of each. Just since lunch I was sentenced to death by the Romulan government for stealing the Jewel of Hroshar, and found out that Lord Fastolfe is actually my half-brother. You can see how upset I am."

Rangin is sitting on the bunk and leaning against the wall behind it, thinking about life, the universe and everything, as Ens. Gordon enters. Looking across to, Rangin smiles, "Hi Charlie," he greets him, "well, it's been one of those days."

Rangin shuffles on the bed and sits upright, "Let's see: the good part. Got to play around with that shiny, new Astro sensor and Jim Delaney is still a genius at fixing things. Still can't believe he got demoted after OCIII, somebody must have really got out of bed on the wrong side." Rangin shakes his head at the thought of it, there had been worse that went unpunished on that mission.

"The sad part: went to pay respects to Fujishiro, it doesn't looks like she will last much longer. It's a damn shame they couldn't save her and I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it. We both were bitten but I made it and she didn't. The doctor's can still only guess at what happened." Rangin glances across at the datapad still lying on the side and fidgets slightly, before he remembers what else occurred in the past few hours and groans.

"And then we have the stupid. Had another run in with Ens. Bully Graham, who's been on my case since he got here. The guy is a Grade-A sick fuck with proprietary issues. There I was helping out Ens. Kylah, the one who got assaulted on the planet, when he turns up and starts demanding I get away from her." Rangin holds up a hand while placing the other over his heart and looking sincere. "Before you ask, I was just helping up off the floor because she wasn't feeling well. That's all. I may have had an arm around her waist to steady but that is all, nothing more."

Rangin leans back against the wall again and continues. "Of course, he comes storming down the hallway like a Denebian Slime Devil and twice as ugly. I'm pretty sure he would have assaulted me again, if a couple of friends from Science hadn't turned up. He backed off at that point - like I said, he's a real bully. I don't think he was too happy when Vargas yanked the pair of us in for a cordial chat and told him, in no uncertain terms, to act like a member of Starfleet and whatever his problem was, quit it. That suits me fine."

"Of course," Rangin reaches up and taps the end of his nose with a finger in the universal sign of secrecy, "you didn't hear it from me." He winks at Ens. Gordon now knowing that whatever he said would soon be doing the rounds of engineering.

"So yeah, overall, a good day. Thanks for that Charlie, feel better getting that off my chest." Rangin relaxes, scratches an itch on the back of his arm and looks back across, "So, never mind my travails, how was your day in the depths of Engineering?"

Graham chuckles. Ending the night in the company of a friend who has literally been a comrade-in-arms cements his already positive mood.

He bids his roommate goodnight and takes a long shower before bed, still mulling over what Nia said earlier: "the real Booker Graham."

Gordon says, "Wow, that's quite a day! Y'know, I'd heard a little scuttlebutt before about Graham. He had a real up-and-down career before he came aboard. Hope Vargas's little chat does some good with him." He frowns. "And it's sad about Fujishiro. I didn't - uh, don't really know her. Always a shame when someone aboard gets hurt that way." He starts digging around in his closet. "My day was OK. Spent a loooong time calibrating deuterium flow sensors on Deck 16, starboard. Everything was five by five." He grins. "If the ship doesn't blow up overnight, I should get full credit."

Mahmoud says goodnight and turns back to his work.

"Are we getting a ship's inspection some time soon?" Rangin comments lightheartedly, "Roble had people cleaning out Organic Chemistry and that takes ages. Perhaps they think we're all slacking off, or maybe they've got one of those long task lists to keep us all occupied for the next week or so. We'll find out in the morning I guess."

Rangin stretches and climbs under the sheets, immediately beginning to feel tired as he settles down. "Goodnight Charlie." he says drowsily as he begins to feel sleep's embrace.

"You too, Velir," Gordon says, slipping into the bathroom for a shower.

Relaxing in his quarters, Andy looks around the room for the third time in fifteen minutes, trying to make sure everything is neat and clean. Clothes tidied away, surfaces dust-free and shiny. In short it was almost as clean as the kitchen he works in, well maybe not that clean, but getting on for.

Smiling to himself for still not having a roommate as Lt. Bennett still can't find someone willing to put up with his sense of humour. Surprisingly everyone wants to chat with him, but seem strangely reluctant to share quarters. In some ways it helps, being able to act as a sounding board for gripes, moans and suggestions without anyone thinking he is biased.

Whistling gently to himself while some non-descript music plays in the background, he goes back to taking care of his hands, making sure they are in the best condition while wondering if his sole occupant status is about to change. A glance at the neatly setup chess board and the bottles of water give a hint to the evening ahead.

Before long a chime rings out and there is a shudden shiver of excitement that ripples down Andy's spine as his head twists in the direction of the door. Quickly putting the manicure set down, he calls out, "Come in," as he stands and walks across. Framed in the door, as it opens, is the shape of T'Var and Andy nods to her, "Hi, come on in, the board's ready when you are."

The doctor is in a Vulcan civilian robe. "Good evening," she says, smiling slightly.

Nia lies on her bed, deeply breathing; her eyes are closed and a smile is on her face. After a while, she turns to her side and stretches languorously, but then reaches her arm out and picks up her communicator.

She thinks for a moment before her fingers start typing a message to Booker:

I realize I forgot to thank you again for the exquisite flower, which I'm looking at right now. It's beautiful. Thank you, Booker.

Tonight's dinner was delicious in more ways than one. I'm in bed now, very relaxed after spending some lovely time thinking of you, of being with you. But it only makes me anticipate the real thing even more.

I know my dreams will be sweet. Will yours? Hope we can share them sometime soon. -- NIA

Sending the message off, Nia pulls out a bottle of water and rehydrates herself, then falls back against her pillows with a sigh of contentment.

Collins opens her eyes and realizes how hungry she is, having skipped dinner. She turns her head to check the small clock her nightstand, and sees it's only 0214. As quietly as she can, so as not to wake her roommate, Collins slips out of bed, throws a kaftan on over her pajamas, and leaves her quarters to head to the mess.

When she gets there, she sees a bunch of her ship mates, none of whom look familiar to her, and she is reminded of just how big a Constitution-class ship is. She orders up a bowl of strawberry ice cream, a half dozen small sugar cookies, and a mug of hot cocoa. She finds a table to enjoy her snack and digs in.

Graham's dozing off when a chime alerts him he has a message. As a Security officer alerts for professional matters never shut off--and he's made it habit to add individuals to the "24-7" list, too. He sees it's from Nia. For some reason, he feels sure it's...nothing bad.

It's almost hard for him to believe that's how he feels, but he remains in bed feeling that it will be something nice to wake up to tomorrow...

Collins has been noshing for just a minute or so when the mess hall doors whoosh open and the Captain comes in. She looks tired. She gets a big mug of coffee from the bulkhead replicator, sees Collins and ambles over. "Late-night hunger pangs, Mr. Collins?" she asks.

At the sound of Graham's comm chime, Mahmoud looks up from his work, stretches, and turns off the desk light. "All right, Booker," he says, "now I'm ready for all the filthy details. Tell me about your date. Leave nothing out."

Collins adjusts her posture from m the slouch she'd slid into, to straight backed upon hearing the Captain's voice. She looks up and smiles, and once she swallows the cookie she'd stuffed in her mouth, she says "Yes, ma'am. I skipped dinner. Please have a seat."

Graham grunts, a little nonplussed by his roommate interrupting a pleasant reverie he expected would soon lead to sleep--but blowing off his long-time friend and colleague isn't in his nature.

The question makes him think though: it's not that I don't believe her, that she, uh, "gets around..."

But that's not what she is to me, he thinks, suspecting that even if were inclined to "leave nothing out" Mahmoud would probably be disappointed.

"Ah, if you want lurid entertainment, I'm sure there are some vids you can find on the system," he replies.

He speaks a little slower than usual, still turning things over in his mind.


"It was--nice, really nice. She, ah--looked great. Really great. And set up a dinner and everything."

He pauses and shrugs although the gesture is awkward lying down. "We talked, and then we went to her place. It was...nice." He clears his throat. "She thought it was too cluttered but it was fine."

He grimaces internally. "I'm not an exercise machine or your sparring partner."

If they'd...carried on...that would have ruined everything, Graham thinks. I would have ruined everything...

For once he's free of any regrets, though: but I didn't. We didn't.

"I think we'll do it again," he adds, pausing then following that statement quickly with "a date, I mean. It was like a real date, and I think we'll go on another one."

"And if you're waiting for a report on how far down the scales go or anything, you're better off downloading some Sidonian anatomy textbooks, perve," he says jokingly. "I'm not one to kiss and tell," he adds, faking a demure voice that trails off into a yawn.

Singh hesitates for a second, then sits down. "Thank you. I had dinner but felt the need for some decaf before I turn in. A long night with too much paperwork."

Mahmoud grins. "So coy, Booker! She must be something special."

"Paperwork is my least favorite part of any assignment" Collins commiserates. "Isn't it funny how all these centuries later, we still call it 'paperwork'?"

The Captain smiles and takes a sip from her mug. "Yes, our names for things we don't like tend not to keep up technology. Why did you skip dinner, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Well," Collins debates how much of her evening she's willing to disclose, "I went to visit Lieutenant Fujishiro. Y'know, one last time and all. It got to me, much more than I'd expected it to." She drags her spoon across her ice cream, making designs as she speaks. "And I lost my appetite." Collins scoops up a spoonful of the creamy pink dessert and puts the whole thing in her mouth.

Graham tosses a pillow in Mahmoud's direction and grunts "good night."

Singh nods soberly. "Yes, I looked in on her earlier. Very, very sad to see things come to this point for her." The Captain and the Security woman talk awhile longer and then go their separate ways.

Graham soon drops off to sleep.

The night passes, and the Yorktown races ever more deeply into space. The next day passes uneventfully, and the day after that. Fujishiro hangs tenaciously onto life.

On the third day out from Anubis, Kylah is working in the Communications Center when she notices an unusual subspace signal.

Kylah frowns slightly, curious. She tries to isolate the signal, determine its nature and place of origin, and increase its amplitude to see whether she can recognize if the signal is transmitting anything identifiable.

In Cargo Bay 4, Rangin is putting the newly installed scanners through their paces, making sure they are all wired in and are responding to the test signals correctly. He cannot help but be impressed by Dr Brold's new scanner, the more he hears about it, and is well aware that he's nowhere near clever enough to work out how it fully works.

Then again, he is spending time trying to get Dr Brold and his assistants open up about their home planet, as Rangin's xenobiological curiousity kicks in about the three of them.

However, as the hours lengthen working on the scanners, he is short of time for anything else, including being able to talk with Ens. Kylah leaving the situation between them unresolved. At least, Ens. Graham is staying out of his way, Rangin hasn't heard a peep out of him for a while.

Kylah finds that the signal is very faint, and of unknown and previously-undetected origin. It has an irregularity and pattern that strongly suggest it is artificial and not natural. Triangulating with several Starfleet subspace relays already rapidly dropping aft - for the Yorktown's course will soon take it into uncharted space - she determines that the signal is from somewhere ahead.

Rangin's work is going well, but he has much yet to do. Dr. Brold is gruffly uninterested in talking with him about anything but their work. Veled, one of his assistants, is more friendly, but only when his boss isn't looking. "What did you want to know about the Gnalish?" he asks once Brold leaves with Patel to talk to the Captain. "And tell me about your own people."

Gnawing her lower lip in curiosity, Kylah starts recording, hoping to catch as much as possible just in case the signal disappears. She also tries to determine whether any additional data is being carried along with the signal. Most of all, she will do her best to modulate the amplitude to boost the signal's perceived strength.

Then she contacts Lt. Thalen--if he is in Communications currently, she'll just speak to him in person; otherwise she'll use her communicator.

First she relays the information she has discovered, then adds: "I am recording the signal in case we lose it, and am also monitoring to see if the pattern repeats itself--I cannot tell if this is a beacon of some kind, or a one-time message. As yet, I..." She pauses for a moment, attempting to get a better idea of the coordinates, or at least the direction, of the signal. "As yet I have not determined any specific source for the signal, but I will keep trying."

Sitting back, Kylah watches the sine waves on her screen. "If the beacon is a recurring pattern, I might be able to determine if it is an attempt to communicate--numerical patterns can sometimes be easy to decrypt if they are not intended to be secret, and encryption is one of my specialties. Otherwise, perhaps an expert like Lt. Garcia could be of use. Do you have any recommendations, sir? And do you believe we should inform the Captain?"

During the course of his duties, Graham grabs an extra cup of coffee. He's tired...and a little sore.

He's been fitting in some extra time to workout, and pushing himself even harder than usual while doing so.

He's glad Mahmoud hasn't noticed--yet anyway--because his roommate would surely assume it's in preparation for his next date with Nia. He'd never hear the end of it. "Working on that six pack, Booker? I'll notice if you dye your gray..."

He couldn't really deny that maybe that was on his mind, at least a little, having seen how she looked on date one...

But it also gave him time and focus to think. The order to avoid Rangin became a relief, leading him to think about how to help Kylah rather than get into a pissing context with him. And he had some ideas...

Thalen, reached by communicator, says, "That all sounds good. Run it through the linguistics banks and see if you get any matches, and then try the universal translator before you try the standard Level 1 decryption program. No need to bother the Captain about it just yet."

The signal is very weak and amplitude modulation, Kylah finds, does only so much to distinguish it from subspace background hiss. She finds no other data being carried in the transmission. There have been no repeats in the signal yet.

Graham's duties today include calibrating and test-firing phaser-1s in the Armory.

Collins monitors the comings and goings of assorted space debris, keeping an eye out for asteroids and anything else potentially harmful to the ship

"Yes, sir, thank you," Kylah says, and after she disconnects she follows through with Thalen's suggestions. She checks the linguistic banks for matches, then the UT--almost hoping there is no perfect match, since the idea of finding an undiscovered civilization actually excites her. It has been quite a long time since Kylah found unalloyed pleasure in her job.

Now she settles down for some calculating. How much stronger, if at all, has the signal grown since she first heard it? Tapping the screen panel in front of her, she enters what she knows is the maximum distance from which the Yorktown is capable of detecting a signal at this particular frequency--something she learned at the Academy. She then compares it with the current known speed of the ship, and takes into account the time when she first detected the signal. That should at least give her some idea of how much closer they are to the signal.

But what she really wants is to figure out the direction from which this whisper in space is being emitted. While her own station handles the aforementioned tasks, Kylah rolls her chair to a nearby free computer and decides to work on pinpointing the signal's possible origin.

Fingers moving rapidly, she sets up this system to scan, using as narrow a band as possible, an arc in each direction surrounding the ship, degree by degree. Next, she enters the signal's precise frequency, wavelength and amplitude--That should cut out any random chatter, she hopes--and directs the tracker to stop and notify her as soon as it finds a match.

She rolls her chair back to her station to see how the linguistics and translator programs are doing. "Where are you, and what are you trying to say?" she murmurs under her breath.

Tightening one last clip in the sensor before closing the lid, Rangin steps and nods back to Veled, amused by the fact they only really talk freely without Dr Brold around. "Ok. Run test program Rangin Alpha-4." Stepping back to put the tools away, Rangin listens to the slight hum of the sensor as it starts up, and crosses his fingers hoping the modifications work. With a slow grin creeping across his face, he turns to Veled, "Sounds normal, we can check the results in fifteen minutes."

With the tests running, Rangin steps back admiring their collective handiwork, "So, about the Gnalish. I'd love to know about your planet and culture. There aren't that many details on your race, other than basic details, so I'm curious about everything."

"As for me, I'm from Coridan. A slightly chilly, sparsely populated, mining planet with a very dubious and shady reputation. Everyone knows someone and if you can afford it, someone can sell it to you, no matter what it is. We've had trouble with several other races, who wanted to keep control of the dilithiuim deposits, but we're finally making our own way in the galaxy."

"Coridanites are generally similar to earthlings and most earthlings could pass at a glance for a Coridanite, but physiologically we're hardier than your average human." Rangin gives a snort of disgust, "I still get some idiots thinking there is no difference between us."

"Most Coridanites live in the main cities, and the remainder are mainly mining towns." A dreamy look comes over Rangin's face as he remembers some of the vistas and sights from his home planet. "But it's true beauty is out in the wild. Vast tracts of unspoiled land, with nothing but wildlife."

Rangin looks back across at Veled and sighs sadly, the fond reminiscence of his home planet still lingering. "Haven't been home in several years, maybe I'll get a chance someday."

"Ok Veled, your turn"

Collins, who is on the Bridge at the Security console, sees nothing but open space directly ahead.

Kylah refines her monitoring of the signal; it has grown only slightly in strength since she first noticed it. The Yorktown's advanced subspace receivers can detect signals from several hundred light years away. Her best estimate is that the ship could reach the source of the signal, about ten degrees off the starboard bow, in less than two days at current speed. It appears to be moving, suggesting that it is not coming from a fixed point such as a planet or base. After a lengthy search, the Library Computer's linguistics banks note some similarities to High Caitian - perhaps one word in thirty (if words they are) from the transmission has a rough match to that ancient tongue. The UT can do little more at the moment, given the limited data set, but begins building a translational matrix.

Veled tells Rangin, "Gnal Prime is a hot, rocky world with heavier gravity than Earth or Coridan. There are many carnivorous life forms; our people are the dominant predators and have been for uncounted ages. We have a very egalitarian, meritocratic society in which all are encouraged to make full use of their skills for the betterment of all Gnalish. We prize rationality, education and science. We have not joined the Federation, but our government is actively considering it."

Rangin listens to Veled's description and wishes that his own planet was even half so civilised. "Your planet appear to be closer to the Federation ideals than mine own. We're only just beginning to have the understanding that it can be better to work for all than just the few." He looks glumly at the floor and kicks his heels thinking of just what Coridan is like. "But we're getting better about it, it's just a long hard road ahead."

The thoughts of why he joined Starfleet forced to the surface of his mind, and he has no intention of letting his people down. One day, it will be its own planet and not in thrall to the Orion Syndicate or the Andorians or Tellarites or Vulcans or any other group. He shrugs, now is not really the time for getting melancholy over planetary politics.

"So, what about you? How did you wind up working on this sensor on Anubis? It's a bit far from home isn't it?"

Veled says, "I've been working for Dr. Brold for awhile now. He's a brilliant engineer and I've learned a lot. Where he goes, I go, at least for the next few years."

Nodding at the various findings, Kylah asks the computer to track the trajectory of the signal's movement. She is interested to see if this is a straight path or if it is in orbit, like a satellite--in which case the signal will eventually take a circular motion away from the Yorktown again. Also, its current trajectory might be a hint as to where it came from in the first place. Of course, in uncharted space, that might not be particularly useful. Still. There is no harm in the knowledge.

A pang makes her throat tight. This sort of discovery would be something that would fascinate Velir. If their relationship were in any decent state, she would contact him with this news. But that is not possible. He has not been in touch with her since he left the mess hall two days ago, despite his claiming to be interested in hearing her side of things. In fact, he seems to be studiously avoiding her.

It seems he wishes to go back to being strangers. So be it; Kylah has scraped herself up from the depths of despair long enough to remember her Elasian pride. She will not take the initiative. She has made her feelings very clear--embarrassingly so. She has buried herself in work and, when off-duty, studying the lute Lt. Thalen lent her, as promised.

Thinking of her superior, she contacts him again to provide an update, wanting him to know that the object is moving and that--depending on whether the signal does indeed change course--the ship may intercept in a couple of days. "Also, sir, the possible link to ancient High Caitian... While my programs are running, I would like to take a moment to research the history of the Caitian people--may I have your permission to do so, Lieutenant? And do you know if we have any Caitians on board?"

During the limited time Ens. Kylah's been monitoring the signal, its source appears to be traveling in a straight line, and farther than a typical planetary orbit would take it. Cometary orbits can be extremely long, though, she knows.

Lt. Thalen appreciates the update and says, "You can certainly research the Caitians - you don't need my permission for that, Mr. Kylah."

Kylah flushes lightly and looks down. "Thank you, sir. It is just... since I missed several watches this week due to my--my personal problems--I thought it best to ask before I took time away from my primary duties for research, even if it is tangentially related to this current finding. I will continue to monitor the scans as carefully as I can."

She hesitates. "And the crew member, sir? I suppose I can look on our manifest, but I thought... well, you seem to know so much about what goes on board the ship, and those who serve on it as well." And it is very pleasant talking to someone kind, she thinks, rather hungry for companionship.

Rangin nods at Veled's firm assertion almost encouraging him to continue, but the pause seems to last a little while as he realises that the Gnalish scientist has finished. "So, no plans to visit home any time soon then? What about family and friends to stay in touch with then?"

No sooner does he say it, then Rangin feels the weight of the communicator on his hip, a sensation once again threatening to anchor him to the spot. While still being interested in what Veled has to say, Rangin feels a torn inside over something he hasn't done and still needs to do. Something that should have been done a while ago...

+ + +

Sitting quietly on his bed, alone in his quarters and knowing Ens Gordon will be out for at least an hour, Rangin turns the communicator over and over in his hands. He knows what is waiting for him on it, a single message from Ens. Kylah. One he keeps putting off and putting off listening to. There had been the run in with Ens Graham yesterday and then helping Kylah to the Mess Hall. They had seemed to get along and she did indeed want to talk. Rangin felt a knot in his stomach and fidgets slightly as he recalls that he was the one to say they should speak today. But with getting the sensors done and other things taking longer than he thought, he hadn't had the time. No, he is lying to himself, he does have the time, but is prevaricating about it, leading to his current predicament.

Telling himself not to be so silly, he flicks open the unit and recalls the message ready to be played. Remembering the few words the message had played, that Kylah had heard or learned something...something about Rangin himself. Originally, he had thought it about the restrictions and that she couldn't care less for him. But now he isn't so sure, her reaction to him had been more of embarrassment and shame than of hatred. Swinging round to sit over the side and taking a deep breath, Rangin mutters to himself, "Come on, no time like the present. Get it over and done with." and starts the message playing back.

Once again, Kylah's voice can be heard, just as weak and tired as he remembers.

"Velir, I know you do not wish to talk to me. But I just learned--I just heard--" Rangin screws himself up, waiting for some bombshell to drop, wating for her to curse him out.

"You saved me." Caught completely unawares, Rangin cannot exhale cleanly, but coughs out the lungful of air that is held tight in his chest. What on Coridan?

"Lt. Thalen told me how you were able to locate me after I was attacked. Without you, I doubt I would be here. I might have died, alone, on that planet. You saved my life." Rangin is stunned by what he hears, almost not understanding the distinctive sound of gratitude in her voice, pleading out to him.

"I must tell you how grateful I am. I am also sorry, sorry for everything, unbearably sorry you hate me so deeply. And I am humbled that despite that hatred, you acted as only you can. With the compassion and honor I always admired. I still admire you. And more. So much more, you will never know. I wish you would listen, I wish you would let me tell you." But, but, you're a colleague, Rangin's thoughts scream out, I would have done that for anyone He cannot understand how the words she utters in this message match up with what he had thought about her before and he beings to question whether anything he knows is right or wrong.

"Please, Velir," the final words are choked out through tears and the message ends. Rangin resists the urge to hurl the communicator across the room and shatter it on the far wall, but instead settles for just flipping it to the end of the bed before putting his heads in his hands and wondering what to think.

And then slowly he can feel his ribs start to tighten again. She had nearly died alone on Anubis, battered and bloodied. But at least she had fought back, the evidence showed, whereas what had he done in that situation. As he struggles to gain control of his breathing again, he knows she has far braver in those few moments than he had been. Twice he had been helpless, and twice he had done nothing, been able to do nothing, whether at the hands of the Orion Syndicate or in the grasp of the creatures roaming on the Sakath station.

And yet she still admires him, considers him to have honour and compassion, even when he had shown none of it in Sickbay and yet perhaps more...and he doesn't know how he can face her knowing that.

+ + +

... "Actually, sorry Veled, if you will excuse me for a moment, I've just remembered something. Can you give me two minutes."

Rangin moves off to one side and pulls out the communicator to send a message. Ens. Kylah, I apologise for not being in touch, but would you be able to meet up this evening and talk? Regards, Ens. Rangin. Looking at it, it appears more like a general note and yet while he craves being able to keep his distance, it's not the way to continue. They are not just two crewmates meeting up for a drink, they have something more to discuss. Deleting the two ranks, he looks over it once and sends it before he can think again, before he can prevent himself from deleting the entire message and trying to bury himself back into his work.

Kylah, I apologise for not being in touch, but would you be able to meet up this evening and talk? Rangin.

He turns back, a friendly smile on his face while inside he cannot help but wonder if he is making another mistake. "So, where were we?"

Thalen says, "Research that has any bearing on your work is fine." He chuckles. "Starfleet and I both encourage inquisitiveness. But no, sorry - there are no Caitians in the crew."

Veled says heavily, "I don't have much to lure me back home. My parents and I don't get along, and my siblings have long since gone their separate ways. I have a few friends from when I was a hatchling, and we keep in touch occasionally. Right now, though, my work keeps me very busy."

Kylah thanks Thalen again and returns her hands to the control panel, accessing the system's library on the history of Caitians and their travels. The notification from her communicator makes her wonder if her supervisor has had another recommendation, and she picks up the device while still reading her screen. Then she flips it open and looks down.

Her lungs freeze mid-breath. Velir wants to talk to her. To see her. She bites her lip to keep from speaking his name aloud, and holds the communicator in both hands--cradling it like a baby bird as she reads the message again and again.

The third time is when she notices the way he signed off. Rangin. Kylah's elation diminishes significantly. Using merely his last name is distancing: the perfect way to end a note while reminding her that they are merely colleagues.

Kylah does not have the ability to use this particular nuance; in standard Starfleet usage she is just Kylah, no reference to her House or parentage that she can add to remind him of her changed feelings. And she would not even if she could, because her feelings have not changed... not significantly. She cannot pretend otherwise. Whether he believes it or not, she has opened herself to him as much as she is capable--as much as she feels safe to.

She responds quickly. Velir: Do not apologize, I understand you are busy. Yes, I would like to talk with you tonight. If you are not on watch at 18:00, perhaps then? -- Kylah.

After sending the message, she hesitates, glancing back at her screen before returning to the communicator and typing as quickly as possible.

Velir: Am sorry to bother you again, but do you know anything about the Caitians? E.g., whether they have travelled beyond charted territory? Have found an ongoing signal with similarities to their ancient language. Could be connected. Am conducting my own research but your expertise would be valuable.

Kylah gets an idea and adds: The object could be a ship, as it is in motion. Might the experimental device be used to enhance our ability to identify such an object? To see if this is a recorded message, or if a living being is broadcasting it? -- Kylah.

She sends the message, glad to have something neutral to discuss with Velir. Then she returns to the database to view the records on Caitians.

http://en.memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Caitian

Kylah knows a little about Caitians already, having met a few at the Academy, but there is always more to learn. Cait has been a member of the Federation for almost 40 years. Caitians are noted for their honest and efficient planetary government, close family ties and warm hospitality to visitors. They are not known for interstellar explorations other than through their service in Starfleet, and there is no record of any Caitian ship ever having come out this far in the Anubis sector.

"Well, we are certainly going to be kept busy for the next few weeks with this sensor," replies Rangin as his gaze skips back over the sensors sat nearby. The moment's silence is broken only by the sound of Rangin's communicator beeping again. Wondering who it might be, surely Kylah has not got back to him that quickly, Rangin opens it up to see the messages.

When he sees they are both from Kylah, he wonders what she is sending and with a sense of trepdation reads the first one. There is a feeling of relief as he reads it and sees she still wants to talk. Even the use of his first name, makes him feel that perhaps it will be more amicable than he might have thought.

The second message about Caitians and a new signal intrigues him. Scratching idly at the side of his face in thought, his interest piqued, this might be as good a test as any for the new sensor while they are setting it up.

Kylah, have plenty about the Caitian, but wouldn't expect them in this sector. Will see if possible to use the new sensor to assist. Velir. PS. Will be happy to meet you tonight at 18:00.

Rangin sends the message on before turning to Veled. "Something interesting has just come up and we might be able to help. Comms have just picked up a signal or ship at far sensor range for the Yorktown. They're wondering if the prototype could be used to get a better view."

A gleam of excitement flickers in Rangin's eyes as the chance to actually test the sensor on something appears to have presented itself. "We'll have to get Dr Brold and Capt. Singh's permission, but I think it might be worth it. What do you think? It's ready for a long range test. This could be as good an opportunity as any?"

Veled says thoughtfully, "The sensor module is designed for radio astronomy, studying things like quasars, pulsars and Vaoi stars. I'm not sure about its usefulness for subspace applications... and I'd bet Dr. Brold won't be too eager to try."

The transmission Kylah was studying ends after eighteen minutes, followed a few seconds later by a transmission from a different source in the same language and on the same subspace frequency. That transmission lasts a minute and nine seconds, followed by another transmission, apparently from the original source, lasting just fourteen seconds. Then there is silence.

Still cautiously optimistic after reading the message from Velir, Kylah is startled by the second transmission, and darts over to the other terminal to determine if the source is coming from the same general direction. At this distance, she doubts she would be able to pinpoint how far apart they are from one another, but the computer might be able to tell her if this sender is traveling the same path as the first. Are these two vessels, traveling together in a sort of convoy?

But what could one ship say to the other for eighteen minutes--and possibly more, since Kylah knows it might have begun long before she first caught that first signal?

Barely forty seconds after she asks the computer to trace this second transmission, it ends; then there is the relatively fast volley from the original source. Was there time for the computer to locate this second signal?

Waiting for the answer with her interest highly piqued, Kylah makes a copy of the recording of the entire 'conversation'--if that's what it was--and asks the computer to attempt a transliteration into Federation standard. She'll do the same, listening to the words through her earpiece at a high volume.

Neither transliteration will be perfect, she knows; they will be approximations at best. All she realistically wishes is to identify any patterns of speech, such as repeated words or phonemes. Of course, one cannot translate a language from mere sounds, not without any context. Still... something might sound familiar, and she can and will search for any links to High Caitian.

Leaning over her workstation, Kylah closes her eyes and begins to replay the recording, writing out the sounds as she listens.

Graham would prefer testing beefier phaser II's but doesn't mind the assignment at all. Although I could work off more pent up...tension...by, say, demonstrating the bat'leth to younger Security personnel who hadn't been in Starfleet during the worst periods of conflict with the Klingons. Maybe using a dummy of Rangin. Or hell, the real thing...