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

"Pleased to meet you, too, Doctor. How do you do?" he replies formally. Dr. Bennett's little quip about privacy (on a ship?) is completely lost on Bizhi. He does not appear to be as eager to liaise as his cousin, but, as far as Bizhi is concerned, that is nothing but a good sign; what would he do if his new cabinmate turned out to be spuriously effusive? Anyway, when they both have time, he might ask him for his opinion of the merits of the different types of focussed force fields that can be used to make surgical incisions.

***

The judicial hearing continues. Bizhi is no expert, but he figures it will not get very far unless the Federation prosecution can prove that the defendant and the allegedly criminous fugitive in question are indeed one and the same.

Dr. Bennett says, "About as good as can be expected. Have you thrown all my things in our quarters to the deck, or hung any dirty laundry in the shower yet? I can hardly wait."

In Conference Room 1, Capt. Singh asks, "Does the defense wish to make an opening statement?"

"No, thank you, Madame President," she replies.

"Very well. The Federation may call its first witness."

"Thank you, Madame President," the prosecutor says. "We call Lt. Onn of the USS Yorktown."

Nia is a little startled--she knew she'd be called first, but this is going faster than she expected. She stands as gracefully as she can, smooths her uniform, and heads toward the chair.

Increasingly anxious, Kylah bites her lip and tries to get a better look at the defendant's attorney. She wishes she had paid more attention to what few lessons she had at the Academy relating to Starfleet and Federation law procedures.

At the time she thought it highly unlikely she would require such knowledge. She is not a Federation citizen, not yet. But most of all, back then, she was confident enough in her royal status--not to mention her uncle's esteem--to trust that if she were in some trouble, he would simply recall her to Elas.

So now she can only rely on the sketchiest knowledge of how such hearings work. No opening statement from the defendant's counsel, that seems unusual. Not even an attempt at explanation? This must be some legal strategy, but she cannot think what that might be. Perhaps the effect desired is to create some reason for Ms. Hutchinson to claim that things were not...fair?

Onn takes the witness chair, and the prosecutor says, "Please state your name, rank and current duty assignment for the record."

"Ve'ne'ko'nia'onn, Lieutenant. I'm a Helm Officer of the USS Yorktown, sir." She can't help flicking a glance at Capt. Singh before returning to the prosecutor. If she hadn't screwed her chances by helping Booker and Marala, that might've been Chief Flight Officer, if Singh had ever agreed to the proposal she made to Vargas. No way that'll happen now, she thinks. Just one of the rewards she keeps reaping from her decisions that day. But I still wouldn't take it back.

"Did you, in the past few weeks, have occasion to go to the Novy Rostov colony?"

"Yes, as a member of the Yorktown's crew; we had an assignment that brought us there."

"What was the assignment?"

"We were escorting a group of miners and other future colonists to Novy Rostov. I believe there was also some Science-related secondary mission, but I don't know the details."

"I see. But is that what brought you, personally, down to the planet?"

Nia realizes her mistake. "Oh. No, sir. I went down after we learned about the danger to the planet. I was selected to pilot the Kaku - one of our shuttlecraft - and convey a landing party to the planet's surface in order to retrieve an artifact."

"What was this object, or artifact, as you call it?"

"A painting, sir." The absurdity of risking lives for some smudges on a canvas, even a supposed masterpiece by some long-dead Earthman, still rankles, but she keeps her disdain far away from both her expression or voice. "According to our mission briefing, it was rare, and very old. It couldn't be beamed up, I was told, so it had to be retrieved in person."

Mäkeläinen says to Bennett, "Haven't had the chance yet, I'm afraid. I did manage to get them to beam up my kit, so I have more than the one uniform to wear. That might have quickly got awkward." He cannot resist adding, "If you really think our cabin lacks an unpleasant je-ne-sais-quoi, just say the word. I can clone us some plants that not only take up a lot of room, but emit a truly remarkable stench of rotting corpses. Or we could drown the compartment in altogether too much tropical fragrance.

"Anyhow, hab or nab, is there anything you could tell me about how things are run around here, besides the routine stuff? Anything I should know?"

* * *

At the hearing, Bizhi glances around to see if any other medical staff have turned up.

"You'll figure it out soon enough," Dr. Bennett says. "Now I'm sure you'll excuse me as I get back to an experiment I'm working on." He turns away.

Later, at the hearing, Bizhi sees Dr. Villa, the CMO, sitting among the spectators.

The prosecutor asks Onn, "Who else was with you in the shuttle?"

"Lt. JG Graham, Dr. Bennett, Lt. JG Garcia, Lt. JG Rangin...." She hesitates, then shakes her head. "Well, he was an ensign then, but I suppose that doesn't matter. And Ens. Russell." Am I missing anyone? Or was it just six of us? Her eyes widen with the memory. “I’m sorry, sir. There was also an Engineering officer, Ens. Serowe.”

"What did you find on the surface, Mr. Onn?"

"At first, just the landing pad," Nia says, a little lightly, but she goes on in a more sober tone. "As I brought the Kaku closer and prepared to land, we could all see--" She catches a hint of something in the prosecutor's eyes, and quickly realizes her mistake. "Sorry, sir, I can't speak for the others. I saw four people. And a flat, somewhat large container."

"Did you see the defendant there?"

Her gaze shifts to the person in question, very briefly, then back to her questioner. "Yes, sir."

"Under what circumstances?"

"Well, first, it was on approach, as I mentioned. Once we touched down, I was able to look out of the viewport and saw all four people clearly. Including the defendant."

Smiling to himself at perhaps figuring out the first part of a puzzle, Rangin shakes his head. Hah, if only he is so lucky, he is likely to be potholing down the wrong mine to find coal instead of dilithium.

Next step anyway is to find the right electrical discharge that could stun the less-than-average person--so Kylah, though she is on the small side by comparison to most on the ship--and that also has enough charge to burn out a communicator.

The average comms unit should be more than capable of resisting most electrical charges, so this might be something a little different, but it’s in the same area. Rangin instructs the computer to start looking for possibilities of discharges that could do both, while he tunes back into the Hutchinson hearing.

Slightly surprised about the way it is going and the haste with which the defendant is acting, Rangin wonders if there is something else going on. Perhaps an extra deadline that has not been considered. Of course, Rangin knew he himself would think that Hutchinson had a biological timer. Knowing the Orion Syndicate, an identity change like that would have a catch, something to keep the customer in line, perhaps drugs to ensure the change worked or something like that.

And there goes his curiosity again, and despite the fact he should continue working on the communicator, he can’t help but start digging to see if his hunch is true.

It’s a way to pass the time at least.

How does Rangin wish to begin digging?

Kylah listens intently, wondering how she would stand up to such questions. Then she hears Velir's name, and Lt. Graham's of course, and all too belatedly recognizes that this is the mission to which she had originally been assigned. The one she refused, blatantly disobeying Lt. Graham's order for her own secret purpose. She had prioritized ensuring the safety of her stowaways over... this.

Her lips part slightly and she switches her gaze to find Lt. Graham. So if she had been along, she might have noticed something unusual about Ms. Hutchinson. From what she has heard thus far, it does not seem that there was any grave danger; Lt. Onn just said Ms. Hutchinson had been disarmed. Still, the thought of Lt. Graham, her colleagues--Velir--being so near a possible murderer sickens her.

What if the defendant had not surrendered so easily? Kylah might have been useful... somehow. Exactly how she cannot articulate even to herself.

She knows, deep down, that the circumstances under which she could have helped this mission were almost fantastical. Lt. Graham is the ablest Security officer on the ship, Lt. Onn is a... well, Kylah does not actually know how good Lt. Onn is as a Helm officer, although she seems quite a confident commander when on Bridge duty.

Dr. Bennett had apparently seen something on a scan, if she understands correctly. And Velir--she knows he suspected the guard was Hutchinson, both from his own intelligent deductive reasoning and the results of his own scans as a xenobiologist.

No, Kylah had not been necessary, either with the skills Starfleet knows of or the powers she has successfully kept to herself. But the thought nags at her. She should have been there, serving with them. For the first time, Kylah truly feels the shame of her dereliction of duty.

"How did the defendant initially come to your attention?" the prosecutor asks.

Frowning, Nia tries to glean the meaning. "Come to my attention? If you mean... I suppose the first time was...." She shakes her head in annoyance at herself. "We hadn’t expected four people, and we wanted to know just who’d be meeting us. I asked the Yorktown for a comm link with Dr. Vasilyev - the head of the museum, he was one of the four - for the details.”

"Why? Is that normal procedure?"

“Not specifically, but these circumstances were very abnormal. There were only a few hours left before the planet would be destroyed, and more than 75% of the population were... not going to survive. So I was concerned about safety. Our shuttle represented a prime opportunity, the only real opportunity, for some desperate person to try to escape, perhaps by force.”

Nia takes a deep breath. She'd really prefer to leave this day far, far behind, where it could disappear like the planet itself. If Hutchinson weren’t a family-annihilating monster I’d have felt plenty of sympathy.

"Please go on, Lieutenant. Did you receive a response from Dr. Vasilyev?"

“Yes, sir. He identified two of the others as civilians, and described the defendant as a museum guard. So that was essentially my first 'introduction,' so to speak. Once we had landed and secured the docking portal, three of our officers went to receive the crate with the painting inside. I couldn’t see much, the hatch was too narrow and everyone was bunched up. But I heard bits and snatches of the conversation. And then I asked Dr. Bennett to monitor the guard’s lifesigns with his tricorder.”

"At what point did you learn of her true identity?"

Nia hesitates. “I don’t… I’m not sure how to answer that.”

"And why is that, Lieutenant?"

“To be frank, I didn’t know the defendant’s true identity until it was confirmed back on the Yorktown. But if you mean when did I first hear the defendant’s claim...?"

Again the prosecutor nods. "Yes, please."

"I didn't hear it firsthand, sir, not immediately. While I was waiting, it seemed to be taking a long time for our crew to pick up the container with the painting and bring it aboard. So I asked one of the officers near me what the holdup was, and he told me. I then left the shuttle to see for myself. The defendant was kneeling and disarmed, and Lt. Graham explained the situation to me.”

Graham listens attentively while trying to avoid staring too obviously and intently at Nia.

Composed. Professional. And beautiful. She deserved better than me when we were together, and better now that we're apart.

And then there's Hutchinson. Waste of oxygen that could have been used for another evacuee.

He blinks and takes a deep breath. Well, this POS isn't going to be spaced, Marala and Nikolai are safe, and there's little I can do to make anything better with or for Nia. So suck it up and soldier on, Booker.

Lt. Cmdr. Emmett Baird asks, "What happened next?"

Onn replies, “We discussed what the correct procedure should be, and spoke to Capt. Singh, who ordered us to convey the prisoner to the ship. There was a brief discussion as to how to do that, but... we didn’t really have a chance for a lengthy debate.” Nia's glance darts to Booker for an instant. She elides over some of the interaction because… well, did it matter, in the end? No. “Anyway, a crowd developed and was heading for us, and none of us would’ve been safe from the mob of... wait, no, I don’t....”

"What is it, Lieutenant?" the JAG officer says after a pause.

Atypically flustered, Nia looks down at her hands for a few seconds before clearing her throat. She focuses on the JAG and Starfleet officers, including her captain. “I'm sorry. I misspoke. For the record, they were not a ‘mob.’ I don’t blame any of the victims for what they endured. They were just people who wanted to live and had no other option.” She inhales and, gathering herself, faces the prosecutor. “The crowd were heading toward us, and Lt. Graham suggested, and I think I came to the same conclusion, that if we didn’t get out of there soon everyone, including the two civilians and the museum director, would be trampled. So we took the defendant into custody and… the Kaku lifted off.”

Nia falls silent. No, the Kaku didn't just lift itself off. I did that: my actions left all those people behind, and may Sid'Os forgive me for that abandonment. But then, I'm always leaving dying planets, abandoning those who were dying with them....

Kylah has been dividing her attention, but the break in Lt. Onn's voice is unexpected, and she peers at the older woman. It must have been agonizing to see people doomed to perish in a matter of hours. Especially knowing you were their only hope.

Regret at having missed the mission swiftly changes to gratitude--guilt-tinged, but gratitude nonetheless. Many would call this selfish and weak, but... Kylah knows she could not have borne the empathic emotions she might have felt on that shuttle, so close to a mass of desperate, terrified people. If someone as seemingly unflappable as Lt. Onn was so distressed by their plight, Kylah cannot fathom how insensible she herself would have been.

How did Lt. Graham feel? Or Velir? Of course, the former was highly focused on the job at hand and the need to save his now-wife. Kylah has seen him compartmentalize his feelings, turning into a near android with duties to perform, one that could not be swayed from its programmed mission objective. Would he have perceived everyone on Novy Rostov as enemies, other than Mrs. Gromov and her son? Expendable? No, that seems too far.

But... Kylah glances back at Lt. Graham. He once nearly tore Velir apart when he believed Velir was responsible for Kylah's injuries. Not in a roaring fury, but an icy, tightly-coiled manner that was even more frightening.

Violence takes so many forms, as she knows too well. She looks at the defendant. Brutally enraged or coldly dispassionate: Which had been Ms. Hutchinson's demeanor, when committing her ghastly crimes? If, Kylah reminds herself. If she committed them.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the prosecutor says. "Is there anything else you'd like to add to your testimony?"

Nia takes a moment, apparently to ponder the question--although she's actually just extending what little time she has to prepare herself for the defense. She's on edge and doesn't like it, or even really understand why. Her testimony presents little value to either side, as far as she can figure.

"No, sir," she says at last. "Not that I can think of. I believe I've said all I know."

Rangin starts digging in a couple of ways. He checks his records to see if there are any scans of Hutchinson on it, chances are not, but he can’t remember if had them or if they had been deleted. Even if, like all good scientists, you record and archive everything.

Then he starts looking at this process and what examples there are in the deeper medical literature. Gene manipulation on this level is not simple or cheap otherwise everyone would be doing it for fun on their downtime.

What would be close enough to be able to completely reconstruct a human male into a human female and be invisible to a standard scan. Even just changing the muscle and bone structure and density, rearranging of internal organs and so on, is no mean feat to do it that well. But obviously not impossible, unless Hutchinson is also lying of course and there was no change, just someone using the name to make sure they could escape.

There is also the issue of trying to prevent the body rejecting such a change, though this is more a medical area than xenobiology. But there are several species that can and will change gender depending on the situation and ecology they find themselves in. One of them might provide a clue?

Hmm, perhaps some rogue shipments into the colony of interesting substances. Some of those records may be of interest, although if the Orion Syndicate is behind it, they are more likely illegal than not. Would anything have been picked up in transit by the local law enforcement.

So, three things to follow, all just to while away some time.

Oh and the fourth, of course, the voltages for the Hum--Elasian body and communicators.

Rangin gets to work.

Rangin does still have his tricorder scans of the defendant from their brief time together at Novy Rostov. In his research he now learns that, with enough time and resources, the Federation and most major interstellar governments, and any person or group with very deep pockets (including the Orion Syndicate) could change a person as Hutchinson was changed. Rangin had, aboard the shuttlecraft Kaku, earlier noted the obvious sex change (including both external and internal genitalia, and breast augmentation), as well as a chondrolaryngoplasty or Adam's apple reduction. There were changes to Hutchinson's facial structure, ear shape and eye color (from gray to brown), and he (or rather, she) has a slightly now-darker skin pigmentation. The hips were widened, but the fugitive's bone structure is otherwise largely unchanged. She is the same height as Hutchinson but weighs almost five kilos less than his last-reported weight, he sees in his earlier notes. Although some of the DNA, RNA and cellular resonance readings are still puzzling, Rangin saw then, and sees now, no indication of any non-Human additions to Hutchinson's genetic code or gross physical capabilities.

The xenobiologist also sees no record of any rogue shipments or unauthorized cargo coming into NR for at least the past year, and no reports of the Federation Marshals Service or any other law-enforcement agency seizing anything of the kind in this sector. Given his security clearance, Rangin knows there may be, and very likely are, records that are now inaccessible to him.

The electrical capacities of Human and Elasian bodies, as well as of Starfleet's and other communicators, are easily found in public Federation records.



"Thank you, Lieutenant," Baird says to Onn with a gracious smile. "No further questions."

Capt. Singh says, "The defense may cross-examine, if it wishes."

"No questions, thank you, Madame President," the defense lawyer says, bobbing to her feet and then down again.

"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Onn. You may step down. The Federation may call its next witness."

The younger JAG officer stands. "The Federation calls Lt. JG Booker Graham to the stand."

Now biting her tongue, literally, Kylah stares at the defense. No opening statement, no attempt to question Lt. Onn. Kylah cannot think what Lt. Onn could have said that would have been useful to the defendant, but she would have expected the counsel to try... something. Perhaps to show Ms. Hutchinson to be peaceful and cooperative?

Curiosity tears away at her better judgment. While the Helm Officer rises from the witness chair, Kylah quickly examines the room to see if there is a seat closer to the defense. If so, she will move as unobtrusively as possible. Regardless, she will concentrate on Ms. Hutchinson's face as best she can from wherever she sits. She is not doing anything wrong, she tells herself. Anyone might try to see if they can determine how an alleged criminal is feeling.

Relieved, Nia stands and crosses back to take a seat. She gives a slight nod to Booker. Things are moving briskly and this will hopefully be over soon. The murderer can be turned over to the authorities, and the Yorktown can get the hell out of here on its way to... wherever they're next headed.

Still at the hearing, Bizhi notices Kylah, whom he met before, among the spectators, fidgeting. What might have drawn her here?

He looks professionally at Hutchinson to see if he can suss out some of the dynamics here. They say the falsely accused tend to act angry and dismayed, ironically damning themselves in the eyes of the audience, while the guilty remain calm. But you can only tell so much from looking on the surface.

Kylah could get a seat closer to the defendant, but in a room this size, and in her red Communications uniform, she will hardly be unobtrusive. Her sense of Hutchinson's mood is a mix of unease, anxiety and guilt.

Bizhi can only see that Hutchinson appears grimly stoic.

Graham's surprised by Nia's acknowledgment...surprised and glad to see it.

It's not that I expected her to...what? Hate me? No, move on without a need to look back, I guess... But of course she's a professional, Booker.

He returns it instinctively, then slowly rises in response to being called to the stand.

He avoids looking at Hutchinson or her counsel on this way up, staying aloof, casual, and focused on taking his seat.

He glances at the JAG and straightens his uniform before sitting down.

Kylah darts her gaze from Ms. Hutchinson. So far it does not seem that anything is amiss with the defendant--or, at least, nothing that would be unexpected. Through habit alone, she keeps a little focus on the other woman. Still, when she sees Lt. Graham is next, she sits up a little, hands clasped on her lap, and--though he will be concentrating on the questions--shows him a small, encouraging expression. Of course, given his profession, he has probably testified hundreds of times. But anyone would want to know they have friends in the audience.

Graham has to clear his throat to stifle a smile as he catches a glance at what he takes to be an expression of encouragement from Ens. Kylah.

It's--heartwarming. Literally heartwarming, he reflects.

After all she's been through--fair enough, some of which might have been avoidable-- to be encouraging me, on what ought to be my "home turf."

He reminds himself to thank her later.

Graham takes his seat, and Lt. Sarah Foley, the young JAG officer, smiles at him and says, "Hello, Mr. Graham. Please state your name, rank and current duty assignment for the record."

He clears his throat. “Lt. J.G. Booker Graham, Assistant Chief of Security, USS Yorktown.”

"Did you, in the past few weeks, have occasion to go to the Novy Rostov colony?"

“Yes, ma'am,” he replies simply. He waits for a followup question.

The prosecutor seems slightly nonplussed, then asks, "Why, Lieutenant?"

"We were under orders to take some miners and supplies there." Graham’s brow furrows as he plays back the wild ride of the recent past. “I was initially directed by the Captain to lead a landing party to meet with the colony’s governor, Gov. Sergey Voronko – a courtesy call, if you will.” He can’t help but frown slightly. “We beamed down to the surface – uh, I’d recommend checking the record for the precise composition of the landing party. Ens. St Croix, Security, Ens. Kylah, Comms, as I recall. Several others. Uh, Dr. Bennett was one.”

"Did that go well?"

“I would say so, yes, ma'am. Subsequently, we were ordered to beam back to the ship on the double, but without alarming anyone. That was when we learned about the, uh – threat of a fatal radiation surge.” He rubs his chin. “After that, I was ordered by Cmdr. Vargas, our First Officer and Chief of Security, to take a landing party to the surface by shuttlecraft to retrieve a historically significant painting, for retrieval to the ship."

"Who was with you then?"

"Lt. Onn, and Russell, Rangin, Serowe, Garcia and Dr. Bennett were on the shuttle with me, the Kaku, if I recall correctly, ma'am.”

While Booker testifies, Nia wonders if it would've been better to take the opportunity to leave. Her job is done, and his story won't divert much from hers; they were only apart for a minute or two.

She crosses her ankles, a little impatient. How much longer will the witnesses take? Rangin isn't here to testify; maybe they'll call Dr. Bennett? She sends a quick glance to see if he's nearby. He was the one who identified the anomaly in Hutchinson's biology. Only because I asked him to check, Nia recalls. Lucky neither side followed up on that while she was on the stand.

But she supposes why she wanted the scan doesn't really matter. The identity isn't being disputed, and Nia's pretty sure this whole thing's just a formality before the real trial, whenever that will be.

Booker's voice brings her attention back to him. A week ago she'd've been cheering him on, or anxious for him, or proud of him, or... something. But she's learning to protect her heart as if creating a shield of scales around it. He cares nothing for her; thinking of him in any other way but as a fellow crewmate is unproductive.

So, with disinterest she hardly recognizes in herself, she listens politely to her colleague.

Rangin drums his fingers on the table in front of him and the various sources of data that are appearing in front of them,

For Kylah, Rangin realises he doesn’t have all the information he could have. She once mentioned that Ens. Delaney had already looked at it,* so instead of going over old ground, asking Delaney for any info he had might be a better idea. It’s not like anyone on the ship was doing that much other than shore leave, which is by far the most sensible option. He sends off a message asking Delaney for any information he might have on Kylah’s fried communicator and see if he wants to try out a few experiments to see if they can break one. That usually got an Engineer interested.

Security-wise, regarding Hutchinson, Rangin leaves it as a bust. He’s not going to find more information in that direction, so he’s not going to bother. While it would be of interest to see if anything had been reported, he isn’t going to do anything illegal or stupid in trying to justify his hunches.

Finally, he takes the tricorder readings and starts to run the more puzzling readings through the ships computer, which will have far greater access to resources and computing power than Rangin making guesses on his own.

Time to see if any of those changes have ever been noticed before or if there is anything similar that the computer can point him at.



* - Note that this is a retcon: Delaney did look at the device, but Kylah didn't share that w/Rangin. More in the setup thread.

Ens. James "Jim" Delaney soon responds to Rangin's text and responds with all the information he'd already provided to Kylah herself as to her damaged communicator. His other Engineering duties permitting, he's certainly willing to help with any experiments the Coridanite has in mind.

There are hundreds of examples of past identity swaps in Federation records, Rangin sees, some but by no means all of which included a sex change as well. Many of the swaps were carried out by criminal organizations such as the Orion Syndicate for illegal purposes such as infiltrating targeted organizations, con games, criminal deception and concealing fugitives. There are at least nine known medical and surgical methods of humanoid identity swaps, and the "Ytiil method," named after the Orion surgeon who developed it, appears, from Rangin's tricorder readings, to be probably most likely to be the one Hutchinson underwent.



Onn doesn't see Dr. Bennett in the hearing room, but Dr. Villa, the CMO, is there.

Lt. Foley asks Booker, "What did you find on the surface?"

Graham takes a second to compose his thoughts. An old sweetheart. A new wife. A new family. Off topic, Booker. So he says, “At the designated landing spot, we were met by Dr. Vasilyev, from the museum, who had the payload – ah, the painting, as planned.”

"Did you see the defendant there?"

“Yes, ma’am. H–she was accompanying the doctor, ostensibly as a museum guard named ‘Annette White.’ When she learned she was to be left behind, as we had no orders to bring her back to the ship with us, the defendant was insistent about claiming to be Hutchinson. Our doctor had already also detected anomalous readings of male genetic markers during a precautionary scan of the people meeting us upon our landing.”

Rangin nods approvingly at the results coming back to him and the fact he has an engineer ready to help with some “experimentation”.

He starts with cross-referencing the data he has on Hutchinson with the “Ytiil” method, especially any drawbacks or known side effects that may occur over a period of time. He also adds in how long Hutchinson has been on the run for as a change factor. Regardless of whether Rangin finds anything, he is certainly enjoying the chase down the rabbit hole as they would say on Earth. On Coridan, there were usually bigger things with sharper teeth waiting down a mine if you decided to wander around in the dark.

As for Delaney's information about Kylah's communicator. Well, it was both different to what he was thinking of and yet still among the same lines. A short burst of something, ultra-high frequency soundwaves depending on the Kuehnle modulation. Sounded like the kind of thing that did hide in a cave after all.

Rangin shakes his head at himself, a wry grin flickering across his face. He is still trying to assume facts he doesn’t know and that is a bad practice, which is the bane of many a science project. So, Rangin starts looking at what would be needed to fry a communicator.

Rangin reckons on finding the impact of what it would then do to an Elasian and then asking her outright. Delaney had said that Kylah had said she did not know if she was holding it or not. Knowing Kylah’s capacity for dissembling, it might be worth finding out what could cause this, get the effect on Elasian physiology and then see if it bought back any memories.

The Ytiil method has not been extensively studied, although Rangin is able to find a short Federation Journal of Xenomedicine article from three years ago. It states that while there are no known side effects, it's also too soon to say for sure, as there are only eleven individuals known to have been through the procedure, and the first case was only five years ago.

Rangin learns that there are lots of ways that a communicator might be shorted out, damaged or destroyed, but few that would have exactly the effect as he understands it here, and that would not also injure (probably by burning or electrical shock) or kill any nearby person.



The young prosecutor asks, "What happened next, Mr. Graham?"

He replies, “I contacted the Yorktown for guidance on how to handle the issue of evacuating someone with an outstanding warrant but who nevertheless was not on the evacuation list. Provided we were able to verify her – his or her – identity, I was ordered to return with the defendant in custody. Using the limited means at our disposal, that is, a Medical tricorder scan, we confirmed Hutchinson’s story... or at least, we were pretty sure we had.”

“Did you believe that was sufficient, under the circumstances?”

“Yes, ma’am. We were pressed for time, and I decided we needed to make an emergency dust-off because a – well, frankly, a mob – of angry, maybe desperate, colonists was approaching, and I believed I could not guarantee the safety of the landing party and the painting any longer. If we'd left the person claiming to be Hutchinson behind, she would have been lost with the rest of the colony. There would be no do-over.” He pauses. “At that time, our doctor’s best judgment, given the scanning equipment and very limited time available, was that the defendant was Hutchinson.”

"I see. Did you then return to the USS Yorktown with the defendant in custody?"

“Yes, ma’am, we did."

"Do you see the person you arrested here in court today?"

"Yes, ma'am. The person seated next to defense counsel over there," he points, "is the person we took into custody on the surface.”

Lt. Foley turns to Capt. Singh. “May the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant?”

“The record will so reflect,” she says.

"Thank you, Madame President, and thank you, Mr. Graham. No further questions," the prosecutor says.

Singh nods. "The defense may cross-examine."

Kylah offers another quick encouraging smile to Lt. Graham, but then her gaze shifts to the defense side of the room. Will this woman finally stand up for her client, literally and figuratively? And if so... Kylah glances back to the ACOS. She has no doubt her friend will acquit himself well, but nevertheless she does not like the prospect of someone being antagonistic toward him--if that is the strategy chosen by the attorney.

He did well, for what he had to do, Nia thinks, still feeling remote from the proceedings. Too remote. Her attention is not easily coralled to stay focused on the testimony. She's noticing the air that seems stuffy, and the dress uniform that had been perfectly comfortable for the wedding is now hot and confining. Her mood turns from distant to irritated.

She uncrosses her legs and tries to will herself to get back in the game--even if she's now just an observer instead of a participant. Pretty good description of my life all of a sudden.

Her hands grip the edge of her chair on either side of her, squeezing hard enough for the wooden corners to be painful beneath her fingers. Nia is not liking this side of her. She remembers her discussion with Ajay about how much her emotions have been letting her down lately, and grasps at the excuse she pulled out of thin air--her birth control hyposprays needing adjustment. Yeah, maybe something hormonal, or at least medical, is responsible for her mood. At least then she'd have an easy solution.

All right, lady. Off to Sickbay once we finally get out of here. Curious, Nia takes a swift look to see which if any medical personnel might be around. Villa, she sees. And that new guy with the long last name she's forgotten already. She hasn't met him yet. And what a way to introduce myself. 'Hi, I'm not having enough sex to justify my birth control, can you help me out?'

The ambiguity of her invented question puts a slight smile on her face. 'Help her out' could be taken one or two different ways. Amused, Nia looks over at him again, now speculatively. Might be worth trying out, if only because his reaction to a straight line like that could reveal a little about his personality...

Emily Martin, the defense lawyer, is talking quietly but intensely with her client. She gestures towards Graham, still talking to Hutchinson, but the defendant shakes her head curtly, decisively. The lawyer says something else and the defendant bangs the table with her clenched fist and says, in a voice which carries, "No! That's enough. I told you."

Martin, looking grim, rises and says, "No questions, thank you, Madame President." She thinks. "Could we take a brief recess so that I can talk to my client privately?"

Singh looks at her. "Very well. The witness may step down. Let's take a ten-minute recess. If you need more time, counsel, let the guards know." She says to them, "Please remove the prisoner to the adjoining compartment."

Graham leaves his seat, "All rise for the court," another redshirt calls, and everyone stands. The prisoner is removed, Martin tagging along behind, and then the court-martial panel leaves, as well. Those left in the room sit back down, or stretch and/or begin to talk. Several people leave. Onn notices that the prosecutors are leaning close enough to one another so as not to be overheard; Foley, the younger, looks puzzled as they talk.

Lips parting in surprise, Kylah stares at the exiting participants--but mainly Ms. Hutchinson.

I was wrong: She does not wish a defense, Kylah thinks with a tiny shake of her head. It was not her attorney refusing to give one. But then why--why not simply admit that she is guilty?

Her inexperience of legal processes in Starfleet and the Federation, or whatever entity has jurisdiction over this, hinders her significantly. She bites absently on a thumbnail while trying to remember something, anything, from the few examples of law-related vids, plays or novels she consumed back at the Academy. Pure entertainment was rarely how she spent her free time, and when she did indulge, the activities almost always involved playing or listening to music. But she saw some fictional depictions of trials.

Kylah runs through what seems to be only the sketchiest of recollections. After a moment she straightens and lets her hand drop into her lap. Why... Hutchinson was never asked to say whether she was guilty or innocent. Not guilty, she corrects, remembering at least that much of the dramas. The trials--hearings, perhaps that was what these were called--usually started with that question. 'State your plea,' the judges would ask... or something to that effect. The wording escapes her, and she doubts it is important.

Perhaps that part of the procedure is no longer accurate, if it ever was. Those were only fictional depictions, after all. And maybe this sort of hearing has different rules. Still, it seems unfair that Ms. Hutchinson should go through this if she does not wish to. Or indeed, that the time and effort of the witnesses, attorneys, and panel members themselves should be wasted. And are there any other family members of the victims? If so, they too are waiting for justice.

Oh, how very much Kylah would love to be able to talk to the defendant! She never will, she knows, but it would be fascinating nevertheless, understanding why Hutchinson is letting things go this far when she could presumably end it all with a confession.

Something else might be going on. And the trial does not exist to feed one ensign's curiosity. But she longs to know the truth behind the crimes. For the first time she has a better sense of how the journalists must have felt after the murder on OCIII, or even her own attack on Anubis. They simply wanted to know.

The true journalists, anyway. The vermin from that You Know You Want It rag were no better than bottom-feeding parasites. They are bottom-feeding parasites.

Frustrated, Kylah leans forward, arms crossed, and wonders how all this will play out. At least Mr. Graham will not be subject to anything unpleasant. She looks over at him to see if he is as relieved as she is, for his sake.

Once he's properly off the stand, Graham takes a cleansing breath.

He seeks out Kylah and gives her a friendly, appreciative nod.

He tries to...not avoid, but not, also, look at, Nia...

He almost laughs at the expression "time heals all wounds." He has enough that left scars and cause pain that has never gone away to know that's mostly bullshit.

Well, anyway - the situation seems weird. Certainly with the defense. But Graham relies on a deeply ingrained reflex: not my fucking problem.

I'm Security--and was, for a while, law enforcement--but prosecution and defense? I can't cure diseases either.

If my involvement here wraps up, maybe that clears some time for Marala and Nikolai...

The abrupt end of Booker's role in the testimony, and the departure of the defense participants, turns Nia's head in surprise. She sees him suddenly nearby, standing somewhere between the well of the makeshift courtroom and the surrounding seating. Barely over a week ago she'd've shifted over to encourage him to take the seat beside her--where he'd probably have been in the first place. They would have commiserated over the shared experience, their likely shared curiosity over what the hell is going on.

Now, it's not her role to share with Booker. Another woman's got that job. Nia again turns to the rest of the observers, wondering if Marala is here to support her husband. Husband. Still surreal. She ignores the tug of the morose that's threatening to revive itself, though can't help an indignant, Why wouldn't she be here? Even if I didn't have to testify, damn straight I'd've been in that audience.

Then she scoffs at herself. Um, yeah, easy to say, 'cause you don't have a little boy to take care of, do you? What, was Mrs. Gromov-Graham gonna drag Nikolai here to root for his new stepfather's testimony against a killer who slaughtered a child and its mom?

So she just sighs and forces herself to empty her brain of all these warring thoughts. And with a supreme mustering of her self-control, Nia murmurs to... well, it could be anyone in a two-meter radius, but it's basically to Booker. "Wonder if the rest of the prosecution witnesses are going to be called. If there are any."

Graham can't tell if the question he heard was meant for him, or something he just happened to overhear, but he did hear it, and the thought of walking away and in fact ignoring something Nia may have meant for him is stomach-turning.

He turns toward her, reflexively cleating his throat, then rubbing his chin. "Ahh...I've always never tried to second-guess prosecutors." He shrugs and offers a slight smile. "Bring 'em in, and Security's job is done, so to speak. But..." He pauses a moment, and replies quietly, in words intended for her. "Never introduce more than you need to get the verdict you want. Any more is needlessly muddying the waters, potentially creating something to attack or object to."

"You did well up there,...ah, Lieutenant. Not that I'm surprised, but by the numbers," he adds, nodding.

Bizhi gets up to stretch his legs for a minute, even though it has not been long at all since the start of the proceedings. Thanks to the brief testimony so far, he at least knows the bare facts of how the defendant got here, and what the hearing is all about, but is not sure yet what to make of it---except that the defendant, whoever she really be, is in all wise better off on the Yorktown right now than on Novy Rostov. He listens to see if he can catch anything the prosecution are discussing.

He gives a nod of recognition to Kylah, who, apparently, is not the only one in the room looking perplexed, and to Dr Villa.

She can't help it. She can't control it. And a split second after it happens, Nia knows she's fucked up her plan, her strategy to maintain her dignity throughout this utter embarrassment of a situation.

But when Booker calls her by her rank--not 'Nia,' not even his invariable and kind of adorably awkward attempts at formality with the fumbled 'Ni...uh, Lieutenant'--she winces. Worse than that: her head jerks back slightly, as if anticipating a backhand slap.

Which is what it felt like. But damn it, how could she have been so insanely unguarded to have let that show?

He probably didn't notice, he isn't even really looking at me, or at least not seeing me; he doesn't anymore. Even if he did there's nothing I can do now.

Still, she tries. She brushes her fingertips across her face as if an errant invisible coiling lock of hair sprang loose from her clip and annoyed her, then waves the hand and his compliment away. "Well, thanks," she says lightly. "Not exactly commendation-worthy, remembering some major events that happened only seven days ago." With a smile and a shrug she looks over to the prosecutors. "Foley asked us to tell the truth, so we did. What else were we gonna do? We follow through on stuff."

The recess stretches from ten minutes to almost half an hour, and then the court-martial panel returns. Several people in the room continue to talk in low tones before the captains take their seats.

Rangin considers the info in front of him. When it comes to Hutchinson, his inquisitive side is coming out and the fact he could be that rare entity: a living study material of the procedure. Then again, it is more likely to be of interest to the Medical staff, while he would have a passing interest in the changes and how closely they match up to a species with a more natural change.

As for the second puzzle, all that it is telling him is that Kylah had to have been injured if she was holding the communicator when it fried. Or left a big smoking hole if it wasn’t. Either way, there is more data that Rangin is going to need before he can make any further. But it doesn’t mean he cannot narrow down what he is looking for.

He puts together a sample of the possibilities where the device could be damaged but that would be non-fatal to someone holding it, whether it would leave a mark of not and…and, of course, another assumption. Most people do not carry their communicators around in hand all the time but are holstered in some way. Something that would discharge through it, having passed through Kylah is an option also to be considered. Kylah would be able to say for sure and somehow this is only going to annoy Rangin further until he gets some answers.

By asking politely, of course. This is a favour he owes her.

Just as the break began, Kylah spotted Dr. Mäkeläinen's pleasant smile, and returned it. At the time she wondered if she might find a seat near him and learn how he was settling in, but was a little self-conscious at being seen with yet another male companion. It should not matter, but it likely has not escaped others' notice that she has few women friends... actually, none, as her relationship with Dr. T'Var is probably best described as "on good terms" at most. Which is better than expected given how often Kylah has imposed herself on the Vulcan.

So she has stayed in her seat throughout the recess, occupying herself with planning ways to make better connections with her fellow female officers. The Lyceum, perhaps? Kylah has been meaning to participate more, and her brief performance at the wedding yesterday reminded her of the joy of music. For too long it has been associated with secret codes, betrayal and mourning. Now she is determined to recapture the pleasure it once held for her.

But with the panel back, Kylah's attention returns to the serious matter at hand. She clasps her hands in her lap and waits expectantly.

"This court will come back to order," Capt. Singh says, after taking her seat between Capts. Potter and Norita. "Please bring in the defendant."

Hutchinson soon returns from the adjoining compartment with her guards, and Atty. Emily Martin in tow. They take their seats.

Singh clears her throat and says to the prosecutors, "Does the Federation have any other...."

Martin, still looking unhappy, stands and says, "Madame President, pardon me, but my client has told me that she now wishes to plead guilty as charged. Under the circumstances, the Federation need not call any other witnesses."

A buzz of discussion rises around the courtroom.

Graham can't help but cock an eyebrow. He silently chastises himself for having a visible reaction--not the perp is likely paying any attention to him.

He has to resist rubbing his chin.

This sex change was an Orion Syndicate job, he reflects. Life in Federation detention is better than what's going to happen to you if something has gone wrong in that deal... Hmmm...

Nia's eyebrows rise in disbelief. Really? This defendant--can we change that to 'convict' yet? Or better yet, prisoner?--wasted hours of their time?

With an almost inaudible hmph and crossing her arms over her chest, Nia sends a cool glance over to the defense counsel. After all, she's the one who seemed determined to go through this farce. Maybe Foley ought to charge Martin with killing off the better part of the day. The idea amuses her and she leans over to pass it to Booker.

She catches herself and pretends she didn't just move toward him. Instead she inhales and smooths her dress uniform jacket over her abdomen, feeling the cool buttons beneath her fingers. Her thoughts are more productively utilized by planning the rest of her afternoon and evening. First, make an appointment to see the doc for a quick check of that birth control hormone stuff.

Then, if there's any shore time left, she'll head straight down to the planet. Nia doesn't need a doctor for this prescription: Fresh air and sunlight on her face, cool dewy grass under her bare feet. She sighs in anticipation of getting back to solid ground.

As the hearing seems to lurch to an abrupt conclusion, Mäkeläinen continues to sit impassively for a moment, thinking. Did he learn anything? Was coming here simply a pure waste of time? Dr. Villa thought it was worth her time, though, or else her presence was requested. If the hearing simply ends, if possible he asks her plainly whether it was a purely criminal matter, albeit one with highly unusual circumstances, or are there remaining issues for the medical staff and if so can he assist in any way?

Capt. Singh seems taken aback, too. She asks, "Did you say she wishes to plead guilty, Ms. Martin? Would that be to all three charges?"

"Yes, ma'am," the civilian lawyer says. "I believe she's been thinking for some time that she might wish to do so, but I was able to convince her to go forward with these proceedings, to protect her rights and hold the Federation to its burden of proof. However, as the hearing has gone on today, she's become more and more insistent that she wished to plead guilty. During the recess we just had, she told me, very clearly and very emphatically, that she wished to do so."

"I see. Is that so, Ms. Hutchinson? Is it your wish to plead guilty to two counts of homicide in the first degree, and one count of obstruction of justice, as charged?"

"Yes, Madame President," the defendant says, with an odd mix of defiance and what might be sorrow. "I've had enough. I've been running for too long. I did some horrible things, and it's... it's time I take responsibility for what I've done."

Singh considers this, then turns to the lead prosecutor. "Mr. Baird, this panel was formed for the purpose of holding only a preliminary hearing, as I said at the outset, to advise the defendant of the charges against her, to answer any questions she might have, and to enter her plea - which presumably would have been, as in most such cases, 'not guilty' - on the record. Do we have the authority to now accept a plea of guilty?"

Lt. Cmdr. Baird rises. "Yes, Madame President. Under Starfleet Regulations, Regulation 10, Paragraph 17, a panel such as this, duly convened, may accept a guilty plea upon advising a defendant of the rights she would be waiving by such a plea."

"And sentencing?" Capt. Potter asks, speaking up for the first time.

"Sentencing as well, yes, sir, under Paragraph 18."

Fingers now clasping her knees, Kylah leans forward to hear every word, captivated by the proceedings. She stares at each speaker in turn, interrupted by quick, piercing looks at Ms. Hutchinson.

Sentencing. Kylah shakes her head in wonder. Then it will all end today? Or tonight? Surely the panel will have to consider...

Consider what? They know the crimes. Presumably the laws have guidelines for how long one must serve for them. But the circumstances might mitigate things.

She scowls at her own thoughts. What could possibly mitigate poisoning one's family? A spouse, a child? Mental illness, perhaps, but certainly not self-defense. It does not seem Ms. Hutchinson wishes to excuse anything--nothing could excuse it--but there must be something that could at least explain why.

Her focus rests on the defendant once more. "Yes, why? Why did you do this?" she wonders, before realizing in alarm that she spoke the words aloud. Whispered, thank goodness, but still she jerks her hand up to press against her lips lest she blurt anything more loudly. Kylah's scant understanding of the legal system is still vexing, but she does believe that the panel acting as judges will probably require some statement. They must want to know Hutchinson's reasons as much as she--and likely everyone else in the room.

A few people near Kylah glance around at her, but then turn their attention back to the proceedings.

Singh talks quietly with her fellow panelists for a minute or so. She then clears her throat and says to the whole room, "Very well, we will proceed with a plea in this case, as requested by the defense. You are charged, Ms. Hutchinson, with two counts of murder and one count of obstruction of justice. The murder counts may each be punished, if convicted, by a sentence of life imprisonment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"A conviction for obstruction of justice may punished by a prison term of one to six years. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You are, of course, presumed innocent of these charges under Federation law. That means it's not up to you to convince a court you didn't commit these offenses; it would be to the prosecution to prove, by evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, that you did commit them. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Are you under the influence of any mind-altering substances at this time?"

"No."

"Do you suffer from any mental disorder or disease that affects your ability to understand these proceedings?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do you fully understand the charges against you, and the possible penalties?"

"I do."

"Have you had enough time to consult with your lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Do you fully understand what's going on here today, Ms. Hutchinson?"

"Yes."

"Have you been threatened by anyone in order to get you to plead guilty?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have any promises been made to get you to enter this plea?"

"No, ma'am."

"You understand that a guilty plea is a complete admission of the truth of the facts alleged in the complaint, and an admission of your actual guilt?"

"I do."

"You understand, by pleading guilty, that you are waiving your right to a court-martial under the Federation Constitution, Federation law and Starfleet regulations?"

"I do."

Singh then leads Hutchinson through a litany of all the rights she will be waiving by entering a guilty plea: to cross-examine the Federation's witnesses, to call witnesses of her own, to compel their attendance by subpoena if necessary, to require the Federation to prove her guilt by evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, the right not to testify and to have both the court and the prosecution refrain from any comment upon any such decision, and many others.

Hutchinson calmly states her understanding of each point.

Rangin catches the restart of the hearing and the now insistence of pleading guilty. He slumps in his chair slightly as if all the interest in what he is doing is being sucked away. So much for looking further into any medical ailments that Hutchinson might be suffering as the guilty verdict is just going to wrap up everything neatly. Too neatly really, Rangin wonders what mitigation the accused is going to pull out to reduce the sentence to a few years instead of decades. People don’t just quietly give up like that without something in their back pocket.

He leans back and waits to hear what happens next. At least if this trial ends quickly he can find Kylah and ask those questions about the communicator.

Interesting that Hutchinson was apparently offered (and she refused) a court martial. He thought she was a pure civilian?

Bizhi notices Kylah becoming increasingly agitated. What is she thinking about? To him, so far, it is still a tawdry coda to a gruesome affair. Murder--- an awful crime, yet such a peculiarity of humans (and related cultures). Are they not supposed to be exploring the galaxy? Yet, here they are, harming each other and squabbling amongst themselves. If not murder, then war. Surely, from some beings' perspective we are all squirming ants. Then again, to anyone operating on that level, who knows if there be not things unimaginably worse than murder?

After many more questions, Singh finally asks Hutchinson, "How do you plead, then, to a charge of homicide in the first degree, alleging that you killed your wife, Patricia Hutchinson, by poisoning, while on active duty as a commissioned officer of Starfleet, at Starbase 9 on or about Stardate 3142.7?"

"Guilty."

"How do you plead to a charge of homicide in the first degree, alleging that you killed your son, Kevin Hutchinson, a minor, age 7, also by poisoning, while on active duty as a commissioned officer of Starfleet, at Starbase 9 on or about Stardate 3142.7?"

"Guilty."

"And how do you plead to a charge of obstruction of justice, having been then under official investigation and having left your assigned post contrary to the direct order of a superior officer, thereby intending to remove yourself from the lawful authority of the Federation, while on active duty as a commissioned officer of Starfleet, at Starbase 9 on or about Stardate 3142.7?"

"Guilty."

Singh nods somberly. "By the authority vested in me by Starfleet Command, I accept your pleas and find you guilty of all three charges. Do the other members of this court-martial panel concur with my decision?"

"Yes, ma'am," says Capt. Potter.

"I do, Madame President," says Capt. Norita.

"Very well. Does the defense wish to proceed to sentencing at this time?"

"No, thank you, Madame President," Atty. Emily Martin says. "I am authorized by my client to request that she be given the benefit of a pre-sentence investigation."

"Mr. Baird?" Singh says to the lead prosecutor.

"No objection, Madame President."

"In light of the seriousness of the crimes to which defendant has just pled guilty," Singh says after a pause, "I will grant the defense request. We will reconvene here for sentencing at 0900 hours, three days from now. Anything else from the Federation?"

"No, ma'am."

"Or the defense?"

"No, thank you, ma'am."

Singh nods. "Then the defendant is hereby remanded, pending sentencing. We are adjourned." With the mallet, she raps the ancient ship's bell on the table twice more.

Everyone stands as the three captains and then the defendant, her lawyer and the guards leave. The room is filled again with the low buzz of conversations.

Nia's fingers alternate between stretching out and clenching into fists. She's restless and aggravated, and once the panel exits she turns to those nearest her to speak softly. "This whole process and the rules and laws are all well beyond my pay grade. What's a pre-sentencing investigation? If Hutchinson's guilty, he's--she's--"

Nia stops. No, she refuses, she refuses to give in to a pretense she finds offensive. Singh may have no choice but to accede to the killer's claim that this sex-change was anything other than a scheme to flee justice. Nia won't play along.

She tightens her jaw and barely manages to avoid rolling her eyes before going on. "--They're guilty. The victims are just as dead as they were before their murderer had a swell of belated remorse. What's left to investigate?" Nia hesitates, suddenly wondering if Booker would be involved. It's not a shipboard matter, and Starfleet must already have their own people taking care of stuff like this back in the original scene of the crime, or jurisdiction, or whatever you'd call it. Still... she can't prevent herself from darting a look at him. "And who does the investigating?"

Kylah stands along with everyone else, but just looks at the exit behind which Ms. Hutchinson, her attorney and the panel disappeared. Her curiosity is on high boil. She hopes she may attend the sentencing in three days.

Sighing to herself, she turns back and finds Dr. Mäkeläinen again. It is absurd to avoid approaching a new colleague out of some hypothetical judgment by others of her male-focused attention. Kylah is not likely under such a spotlight, even if it sometimes seems so. She gives a mental tsk at her paranoia and moves to him.

"Good afternoon, Doctor," she says cordially. "How is your second day aboard the Yorktown? Let us hope this is not very representative of the sort of thing you'll encounter during our travels." Kylah glances at the door again. "I found it all captivating, if it is not too ghoulish to admit. It is all new to me. Have you ever been part of such proceedings?"

Hearing her own question, she is aghast at how intrusive it sounds. What if someone he knows was killed? Or if he has had his own legal problems in the past? What an inelegant turn in the conversation. Kylah's mother would be disdainful, and rightfully so.

She hurries on. "Oh--I meant as a professional witness, as a doctor, not--not--I am sorry, it is none of my business."

Once again, Graham isn't sure if Lt. Onn is intending to ask him, personally, a question or not, but the surprise of her eyes on him while he was trying to puzzle out what just happened makes his response almost purely instinctive.

"I don't know, Nia," he replies in a low voice, rubbing the back of his neck. He frowns, looks down, and shakes his head slightly. "It's a serious charge, but a PSI on what looks like premeditated murder and carefully planned flight...?"

Now he looks back at Nia, now slightly embarrassed by perhaps answering a question that wasn't meant for him. "Ah...it seems as likely to surface information that makes the defendant less sympathetic, rather than deserving some leniency..."

Dr. Mäkeläinen smiles wryly. "I know what you meant. And I have been in the middle of unpleasant investigations before. But give evidence in a general court martial? For desertion and murder? Not even close. Not the kind of thing one expects to see too much of in Starfleet.

"I'm not here for fun—not that you are [he is beginning to feel Kylah appreciates clarity on such points], or anyone else is—at least we'd better hope not—but they are going to open a medical investigation for sure. Not only because of the black-market identity masking. Even if the defendant admitted guilt, there could still be an issue of determining whether she was in her right mind, whatever that means under the circumstances. Or other matters they did not mention in public. You heard them call for a three-day pre-sentence investigation. So, some of us—he tilts his head to indicate Dr. Villa as well—are going to be involved, one way or another. I just got here, as you pointed out, but it's my duty to see how I may help."

The rest of the day passes without incident. The next morning, the Captain announces that the Yorktown will be breaking orbit, after resupply and maintenance, the afternoon of Hutchinson's sentencing. You each receive a message in your personal comm account offering you an additional 24 hours' shore leave, effective immediately.

Making sure Marala isn't around to see, Graham enters a message to Cmdr. Vargas:

Sir- Permission requested to leave the ship with Marala during shore leave, for our honeymoon, as it were. - Lt. Jg. Graham

Pleased by the extra day off, Kylah has taken a longer time for her shower and general morning routine. "Longer" being a relative term: it is excessive for her life in Starfleet, true, but the time and care with which she has applied various skin lotions, braided her lightly perfumed hair, and applied her makeup are normal--even efficient--for a woman of her class back home. Still clad in her silk robe, she pads to the mirror by her closet door to see the result.

Why--I look like Sitraa!

Her sister is six years younger, and in addition to being exquisitely skilled at beautification--far more so than Kylah--Sitraa has a talented servant who dresses her hair. Yet Kylah and Sitraa do share the same black hair and dark eyes, though the younger girl’s are warm brown, not jet black. Similar rounded faces, too. Kylah's has thinned out over the past couple of months--but that same weight loss has brought her closer to Sitraa in body shape.

Of course the resemblance is not hereditary: as an adoptee, Kylah shares no blood with her family. Still, it has been quite some time since she has displayed the proper bearing and appearance of a member of the Royal House of the Silver Weeping Tree.

The makeup is considerably toned down from the glittering jewel tones typically worn on Elasian lips and eyelids. Kylah has chosen a sheer, glossy raspberry color for her lips, and just a hint of translucent silver eye powder, with a shimmer barely seen except in direct light. But it emphasizes her dark eyes in a way that makes her smile. Vanity is something in which she has not indulged for ages.

Not since Omicron Ceti III.

Her expression dims. That is not a night she wants to remember. By now, though, it is easy to push the thoughts away, pack them into a section of memories she wishes never to access again.

Kylah tosses her head and moves to her desk and the terminal. Accessing the net, she searches for recreation opportunities on the planet. A spark of an idea piques her interest and she changes from the general to specific.

LOCATE: Parks with publicly accessible bodies of water. Boat rentals. Then, after some further thought and a playful, sideways smile: Nearby pub with hamburgers on menu.

After starting the search, she shifts her attention from the results to her communicator. But--instead of contacting Velir, as intended--she begins a quick note to her superior officer:

THALEN, LT. Good morning, sir. For some time you have graciously suggested that I participate in the Lyceum. I have not found myself able to do so, but I hope you know it was not

She pauses to see if her search results found anything that suits her plans.

Shore leave? Nuh-uh. Thanks but no thanks, Captain.

Instead, Nia's going to work herself into a stupor of exhaustion.

She's uniformed up--an older one, stained and kinda worn, that she keeps around for this purpose because to her there's no sense messing up multiple uniforms. Her hair's in its standard low ponytail and her right hand clasps the lever of the turbolift as it thrums down to Deck 20.

Her mind is occupied with silently reciting every single one of the design changes and tech additions made to her baby, her Tesla. She doesn't need this list as a reminder--it's rote by now, given how much time she's spent in the shuttle that's being used as a test bed for a variety of experimental upgrades.

The Tesla's not really hers, of course. She just feels proprietary, protective of the little craft. At some point it'll be out of her hands. Like everything else in her life.

Nope, she's reciting because it fills her brain with information instead of emotion. Or memories.

Because when Booker called her Nia yesterday after the hearing, possibly without thinking, probably forgetting she'd only just been Lt. Onn to him not long before...it flooded her with the many ways his lips have uttered her name, the many shades his voice could add to it and make her laugh or grin or melt or just delight in the delicious heat suffusing every part of her body.

At that point, to her horror, right in front of him, she felt prickles behind her eyes--pretty much the closest she gets to crying.

Sidonian biology has generally evolved away from producing tears, learning over generations to save precious body fluids. But the ability to cry still exists--barely. It hasn't been completely winnowed out of her race. Triggering it is very rare, and for most Sidonians it's born only from the most extreme pain, the most all-consuming grief.

Unfortunately, Nia's known both. She's shed tears at least five times in her life. But hearing Booker Graham say her name sure as hell wasn't gonna add to the list--she's not let herself get that insanely attached to a man yet. Still, she panicked. She muttered a "thanks" to Booker for the information and practically fled the chamber.

Annnd here she's doing it again. Memories and emotions, damn them to the forever burning ashes of her planet's Northern reaches.

She mutters a not-so-silent fuck, let me out of here already and as if on cue, the doors open and allow her to stride toward the Shuttlecraft Maintenance bay.

The familiarity of her surroundings washes over her like a blissful wave, cooling her and waking her up. Nia can't help but give a relieved sigh of homecoming when she spots the Tesla in its usual place.

The fight with the Klingons over that Aelyrr codex thing left some damage, both to the shuttle and one of its crew members who Nia is abso-fucking-lutely not going to think about But anyway, it happened under her command. Causing damage is anathema to her. She has engineering in her blood, almost as much as flying. Fixing things, making them better, that is what she's supposed to do.

And, trying to muster the strength of Sid'Os and Lia'Nel'Seht*, Nia vows to fulfill that purpose.

She smiles, jogs forward and calls out to see if any of the engies are working on the Tesla.






* - If curious, see brief descriptions of these deities here, under Religious Culture..

Graham soon has a texted response, Permission gladly granted. In fact, take 48 hours - the least I can do for the newlyweds! VARGAS.

Beta Antares IV boasts the large (over a thousand square kilometers, about a third the size of Rhode Island) and beautiful Armstrong Park. It has several lakes of varying sizes, a well-reviewed restaurant near the main entrance, Nataliya's, with burgers and many other things on the menu, and a boat rental firm. Does Kylah wish a motorized, sail or person-powered boat (such as a canoe or rowboat)?

The shuttlecraft Tesla has been completely repaired since its damaging on the Aelyrr mission, of course. Spec/1 Therin, a maintenance tech, is hunched over its partly-disassembled starboard nacelle, with several dozen parts and tools strewn across the deck nearby. The young, craggy Andorian man stands respectfully as Onn approaches. "Good morning, ma'am," he says.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is not so burnt out after only a day or so aboard that he feels a pressing need to beam off the ship for a few hours, nor does he think that would make a good first impression. He first checks with Dr. Villa to see if he can be useful around the sick bay or on any other medical tasks.

Graham smiles slightly. Old Man Vargas must've got up on the right side of the bed this morning, he thinks.

He rubs his chin, trying to come up with some clever way to tell Marala.

Kylah smiles, happy that her hoped-for plans are indeed possible. Before arranging things, she returns to the unfinished note to Lt. Thalen.

THALEN, LT. Good morning, sir. For some time you have graciously suggested that I participate in the Lyceum. I have not found myself able to do so, but I hope you know it was not for lack of interest in or gratitude for your invitation. Circumstances have kept me from such activities.

May I still accept your invitation? I am eager to participate, and would especially like to join a music ensemble, if there are any available positions. I have the Vulcan lute that was lent to me, but would be happy to play any string instrument for which there is a need. Otherwise I am also a capable player of certain woodwind instruments, such as flutes of various types or some of the smaller reed pipes.

Do you know of any openings, sir? Thank you very much. -- KYLAH, ENS.

She looks it over with a little thrill of anxiety that is not unpleasant, and sends the message. That accomplished--and it does indeed feel like an accomplishment--she sets the communicator down temporarily to reread the information she called up.

After registering that the boat options include a rowboat, she furrows her brow in instinctive distaste. A vessel they would have to propel themselves? Physical labor is almost completely unknown to her. And asking Velir to use the... rowing paddles, or whatever they are called... while she sits idly by would be an insult. Such a job is for a servant or a subordinate.

Velir might be adept at sailing. She will have to find out before she reserves anything. When she glances down at her communicator again, she realizes she does not even know if Velir already has plans today. Perhaps she is presuming too much?

The answer to her own question surprises her. Strangely, she feels confident that... no. It is not presumptuous. He will wish to see her, too.

Kylah inhales deeply, relishing the peace that comes from such atypical self-assurance. Then she flips open the communicator. "Ensign Kylah to Lt. Rangin."

Dr. Villa welcomes Dr. Mäkeläinen back to Sickbay. She says, "I was just about to conduct a yearly physical on a crewmember, but I have a huge pile of paperwork I really need to get to. Would you mind doing the physical? Oh, and what did you think of the court-martial yesterday?"

After a few minutes Kylah sees on her communicator's small text screen the response, Great! Thanks, Kylah. We'd be glad to have you play with the Lyceum. You pick the instrument you want to play; I'm sure we could find a place for just about any of them. We have a concert planned for next week, if that wouldn't be too soon. THALEN.

Rangin's communicator beeps.

Nia greets the tech and sort of pats the air, silently assuring him that he doesn't need to rise for her. She squats down herself to encourage him. "Good to see you again, Therin. And I am so glad to get back here." Her words have the warm emphasis of a soldier having returned home from battle.

Which is pretty much how she feels. During the Novy Rostov emergency, all the restrictions, overcrowding and tight scheduling prevented pretty much all non-essential work. Even though it's been a few days since those restrictions were lifted, her energy's been consumed by personal crap. But the Tesla offers the perfect productive way to set all that aside.

Now her eyes scan the nacelle, then the array of its disassembled parts, with almost avaricious interest. "So what's all this then? And what did that poor nacelle ever do to you?" Nia grins to defuse the joke--you never know with techs, they can get defensive--and continues her speculation. Just a private little game to test her assessment skills: can she figure out what's being done before Therin tells her?

"Thank you, ma'am, and welcome back," Therin says. He does not seem at all defensive. "The starboard nacelle's warp field coil was slightly out of synch with the port coil in the most recent diagnostic we ran." That's about what Onn suspected, from what she could see. He goes on, "Nothing dangerous, but not optimal, either. I couldn't figure out, just from an exterior scan or telemetry download, what the problem was, so I thought I'd better open it up and take a look inside. So here we are."

24 hours of shore leave, well Rangin is not going to waste it if it is right there on offer. Walk around a starship, or get back to nature and see some more of the wildlife on the planet below.

Admittedly he could do with catching up with Kylah, but it can wait for a day. As for the research on Hutchinson, well it was an interesting read, but that is as far as it will go.

But…but…but… Rangin shakes his head at the constant stream of his thoughts and wonders if he is playing good news, bad news with himself. Given everything, that game is either too easy or too close to real life, so best not to think about it right now. 'But' nothing indeed.

He is on the verge of contacting Lt. Cmdr. Roble when his communicator beeps, so he picks it up to see what it is.

Rangin smiles, it’s Kylah contacting him for some reason and he wonders what it might be and the only way to find out would be to answer.

“Hello Kylah, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mäkeläinen tells Villa, "Certainly, I can do the physical.

"The court-martial, it was very... formal. I knew next to nothing about the case going in, and was not sure at first what it had to do with us, beyond the fact the Yorktown was at Novy Rostov. That a Star Fleet officer could snap like that—not a pleasant thought. Who knows what the court members make of it, especially since Hutchinson pleaded guilty and avoided an actual trial. Speaking as a doctor, there is a lot to understand there, though I am not sure if any of it will have any legal relevance, assuming the defendant was compos mentis."

Dr. Villa nods. "That's just about how I see it, too. The defense didn't suggest he, I mean she, was at all mentally impaired, and didn't ask for a psych eval. For what it's worth, she seemed to be articulate, fully oriented and aware of what was going on. Well, in any event, thank you, Doctor." She hands him a data tablet. "Your patient is Ens. Horst Leventhal. He just arrived and is in the examination room, right over there."

"Huh," Nia exhales in a combination of interest and puzzlement, and her fingers absently pinch her chin while she thinks aloud. "The nacelles out of sync. And after the first and only time the Tesla's seen action. Well, since all the latest upgrades, anyway..."

She frowns, sending her memories back to the incident three months ago. "Meyer did his usual immaculate pre-flight check before we got onboard," she murmurs, half to herself. "And I double-checked. There's no way we'd've missed something like that. As far as the excursion itself..."

Mentally, she runs over the unorthodox plan to ambush and catch the three rogue Klingons responsible for stealing a unique holy artifact. At Nia's suggestion, when the Yorktown gave chase to the fleeing Klingon shuttlecraft, the Tesla --powered off and thus invisible to the enemies' sensors--was nestled in the ship's warp bubble as if hitching a ride.

At the last possible minute, the Yorktown released the shuttle, letting Nia bring the Tesla to life again while the Yorktown distracted the enemy with a nifty upward arc.

At least, that's what was supposed to happen. Unfortunately, the ship's Nav officer--Thanks a lot, CeCe--had been a couple of seconds late making their move, because instead of the Klingons being scared shitless by the overhead approach of the massive Constitution-class ship looming above, the bastards spotted the Tesla sneaking beneath them to target their underbelly.

No way that would've happened without a delay on the ship's part, tiny though it was. As a result, the Tesla caught some hostile fire.

But it was nothing serious, Nia remembers dismissively. She'd pulled off some slick barrel rolls to evade further attacks while the Klingons were quickly disabled by expert shooting from both Collins on the Yorktown and Booker in the shuttle.

She rises to her feet, still outside the Tesla but imagining the view from within. That's right: Booker had been in the co-pilot's seat by her side. Just like in the Kaku last week.

"We only took a single blast to our forward shields, barely a tap," Nia says after a pause. She places an affectionate palm on the shuttle's cool metal hull, then glances back at the disassembled nacelle. "Nothing that could have somehow jarred this puppy out of sync. Anyway it would've been caught during repairs."

Nia pivots to Therin, her smile almost aggressively chipper. "Well, it's been caught now, so that's a damn good job. I'm happy to help dig into it, if you want. Just toss me a spanner or hydrocoil integrator and put me to work."




See Mission #4, Codex Aelyrr. Nia's strategy for the Tesla begins its execution about here.

Kylah straightens at the sound of Velir's voice and rushes through the usual opening pleasantries--wishing him a good morning and so on. Then she looks at the monitor with the information about the park. "I was hoping to go down to the planet again for some more fresh air and nature and... If you do not already have plans, would you like to join me? There is a park and a lake, very large and beautiful, and I thought we could go there, if the weather is suitable--"

She scowls at herself. She should have checked that first. "--Well, I so enjoy being near water. Does that interest you? We could even rent a boat and some time just... enjoying things... and maybe take some lemonade or something, and perhaps have something to eat afterwards. I must reserve a craft, and may choose between motorboats and sailboats. But I admit I do not know how to operate them. Which probably does not surprise you," she adds with a little smile while anxiously twisting a loose tendril of hair. "Can you, though? If you would like to?"

Therin says, "Yes, it might not have been the Klingon attack that knocked them out of synch... in fact, I doubt it was. It could be for any number of reasons, including microscopic, nearly-undetectable manufacturing, installation or calibration issues." He rubs his chin thoughtfully, looks over the array of tools and then passes Onn a hydrocoil integrator. "I appreciate your offer to help. Take a look at the M332 and V140 circuit pathways, if you please, ma'am, and tell me what you find. I'll work on the secondary pulse node assembly."

"I'm on it," Nia says, accepting the integrator's familiar weight, flipping it over a bit in her hands as she heads over to the nacelle. We should name you, she thinks whimsically at the second of the two warp drive housings. Calling you 'Starboardy' isn't exactly imaginative. Or respectful, considering you guys are the whole reason we're able to...

Her train of thought derails when she kneels to get started and a memory strikes her. "Huh," she says a second time, addressing the actual living, breathing person in the bay. "Y'know, this isn't the only problem we've had with nacelle equipment lately. 'Bout a month ago, one of our port nacelle's IFSes* crapped out--M09, maybe? And that was right on the heels of an earlier failure on M10. Or was it the other way around?"

Nia squints when her confusion triggers an annoying sense of déjà vu, then shrugs. "Wasn't a disaster, just part of a bad batch from the manufacturer--someone, probably Delaney or Dahlquist, told me several others in inventory were junk too. Sound familiar? This turns out to be the same sorta problem, and the same manufacturer, we'd better start shopping around for a new dealer."

With a cluck of her tongue, she leans into the open housing to get a better look at the circuit pathways; surrounded by metal, her voice echoes around her as she continues speaking. "And now I remember some tools disappeared from storage, or were misplaced, or the lockers got broken... something along those lines. We didn't accidentally piss off some technology-worshiping culture, did we? Maybe their deity cursed us."



* Inlet flow sensors.

Therin, continuing to work, says thoughtfully, "It's very different equipment, obviously, the ship's warp nacelles and the much smaller shuttlecraft nacelles, ma'am, but it does make one wonder if there may be some connection. I will raise the matter with the Chief Engineer the next time I see him."

Rangin waits for Kylah to finish, being amused by the breathless rattling off of suggestions and requests she is making to him and he can’t help grinning even though he knows she cannot see it.

“Ok, Let’s slow that down a little. No, I don’t have any plans for shore leave but yes, I would love to go down to the park and lake with you. I’m sure we can find something to do, I don’t know much about sailing boats, but if they have something a little more mechanical or with an engine, then I’m sure I can figure out how to take one out. A picnic down there also sounds like a great idea or, if not, then I would not be surprised if there were places to find food if there are enough people enjoying the area.”

Realising he is likely dictating plans, Rangin stops speaking for a moment. If Kylah is the one arranging it, then better for her to arrange it.

“Ok, whatever we wind up doing, I’m fairly certain I will enjoy it. So, where and when do you want to meet? I’ll confirm with Roble that I can head down on shore leave and then I am at your disposal.”

Nodding and smiling brightly as Velir speaks, Kylah taps her screen to reserve a motorboat before he even finishes. "I am sure Lt. Cmdr. Roble will allow it, we are all supposed to be free. Oh this is wonderful, it has been so long! Can we meet at transporter room 1, in an hour, perhaps? I have not yet dressed..."

She glances over her shoulder toward her closet, trying to pick something appropriate for such plans. Of course most crew members on shore leave remain in their uniforms, but Kylah has rarely done so herself. It just does not seem natural.

A sudden thought broadens her smile. "I wonder. Do you--this may seem strange or improper or--" She shakes her head. Nothing could feel improper right now. "Would you perhaps consider wearing civilian clothes? I see you so often Starfleet uniforms, and--well, there was that old Earth-style suit on Sigma Iotia, but that was not really a reflection of you. I mean, what you would choose to look like in a normal situation."

Fluttering her free hand inarticulately like chasing away flies, she shrugs with a little frustrated laugh. "Oh, you must know what I mean. I just want to see you out of uniform, as you have seen me so often. Not Lieutenant Junior Grade Rangin. Velir." She says his name gently, a vocal caress. "So... will you?"

Hidden within the depths of the machinery, Nia snorts a little in amusement and lifts her head to respond something snarky about being mildly cognizant that the huge-ass nacelles for a Constitution-class ship differ from the Tesla's petite but powerful pair. But then she bumps her head lightly on the hatch, which ruins the smug effect.

"Yeah," she says with a rueful wince while shaking it off. "There are a quadrillion moving and non-moving mechanical parts onboard. Some of them are gonna be duds. Just noting the coincidence. I'm guessing the only thing they have in common might be a crappy manufacturer."

Following his discussion with Dr. Villa (as well as washing his hands, et cetera!), Dr. Mäkeläinen enters the examination room where Ens. Leventhal is waiting.

He quickly looks the man over for a first impression as he greets him genially. "How do you do, Ensign," he says and offers up a handshake, "My name is Bizhi Mäkeläinen. I'm new on board, if you have not heard, but they already have me hard at work. So, you're here for a routine physical? How about it, any complaints?" He listens to the crewman first, before engaging in any systematic scanning.

"That is certainly possible, ma'am," Therin says. "I will look into it further with Mr. Cheverez."

Ens. Horst Leventhal is a lean, wiry young German man with a shock of black hair. He shakes Bizhi's hand and says politely, "How do you do, Doctor? No, I've been feeling all right, mostly." After a moment he adds, "Although I have been having some bad headaches lately. I hardly ever used to get them."

Dr. Mäkeläinen asks Ens. Leventhal, "How long have you been getting these headaches? Any changes in your routine? When you say you used to get them, when was that?"

He begins the examination by performing a full-body diagnostic using a medical tricorder set to narrow angle, which is part of the usual routine. He compares the scanned data to Leventhal's record on the datapad to see if there are any significant changes, and also checks for foreign substances like toxins in the bloodstream.

Nia smiles, still hidden from Therin's view. He's a serious guy but welcome company nevertheless. For some time she checks and rechecks the circuit pathways, not just M332 and V140 but the others nearest to them. Best she can do from here is test them for any physical issues, sub-microscopic deformations in the hardware or connection points.

If she finds anything, she'll call it to Therin's attention and try to diagnose the issue.

Otherwise, her thoughts will stray to finding a different angle. So far, judging from the array of parts gutted from the nacelle, Therin's coming at this from mechanical perspective--the same one Nia tends to gravitate herself when dealing with most engineering issues.

But she's flown solo on crafts she's helped build too often not to take a more holistic view. Identifying this current issue could require switching her mindset from tinkering to programming.

So if she can't spot a physical or installation flaw, and Therin hasn't either, Nia will offer to hop up and head into the Tesla to run some diagnostics on the shuttle's internal network.

Rangin holds the communicator away from him slightly and looks at it, wondering exactly who is at the far end before he tells himself he is being silly and that it is just Kylah. Well, not just Kylah as this seems a little out of the ordinary for her, but he is certainly willing to play along.

“Civilian? Clothes? Okay, I’m sure I can find something.” He thinks back to the last time he was in civilian clothes on something like this. A disastrous night on Omicron Ceti III, which Rangin is doing his level best to forget. The linen suit he wore had been stuffed to the back in a rumpled state and is not going to see the light of day any time soon. No, something simple and relaxing would have to suffice. Perhaps waterproof, he chuckles silently to himself. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure there is something other than a uniform to wear, it would be good to make a change.”

Well, there are worse ways to spend some free time than boating in a park with Kylah. Then he remembers what Elasians considered casual wear and gives a rueful smile. He is going to have a lot of very pretty scenery to look at. He catches himself thinking about what might be, but as their common past has shown, that’s not exactly how it plays out. At all. In the slightest.

But, if they are alone, maybe he can get some answers out of Kylah about the communicator. Then, who knows where it could lead.

“Ok, I’ll catch up with you shortly, let me contact Roble to confirm, then I’ll meet you at the transporter room of your choice.”

He drops he line before he goes and says something stupid before contacting Lt Cmdr. Roble just to make sure he is ok to go on shore leave for the day.

Though Velir seems nonplussed at first, his willingness to follow Kylah's suggestion delights her. He rushes off before she has a chance to respond. Probably, he is concerned about finding something to wear, Kylah thinks in affectionate amusement. As if Velir Rangin could look anything other than appropriate and attractive.

Delving into her closet, she frowns upon noting her diminished quantity of civilian dresses. She knows she left her pretty aqua blue dress in a locker back on OCIII--but she does not wish to remember that. And her favorite butter-yellow silk was torn and ruined on Anubis. She will not linger on that either. Kylah quickly flicks the ugly memories away and decides on a pale blue dress with tiny white dots, a color combination that seems appropriate for sailing. The style does, too.

At times, Kylah has sensed that Velir is... disconcerted... by Elasian-style clothing. But she is certain he cannot object to the decorously high neckline. Only when she slips the dress over her head and fastens the halter top does she belatedly note that the frock is not quite as decorous in the back. She pauses to examine herself in the mirror, then gives a little defiant shrug. Why would he be looking there, on a boat?

The material is quite thin, though, and Kylah wonders if she ought to bring a shawl or scarf. After strapping on her sandals, she returns to the computer to find out what the weather is like in the vicinity of the largest lake. If it is cool or windy, Kylah will grab a light, pearl-colored shawl to wrap around her shoulders, and then rush from her quarters to Transporter Room 1.

Leventhal says, "I tend to get the headaches in the late afternoon. I can't think of anything in particular that I do differently, or that happens to me, just before I get them. I haven't really changed my routine recently, either. I had them before I went to the Academy, now and then, but I don't remember them being this severe." The full-body diagnostic that Bizhi runs reveals nothing out of the ordinary. Leventhal appears to be in good health, with no foreign substances like toxins in his bloodstream, and nothing unusual showing up since his last checkup.

Onn and Therin also find nothing unusual in their work on the shuttlecraft. Therin puts down a node assembly clasp and scratches thoughtfully at the base of one of his powder-blue antennae.

Kylah sees from a planetary weather report that it is a warm and calm day on and around Lake Armstrong, but with a chance of higher winds and even rain in the next few hours.

As she clambers back out of the open nacelle, Nia blows some spiraling hair away from her forward. "This might not stem from the nacelle or warp coils themselves. Maybe it’s a communication glitch. The Tesla's commands could be going off-sync farther up the line, even before they reach the plasma conduits, much less that warp coil."

Nia tilts her head toward the shuttle's hatch and heads over. "Lemme run a sim or two. We don't have to put everything back together, it can stay offline. I just want to test the other nodes along the way." She's jogged one step up the ramp before hesitating out of belated courtesy. "That okay with you?”

“Do you think Nikolai’s upset that he couldn’t come with us?” Booker asked.

Marala laughs and splashes water at him.

Booker flinches, although the water was warm and not at all unpleasant, and Marala’s naked body in motion was...appealing.

“Oh Boojee, don’t be silly. The chance to sit in on that Starfleet--Starfleet--” she smiled widely and reached to the rim of the big soaking tub to grab a chilled flute and take another sip of champagne--”training session and watch a proton--no, what did you call it? ‘Photon’ torpedo being taken apart…”

She paussd and Booker sees the hint of a tear in one eye. Now it was her turn to look away for a moment. “He loves Starfleet. It was so kind of you to find him the chance to feel a part of it, and learn more...I guess I’d prefer it if it was something other than about weapons…” She shrugged. Booker resisted dropping his gaze from her eyes to her breasts. Almost resisted.

“But Starfleet must have a strong defense,” Marala states with certainty.

Booker couldn’t help but smile. Marala always had strong opinions. That hasn’t changed.

The resort on Beta Antares IV was probably nothing special on a hundred or a thousand M-class worlds, but it had a “honeymoon suite” and that was good enough for the couple.

“Well, Mahmoud will collect him after the session is over and make sure he’s tucked into bed. I’m--I’m glad you think it was good for him, Marala.” Now he frowns. “I, um--I wasn’t always the best parent to my daughter, Marala, I, ah--I don’t want to fail him…”

Marala’s eyes flare and she launches herself to press his shoulders back against his side of the tub. She punches his chest. She was strong, but he was sturdy--and any discomfort was balanced by his autonomic response to her closeness…

“You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, Boojee.” She shakes her head. “You always doubted your own self. I won’t let you do that. Ever.”

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

“Hey--ah…” Graham takes her hands in his, not because the pain of the jabs was intolerable, but because he wanted to. They were warm, soft. “Kind...well, still, Marala, I’ve killed people…”

Her gaze was fierce. “Because it had to be done. Or they deserved it.”

Graham clears his throat. “Well, yeah, I mean--yes, when you put it like that.”

“I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t believe you would be a strong but gentle father to my son.”

Graham freezes, then his eyes widened. “Of course…” There was no other possible answer. No other acceptable commitment.

She puts a finger over his lips. “And I want you to be a strong but gentle husband to me, Boojee,” her voice intense, low. Her body closer to his, obviously, intentionally.

After a long moment, Graham nods slowly. Rising, he takes her in his arms and carries her to the bed.

After their wedding night, the they'll return to the ship. But that's a full night away.

The weather forecast is disappointing, but Kylah hopes they will be able to get at least an hour of time on the water before they must find shelter at one of the restaurants. She picks out her favorite shawl, an iridescent silk wrap gifted to her by a friend Kylah misses very much. She rubs its edges with sad fondness, admiring the dainty stitching and material as shining and slippery as mercury. Suddenly she realizes that while this lovely item will keep her shoulders warm, rain will not treat it kindly.

Back when Kylah was preparing to leave Elas several months ago, two of her family's maids packed numerous items of dubious utility for a Starfleet officer's life onboard a ship. Fanciful items--even more fanciful than the gown she wore for Lt. Graham's wedding--such as satin gloves, fur-lined cloaks, massive cases of makeup and vials of perfume, an Elasian ceremonial leather baldric tooled with the silver weeping tree emblem of her House... These and other items have been kept on the top shelf of her closet since she arrived. Now she drags a chair to climb up and search for something she hopes the maids included...

Luck is with her. Kylah happily discovers a rainshield, an umbrella-like accessory stored compactly in a silver housing the size of a thick stylus or piccolo.

The thought of the latter instrument draws her mind back to music, and then the Lyceum. Oh! I never responded to Lt. Thalen, did I? Once she steps down from the chair, she takes up her communicator to dash off a quick reply, thanking and telling her superior officer that she will gladly take part in a concert even as early as next week.

At last she grabs the same simple but elegant bag she used at the wedding, stuffs the communicator and rainshield inside, and hurries off to meet Velir.

"Of course," Therin says. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He returns to his work.

Graham and his bride pass a blissful honeymoon night together at the Beta Antares IV resort.

In a few moments Kylah has the texted response, Excellent - thank you. I'll see that you get the sheet music. THALEN.

Only a few more strides up the ramp and through the hatch, and Nia's inside the Tesla. It's familiar, like all the shuttles are, although only in the Tesla does she feel this indefinable, electrical atmospheric buzz of newness, of adventure, of promise, that she can't quite describe but has felt from every vessel she's had any hand in building.

As she walks forward, hands brushing against each seatback she passes--a superstitious ritual she hardly notices--Nia eyes the interior. Several unique additions to the standard layout can be seen here and there, along with tools and a crate or two, but most of the Tesla's customizations aren't visible except through access panels and the other entries to the inner workings of the shuttle.

She reaches the helm and takes the seat she belongs in, and--another superstition--pats the panel in front of her like a rider gently soothing her horse's velvety muzzle. "Been a long time," she murmurs, tsking at herself. Things have been pretty busy since she was last here. By "here" she doesn't mean just specifically in the pilot's seat, but in the Tesla itself. For a year she's spent much of her free time in this space. Not the past two months, though. Not since the Klingon battle. There's always been something else to do, to think about.

Nia lifts her shoulder--more of a tic-like jerk than a shrug--and taps at the controls to bring the system online. As she does, she can't help glancing at the seat beside her. Empty, like all the others, of course. Again she remembers Booker sitting there, after they'd finished that crazy stunt that disabled the Klingons.

He was in his EVA suit, like all of the team including Nia, and she'd taken one last look at his sober, shadowed, hard, grim, attractive face before they both helmeted up. He'd been endearingly concerned for her, she remembers. She was about to launch herself from the Tesla, flinging herself toward the Klingon shuttle's hull so she could get a good lock at the enemies' positions.

I must've smiled at him, Nia thinks, furrowing her brow. I would have. Wouldn't I? To reassure him. She'd be safe, she'd be fine.

And she was. Reconnaissance complete, Nia returned here, made a couple of utterly dumbass decisions, gave the signal for the Yorktown to beam them all into the Klingon vessel, all without a scratch on her, not even out of breath.

It was Booker who wasn't fine. Thanks to those dumbass decisions, and also her own incompetence even before then. He confronted that head Klingon, the one she was supposed to have blasted earlier back on the Naradraen but had missed like a pathetic cadet who'd never handled a phaser. And because of her shitty aim then, and her screwing up the timing now when ordering the beam-out, that Klingon bastard was free to shoot Booker. Disruptor fire at almost point-blank range, in Book's thigh. Nearly lost it. Nearly lost him.

Blinking, Nia forces her gaze back to the control panel and jabs away, ordering the Tesla to start a simulation of going to warp. She sets it to run multiple times to see if the program can identify any hiccup in the route to the nacelles.

Nia looks through the viewport ahead, which of course shows nothing but the other side of the Maintenance Bay.

I nearly lost him, she thinks, shaking her head at her indescribably stupid mistake all those weeks ago. She was careless. Didn't think the plan through. Didn't think of anything beyond surviving the emergency and solving the immediate problem. Not the consequences, they hadn't even occurred to her. And so she let Booker go and nearly lost him.

"Now I've done the same thing again," she whispers. "The same. Fucking. Thing. And I have lost him."

The heaviness in Nia's chest hurts and that unfamiliar prickle against the back of her eyes again reminds her of the tears she's evolved away from.

Serves me right.

Her hand presses against her forehead. Not again. This can't be normal. This can't be natural. Or maybe it's too natural. The medical issue she's been suspecting all week. She can't waste time feeling like this. She has to get checked out. If nothing else maybe whoever's in Sickbay can prescribe her some antidepressant hypo. Maybe something to help her sleep, too.

She whirls off the pilot seat and strides back to the hatch and down the ramp. Passing Therin, she lifts her thumb and points it back at the Tesla. "Just remembered I've got an appointment, but I've set up the sims. You should run 'em in slo-mo, see if we can track the path of every command as they run through each system, maybe that'll show us exactly where the starboard side's not synching up. If that's even what the issue is. Sorry to run like this, but..."

She doesn't stop and finish, too busy trying to hide her emerging scales and rushing to the exit like she's being chased by living manifestations of her own sorrow and fear. These ravenous tigers have stalked her for a week, and she's not sure she'll reach Sickbay before they tear her to shreds.

Mäkeläinen considers. There could be an environmental factor. In any case, there are many things that could cause headaches but not show up on a simple scan, from simple stress to ultrasonic vibrations to remote psychic interference or stray radiation, to the weird.

He asks Leventhal, "How about the other crew on your afternoon watch? Has anyone mentioned headaches, or any other symptoms?"

Onn misses Therin's reply as she rushes out.

Leventhal thinks. "I haven't asked anyone, but no, no one's brought it up."

Kylah arrives at Transporter Room 1 hoping to find Velir either inside waiting for her.

After winding her way through the ship, Nia reaches Sickbay and after a slight hesitation, enters. If asked she'll explain that she just needs a checkup and probably a new birth control prescription.

Dr. Mäkeläinen asks, "Is there anything else you can tell me about the pain? For example, do you mostly feel it after certain activities, or food or drink, or is it random? Is it on both sides of the head, or just part? Would you describe it as a kind of pressure, or does it pulsate or stab? Any nausea or sensitivity along with it?

"Your checkup shows you are in perfect health, otherwise. I'll take your word for it as to whether you need a rest, or, if you feel up to it there is no reason not to certify you fit for active duty, on the condition you come in next week for a follow-up, or even sooner if you feel it getting worse. For now, I want you to take a couple of these—" Bizhi produces a container with a handful of small white pills from the sickbay supplies in it— "every day around lunchtime, and cut back on the coffee if you can. And try to get enough sleep. In all likelihood, that should take care of it, but I want you see you in a few days, regardless."

The pills—no reason to start in with the hyposprays right away, he feels—are a compound of a mild synthetic analgesic and Triox that should clear up any normal tension-type headaches or migraines. If that does not work, or if Ens. Leventhal reports the chronic headaches are disabling, the next step will be a full live trace of the nervous system. Simple enough.

In any case, the pad automatically records all the new data, and, after Leventhal leaves, Bizhi fills in his observations and recommendations. He summarizes the case for Dr. Villa, concluding that they should keep an eye out for anyone else from Leventhal's department or watch coming in, just in case.

Rangin, who already had permission to take shore leave, is standing just outside Transporter Room 1 when Kylah arrives.

Leventhal explains that the headaches seem to be random, that they're usually concentrated just behind his forehead as a steadily-growing pressure, and that they haven't been accompanied by any nausea or sensitivity, except to bright light. He thanks Bizhi, eagerly accepts the pills, promises to follow the good doctor's directions, and leaves Sickbay. Dr. Villa does not immediately acknowledge her young colleague's report.

A harried-looking nurse tells Onn, "Dr. Mäkeläinen is with another patient right now, Lieutenant, but should be available shortly, if you don't mind waiting. Ah, here he is now...!"

Distracted, Nia only belatedly registers Leventhal as he leaves Sickbay. Too late to say anything to her Helm colleague--and honestly she's not feeling sociable right now anyway--she thanks the nurse and looks over to a man she's never seen before. "Dr. Mäkeläinen? Do you have time available? I'm having some weird issues..." She hesitates and glances down to see that her scales have somewhat receded to their normal level of visibility. "...Um, even weirder than usual, to humans, I guess. I could use a checkup."

Dressed in something a little more relaxed than a uniform, Rangin waits patiently by the Transporter Room. Hoping for reasonable weather, the jacket and top are fairly non-descript, the slightly muted colours not standing out too much as are the trousers and the more comfortable sneakers he is wearing. It certainly beats wearing mining boots and clothes that can stand several days in the wilderness tracking down some unknown creature.

He sees Kylah approaching and nods to her, seeing that she is also dressed in something a little different.

“Hi there. Well, I’m looking forward to seeing what you have in mind on the planet. I’m at your disposal.”

Kylah is pleased by Velir’s unfamiliar outfit--seeing him outside his standard Science blue uniform makes everything seem so new, a fresh start. She instinctively holds out a hand as if to grasp his, but then drops her arm quickly. Best to wait before initiating any obvious contact. And perhaps he should be the one to do so, if he is inclined.

“The weather might change soon,” she says, eyeing his jacket with approval. “You are better dressed for it than I.”

She precedes him into the transporter room and, if everything goes normally, gives the chief their destination and coordinates.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is a little surprised to see someone he recognizes, which, so far, does not amount to that many people on the ship.

"Hello," he says, "Lieutenant... Onn? I saw you yesterday, at the court martial. You'll forgive me if I don't shake hands? I just handled another patient. Let's talk in the examination room. After you."

"Thanks," Nia says, and gives the doctor another closer look while passing by. She doesn't remember seeing him at the hearing, and regrets that he watched her testimony. Not her greatest moment. Of course she's even less 'herself' now.

Inside the room, she hops up to take her seat on the exam table, clasping the edges to hide her nerves. "Did you just come aboard when we arrived? The last batch of new crewmembers we took on was a couple months ago, and I'm sure we'd've met since then." Uncertain whether he's an all-business type, she decides to cut the chit-chat.

"So, I'm due for a check-up anyway, but the main reason I'm here is... I just feel off-kilter. My mood's been going up and down like a cadet on her first parabolic flight. And that's not like me. At all. I'm one of the most stable officers you'll find without pointy ears and greenish skin."

She smiles wanly. "But before you send me to Noel, I don't think it's psych-related. I admit I've caught a couple of rough breaks but normally I shake stuff off. Now I'm close to hysterics at every turn. Five minutes ago I was running tests on a shuttle and just thinking of one bad incident made me freak out. I'd've burst into tears if I had any."

Kylah and Rangin beam down to Beta Antares IV and find themselves in the stone-paved entry plaza of Armstrong Park. A nearby historic plaque commemorates the early American astronaut and park namesake (1930-2012). Several dozen people, including families with small children, are around, enjoying the beautiful day. There is a wide green lawn with picnickers and people reading, relaxing or playing games, and a lake just beyond, but the area is otherwise densely forested. Not far away is a cluster of low, rustic-looking buildings including Nataliya's, the restaurant Kylah read about.

“Nice place Kylah,” Rangin comments as he looks around the area. “Very nice indeed and I believe you mentioned something about sailing and I can see the pontoons over there.”

He leads her down to the waterfront of the lake looking at the calm sailing weather, as the arm he offers appears to be gratefully received. It has been a while since he was last on a small motor boat like the ones here, but he is sure he can remember what he is supposed to do.

As they reach the dock, he lets Kylah move forward to complete whatever booking she made earlier and wait to see which of the boats they will be using. He listens in behind as he waits for the instructions that are always given in places like this along with the standard health, safety and no messing about that comes with the responsibility of being careful around all the tourists, themselves included who are here.

In Sickbay, Bizhi speaks with Lt. Onn while he washes his hands, gets a datapad, and other preliminaries. He tells her, "Yes, I just began my posting. Well, it has been a few days now, but, you are right, I was not here last week. It's good to meet you, circumstances notwithstanding."

He saw her once before, but now he has another look. She seems a little tense (not that anyone ever looks relaxed as a patient in an examination room, he knows). Noticeably not human; not extremely different, but he has not encountered the exact like before. Sidonian, a glance at the datapad informs him. Too bad this is not a social situation: Bizhi would love to pick her brain about Sidonian mythology, cuisine, and other topics beyond the purely medical. He will probably have a chance at some point; in the meantime, he can query the library computer at his leisure later.

Lt. Onn was all business at the hearing the other day. His gut tells him he can speak to her plainly. "You are the first Sidonian I have met," he explains, "but, whatever is off, we will figure it out. I trust your instincts on this, and you did the right thing coming down here instead of trying to ride it out."

He could scan her, but has nothing to compare the readings to beyond what was documented during her previous check-ups, and she is pretty far removed from a baseline Sidonian lifestyle.

"For a start, according to this, you cannot survive breathing the so-called standard atmosphere." That must be fun to deal with everywhere she goes. Bizhi gives her a sympathetic look. "You're not the only one in Starfleet, you know; it's always been an issue... anyway, they listed bilitrium gas under medications. It also says that you are on birth control. Is there anything else, that's not on the chart? Or any issues with either of those? Also, you have been on the ship for a long while, now. Have you felt anything like these mood swings before?"

To be systematic, Bizhi goes ahead with the tricorder scan, which only takes a few moments and will at least pick up any gross changes like foreign substances in the body or cellular damage, or significant swings in various metabolic rates (which he cross-checks with annotations in the medical database listing the presumably normal ranges, where available).

Nia closes her eyes while being scanned--there's no reason to, it just seems natural and it's a good way to stay calm. As is Dr. Mäkeläinen's voice, not to mention his demeanor. Good bedside manner. Must deal with scared patients a lot. It's gotta be easier to treat someone who's not in the throes of some histrionic meltdown.

She suddenly wonders if this is how Kylah feels all the time. It'd explain a lot. Cripes, she might owe the girl an apology for all the mental snark she's directed at the little drama magnet. Booker's probably been right to mollycoddle someone that fragile.

"I'm not on any other meds," she says abruptly, almost angrily. Thinking of Booker is the last thing she needs. She continues in a lighter tone. "The irony is that I've been feeling great, physically. I just spent a week sucking down the Bilitrium compound almost exclusively. Y'know, we had to save oxygen because of all the Novy Rostov refugees, and since I don't need it, I volunteered to use my mask instead. And this, when on duty," she adds, pulling out the tiny inhaler she keeps on a necklace tucked beneath her uniform.

Nia sighs, remembering the one pleasant aspect of the past week. "It was pretty amazing, gotta admit. For a dozen years I've been spending only eight hours every two days on the stuff. I've adjusted fine, but I've forgotten what it's like to just... breathe. Without having to adjust or compensate or anything. Just letting my body what it was born to do.

"But that's a luxury I can't repeat. Bilitrium's too rare to waste--and too dangerous anyway. Not many ships even wanna deal with having it on board, which makes it harder to renew supplies. Throughout my career, my postings have been based around which captains and science officers are willing to take me on. Luckily I'm worth the risk." Nia grins despite herself. "Anyway, now that I'm back to the regular schedule, it has been a bit of a wrench. If the mood issues had just started the other day, I'd connect it to having to relearn how to tolerate the ship's atmosphere. But they go back longer."

After a moment, she starts again. "As far as whether I've felt like this before... yeah, sort of. I've gone through five completed pregnancies, believe me I'm familiar with mood swings." Her eyes fly open when she realizes what that sounds like. "Oh--no, that is--I'm not pregnant--no way, no how. Haven't been active in two months, until just the other day. What I meant was, I think it's hormonal. I'm guessing my birth control shots are the culprit."

Nia tilts her head, matching her crooked smile. "Do you want me to give you a quick background, or would you rather enjoy reading about my convoluted reproductive history from Starfleet?"

Onn's bioreadings are roughly comparable with those recorded during her previous shipboard checkups, or at least appear to be within normal parameters. To the extent he now understands her physiology, Bizhi sees nothing amiss.

After being shown the boat in question, Rangin carefully helps Kylah on board, starts it up and then points it towards the centre of the lake, and gently opens up the throttle to start the boat skimming away from the shore. A smile slowly creeps across his face as his previous thoughts of playing safe give way to the exhilaration of the speeding boat across the waters with Kylah in the front watching out over the waves. It has been a long time since he did this in such a situation.

* * * *

Kylah almost laughs aloud at the speed, and the sight of the boat slicing through the water. She looks on either side to watch their wake, enrapt, but after a moment cannot help smiling apologetically back at Velir. “Forgive me," she says, loud enough to be heard over the engine. "I am not ignoring you. I just…" Her hand waves vaguely at the lake surrounding them. "I love this so!”

Kylah glances around before continuing. “My family has ships and yachts back home, but they are so large and distant from the water--they might as well have been on land. I never cared much for it. But once, at the Academy, I was invited to a sailing party, and it was entirely different. Feeling the wind and spray… I felt so alive. Even though it started out--”

Her face clouds up slightly, then she dismisses the memory with a rueful smile. “Anyway I have been hoping to have another chance ever since, and here it is. With you. What about you, what have your experiences been like?”

* * * *

Rangin eases off the outboard motor, even though the lake is fairly flat with a little bit of wind causing the boat to come to a drift in the middle of the lake and leaving the sound of small waves splashing at the side of the boat.

“It’s been a while since I was last on a boat like this, certainly with such a beautiful view. Present company included. Although it was at night, beautiful and moonlit, where the area was bathed in a lunar glow and everything was in silver except the long shadows of grey that crept across the land.” He sighs wistfully as unbidden some of his more cherished memories resurfaced, even as he tries to put them to one side as he looks back at Kylah, shading his eyes slightly from the sun. “But that was a long time ago, when students did stupid things.”


Rangin by me, Kylah by choie

Mäkeläinen listens attentively to Onn's account. "It did cross my mind that Bilitrium is not exactly on the regulation list of essential medicines. You won't hear me pretending that the system was not designed by, and for the needs of, humans. Must be a blast trying to buy it on the open market some places."

"Now, birth control shots can mess with your hormones. In fact, that is precisely what they are designed to do. A known side effect is, mood swings. Not so common compared to the kind of birth control they used to dispense in earlier times, but unless your prescription was written by a doctor experienced in fine-tuning contraceptive recipes for female Sidonians, the probability goes way up.

"Here is the thing: the body can adapt even to conditions outside its normal operating parameters. Such side effects usually stabilise after using them for a while—why I asked. The relevant history—who prescribed your shots, and when—I want to hear it from you. Even if it were perfectly equilibrated, though, any kind of stress can affect the balance: changes in your bilitrium intake. That last mission." Bizhi shakes his head thinking about it. He, too, signed up for this. "Or for no apparent reason. The phase of the moon." He refrains from launching into a scientific explanation; the important thing is that she understand there is nothing she did, or failed to do.

"The good news is, you are not ill, or imagining things. And nothing's out of whack with your bioreadings." Presumably Onn will be able to fill in some of her medical history. Mäkeläinen does not know more about Sidonian physiology than any other Starfleet doctor, but maybe what she says can help him decide whether to leave it alone, or adjust her prescription to something judged less likely to cause extreme mood swings. He can hypo-inject her with a short-term mood stabiliser (Lexorin ought to do it) that will mask whatever has been causing her to freak out until her body has had a chance to readjust itself: "This hypo will make you feel better. It won't affect your work or your thinking; in fact, you will probably find it easier to focus. I also have a herbal tea I want to get to you. Medicine is not all tricorders, biobeds, and force fields like some people imagine." That plant collection of his is not purely ornamental, nor for pure research purposes.

Nia exhales after the doctor reveals the scan results. Not surprising, since like she said she's feeling in top shape physically--but still a relief. She listens to Mäkeläinen as carefully as she can, and nods in appreciation of his use of older medical treatments. "Yeah, a mood hypo is exactly what I'd love. Thanks. And bring on the herbal tea if it'll help. I don't care how foul it tastes, either. I'm used to some pretty vile natural concoctions from the nurses back home."

A thought strikes her. "Although... I guess I should mention, I've had some problems with meds in the past that involved oral aqueous solutions. Not that I have an issue with ora--" Nia abruptly checks herself. This isn't Ajay or even Double-T. Geeze, wait till the new guy's here a week before showing him your filthy side.

"Um, not that I mind a spoonful of whatever. It's just that... Sidonia's basically one huge desert with toxicity lurking in every mud patch. We're all super-efficient when it comes to extracting water from anything. The unnecessary stuff gets filtered into our kidneys and, uh, eliminated the usual way. Pretty much skips the bloodstream. With things like coffee, or alcoholic drinks, I don't get any of the effects most of you humans do."

Wait, is Dr. Mäkeläinen even a human? Nia frowns slightly. Hard to tell. Nothing obvious to distinguish him from one of the hundreds of humans onboard, but the same is true of Rangin. In fact, when Nia really concentrates, she can hide her scales well enough to 'pass' herself.

With a mental shrug, she claps her hands on her knees. "Right, so, me and birth control. I'll give you the Official Nia Onn Reproductive System Primer. I'm... well, just like Sidonians are built to breathe a different atmosphere, we're also built to be... fertile. We have to be, our pregnancies rarely make it to term. And lucky me, I'm hyperfertile. A guy practically just has to sneeze near me and boom, preggers."

Nia's smile is again weak. That hyperfertility is why she was so highly sought after for breeding contracts. She wouldn't have minded being a lot less valuable.

But she doesn't want to bring that up now. Depressing. And irrelevant.

Velir’s description of this episode from his past is vivid enough to paint a picture Kylah would like to enter, so much that she glances at the sky and wishes it could turn a purple dusk. But she returns to the here and now to meet his gaze with curiosity. He so rarely speaks of his background. “I am sure you judge yourself too harshly.” She keeps her voice soft, hoping to prevent his getting jarred back to the present. “Was this on Coridan?”

* * * *

“No," Rangin says. "This was on Earth, a while ago. A late night tryst between two people who really should have known better. But we got away with it, a secret something between the pair of us.”

He looks out over the waters away from Kylah, as he blushes slightly as he recalls what happened, “And probably not something I should have mentioned. Ancient history as they say.”

He regrets not having the chance to change the topic. Sure enough, Kylah seems to leap on his words. “It is not that ancient,” she says in a rush. “Not if it was at the Academy. Can you… if you do not mind, will you tell me? This was someone special to you?”

Finding himself speaking to break the short silence as Kylah appears to be waiting for him to say something, “Special, yes, you could say that. She was someone very close to me and we had the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Very tempestuous times.”

He thinks back to those times and can picture himself, back in the boat with her, no-one else knowing they were there together, the bottle of wine, the blankets, the moonlight. A night he is not going to forget, she is a woman he is never going to forget.

* * * *

A rush of sensual emotions radiate from Velir to Kylah, without her even reaching out. Her face burns with embarrassment and--she cannot help herself--disappointment. Of course he is older and has led a varied, full life before they met. Kylah might consider their time together just as he described, exquisite highs and desolate lows… but she has no other experiences of a true relationship. Despite all the intrigue and responsibilities on Kylah’s shoulders, and even the awful things she has gone through over the past few months, she still feels like a sheltered child.

And she is desperate not to act as one now. Leaning against the port side of the boat, she stares at the water and lets her right hand trail a path in the calm lake, which is colder than she expected as it runs through her fingers.

She keeps her voice equally cool and undisturbed. “Is she in Starfleet too? Are you still friends?”

The question she most wants an answer to is left unspoken: Does he still love her?

She dares not ask, because his intense feelings certainly seem fresh, not left in the past.



Kylah by me, Rangin by Rangin.

Continued from #510

Nia continues brusquely. "Birth control wasn't an issue at home. It was illegal, end of story. Once I left for the Federation and Starfleet, researchers figured out I was compatible with basically anything with the right genitalia. Doctors had to start experimenting. The problem is, regular birth control--that is, medical or chemical contraception--bumps up against Sidonian evolution. Kinda like the water thing.

"When they put me on one of the most common meds, it had no effect at all. Then a different drug; same result. On and on. Sometimes I'd have a huge allergic reaction, fever, hives, the whole mess. Apparently my body considers the contraception an enemy, like it's attacking my ovulation. So it reacts the same way it would to a virus or infection. Fights it off."

And wins each time. Nia sighs at the unpleasant memory of multiple terminated 'accidents' during her first few years in Starfleet.

"Eventually the scientists and docs landed on two double-dose shots a month, a sort of contraception cocktail, and that seems to work. But even that's only temporary. The meds have to be rotated to trick my system from recognizing any attempt to screw with my whole purpose for existing." Nia lifts her hands in a palms-up shrug. "Well, my biological purpose. I actually exist to fly starships."

She leans back, palms now behind her on the table. "Anyway. That's the deal. The last time Dr. Villa switched my meds was, um, I think three months ago? Four? Normally I keep closer track but like I said... I haven't had sex for over two months, so... If you're looking for changes, that's probably the biggest one. It's been the longest drought I've had since I was a cadet a dozen years ago. Not to brag or anything," she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

"Maybe my system didn't know what the hell was going on. I sure didn't. I was even with someone that whole time, but we never... it just never happened."

Is that why Book gave up? 'Cause we never had sex? Or did we never have sex 'cause we knew in our hearts it wouldn't last? Chicken or egg?

Except Nia didn't expect things not to last. She really didn't.

"So could that be the issue?" Nia has to force the words past her relentlessly insecure mental whining. "Here I am, on this mega-powerful birth control regimen, but I haven't needed it at all. Could it just be time to change up the cocktail?" She gives a soft chuckle. "It's definitely time for me to get active again. My body's not used to doing... nothing."

She casts a surreptitious glance at Dr. Mäkeläinen. She doesn't intend for this to be a come-on--that'd be pretty damn inappropriate--but sizing up a man as a potential mate is, like breathing and getting pregnant, only natural for a Sidonian woman. But truth is, aside from the comfort she got from Ajay, and the ache she still feels for Booker, Nia's just not interested in sex right now. She frowns at the realization. That might be the strangest thing of all, even more than the mood swings.

Falling silent at last, Nia stares down at her feet, annoyed and confused. Seht'Dar's Holy Balls, just what the fuck did this break-up do to me?

Graham punches the heavy bag, hard.

He ducks, weaves–conscious of getting older, feeling slower.

Not acceptable as a husband. You need to come home from every mission, for Marala.

Not acceptable as a father. Well: as a father to a child who you haven’t let down yet. Who still sees you as better than you are.

The next one-two is harder still, the sweat is flowing freely.

Marala.

There’s a flush of arousal, remembering their wedding night: something he would have imagined as the ultimate pinnacle of life in this world when they were teenagers.

Could it have happened at a lesser price?

Would it have ever happened at a lesser price, because of…

Nia.

The arousal doesn’t go away. If anything…

He blushes and hits the bag rapid fire.

Not acceptable as a husband, Booker.

They should meet Lizzy. Even via subspace, until in-person is possible.

I need to…if I think I can do right by Nikolai, I have to fix where I went wrong with her.

He realizes his knuckles are starting to ache, and stands back, breathing heavily.

Duty rosters. Patrol plans. Personnel evaluations.

Fucking up his job as ACOS is no longer an option, not for his family. The clarity of what needed to be done to make lieutenant commander a long time ago draws him away from all the–all the really hard stuff.

Just like hitting, you know the drill, Booker.

He decides to shower and make himself presentable, because it occurs to him to stop by the Arboretum and see if it’s possible to get a real live flower or little potted bud for Marala on his way back to their quarters.

Clean and presentable once more, Graham finds the Arboretum empty of people except for Lt. JG Melissa Tsu. The Chinese navigator, in civvies and with a smudge of dirt on her nose, is puttering around her own small garden plot. After they chat briefly and he mentions his errand, she smiles, bends down and offers him a perfect Boslic white lily: "They grow really fast and I have, like, another dozen coming up now. Please take it. Your new bride deserves it!"

"It's not literally Terran tea. It is a mixture of leaves and roots of a certain jungle plant. Not vile, pleasant-smelling in fact, but some people find it a little pungent and bitter. Alkaloids. You don't necessarily have to drink it, either. I can prepare a lyophilized extract into a dry powder that can be taken with food, if you prefer."

Bizhi listens to Nia's account of her earlier hormonal treatment by Starfleet doctors, carefully not revealing any emotion. "It sounds like you had a hard time of it. If it is any consolation, they were doing the best they could with conventional treatments. Something more experimental, like a polymorphic drug tailored to evade immune response, might be more effective, but without any data to go on it would have run a higher risk of provoking an allergic reaction or other severe side effects, and they were right not to make you into even more of a guinea pig. It may be time to re-evaluate that risk, but I will need to consult with Dr. Villa, who has been treating you. It will take a little time to design and run the simulations, too. But it could be a much better solution, going forward, easier on your body than high doses of a rainbow of contraceptives."

Hearing her tell her story, with its element of powerlessness in the face of medical problems, an ineluctable theme, sends Bizhi a pang. Of course he will do his best to help her. But he understands those other doctors and researchers, their excitement at being faced with something new. A seductive attitude: the operation was a great success; too bad the patient died. Sometimes he would love to rebuild people. Who knows they would not be better for it? He flexes his cybernetic forearm.

"Sexual activity— or the lack of it— should not be an issue... more than it is for anyone." He has just learned a little about Sidonian fertility, but he realizes he does not know anything about the sexual culture on the planet. Not that it necessarily has anything to do with the Starfleet officer sitting in front of him today. "I am not saying it does not affect your mood, or your hormones. But it's just one more factor. Not causal. What I mean is, no, you are not here in Sickbay right now because you have not had sex for a couple of months and that destabilized your limbic system." He decides to tell her a little story (it may divert her, at the very least). "You mentioned Vulcans as stony paragons of stability. But do you know why they have that reputation? Discipline. Meditation. If biology is anything to go by, as a rule you would expect Vulcans to be frighteningly passionate. Even regularly drop dead of adrenaline overdose. But there is not a direct cause-and-effect relationship there. Deltans... anyway, no; I cannot speak to everything else, but your body is not forcing you into any decisions."

"I think we have nearly covered everything, unless there is something else. The Lexorin hypo—" Bizhi finds the right kind of injector and adjusts the settings, applying it to Nia's arm, "—there. You should feel better almost immediately. And you will probably be all right regardless, but I will talk to Dr. Villa about a custom polymorphic contraceptive; at the very least it will ease some of the constant unnatural stress on your metabolism. The herbal supplement, I will get you as soon as I have a free moment."

Kylah’s question pulls Rangin into the present and the reality of that time from his student days. And yet, despite the rage, the heartbreak and the bitter, bitter ending between them, Rangin would still not have given up nights like those that happened.

“I don’t know where she is, or what she is doing,” he says honestly. The thoughts of her still haunt him, unable to let her go, a small piece of her will be forever with him. He looks back at Kylah and for a moment can see the lady from long ago on the other side of the boat, hair floating in the same breeze that ruffles the thin dress Kylah’s wearing and making it obvious how little she is wearing underneath it. And yet, this time, it doesn’t hurt, the memory of that night a sweet one, covering up what happened afterwards.

“And before you ask, I’ve no desire to go looking,” he adds on, as a smile crosses his lips and the sight fades before his eyes and all he can see is Kylah. “Besides, it would be unfair to reminisce on something in the past, when the present is here to be enjoyed.”

* * * *

Nodding slowly, Kylah tries to blot out the brief intensity she unwittingly sensed from him. She straightens and meets his gaze with an open one of her own. “You are right, Velir. While there is no moonlight now...” She pauses, letting the moment fill with the soft sounds of the water against the hull, a high, distant buzzing of insects, and wind rustling through the trees back on shore. “The sun is shining high and warm. There is supposed to be rain later, yet I see no sign of it--not even clouds. We need not worry about the past or future.”

Again she hesitates, watching Velir opposite her, his right arm resting on the tiller attached to the aft engine. She wants to be closer, to feel that arm around her, but cannot think of a way to ask. An impulse nudges a thought into life. “Would you… would you teach me to steer?”

* * * *

Rangin, now firmly back in the here and now, considers the question for a moment before nodding. “Of course, come across here,” he gestures to the seat next to him.

He waits until she is seated next to him before he begins to explain the principle, how which way you turn it changes the direction of the boat.

“Let’s take it slow to begin with, we have time enough for you to figure it out.” He guides her hand to the tiller and then let’s her hold on to it. “Ok, I’ll feed the power in and you hold on and guide us around the lake.”

Rangin slowly turns the power up to start the boat moving forward.

When asked, Nia does request the powdered version of the herbal remedy. Might as well give whatever medical benefits it can provide the best chance possible. She appreciates Dr. Mäkeläinen's tactful and sympathetic responses, as well as his remark about the importance of control versus biology. His brief reference to Deltans makes her jaw tighten.

"Yeah, one of my closest friends is Deltan. Don't get me started on how she's being controlled by that utterly fu--screwed-up new Starfleet reg. Hopefully she's on shore leave now taking advantage of the free time." And turning some poor lunkhead civilian into a pile of used-up flesh. Nia exhales and watches Mäkeläinen get the hypospray. "That's the thing about control. Too much or too little risks disaster. You never know how someone's gonna react to a leash--whether it's put on or taken off."

Hyposprays don't hurt much, but Nia never manages to get one without a slight automatic wince anyway. She offers the doctor a grim smile. "If you take a tiptoe through my history with Villa, you'll see just what I got up to once all those experiments were done and I could finally exercise control over my own body. It's been quite a ride." She rubs her shoulder--again, pure habit--and grins. "Luckily it's not just contraceptives that get brutalized by my Sidonian defense system. STDs don't stand a chance."

She slides off the table and nods at the hypospray. "I actually do feel a little better, thanks. Might just be a placebo thing but hey, if so, don't tell me. That's one delusion I don't mind holding on to. And yes, please, let me know about that polymorphic contraceptive option. If Villa agrees it's viable, I'm game for a trial."

Nia hesitates before leaving and lifts her hand. "Clean enough to shake now, Doctor?"

Kylah and Rangin have a pleasant cruise and, in time, return to the Yorktown.

Graham presents the Boslic white lily to his new bride, who is quite touched.

Dr. Mäkeläinen finishes his consultation with Lt. Onn and she leaves Sickbay.

If you'd like to write more about any of these scenes (and you're certainly welcome to), please do so as a flashback.

Captain's Log, Stardate 6056.7. Upon review of the pre-sentence investigation report and after hearing oral arguments from both the prosecution and the defense, the court-martial board over which I preside has imposed a life sentence against Paul Hutchinson. She had very little to say and took the news surprisingly well, I thought, under the circumstances. She has also waived any appeal. Starfleet Command has ordered that the defendant be transferred to the Fleet prison on Jaros II as soon as possible.

Captain's Log, supplemental. We've been ordered to again look in and show the flag on Cavinre VII, where widespread street protests against the authoritarian government have once more made the Federation ambassador uneasy about the safety of the embassy and staff. I've decided to go directly there, and to send a shuttlecraft with Hutchinson to Jaros II, to rendezvous with us afterwards.

Capt. Singh asks Onn to report to her oak-paneled office on Deck 2, brings the Sidonian officer up to date and assigns her to command the shuttle mission: "Choose your crew, Mr. Onn, and be prepared to leave within the hour. Lt. Bennett has projected that it'll take you about nine hours to get to the Starfleet stockade on Jaros II, and then another eleven to get to Cavinre VII from there. The second leg will take you near Romulan space - can't be helped - but not all that close. Questions?"

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Jaros_II

[This is apparently a flashback. It should clearly fit in after all the other Sickbay scenes.]

Dr. Mäkeläinen's eyes flash when Nia mentions her Deltan friend. He has some choice words he could say about repressed Terran pencil-pushers, but this is not the time or place to start ranting in front of a patient, or anyone he does not know quite well indeed. Furthermore, it is not like they need him to point out discrimination inherent in the system. It does not affect him: after all, he is human. Well, it is not absolutely certain he would have been cleared during the Eugenics Wars, but that is hardly relevant.

He may be a lowly Ensign in the Medical Corps, but for his comrades on this ship he can be more than a cog in the machine. He was able to do something for today's patients, insignificant though it may seem in the grand scheme of things. (He will never lose sight of the grand scheme!)

He meets Nia's look and firmly shakes her hand. "Of course, Ma'am."

Putting things together later, it occurs to him that both Leventhal and Onn work at the helm, and both came into Sickbay around the same time. Both with normal (and unrelated) ailments, and still just a coincidence. A cluster of disease can decimate a closed environment like a ship, so it is one of the things they always look out for.

After the paper(less) work is done, he discusses Lt. Onn's report with Dr. Villa, and shows her the outline of a computer program to go through the huge combinatorial space of possibilities for an optimal polymorphic contraceptive that would regulate fertility while continually masking itself from the Sidonian immune system instead of overwhelming it with high doses.

He does not have more than a handful of live plants on board, of course. Most of the biological material (as opposed to computer data) he did bring is in the form of small samples in Petri dishes, the bulk of which are kept in one of the medical labs. The plant he promised Lt. Onn is one of these. After a little preparation work and adjustment, the machines in the biochemistry lab are able to synthesize a couple of weeks' supply of plant extract, which is rendered into an iridescent white powder that can be mixed into any food or drink. Dr. Mäkeläinen sends Lt. Onn a message that she can come pick it up, or he can send someone to deliver it, along with instructions (one pinch, twice a day).

In the Captain's office, Nia tries not to grin, or even smile, since it doesn't seem appropriate given the fact that this mission involves carting a multiple-murderer to jail. Nevertheless, her eyes are probably beaming her pleasure at the assignment.

Commanding a mission so soon? After the shitstorm of trouble she got herself into over bringing Nikolai onboard? Not to mention trying to hide Marala in the chapel?

Admittedly it's just an escort mission, no real skill involved aside for the usual helm expertise. But who cares? It's a responsibility she's being trusted with, and that makes it an honor. And one helluva relief. From the way Vargas has alternately ignored and growled at her over the past week, she wouldn't've been surprised if, once Hutchinson's hearing was over, Singh had summarily begun the court-martial proceedings Nia had been threatened with right before being confined to her quarters.

So it's not surprising Nia's spirits have risen even without having yet picked up the miracle meds from Dr. Mäkeläinen--which is where she was headed before getting Singh's order.

"Understood, Captain," she says, mentally running through the preparatory tasks necessary. Her immediate thought is, of course, the vessel she'll be flying. It's just how her mind works. Personnel should be pretty straightforward, anyway.

"Pending clearance with Cmdr. Cheverez, I'd like to see if the Tesla is up for the trip. There were some issues with it yesterday but I believe they've been dealt with. And frankly, if we're anywhere near Romulan space--low probability of any interaction notwithstanding--I'd sure appreciate the extra speed and heftier firepower. With your permission, ma'am?"

Dr. Villa is impressed by Dr. Mäkeläinen's proposal and immediately approves it. "Thank you, Doctor, and well done," she says. "If you need any plant matter beamed up from the planet before we break orbit, please see to it. I understand we'll be leaving in a few hours, but keep that under your hat."

Capt. Singh nods. "Yes, I understand the Tesla is now fully repaired, including a resolution of that warp nacelle issue. Very well, Mr. Onn. Proceed as you propose, and good luck."

With a quick, professional 'thank you,' a buoyant Nia manages to leave Singh's office without actually skipping along the way. Team, team, team, she mulls over even while pulling out her communicator. She's on her way to Sickbay to grab Dr. M's herbal tea thing--not that her mood needs a boost at the moment, but who knows--still, she can double and triple task.

She enters the turbolift, gives the command to get to the correct deck, then flips open her communicator. The first and most obvious personnel will be the redshirts. Her brow furrows, the first hint of unease since listening to Singh. Normally her first choice would be both obvious and automatic. But now...

No. Not for this trip. She runs through options and settles on a pair of alternates, then taps out a message. In every other circumstance she wouldn't be going directly to Vargas, but rather his ACoS. Again--no.

VARGAS, CMDR - Sir: I am building the team for transferring the prisoner to Jaros II, and need security personnel. I understand the unrest on Cavinre VII is more serious than a mere escort task, and would not wish to deprive you of your ACoS. Permission to request Ensigns Mahmoud and Rawlings? -- ONN, LT

After sending, she exits the turbolift and turns to a much more pleasant crew interaction, electing to use a voice hail instead. "Onn to Cheverez," she says cheerfully.

Nia's now striding down the corridor heading to Sickbay. Huh, I wonder if Dr. M. would like this for his first mission? Might be dull but maybe he'd prefer not diving into the deep water just yet. The thought makes her smile, as any mention of swimming does. And damn if she doesn't catch herself giving a little skip while waiting for Cheverez's response.

Onn soon has a reply to her text: Thank you, Mr. Onn, but Hutchinson is an important prisoner and, all things considered, I think it best that Mr. Graham accompany you. You may have either Mahmoud or Rawlings, as well; your choice. Both are fine officers. VARGAS.

Moments later she hears the Chief Engineer's cheery voice: "Cheverez here. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

Lt. Onn's plants are not from the Antares system, so there is no question of beaming them up in bulk from the surface here. Since she is receiving an extract anyway, not a bag full of vegetable matter, the biochemistry lab is able to recreate the profile of dozens of active compounds following Dr. Mäkeläinen's quantitative analysis. It is not dangerous— as mentioned, it is traditionally consumed as a kind of herbal tea— though if someone did theoretically force down a massive overdose of the concentrated powder, it could cause headaches, vomiting, and a feeling of great lassitude until the body worked it out of its system.

The polymorphic contraceptive design needs to know whatever data the library computer has, and Dr. Villa can provide, on the Sidonian immune system and reproductive system. If one can get authoritative data from an authentic Sidonian medical database, that would be ideal and speed up the computation. Lt. Onn said that contraceptive drugs would be illegal, or at least controversial, but maybe the basic, neutral, information itself is freely available. If not, no showstopper, but either way it will take several days at least to get results.

Nia sees the response from Vargas and her stomach tightens as if in preparation for a blow. Swallowing, she sends a quick acknowledgement to the First Officer, then starts a new message.

GRAHAM, LT JG BOOKER - While the ship makes its way to Cavinre VII, I'm taking a shuttle to transport Hutchinson to Jaros II. We'll need two Security officers onboard, and Vargas agrees that you should be one of them. You can pick your own #2 but I suggest Rawlings. Whoever you choose, both of you should meet me at the shuttlebay within approx. 50 minutes.* Thanks. -- NIA

The inconsistent formality of her greetings grates, but she just can't refer to herself as "Lt. Onn" with him. She's not as conflicted by the white lie implying she wants him there. The message is sent off just as Cheverez's answer reaches her ear.

Mood lifting again, she quickly fills him in on the mission (if he hasn't already been briefed), then turns to the Tesla:

"Think it's too soon to try her out? The Jaros II journey'll take nine hours, then eleven to rendezvous with the Yorktown.** This'd the biggest jaunt the Tesla's been on since we began the upgrades. Relatively low-stakes situation, time not a huge issue... seems almost ideal setup to see how she comports herself long-distance.

"What do you think, chief? Any objections or tech issues that make this a bad idea?" She reaches the Sickbay entrance and pauses there, not wanting to chat inside. "By the way, what did the issue with the starboard nacelle turn out to be?"***



* What's the exact deadline should she be using?

** Math time: unlike me, Nia would've been able to calculate the actual distance of both legs using the trip lengths. Assuming usual shuttle speed (though the Tesla would presumably go faster than a usual shuttle), what would that be?

*** Bet you weren't expecting so much homework! Sorry, boss; she'd definitely ask.

Graham's surprised by Nia's message.

I'd put money on her being glad--maybe rightfully so--to leave me covered with dust in the rear-view mirror rather than choosing to share a cramped shuttle for hours...but I've been wrong about a lot of things before.

He sighs, and pauses a moment--some time to catch up with Mahmoud would be a great use of a milk run like this.

Except he's approximately infinitely more likely to--with the best intentions--blurt our "How's married life treating you, buddy?"

Instead he passes the message and muster order along to Rawlings.

Duty complete, he interrupts Marala's reading. "Marala--hey, I've got a mission." He puts a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be gone, ah, give or take a day I'd guess." He gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Nothing hazardous--escorting our prisoner to the nearest stockade. The hardest part will be being away from you and Nikolai."

The Biochemistry Lab techs get to work on Dr. Mäkeläinen's request.

The Chief Engineer says, "No, the Tesla's yours if you want her, and she's good to go. The starboard reactant injector assembly was very slightly misaligned, it turns out, either upon installation or, more likely, due to later impact or shock effect. It wasn't a manufacturing problem at all. But it's fixed now, good as new, and passed a Level 1 diagnostic with flying colors. I'd take her out myself, if I could." He pauses. "You know, that's not a bad idea. Need an engineer along for your mission...?"

Ens. Terrance Thayer "Two Tons" Rawlings acknowledges Graham's order. He adds that he'll collect the prisoner from the Brig and bring him to the Shuttlebay, unless Graham wishes to do so.

Marala says to her husband with a rueful smile, "Just as well that I didn't expect an especially lengthy honeymoon, I guess." She pulls Graham close for a hug and kisses him - a long, lingering kiss. "Be careful, Boojee. I've got a whole lot more of married life to enjoy with you."


Onn's deadline to Graham is fine.

Like the other shuttles, the Tesla can travel at Warp 2 for standard cruising, and Warp 4 in an emergency. Your guess is as good as mine as to actual distance covered this mission. Under the TOS formula, Warp 2 is 2 x 2 = 4 times the speed of light, which travels 186,000 miles per second. Suffice to say, you can go a long way in 9 hours, and then in another 11.

Nia silently pumps her fist in triumph at the good news. "You're certainly welcome aboard, Chief, I can hardly say no to you. We've got a spare seat. I just need a pair of Science and Medical officers and we'll be good to go. I'd better update the crew as far as where to report--I doubt any of them have been to the Maintenance bay before. Care to have the honor of starting the pre-flight check, sir?"

After he answers, if there's nothing else she'll thank him and tap in a brief note to Graham that they should meet at Deck 20, not Deck 19. Unless there's a procedure for getting a shuttle from the maintenance bay to the shuttlebay, one deck below?

Then she'll enter Sickbay and ask to see Dr. Mäkeläinen.

On the Bridge, Kylah is performing her regular duties, listening to her earpiece and checking her comm panel for any incoming hails or messages, either from the planet below or through subspace. She is a little tired and somewhat unsettled after the time spent with Velir last night, but overall the day was lovely and it was good to be in the fresh air again.

Realizing it has been awhile since she took her eyes off the panel, she glances up to see who else is on the Bridge.

Cheverez chuckles. "No, I was just kidding. I've got too much going on here to tear myself away, although it is tempting. Just try to bring the Tesla back in one piece if you can, Lieutenant. I'll order her up to the Shuttlebay and have her prepped. Did you want photon torpedoes loaded? She can carry two."

On the Bridge, Cmdr. Pablo Vargas is in the big chair, with Lt. Guillaume Vaudreuil at the Helm and Lt. Cecilia Bennett at Nav. Lt. Cmdr. Sonak is at Science I, Ens. Sathev at Engineering and Ens. Euterpe Terezis is practically dozing at Tactical. The other Bridge stations are unmanned at the moment.

"Too bad, you'd've been good company," Nia says, although she does another, smaller fist-pump. It's petty, but she likes the idea of being the highest ranking officer on the Tesla's maiden flight as a plucky little badass.

"Yes, both torpedoes by all means, sir. The Captain said the route takes us somewhat near Romulan territory, though she's not concerned. But... forewarned is forearmed. So let's be as forearmed as possible."

She belatedly realizes that the length of the mission will likely make it necessary for a chance of clothes and other hygiene/comfort-related belongings. And she forgot to mention that to Booker, who wouldn't have told Rawlings or whoever he's chosen. I'll need to get my own things too, she remembers, distractedly fiddling with the collar of her uniform.

"Chief, who's on duty down there now, is it Meyer? Can you ask him to start the pre-flight, please? Gotta take care of a couple of things before I can head down and take over. Thanks. And thanks for the go-ahead on the Tesla. I'll tread carefully--while still testing as many of the upgrades as I can, given the nature of this journey. Promise I'll make note of anything that so much as goes 'pong' instead of 'ping.'"

Now she'll dash off the amended message to Booker, letting him and...whoever... know of the length of the mission and the need for overnight things.

When done, she enters Sickbay and asks whoever's on duty there for Dr. Mäkeläinen.

While waiting for the doctor, Nia mulls over the Science officer option. Plenty of choice here, but with Hutchinson onboard, Nia can't help but remember how keen Rangin was when it came to researching the guy--gal--whatever--back on the Kaku when the so-called museum guard's real identity was discovered. Plus Rangin's as good as, or better than, a lot of engies with sensors. Could be useful. Also she just appreciates his calming effect. At least he's calm when not in the vicinity of--

Oh shit. Wait. Booker. She groans inwardly. She's already forced the two of them together back when it came to inspecting the Ain't She a Beaut last week. It didn't go pear-shaped that time, but they're oil and water, and 20+ hours in a shuttle...

Screw it. If she's being forced to take Book, she's gonna pick whoever the hell she wants for the rest of the team.

RANGIN - I'm taking a shuttle to transport Hutchinson to Jaros II, and need a team. As usual we'll want a Science officer onboard, and I think you'd be an asset. Kind of a dull trip but you can continue your research on Hutchinson's unique xenobiology. Or mine for that matter. The ride there and back will be 20+ hours, so pack a bag as needed. Let me know if for any reason I need an alternate. Otherwise meet me at the Shuttlebay, within 50 minutes. Thanks. -- NIA

Pressing SEND, she lowers the communicator and looks up, hoping to see Dr. M.

The Chief Engineer says to Onn, "Yes, Lt. Meyer is just the man I had in mind. I'll pass along what we've discussed, including two photon torpedoes - consider it done. Cheverez out."

A nurse smiles in welcome and tells her that Dr. Mäkeläinen is busy at the moment, but she'll tell him Onn is asking for him.

Dr. Mäkeläinen finally emerges from the compartment where he was working and sees Onn, gives her an assessing look. She seems fine, all business like the first time he saw her, impatient even.

"I assume you got my message! The Biochemistry Lab started on your recipe; there should be a little bit already prepared. Then I thought what you were to do with it." He rummages around and gets a small, high-tech looking metallic cylinder with a tight-fitting lid, which he hands over. "The contents are protected from temperature and humidity. Also, there is a switchable magnetic field, so you can attach it to surfaces." It is a rugged multi-purpose container from his own personal effects, of the type he himself often uses in the field to store loose material without making a mess.

Eyeing the container with interest and turning it over in her hand, Nia nods. "Neat little device, thanks, Doctor. Stupid question, is this for the herbal thing or the contraceptive?" Then she tilts her head to look up at him. "I'm actually in a hurry--I'm heading a team to transport the prisoner to the stockade on Jaros II. I'll need a medical officer, and I see no reason why it shouldn't be your maiden mission. We'd need to leave in under an hour--well, forty-five minutes now, really--and it'll be a 20-hour trip there and back. Care to join us, or should I ask T'Var or--"

Nia was about to say Bucci, but she's never seen him on an off-ship mission and can't see him as a good match. His joviality can sometimes grate on her. "--Or Bennett?"

... Whose acerbity would probably be even worse than Bucci's good humor. Still, at least Bennett was also instrumental in figuring out Hutchinson's disguise, so it's not a terrible choice. But she'd certainly prefer New Guy here.

"Ah." Mäkeläinen has a quick look around— no need to involve all of Sickbay in the discussion— and explains, a little self-consciously, "I consulted with Dr. Villa on your new contraceptive, and we have started development. But, since there are so many potential points of interaction with the immune system, much of the design is aided by computer. It will take... probably a few days, bare minimum, to run through the possibilities, and then we need to verify the results. This will be a new one for the medical books, but at the end of the day it will look like just another hypospray, I'm afraid.

"What I meant was the, er, herbal thing. The Biochemistry techs are running it through their equipment, but the final product, purified and dried, just looks like a white powder. Mixed into solid food that way, your body should absorb it, since you pointed out liquids might present a problem, and the strong herbal taste will be minimized, just be aware of it. But, where to keep a quantity of it? Then I remembered these sample containers. They are designed with rough handling in mind, so no problem if it gets accidentally knocked off a table."

Hearing about the mission is unexpected, and makes him think quickly for a moment. He might be hard pressed to articulate exactly why if pressed, but after sitting passively through the interminable hearing, and many strange and distant thoughts these past few days, being an active participant in bringing some closure to the case makes a kind of deep sense. Also, an excellent opportunity to bring his efforts to bear on something with which he can help. So he says, "I'm no shirker. Just have to clear it with Villa or T'Var, and have them sign off. Hutchinson seemed stable enough—" and was presumably getting a clean bill of physical and mental health from Starfleet doctors right up until the moment she originally snapped— "and I presume we will have standard security, whatever that is for this sort of thing."

Mäkeläinen's thorough explanations make Nia smile. Meticulous guy. "Yes, we'll have two redshirts on hand, including our ACoS. If you saw me during the hearing, you probably saw him testifying right after. Booker--Lt. JG Graham. There'll also be a Science officer TBD--just waiting on a confirmation. That'll be it. Technically there's room for another officer, but I don't see the need for a full complement just to fill seats, not for a simple escort mission. When we arrive we hardly even need to get out, except to stretch our legs."

She nods toward the door leading to the CMO's office. "If you get permission, grab your things and meet me at the shuttlebay--Deck 19. If not, please tell Villa that I'd like her to assign someone else. With Hutchinson's 'unique' physical status I definitely want a medical officer on hand. Now I'd better go pack myself."

About to head out, Nia swivels back to Dr. Mäkeläinen and holds up the little container. "Whoops, guess there's no point taking this until it's got something in it. Here." She gently tosses the box for the doctor to catch. "By the way, what's the herb called?"

Rangin sees the message come in to his communicator. A quick jaunt away from the ship is something he can handle and the chance to get some close up time with Hutchinson would certainly be of interest. The chances of that happening are a little slow as talking to prisoners isn’t necessarily approved of, not to mention Hutchinson actually agreeing to it in the first place.

He looks back across the desk at the work he is doing, the burned out communicator, and while yesterday had been really fun with Kylah, it had not ended on the greatest note and a day away thinking about it and with no chance of bumping into her is going to be a little more relaxed than if he is to find himself umming and ahhing in front of her again.

He goes back the message to respond when he notices Lt Onn signed it as Nia and it is certainly more informal that a straight up order or even officer request. He stops to consider if there is any underlying reason, but must of them involve Lt Graham and Rangin is happy to put that to one side for now.

ONN, LT - Happy to come along. Will check with Lt Cmdr. Roble and confirm availability. – RANGIN, LT. JG

Following that, he checks with Roble to see if there is nothing urgent to stop him going and if so, he heads off to his cabin to pack.

Each of your respective superior officers is aware of the imminent prisoner-transfer mission to Jaros II, and promptly approves your going along.

Mäkeläinen tells Nia, "Midnight orchid, they call it." If there is any of the first batch of extract ready, he will collect it and give it to her when they regroup; if not, she will have to do without for another day or two.

For this mission, he will not be taking extraneous items like Petri dishes, but will most definitely not forget his black medical bag full of equipment and drugs [The Star Trek Cadet's Orientation Sourcebook lists wound dressing and protoplasers, palm-size diagnostic unit, hypo injector, drug supply including light and heavy sedatives and stimulants, adrenaline, a neural paralyzer, Tri-Ox, and Sterilite; laser scalpels, and other field surgery equipment], as well as a state-of-the-art medical tricorder. Throw in some psychoactive anxiolytics and anti-psychotic medication that can be used to calm a delusional or psychotic patient. His cyberarm will also be configured for laser and mechanical surgery (including precise mechanical tasks, like if it becomes necessary to unscrew something or cut a wire).

Universal translator, for sure.

He believes in the Hippocratic Oath, also all too aware how it is sometimes difficult to interpret. He does not have a problem with the idea of a phaser per se, at least not on a non-lethal stun setting, which may have a legitimate use in a real emergency. It should be noted that most of his kit, cyberarm included, is, in fact, highly lethal if misused. Weapons do not faze him, though an offensive weapon would, for him personally, be ludicrous and, the way he perceives the big picture, impotent.

Graham packs standard kit for the length and nature of the mission. Prior to heading to the shuttle bay, he swings by Security and checks the latest reports, logs, and what's on the duty roster for the next twenty four hours.

Husband, father, ACOS, Booker.

After a moment's thought, he checks for any Starfleet alerts or reports of anomalies in the area of their mission.

Nia thanks the doctor again (whether or not he has given her the Midnight Orchid--a name that amuses her, it sounds like a sexy perfume) and hurries off to her quarters, which is when she spots the confirmation from Rangin. More good news. She glances around her typically chaotic cabin and moves to her bed, kneeling down to pull her case out from underneath.

It seems heavier than it should. Frowning, she opens the case and her heart gives a thud at the two items inside. A crystal-enclosed, perfectly preserved water lily. A snow globe depicting a wintry scene with two tiny children making a snowman outside a cabin.

"Thank you, Booker. I'd call such a gift completely unnecessary but, to be honest..." Nia looks down at the snowglobe fondly and her voice is very soft. "It feels necessary to me. Not that it was necessary for you to give me anything, I just... this globe means more to me than you realize, that's all. I'll treasure it."

After they kiss, he stays near, staring into her eyes. "The gift...it seemed like the right thing to do. Given what little I'd learned about you...but I'd ...it feels right to learn more, if you feel that's worth your time. I'd like that, Nia."

Nia swallows, her throat suddenly thick and sore. Of course: she'd put these precious items in here for safety before the Novy Rostov refugees spent the week here.

Shutting her eyes, she blanks her mind to the memories of the nights Booker gave her each of these thoughtful gifts--especially the snow globe. With no further hesitation she takes and leaves them on her bed, then returns to the job of packing for the brief trip.

Into the bathroom for hygiene essentials and her dresser for underwear. A quick check that the nebulizer around her neck has its usual emergency doses. (The timing of this mission couldn't be more perfect: she had her Bilitrium compound therapy just last night and won't need another for at least 30 hours.) Then she completes the case with the rest of the standard necessities.

Before she heads out the door to rush to the shuttlebay, she pauses to retrieve her communicator, where she taps out a quick message to Ajay telling him about the mission. As always, she sends him her love and a farewell, just in case anything should happen. Nothing ever has and likely never will, but Nia's not gonna ruin her lucky streak by failing to perform this little ritual.

And it feels especially important now... this awareness that someone knows and cares for her safety; that he'd miss her. That her absence would matter. Would hurt.

Standing in her now-open doorway, Nia lets her gaze stray back to the bed and the two gifts lying there. Then she snaps back into action mode and strides from the quarters, letting the door shut on everything behind her.

Rangin packs the bag quickly. It’s only going to be a day, so aside from the usuals, he wonders what else he can pack to pass the time. A few journals to pass the time and a copy of the work he was putting together on Hutchinson. Maybe if he gets a chance he might find out some more, perhaps have an opportunity to satisfy his personal curiousity. He adds the datapads to the pile while making a mental note to get a tricorder, just in case he gets the opportunity to use it.

He considers taking the work he is doing on the communicator, just to keep working on it, but decides to leave it behind. The best place to both consider and work on that particular conundrum is going to remain the science area, especially as he is likely to need some assistance from Ens. Delaney.

When he finishes packing, he begins to wonder who else will be coming. Obviously, with Hutchinson there, there will be someone from Security, but he doubts that Graham would be involved in such a prison run. Then again with Lt Onn leading the group, it could be anyone from the ship, she seems to know most of the crew well enough. Ah well, the surprise for the day, no doubt. Rangin just hopes it is a pleasant one.

On the Bridge, the turbolift doors whoosh open and Lt. Thalen steps out. He nods to the First Officer and then walks over to Kylah at the Communications console.

He says, "Hello, Mr. Kylah. I hope your watch is going well? Good. You're aware of the comm upgrades to the shuttlecraft Tesla, of course. The most significant have been the installation of the new S-512(L1) subspace transmitter and the S-881(D3) relay-beacon sensor module, as you know. We've been able to simulate their integrated operations successfully, but now that the Tesla is going on a deep space mission, Mr. Cheverez and I agree that this is a prime opportunity for field testing. And, since we'll need a talented Communications officer for the job, I've recommended you, given your experience and skill with the Aelyrr transmission."

He leans a little closer and adds more quietly, "Also, I wanted to give you the chance for at least a brief off-ship mission, after the... unfortunate situation regarding Lt. Graham's orders back at Novy Rostov." He stands straight again. "I'm pleased to tell you the Chief Engineer has approved the assignment. Pack for a day away and report to Lt. Onn, on the double, in the Shuttlebay. Any questions?"

There is much to digest in Lt. Thalen's words, and Kylah wishes she had time to process it all. But she can sense the importance--the significance--of the responsibility her superior officer is placing on her, and that is enough for her to simply nod without further imposing on him.

Still, she cannot help a concerned glance at Cmdr. Vargas in the Captain's chair, wondering what he thinks. He already cited her for dereliction of duty; this is a chance to make up for her shameful behavior last week.

"No, Lt. Thalen, I have no questions. Just..." She stands and lowers her voice to match his. "Thank you, sir. I will not let you down again. I wish to earn the support and trust you have continually placed in me."

She is relieved--in both senses of the word--and moves as briskly as her short legs can take her to the turbolift and then the longer trek to her quarters. Once inside, she rushes to pack.

Lt. Onn, is she leading this? Kylah shakes her head while throwing together enough items for a day-long mission. Silly question. Of course the Sidonian is in charge--Lt. Thalen would not have mentioned otherwise. And while he did not explicitly say this, they must be the group heading off with Ms. Hutchinson to her final destination.

With dark irony, Kylah considers whom she should fear most. A convicted murderer or Lt. Onn--someone who already has little regard for Kylah, much less after the confrontation over the stowaways in the older woman's cabin.

At least Ms. Hutchinson will be surrounded by guards.

With the thrill of nervousness making her edgy and excited, Kylah races with her messily packed case back to the corridors that will take her to the shuttlebay.

Nia grinds her teeth while staring at the crew currently assembled near the Tesla, and tries to look like she's not grinding her teeth.

Getting interrupted by a hail while in mid-conversation with Meyer regarding the pre-flight check was annoying enough. Normally Nia would've taken a quick look at her communicator and dismissed it till later. But it was from Cheverez, and might have been important, so she flipped it open and read the brief message.

At the time she exclaimed "Oh you have got to be kidding me" and without hesitation contacted the Chief Engineer to change his mind, or at least negotiate a better choice. Not Soerjosoemarno, Davis or Patel? What about Garcia--well, no, they'd had issues during the last mission. Okay, but what about the newish guy with the hot accent sorta like Ajay's... Miller. Any of them could do the job, couldn't they?

Well no. Apparently not. Apparently testing out the Tesla's sparkling new comms features requires the presence of a rank amateur trouble-making duty-shirking disobedient Ensign not even six months out of the Academy.

The Ensign who, Cheverez had reminded her, was the only person to pick up, locate, enhance, identify and help translate a long-range SOS message, leading to First Contact with the Aelyrr. Expertise in deep space communications was entirely relevant to this field test.

Nia wasn't gonna argue with the Chief--not only her superior, but a brilliant engineer who cares about the Tesla project as much as Nia does. In the end it's his decision and she has to trust it.

Still, the result is that she's commanding a team with two people forced on her. Hooray.

Now, standing with arms akimbo, she eyes Rangin and Booker warily. They're just barely likely to get along without fisticuffs as it is. Add Kylah to the mix? During a 20-hour journey confined to a small shuttle? That's just frickin' great. She has the impulse to change her mind about Rangin, but then realizes that's not fair to him.

The sound of the door far at the back of the shuttlebay is probably the princess herself. Nia takes a deep calming breath and, when Ensign Kylah does indeed prove to be the one scurrying forward, sends a polite nod at her. "Ensign," she says, and then adds--with as little snarky inflection as possible, but she can't help a little sneaking through--"Glad you made it. I appreciate your not making us wait."

Dr. Mäkeläinen seeks out the prisoner for a last-minute evaluation to make sure she is ready for transportation. As uncomfortable as this is for everyone, Hutchinson included, she still deserves to be treated with some basic dignity, so he introduces himself and asks how she is feeling, any complaints.

The good doctor finds Hutchinson in the Brig, about to leave there under the watchful eye of Ens. Terrance Thayer Rawlings, the biggest human Dr. Mäkeläinen has ever seen, although he has the impression that the Security officer is something of a gentle giant. "Two Tons" Rawlings is a black American with a shaved head and goatee; it looks like it took about an acre of red duryon fabric to make his Starfleet uniform shirt.

A medical tricorder scan reveals nothing out of the ordinary since the prisoner's last examination. She quietly says, "I'm all right, thanks," and seems disinclined to say much more. Rawlings puts a pair of duranium hand restraints on Hutchinson and leads her and the doctor to the Shuttlebay. Another redshirt brings along the prisoner's and Rawlings's small overnight bags, one over each shoulder.

Lt. Hans Meyer, the Yorktown's shuttle maintenance crew chief, pats the shuttle affectionately and tells Onn, "The Tesla is good to go, Lieutenant, including two photon torpedoes loaded in her tubes. All systems nominal. Hope you have a good trip!"

Slowing down the closer she gets to the group, Kylah tries to catch her breath and just nods at Lt. Onn's dry comment; she does her best to ignore the older woman’s dig, which Kylah must admit is deserved. She immediately spots Velir and is very pleased to see him. But she says nothing, just greets him with another bob of her head, although her gaze is warm.

Once Lt. Onn is addressed by the crew chief Kylah does not recognize, she steps a little closer. "I was only just ordered here," she says softly, hoping to excuse her tardiness--Velir, of course, knows that she did not show up to Lt. Graham's mission at all last week. "Was this a surprise to you, too? You did not mention it yesterday."

Nia thanks Meyer with a grin. "We'll have a great trip. Been looking forward to this for a while now. The Klingon battle was just an appetizer, though it was a damn good opportunity for testing out the maneuverability of our peppy gal here. We won't get that lucky again... here's hoping!"

She turns back to see if the rest of the complement has arrived--the remaining three being the prisoner, Double-T and Dr. Mäkeläinen--then tilts her head towards the hatch. "All right, everyone, I'm hopping in. Get your gear stowed and then stow yourselves. We'll be leaving in T minus..." She checks her chronometer. "T-minus ten, barring any difficulties Rawlings is having with Hutchinson. Which, given their respective sizes, seems highly unlikely." She lets her gaze meet Booker's. "Check on them, please, Lieutenant?"

Graham is just reaching for his communicator when Ens. Rawlings, the prisoner and Dr. Mäkeläinen arrive, followed by another Security officer who is carrying two overnight bags. Everyone's gear is soon stowed below and the Shuttlebay is cleared. The six Starfleet personnel - Onn, Graham, Rawlings, Rangin, Kylah and the doctor - all take their seats aboard the Tesla, as does Hutchinson. The shuttlecraft's hatch closes and Onn confirms that the seal is airtight.

The speaker on the control console crackles and Lt. Meyer's voice comes through loud and clear. "Shuttlecraft Tesla, this is Yorktown Shuttlebay Control. Standing by to begin departure procedure."

Graham gives Rawlings a friendly nod and then checks the cuffs on Hutchinson before taking his seat.

It ought to be a milk run, but the cast of characters seems to him like the most uncomfortable possible choice to be crammed into a shuttle for hours...

Examination over, Dr. Mäkeläinen gives Hutchinson and the security detail their space. This is not the time for small-talk.

He sizes up the gathered crowd, a veritable squad. There are both Lt. Rangin and Ens. Kylah again! He acknowledges them with a quick "How do you do?", but is too busy making sure his gear is stowed correctly and with final preparations for more than that. He tries to grab a seat where he can keep an eye on what is going on in the shuttlecraft, most importantly the prisoner, and settles in for the ride. In his head, he starts enumerating the structures of the musculoskeletal system, from the cranial bones on down.

"Confirming all systems remain nominal," Nia begins, checking the panel instruments with well-practiced expertise. And, assuming they still are... "Check. Shuttlecraft Tesla's okay to go when you are."

While waiting for the shuttlebay's depressurization process, she calls up the recommended course plotted by Bennett, quickly glancing through from start to finish just to familiarize herself--she likes to read a story's finale ahead of time so it's not a total surprise--then prepares to engage the Tesla's lower thrusters to release it from the deck. She can't keep the anticipatory smile from her face. It's all familiar choreography, but this time it's with a partner she's only enjoyed for the briefest of dances.

Rawlings gives Graham a friendly nod back. The Assistant Chief of Security confirms that the prisoner's handcuffs are secure.

Onn plots Bennett's recommended course to Jaros II and sees that it's the safest, most direct route available. She then runs through her preflight checklist and confirms that the shuttle is ready to go. Shuttlebay Control depressurizes the vast compartment and the clamshell doors silently slide open. Onn smoothly raises the Tesla from the deck and then steers it out through the gap between the doors. In an instant, the heavens open up around you. Beta Antares IV looms overhead, a massive orb of blue and green streaked with white clouds, beautifully set against the star-flecked ebon depths of space.

Onn and Graham, looking through the front viewports, can see the Starfleet scoutship Rodgers and the Yorktown's sister ship Viraat in orbit not too far away. As they watch, the Rodgers moves off under impulse power.


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calbraith_Perry_Rodgers
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INS_Viraat

Only yesterday Nia had a near panic attack at the thought of sitting beside Booker. Now she's almost serene. Dr. M.'s blessed calming hypospray still seems to be working.

She contacts the Yorktown to let them know everything's copacetic and that she's ready to take the shuttle to impulse. Then there's nothing to do but wait for clearance and get this show on the road.

"Well, here we are again," she murmurs as she navigates the Tesla with ease, her voice aimed at both Booker and Rangin. "Not exactly deja vu, though. Been quite a week since we three last chauffeured Hutchinson around. And the Kaku can't compare to the Tesla." After the slightest of hesitations, she arches an eyebrow and smiles. "Upgrades are all the rage, it seems."

Rawlings chuckles. "Aren't they just?"

The control-console speaker crackles again, and you can clearly hear Capt. Singh's voice. She says, "Acknowledged, Tesla, and thanks. You are cleared to depart. Godspeed and see you at Cavinre VII in a day or so."

Gear stowed, Rangin takes his assigned seat in the shuttle. It looks like a real mixed bag again although everyone is there to provide something useful even if the trip is short. Having seen the group, Rangin keeps up his internal mantra of deciding not to antagonise Graham or even be anything other than professional. He’s hoping Graham will still be in that honeymoon phase and a little more agreeable than usual, but Rangin is not holding out hopes of any miracles.

While he is glad to see Kylah here, he is still thinking over their shore leave and the ramifications of the questions left unanswered by their meeting. Of course, Lt Onn is in charge and he wonders if this group was forced on her, or if she chose them out of some sense of morbid or masochistic fascination. Or maybe punishment duty, after all that happened with Hutchinson, perhaps this is the equivalent of “go tidy up your own mess”.

As for Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen, well Rangin would just have to wait and see, but for now, as the shuttle begins to move, he rests back into the seat and enjoys the serene movement as it slips out of the shuttle bay and into the starry beyond.

Kylah notes that Velir is seated toward the front of the shuttle, and thus barely visible--he is not very far away, in such a small space, but Ms. Hutchinson is taller than Kylah and sitting directly in front of her. And Velir himself is hardly Ensign Rawlings in size.

It is probably for the best that they are not seated near one another. She doubts he would bring up their awkward conversation yesterday, not during a normal mission. But still, with a journey of several hours, and even longer on the way back to the Yorktown, there will be much empty time in which such things might crop up.

Back in the shuttlebay, when she asked him if this assignment was as big a surprise to him as it was to her, he did not respond. Of course they had boarded so quickly; likely he just did not hear her. He has no reason to be angry. Nor has she, not really. Velir's prodding questions after dinner last night were only meant to help, invasive though they may have seemed given his new empathic abilities.

He must not use them so indiscriminately. It is wrong. She frowns slightly. It is true that despite having a lifetime's experience with her own powers, she has not yet mastered such discipline. Velir will probably have a shorter learning curve. Still, given his standards of ethics, she finds it ironic that she has better maintained her vow to respect his privacy, even though she is the only one who knows the vow exists at all.

But that is the difference. Velir cannot protect himself when he is unaware she possesses such abilities. His powers, on the other hand, are no secret. The onus is on Kylah to do a better job to shield her feelings.

And that includes not obsessing about him. Shaking off her anxiety, she looks across at Dr. Mäkeläinen. He still has his quietly friendly demeanor, and she echoes it in kind.

"How nice to work alongside you so soon. Have you been on many shuttle missions before, Doctor? Bizhi," she corrects with an apologetic smile. "This is new to me. That is... I have returned to the ship via shuttle after a mission, but... I have never been on such a long journey in one. I am meant to be testing this new system here." She brushes her fingers delicately against the comms panel nearby, which does have some atypical features for a small vessel. "Have you a project, too, to work on?"

"Aye, Captain, and thank you, Tesla departing," Nia says crisply--proud that she managed to keep from crowing. It's the last time she'll answer to anyone for a day. This vessel is now truly hers.

She takes a last look at Beta Antares and it occurs to her how frickin' happy she is to see the backside of this planet. When they were first fleeing from Novy Rostov she couldn't get here soon enough. Well, like she said: It's been quite the week.

Let's engage us the fuck out of here, she thinks, before pulling the Tesla far from the Yorktown's wake at maximum impulse.

She knows the shuttle won't even hiccup at the sudden burst of speed. Last time they went so fast it was due to traveling in the ship's warp bubble. Now the Tesla's been given its own free rein, and Nia wants to laugh in sheer pleasure.

Part of her misses the feel of her father's open airships back home, the wind blasting its heat into her face and hair while she flew beneath the acid clouds of Sidonia. But watching the Yorktown, the other ships, the planet and its satellites all vanish in a blur through the rear-facing viewscreen is damn good too--and much less toxic.

The Tesla moves forward smoothly, and the planet and other ships begin perceptibly falling behind. It will only take a few minutes to get clear of the planet's gravity well and then be able to engage the shuttle's warp drive.

Nia takes the shuttle out smoothly, unsurprisingly.

Graham hears Kylah making small talk with the new doctor - he hasn't made his acquaintance yet, but he's "not Rangin," so there's an upgrade right there.

After a moment, he clears his throat. "Nice flying, as always, lieutenant."

"Thanks, but everything's easier with the right partner," Nia says, patting the top of her panel fondly, much as Meyer did with the hull. "Lots of surprises in store for us. Really looking forward to getting better acquainted, now that there're no enemies to deal with."

The thought of the Klingon battle brings her gaze quickly to Booker, then back to her viewscreen. She lowers her voice considerably, just for his ears. "Um. I'm not sure how much you were briefed on our return journey, but Singh tells me that after we dump our prisoner and head to Cavinre to rendezvous with the ship, the route's gonna take us somewhat near Romulan territory."

She gives a shrug and a reassuring look to the man beside her. "Should be fine. Singh wasn't worried. But... just thought you oughtta know. Luckily, as you recall, the Tesla handled getting hammered by Klingon disruptor fire at mere meters away. Taking whatever crap gets thrown at you and fighting like a champ--now that's the kinda partner you want when the chips are down." Nia gives a tilted smile. "Still, it's my job to make sure that the chips stay up."

Mäkeläinen speaks with Kylah quietly.

"An hour ago, I had no idea I was being tapped for this mission. I barely had time to grab my kit and a change of clothes. It does look as though we may be under way for some time. I still have to go through some lab reports and analysis for a couple of patients, and some related reading to do. Fortunately, it does not require my presence at Sickbay, so I should be able to get through it.

"Such missions are not entirely unanticipated, you just don't know when. When things happen, they tend to happen in a hurry, and it could be any time of day or night. When I was a resident, I mean on Mars, they had us pulling long shifts at the hospital. Twenty-four hours, or more. It was not constant pandaemonium like some places; at least we were that lucky. One night a distress call came in. One of a group of miners working in a distant habitat was badly injured and couldn't be moved, so someone had to get out there stat. One minute I was sipping coffee and looking at some charts, the next minute I'm in an environmental suit on a buggy trying to rush through some unfavourable terrain." Bizhi pauses for a minute, remembering. The injured man had already died when he arrived. He had done everything he could, and he had failed to save the life of the miner, and he did not know how to deal with it.

He tries to shift to somewhat more innocuous matters. "Anyway, as Medical Officer and attending physician on a long-range shuttle mission, no, can't say that I have done exactly this before. Though I have been on plenty of interplanetary shuttles in my home system, and some long trips around Procyon and Alpha Centauri. I don't mind the journey. It is just like our larger starships, only a microcosm."

Kylah leans in as Dr. Mäkeläinen speaks. His voice, from what she has heard thus far, seems naturally quiet, but now that he has softened it further, it almost compels her to listen more closely. Not because she cannot hear him; her hearing is excellent and his words are quite clear. But the young doctor has such a sober, purposeful air. Confident in a manner that is reassuring, not brash.

Except... right at the end of his description of his work on Mars, something in his emotions wavers. It is just strong enough to reach her, probably because she has been paying such close attention. She has not tried to sense anything other than understanding of some of the lingo (stat?) and his experiences. But his mood flickers with some disruption, like a candle flame briefly disturbed by a tiny air current. Something he has described, some memory, upsets him. Disappointment? Regret?

Kylah catches herself, not wanting to speculate on a near-stranger's private feelings. How can she expect Velir to understand how to ignore such emotional signals if she cannot do so after over twenty years? Instead she nods in sympathy, even if she does not know what it is for.

Then he is back to business and all is calm; the candle flame has again stilled.

"Yes," Kylah says, trying to avoid sounding dubious at his comparison of a tiny shuttle to a starship. To her, the difference is vast--she finds this vessel barely bigger than the boat from yesterday, and even more confined without the lake's open air and blue sky. There are not even any windows or viewscreens available, other than what might as well be mere slivers up front. "I suppose that is true. I will get used to it, I am sure."

She looks at him with curious interest. His demeanor is so appropriate for a doctor. Not unlike T'Var's presence, really. "Did you always wish to be a doctor? In Starfleet, particularly?"

The small woman is a good listener. Bizhi had the same impression when they briefly met before. He hardly knows her, yet here he is telling stories. He professionally appreciates the skill, one useful for doctors interviewing patients, too. Yet she at least seems genuinely interested, so he decides to answer candidly, at least the simplified, inspiring version. With a hidden glance around to see if uninvited ears are listening, he continues:

"Starfleet, no, that was a late decision. Looking back, I could not say exactly how I got started, but I did always want to care for people and do everything I could to save lives, trite though it may sound saying it out loud. The soma, and the psyche— is there any more direct path to tending them than that of physic?

"I could have stayed to work at a hospital or research institute on Mars, or Terra, or any of a number of worlds for that matter. But some questions would surely remain unanswered. What makes us what we are? Which is not all good; can we be better? Live better lives? Not just as individuals.

"I wanted to, had to, see the universe. More triteness. Yet I mean really explore, and possibly even more important than physically doing so is the mindset of the organization. There was never any question about Starfleet's resources and facilities, of course. Not that... well, how about you? It is certainly not a given that someone from Elas will end up working for Starfleet. That part of the world has closer ties to the Klingon Empire, from what I hear."

Onn takes the shuttle to Warp 2 as soon as she is able, and the first hour of the mission passes uneventfully. Hutchinson seems to be dozing in her seat, but Rawlings keeps an eye on her.

Nia's pleased by the utter smooth transition from impulse to Warp 2, and wouldn't mind a burst at the Tesla's maximum of Warp 4. But she's content for now to be responsible and wait until their official objective--getting rid of a murderer--is over with before performing any testing fun.

Booker remains silent after her comments about their upcoming proximity to Romulan territory. He either knew about it or isn't concerned. Good to know he trusts her reassurance, she thinks. Unless he's so distracted by memories of connubial bliss to worry about little things like grazing enemy space. (Well, the distance will be far too vast to be called grazing, but still.)

Nia coughs a little and turns slightly toward the junior officer behind her. "Sorry you don't get a seat partner, Rangin--harder to have conversation. Me, I like chatter, so I hope you'll oblige. So... study any intriguing lifeforms lately?"

In the back, Kylah is about to question Dr. Mäkeläinen's opinions that saving lives and exploring the universe are trite goals. Then he turns the conversation into what he probably thinks is a simple, polite inquiry about her background.

Over the past three and a half years, she dealt with a barrage of remarks and curiosity--both genuine and suspicious--about what a non-Federation Elasian girl was doing at Starfleet Academy. Still, though she has practiced tempering her reactions to mention of the Klingons, she cannot prevent the flush flooding her face. It has been long enough for her to get complacent.

"Of course, you are right. It is well known that the Klingons have long claimed dominion over our system. Still, Elas always remained sovereign, to the extent possible for a world so dwarfed in power by a vast empire.

"My path here... it began when the Federation expressed its own interest in our neighboring planet. Many of our leading Houses deemed it prudent to learn more about the entity disputing the Klingons' claim.

"My--a member of our Council of Nobles was the first successfully to make overtures, and as a diplomatic and exploratory gesture, proposed sending someone to the very heart of the Federation to better understand its values and culture. Starfleet protested. They believed even minimal contact with Elas, much less allowing one of our leaders or an envoy to visit, would be unnecessarily antagonizing to the Empire."

She does not say that the only reason Starfleet thought it 'unnecessary' was because at the time, the Federation believed Elas had no useful resources to plunder. Troyius, on the other hand, was a risk worth taking.

"But this man--" Kylah hesitates, then gives up the obfuscation. "My Guardian, Aldaan--argued that the Council's proposal was educational, not tactical. He was not suggesting sending a warrior, official diplomat or negotiator. Just a lone, inexperienced young student to the Academy. Elas would even trust the Federation with one of its royal family, albeit a very, very minor one. His own relative. At last they agreed." She gives a tiny shrug. "And so I went."

A wave of shame rolls over her, and she sits back in her chair. Somehow it seems preferable to maintain a respectful distance from this man, whose reasons for joining Starfleet are such noble ones.

For a moment she glances toward what few stars she can see up front. "I am sorry to go on at such length. But the history explains why I am here. Not because of my own ideals. I suppose all this... it is not very laudable. These are not the goals of a Starfleet officer."

Rangin’s ears perk up at the sound of his name being called from the front of the ship and is surprised to hear Lt Onn in a reasonably good mood. Then again, she is flying her own shuttle and putting it through its paces, so it stands to reason. Sitting up a little straighter in the chair, he turns to at least look in her direction when speaking.

“That’s fine Ma’am, I think I get a little more space here, so I’m not going to complain. As for interesting lifeforms,” Rangin’s eyes can’t help but flicker across at Hutchinson before looking back to the shuttle’s captain, “I’ve seen quite a few over the last couple of months.”

However, while it would be interesting to discuss Hutchinson, it is best left to a bar over alcohol or a science seminar than the middle of the shuttle in front of the person in question. Of course, Rangin is technically not bound by the various hippocratic oaths, but it’s bad form regardless, even if Lt Onn is trying to steer him in that direction.

“But most of them have already been documented, except maybe the zombie virus. Well, technically speaking it was more a host organism that destroyed certain brain functions while taking over the body and reinforcing instinctive survival patterns in the infected. At least, that is what I hazard a guess at what the cause was and I can say with certainty that I would rather not face that one again. ”

Was it the mention of Klingons? Bizhi wonders as Kylah seems to deflate. Hard as it would be for anyone, not necessarily excepting himself, to have a dispassionate discussion of Klingon culture, he should have known he was treading an unknown minefield. He probably implied that the people of Elas were just like Klingons, or, even worse, under their thumb. He can tell he insulted her. Too late, now. Shows what he knows about diplomacy and politics, for all he likes to pretend to himself he listens to people. Blind to what does not correlate to his fancies, like everyone else.

Not knowing whether Kylah is still listening, he discludes in an undertone, "I don't know much about politics, myself. Being a pawn of unseen forces, I know well. The question is, what you do about it." Often, not much you can do, no matter how much your soul may cry for it, as he was reminded that night on Mars so many years ago.

A long, boring flight providing an ideal occasion, he forces himself to concentrate on some of that reading. Comparative endocrinology. What are the differences between an Elasian and a Klingon, anyway? A Vulcan and a Human? A Sidonian? Surely some of this will help with Lt. Onn's new prescription. He can at least get that right, in his element.

Nia smiles, not that Rangin can see it. But she understands his tactful nature--even if she'd rather hear him verbally dissect Hutchinson like a flayed frog. With no imminent direction changes or helm maneuvers required for a little while, she wouldn't have minded the entertainment value.

Still, his descriptions make her nod. "That zombie virus," she repeats, still finding it barely comprehensible that this bonkers phrase describes the biggest enemy of one of the crew's missions. She glances at Booker. "Before your time. You've probably read about it, the craziness at the research station? I wasn't there, Pourtash drew the short straw to pilot the Meitner. I even resented it at the time, funnily enough. Little did I know."

A thought occurs to her and she clucks her tongue. Huh! I wonder. She addresses Rangin again. "If I remember your AMRs right, those zombie things attacked with claws and teeth, yes? 'Cause I only just realized... I mean, the whole reason I have scales is to fight and survive against beasties like that. Ha, now I'm kinda curious if I could've taken 'em on and won. I bet--"

Oh. Shit. What the hell is wrong with me?

She swivels abruptly around to face the man in the seat directly behind her. "Damn it. Rangin, I'm sorry. That was unbelievably insensitive," she says quietly. "I shouldn't be speculating like it was some--some fantasy sports match-up. Everything that happened to you... and Fujishiro..." Nia's eyes close briefly as she shakes her head, then her serious gaze refocuses on him. "I'm very sorry."

Kylah is somewhat calmed by Dr. Mäkeläinen's meaningful comment. And she can infer, without breaching his emotional privacy, that there have been pressures on him as well. Perhaps not involving entire civilizations and empires--but scale does not matter. She is not the only one with grave, onerous burdens on her shoulders.

"Thank you. You are right, of course. Our actions will speak for us." She offers a fleeting but grateful smile and, needing no powers to intuit the need for some quiet, nods to let him concentrate on his work or whatever else he chooses.

She sinks back further in her chair. Above the omnipresent background noise of the shuttle's engines and other technology, she hears the hum of indistinct conversation up front. Diagonally ahead of her, there is only silence from Ens. Rawlings.

It is a shame he has only a killer for company. He will likely be concentrating on guarding Ms. Hutchinson rather assiduously; he was, after all, sternly reprimanded by Cmdr. Vargas for inadvertently letting a very different murderer escape. As a result of his having ignored Kylah's own commands.

Even though it led to Fellim Palver's subsequent attack on her, Velir and Lt. Graham, she no longer blames the security officer. Not much, anyway. But as she has been fervently trying to avoid memories of OCIII, she is determined to erase everything and start over. So perhaps I will speak to him later on, and see if we can yet be amicable.

The lack of conversation threatens to draw her mind back to Elas and her uncle. Instead she turns to her right. She will distract herself with the purpose for which she is aboard this shuttle, and strives to get acquainted with the newer layout of the comms panel's controls, tiny scanning screen, and other instruments.

When she is familiar enough, the obvious first task will be to attempt long-range communication. The Yorktown is certainly far away now for an initial test, though precisely how distant, she does not know. But she will calculate the approximate albeit ever-increasing distance between them via the attempt to ping them, and the time it takes to receive confirmation from the ship.

...If there is confirmation. She is fairly confident, however. The new transmitter and receiver Lt. Thalen mentioned are said to be quite powerful indeed. How exciting to be the first to try these features. And to be trusted enough to do so.

With these gratifying and industrious thoughts, Kylah begins to work.

Kylah's work proceeds well, and she thinks she's getting a handle on the shuttle's new comm equipment. It seems a definite improvement over the previous system.

Graham nods - probably completely imperceptibly, he realizes after the fact - at Nia's comment about brushing Romulan space.

He remains distracted, small talk among the team buzzing around him.

Nia's in her element, and her signature tilted smile...it elicits a moment of sadness, and...love.

Yeah, well, nothing to be done about that, Booker.

He clocks in long enough to mumble something like "Yes, bad scene" when Nia mentions the research station mission...and then looks for some instrumentation to check, just to
focus on something.

Been a long time since I've flown a shuttle...should remind myself on how, I guess...tell yourself that's useful, anyway...

Rangin nods back at Lt Onn, “Apology accepted ma’am, it was not a good mission,” he replies politely, as he thinks back to desperate race to escape and the last shuttle ride away from the station, “Not good at all.”

He looks back at her and thinks he should perhaps alleviate the mood instead of leaving it on such a drab note. “However, in my scientific opinion, I’m fairly certain that one-on-one with Starfleet training and your species’ natural abilities that you would be capable of dealing with one of them.” He nods to her in appreciation of the Sidonian’s physiology and a soft smile plays across his lips as he minds runs through the possibilities of such a fight.

“Then again, given that it was a pack of them that chased us, that fight would be a noble and short-lived conversion from alive to something raw and tasty for them to devour.” His voice remains as cheery as it did previously but he cannot help but add the slight edge to it as his eyes gaze into the far distance and he remembers a little more of that tense and fraught passage of time.

Perhaps he went too far again. Lt Onn had not been there, seen what had happened, and lived through a waking nightmare. “My apologies for the graphic response ma’am, but it was a little brutal and yes, I do miss Fujishiro.” He shrugs in his seat, resigned to the fate that befell them all on that mission, “not much else to say really.”

"Very true," Nia agrees in quiet understanding. She's glad Rangin's not holding a grudge--he's always been kinda hot and cold with her. Maybe his wariness has diminished now that she's no longer associated with Booker. That had never been a fair judgment, but men are men, whether human or Coridanite or Sidonian. Some just assume women will fall under their partner's spell.

About to turn back to the helm, she pauses. "Except I'd be interested if anyone was properly brought to justice for all that." Her glance sweeps to Hutchinson, then to Double-T and Booker--who's focused more on the controls--before returning to Rangin. "I mean, those... creatures... they were regular people before they were infected, right? Someone had experimented on them? So they were victims too. Whoever did that to them... well, I sure hope they're paying for it. Know anything about that?"

Kylah is pleased to discover the new features of this comms panel. In particular, she spies a Manual Data Entry button just above what appears to be a small, closed compartment--perhaps it opens similarly to the weapon access panel behind Dr. Mäkeläinen's seat.

Normally text communication on shuttles has been limited to six buttons, each programmed with pre-determined emergency messages. She remembers training back at the Academy, where cadets often asked why Class-F shuttles were not equipped with fully functional keypads. "Space issues" and "lack of necessity" had been the instructors' unsatisfactory responses. "If more intricate messages are in order, voice conversations are both sufficient and optimal."

Kylah could see why the comms controls up near the helm had no available room to spare, but back here? Of course, she and the other cadets--and probably hundreds of cadets and Communications officers before them--had quickly peppered the annoyed instructors with several improvised situations where more detailed text communications might be preferable.

Well, perhaps the engineers who had worked on the Tesla agreed. Since her intention is to send an experimental message to the Yorktown, she gives the button a try.


Without details about the panel, I'm totally improvising. Hope it makes sense!

Yes, it does, thanks, choie!

Rawlings says, "I wasn't along on that mission, but if I remember right, the Miskatonic University scientists who probably let the experiment get away from them all died in the aftermath. I could be wrong, though."

The routine hail to the Yorktown, activated when Kylah pressed the button, is immediately responded to: Message received, thank you, shuttlecraft Tesla. Hope all is well with you. THALEN.

Nia glances back to give Double-T an impressed smile, then looks forward again. "Is he right, Rangin? I thought there were bigwigs at the station who got themselves safely out. Naturally. That's how power works." She realizes belatedly she's tiptoeing close to an awkward line for Booker--after all, didn't Marala and Nikolai have more power than most of the Novy Rostov citizens, courtesy of who they knew?

Uncomfortable, she coughs and clears her throat. "Um, anyway, I'd be interested to know if there's been any follow-up. What happened to the research or the drugs or whatever it was that caused the mutation? Did that station just get permanently abandoned or did some Sakathian forces swing by to take care of things? Stuff like that."

Nia takes in the man beside her, who still seems deep in thought. What's going on, Booker? Is everything okay? "You haven't heard any scuttlebutt, have you? I know you weren't there but maybe Security gets updates..."

Kylah smiles, as if her superior officer can see her. All is well here, sir. I will now attempt voice contact. -- KYLAH.

After this brief message is sent, she presses the control to retract the keyboard back into its recessed hiding place. The motion is satisfyingly smooth and the panel gives a happy little beep to indicate that it is securely closed.

Now she taps the controls necessary to connect with the ship, now several light years away, then opens a channel. "Shuttlecraft Tesla to the U.S.S. Yorktown. Please let me know if you copy, and if you do, your current coordinates at the time of receipt of this contact. Our own current onboard time is precisely..." Kylah glances at the chronometer and recites the exact time, then waits for a response.

"Um - ah, no." Graham's jerked out of his reverie by Nia directly addressing him. "I mean, I've only read about that mission, N-- lieutenant."

He pulls his gaze away from the console and turns toward Nia. "I know what I would have recommended..." He shrugs. "There's an old saying in Security for, ah, weird, bad shit like that: 'Slag it from space, that's the only way to be sure.'"

He frowns slightly. "I worry the folks who caused the whole mess, or others who wanted to make something of what was, er--ahem, 'learned' might've been too eager to get their hands on something too dangerous to handle." He shakes his head. "But I haven't heard one way or another."

After a few second's delay, Thalen's voice comes quietly from the bulkhead-mounted comm panel. "Yorktown to Tesla. Voice message received and understood. Our coordinates are as follows...." followed by three long groups of numbers.

Bizhi's ears perk up. They appear to be talking about zombies? And mutants? And unethical experimentation? Fascinating.

Kylah looks still busy doing something with the shuttle's comms, which she mentioned earlier. (So, should anything happen to them, instead of disappearing into the infinite black waste and never being heard from again, there is a chance that they will be able to get off a message before disappearing into the infinite black waste and never being heard from again.) He is still not sure what to make of her. Next time they chat, he should try asking her about her favourite foods, or about music, and seeing how that goes.

Now Hutchinson ... no one can help it if she is not enjoying a pleasant cruise, appreciating all the sparkling conversation and contemplating the myriad aspects of a bright future, but he does not forget to look over and make sure she is still sitting quietly.

Hutchinson still appears to be dozing off and on. After awhile she asks to use the shuttle's tiny head (bathroom) aft, and Rawlings escorts her to it and back again.

An hour passes, and then another.

Argh, I wasn't fast enough. Can we run with the assumption that Kylah took Thalen's message/timestamp/location, went up to Nia and asked her for the coordinates of the shuttle at Thalen's timestamp (I'm guessing the log would have that data available), thereby allowing her to calculate the distance between the two vessels? The idea being to figure out how far/fast the new transmitter and sensor are. 'Cause that's what I was gonna have her do. :)

Kylah has collected as much data as possible about the effectiveness of the new S-512(L1) subspace transmitter and the S-881(D3) relay-beacon sensor module--having repeated the tests once each hour to track the degradation of the signal and increased delay in transmission. How successful were they? Is there a point in her trying again next hour, even if the response is faint? Overall she is extremely impressed with the upgrades, particularly the improvement in signal clarity.

Having programmed the sensor to search for new, unknown signals at its most sensitive level. she leans back. Again she wishes she could see something other than the gray hull to her left, Ms. Hutchinson's back, Dr. Mäkeläinen's composed figure to her right, and Mr. Rawlings's massive bulk ahead of the doctor. Not that she minds looking at either of the latter two men, of course. But it does feel a little claustrophobic.

Temporarily without anything to occupy her, she uses her datapad to access a folder containing music files she has installed on it. The song she played at Lt. Graham's wedding piqued her interest in compositions from the 16th century on Earth, and now she leafs through the written music for one composition from the very end of the century, by a lutenist named Dowland.

As it would be rude to play music without an earpiece for the datapad--and since she knows how to read tablature, a form of notation unique to string instruments--she scans and 'hears' the music in her head, all the while tapping the edge of her datapad as if it were the neck of a Vulcan lute.

While she replicates the fingering of the notes silently, she unconsciously hums the gentle, pretty melody under her breath, almost just an exhale.

After some time spent in silence--certainly not Nia's choice, but she finds it hard to maintain a conversation unless other people participate in it--she looks up from the various sensors she's been testing. "Just struck me," she says generally. "A few of you had some tough times when you each got to the Yorktown. Rangin had the zombies. Graham--you had that hotel inspection that morphed into a murder case, right?"

She shrugs. "Rocky initiations, those. Me, my first Yorktown assignment was pretty cushy. Shuttle trip escorting an ambassador back and forth throughout the Rigel system. Negotiations of some kind. Everything went easy as pie and smooth as silver. Guess I got lucky."

In more ways than one. That inaugural mission was also the first time she and Andy Johnson hooked up. A rare off-ship expedition for him, Ajay was along catering to that high-maintenance envoy's gastronomical whims. The landing party spent one night at the Embassy on Rigel X--or was it Rigel II? Well, one of the Rigels--before heading back. And Nia and Ajay just... happened. Several times.

That part, she keeps to herself, but a delightful smile curls her lips at the memory. "Something that easy had to be a good portent. That's how I knew my time onboard was gonna have its rewards. And I was right. Generally speaking," she adds more quietly. After a few seconds she swivels to send a smiling glance at Rawlings. "What about you, Doub--Rawlings? What was your first off-ship mission like?"

The coordinates comparison test has exactly the results Kylah anticipated. The newly-installed S-512(L1) subspace transmitter and the S-881(D3) relay-beacon sensor module are working quite well, she is pleased to see. There is the expected slight reduction in signal strength, of course, as the distance between the shuttle and the Yorktown grows - the latter moving much faster now, having broken orbit and set course for the Cavinre system - but it is well within projected parameters.

Rawlings thinks for a moment and then answers Onn in his deep, resonant voice, "My first off-ship mission? Let me see... that was guarding a Science team conducting a survey on a newly-discovered Class-M world. There were some very large, very toothy carnivores down there, and the Captain wanted to make sure none of our tricorder-toters got munched on. We didn't have any problems, though, and I didn't even have to shoot anything with my phaser." He smiles. "I was a little disappointed, truth be told."

Onn and the others continue to converse. Hutchinson naps for awhile longer, then awakens and looks around. She seems to follow what's being said, but says nothing unless spoken to directly.

Right on schedule, the Tesla approaches the Jaros system. Ten minutes before crossing the orbit of the outermost world, Jaros VII, a rocky, cold and lifeless orb, a message blares unbidden over the shuttle's speakers, filling the cabin:

"ATTENTION. ATTENTION. YOU ARE NOW APPROACHING A PROHIBITED SYSTEM AS DESIGNATED UNDER FEDERATION LAW. PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELVES IMMEDIATELY, AND REVERSE COURSE AND LEAVE THE AREA AT ONCE. IF YOU CONTINUE TO APPROACH, LETHAL FORCE MAY BE USED AGAINST YOU WITH NO FURTHER WARNING. OTHERWISE, YOUR SHIP MAY BE BOARDED AND SEARCHED, AND LATER SEIZED, ITS CREW AND ANY PASSENGERS DETAINED AND PROSECUTED, AND THE SHIP AND ALL ITS CONTENTS AND CARGO FORFEITED TO THE UFP WITHOUT COMPENSATION."

The message then begins to loudly repeat.

Rangin looks up from where he is burying his head in the depths of some science articles to pass the time and glances across to the front of the shuttle. Hopefully Graham or Lt Onn, can shut it off or at least answer the automated message before it continues to irritate everyone in the cabin.

He shifts a little in the seat as this part of the journey will be ending shortly and stretches out his legs to return a bit of the feeling into them.

He has heard of this place before, not just from this mission but from previous times and places. He does stop to think if there is anyone he knows that may be resident on the planet, given Coridan’s past history, but there are none he can remember.

“They do know we are coming, don’t they?” he asks politely to Lt Onn.

Nia's eyebrows arch in surprise. "Good question," she murmurs, and decreases the shuttle's speed to lessen their chance of triggering the defense system. She shifts her gaze to Booker. "Want to have the honor? You probably speak their language."

Graham can't help but smile slightly. "Fair enough, threats of lethal force and all..."

He uses the shuttle's comm system to respond. "This is Lt. Booker Graham, onboard Federation shuttle Tesla. We are making a planned delivery of a prisoner sentenced about USS Yorktown.

Mäkeläinen's claim that he did not mind a long trip in a small shuttle was true, as far as it went. A few hours does not qualify as long, anyway; it has been, what, a couple of watches at most? He cannot break the spell by going off somewhere to stretch his legs and get some exercise, though, nor would it be correct to invite everybody to a round of cards. Also, he did not bring any playing cards. The talk, inevitably, turns to yarns and space stories. In his case, this is his first mission off the Yorktown. Will they call on him? He could, perhaps, tell them about that planet with the mood-altering blue crystals, or, no zombies, but there was that scientist whose experiment in artificial intelligence and psionics went awry. He is not exactly in the mood for aimless conversation, but it is better, for everyone really, than staring at the walls. Kylah has the right idea, listening to music. She is quite good, really. He can play a little, for his own amusement, strictly in private, though, just to relax without worrying about meeting any quality of a professional musician or even a serious amateur.

Here they are at the stockade. The onward leg, their mission accomplished, should be more pleasant.

Kylah is able to mute the incoming message before it deafens you all. After Booker's reply, a stern-looking woman in Security red appears on the shuttle's small forward display screen. "Acknowledged, Tesla. This is the Jaros II Command Center. Welcome. You are cleared to enter the system and approach along the following course only." A very detailed course plot appears on both Onn's and Graham's control readouts; Onn notices that it requires four different course and speed changes as the shuttle gets ever closer to the Starfleet prison. "Please do not deviate from these orders in any way. See you in about twenty minutes. Jaros II out."

With a slight scowl, Nia plots the convoluted course into the nav system as a guide while she pilots the Tesla, obeying the path and speed restrictions.

"This is some dance they've got us doing. Like navigating an asteroid field," she says quietly. "Or a minefield. Which... maybe we are?"

She flicks a gaze to Booker for a second before returning to the viewscreen. "Can you run a sensor sweep to see if we're dealing with something too small to see? I can get us through this easily, but I'd like to know what obstacles I'm supposed to be avoiding. Morbid curiosity."

Graham hesitates just a moment: any detectable indications of trying to get intel on the system or the facility might not be taken well...depending on how paranoid Stern Lady was feeling today.

But there were no instructions not to conduct standard operating procedure, and a simple scan on entering new system is arguably prudential and routine: deviating from instructions because they got sideswiped by something the facility was unaware of was as good a way as any to risk coming under fire...

"Yes ma'am," he replies with a small nod.

He makes sure that the scope and intensity of the scan are within what within any shuttle pilot or co-pilot would consider routine.

Twenty minutes, thinks Rangin to himself, not that long after all, maybe an hour after that and they will be on their way again should all go well. And why wouldn’t it go well, this being a tightly controlled prison planet, where everything is monitored and locked down as far as it possibly can.

He looks casually round the cabin, just visually checking how everyone is responding to the call, especially Hutchinson. Rangin is mildly surprised, as Hutchinson has been unusually calm during the run. Either that or she is completely resigned to her fate, lengthy though it will be.

He raises the datapad once again. With that amount of time left, and the ship in the capable hands of its pilot, Rangin concentrates on finishing another article before they get there in the remaining time they have.

Graham's carefully-calibrated scan does indeed reveal a vast, roughly spherical minefield; there must be many thousands of mines. The specified course will avoid them, but Onn notices that at least two of the course and speed changes seem otherwise arbitrary. There are also at least three dozen satellites and probes, large and small, distributed throughout the system, watching for threats from any quarter. The scan also picks up, in an elliptical orbit around Jaros II, a starship. Graham suspects there are other, subtler security measures which will not easily reveal themselves even to a shuttle's sensors.

Rangin sees that Hutchinson is paying close attention to what's being said up front and over the comm channel. Rawlings's attention is still focused on the prisoner.

Kylah has been sitting quite straight in her chair, on edge ever since the warning announcement blared in her ears and woke her from a light doze. She cannot help watching Ms. Hutchinson with both curiosity and--unbelievable as it seems to her--a measure of pity. What must she be thinking? What is it like to know this is the last time you will ever be among the stars...?

Abruptly Kylah shakes her head She does not want to sense what Ms. Hutchinson is feeling, neither on purpose nor by inadvertently concentrating too much. Breaking her visual examination of the other woman, she swivels to face the man across from her and tries to think of something to say.

"Have--have you ever been to a prison, Doctor?" she asks softly, then quickly adds, "I mean--as a visitor. Professionally, that is. I would imagine there is much call for medical assistance. So many dangerous people... I am sure they are usually kept separate from one another, but even so..."

Graham cocks an eyebrow at the scan's results. He quietly clears his throat and turns to Nia, smiling slightly and offering in a low voice: "In my ah, professional judgment, we should not deviate from our orders in any way."