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

"I have no idea how trustworthy these fellows are," Dr. Mäkeläinen says after they are out of earshot, "but that price, the rest payable in arrear, ought to buy us an awful lot of good will.

"Forty minutes.... We are not likely to get a much better chance to escape this planet. We do not have any baggage besides what we're carrying, do we? We are under orders to secure the Tesla. Is there a way to copy all the logs and telemetry data and then destroy or disable any sensitive or classified systems remotely?

"I would still like to take another deek at the personal effects we picked up outside. A minute or two with a tricorder will tell us all we are going to find out short of getting it to a lab. There is no way we can take it with us, so that is the best I can do under the circumstances. Not sure I can find out anything more about where it came from, but we will know if there is anything dangerous and have something to say when we hand it off."

Forty minutes. And three days! Nia's shoulders straighten at the news. The latter's not optimal but she's a beggar, not a chooser, and it's still pretty damn good unless the estimates of this medication were overly generous. She doubts that: Mäkeläinen is a careful guy.

Once her sense of exhilaration and relief take over, the others' conversation about finances seems as unable to penetrate her brain as the insects back home unlucky enough to meet the windows of one of her father's low-altitude airships.

As she sees the Doregg's 1st Officer stand, she glances over to Rangin with exhausted but genuine gratitude. The sight of his still-haunted gaze, however, reminds her of the responsibility she bears for the crew's safety. Her health can't be the only consideration, not with Rangin's unfinished business hovering over him.

Dr. Mäkeläinen starts raising some good points, but Nia leaves them to Booker to ponder, since he's much more knowledgeable about all the business that happened during her hospital stay. She carefully rises from her chair and heads to Jol as he starts to leave.

"Thanks for accommodating us, sir--uh, First Officer Jol. How do you prefer to be addressed? I don't know Uwat protocol." She smiles fleetingly. "Out of curiosity, I just wanted to ask--who are the other two parties we'll be traveling with? Are they also headed to Uwat Prime?"

Kylah watches with an almost daughterly pride while Lt. Graham negotiates with the Uwat officer with the skill of a diplomat. And he thinks he is graceless--an oaf, she believes he has called himself more than once. She is particularly impressed by his skill at getting such a reasonable fee, all the while acting as if it were exorbitant. The doctor plays along too, probably concerned that the Uwat man might overhear and realize he is being gulled.

She turns to Velir and offers a small smile and soft, encouraging words. "We will soon be away from here, thanks to you. Remember that if you are tempted to disparage yourself over what happened. You may have helped save Lt. Onn's life."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's thoughts about the personal effects of the dead man make good enough sense. Although if Kylah had possession of them, she would have already attempted to see if the invisible matter is indeed some sort of invisible message. Her uncle spent years virtually implanting a burning curiosity in Kylah to uncover secrets, not to mention honing her skills to do so.

But that is not the doctor's way, nor Lt. Graham's; although perhaps it might be if the latter were not more focused (and correctly, too) on working to get them off Ollos. Velir would probably demur from sneaking at such things on ethical grounds. And Lt. Onn...

If it were my idea she would refuse, Kylah thinks, lower lip nearly pouting in annoyance. But she brushes away the unproductive thinking. "I know I am stating the obvious," she says to three men, "but given the time, could examination of... those materials not wait until we are in whatever vehicle we use to return to the starport? As for the Tesla--"

Kylah hesitates and lowers her voice, again looking over to their commanding officer. It is a sore subject for Lt. Onn and even though the older woman is focusing on the Doregg officer, Kylah knows her hearing will likely sharpen if she hears the name of the vessel to which she seems so attached.

"With all due respect to our orders... should we not get to the starport as soon as we can? Perhaps when we get to the Port Authority we can confirm whether the shuttle is truly a priority. I cannot believe the Captain or even Cmdr. Vargas would wish us to risk the chance to get back in favor of securing a ship at the bottom of a frozen lake."

Even as she says this, however, Kylah eyes Lt. Graham with what might be mutual concern. Because it strikes her that while the captain or Security Chief might be willing to make that sacrifice... the same might not be said of Lt. Onn herself.

The Uwat male says to Onn, "First Officer or Mr. Jol is acceptable. But I am not one to, how do you say it, stance on ceremony. And apologies, but I am not authorized to tell anyone who else is aboard our ship until we actually depart. One of the parties is... somewhat unpopular down here. Yes." He resumes walking, heading for the door.

Rangin returns the young Communications officer's smile. He squeezes her knee under the table. "Thanks, Kylah. I hope so. I really do hope so."

The warmth of Velir's hand on her knee brings an always-easily triggered flush to Kylah's face, especially since her one-piece suit is so thin that it transfers both his touch and a tingle of the tender thoughts he seems to feel for her.

The thought of their kisses earlier does not help her burning cheeks, so she does her best to think of something else. She takes a swift look over to Lt. Onn and Mr. Jol, but cannot gather anything from the latter's face--Kylah has no experience with this race's expressions, if indeed that is how they show emotion. The Sidonian helmswoman's back is to Kylah, so that offers up no information, either.

She squeezes Velir's shoulder as she takes a few steps toward the other officers. "Shall I ask the bouncer about contacting some transport?" Her gaze aims the question at all four men--Velir, Ens. Rawlings, Dr. Mäkeläinen, and Lt. Graham. "If we wish to get in touch with the York--er, the ship--we must not delay. We will need some time for the message to get there and back with any response."

Nia's less than comforted by Jol's response. Her hands stretch and clench alternately with tension while she watches him leave, until finally she stumbles forward to ask him a final question. She just doesn't like the lack of due diligence they've done--or that they'll have any time to do--on this Uwatian rescue vessel.

"Jol," she calls, reaching out toward him without any physical contact. She has no idea what their culture feels about touch. "Jol, one more thing. Sorry--you're a first officer. That means you're responsible for a bunch of other crew members, right? Well I'm no first officer," Nia adds, sticking to the truth. "But I'm kind of the leader of my little group. So you get that I have to keep my--friends safe."

She leans her hip against a nearby table. "I get you can't give IDs of passengers. Fair enough. We'll get the same courtesy, I appreciate that. But--" Nia's voice softens. "This person who's 'not popular' down here. Is there anything I should be worried about? Are we taking a risk joining whoever-this-is onboard?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen says, "Yes, well, I don't think we should stay here and catch the next act. As for the Tesla, it took twenty minutes to get from the lake to the port, not counting the time spent waiting for a driver. So, a round trip is out. Anything that can't be handled remotely has to be the next team's problem; whatever was on that shuttle that Starfleet thinks is important, it is not worth risking anyone's life."

"I scanned the--- materials--- earlier, outside, before I came in," he says to Kylah, "but the results, as said, were inconclusive. The back of a vehicle is not much of an improvement, but if we have a few quiet minutes I can try to identify the exact substance that was on the paper and the victim's hands. Also, a random spill or smudge should be easy to distinguish from deliberate patterns or writing. And perhaps you could take a look and see what you make of his communicator. But we had better finish all of that before it is time for our final departure."

Rangin replies to Kylah's suggestion, "We could do that, although Jol told me earlier that we would have comms access once we're aboard."

Rawlings does not respond; he seems preoccupied for the moment, looking around for any potential threats to the group from among the Black Sun patrons.

Jol pauses. His face seems incapable of any change in expression, much like his diminutive Earth counterparts. He says to Onn, "I understand. It is a group and not a person who is not popular here. Life is... full of risks. Your party seems like one which is capable of taking care of itself. Maybe not. I cannot promise perfect safety, but I would not purposefully bring you into a dangerous situation, of course. But if you would rather look for other transport, go ahead. Yes." He looks again at his chrono. "Now, I must be going." He moves off.


"Uwat" is a proper noun as well as the adjective.

Graham rubs his chin. "Job one is to make this ship." He shrugs. "I don't like it, but the reality is we don't have the money or personnel to do anything useful about the shuttle beyond what we can do remotely, either on the ground or once we have comms access." He shakes his head. "If by some miracle we could retrieve it, we can't reliably secure it, even if one or more of us stayed behind. And even if we had the expertise I don't think we have the monits for a deepwater destruct mission."

Kylah nods to all the others have said. After agreeing to take a look at the anonymous man's communicator, she looks around again. "So... you do not think it necessary to tell the captain beforehand about needing to leave without following one of her orders? I do not disagree," she adds hastily. "I understand the priorities have changed. And perhaps I did not adequately convey the urgency of the situation. I shall go to the bouncer and ask about arranging transport."

What Lt. Graham said is essentially what Dr. Mäkeläinen thinks. About the idea of splitting up again or someone staying behind, he says, "We should stick together until we make that ship, and perhaps after we board as well, at least until we get a feel for what kind of trip it's going to be."

He will go along with everyone else once arrangements are made and it is time to leave the Black Sun.

The bouncer calls for a cab. Soon it has landed outside the Black Sun. It is driven by a different cabbie than before, a scruffy-looking Human woman of indeterminate age. "Where to?" she asks, not looking or sounding particularly interested.

Nia, who's managed to stumble forward to catch up with the others, stops to glance at the body pile, wondering if Rangin's pal is on there. She hugs her coat more tightly to her and shudders. Having caught the tail end of Kylah's question, Nia's torn by the knowledge they're disobeying orders for only one reason. If she could she'd tell Book to stand down, that they should find some way to acquire an ad hoc crew to just... stand by the lake in shifts. Something. Anything.

Because even forgetting about the captain's orders... It's her shuttle. The Tesla. It's being dumped and abandoned for junk, just like the corpses outside the club door.

Nia really can't tell what's the most reasonable decision. Is it insane to insist on prioritizing a doomed shuttle over a crew member's well-being? If it weren't her, Nia wouldn't hesitate. But it is her. Her leadership role to keep everyone in line, following the Captain's directions as ordered.

She doesn't know and the confusion and guilt are making her head hurt. So she'll let Booker make the call. He seems to want to get straight to the Doregg. But he's not thinking objectively either. Is he?

She responds to the driver, trying to recall Jol's info about his ship's location. "The--the port authority, I guess," she says hazily since that's as much as she can remember from last night. While she shivers outside waiting for the others to enter the cab, she shares Jol's comments about the unknown group that appears to be as anxious to get off-planet as they are. It's something the Security officers should take into account.

Dr. Mäkeläinen's primary concern is still not the shuttle; it is Onn's, and everybody else's for that matter, safety in this endeavour. He, too, notes the pile of bodies. Are they more, the same, or possibly fewer than when he entered? Are they the same corpses he saw earlier?

When Graham and Onn are both within earshot he says, "I will officially back up whatever you decide, of course. Every mission has to account for at the very least the possibility of unforeseen events. Whoever assigned us to secure and salvage the wreck, that came after our initial comm which declared a medical emergency. That implies we are not at full strength. If everyone except the Lieutenant and me stays behind, that makes four. Call it two teams, with no redundancy. But no engineer. No equipment or resources. It's a precarious op."

Nia's account of the unknown groups... "Everything the first officer said about them equally applies to us. Encouraging to see they take discretion seriously."

Snapping her head toward the doctor--a move she regrets when vertigo and nausea stab at her--Nia looks at him in surprise. "All due respect, Doc, I'm not abandoning my crew and my ship. We are all staying together. If there's an issue regarding the orders, I'll take the hit. My decision. Multiple parts of this clusterfuck are my fault anyway."

She straightens to full height and jabs her finger to point into the taxi. "Everyone get in. Now."

The pile of bodies outside the Black Sun looks unchanged from when you last saw it in the cold winter light of Ollos.

As he climbs into the taxi, which is big enough to accommodate all six of you, Rawlings says to Onn, "The Port Authority and the starport are in different places. I assume we want to go directly to the starport, ma'am?"

Rangin gets in, too.

Dr. Mäkeläinen gets in.

Nia makes the sane call of not risking the remainder of their party on an excursion to the wrecked shuttle, which saves him from any trouble trying to argue about it. "Right; can't be done. Not properly, anyway, which is why I was wondering why we received the order after they knew we were in no position to implement it. It's not your fault at all. But I have a feeling that is a discussion better postponed to the debriefing, after we are all safely back aboard the Yorktown."

The pile of bodies reminds him yet again that he is still carrying possessions lifted from a murder victim (and/or alien spy, according to the prevailing theory voiced by Ens. Kylah). Whether they are headed to the Port Authority HQ or directly to the starport, since he may not get a better chance, he will do what he suggested earlier and hand the foreign communicator to Kylah while he himself performs an intensive medical tricorder scan on the thin packet of folded papers, hopefully enough to identify what the substance on it is, or, failing that, at least to determine whether it is toxic or not, whether it appears to be splashed on the paper or applied deliberately, and whether (as it is already known to be organic) it seems to be more like blood or other bodily fluids or more like some grease, Romulan ale, fruit juice, or similarly mundane substance.

Climbing in after the doctor, Kylah accepts the communicator with a distracted "I will try, Doctor." She finds it disturbing that the man who attacked Velir is not among the bodies by the club entrance. Once seated, she flicks a quick, questioning look toward the xenobiologist, then shifts to Lt. Graham, Dr. Mäkeläinen and Ens. Rawlings. Her fingers busy themselves evaluating the communicator--whether there are any obvious controls or ways to open the device.

"I suppose I should not ask," she says, her voice appropriately discreet considering the driver not far away. "But if that pile has not grown, and there was no sign of the...interaction... Do you really think they might have beamed out?" She nods to Dr. Mäkeläinen, acknowledging his theory. "With no one from their ship coming to investigate, or seek justice? What they might think is justice," she corrects apologetically before she glances down to add a visual examination of the communicator.

Nia's gaze follows Rawlings as he sits down. "Yes, the starport. Thanks, T. I thought we might need to check back for any messages from home, just in case..." After a few silent seconds, Nia switches her focus to Booker. "Better let them know where we are. So, umn... age before beauty? Medical age, I mean," she adds with a fleeting smile while tapping her chest to indicate herself. "We've swapped roles a bit."

She girds herself before entering the vehicle and sitting, then sliding over to make room for Book. Her lungs gladly take in the warmer air, though it's not doing much other than defrosting them.

Then she looks around at her crewmates. They're an odd sight. Starfleet faces, professional faces--most, anyway--but the effect's diminished while their bodies are clad in... whatever the hell these outfits are. It feels somehow shameful to be leading a Yorktown crew that can't even wear their uniforms because of where she crashed their damn shuttle.

"Well, hopefully we'll be back where we belong in a couple days," she murmurs. "How long a trip is this, do we know? I don't wanna miss our ride. Probably should've made more specific meetup plans."

Everyone gets in the cab. It is a tight fit, but you manage it.

"The starport, eh?" the cabbie asks. "Izzat right? Trouble nil. Have you there in five minutes. Just across town, out on the peninsula." Not hearing any objection, she closes the doors, engages the antigrav and lifts the cab off the ground. The street falls away beneath you, and you all get another look at the city, still rundown and gritty despite the brilliant winter sunshine. The glistening snow on the nearby peaks and the choppy dark waters of the ocean offshore, however, remind some of you once again of Norway.

The cabbie is true to her word, and soon the starport is ahead and then beneath you, gray, wide and low. Several small spacecraft and shuttles can be seen in the various circular or oval docking bays. She banks and brings the cab down with a stomach-churning swoop, but then settles to the ground as gentle as a feather.

"Four hundred monits," the cabbie says, rubbing her nose in boredom.

A trio of insectoid aliens, bundled against the cold, pass nearby, one lugging a large metallic box.

Setting aside her examination of the dead man's communicator, Kylah picks up her own device and announces that she will pay the monits. She adds a 100 monit tip, uncertain how the exchange rate works again but it seems like the right amount to her. In addition to the financial gratitude, she says a warm "thank you" to the cab driver for the trip. Presumably, the driver will let them out now that she has been paid.

The trio of insectoids catches her interest, and she leans closer to the window to see if they are Uwat, perhaps even the same one they spoke to earlier.

The cabbie shows the greatest emotion you've seen in your brief acquaintance with her when she accepts Kylah's payment, including the generous tip. "Thanks, lady," she says, smiling. The doors unlock and you may all now get out.

The communicator has a small keypad with unfamiliar characters, and several other unlabeled buttons. It does not do anything when Kylah tries pressing any of them, other than a small light briefly blinking off and on.

The insectoids are tall, olive-green and spindly, not at all like the shorter, more compact, brownish-tan and reptilian Uwat.

Despite everything that has happened to distract, Dr. Mäkeläinen cannot help being entranced by the bird's-eye view. It does something to soothe his soul.

He hopes their trail of extraordinarily generous tips will not by itself draw more attention to their group, but, in any case, by the time word gets out they plan to be long gone.

He finishes, at least for now, the chemical scanning, packs his devices away again, gets out of the taxi, and checks out the port. Does it look busy? Is the Uwat ship visible nearby?

Graham's suppresses a smile at the cabbie's reaction to what must have been Kylah's tip.

Sometimes what appeared to be naivete or at the least unfamiliarity with normal life in your average Federation or Federation-adjacent worlds had caused problems and pain. This looks like it made someone's day.

He's also grateful to have reached the starport quickly. "Let's find our ride," he says half to Nia half to the group. He sighs and shakes his head. "Just to put a pin on it, as senior Security officer, splitting up with anyone left behind to babysit a Starefleet ship--given the hostility right now--is asking for a mob with pitchforks and torches that we couldn't handle without making this worse...sometimes when the choice is fight or live another day you..." Hearing his words he can't help but turn toward Nia. "You live another day," he says softly.

Out in the cold again, Nia winces against the air and sunlight. She's glad Booker thinks she made the right call--not surprised, because he'd probably only hesitate if there were people being abandoned rather than a shuttle. But she's relieved nonetheless.

His quiet words draw her gaze to his. "Another day," Nia repeats, as softly, adding a hopeful smile. "Cheers to that." To the group as a whole, she raises her voice. "Time's rolling by. If there's anything that needs to be done... do it Fast. They gave us forty minutes, it's taken us about ten now."

She doesn't need to tell everyone to move, and doesn't. Walking with Booker, Nia does her best to keep up with her usual stride, which in the past has always matched his. "As for that comm device and the... whatever else you got from that dead guy--the first one," she adds with another apologetic glance at Rangin, "Give 'em to some staffer who doesn't look like security. All things equal I'd find law enforcement, but to be blunt, we don't have time to get involved in questioning."

A worry sparks in her brain and Nia swallows. "If anyone objects... if you think it's our duty... I'm not sure I can make that call objectively. You'll all need to decide. If everyone's on board, let's do this discreetly and get to the ship."

Kylah is also doing her best to keep her short legs moving at the same pace as the others, all while trying to gauge Velir's mood (with her eyes alone, just as she does with the doctor and the junior security guard). She holds the extra communicator tightly. Interesting though this might have been, she finds it difficult to focus on an unknown victim when one of their own has unwillingly caused someone else's death.

"Yes ma'am," she says when realizing Lt. Onn probably expects the crew to speak up. "I am concerned about the Four Little Diamonds, though. What if they are docked here? What if there is some sort of alert, or bulletin, regarding what happened?" Her hand surreptitiously reaches over to Velir's back to caress it, if only through the thick material of his coat, before withdrawing.

"And I know we are in hurry, but going off with strangers at the last minute, in a rush, when he have no verification... If I may, Lt. Onn... Lt. Graham," she adds with a more urgent tone. "I strongly think we should get in touch with the York--" Kylah casts her eyes quickly from side to side, making sure there is no one nearby. "...With our friends. To tell them with whom we are leaving, their registry, their destination... anything."

Her pleading face turns to the doctor, then the others. "If not our--friends back home--then someone here. The man at the Port Authority. Anyone who might be able to pass such information along, if we do not show up. If something happens. As you know--some of you--" she amends with another look at Dr. Mäkeläinen, "I... I have had a bad experience leaving with a stranger without telling anyone."

You all leave the cab and pass under a heavy thermocrete arch marked OLLOS STARPORT across the top.

There is a straight, low-ceilinged passageway which leads to a large, airy but somewhat worn-down atrium, also of thermocrete. Almost two dozen other passageways open off it; fading signs mark where each leads to, including one, you see, for DOCKING BAYS 7, 8, 94. There is a bustle of people of various starfaring races in the atrium, as well as several small food stalls of dubious cleanliness, a pharmacy and other travel-related businesses, and a computerized information kiosk which has clearly seen better days. A stolid Tellarite security guard in Port Authority uniform is standing at the far end of the atrium.

You see no one from the Four Little Diamonds. Kylah notices, however, among those in various starship crew uniforms and civilian attire, an older Human man in the gray-green coveralls and golden insignia of the Drelloan Exploratory Corps passing through.

The sights and sounds of the starport send a pleasant electric thrum through Nia. All the travelers, the proximity of starships of all flavors, techs and engies nearby... She wants to be part of this, striding to her own vessel, not a refugee seeking escape. Even so, she feels more alive here than she has since they crashed.

Once she's taken a quick measure of the surroundings, she starts toward Docking Bay 94, grateful beyond belief for its proximity. At last she answers Kylah.

"Yes, leaving word with the ship's mandatory. But there's not much time. Once we check in with the Doregg, you can go find someone, maybe that Port Authority worker over there. I gotta think there's a relatively good comms system here. Or maybe they can patch you through to whatever you used before." Nia doesn't stop walking, but she glances back. "If I'm forgetting something speak up, folks."

"The report and physical evidence," Mäkeläinen says, "go to law enforcement or security. But we cannot risk talking directly to law enforcement or security. An interesting dilemma. A secure courier, perhaps, with instructions to deliver the package to security headquarters at the Port Authority building?"

Understanding that time is at a premium, Kylah says a quick "yes ma'am" to Lt. Onn's request and keeps walking. But she cannot help staring at the older human--well, he looks human, at any rate. He himself is not familiar, but the uniform makes her frown. For some reason she connects it with those wiry insectoid beings outside.

Then her eyes widen with a flash of memory. "Oh," she blurts, quietly but distinctly. The last time--the only time, as far as she knows--that she saw that uniform was back on Anubis. Worn by a woman, who was sitting with another insectoid, in that grubby bar. Kylah had been seeking a way off planet, far away from the Yorktown and her duties and all the people who despised her.

She knows she is as much a stranger to this older man as he is to her. Still, the reminder of that evening on that cursed planet is horrifying, and she drags her gaze away from him, a shudder running through her despite the warmth of her coat. How far must she travel to flee memories of such terrible ordeals?

Everyone has something,. she tells herself forcefully. Yes, she has Anubis...and the Sakathian research station, And OCIII, and Sigma Iota--Kylah has had very bad luck indeed. But this very planet will likely induce torment in Velir, and probably Lt. Onn as well. Lt. Graham must have extremely disturbing memories given his job and...and his family. Kylah does not yet know whether Ens. Rawlings or Dr. Mäkeläinen have such things in their past, but in all likelihood, they do. She knows she is far from unique.

Biting her tongue, she keeps her eyes on the comforting, familiar sight of Lt. Graham ahead of her.

Rangin does not respond to Onn but keeps walking behind her, apparently as intent as her on leaving.

Rawlings says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Yeah, we could do something like that. Or, since we'll be offworld so soon, we could time it until just before we actually raise ship, maybe?"

The Drelloan Exploratory Corps officer walks by and is soon lost in the crowd.

Graham nods his approval to a couple statements. "Yes - alerting Yorktown the deets on our way out. And sending the goods on to, well even the Portmaster, with a note on how to reach us, which would be "Yorktown rather than any intervening steps."

Nia can't help an affectionate smile, albeit to herself, at hearing Mäkeläinen's and Rawlings's suggestions, and of course Booker's too. "Good options, everyone. First and most important is finding the Doregg and making sure everything's copacetic. We'll ask about a courier and getting a message out. Maybe we can get our lift to hold for five minutes while Kylah sends out the info. Um, not by herself. Booker, you can escort her to wherever." She lowers her voice to address him alone. "Doubt there'll be trouble, but you know her rep as well as I."

She looks behind her to Mäkeläinen. "Doc, we'll ask about the courier at the ship. You don't happen to have anything in your supplies to keep it safe and ideally hidden, do you? Some sterile container or bag or whatever?" Nia glances around to see how much farther they need to go to their destination.

The irony is, he deliberately packed light for this trip, focusing on emergency medical equipment and forgoing specimen jars. Dr. Mäkeläinen tells Onn, "I have sterile wound dressing, and we can also make use of the sterile packaging it comes in. I can add padding and tape everything up securely if we are going to hand it to a courier; I do not have a proper box, though. The courier might have a box or envelope."

He will carefully package and stash the items in question if that is what she asks.

Quick little glances at Velir seem to tell Kylah nothing. Without breaching his privacy, she has no real way to determine how he is feeling. He has always had a tendency to refrain from showing emotions, both the unpleasant ones and even those where joy is overwhelming. It is a skill that must have kept him going at the Academy, not to mention life on troubled Coridan.

Coridanites wear traditional ceremonial masks--Kylah has seen his, back at Lt. JG Fujishiro's funeral service. But the truth is, Velir Rangin needs nothing external to hide.

"I wish I had been able to figure out that communicator," she says gently, hoping her words about an unrelated subject might fill the empty void surrounding him. "There is a button there, and a light, but I dare not try too hard to open an unfamiliar device. I might inadvertently make contact or send a message, and that might harm any real investigation into when the communicator was last used. Or to whom. Or by whom," she adds, realizing that this might not even belong to the victim.

She turns to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "I should give it back to you, for the courier." She takes it from her coat pocket, keeping it hidden in her palm as best she can while looking at it one more time. "It seems such a shame... with this, and those papers, we have so many little pieces of a puzzle, yet are unable to solve it. We do not even know if there is anything to solve. How frustrating." When she thinks about what she has just said, Kylah briefly closes her eyes in regret. "But the victim is the one who matters. Not my curiosity. I know that."

Nia waits impatiently for Kylah to stop being Kylah, and in the pleasant silence afterwards responds to Mäkeläinen. "Yes, Doc, the bag sounds perfect. Bundle it all up. I guess the communicator too."

After a beat, she sighs internally and shakes her head to herself. Her nerves are stretched thin and for whatever reason, Kylah's been making her even more edgy. But that's not the girl's fault.

She gathers her strength and looks over her other shoulder to the younger woman. "Nothing wrong with curiosity. That's why we joined Star--why we joined this business," she amends hastily. Her careful gaze scans their surroundings automatically but she doubts anyone's bothering to look at them, much less listen.

"Anyway," she continues, "I'm sure you did your best, Kylah. Thanks for trying."

Nia gladly falls silent, feeling a little better now that she's managed to go through the motions of performing a senior officer's job... if only adequately.

You may be able to get a box in one of the small shops, there in the starport atrium.

Rangin is more guarded with Kylah now than he had been in the Black Sun. She has a sense that he is tired and frazzled and just wants to get off Ollos - the sooner, the better. Still, he replies to her a bit ambivalently, "Yeah, I guess that could be a risk. It doesn't really concern us, does it, given our mission? If we leave it behind, that might be for the best after all."

No one seems to be paying any attention to your group.

Dr. Mäkeläinen takes advantage of the few minutes' interval while Kylah and the others make final arrangements, and no one seems to be paying any attention to them, to procure a box and a cheap e-padd from a nearby shop. He does not speak as he rapidly prepares a fair copy of the forensic report he has already been composing in his head: time, place, and circumstances of his encounter with the man, how he made a decision to interfere with the scene to render any possible aid, finding the man dead and beyond medical help, finding his possessions and screening them for hazards. All scan data from the corpse itself and from the man's effects are attached.

He hesitates a moment, and adds his official credentials as a medical officer and contact details. They should be off-world before the message is received, in case they end up summoned. He inserts a paragraph about how a life-and-death medical emergency prevents him from making this preliminary report in person.

The good doctor gets a suitable box and data pad for his task for a few hundred monits. He is able to pretty quickly do what he set out to do.

You now have about ten minutes to catch your shuttle to the Doregg at Docking Bay 94.

Nia notes Mäkeläinen's excellent efforts in packing up the evidence and composing a report--at least she assumes that's what he's doing, re: the latter. "Good work," she says with a nod. "Damn efficient. Thanks for handling all that."

Frustrated by how long they've been wandering, she pulls out her communicator to check the time--and lets out a soft, subvocalised curse. Ten minutes? She didn't expect such a seemingly labyrinthian, lengthy trek--although with a number like 94, she probably should've guessed this particular docking bay wouldn't be right around the bend.

She pushes herself to walk faster, though the rapid breathing and movement make her muscles protest. Then, after a dozen more steps, a vise-like pinch attacks her left side, forcing a startled groan from her lips. Her back hunches slightly and she instinctively grasps Booker's arm for support. But only for a second--with a quick apology she releases him and switches the hand down to her aching diaphragm.

Swallowing the pain, Nia suddenly anticipates what's coming and stretches her free hand behind her in a halt gesture. "I'm fine, Doc," she says through a clenched jaw. "No stopping. I'll walk it off." Even as she says this, her eyes search desperately for any signage or directions to indicate whether they're getting any closer. "Where--where the hell is this docking bay? The Delta Quadrant?"

"Eyes up, signs for Docking Bay 94," Graham says00it's intended for everyone, but he specifically looks at Rawlings.

Not that the rest of the team doesn't have eyes, but Rawlings has seemed like a stand-up Security officer, and that usually means acuity at situational awareness under pressure.

"Let's double time it folks..." He nods at Nia. "We'll get you there N--...Lieutenant." He adds in a lower voice. "Whatever it takes. Even if it means hitching a ride...uh by that I mean more likely on Mr. Rawling's back, not mine." He forces a small smile.

Nia moves in an atypically stiff gait but keeps going. "I don't want to ride anyone else," she says quietly. Not noticing her flub--she'd meant to say just "anyone"--she ignores her stitch and turns to face Booker with an attempt at humor. "And to make your life easier, I hereby grant you permission to address me informally. If I croak I wanna hear my own name before I do."

After a thought, she turns around to include the others. "That goes for everyone, actually. Until we're back in safe territory, all of us better wipe out any formality they've drummed into your heads. We were only invited to this party 'cause we're nobodies. Let's keep it that way, Doc here excluded. Everyone okay with that?" Her eyes find Kylah's. "I know, you're not the casual type. Think you can manage slumming it with just our names?"

Bizhi keeps an eye out for the correct docking bay, but also for a competent-looking, not-Port-Authority looking, courier stand to hand off his box (with instructions to make sure delivery takes not under thirty minutes, along with a generous tip). If there is nothing like that, he will use the regular mail service or parcel service, whatever is around the concourse because he is not about to deviate from their route.

To a pained Nia waving him off, he simply says, "Let's just get on board." He can take a look at her then, and they can all use some quiet downtime.

He tells the others, "You may call me 'Doc' if you wish, but that does not make me a somebody! In fact, a monicker or two will surely lend our group some informality." He hopes the other passengers on the ship will not get too chatty. Innocent small-talk like "What do you do?" will inevitably lead to "Where do you work?" and that is exactly what they are trying to avoid. If the other passengers are smugglers, however, or worse, they will know well enough to accept a "here and there", "this and that", and "travelling on business".

Kylah has long noticed Lt. Graham's many attempts to refrain from calling Lt. Onn by her forename. The effort is rather charming. She glances at the C.O., whom she reminds herself is not at her best, and agrees. "Yes, of course I can, Nia," she says. "I will almost always follow the preference of whomever I am addressing. With exceptions."

She frowns slightly. "I hope my use of formal speech and address does not offend anyone. It is the way of my House--of all Elasian Greater Houses, I should say. But then, we do not have surnames. You have little risk of forgetting what to call me," Kylah adds with a little shrug.

Rawlings says, "It's up this way, I think." He agrees to use first names from now on.

Rangin says, "I can do that, too, of course." He musters an affectionate wink for Kylah in response to her comment. She doesn't think anyone else noticed it, but Dr. Mäkeläinen did.

The good doctor sees no courier stand nor anything resembling regular mail or parcel service along the way.

You soon find yourselves in Docking Bay 94, which is open to the sky. A stubby shuttlecraft about twice the size of the Tesla, light brown, a bit battered, streaked with dark lubricant stains around its maintenance ports, is nestled in it. Two Uwat stand near the heavy door of its airlock.

Starfleet's tosh ship-shape standards have their obvious merits, but Dr. Mäkeläinen is comforted to see a shuttle that looks like it does solid work. Nia would know the difference between industrial aesthetic and sloppy maintenance. “What do you think?” he asks her, indicating the craft.

It is taxing his composure that after all their ordeal so far, he has still not been able to accomplish this one small task, though a perfect dénouement for this mission where every single thing has gone wrong with grim consistency. He is still holding the hot package, and there seem to be only a few minutes left—better take care of it before boarding. Somehow. The crewmen guarding the airlock might know something (is anyone else about?), or he and the others might talk their way into that delay they were discussing.

Eyes scanning the ship for anything blatantly troublesome--which is all a superficial once-over is likely to spot--Nia purses her lips before responding.

"Far as I can immediately see, other than not looking fresh out of drydock at the Fleet Yards, and being in dire need of a cleaning wand, there's nothing worrying." Now she's got an excuse to bend over and relieve her stitch, so she does, enabling her to give a visual inspection of the Doregg's ventral plating.

She's looking at the nacelle(s), weapon capacity if visible, and above all signs of past hull damage. Too many welded plate patches might indicate multiple past breaches, or least weaknesses in integrity. And if they're getting dinged up all the time it'd make her worry about their shields. Not to mention the pilot's dodging skills.

Anything she spots, weapon-wise, she'll casually point out to Booker and ask his opinion. Otherwise, if she doesn't see anything concerning, she'll straighten and glance at the Uwat crew (if that's what they are) by the airlock. She lowers her voice. "I'd give an arm to go through a preflight check, Doc. But that'd be a ballsy request to ask of our hosts. Besides, I did the Tesla's preflight--the initial one on the Yorktown--and look where that got us. I wish..."

No point in finishing that sentence. She shifts attention to Booker and Rawlings. "Unless either of you sees anything you don't like, let's go check in with the pretty boys over there."

Velir's wink brings a little flutter of pleasure and a small smile to Kylah's face. His spirit is not gone, if he can connect with her in this minor but engaging way.

She can sense Dr. Mäkeläinen's impatient concern, not so much from any empathic methods but simply from the way he holds on to the important package, and how he is searching the bay. Kylah cannot help assisting his quest. If there is any part of the bay that is manned by both the ship and starport personnel alike, she takes a few steps closer and peeks in.

There is no one in the docking bay other than you and the two Uwat.

As you approach the shuttle, you see no engine nacelles. Its hull appears to be some kind of ceramic material rather than metal. There are a few lumpy, discolored sections that look like they might be later patches of some kind, also ceramic, rather than the original hull, but Onn can't be sure. She, Graham and Rawlings each notice what appear to be energy-weapon emitters, one each at bow and stern, but they're of an unfamiliar technology and design. None of you see anything to suggest that you'll be risking your lives by going up in this thing.

Graham points out the apparent weapons to Rawlings and once they exchange nods they agree that's what they are he says at a suitable moment "Looks like she's likely armed, but the design's unfamiliar...Nia."

Graham tries to remember if they had learned a suitable method to contact the Portmaster...and looks around for any official looking comms equipment in the area.