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

Bizhi still has the remnants of a grin plastered on his face, so he does not grimace or smirk very much at all at "Ginran". Like the Uwat, whom he likes the cut of their jib, the--- let's just assume they are who they seem to be--- Vulcan nuns are clearly no fools, but at the same time look like they could not care less about his party's many faux pas. This larger group, however--- if it has them on edge? Romulans? Klingons? Regional desperadoes? The only comment from the Uwat officer has been that they are "somewhat unpopular".

A smile briefly flickers on Nia's face when Book asks the questions that she'd been curious about herself, but hadn't thought to ask. He should lead more missions. Why doesn't he? she ponders. Of course, now he's got a family and will probably be less keen on risking his life. Understandable and responsible. But it's also hard to imagine him settling down in a domestic setting. Then again, he missed that with Jane and Lizzie. Might be glad of a second chance.

She tries to refocus on her surroundings and does her best to act alert--not so much for the Vulcans' or Uwat's sakes; none of them matter much. It's her crew who she wants to believe she's not totally gone.

"Do you know where we'll be stopping along the way? If anywhere? I mean... if you or the other passengers are disembarking before the Doregg reaches its destination."

Her brain's foggy and her arms and legs are still tired from the climb. She needs some help remaining vertical. Booker is nearest to her, but asking him for this favor--much as she wants to--isn't wise. Instead, Nia moves to Rawlings--making sure to stay on the side that leaves him more ready to act, if necessary--and slips her arm behind his to clutch onto the top of his sturdy coat collar.

"T," she says under her breath. "You mind if I just... lean on you a bit?" 'Hang on you' would be more accurate. Nia looks up at him with weary, abashed eyes. "Just until I can get horizontal."

It's a testament to how crappy she feels that she doesn't even consider turning that into a suggestive pun.

T'Ves tells Kylah, "We have been on this ship since it stopped at Aztlan, about two weeks ago, and we then booked passage. We were aboard another ship, the Persephone's Smile, before then, but its route was not convenient for us. We four are on a pilgrimage to the Vulcan shrine on Shiyy Val. Our two other sisters are resting now, but you will meet them later, I'm sure." As to form of address, she makes an offhand gesture and says, "Please feel free to call us by our names. It is not necessary to use our titles as Daughters of Surak."

To Graham she says with a thin smile, "Ah, the ambiguities of language. My answer perforce is, 'both.' They are larger both in numbers - there are nine of them - and as to size."

She tells Onn, "The Doregg is making several other stops before we leave. Jol has told me of your plans - you are to disembark by shuttle near Cavinre in three days' time, I believe? We will be aboard for another week after that. We will not be going as far as Uwat Prime, the ship's eventual destination."

Her gaze taking you all in, she asks politely, "But what of you? How came you to be aboard an Uwat starship? Are you shipmates yourselves? You are from the Federation, I perceive."

Rawlings murmurs to Onn, "You can lean on me anytime, Lieutenant. But wouldn't you rather at least sit down until we can find you a bed?"

Bizhi feels like he should curtail this conversation at least for Nia's sake, who (to his experienced eyes) is clearly about to conk out on one on the couches here if she does not get to bed soon. Yet, if he drags her out of here prematurely or otherwise derails things, she, and probably the rest, would miss out on all the intel T'Ves is cannily slipping them, which she and L—uh Graham certainly want to hear.

Inevitably the conversation turns to their identity, and he is reasonably sure T'Ves can easily detect a naked lie. "Indeed we are," he says (difficult to hide that accent, for starters, even if some of them did not grow up on Federation core worlds), "though we work all over the quadrant. In this case, my associates and I had business on Ollos— I'll spare you the details; let's just say it is a world of commerce and not so much philosophy— and are headed to Cavinre next, as you've heard. This transport happened to be going in the right direction at a convenient time, so here we are."

Nia's fingers release Rawlings's coat collar, then brush the material to smooth it. "Anything to get me in bed," she murmurs with a flicker of humor in her otherwise tired expression. "But seriously, I don't want to sit when everyone else is--"

She pauses to hear the doctor's response to T'Ves, which is relatively close to what she would have said, except for the Federation part; Two of them technically aren't, and that might've been a good cover. But it's a fast and simple story so why not run with it.

So there are nine of these apparently big strangers who seem to make even Vulcans somewhat uncomfortable. Her mind does a quick inventory of the races who fit this description that she'd least like to meet in these circumstances--and, really, there are just too many. That's not even including those she doesn't know about.

Unwilling to show too much weakness--adding to her party's vulnerability--Nia does her best to keep upright on her own for as long as possible. Still, she adds more generally, "Maybe we can head to our bunks now? I gather we'll be grouping together. We can take off all our coats and stow our belongings." (She's forgotten that the only thing she has left is the medical case.) "Unless... Is there anything else we ought to know?" She shrugs in an attempt to look unworried. "Y'know, ship culture or etiquette or whatever?"

Graham only nods appreciative acknowledgement of the Vulcan's clarification, but internally he's immediately on alert and feels a rush of adrenaline.

Great it would be just our luck to have boarded a ship with nine fucking Gorn or some such...

The presence of the Uwat children is some comfort: the ship's crew did not seem stupid, and they'd have as much or more interest in putting their confiscated weapons to use in their kids' defense if anything went south.

But if the mystery group tuend out to have hostility that was specifically Federation- or human-directed...

Before T'Ves can reply, Jol says, "Bunks? You hired this ship for transportation, no more. We did not discuss lodgings... or food." It is difficult for Kylah to read his tone.

Kylah turns in surprise and annoyance--not to mention a touch of her dormant sense of entitlement. "With respect, sir, we paid for a three-day journey on a transport ship, and at the time you acknowledged you had two parties on board. In fact, there are at least..." She adds the total quickly. "At least thirteen other passengers besides us. I should think you would have some sort of sleeping accommodations available. And prior to taking us on your shuttle, do you not think you might have mentioned that we would have to provide our own meals?"

Though Nia's own hopes took a nosedive at the Uwat's words, Kylah's reaction helps nothing. She starts to snap out "Ens--" before catching herself. "Insulting our hosts is completely out of line. We're lucky to have found the Doregg at all. We never expected our 'accommodations' to include private cabins with meals served to us on trays."

She faces the First Officer. "Sorry, Mr. Jol. We're tired and... it's been a very, very long couple of days. And she's our protocol expert," Nia adds dryly. Her eyes shift to take in the couches and seats around the Common Room. "Look, I don't care if we have to sleep here. Or find some storage area where we can toss our coats in a heap to make up pallets on the floor."

Raising one arm wearily in the direction of the replicator, Nia nods. "And we'll pay you for whatever resources we use for grub. Just... just please, let us know some place we can..."

There's a hesitation when Nia realizes she has no idea how to finish the sentence. Or even how she began it in the first place. Her mind searches and it's utterly blank. "Where we can..." She stares helplessly at Booker, then the doctor, before finishing with a weak and entirely inadequate, "Where we can be."

Bizhi admires what Jol is trying to do, even while the last thing they want to do now is deal with this nonsense, and of course Mr. Jol knows it.

He moves up next to Nia and Terrance, puts his arm around the former in a reassuring squeeze (and is ready to catch her should she faint again). He locks eyes with Mr. Jol, maintaining a thin smile, and takes over from Nia, "I recall you agreed you had room. Bunks, cargo hold, it's all the same to us. As long as it has gravity, life support, and environmental controls, which we never discussed explicitly but lack thereof would be an absurdity. Well... I suppose we could do without gravity; it wouldn't be the first time. Comestibles we will pay for in hard currency. Naturally."

None of you have ever seen a Vulcan grimace before, but T'Ves comes very close to doing so. "Unlike most other starfaring races which provide passage to others, the Uwat offer all shipboard services on - what is the Earth phrase? - an a la carte basis. And they do not tell you until you are already aboard."

Jol does not seem bothered by her expression, or this comment, in the least. The children, however, scurry behind him. He says, "We have cabins available, and food suitable for your kind, of course, but you must pay. I offered the same to the Vulcans for 5,000 Federation credits per person, which is more than generous." Rawlings cannot help but quietly scoff. Jol goes on, "I now make you the same offer."

A sigh of relief escapes Kylah. Five thousand per head? Thirty thousand credits hardly seems like a fortune to her--she could easily take care of it, if necessary. She nearly blurts "Oh is that all?" before she clamps her jaw shut to prevent such a remark. Aside from standing out too much (and possibly inviting another dark look from Lt. Onn), it strikes her that making this fee seem too reasonable might be counterproductive. It would be typical of such grifters to decide to raise the price yet again, if the party members appeared willing to have paid more.

Since she made the offer to Lt. Graham earlier, she directs her meaningful gaze to him. "Five thousand is a great deal, along with the 12,000 we already agreed upon. But I...I believe I would be able to come up with such a fare, myself, if it is what must be done. As I said before, sir. Er, Mr. Booker," she corrects herself.

Of course then she belatedly realizes that she still did not use the right form of address. Tense as the moment is, she gives him a sheepish little smile of apology. Going undercover is not her greatest strength.

"You may do as you like with your share," Bizhi says, eyeing Kylah.

"I'll share a cabin with whoever is game." He looks around the room. (Five thousand? he surreptitiously mouths at T'Ves.)

Though a little taken aback by Dr. Mäkeläinen's arm around her shoulder, Nia appreciates the support and, perhaps, the continuation of her playacting aboard the shuttle. Both to further that role--and, quite frankly, because she needs to--Nia rests her head against the Doc's shoulder, which isn't that comfortable since he's slightly shorter than she is. Still, it's warm, strong and keeps her head from lolling, so she's got nothing to complain about.

What she does wanna complain about is the added fee. This kinda bilking bugs the hell out of her, but at this point the Uwat have left them with no options.

Nia is bloody sick of no options. Unfortunately, she's too tired to argue.

Still, she stares as steadily at Jol as she can. "Out of curiosity, what do you do if a passenger doesn't pay your surprise add-on rate?" She nods toward the corridors. "Your big unpopular group, whoever they are. They take this charge bump in their stride?"

Her glance shifts to her party members. "As for who sleeps where... I'll bunk anywhere horizontal, at this point." But she can't help glancing at Booker.

Graham cocks and eyebrow...Kylah is on the ball, here, he thinks.

And Nia needs to god damned get some rest...


"Let's make it so Mist-- Miss Kylah," he says, nodding. His toward her is appreciative and approving, a reflection of what he feels about her - maybe - blossoming into the officer he believes she can become.

Less so toward the Uwat, but he forces himself to remain the picture of politeness. "While it's an unexpected expense," he says calmly, "we'll make good on it."

Kylah cannot miss Lt. Graham's encouragement, warm as a sunbeam and just as welcome. It might mean little to him, a standard "good job" look toward a junior officer, but if so... no, Kylah would know that. To her, at least, Lt. Graham has kept his emotions open, readable probably to almost anyone who sees them, much less an empath.

They have had troubles between them, mostly due to Kylah's own disingenuous nature and the secrets she must keep. A little from his misunderstanding her; more from her underestimating him. But otherwise, she is terribly grateful for him and vows to share just how much his approval means to her.

She nods at the Uwat to echo Lt. Graham's words, maintaining her poise. "As we are now decided," Kylah says in her best emulation of what a member of the royal House of the Silver Weeping Tree should behave, "May we see the accommodations we have agreed to pay for, sight unseen?"

It would undermine her demeanor to bounce on her toes, so Kylah does not. But she is oddly...happy? Is it terrible to be this way with Lt. Onn's illness and all the danger that they have encountered, and still might? If it is, Kylah can only try to hide it. She cannot command her heart not to beat like a quick, pleasant tattoo within her breast.

A man as strong and brave as Lt. Graham seems to think her actions laudable. And Velir is by her side, the memory of his kisses still tingling her skin whenever she imagines it. He is in trouble, but she is helping him. She is useful. Purposeful.

Turning to the Doctor, Kylah nods as well. "As for sharing, Doc, it should be easy to split into groups of three, keeping the--" She halts at how to describe "security officers" without sounding like "security officers." "Keeping the strongest pair distributed within both. T-terrence, could you be with me and...Ganrin?" She is not sure which name is harder to say with a straight face. "And obviously Doc and Booker ought to sleep with Nia."

Graham starts at Kylah's phrasing..."Booker ought to sleep with Nia..."

But her suggestion is sound, and after a moment he nods agreement.

Graham and Jol are able to work out payment details, with 3,000 credits for each paid now, and another 2,000 upon reaching the Cavinre system.

Jol answers Onn, unapologetically, "Different races have different negotiating customs. Had you not agreed to pay for living quarters, you could have stayed here in the Common Room. For food, you may have bargained with the other passengers, or paid for one meal at a time until you reach your destination."

You hear one of the doors just down the corridor ahead slide open, and then the thud of heavy boots on the deck plating, approaching you. The Uwat children quickly disappear down the corridor behind you, heading aft. One, two, then three aliens appear. Each is tall but stocky, with reddish-purplish skin, prominent brow ridges, coarse hair in spiky braids and four thin, sharp teeth protruding from their lower jaws. They are wearing what appears to be light armor of a leather-like substance and flexible metal plates. The biggest of them, who has a red, metallic, triangular insignia on his right shoulder, stops abruptly when he sees you, and the other two do likewise. "More passengers!" he shouts angrily. "You said nothing of bringing aboard more passengers. Damn you for a miserable cheat, Jol!"

"I am required neither to report to you before more passengers come aboard," Jol says calmly, "nor to get your permission, Teloqq. Their presence cheats you of nothing."

None of you recognize these large, mean-looking aliens.

A lot happens at once.

Kylah suggests that "Doc" and Booker should sleep with Nia, a straight line that demands a remark, but Nia's not sure yet about Dr. Mäkeläinen's sense of humor (though he seems to have an appreciation for irony). And Booker...

The girl was right: He ought to have slept with her. Why didn't they take that natural next step? Would things have turned out the same way, if he'd been happy with her? Her confidence as a pilot and engineer has taken a literal plunge over the past 48, but Nia was born and raised to be a sexual partner, and that doesn't go away. Especially not with as much practice as she's got.

Yeah but how much worse would I feel if we'd had sex, only for him to hop off the ride and bounce over to the warm-blooded girl-next-door of his dreams?

The reflective moment dies when she hears Jol's voice and pseudo-explanation for his method of doing business. And it positively crumbles into dust and ash once Nia's widened eyes take in the huge-ass strangers in bad need of braces.

She straightens up to stand on her own and appear alert, to the best of her ability. This is no time to be chatty, and she very much needs to understand just what the hell these men are arguing about. Still, she can't help murmuring under her breath, "Just once, couldn't someone be happy to see us?"

The aggressive strangers' arrival slaps Kylah's optimism in the face for being bold enough to reveal itself. Despite the irrationality, she cannot help fearing that her hubris evoked this situation.

Her hand, which had gently been brushing against Velir's fingers, reflexively grabs for him and tightens. Other than that, she does not move. The Uwat children had the right instincts, or at least the same ones Kylah feels now. She wishes she were either much bigger than she is--or so tiny as to be invisible.

She clamps her mouth shut and casts a quick look at the other crew members, as well as the Vulcans, to see how they react. The natural thing for Kylah would be to attempt to get some sense of this Teloqq person and his group. But their brutish demeanor and speech are doing the job all on their own. Kylah is, frankly, afraid to peek inside their emotions.

Fuck maybe we'd be better off with Gorn... is Graham's first thought.

Graham notes the kids ran aft, suggesting a path of where to retreat to if things go South.

Jol's calm - despite his borderline fraudster business tactics - is at least a bit comforting.

"We are...quite tired, Mr. Jol," Graham says, matching the Uwat's calm tone. "As soon you are at liberty to show us to our quarters."

With their little pantomime or without, Jol's type of trading should not be encouraged, Bizhi feels. They absolutely should have gone for at least a couple of rounds of haggling, all the more so since it supposedly from their credits that they are paying ludicrous amounts. And, considering the future when they make it back to Starfleet in one piece, he is not positive what resources these vast sums that his team is so quick to sign off on actually represent, even though they are little more than a rounding error from that point of view.

Bizhi was not bluffing in that, if it were up to him, he truly would be content to lie down right here or someplace below decks. It is warm enough even without any extra clothes or blankets. But, the way things are, they do need a place where they can have some privacy.

He is happy for Kylah who seems to be enjoying herself. He begins to reply something suitably clever, but then... this big guy. The problem is that he has no idea what approach, or lack thereof, might offend. Not quite no idea: it is not much to go on, but judging by Jol's attitude it is best to be cool. But just then Booker has the utterly brilliant idea of ignoring the strangers completely. So, instead of starting some sort of conversation with these new people, what he does is follow Booker's lead and allow himself to be led to the cabin he is supposedly sharing with him and Nia. Or, should the situation take a turn for the worse, follow Booker's lead in that sense. If the new fellows do force a confrontation, well, he will think of something to say; when all is said and done even fellow badasses may legitimately go for a kip.

Rawlings murmurs to Onn, "You said it. At least the Vulcans were welcoming."

Rangin squeezes Kylah's hand right back. She senses that he is trying not to appear scared of these new aliens.

The Vulcans stiffen ever so slightly, Graham observes, but do not move.

Jol says evenly, "Yes, I will take you to your cabins now."

"Wait!" says the big alien, Teloqq, brusquely holding up one large gloved hand. His eyes narrow and he looks at each of you in turn. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Graham spread his hands slowly and disarmingly to his sides. "We're here because we paid Mr. Jol for transport to our destination," he says, trying to match Jol's even tone as much as possible as he addressed the big alien. "Without any knowledge of who else might be on the ship."

He gestures toward the other Yorktown crew. "And we are indeed very tired. I can assure you that when our respective species are asleep, we don't move, or speak, or pose any threat to anyone. So I suggest that any, ah, getting to know each other, can safely wait until after we rest."

There is nothing Bizhi can really add to those words to smooth things any further. He continues to stand around attentively, coolly regarding this and that like he hasn't a care in the world and is bored with the whole exchange.

Teloqq's green eyes narrow and his heavy brow furrows. Then, abruptly, he says, "Yes. All right. Later, then. Why get off on the wrong claw, after all?" He steps back, and gestures for his henchmen to do the same.

Jol leads you all slightly down the corridor, towards the bow, and shows you two adjoining staterooms, both opening off the corridor. They are cramped and utilitarian, with three metal slabs or bunks sticking out of the aft bulkhead in each, one above the other, and a thin foam-looking "mattress" and a thick but somewhat threadbare blanket on each bunk. The bottom two bunks have a recessed step at each end to reach the upper bunks. Each room also has a small desk and a chair, a closet, a comm panel on the forward bulkhead and a single oval viewport about half a meter wide, opposite the door. Through it you can see the sunlit arc of Ollos just aft, and an unfamiliar alien starship, also in orbit, perhaps a kilometer or so away.

Kylah is impressed with herself--she did not realize how long she could hold her breath before. Clearly her lungs are quite capacious, because after inhaling upon the sight at those aliens, it is only once the Yorktown party members are finally walking away that she lets herself exhale in relief.

On their way, she gives Lt. Graham a soft "Thank you, sir; that was quite well done." She looks around at the others encouragingly. The rest also played their proper roles as mute nobodies, which was what the task required.

So she is feeling quite chuffed until Mr. Jol introduces them to their...quarters. Kylah's face falls and her ability to remain tactfully mute dries up. "This is what we paid for? My family dog would not wish to sleep here. And even if she did, I would not let her."

It would take more energy than Nia currently possesses to talk on their way to their bunks, so she saves that energy and doesn't.

She looks inside both staterooms and, while they're not particularly attractive, they have flat surfaces, upon which are some things that aren't entirely unlike mattresses. Good enough for her. Drawn to the viewport in the farther aft cabin, she peers out, is reassured that space still exists, and starts to thank Jol.

But, of course, Kylah.

If Sidonians still possessed their ancestors' acid-venom sacs, that girl would be screaming her melting face off. Instead, Nia snaps, "No one here cares what your planet's bitches would do. Mr. Jol, thanks. We're grateful. All of us," she adds with pointed emphasis and another quick acid-worthy glare at Kylah.

Weary, she grasps hold of the desk chair and eases herself into it. "Now can you tell us something about those passengers? Nothing detailed, I get discretion. We'll appreciate yours too, I'm sure." Nia tries to raise an eyebrow and is pretty sure her face muscles can't even accomplish that.

Leaning her elbow on the desk and propping up her head with her palm, she sighs. "I just... what do you know about their race and is there anything you suggest we do--or not do--to keep outta their hair?"

Graham grinds his teeth, wanting more than anything to tell Nia to let him handle this and get some rest...

But she's bang on asking the right questions, and pissed off by Kylah to boot, so he doesn't see that going well.

For the moment, he remains silent, scanning the room while listening with sincere interest for Jol's reply.

Jol says, "They are Chalnoth, an aggressive and disputatious race. I would advise you not to anger them. I was, frankly, surprised that Teloqq let you go to your quarters without further dispute." Kylah has the impression that the First Officer is almost preening. "Perhaps he did not wish to draw my ire. I have my ways for dealing with him and his brothers."

None of you have ever heard of the Chalnoth before. Rangin says quietly to Onn, "I believe this is a First Contact, Lieutenant. Not under the best of circumstances, but still...."

Jol does not hear this. He goes on to say, "Please select which room you would each like to occupy, and I will code the door locks accordingly."

"Well, Mr. Jol," Bizhi says easily, "I've met plenty of paranoid, angry types, but cannot say I am familiar with these fellows. Chalnoth, you say? You must instruct us in basic etiquette, as to what behaviours won't provoke them, as says my colleague. At your convenience."

"I'm happy with Kylah's suggestion for splitting the rooms," he says suppressing a yawn, "or whatever you prefer." Nia looks like she has amassed some inertia. "We can take this one," he addresses Kylah, "you and Ginran and Terrance the next one down?"

He wants to ask Jol about sanitary facilities, but does not feel like haggling with him just this minute over exactly how many credits a shower is worth. He will have a look around a little later, see if he can get past any coded door locks with or without the assistance of some of the other passengers. In any case, the fortune they are paying now includes water, according to his reckoning.

Mr. Jol's self-pleased implication about having some method to handle these alien brothers' behavior piques Kylah's interest, and not in a good way. She nearly asks for clarification, but she is already flustered and embarrassed by Lt. Onn's insult. She does not wish to trigger another.

"Yes, sir," she says in response to the doctor, before glancing over to Velir and Mr. Rawlings only to end with Mr. Jol. She gestures to the stateroom connected to this one. "We three will be in here, if that is all right."

Nia tries to decide whether her memory's failing her regarding these "Chalnoth" aliens, but once she learns they're new to Rangin--and a xenobiologist oughtta know--she relaxes. Slightly. First contact situation, great. Does she have the energy to deal with the protocols? Does she even remember them? Still, she is dimly curious enough to ask, "Brothers? Like they're literal brothers?"

She nods at Mäkeläinen gratefully. "Yeah. Here's great. Good choice, Doc." Right now she'd be happy to just rest her head on the desk and go unconscious. The bottom bunk, crappy mattress or not, will be positively heavenly. Unless Booker needs it for security considerations. Closest to the floor and door and other tactical... stuff.

Speaking of which, she lifts a heavy arm to the exit. "The guys with the hair. Are they bunking nearby, or do we have some kinda... buffer?" Her eyes take in Booker and Double-T. They'll handle that sort of thing without her. In fact, once Jol takes his increasingly irritating personality out of sight, she'll talk to Book about handling everything without her.

Graham moves up close to Rawlings and whispers in the big man's ear.

Then - waiting for any answer from Jol in response to Nia's question - he gestures for the team to take to their rooms.

Jol says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "One should be polite with Chalnoth but not too deferential, I'd say. They respect strength and resolution. Don't say anything which in any way implies you're weak."

Rawlings and Rangin have no particular preference as to where to sleep. Rangin now looks almost as tired as Onn.

Jol indicates that the Chalnoth occupy four rooms just down the corridor from you, not far away.

Rawlings hears what Graham has to say and replies, "Understood." He almost says "sir" but, mindful that Jol is still there, catches himself.

You all feel a slight shift of the deck under your feet. Onn can see, through the viewport, things start to move outside. The ship is apparently breaking orbit.

Jol says, "I must go to the control center." He leaves.

After listening to Mr. Jol's suggestions, Kylah waits for him to leave before responding to Lt. Graham. "Aye sir," she says, then looks sympathetically at Velir. "Come, you should get some rest." She gestures toward the second stateroom and will wait for him to exit. Her quizzical gaze takes in Mr. Rawlings, who she assumes will be joining them as well, before following Velir inside.

Alone--at least for a few seconds--Kylah takes Velir's hand and leads him to sit down on the chair. She kneels so she is--nearly--at the same height, and brushes a hand through his hair soothingly. "I will take the top bunk. I cannot imagine Mr. Rawlings would be very comfortable up there, and I fear you would topple right off given your state."

The words are playful but she examines him searchingly while her fingertips massage his temple. "Are you hungry? I expect Lt. Onn will be staying behind to rest, and food will be brought back to her; I can do the same for you. Would you like that? And something hot to drink?"

Nia's head still rests in her left palm while she observes the various micro-interactions around her. Everything feels quite distant. Jol's answered one of her questions, the most pertinent one anyway. A few cabins over. Are the Vulcans in between them? She's already forgotten the other women's names.

Book's issuing secret orders to Double-T, which is fine, though her slowing mental processes can't guess what the two are planning. Meanwhile, Kylah's cajoling Rangin into the other room, either to ravish him or just to complain about the accommodations some more. So Nia's focus slides to Mäkeläinen as her limp right arm pats the medical case by her side. "Don't suppose it's time for a top-off yet?"

Simply shifting her gaze back to Booker feels like it requires more calories than she's currently got in supply. "What're you thinking now, Book? I'd like to hear everyone's impression, actually." She lifts her shoulder nearest the other stateroom in an extremely economical shrug. "If the two in the other room have anything to contribute, them too."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is definitely feeling the fatigue now, too. He knows well how to stay functional through sheer willpower from both medical training and Starfleet training, but a tempting bunk is right there!

"These short-but-not-too-short shuttle trips tend to banjax one's circadian rhythm, but you are right, it's more or less time," he says in response to Nia's question about her medicine. "That makes it doubly important to rest now. If we were, hypothetically, members of some sort of organization that had rules concerning medical opinions, I would say to consider that an order." He begins going through the familiar, almost automatic gestures of selecting and setting up the correct hypos from his medical gear--- the stuff in Nia's case is not so useful without correct parenteral administration--- remembering also the final titrated dose of Lexorin he calculated earlier.

"Later, I would like to show you how to use one of these hypospray injectors, just in case you ever have to do it yourself. It's quite easy and nearly automatic, mostly a matter of double-checking everything is set correctly. And making sure you have selected the right medicine vial; you'd be surprised what can happen even to distinguished physicians when they do not pay attention." Bizhi knows what he is doing, though, and goes through the procedure even while he and the others keep talking.

Back in the general discussion, when it is his turn he says, "I suppose we are going to be fielding more questions from our large and numerous neighbours. They can't quite place us, and are not the type to leave it at that. It's also something novel to occupy them after however many days without much to do besides join the Vulcans for lute sessions."

Rangin sighs contentedly as Kylah massages his temple. "Ah, that feels good. But no, thanks. I'm not really hungry. I just want to sleep. Maybe after that?"

"Of course." Kylah kisses the crown of Velir's head and murmurs, "Rest all you need. I doubt we will have anything to worry about until we reach Cavinre." Straightening, she hesitates. "We do not have communicators," she says slowly--repeating the concern that has plagued her since they prepared to board the shuttle. "But there is a comm unit in each of our rooms. If you need anything you should be able to contact us."

If Velir is of a mind to go to bed now, she will help him over to the bunk, whichever he chooses. After that, she hesitates. Lt. Graham told them to go into the cabin; did he not wish them to reconvene? Since she is uncertain, she remains where she is, but stands in sight of the other stateroom, door open.

Nia truly does her best to listen to Mäkeläinen--not just listen, but to comprehend--but she's distracted by the increasing distance between this ship and Ollos. As much as she wanted to leave that godforsaken planet, the stark truth is that as rotten a destination as it was, Nia's situation feels even more tenuous now that she's stuck here, on the hopefully-seen-better-days Doregg, with mercenary and possibly amoral strangers at the Helm and those massive be-fanged enemies... potential enemies... majorly outnumbering the allies. Assuming that's what they can call the Vulcans. "Neutrals" is probably a better word for them.

At least on Ollos there were dozens of ships, multiple methods to get in touch with someone, anyone, who might be of help. They had weapons and individual communicators. Most of all, the hospital was right there. Other non-Oxygen-breathing races were right there. Dr. Mäkeläinen could consult with others and had access to whatever resources existed.

What's on this ship? Some bandages? A wonky tricorder circa the 22nd century? Maybe a few oxygen tanks? Fat lot of good those will do her.

Swallowing, she turns her attention to Dr. M., her eyes wide with both a gnawing sense of alarm and a desperate attempt to keep awake/alert. Her ears seem to tune back in as soon as Mäkeläinen suggests she'll have to give the hypo to herself.

"Why?" she asks stupidly. "You're not going anywhere without me, or vice versa." If Nia could blush that's what she'd be doing, because yeah, it was a stupid remark. The doc's just doing what docs do--good docs, anyway--and keeping his patient informed and engaged in her own treatment.

She gets it. She really does. But with the planet turning into a dot and this ship feeling like an imploding tin can, the thought of being without the person most concerned about her welfare and certainly most capable of maintaining it is terrifying. Nia wants to latch her nails onto Mäkeläinen's arms and lock her scales in place, effectively clamping herself to the doctor's body: yet another predatory skill used by her Sidonian evolutionary ancestors.

Unlike the venom sacs, she does have the ability to use this method of attack. She never has, but she sure as hell feels inclined to test it now.

Her gaze shifts to Book and Double-T, if for no other reason than to prevent Mäkeläinen from seeing how ready she is to launch herself upon him and keep him trapped in her immobile limbs. "Maybe you boys oughtta listen to this tutorial too?" Her voice is way too tense to pull off the lighthearted tone she's attempting, but she keeps going nevertheless. "More the merrier, right?"

Lute lessons.

The doctor has a fine sense of humor, Graham thinks. Although any humans who underestimate the relative strength of Vulcan's of any gender are in for a rude surprise, he thinks, remembering a few training sessions from his Academy days...

Graham nods at Nia's comment. "Good for each of us to know, indeed," he says. "But at the moment I think rest is top priority." He shrugs. "Jol seems to feel like he's got those uh, surly guests under control. And--" he glances from person to person. "I think we're all dead on our feet."

Knowing how to use a hypo injector is useful knowledge that may come in handy down the line outwith whatever baleful scenarios Nia is imagining, thinks Dr. Mäkeläinen. Especially when it comes to one's personal medications. It was not that long ago, relatively speaking, that people used to jab themselves--- with needles!--- to manage old-time diseases like diabetes; it was impossible to run each time to the local physic. On that note, too early to tell anything, but did it not recently transpire that Nia, just possibly, may be facing early perimenopause? Is that one of the scenarios weighing on her mind right now?

Bizhi says, "Right, let's postpone the detailed tutorial until such time as we are not too tired to see straight."

He moves to check the lock he saw Jol programming earlier, to make sure it works.

Kylah listens to the conversation in the other stateroom and her brows furrow in surprise, confusion and just a little bit of disappointment. She herself is not hugely tired, not physically anyway, and in fact she is rather hungry.

Most of all, she wonders at the lack of urgency regarding what to her is just about the most important issue facing them: How very isolated they all are from anyone connected to them. Kylah has learned not to be complacent when it comes to having no way to reach out for help.

Edging over to the doorway, she looks around at the others. "Forgive my intrusion, ma'am; sirs," she says softly. "I know how exhausted everyone is. We should rest soon. Still, I cannot forget that we have no way to confirm whether Mr. Jol, or the messenger Dr. Mäkeläinen arranged for, successfully passed along our location to the Portmaster--and thus our colleagues back home."

She stops herself from saying too much, because another concern has risen its head. Her hand reaches automatically to her belt but, of course, there is nothing there to type out a message. Is there any writing implement nearby? Kylah looks in the desk and glances around the cabin while continuing in a casual tone.

"Anyway, I was hoping to get a bite to eat. Or perhaps to get to know the Sisters we met earlier--I think we should further our acquaintance with them. But naturally I will not go anywhere on this ship alone. I do not suppose I might have interested one of you in such a venture?"

Frustrated, she gives up the search for something to write with and turns directly to Lt. Graham and changes to mouth her next words in barely a whisper. "Am I overly cautious to fear there might be surveillance devices?"

Bizhi looks up from examining the door lock. Is there more to this, or is Kylah simply hungry? "I spied a food dispenser right back there, in the Common Room," he says.

Graham is at once impressed and exasperated by Kylah.

He shakes his head slightly at her mouthed comment.

It's not an unreasonable worry.

But getting Nia resting is job one...

OK, Booker, maybe that's your bias.

He rubs his jaw. "Look, I think it's timely to bunker down....and avoid the big claw-y weirdos down the hall for now." He looks from person to person. "If anybody desperately needs food, I am not going to force you to go without...I'd like to, ah, confer with N- Lt. Onn."

He glances at Nia. "Move in teams, always. If I have three willing to go on a grub mission, let's see hands..."

Rangin smiles a tired but winsome smile, then lies down and kicks off his boots. He pulls one of the ratty blankets up to his chin and drops off to sleep within seconds.

The door locks are coded to each of your thumbprints. The one for his room works fine for Dr. Mäkeläinen.

Rawlings yawns hugely behind his hand, but says he is willing to go get some food.

Kylah has distinct impressions of conflicting aims amongst the six of them, probably because the heavy cloak of weariness is dulling everyone's ability to dissemble.

At least Lt. Graham seems at ease with their safety--or at least their privacy, which of course are not the same things. She does not wish to second guess him. If they are all asleep and in the cabins together, it is unlikely anyone would have any reason to listen or watch. Until Kylah herself feels confident that it is not a danger to reveal who they truly are, she will not say anything incriminating.

She smiles up at Mr. Rawlings, who would certainly be her choice for an escort, but he likely needs rest as much if not more than anyone save Lt. Onn. Or Velir. "Thank you, Terrence. But I suppose the Vulcans can be met at some later time. And I would not force anyone to stay awake because I want a sandwich. I am not famished and am used to putting such things off anyway."

With a hopeful look--has she at last made a suggestion that does not annoy any of her colleagues?--Kylah heads back into the other stateroom. She can try to familiarize herself with the comm panel, and she is capable of making a basic visual sweep of the cabin for any surveillance devices. Hardly as comprehensive as a proper scan, but it is better than nothing.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is satisfied with the lock, not that this particularly increases or decreases his current sense of security. For now at least, he is satisfied that the Uwat are running things as they seem to be and therefore have an active interest in making sure that nothing untoward happens on their ship, fights breaking out or whatever Kylah was worried about [not sure if he caught what she whispered, but either way he does not care about surveillance devices at the moment.]

"I'll turn in for now," he says in response to Graham. "Later I will be up for a little exploration, including of the food and drink dispensers."

Rawlings yawns again and asks, "Does anyone really want something to eat? If not, I wouldn't mind getting some shut-eye myself."

Kylah finds no surveillance devices, but of course, given contemporary technology, they could be very, very small.

The comm panel she examines is a silvery-gray, and has a small screen about half a meter square, six buttons in a row beneath, and two small ovoid discs in the upper right corner.