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

"I concur," Nia says, her tone as quiet as his while she stares at the impressive but intimidating array of mines and other security measures. "Yeah, a straight path would be faster, but only because we'd be blown to smithereens in five seconds.

"Still. The speed changes are curious. Why vacillate between fast and slow? Unless there's some sort of timer-based, oversensitive trap that'll go off if someone lingers in one place too long." She sends Booker a wicked grin and the full force of her shining, amused gaze. "I can relate, as you probably remem--"

Horrified, Nia wipes the smile from her face, clamps her mouth shut and returns to the controls and the plotted path on her viewscreen, since it's time to speed up again.

Lucky the Tesla hasn't yet been outfitted with transporter tech, although that is on the wish list. If she could beam herself off the shuttle into the vacuum of space, she'd probably do it.

"Sorry, Book," she whispers, then grits her teeth again. "Booker."

Little prickles of scales scratch beneath her scalp and forehead. She'd be sweating if that weren't something Sidonians almost never do. The shuttle has never felt so claustrophobic. Licking her lips, she then takes a much-needed deep breath. "Is it just me, or is it getting a bit close in here?" Her eyes focus on the path ahead and the thousands of tiny deathly devices just daring her to move the Tesla a few dozen meters closer. "Too much company outside, I guess."

"You're okay," Rawlings murmurs just loud enough for his voice to carry to Onn. "Steady as she goes... and you'll get us there, Lieutenant."

The minutes crawl by as Onn carefully guides the shuttle along the specified course. Graham's scan reveals that the starship orbiting the prison planet is a Minsk-class light cruiser, the USS Amman.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amman

Mäkeläinen tells Kylah, "This will be my first visit. But, during my psychiatry rotation, I had to deal with people who were a danger to themselves and to others. It was... taxing. Wearing. Some patients had no respect even for their own bodies."

He grimaces and continues, "Here is the thing (and you may be able to relate): no matter who the patient is, and how they got there, they deserve compassion and effective treatment. But empathy is a double-edged sword. It is a good quality, but that very empathy leaves you vulnerable to manipulation. Imagining yourself in the place of a patient is important, but trying to identify with an unhealthy mind will drive you mad. You learn to keep that distance, even more so than with other kinds of patients. Do not let your thoughts stray too far down the abyss. And confronting mental illness is scary and humbling. Remember, Hutchinson was a Starfleet officer, just like us."

"Prison, well, it's not like the old days, and even back then they were not kept in isolation, exactly. But, make no mistake, this is a concentration of sociopaths, psychopaths, and serial killers, to say nothing of other personality disorders. Often there is little we can do about that, medically speaking. I prefer not to picture too vividly what it would be like assigned to a prison, possibly for years on end. I suppose I would focus on day-to-day routine work; even manipulative psychopaths can catch a virus, or break a bone."

Mäkenäinen shakes his head. "We'll be out of here soon."

"Thanks, Double-T. No worries, it's just like threading a needle." Nia smiles despite herself. Better not elaborate that she's likely the Alpha Quadrant's worst seamstress. It's a good opportunity to blip over her inappropriate gaffe with Booker.

She lets the shuttle fill with silence--aside from the pleasant low murmur of someone in the back, must be Dr. M.--while maneuvering around a fairly sharp-angled turn. Then, once the Tesla's past it, Nia pipes up again. "Anyone want to guess as to what the Amman's doing here? My choice is, maybe dropping off a prisoner of their own. But I'm not much of a story weaver. The rest of you can probably concoct something a bit more exotic."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's words have an almost hypnotic effect on Kylah. They make her feel understood... but not solely in a good way. His comments seem both insightful and, somehow, invasive. Doctors always unnerve her, put her at a disadvantage, but usually while they examine or scan her. Dr. Mäkeläinen manages to do so with his voice and gaze alone.

She cannot argue, for his advice is wise. She can only stare at him, enrapt, as she often was as a child in front of her uncle while he read her to sleep.

At last Kylah shakes free of whatever spell she has been under. "Yes. I hope there is not much of a delay before we head back to the ship. And of course we will not enter the prison itself." The doctor's recitation of the prisoners' mindsets has chilled her--the very thought of being among so many people, the weight of their anger, madness and despair pressing in on her, makes her shudder. "Perhaps we need not even leave the shuttle."

Her attention strays unwillingly toward Ms. Hutchinson. She will never leave the prison. Kylah's heart aches for anyone facing such a fate. But she killed her own wife and child. How can I keep forgetting that? Murdered her whole family! Why, why did she do it?

She drags her gaze back to the doctor and murmurs her thoughts aloud, for his ears alone. "You rightly say that it is dangerous to empathize too deeply with such people. Still... one must, if we are to understand how crimes like this happen. If only we could know why. I wish that had been required during the trial... her explanation for performing such a... such an unthinkable act."

A glint comes into his eyes. "I agree, Kylah, and I said as much to Dr. Villa after the hearing. This is someone who had undergone regular performance assessments as well as medical checkups and was cleared for duty. Why would she snap like that? Of course we want to know, and I guarantee that both the prosecution and the defence would have insisted on a thorough psychiatric evaluation, each for their own reasons.

"But the principle in the Federation is that we respect people's autonomy. Not as absolutely as some civilizations do, but it is there. Hutchinson had the right to cut short the trial, and the judges accepted it was of her own free will. And even confessed criminals have rights; no forced mind probes here. I wonder if she really knew what she was getting into, though."

Mäkeläinen, too, takes another look at Hutchinson. Her chances of ever getting out of here are basically nil, if they exist at all. For the medical part, no doctor would be quick with an opinion that it is safe to release a killer back into society, even after years of therapy and rehabilitation (should the prisoner avail themselves of that route) and mitigating circumstances (of which none were mentioned at the hearing).

Rawlings says, "My guess is the Amman is here as a guard ship. I've heard they rotate ships through here, a month or so at a time, to provide extra security."

Graham notes that the shuttle has been intensively scanned since entering the system.

Soon Jaros II, an airless, grayish-brown and much-cratered world, is looming large in the forward viewports. The stern-looking Security officer reappears on the forward display screen. "Shuttlecraft Tesla, you are cleared for descent and landing. As before, please follow the course now being provided to you. You have been assigned to Landing Pad 3. Jaros II Command Center out." Another, less complicated course plot appears on both Onn's and Graham's control readouts. It is a typical descent course from orbit and will have the shuttle on the ground in just under six minutes.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guard_ship

Torn between his datapad and noticing what Hutchinson is up to, Rangin decides that doing something about the latter is likely to be more safe and secure in the long run and he stands to make his way to the two pilots ahead and casually blocking any view that Hutchinson might have of the pair up front.

“My apologies for this, as it might be distracting, but you have an avid listener sat back there who really should not be allowed any details of our descent. Just as a security precaution, I’m sure we all understand. Mr Graham, Ma’am.” he says quietly to both of them.

“Yes, he/she is paying far too much attention to what ever you mention and whatever can be glimpsed of the control panels, hence my close proximity.”

He continues to stand and wait for either of them to acknowledge his comments while still looking out the cockpit window into the starry view beyond.

Graham tenses slightly when Rangin sidles up behind them, but relaxes and cocks an eyebrow as he speaks.

"She shouldn't have much chance to act on any information," he replies quietly. "But it's a prudent observation," he adds, nodding grudgingly.

He glances sideways first to Nia and then Rangin. "Back in the good old days we'd put a big thick sack over prisoners' heads. Worth the occasional suffocation."

He feels compelled to add, "Ah, that was a joke."

Nia nods distractedly in response to all the men offering opinions. "Noted, Rangin, and thanks. I doubt it's a huge danger but I should've been more careful just the same. Maybe you wanna trade that blue uniform for red?" She flashes a quick smile, adding Rawlings in for good measure, before returning to land the shuttle.

Booker's flippant comment rankles, and her shoulders tense. She'd probably be less irritated if he'd even slightly acknowledged her apology. Then again, it seems very much in character for him to just ignore the discomfort and pretend she didn't exist. In fact, he probably didn't even hear her slip.

So her nerves are frayed when she hears his sack/suffocation remark. "A joke in poor taste, Lieutenant. Some of us have been--may have been prisoners ourselves." In fairness, she never told him about that part of her past, but... he never asked. Bet I know more about his bleedin' sister than he knows about me. She finishes with a grim mutter, "And suffocation isn't very funny to me." He probably forgot that night in her bed, too.

Shit. There goes my mood again. Better ask Dr. M. if he happens to have a hypo of that magic potion he gave me yesterday.

With a curt shake of her head, she grunts. "Forget it. Rangin, better sit down. Landing in less than five. We'll have a chance to stretch our legs for a bit once we're dirtside."

Nia prepares to bring the Tesla down to the landing pad with gentle pulses of the thrusters to buffet their descent. She's pleased that the shuttle's movement is smooth as velvet, a veritable feather wafting downwards.

Onn skillfully brings the shuttle down, the planet growing larger and larger ahead until it fills the viewports. Onn and Graham have a clear view of the Starfleet Prison Jaros II complex on final approach; it is a low, drab, modular series of interlinked parsteel structures almost two-thirds of a kilometer across, along with some outbuildings. There are two landing pad clusters of four pads each, set on opposite ends of the prison. Landing Pad 1 has another shuttlecraft on it, while the others in this cluster are empty. Landing Pad 3 is easily identifiable from the large number painted on it and its blinking perimeter lights.

The Tesla comes gently to rest, and the Command Center officer asks Onn to shut down the shuttle's engines and prepare for egress.

Nia follows the directions, giving a side-eye to Rawlings and, in particular, Hutchinson. She doesn't expect any desperate last-minute attempts to escape--it would be almost hilariously futile, with a mountain of a security officer nearby, another strong man with a more than capable trigger finger, and Nia herself--who'll never let anyone hijack the Helm while she's got breath in her body.

Still. An infinitesimal chance is still a chance. That's the reason for the wary, warning look before Nia powers down the engines, waiting for any re-pressurization procedures, if necessary.

She flicks a glance at Booker, then Rawlings. "I'll open the hatch once you officers get into position and are satisfied that it's safe. And we'd probably better wait till our host gives us permission to disembark."

Graham nods, and turns toward Rawlings. "Prepare to disembark with the prisoner. On exit you'll head out first and form up right, I'll follow and form up left." He pauses. "The team will follow."

He starts to rise, then pauses on the way to put an arm on Nia's near shoulder and lean in close. "I'm sorry if what I said upset you--but, before that...you never need to apologize for...for ah. us," he whispers quickly. "Not to me, and not to anyone on my account."

He quickly stands and reclaims his arm to straighten his shirt, and then check his phaser for charge and settings.

"Understood, ma'am, sir," Rawlings says to Onn and Graham. The latter's phaser-2 is still set on Stun and is fully charged, as he expected. Rawlings checks his own sidearm and subtly nods to Graham.

The Tesla lurches only a little as the landing pad begins to descend. It slowly drops below the planet's surface and thick double doors slide shut over it. You find yourselves in a well-lit chamber of rough-hewn stone approximately ten meters down and thirty meters across. The shuttle's sensors soon show that the airless space around you has been safely repressurized. The Command Center officer says, "You are now cleared to exit your shuttle. Please then proceed through the doors to your left. All those aboard are invited but not required to enter the facility; anyone who wishes to remain aboard, other than the prisoner, may do so."

The shuttle's sudden descent along with the landing pad is unexpected enough for Kylah to let out a gasped "oh!" in alarm. At first she grasps the seat of her chair, unsure what else is coming. When she glances up front she sees the stars disappear as the Tesla travels downward, she stands abruptly. The impression she gets is of being buried underground.

But once the landing pad settles, the light from the chamber surrounding them reassures Kylah that they are not in some dark grave. Feeling foolish, she rubs her arms before sitting back down. Should she stay here and test whether the communications tech is able to receive or send anything? She dearly wants to stretch her legs, but... she does have the responsibility to perform the tasks for which she was added to the mission...

She sighs at her attempt at self-obfuscation. The truth is, she is uneasy about being too close to the prisoners. Well, she can get a little exercise without taking much of a risk. It seems highly unlikely that the party from the Yorktown would be allowed anywhere near actual convicts. Aside from Ms. Hutchinson, of course.

Making sure she has her usual equipment, Kylah stands up once more. She can finally see Velir, just barely anyway, past Mr. Rawlings, and sends him a shy smile. She realizes she should have sent him a text message, and could have done so at any point in the past nine hours. Silly of her not to think of it.

She must wait for Mr. Rawlings and Ms. Hutchinson to move before going anywhere, and so she turns to the doctor beside her. "Are you going to look inside?" she asks quietly with a tactful nod toward the prisoner's destination.

Nia opens the hatch and will sit for a few seconds, watching the others start to leave and collecting herself from the little shattered pieces lying on the deck.

Just about the last thing she expected was the weight of Book's arm on her shoulder--so warm, welcome and familiar. Followed by the intimate murmured apology and gracious words.

She just nodded, eyes straight ahead as if trying to navigate through a long canyon. Beneath her uniform, on her shoulder where his arm rested, her scales receded, vanishing into her tingling skin. Just from a simple, collegial gesture.

The lurch from the landing pad was certainly less of a jolt than the reminder of just how much she wanted, still wants, Booker Graham.

Somewhat belatedly remembering that she's the commander of this mission, she performs all necessary shut-down procedures and gets to her feet. She's looking forward to stretching out her muscles after the long flight, but she'll wait for and follow Booker.

Damn him.

Dr. Mäkeläinen stands and double-checks he has not forgotten anything, in preparation for following everyone else out.

Should one or two of us be left to guard the shuttle? How does protocol work in this case? That is Lt. Onn's business, anyway.

He answers Kylah, "I do not expect we will be offered a grand tour. But we want to be satisfied that our prisoner is handed off to responsible authorities, and we need to see for ourselves the conditions. For example," he indicates the chamber they are in, "while to a salty deep-spacer an underground donjon is merely luxury accommodations, generally speaking it is not an ideal situation for prisoners for some of whom rehabilitation may be a real possibility. Anyway, I know we are not responsible for the operations of Starfleet stockades, but it is all going into my report."

Graham clears his throat and nods approvingly at the bits he overheard from Dr. Mäkeläinen. "It's not an order, but I'd encourage everyone on the team to disembark--especially if you haven't seen a Federation detention facility before." After a moment's pause he adds, "Anyone can let me know if that's a problem."

Assuming it won't be, he takes a position ready to follow Rawlings and Hutchinson. "OK, on your feet, Hutchinson. Rawlings, pop the hatch and let's move out."

Rawlings takes the prisoner off the shuttle. Something in Onn's expression makes Graham decide to linger behind.

Who else follows Rawlings and Hutchinson?

Mäkeläinen and Kylah are in the back, behind Rawlings and Hutchinson. The doctor looks to see if Kylah is coming. If so, he follows her out. If not, he takes his leave and follows them out.

Rangin considers the options of staying in the shuttle as opposed to heading out into the prison. He does wonder what the interior or even the exterior of the Federation prison planet might be, it’s not somewhere he would ever want to stay either long or short term. Then again, if he does go in, he hopes someone is not going to mistake him for one of the inmates, being from Coridan and the reputation that precedes it’s inhabitants.

But, after several hours of sitting around and doing very little before having to sit around for even longer on the way back, perhaps stretching his legs might be the better option. A little bit of sunlight if they have it, before being stuck in the shuttle. He may like to avoid prisons, after all, who wants to be near one, but if this is the only stop on the way, best to take advantage of it.

He packs his things together, making sure to keep a hand on them before rising with a comment thrown out to the others. “Well, I’m looking forward to a brief stretch before the next leg of this trip.” and then Rangin gets ready to disembark when he can.

Since Velir does not return Kylah's smile--likely he cannot see past Mr. Rawlings--she waits no longer and turns to leave. Dr. Mäkeläinen seems to be waiting for her, in the old Terran tradition of men allowing women to precede them. Much like how so many of them pull out women's chairs when seating themselves at a meal, another courtesy that has always puzzled Kylah.

But it is her job to understand and respect customs, where possible. So she nods gratefully and heads toward the small procession out of the hatch, just behind Mr. Rawlings, who is as ever an impressive, intimidating figure to behold. Two or three Klingon generals and other soldiers she has met back home were of similar size, but their presence was enhanced by their armor. Mr. Rawlings is, by himself, a small battalion.

Then they move forward, revealing that Velir has waited for Ms. Hutchinson and Mr. Rawlings to pass. Which makes sense, Kylah reasons. When he expresses his intention to get some exercise off the shuttle, her smile flashes again, and she moves forward flanked by Velir in front and the doctor behind.

Graham glances from the departing crew to Nia and back again.

Satisfied Rawlings has the prisoner in hand, he settles back on Nia.

Nia watches the others lining up, planning to be the last out of the ship. She's a little surprised when Booker hangs back, and her skin gets that warm, prickly feeling again.

"Thanks, but you don't have to..." She makes a gesture that sort of combines a nod and a shrug. "I figured I'd take the rear." She looks up at him. It's the first time that they've spoken one-on-one since the wedding reception, and certainly the first since Marala entered the picture a week prior.

"We probably shouldn't wait," Nia says at last, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear (unnecessarily, as she knows she's slicked it back securely). "We didn't exactly keep things--you and me--a secret, and I wouldn't want anyone thinking that we're--you know. Inappropriate."

But then this whole conversation is inappropriate. Why did he stay back? Why is she even talking about any of this? Nia shakes her head as if bothered by a fly and resolves that next time, she'll obey her instincts, as she would have today before Vargas stuck his nose into her business: no Booker on her assignments, if she can help it. And if he's essential to a mission, more so than she is--which is probably more likely--she'll be the one to tap out.

"C'mon, let's have a fun prison visit," she says lightly, and lifts an arm for Booker to precede her. "Go on. Like one of my friends says, 'age before beauty.'" Her eyes meet his directly, though there's a hint of pleading in her expression despite the confidence she's trying to project. Don't say anything, Book, don't feel sorry for me, don't... just don't.

Rangin nods to Kylah as she walks up behind him in the shuttle as he is preparing to leave.

“Looking forward to the tour?” he enquiries politely as he follows Rawlings and Hutchinson out of the hatch and looking forward to seeing what the prison planet. He’s hoping it is not a grey wasteland full of rocks and metal, but then prisons the galaxy over, all seem to revert to type.

Everyone leaves the Tesla and steps out into the large chamber. The floor is also stone, but smoother than the walls. There is a large metal door, closed but big enough for the shuttle to pass through, on your right. The much smaller double doors to your left, also metal, open as you approach. Rawlings walks through, leading Hutchinson gently by the arm. Beyond is another room, also of stone, about half the size of the shuttle landing bay and with a ceiling just three meters high. Along one stone wall are two horizontal rows of what appear to be metal panels of varying sizes - small on top, and large on the bottom.

Three redshirts are standing there, all Human; the middle one is an older, dark-haired woman. "Welcome to SPJ2," she says, smiling. "I'm Cmdr. Beruze Malaj, the Deputy Warden." Rangin, who had an Albanian classmate at the Academy, recognizes her name as being from that country.

Nia's words--and expression--were so unexpected that for a moment, all Booker could do is look from her eyes to her extended arm and back. He shifts his jaw, going so far as to open and close his mouth for lack of a formed thought to express. In the end, he simply nodded slowly and follows the implied direction to lead the way off...struggling mightily not to turn back around--despite the fact he still doesn't know what to say.

The welcoming committee feels like a godsend to - of necessity - demand his and Nia's full attention.

Dr. Mäkeläinen stands by while Lts. Onn and Graham do their thing greeting the redshirts. He looks at the metal panels curiously.

Kylah cannot tell if Velir is in a better mood than when they parted last night. He can be so polite. Sometimes... she does not like to criticize him, but... sometimes he seems almost too polite. His manners and courtesies are so much of what draws her to him. Yet it is sometimes hard to identify the line between his gracious, gentlemanly demeanor and the cool, distant fortress he builds around himself.

"I am curious to tour this place, but not looking forward to it, exactly," she says quietly. She cannot help a sympathetic glance at Ms. Hutchinson. Kylah suddenly resents this assignment, having been put in a position to watch someone losing their freedom. She lifts her gaze to the smooth walls and floor--all oppressively gray, and says in a near-whisper, "It is ugly here."

Nia approves of the setting--which looks sleek, modern and positively antiseptic compared to the Neian district jail back home--but is primarily grateful for Booker's tact and the greeting of the Deputy Warden, both of which allow her enough time to get herself back into professional mode.

She weaves her way through the small party to stand closer to the front. "Thank you, Cmdr. Malaj," Nia says, forcefully brisk again. After she quickly introduces herself as the mission commander and then the rest of the Tesla team, she finishes with Booker. "And Lt. Graham is our Assistant Chief of Security. I could be wrong but I think he'll be particularly interested to see the... intake process."

Nia lifts her chin in Hutchinson's direction without actually wasting any eye movement to look at the prisoner. "Could you tell us a little about the history and setup here, the population and so on? Of course only what's not classified or um, compromising, securitywise."

"Thank you, Mr. Onn, Mr. Graham," Cmdr. Malaj says. "First things first, however. I thank you for bringing this prisoner here, pursuant the lawful verdict of a Starfleet court-martial, and acknowledge her delivery. I now officially accept custody of her." She presents a datapad to Graham, the senior USS Yorktown Security officer present. He checks several boxes and signs it. Malaj makes a notation of her own and then countersigns.

She nods to her two redshirts, who come forward and take the prisoner from Rawlings. One of them scans Hutchinson with a tricorder and says to Malaj, "Identity and lack of weapons confirmed, ma'am."

"Very well. Take her for processing, please, Mr. Baines."

"Aye, ma'am." They begin to lead Hutchinson away.

The stone-and-metal chamber does not signify anything special to Bizhi, good or bad, just that there must not be much wood around, but plenty of rock and ores. Rather like Mars.

He looks after Hutchinson's redshirt party to see if they disappear down another featureless corridor, or if he can discern anything (not that he knows anything in particular about what security measures look like).

Kylah stares after the departing prisoner and some foolish, hasty impulse shoves itself past her circumspection. She steps forward and blurts, "Ms. Hutchinson. Please, will you not tell us--"

She breaks off, because she knows the request will lead nowhere, yield nothing. Flushing, she continues more hesitantly. "I wish to understand. May I write to you?"

Pivoting to face the younger woman, Nia is speechless for a second. What in the blazing sky could this idiot be thinking? Though flabbergasted, she recovers quickly. "Ensign!" she snaps. "Lock it up and stand back."

Hutchinson's guards hesitate. The prisoner turns and a flurry of emotions rush across her face; Kylah thinks she sees confusion, disbelief, and perhaps... gratitude? Hutchinson finally says, "Yes, if you wish. Thank you."

Kylah's pen pal gambit was definitely not on Graham's bingo card.

Nia seems to have it in hand, though.

"Ah, indeed, Commander, as Lt. Onn suggested, I am curious about a number of things...was there a particular--unclassified--reason this system, and this planet, were chosen for the facility?" he asks, gamely attempting to move things beyond Kylah's outburst.

Not surprised by Lt. Onn's reaction, Kylah focuses on being glad for Ms. Hutchinson's approval. Since she has long since grown accustomed to being snapped at by senior officers, she gives a less-than-apologetic nod in response to the command. Still, as she returns to her position a little behind Lt. Graham, she casts a grateful look at his back for the change of subject.

Mäkeläinen gives Kylah an appreciative (and carefully ambiguous) nod when no one else is looking. He, too, wishes to understand. Hutchinson is not his patient, though, and he is no longer connected to the case in any way, now that she is officially entered into the facility.

Hutchinson and her guards pass through a pair of doors beyond and to the left of where Cmdr. Malaj stands, and are gone.

Dr. Mäkeläinen thinks the walls and floor are probably granite; the ceiling is metal. He notes that there are several small black discs along the ceiling line and near the doorways which, he suspects from having visited other Starfleet secure facilities, are sensor and surveillance nodes.

The Deputy Warden says, "Right, then. If you'd like the two-credit tour, prison regs require that you leave all your gear - phasers, tricorders, communicators and so forth - in these lockers." She gestures to the metal panels in the wall. "They'll be returned to you when you leave, of course. If you'd rather just talk, there's a conference room adjoining this chamber."

Nia, after flashing Booker a look that pretty much translates to thanks--might wanna keep a leash on your protégé, arches an eyebrow in curiosity at Malaj. "I understand you need to be vigilant, Commander, with most of us. But our Security officers? We've got two of Starfleet's Finest here." She eyes Double-T and Booker, giving a one-shoulder shrug. "Recommendations, Lt. Graham? You okay with that?"

Kylah has just registered the reassuring look from Dr. Mäkeläinen when, unlike the rebuke from her current C.O., the Deputy Warden's words deliver a jolt of alarm. She cannot give up her communicator, not after all that has happened to her without one. And the regulations Cmdr. Malej cites stir her memory of the similar prohibition back on the Sakthian research station--Kylah's very first mission.

The director there demanded everyone relinquish their weapons, beginning a standoff that nearly scuttled the mission before it began. Lt. JG Collins balked, but eventually Captain Singh told them to obey the Sakathian's rule. That agreement led to dire consequences.

Back then, however, Kylah still possessed her throwing knives, which escaped detection; indeed, not even the Yorktown officers knew she had them. Except Velir, whose keeping her secret was the start of their friendship.

Of course both knives have long since been lost, one through usage, the other stolen when she was attacked on Anubis. To her shame, Kylah has even abandoned the Elasian women's tradition of wearing the hidden leather thigh hilts, part of her daily wear since she was old enough to hold a knife. Uncle Aldaan said he would send replacement weapons, but...

Reflexively she darts her gaze to Velir--the only member of the current landing party who also experienced the Sakathian disaster--to gauge his reaction.

"That's, ah...very kind, Lieutenant," Graham replies in response to Nia's comment about "Starfleet's finest."

"It, ah, may be jarring given our typical mission parameters, but it's not atypical--when I was working law enforcement on Earth, as a sworn officer you'd yield your weapon before entering a prison facility."

He pauses and nods toward Malaj. "It's their show, and if they weren't on the ball about keeping prisoners secure..." He smiles and shrugs slightly, turning first to Nia and then back to the Deputy Warden to nod respectfully. "Well, there wouldn't be many prisoners left, would there?"

"Indeed not, Lieutenant," Malaj says seriously. "Nobody has ever escaped from SPJ2, and nobody ever will, if I have anything to do about it."

Rangin is standing back for the most part while Hutchinson is handed over. It’s not really his remit to get involved, indeed the formalities of handing the prisoner across are going as expected until Kylah decides to ask to be her pen-pal. Scientific curiosity aside, Rangin is quite prepared to forget this person ever existed and let them spend the rest of their days in a deep dark hole where they belong.

He tries to show little emotion at the little scene, although inside he finds the reactions amusing, with Lt Onn being outraged and the prisoner being shocked, and the general nervy unease of everyone else around. Such an awkward situation, but Rangin is getting more used to them with Kylah around. It’s almost endearing the way she just blurts out what she is thinking from time to time and it’s hardly fair that he should be the only one to feel that sense of cringe that pervades the air.

When it comes to looking around the prison and handing off all his gear, Rangin knows it is the usual procedure if you are going into a prison, unless they happen to be a well-paid lawyer. Then again, it’s not like they are going to be going any distance into the prison and certainly are not going to be mixing with the prisoners. Phasers maybe, but everything else seems a little like overkill. Overkill is such a bad work to use around a prison, Rangin muses to himself.

Judging by the others, it looks like Graham is going to be all for it, which is more than enough of a reason for Rangin to stay behind. A tour might be fun, but if they have a conference room, he can catch the video tour and get some snacks in at the same time. Besides, it gives anyone else an out if they don’t want to be part of the tour.

“I’ll pass, thanks. I’m happy to stay behind.” Rangin pipes up in a hopeful pleasant tone of voice.

Now that Nia got the Deputy Warden to agree to show them around, Dr. Mäkeläinen figures this is his chance to ask about the prison's medical facilities. He has already been introduced, so he simply explains, "I wouldn't mind getting a quick look at the medical facilities you have around here, Commander, and how they are run, given the rather special circumstances."

He had not thought about it, but seeing the doors and security nodes brings into sharp relief the fact that practically everything they are carrying must be highly controlled in a prison. Weapons and communicators, makes sense, but drugs, too, are obvious contraband. He is not used to thinking in those terms.

He can live with putting all his stuff in a locker for a short while — in a facility as secure as this one appears to be, it will no doubt be perfectly safe — if that is what it takes to see what he came to see. The metal in his arm may show up on multiple security screens, no reason to doubt that. It does not just come off, nor would he consider parting with it even if it did. But, if they do question him about it, he imagines they must be reasonably familiar with prosthetics.

"I think it is best that I stay behind as well," Kylah says promptly, only to realize that it will probably seem as if she does so merely because of Velir's own decision. In a rush, she adds, "The shuttle's communication technology is the sole purpose for my presence on this mission. I will stay and run some tests."

Her hands find each other and she twists her fingers nervously, eyeing Lt. Graham and wishing he could see her sincere concern. "And I--I think it is a good precaution as well. Someone should be out here, able to communicate with others, if something goes wrong."

She can see Lt. Onn take a deep breath, presumably ready to cut her short, but Kylah proceeds anyway with an apologetic glance at the Deputy Warden. "I mean no disrespect, Commander. I am sure you have excellent personnel and safety protocols. I just--it is just that not long ago, I was a member of a Yorktown landing party that ended up in a similar position, stranded on a space station without weapons and trapped with a dangerous population. Not even able to get back to the shuttle or call for help. The mission was led by Lt. Collins," she finishes softly, aiming her speech at Lt. Graham in hopes that the mention of his close friend and fellow Security officer will somehow add more weight to her words.

Malaj seems a little wary of Kylah, given her earlier abrupt pen-pal request of Hutchinson, but says, "As you wish, Ensign. The tour is certainly not required. Those who wish to stay should either return to the shuttle, or step into this conference room," she indicates a door. "Everyone else, please put all of your gear in these storage slots; they're thumbprint-secured. Then we'll get underway."

Nia gives Kylah much the same guarded look as Malaj, then turns to the Deputy Warden as she removes her phaser and other items from her duty belt. "Is it absolutely mandatory to stow our communicators, ma'am? All of us? I'm sure your staff inside have communicators of their own--couldn't one of our Security officers keep hold of theirs? Rules are rules, of course, but..." She tilts her head toward Double-T and gives a small smile. "...Does Ens. Rawlings here look like the sort who's gonna be overpowered?"

She'll put away her items regardless of Malaj's response, and shifts a little until she's next to Dr. Mäkeläinen. Under her breath, she'll address him privately. "Hey. That medication yesterday worked great. It's been over 24 hours by now, so if it wouldn't be a problem, do you think another spritz would help, assuming it's available? I'm feeling somewhat... edgy. Exaggerated reactions." She scowls slightly. "Actually I don't remember asking if there's any risk of addiction or reliance on whatever that spray delivered. Sloppy of me."

The last thing Graham wants to do is second-guess Nia in front of others, but he's puzzled by her insistence on trying to retain some equipment.

I get the caution, for sure--but this is a top class Federation facility. If we have reason to believe these folks aren't on their game...that would be a big fucking deal...and if we don't...

Presumably this is related to the mission Kylah remembers with some obvious discomfort.

Well, as a Security officer himself Graham feels some affinity for the staff: if we say we got you, we got you...

He remains silent as he doffs and stores his gear, wondering if he should ask about this later...

[I double-checked the thread, and Dr. Mäkeläinen did indeed remember to bring along "some psychoactive anxiolytics and anti-psychotic medication that can be used to calm a delusional or psychotic patient", which were never named, but I am assuming includes Lexorin. If not, I apologize in advance---we'll just re-write this dialogue!]


Bizhi judges that picking an argument, here and now, with senior prison officials about making an exception to basic regulations has zero chance of succeeding and would only serve to annoy the Deputy Warden who, after all, is doing some strangers a courtesy by agreeing to show them around and has no reason to react positively to chutzpah. He is therefore surprised when Nia asks if they can keep a communicator. It makes him reevaluate: is he too quick in doing what he was told? Yet, where would it leave him later if he spent whatever non-existent currency he has with the Lieutenant Commander before she even escorts them inside?

He is stoically moving to stow his gear when Nia asks him about medication. His brain processes what she is asking about. "You mean Lexorin. I have some here. I was just about to store my medical bag in this locker along with everything else--- not at all happy about it, but when the Warden instructed us to stash all our gear, I assume that included drugs. I can give you the same dose now. And, you are right, I should have been more clear yesterday. Long-term use, as in weeks and months, and high dosages can potentially lead to tolerance and dependency; your brain gets used to having those chemicals around. It is indicated for short-term use. In your case, my prescription is five to seven days, only as needed for acute... edginess; you do not need to take it regularly by the clock."

Malaj says to Onn, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but that's the policy. You can see, I'm sure, why I have no leeway to make exceptions."

With a nod, Nia lifts a hand. "Understood, ma'am. It would've been irresponsible for me not to try, just in case." She's still reluctant while slowly closing the locker door on her items, but then smiles archly back at Rangin. "In the meantime you'll have to be our ears and voice, Lieutenant." She turns and will follow Malaj, after whichever Security officer prefers to take point.

Graham's relieved the debate over retaining equipment is over - in fact, that Nia handled it with some grace and aplomb.

With a glance to ensure she wasn't intended to direct who-went-where, he gestures for Rawlings to take the rear and steps forward to walk beside Malaj.

Time to tour Hutchinson's new home...

Belatedly--proving her annoying mind issues are still, well, annoying--Nia realizes she let the communicator issue distract her from the hypospray she just asked for. She hangs back and waits for Dr. M. Surprisingly she can feel her scales prickling beneath her skin, as if anticipating the very minor discomfort of the hypospray. Touchy much? Get it together. Nia concentrates on staying relaxed by breathing deep, which gives her a nice boost of energy. The angst with Booker seems to take a lot out of her, a fact that only makes her more irritable and determined to perk herself up. "Thanks, doc. Appreciate it," she murmurs.


OOC: Sorry, forgot Nia had asked for the spray, duh.

Kylah is watching the others prepare for the tour when she catches Lt. Onn's remark to Velir. But I am the communications officer, she thinks, hiding the flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks by glancing back at the shuttle.

After dealing with Nia's hypo and stowing his gear, Dr. Mäkeläinen, too, falls in behind Malaj. Tour of a prison. Hm. I wonder what she has in mind for the opener? He tries to pay attention to details. Anything medically relevant will go into his report later. Also, Kylah seemed morbidly curious to hear about it, though evidently not enough to come and see for herself.

“Of course, Ma’am. Enjoy the tour,” Rangin responds politely to Lt Onn with a cheery smile and an inclination of his head to show his understanding of her, well not quite instructions, more request given that both he and Kylah will now be in a conference room together for the duration.

He is quite surprised that Graham has not even raised an d eyebrow at that situation. Obviously, prisons must be his kind of thing: the locking people up, the general brutality of it all. Yes, it looks like Graham is going to be enjoying himself. As for the others, well that is up to them.

He gestures to Kylah with one hand towards the door of the conference room. “Shall we?” he enquires.

Turning back to the others, Kylah gnaws at the inside of her lip. She is wary of Velir's possible wish to continue the discussion they had last night. Also, she bowed out of visiting the inside of the prison by claiming she needs to work on the Tesla's new communications tech. But... she can probably test some of the functions remotely, by using her tricorder. And she did make a promise to Velir that she would be more open. It would be cowardly to avoid him now.

"Yes. I will access the Tesla from there." She eyes Lt. Onn. "I can try to use the new transmitter to amplify the signal of my own communicator. The new transmitter module is said to have that ability, I believe." With a parting smile to Lt. Graham, Ens. Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen--which they might not see if facing away from her, although perhaps Rawlings in the back does spot it--Kylah heads to the conference room.

Cmdr. Malaj shows Kylah and Rangin into the conference room, a windowless space with the same rough-hewn stone walls and low ceiling the Tesla party saw in the entry hall, as well as a long, featureless metal table and six utilitarian metal chairs. A Starfleet seal is on the wall. The door closes behind the two and Malaj then leads Onn, Graham, Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen through the same door through which the guards had earlier taken Hutchinson. There is another long stone corridor beyond with several doors along it.

Malaj talks as she strides ahead. "Everything I'll be telling you is non-classified. If you have any questions as we go, please speak right up. So. The Jaros II prison was established just over forty years ago, and has been updated and expanded twice since then. It's the sole Starfleet prison, although there are four other temporary or transitional holding facilities, on Earth, Starbase 1, Rigel IV and Atlantica Station. We currently have 420 prisoners and a staff of about half that size, with a maximum prisoner capacity of up to 1,300. We've never come anywhere close to that, though, fortunately. Prisoners are assessed for physical and mental health, skills, risks and special needs at the time of processing, also known as intake."

Dr. Mäkeläinen does not interrupt with questions at this early stage, though questions do cross his mind, like how many of the staff are Starfleet specialists and how many are civilian contractors.

"Four-hundred and twenty," Nia says under her breath, shaking her head. "And that's it? For all of Starfleet? Not including the jails you mentioned, but even so... that seems so few. I know Starfleet attracts the best and brightest, but I didn't realize the bulk of us were so..." About to say paragons of virtue, she decides against the snark and just waves a hand in a sort of shrugging gesture and concludes: "Obedient. Very impressive."

Nia suddenly wonders if, had Vargas followed through with his threat of a court-martial after the Marala incident, she herself would be finding a home here. She side-eyes Booker, who might have joined her--assuming they'd've been punished equally. Not a definite prospect, given Vargas's relationship to his Security officers. Still a sobering thought. Raising an eyebrow, she coughs slightly and murmurs, "All this is plenty of incentive to keep out of trouble."

She takes a deep breath to address Malaj. "Is this low population an unusual lull for you?"

Rangin looks round the conference room with a sniff, his annoyance obvious at the difference between what he is expecting and what he is being presented with.

“You know,” he asides to Kylah, “I was expecting a conference room, not something closer to an interview room or somewhere guests get to meet a lucky inmate.” He nudges one of the chairs with a foot, hearing it squeak across the floor and then looks round the empty room.

“Hmmm, I’m surprised it looks this empty,” as he starts to peer round trying to identify where all the listening and vision devices will be wired in. After all, it is a room in the prison, so the chances it does not have monitoring devices will be as close to zero as to be inconsequential.

However, there is someone else in the room and he pulls the back of the chair out from the table and offers the seat to Kylah. Of course, she is a Federation officer and a rank below him and there is no reason for him to have to do it, but he is in the room first and he feels he should at least make the gesture.

Kylah accepts the chair and, smoothing her dress beneath her, sits. "It looks little different from basic rooms at the Academy, to me. But I find design so plain--utilitarian--with humans. Humans from Earth," she corrects herself.

Picking up her tricorder, she sets it carefully on the table, centering it and keeping the device straight against the table's edge. Kylah stares down while doing this, as if the needless task requires all her concentration. "Perhaps it is just in comparison to what I am used to. I have never seen a jail or prison. Are they much different on Coridan?"

Graham leans over and murmurs to Nia "And to think, a couple centuries ago o just one country on Earth incarcerated millions. Progress, I guess."

Rangin spots three of what he thinks are probably sensor nodes in the conference room.

Malaj replies to Onn, "It is a little lower than usual, but not by much. I've been here for almost five years and we've never had more than 500 or so in that time." She leads you through two codelocked doors and into a turbolift, which goes up four floors and lets you out onto a long white corridor with metal doors, identified only by number, every few dozen meters. She continues, "Most prisoners are in the general population, although we have separate sections for violent prisoners, protective custody, mental health, medical quarantine and outbound prisoners, that is, those due to soon be released. Prisoners are encouraged to work, and most do so in galley, custodial or laundry services. Privileges may be granted or withdrawn depending on behavior. Communications in and out are restricted and closely monitored."

Nia nods at Malaj's words while watching the doors they're passing by. Offices or cells? She hopes they're offices, since (at least from where she's walking) she doesn't see any slot or potential opening for meals, guard checks, or simply just to alleviate claustrophobia. If they're offices, they'll probably have windows to the outside. If cells... well, it seems cruel. Or indicates that these are home to particularly violent, unstable prisoners.

She starts to ask but cuts herself off and decides to defer to Booker or Rawlings for such questions.

"Five years?" Graham asks. "I've visited one of old Earth's most storied prisons - Alcatraz, now a museum of course. Foreboding place, on a rocky island, but a short boat ride away from downtown San Francisco. It seems like this posting might be a rough go...are there any facilities or best practices for keeping the staff from getting burnt out?"

Rangin pulls a second chair out and sits down at an angle to the table while pulling out his own datapad and tossing it gently onto the surface and then spinning it around until it is the right orientation.

“I have no idea how this particular prison matches up to those on Coridan, but it is likely to be a little more humane. Then again it’s not likely to be as entrepreneurial here as opposed to the comings and goings that can occur in a more open-minded and perhaps corrupt prison.”

He thinks back to his past and his own misadventures on his home world. “Well, I may have seen the inside of a jail cell on an occasion or two, but fortunately, never been to prison. It’s almost an occupational hazard on Coridan depending on what you get into.”

He smiles back across the table to Kylah, while wondering what her reaction might be to the confession. “I have turned over a new leaf, as they say, since then.”
`

Everything so far seems rather sterile, orderly, and rigid. Of course, they only know what they are being shown on a brief tour. Even so, Dr. Mäkeläinen is willing to accept that, even populated by murderers and other serious offenders, a Starfleet prison is still, as a rule, going to be more efficient and less violent than a generic civilian facility. This is not the kind of program that the Fleet would risk screwing up, if only because of the security implications. And even the inmates came up in an organization where the Captain's Mast was rare and dreaded, a court-martial unthinkable.

He wonders a little about Malaj's background. How was she selected for this assignment? Some kind of security specialist? Maybe he can work it into his question.

"Ma'am, if I may ask, what proportion of the staff here are Starfleet, and how many are civilian contractors?"

When Malaj has answered the others' questions, Nia can't rein in her own. Curiosity murders pets, or however that bizarre Earth saying goes. "Before we get wherever we're going--what kind of rooms are we passing? Offices of some sort...?" She hesitates and looks ahead. "I don't see any Security around here so I'm assuming these aren't for people who need, uh, guarding."

"Duty assignments here are typically for one year," Malaj says, "and all staff are screened to make sure they're suitable for this work, which can certainly be hard. It's not for everyone. Personnel may agree to longer assignments, as I did. But yes, we have rec facilities comparable to those on a starship, as well as appropriate psych and wellness services, healthcare, and monthly shore-leave opportunities in nearby systems. Civilian contractors are typically rare; we only have a couple here at the moment. These rooms that we're passing aren't cells, but are offices, storage, L/S and machinery spaces and the like."

"Why were you in--" Kylah stops herself, then starts again. "That is... of course you have changed. You must have. I cannot imagine you, of all people, taking part in any crime." Her cheeks burn and she glances at the table rather than Velir's rather penetrating gaze. She is uncertain whether her smuggling two refugees against orders counts as a crime, but it was surely risking a court-martial. Kylah's merely failing to report to Lt. Graham last week was worthy of a court-martial, at least in Cmdr. Vargas's mind.

Aware of how much Velir tolerated and kept secret for Kylah's sake--even assisted her, somewhat--she knows she must add: "Not a crime on your own behalf, at least." She looks back up at him, hoping he knows how much she appreciates his violating his own ethical code. Needing to skip away from an incident that reflects so poorly on her, she decides to push forward. She still knows so little of his past. What she understands of Coridan society, anything that managed to get Velir Rangin involved must have been dark indeed. She doubts there were many petty crimes there.

"What did you do? If it does not bother you to say. I will not judge. I am in no position..." Kylah shakes her head to dismiss the rest of her thoughts. "Do you mind telling me?"

"Offices, I thought as much. Good to hear," Nia says in response to Malaj, quite sincerely. "You mention shore leave to different systems... is there nothing of interest locally, or even on the other side of the planet. Big as this complex may be, the planet's inhabited by others... isn't it? (If the answer to this is no, ignore the following questions.) Any towns or cities anywhere nearby? Guess I'm curious about any interactions with the locals, or if the prisoners help out with community work?"

"No, there's nothing on Jaros II except the prison," Malaj says. "Nothing. The planet is otherwise uninhabited. There's nothing in the whole damn Jaros system except the prison. The Federation owns it all, and Starfleet chose it because it's so isolated and easy to close off. You saw some of our external security measures, including our guard ship, on the way in. Guard ships typically are assigned here for a month or two; I don't think the Yorktown has been here yet for that duty. SPJ2 has state-of-the-art security measures and we're always evaluating the need for, or usefulness of, upgrades, and adopting them as needed."

You walk down the long corridor, then she takes a left turn and leads you through two more codelocked doors, one of which has a guard posted at it who comes to attention as the Deputy Warden passes. You go down another corridor. You see, through heavy glass windows, prisoners in light gray coveralls coming and going from cells along another parallel corridor. A few redshirted guards, watchful and armed with phaser-1s, are among them.

"Are the armed guards really necessary to escort prisoners?" asks Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Why ratchet up the tension, as well as add weapons to the mix, if anything should happen? You said yourself, there is nowhere for them to go.

"Nor is this planet easy to get to. What arrangements are there for family or friends that wish to visit someone in a personal capacity?" It's important. One has to be pretty far gone for simple contact to cease to be a ray of light in the darkness.

Malaj says, "The armed guards you see here are on patrol; they're not really escorting prisoners, as such. When a new prisoner is brought in, as you saw earlier, they're guarded during processing before being placed in SPJ2's general population, if that can be safely done. The phasers our guards carry are permanently set on stun and are thumbprint-coded so they can't be fired by anyone other than that individual guard. Family and friends can visit monthly in person, but most prefer, or can only afford, to do so via secure subspace link."

She leads your group through several more codelocked doors, showing you the large domed farm - with its extensive crops tended to by prisoners - as well as the educational wing, gym, recreational area and infirmary.

Graham suspects the guards on patrol also have panic buttons and biosensors that might immediately flood a compartment with anesthizine gas, but chokes back the question, also suspecting that might be classified information.

Fourteen years have passed since Nia left her dying home to live within and learn about the Federation, and still she finds it astonishing that a whole planet, hospitable and habitable, can be so underutilized. How wealthy and fortunate the Federation is, able to claim this entire world for one single purpose--housing 1200 prisoners at most. And Omicron Ceti III, she remembers while half-listening to Malaj's sightseeing tour; Isn't it devoted to a health spa for the ultra-rich?

Do these fortunate races, the humans, Vulcans, Andorians and the rest, know just how extraordinarily privileged they are, how profligate these choices are? Meanwhile, Nia's own people barely subsist on Sidonia's ever-decreasing livable portion of scorched, crumbling land.

Nia sighs, a little tired. There's a long journey to the Yorktown and she's hoping they can get going soon. Frankly she wouldn't mind some grub right about now, or even a short nap. Of course, the latter will have to wait until she's piloted the Tesla safely on course and past whatever part of the trip is closest to Romulan territory.

"Impressive operation you have here," she says when they've all paused. "We're very grateful for the tour, ma'am, but we'll have to be off soon to catch up with our ship. We should probably start winding this up. That said, I for one would be very grateful for a meal, if that's not too presumptuous, Cmdr. Malaj." She smiles and nods her head back in the direction they just came from. "We've got rations onboard but nothing like the fresh produce we just saw."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is interested in the auxiliary wings and, especially, the infirmary. While they are there, he briefly introduces himself to the person on medical duty and asks him or her what brought them out here, how long he or she has been working there [Malaj mentioned most assignments were for one year?], and how they like it.

Nia asking for a break—come to think of it, when did they last eat? How many hours have they been continuously on duty, unless this tour somehow counts as recreation? He would not mind more than a bit of strong coffee, now that she mentions it.

Graham spontaneously laughs at Nia's question.

Ater a second, he realizes he should explain. "Ah--there's an old Earth um, in old Earth history quote-unquote 'prison food' was reputedly the worst of the worst. Profiteering to sell stuff barely fit--or maybe not fit--for human consumption to be served to convicts." He smiles and quickly adds, "I am pretty sure we're beyond that, here and now, of course."

In the conference room, Rangin responds to Kylah's question with an amused smile. “You do realise which planet I come from. The one, in part, in league with the Orion Syndicate?” Surely she remembers what kind of reputation Coridan has, especially given the value of the dilithium mines and the smuggling operations rife across the planet.

“Trespass,” he elucidates before Kylah responds, “several cases of trespass. I did spend quite a few nights in a cell for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, when I say that, it was the right place at the right time for me, just not necessarily with other people’s agreement.”

He sees Kylah looking intently at her datapad and the table even while she is asking her questions. At least she can not see that he is bending the truth a fair amount with his answer and also hopes she cannot hear it in his voice.

“Enough about my previous misdemeanours, I’m guessing it’s not somewhere you have had the pleasure of visiting?” he looks to see if there is any reaction from his colleague.

Enrapt in listening to the barest hints of Velir's complicated past, which surely must have been more than mere trespassing, Kylah cannot help it: when he poses his question, her reaction is pure instinct, drawing back with a frown. "Of visiting Coridan? Of course not, it is hardly likely to be of any interest to my family. And even if it were, I would never have been allowed--"

Her words catch in her throat, far too belatedly. This is Velir's home. He is quick to enumerate its flaws, but he is also a man with pride. One need not be a patriot to be insulted by such a disdainful comment. She puts a hand to her burning face, as if to cover her mouth and push the stupid response back down her throat. "Oh--I am sorry. Please forgive me, I did not mean to be... so..."

At a loss, she peters out. Then another thought occurs to her, which makes her close her eyes. He was not even talking about Coridan. She forces herself to look back at him. "I was mistaken. You were asking if I have visited a jail, not... not your planet?"

In the Infirmary, Malaj introduces Dr. Mäkeläinen and the rest of you to the prison's Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Haoyu Liang, a stocky, middle-aged Chinese man with kind eyes. He seems pleased to meet his medical counterpart. He says he volunteered for this assignment, having previously served on the USS Wellington. He has been here for six years, the last year as CMO, and says that (he shrugs) "It has its ups and downs, but mostly I enjoy it." Dr. Liang explains that he has two other doctors and a dozen nurses and medics to help him, and briefly shows you all around. The Infirmary is about three times the size of the Yorktown's Sickbay, which makes sense, given the larger population that it serves. Everything looks clean and in good order.

Malaj says, "Of course, a meal! My apologies. I should have offered you all a bite earlier. The food here is certainly palatable; it's about what you're used to on your ship, and with more fresh produce. Staff and prisoners all eat the same food, and it's certainly not 'prison food,' as Mr. Graham is referring to from the days of old Earth. Shall we go back to get your shipmates so they can join us?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen thanks Dr. Liang for the reception, and adds, "It was good to meet you, too, and to know that such a challenging post is in good hands." I wonder what stories he might tell off duty, perhaps after a drink or two? He looks like he knows a thing or two about this place, and not just limited to the medical wing. Probably not one for idle gossip or loose talk, but that is not what is of real interest here, anyway.

He is looking forward to a decent cup of coffee and, sure enough, he has an appetite. As for "prison food", he has heard of such things, at least in stories, but it does not really make sense to him that anyone, whatever his or her status, would get anything different than anyone else. And, in his experience, out on a rock in the middle of nowhere you appreciate anything you do get. Not that he is simply a connoisseur of industrially produced nutritional paste and synthetic sandwiches---he has not been on a tour of the quadrant's most renowned and exotic eateries as a Starfleet ensign, but he has seen enough hither and yon, and has enough imagination, to know what is out there.

Rangin hears what Kylah is saying and has to cover his mouth before he bursts out laughing. Sometimes she really does just blurt things out or get the wrong idea, and that blush of hers when she suddenly realises what she has said.

“Do not worry about it. Yes, I was asking about being in jail and not about any journey you may have made to that misbegotten planet of villainy.” Rangin waves a hand to ward off any further apology that might come from Kylah as he sits back in his chair and begins to laugh slightly. “I was not expecting you to have visited Coridan. Most people avoid it if they can and with good reason, so before you say anything else”, he adds quickly seeing how she is starting to say something, “no offence taken.”

“I’m sorry, I think I interrupted something you were about to say?” Rangin pushes the onus on the conversation back onto Kylah waiting to hear what she has to say about prisons with an encouraging nod, “Please do continue.”

Grateful for Velir's forbearance, Kylah shakes her head. "No, you did not interrupt. I was going to say that Elas has little better a reputation. It was looked on as savage--and Elasians too, of course--by Federation standards. At least until our agreement with Troyius went through and they learned we were resource-rich." Her words have turned arch, and she gives a tiny shrug of dismissal. "

"As for me, my experience with such things is limited. There is no jail or prison near the palace, nor the outlying capital. Troublemakers and transgressors are taken to an island in the North Ocean. My siblings and I were usually kept far from such things. Although one time, I needed to--to seek out someone who I knew would be on board one of the ships. A friend." She pauses, looking somewhere past Velir, then regrets her words and adds hurriedly. "Not one of the prisoners. He was--he was a crew member."

She shifts her gaze to the tricorder and reaches for it, if only to occupy her cold hands while she hides her mingled shame and loss. "Anyway, when I managed to get up to the deck, I only caught a glimpse of them--the group of prisoners--before the platform descended to the hold, where they would be kept during the voyage. I could see little but darkness before the lift rose back to the deck, but it looked...bleak. I have no idea what the accommodations on the island are like. I tried to find out but my guardian would not allow it. He told me it is better not to know. I was younger then and I obeyed. I suppose I still do."

Staring at the tricorder and absently rubbing her thumbnail across the tiny screen, Kylah looks bleak herself. "I do not know why I mentioned this. It was so long ago. I have tried not to think about it. I suppose Ms. Hutchinson's situation..." She tries to shake off the mood while tapping on the device."I had better attempt syncing up with the Tesla," she murmurs. "Perhaps there are messages waiting for us." Glancing up, she tries to smile. "I hope there are. Lt. Onn is not pleased to have me along, so it would be nice to show her I have a purpose. Do you have a project or something to work on?"

Nia looks at her fellow landing party members. "Whatever mess you have--using any definition of that word--is fine with us, I'm sure, Commander. Thanks, we'd all appreciate your hospitality. And... yes, I suppose we should invite the others too, although I'd still like someone to stay on the outside with the shuttle for extra precaution. Kylah's probably a good pick. At least she could--" Nia switches her next words from make herself useful to "--be the best option, and might even volunteer."

Wouldn't surprise Nia if she does. The girl rarely eats. At least it seems like every time Nia's been in the vicinity of the younger woman during a meal, she's picking away at her plate and leaving most of her food untouched.

"I'll want to be in touch with them anyway, in case there's news from the outside. Could be some updates from the Yorktown. I'd also like to monitor any traffic and /or chatter, if there's anything to monitor, over the next leg of our journey." She eyes Booker and adds under her breath, "Just to check if there's any news about our favorite pointy-eared non-Vulcan aliens. You're better suited than me for that sort of reconnaissance."

Graham can't tell if Nia's "volunteering" of Ens. Kylah to potentially stay with the shuttle is "common sense, she's the comms officer" or something more personal. But this certainly isn't the time or place to ask.

He's struck by what seems to be worry about the Romulans--not that he wouldn't put anything past them, but there's no reason to expect trouble.

On the other hand, she's flying the shuttle. Shit hits the fan in space, the rest of us are along for the ride, in her hands...

He acknowledges her statement with a nod.

"Right, then," Malaj says with a smile. "Let's go get them, and then onward to some sustenance." She leads you back by a different route to the conference room where you last saw Kylah and Rangin, and unlocks and opens the door.

Mäkeläinen greets Ens. Kylah and Lt. Rangin. No time for a nice, relaxed chat, though. He imagines he can feel the sweep of the ubiquitous sensor net, like an invisible spider web moving over and through their bodies, and it does not make him feel like having private conversations. The Yorktown also has passive monitoring, does it not? Though nothing like the heavy security here, with visible nodes and panels all over the place.

He asks Nia, "What's the plan, after we get refreshed?"

Somehow Nia is not surprised that Kylah is here, with Rangin, instead of on the shuttle. A couple of snarky remarks fly into her head before she recalls that the ensign did say she wished to test the Tesla's remote capability.

The doctor's question interrupts her before she speaks. "After nourishment, we should get going--unless there's something more Cmdr. Malaj thinks we should see. Or more likely, if our Security officers are thirsting to get a look at some area we haven't seen yet. This is closer to their bailiwick than mine." She lifts an inquiring eyebrow at Rawlings and Booker, then finally turns back to the other junior officers at the table.

"Lieutenant. Ensign." Nia greets them both with a nod. "We've been invited to grab a proper meal before we head off. One of us should stay behind--I'm still being cautious since we still won't have our communicators--but maybe we can make up a picnic basket for you." She doesn't exactly aim the latter words at Kylah, but the next remarks should clarify her preference. "Any success at connecting to the shuttle? I'd like to check on any messages or reports before we head to dinner."

She realizes she probably should've asked for a status report first, but just looking at the pair of them makes it fairly obvious that there's no emergent situation that needs addressing.

The opening door takes Kylah by surprise. Normally she would have felt others approaching. The walls and door must be heavily reinforced. She wonders if Velir sensed them. Although thus far she has only noticed his empathic abilities when in direct contact. Perhaps, similar to Vulcans, his powers are restricted to touch.

As usual, Lt. Onn manages to imply that Kylah's presence is barely tolerated. In fairness, this is not an unusual reaction. Somewhat defensively, Kylah lifts her tricorder as if to prove that yes, she was working. Even though, admittedly, she wasn't until a second ago.

"Yes, ma'am, I am in the process of linking to the Tesla." She avoids Velir's gaze as she tells the tiny fib and studiously focuses on the keypad of the device, fingers tapping quickly to connect to, access and match frequencies with the Tesla. "I can stay here," she adds distractedly. "I am not very hungry anyway, you need not bother. Whatever rations we brought on the shuttle are fine."

If she is successful in accessing the Tesla, she will equip its receiver, download any communications in the buffer, and identify anything she finds there.

Graham thinks that he of all people can't fault someone for being cautious, as Nia is at the moment--but he finds it a little hard to square with her apparent deference to her Security detail.

Malaj and the Security staff here are every bit as qualified as our contingent on Yorktown, he thinks.

But at the least there don't seem to be any...issues...with Rangin. Or Kylah. Other than I feel like Nia doesn't want her around...

He clears his throat. "Well, weapon bays, armories, high-security detention facilities., you name it...I'm sure Rawlings and I could sight see and trade war stories with other Security personnel here or anywhere else all day long...But I think we're good to return to the ship, ma'am," he adds with a smile.

Nia lets her eyes gleam with amusement, then gives one of her one-shouldered shrugs and tilting smiles. "Of course, Lt. Graham, I should've remembered, you're undoubtedly more antsy to return to the Yorktown than the rest of us." She glances at Malaj and with a small cough nods toward Booker's ring-wearing left hand. "Honeymoon," she murmurs playfully. "So, Mr. Rawlings--or you, Lt. Rangin: let us know if you've any requests for our after-dinner stroll." Nia looks with expectation at Kylah's activities with the tricorder.

Malaj says, "As far as I'm concerned, you're all welcome to come for lunch. But if you wish to leave a member of your party behind, of course you may."

Rawlings nods in response to Graham's comment and says to Onn, "I sure wouldn't mind some chow, but then I'm ready to hit the road, ma'am."

Kylah relatively easily connects to the Tesla's communications array through her tricorder and downloads the usual daily run of comm traffic - Starfleet Command bulletins and advisories, navigational updates and hazard warnings, Security updates, software upgrades and patches, Science highlights, maintenance recommendations and component recalls, JAG Corps case summaries, Starfleet Academy alumni news and the like, as well as a typical Fleetwide gazetted list of reassignments, promotions, demotions, births, adoptions, retirements, Reserve activations, deaths, etc. There are only four messages specifically for the shuttlecraft's crew: a message from the Captain to the entire party advising that the Yorktown is on course and on schedule to Cavinre VII; private messages from Dr. Villa, the ship's CMO, to both Onn and Dr. Mäkeläinen; and a private message to Graham from his wife. Kylah may forward each to its proper recipient.

Rangin smiles at Kylah’s bold statement about connecting to the Tesla and working hard and lets it slide under the other conversations taking place.

“I’m fine either way, Ma’am”, chimes in Rangin after the others have finished, “although I will admit to being curious to see if the cuisine here is as notorious as it’s Coridan equivalent.” His eyes flicker across to Lt Graham to see if there is any reaction, not that it matters in the long run, but it would be nice to get a reaction of some description from him, perhaps Rawlings as well.

“But, after that, there is nowhere special here I feel the need to visit and I will be happy to be on my way.”

Kylah's eyes widen at the massive stream of communications data available to her tricorder. It is no more than she would expect to see over the course of a watch on the Yorktown, but she is impressed that the Tesla's new receiver is powerful enough to have collected so many far-flung transmissions. Of course, she realizes she should have specified communications only relating to the Tesla crew, the Yorktown and any immediate emergency alerts, but her rush to prove her value to Lt. Onn made Kylah forget to narrow her choice of commands.

In any event, she almost laughs at being temporarily overwhelmed, and looks over her shoulder to her current C.O. "There are only a few messages directly for us, Lieutenant--but a plethora of news and information that, if you wish, should keep us occupied for much of the trip back. The Tesla has been outfitted with very strong and capable technology indeed."

She hears Velir's response and eyes him in a little surprise at how casually he refers to spending time in a Coridan jail, then quickly returns to her screen.

After relaying Captain Singh's greetings and confirmation that the Yorktown is on course as expected, Kylah pauses, then selects the other three notifications. "You have a private message, ma'am, as do Dr. Mäkeläinen and Lt. Graham." She shifts her gaze to the ACoS with a small smile--she will not announce the sender of his message, of course, but she knows it will probably please him. Then her focus snaps back to her screen. "I am forwarding them to your communicators now."

The Chief Medical Officer's message to the good doctor turns out to relate to Lt. Onn's labs. Dr. Villa begins by explaining that while Bizhi's scan results were in line with her previous testing just two months prior, Villa went farther back to compare her blood serum levels with those from six months ago. He reads the data and compares them with the previous numbers:

FSH: was 4, now 8
LH: was 4, now 17
LH/FSH ratio: was 1:1, now 2:1
Prolactin and progesterone are elevated; ovarogen (a hormone unique to Sidonians) is 25% lower than average.

Bizhi recognizes that these numbers wouldn’t be too concerning for human females. But the CMO comments that from what little research exists on Sidonian biology, Lt. Onn’s results are significantly out of the normal range for her age.

There are some more lab details for Bizhi to digest, after which Villa notes: “As you know, in Humans so young, Onn's DHEA-S level can be associated with elevated depressive symptoms. It’s uncertain if these physiological-emotional effects are similar in Sidonians, as no equivalent data has been collected. However, it does align with the issues the lieutenant has self-reported.”

Finally, she adds the usual disclaimer that all of these results are preliminary, and they'll want to repeat the scan next week back aboard ship for confirmation. Villa does suggest discussing this with Nia, who will have received the raw data results following Starfleet Medical policy of full patient disclosure and informed consent.

Graham's habitual dismissal of noise coming out of Rangin's mouth as probably smarmy bullshit best ignored is interrupted by the obvious implication that...he's been in prison on Coridan?

Any given Coridanite involved in shady dealings would be the least surprising story ever, but...Rangin?

And for what?

He reflexively turns toward Rangin, and almost--almost asks "What were you in for?"

But the odds of that being a constructive conversation...not good.

He pauses and rubs his chin, turning his attention to Kylah as she speaks. Graham clears his throat. "Ah, thank you, Mr. Kylah." He decides to make a hopeful assumption that it's Marala rather than (say) Old Man Vargas with a bee in his bonnet, and returns her a small smile.

Nia shifts her crooked smile to Rangin, amused by his casual comment--amused and damn curious. But he'll probably have to be a lot more certain that she's not an enemy, now that she's no longer attached to Booker, before she'll be able to coax that info out of him. Although he had to be inviting commentary with such a purposeful, almost baiting remark. This guy's really a riddle wrapped in an enigma smothered in secret sauce. I'd love to figure him out.

She's pretty sure today's not that day, and when Kylah passes along the message from Singh, Nia pays full attention. Her interest is piqued by a private message. Could be... almost anything really. Ajay responding to her traditional "Goodbye just in case I die out here" note; Rachel trying in her quietly eager way to ask about Rawlings--far as Nia knows, that crush is still going unrequited; Cheverez, just as eager to hear how the Tesla's doing; reports from any number of crewmates about various issues Nia's juggling... The list isn't endless but it's pretty frickin' long.

Turning to Booker, who seems distracted, Nia then nods good-naturedly to Cmdr. Malaj. "Okay, there'll be one more tray needed if Lt. Rangin comes along. On our way, can we stop off in the locker area, so those of us who need to can check our messages? This might be important."



Looks like Dr. M. got a little ahead of us, but just in case Nia's omitting mention of him for now.

Those who wish to may check your communicators from the storage lockers, and then put them away again before the Deputy Warden leads you through several more codelocked doors to a pleasant dining area, about twice the size of one of the Yorktown's mess halls. There are several dozen people there, mostly redshirts, but with a sprinkling of blues. She invites you to each pick up a tray and pass through the serving line ahead of her.

Thick windows provide striking views out over the sandy, rocky wasteland of Jaros II outside, stretching to the horizon in every direction.

The rations are just fine, in Bizhi's opinion, but why not take advantage of fresh produce whenever it is available? He will try to bring something good back to Kylah--- doctor's prerogative--- if he can find some sort of container. She has obviously been cooped up in this conference room the entire time; why would she not want to come along? Rangin seems understandably eager to stretch his legs and to get out of here. But Bizhi does not have Kylah's measure to know if she is acting more strangely than usual.

It looks like they are stopping next to the storage lockers to check their communicators. Communications are not truly blocked, then, or at least their equipment is on a temporary whitelist. The panel slides open in response to his thumbprint, and he sees Dr. Villa's message forwarded to his communicator. It makes sense that endocrinological changes could be the principal proximate cause of the recent mood instabilities Nia reported, or that they are both correlated to whatever is triggering these changes in a young, healthy woman, be it the high doses of artificial hormones she has been taking for years, or something else. It is something to discuss with Nia at the earliest opportunity privately, which probably means on the Yorktown rather than at a group table in a mess hall or in a crowded shuttle. He locks eyes with Nia, who just received the same data.

The beautiful views outside remind him of home. The difference is that on Mars the habitats are no prison. One can, and he very often did, go right outside, properly suited up, of course.

Graham checks his communicator before following the Deputy Warden.

Graham finds a message from his wife:

My dearest Boojee: I hope the mission is going well, and that you and Mr. Rangin haven't strangled each other just yet (however tempting that might be, for you especially). Take care of yourself, and good luck to you and your shipmates. I can't wait until you're back here on the ship and in my loving arms once more... but I suppose I must. XOXO XOXO XOXO and then some! Your loving MARALA.

In the secure locker area, Nia joins the other two lucky message recipients in checking her communicator.

Turns out to be the second set of lab results. A swift glance takes in a bunch of numbers and acronyms she can't bother to decipher, although she can identify a couple of references to hormones. A few have "H" or "L" beside them, which she guesses means they're higher or lower than usual.

Ha, knew it, Nia thinks with a little smirk of vindication. Hormones going crazy. Which is making me crazy. Well, Dr. M. said balancing 'em out would probably be an easy enough fix. After a mind-refreshing inhale, she admits ruefully that she must've been more anxious about the results than she acknowledged. Stupid tricky subconscious, she thinks with a chuckle.

The lab report ends with a summary from Dr. Villa repeating in clearer language what all the medi-babble up above meant. Nia skims through an explanation that some of the hormone levels were anomalous; a note that the week Nia spent on pure Bilitrium when returning from Novy Rostov was clearly restorative to her tissues, with some chemical imbalance in her blood now that she's back to class-M atmosphere--well duh, Nia already knows that physically she felt like a whole new woman while hooked up to her precious Bilitrium tank. That's followed by even more good news that apparently her hepatic function is excellent.

And, finally, a recommendation to speak with Dr. M. to discuss the anomalous hormone issues in more detail.

Snapping her communicator shut and returning it to the secure locker, she again glances at Mäkeläinen and creates a little "mouth" with her hand, opening and shutting it in a fairly universal "let's talk soon" gesture.

As she walks to follow Cmdr. Malaj, it's hard to miss Booker's intense stare at his own communicator, a look that's also not especially hard to interpret. Love note from wife, probably. Nia's energy flags, and her pleasure at the health news diminishes slightly, but the latter only lasts for a few seconds. Her step then quickens behind Malaj until they're in the dining hall. Nia grabs a tray and looks for anything light but sustaining--some protein and carbs, a sandwich would be ideal. She's hungry but needs to be alert, not logy. And the sooner they eat, the sooner she gets back to her lovely Tesla.

Bizhi orders a double coffee (probably strong, in a place like this, if of unpredictable quality) and a sandwich for himself. He asks the server if there is any way to bring a portion of food back for someone who cannot be pulled off duty. Something that looks fresh and appetizing, like a fancy salad? He takes a little for his own tray, too, to go with the sandwich.

Onn is able to get a steak sandwich on Theban rye which, she finds, hits the spot very nicely.

Dr. Mäkeläinen's coffee is indeed strong. It's not the worst coffee he's ever had, but neither is it the best. He selects a grilled cheese sandwich and gets a little tossed salad on the side; he gets a larger salad with grilled shrimp, the special of the day, to take to Kylah.

The rest of the Tesla party select dishes for themselves.

Malaj gets a plate of scrambled eggs and Alvosi pork sausage, washing it down with a big mug of spiced tea. Between bites, she tells Onn, "I've had your shuttle refueled and given a maintenance check. You should be good to go as soon as you like."

Rangin smiles shortly after he lets slip his comment about prison food. He could see the subtle reactions from at least Graham, although the others seemed slightly taken aback. Of course, being held in a cell for a couple of nights is nowhere near as serious as it could have been, but everyone on Coridan knows that prison food is terrible unless you can afford to make your own arrangements. It’s just the way the system works.

While the doctor, Nia and Graham go off to check their messages, Rangin hesitates. “Mr Kylah, are you sure there is nothing we can get you from the Mess Hall? Fresh fruit, pastries? Assuming we are allowed?”

Regardless of the answer, he leaves with Rawlings, stowing his stuff and looking forward to the meal. The walk is pretty much as expected, only it has more of a clean, metallic, gleam than some of the places on Coridan.

In the Mess Hall, Rangin looks out the windows reflecting on the rocky wasteland outside and thinking how much of an ideal place this is to hold people. Buildings like these are probably the only things on the planet's surface capable of supporting life without great hardship. He’s glad he is on this side of the windows.

He heads across to the galley and gets whatever they have in the way of casserole. You never know what kind of surprise you might get it in. Of course, if Kylah has also requested anything and they are allowed, he will pick those up as well.

Kylah sits in the quiet conference room, scrolling through the items she found in the Tesla's inbox. She reads the news about personnel--the reassignments, promotions and such--in the infinetesimally small possibility that she might recognize any names. She has already forwarded some of the other messages to the crew who might be most interested. Things such as the navigation recommendations, hazards and Security updates are sent to Lts. Onn and Graham; Science alerts to Velir.

Speaking of the latter, Kylah has begun to regret having given him a small smile and shake of her head regarding his food offer. Now her empty stomach seems to be protesting the decision with little complaints of annoyance.

At last she rises and heads off to see whether she can get back to the Tesla without any security issues.

Mid-bite of the large and satisfying steak sandwich, Nia hears Malaj's news about the Tesla. It's probably lucky Nia's mouth is full, because her first reaction is a flood of irritation and an outraged mental shout. What in the fiery acid sky made you think you could tell your crew to put their paws on my ship without informing me first?

The shuttle is unique, with unknown (and in some very rare areas, confidential) upgrades that others might not know how to handle. No one's touched the Tesla but Nia and a select team of experienced Yorktown engineering crewmates. The prospect of some strange techs who probably don't get that much traffic performing maintenance is something Nia would've definitely wanted to oversee. Even if the vessel wasn't that special and personally dear to Nia. She's the pilot, damn it!

...But. Her reaction is over-the-top and Nia quickly realizes it. Truth is, the other woman is a commander, outranking Nia considerably, and such orders aren't only in Malaj's purview, they're perfectly normal--if not necessarily automatic--procedure. Most pilots would want the chance to oversee such things with unfamiliar techs, but that's not always possible or convenient.

Nia takes a few seconds to simultaneously swallow the bite of sandwich, her own aggravation, and Malaj's decision. "Thank you, ma'am," she says once everything is safely packed down and her mood evens out. "That's considerate and should save us some time. We'll be departing soon. Once everyone's finished, I'll just go over the pre-flight check."

She starts to consider wrapping the rest of the sandwich in a napkin and making tracks to see what in hell is going on. Again, though, she controls the impulse. Relax. We're likely in good hands. You're overreacting. Maybe the hypospray's wearing off. Plus she's tired, which isn't exactly a mood-booster. She reaches for her cup to get some more of that coffee-flavored sludge in her belly. Her system doesn't synthesize caffeine that well, but any bit helps.

As Nia drains the mug, she makes a mental note to draw Dr. M. aside once they've returned to the secure lockers. Another zap of the medication would be amazing, if it's not too soon, and she might as well ask him for some confirmation of the lab results while she's at it.

When her sandwich is finished, Nia gives a little tilt of her head to the others, tacitly asking them if they're almost done--adding an apologetic smile at Double-T. She knows just how ravenous his appetite is.

Nia chuckles to herself as she replaces the items on her tray. And he likes food, too.

Eloquent romantic words aren't Booker's strong suite at the best of times, and Marala's loving note catches him a bit flat-footed.

All's well here, back soon! Love Boojee he texts back.

Lunch is indeed a far cry better than the much-maligned "prison food" of old Earth history--or, apparently, Coridan prison food...

He's more than happy to return to the shuttle and then Yorktown after downing his meal.

Leaving emotions out of it, Dr. Mäkeläinen has to admit to himself that this facility is, in its own way, fascinating. No wonder many societies have their own lore about prisons, everything from taboos about the very mention of such a concept to jokes about the food. He can understand why Dr. Liang volunteered to work here--- one can do a lot of good if up to the unique challenges. On the other hand, one would be be stuck on this rock in the middle of nowhere.

He finishes up his luncheon without any extensive conversational gambits toward Malaj or the other staff. Nia looks ready to get out of here, like she said, and, unless they want to have to beg for guest quarters, they should probably get moving while the coffee is still kicked in.

Rangin sees no casseroles listed among the daily specials, but when he offhandedly mentions what he was looking for, the chef obligingly - and surprisingly quickly - whips him up a small broccoli-and-wild-rice casserole, offering to pack any leftovers to go.

Kylah vaguely recognizes some of the names in the Starfleet personnel updates, but there's no one whom she knows personally, and nobody aboard the Yorktown is mentioned. The most prominent name by far is listed under Retirements: McCoy, Leonard H., MD, Lt. Cmdr., Fmr. CMO, USS Enterprise, NCC-1701 - To Starfleet Reserves (Inactive).

When she tries to leave the conference room, Kylah realizes she is locked in again.

Rawlings has polished off two steak sandwiches, a side of Alvosi fries and three mugs of coffee in record time. He returns Onn's smile, stretches and rises from the table.

Rangin politely accepts the wild-rice and broccoli casserole with knowing eyes and a nod or two to show how much he appreciates the effort that went into it no matter how small. He passes on taking any more than the portion in front of him. As he sits down with the others looking pleased with the meal in front of him and ready to chow down until it’s gone.

A prison vegetarian casserole. Could they truly be serious? Rangin is fairly certain that inmates had rioted for less than this. As in not getting something filling and vaguely stodely, but above all containing meat and veg. Especially meat. It may be of a variable quality or even origin, but it was still meat. The irony is that the food is really tasty as he consumes it.

He can’t help but look around the Mess Hall and see it so relaxed and quiet, it just seems so unnatural for some reason. Finishing off the meal, Rangin thinks to himself that it is even more of a reason not to end up in a place like this, the food and ambience being so horribly wrong.

He neatly places the cutlery on the plate and pushes it back, nodding to Lt Onn as he does so and signifying his happiness to leave.

Nia, amused by the amount of food that Double-T's consumed, makes sure that the others have finished--acknowledging Rangin's nod with a grateful look when he proves to be--and (if so) thanks Cmdr. Malaj again. "Thanks again for all this--both the tour and the meal. Compliments to the chef," she says with a friendly nod toward the Galley and an extended hand. "Are there any lingering details we need to exchange regarding the prisoner, or are we good?"

To Booker nearby, she says, "This must've been what a friend would calla 'busman's holiday' for you, I suppose. Leaving our Security department only to go to a prison." Nia smiles and glances around the hall. "Or do you consider it a kind of window shopping?"

Graham can't help but laugh, not just because of what Nia said (which was funny) but also because they were...just talking. Talking normally. Talking in a way that had...

Led me to fall in love with her...yeah, that...

He shakes his head. "Ah, well, if I were really looking for a cushy gig...something post-Starfleet, no disrespect to this place, but I'd probably do better to scope out fancy resorts, the sort whose clientele demands top-flight security..."

He pauses, becoming more somber. "I did a stint in law enforcement back on Earth. Even more so that seeing live fire combat in hot missions, it was...seeing the worst in people right there where it's supposed to be safe to live...that was the hardest. When you have a kid...uh, kids...to worry about..."

He realizes he's taken a light moment into a darker place. Forcing a smile, he adds, "But Hutchinsons are few and far between, and I don't think any of her--his--whatever--kind are getting off this rock. So...the folks here can minds the bad actors while we get back to exploring the stars, right?"

When the door refuses to open, Kylah cannot help the burst of anxiety that turns her limbs to ice. She backs up a step, the movement stiff and awkward. Automatically she pivots toward the other door leading to the rest of the complex. That will be locked as well, of course. And due to the reinforced walls she still cannot sense anyone. Not the slightest hum of emotional activity. A silence she always sought as a child, and on the ship too, but it has been elusive aside from various medical events.

She takes several deep breaths and exhales. Her heart rate is erratic but it begins to calm down as logic kicks in. Of course the room has been heavily secured. It is a prison, not an office building. This is totally normal--and, as much as claustrophobia may wish to control her, Kylah's more rational side reminds her that while it is true that she cannot get out, this also means the convicts cannot get in. No one will enter except her crewmates. Or perhaps just the stockade's Security officers or other prison personnel.

Being alone with strangers causes another little sting of electricity and adrenaline. Her hand claps onto her communicator, but... of what use is it?

Stop. Strangers or not, it does not matter. I am safe. This is completely safe. Anyone working here will have been vetted. Look at the new people I have met recently. Carlos. Dr.--Bizhi. And...and that man at Lt. Graham's wedding... Kylah's brow furrows as she tries to remember the officer's name. No, it is temporarily gone, probably just because of a little hunger and anxiety. Well, her point is that the new acquaintances have all been congenial and kind. Odds are the same will be true of the staff here.

Teeth gnawing at her lower lip, she gazes up to see if there are any cameras--even though Velir already did so earlier. Then she walks--still disjointedly, but not painfully so--to her seat and the tricorder still on the table. With a sigh, she closes her eyes, waits for the absurd panic to abate, and returns to scrolling the updates for something diverting.

Mäkeläinen looks to see what the regular prison staff do and follows their lead as to whether to leave his used plate where it is or to put it somewhere.

He hears Graham's remark and says, "We never found out if the prison theatre is any good. There may yet be a few good actors."

Malaj tells Onn, "I haven't heard anything more about Hutchinson's intake process, so I can only assume it's gone well." She sets down her tea, wipes her lips, leans in and says quietly, "I don't know what your Mr., uh, Kallah's expecting from her correspondence with the prisoner, but I have to say, that was a weird request. Had she said anything to you about it beforehand?"

The Deputy Warden overhears Dr. Mäkeläinen's remark, smiles and says, "Yes, the theatre program here is pretty good. We find it's a great way for the prisoners to fill their free time and work together to do something constructive. And we do have some very talented performers; the run of A Spacesuit Built for Three last month had everyone rolling in the aisles."

Kylah sees several of the small black sensor nodes in the conference room; presumably they include audiovisual pickups. None of the other Starfleet comm traffic is quite diverting enough, under the circumstances.

Everyone is now done with their lunch. The table is cleared by cafeteria staff after you get up to go.

Nia's about to make a riposte regarding Booker's idea of a cushy job when he goes on. All she hears is what sounds like a purposeful reminder that he has a "kid" -- no, now it's multiple "kids" -- and her expression freezes into a tight, polite smile, an attempt to prevent her eyes from looking hurt or her mouth from saying what leaps to mind.

Why would you say something like that to me? A dig? Do you seriously not remember I gave all mine up? Five? Even as it flashes into her consciousness, though, she realizes... maybe he doesn't remember. Maybe he never even knew. Did she ever give him any details about her past life? He knows she's given birth and obviously has no child to speak of, but did they discuss just how many times she went through the agony of loss?

And if they didn't... what the hell kind of relationship did they have? How shallow was their connection, at the end of the day? It ran deep for me. Obviously not for him.

The thought is sullen, and she doesn't like sullen. She has to face up: It's not about you. You're not in the picture. He's just happy he has a whole family again.

Fortunately Dr. M. inserts a joke--at least, she thinks it's a joke; maybe he didn't understand Booker's meaning?--and Cmdr. Malaj saves Nia further by interrupting with a remark about Kylah's weirdness. Which couldn't be a more perfect diversion.

She unfreezes her face and turns to Malaj, echoing the other woman's quiet tone. "Trust me, I was surprised by that 'request' to Hutchinson too. But that's nothing new. The ensign's behavior can be--well, pretty impulsive."

Nia's annoyed enough to just let the insults fly with Kylah as a convenient target. But the girl's on her team and shouldn't be badmouthed by her commanding officer. "She's young and green and practically fresh from the Academy. Her stint on the Yorktown has consisted of a veritable stream of criminals of one kind or another. Maybe she's gained a morbid interest in the subject?"

She picks herself up and concludes with a weary sigh. "I'm assuming correspondence is monitored? If there's anything inappropriate, I'm sure you'll get in touch."

At last there's no real way to avoid Booker, and by now Nia's subconscious has magically come up with a decent response. "If you're looking for a cushy job at a resort, seems like the folks from that spore spa on OCIII oughtta be thrilled to have you. You're basically their savior."

She hesitates before continuing lightly. "Sweet setup you'd have there. You'd get to spend your days bravely policing the rich snobs; Marala can run interference between the guests and staff and whoever else lives there. And Nikolai could get a tutor and learn how to play croquet or Parrises Squares or whatever recreation young boys like. Boom, a pretty chic place for the Graham fam to end up..." Steeling herself, she makes sure her smile's in place and her voice is casual. "If you're planning on leaving us, I mean."

Damn it, the words are hoarse and somewhat breathless despite her efforts. With a cough and quick snap of her head in the direction of the exit, Nia gives a signal for everyone to get going.

"A 'stream of criminals'?" Cmdr. Malaj repeats. "Hmm. Not the typical early Starfleet career, that's for sure. Well, their correspondence will certainly be monitored; all prisoner communication with the outside is. You can be sure you'll hear from us if there's a problem."

She leads the Tesla crew back to the shuttlecraft, resting in its bay, and releases Kylah from the conference room. After you've recovered your communicators and other gear from the secure storage lockers, she says briskly, "Thank you again, Mr. Onn, and the rest of you. Good luck on the next leg of your trip."

Dr. Mäkeläinen politely thanks Malaj for her hospitality. Our visit may not have been especially extraordinary for her, but at least it was a break in routine, and that is always--- well, usually--- welcome.

He is probably not the only one who feels a little better with some food and drink in him after what amounts to a double shift (with still some travelling to do!); speaking of which, he smoothly hands Kylah her salad as if she were expecting it: "It's better to eat real food when you can get it. Doctor's orders."

Rising when the others return to the conference room, Kylah takes the proffered salad container with surprise and gratitude. "Why--why thank you, Doctor. You need not have done this, but it is very thoughtful. I admit it does look better than a protein bar." She smiles up at him and then glances curiously at the group as a whole. Some are evincing some odd emotions, too diffuse for her to try to analyze. (And she is not inclined to do so.)

She joins her colleagues, falling in line near Velir. "It will be good to get back to the ship," she murmurs.

Nia offers a hand to Malaj, if she'll shake it, and thanks the commander for everything. As the six of the Tesla-bound crew start to walk toward the shuttle, she hesitates and, with a little nod toward Dr. Mäkeläinen, says a brisk, "Doctor, a word?" To the others, she says, "The rest of you, go along and take your seats. We'll be off as soon as I make sure everything's copacetic."

If he agrees, she draws Mäkeläinen aside and waits until the other officers move far enough away to afford her some privacy.

Graham heads to the shuttle, making a mental note of the fact that--putting two and two together--Nia has been chatting with the doctor kind of...sotto voce a number of times on this mission.

Good news--the new doc seems to be a smart guy, cracks a joke--clever, but not an asshole like Rangin.

Worrisome--is Nia sick? Aside from being...unhappy...with me, could that explain her...our...things seeming not quite right?

At the moment, he has nothing but a slight instinctive shake of the head and a frown to offer as a follow up as he takes his seat.

Malaj shakes Onn's hand and smiles. She says, "All the best, Lieutenant," and turns to go.

Onn and the good doctor have the chance to talk.

Rawlings is first to reboard the Tesla.

An uneventful trip to prison, Rangin muses, which is the best kind of trip to a place like this. Satiated by the meal and the gentle lack of anything involving excitement, he is happy to take his place back on the shuffle.

He is not sure what to make of Dr. Mäkeläinen’s delivery of salad to Kylah, seeing as she hadn’t asked for anything, but it seems she is capable of handling whatever is passing between them. He wonders what would have happened if he had bought something back from lunch. Would Kylah have welcomed it as much as she just has now or have turned it away as she had declined once already.

Dammit, it’s difficult to figure out, and Rangin tries to calm his nerves and stop his imagination running away with itself. This is what you get for being bored and now he has a ten, maybe twenty, hour long trip in a shuttle with little to think or do. He hopes he can find something of more than a passing concern before he finds himself in idle chatter and trying to find out what Dr Mak. is up to,

Kylah walks up the ramp and through the hatch, looking around at the familiar interior of the shuttle. It would be nice to change seats--for her to sit next to Velir, and the doctor and Mr. Rawlings beside one another. But their respective instrument panels are in fixed spots, so she supposes they will be settling down in the same positions.

She sends Velir a slightly apologetic smile as she passes by, fingers brushing the chair's back gently before heading to the comms station. Setting the salad bowl in her lap, she flips and taps the various switches and buttons to bring the panel back to life.

While waiting for the journey to begin, Kylah takes advantage of her discreet seating arrangement in the back and pries open the salad container. Her attention is aimed squarely at the fresh, peach-white shrimp, and with her fingers picks one up for a bite. Delicious. She casts a grateful glance at the seat across from her, where the doctor should be. But it is still empty. Chewing contemplatively, she looks around the shuttle and decides to move up one row, across from Ens. Rawlings (to whom she nods, a little bashfully due to the salad she's chomping on) and behind Velir. Surely spending a little time being sociable will not be amiss.

"This is very good," she says to both men, unconsciously reverting to her familiar role from back home, as a host welcoming guests to a meal. "Would either of you like some?"

Rawlings pats his stomach. "Kind of you to offer, Kylah, but no thanks. I had a pretty big meal of my own. Looks good, though!"

* * *

Bizhi is retrieving his gear when Nia draws him aside. He meant to talk to her soon, especially after Dr. Villa's message, but was envisioning a consultation back in the Yorktown's Sickbay, or at least someplace private. Most habitats he is familiar with have at least minimum surveillance for dangerous air leaks, radiation, fire, explosions, etc., and the Jaros II stockade is surely no exception, but the visible and invisible sensor nodes here strongly suggest that their conversation is being recorded by the station's computer, and who knows how much interest they have aroused?

Nia stands tall in front of him. "Sorry to pull this cloak-and-dagger stuff, but I don't need the crew knowing my business. Truth is--and at the risk of sounding like an addict--I could use a top-off of that hypospray. It's just my head's a little foggy and my mood's skittering around like a loose bolt in an engine. Is that normal with these meds?" She shrugs. "It didn't seem to run out so quickly yesterday, but it has been a pretty long day, so..."

Bizhi nods sympathetically and assesses quickly. That does sound— not like a strict emergency, but definitely something that needs to be resolved, now. He looks at Nia. Does she seem enervated? Their whole team is understandably a little tired and cranky by now; he, for one, would not mind a quick kip (and maybe he can get one, on the shuttle). He does feel somewhat better after sitting down and getting some food in him.

"It's normal," he explains. Not ideal, but not an atypical reaction, or by itself an indication of a serious problem. "I would be more concerned if you had been taking regular, fixed doses for several days and then something changed all of a sudden. Right now, I strongly recommend taking a break, getting some rest. You'll feel heaps better. I think you're right about it being a long day for all of us. I could use a nap myself. I know it's some fancy piloting to get us back out of here, but, once we're clear, perhaps let someone take over the controls for at least a couple of hours?

"If I give you another hypo immediately, here is what will happen: you will feel great for a few hours, but, especially if you push yourself and don't get any rest, I would lay even odds on the same thing creeping up on you again. Possibly worse, possibly with a painful headache. And that is the maximum dosage, so I won't be able to give you any more if you are out of commission at that point. I can't give you any stimulants, either; they are dangerously incompatible with this medication.

"I trust your judgement on this, so if you feel you absolutely can't fly safely otherwise, I'll authorize another dose. But you have to get some rest, in any case."

With a tilt of her head, Nia appears to be mulling over his words; this gives him time for a further visual examination. Her eyes seem a duller green than back in Sickbay, but the difference in ambient light and Sidonian biology make it hard to judge if this is significant or even accurate.

Her warm brown skin has a sheen of blue he didn't notice before, possibly from her scales. It's difficult since he doesn't know her that well and the reflection of the light could be bringing out subtle shades he didn't notice before. Otherwise she seems fine, albeit tired.

Suddenly she puts her hands on her hips and smiles. "You're right about that minefield maze waiting for us, too. I want to be as alert as possible for that. And I planned to take a nap anyway, once we're in safe territory. Book--Graham'll have a chance to refresh his piloting skills."

Nia twists slightly to look at the rest of the crew heading toward the Tesla. "So I guess I'll take the zap of energy now and deal with the consequences later. Sound okay?"

Bizhi nods tersely.



Bizhi by stolz, Nia by SidonianGal

Bizhi notices that some of the crew are already darting glances their way. He hopes nobody gets an early impression of him as some sort of Dr. Feelgood, with a chemical solution for whatever ails you. He is concerned about Nia's privacy, too. After they talked earlier, before the prison tour, he thought about possibly giving her a pre-programmed hypo, along with instructions on how to operate it, to use later, should it become necessary. But he was not expecting it to be an issue during the rest of the mission, certainly not this early.

"Same as before, then. Lexorin, seventy-five units..." The bag he pulled out of the locker is already in his hands. The top opens for easy access, and he selects a metallic hypo injector from among the several instruments secured by bits of webbing. This model is simple and reliable, but not particularly unobtrusive. He finds the right vial, inserts it into the end, and double-checks that the volume is still set correctly, from when he used it before.

From his peripheral vision he sees Nia lifting her left arm, and she moves slightly so her back is to the shuttle. Probably privacy is on her mind, as well.

"So," she says conversationally, "I got the test results back from Dr. Villa. You must've seen them. Looks like I was spot on about the--"

"Hold still for one moment," he warns. He gently but firmly presses the injector head into Nia's upper arm, and the medicine is released with a pneumatic hiss. It is all over in a second.

He notes her slight wince. It's followed with an off-center smile. "Takes a lot to make sure my scales don't try to protect me from that. If it's like last time, I'll start feeling it soon, here's hoping." Nia rubs her arm at the injection site. "Anyway, thanks, Doctor. I'll let you know if anything starts to feel hinky."

As he begins to pack up, she watches him with what appears to more energetic curiosity. "I was gonna say, about the results Villa sent? What little I could translate seemed to confirm what we were talking about yesterday... that my up-and-down moods are related to hormones. Some levels are too low, others too high, a real mess."

Nia chuckles and again plants her hands on her hips. "Kinda glad, to be honest--hey, at least I'm not going crazy. Good news about the Bilitrium therapy having a good effect on me, too. Although she's right that going back to breathing regular air's taking a little getting used to; sort of feels like inhaling in a thick fog. Anyway, with the hormone thing.... what's the game plan? Changing contraceptives, like I thought? Supplements?"

"Probably both," says Bizhi, "and we will want to to scan you again, to double-check all the levels and concentrations. I mean to go over all the numbers with you, preferably someplace with less of an audience, and in less of a rush." How to put it? "You are right, changes in hormone levels can absolutely contribute to less stable moods, and generally feeling off. That could certainly account for what you've been experiencing. But we also know you have been taking different contraceptives for years, and you are strong, and healthy, so whatever it is that is causing significant shifts over a short period of time, a few months in this case, that is the question."

He does not want to call her "a unique case," but that is what she is. Seeing her again up close— scales, breathing-gas supplements, imperfectly understood biology— rubs his nose in the fact there is so much missing data.

The woman in front of him raises an eyebrow but keeps her scrutinizing gaze steady for a few moments. "Less of an audience," Nia repeats at last, taking one quick look backwards before returning to Bizhi. "I'm not shy, and even if I was, everyone's back on the shuttle and the techs are far away. But now I'm..." Her head tilts again. "I'm wondering why you think I should be shy about something so minor as wonky hormones. Did Villa tell you something else I should know? Like why this stuff is happening?"

"It's not about being shy. You could come in with a cut on your finger, doesn't matter what, we take privacy seriously. Even the captain can't pull up medical records unless it is necessary to ensure proper execution of missions. Dr. Villa did not propose any aetiology, I mean, assign a specific cause for the hormone levels because, honestly, we are not sure yet. But, based on what she knows about Sidonian biology, they are significantly out of the normal range for a woman your age."


Bizhi by stolz, Nia by SidonianGal

Inside the shuttle, the waiting crew get into their seats. About ten minutes pass before Onn and the physician finish their conversation and head toward the Tesla, with Dr. Mäkeläinen briskly entering the shuttle. From Graham's position in the copilot's seat near the open hatch, he can see Nia walking at a deliberate pace before she greets the prison's three-person technical crew and accepts a datapad to run the pre-flight check.

Kylah notices that Rawlings has dropped off into a nap, his treelike arms crossed over his chest.

Ten minutes...?

Graham tenses, every instinct wanting to jump up and ask Nia if she's OK...

Except there's no way to do that privately without some kind of kerfluffle, and if she wanted me to know, she'd have told me...

He shakes his head clear and frowns, then collects himself and swallows his worry.

Routine mission, treat this like a routine dust off...if she wanted me to know, she'd tell me--I don't have any special claim to...intimacy...any more.

Dr. Mäkeläinen acknowledges the shuttle crew with a professional nod, and claims the remaining available seat in the back. He tries to relax; when the coffee wears off he will want to follow his own advice and snooze for a bit. Rawlings has the right idea.

Rangin can feel the time slowly crawling with the silence only being broken by the sounds of Rawlings heavy breathing and Kylah’s quiet chewing on her salad. From his position he can see Graham sitting still in the co-pilot seat and Rangin wonders what is going through Graham’s mind as he can see the officer looking out at Lt Onn in the far distance.

With little else to do, other then get comfortable in a seat he will be occupying for the next few hours, Rangin pulls out the datapad and starts reading again until the shuttle is ready to depart.

Back in her own seat near the comms panel, Kylah continues to finish her salad, feeling less self-conscious now that the men around her are in their own private worlds. She glances over to the panel beside her and ponders the improvements that have been made to it. Having more powerful instruments available shuttle-wide should make journeys away from ships or space stations much more secure.

She wonders if the Tesla is capable of contacting the Yorktown directly. The prospect seems doubtful. It has been at least an hour since the shuttle was actively receiving messages; she believes those in the buffer that she downloaded to her tricorder back in the conference room were all timestamped earlier than that.

Of course, the time would make no difference regarding the stationary beacon transmitters from which the shuttle received the Starfleet data. They are essentially no farther away than before. The Yorktown, however, is a different story. Traveling at warp speed, the ship will be an even greater distance from the Tesla by now. Kylah is curious to see if the shuttle's receiver is still able to get in contact. Unlikely, but once they get moving it might be easier. Her guess is that messages will take longer to relay, likely without the ability of real-time conversations. They will probably have to wait until the Yorktown reaches its destination and the shuttle finally has a chance to get closer.

She should ask Lt. Onn what other improvements have been made to the Tesla. Assuming the older woman would tell her. She might think I would not understand. Or care. Kylah sighs and looks ahead as she finishes the last shrimp.

The act of running through the shuttle systems status is pretty much rote, something Nia can practically do in her sleep. But despite the racing thoughts threatening to distract her, she successfully puts the full force of her concentration on both the datapad in her hands and the voice of the crewman beside her, answering her clipped questions.

Blindsided as she was by the conversation with Mäkeläinen, Nia can't risk obsessing on it, not right now. The Tesla is new, this is a test run, they're far from any assistance from the ship, there are mines all around them... Paying attention to the pre-flight process is always essential, but it's even more vital than usual. She clings to that knowledge of her responsibility and remains in charge, professional, focused on her current surroundings.

Even so she almost hopes some anomaly crops up during the check, something she'll need to help fix that'll keep her mind and body fully occupied. Her hands and feet feel numb. And she's not looking forward to walking up the ramp and sitting beside Booker and her colleagues. Because once they get out of the planet's minefield labyrinth, Nia dreads having nothing to do but contemplate the long, empty journey she's now--somehow, inexplicably--facing.

With a determined effort, Onn is able to focus. She finishes her preflight checkout and receives departure clearance from SPJ2 Command Center. She closes and seals the Tesla's hatch, restarts the engines, lifts off and skillfully guides the shuttle back out through the minefield and other security measures. She finds that it's actually, and blessedly, easier the second time 'round.

Soon the shuttle has left the Jaros system and is in deep space again, swiftly headed towards her rendezvous with the Yorktown.

Dr. Mäkeläinen keeps half an eye on Onn, for whom, he worries, their conversation could have been neither satisfying nor reassuring. He is not surprised to see her all cool business, like when he first saw her, despite everything. He satisfies himself that there are no unexpected reactions to medication, or any other trouble, and then tries to get a little rest, with the main part of the mission now essentially over.

Having left the minefield maze far behind--with significant help from the nav panel's ability to recall and reverse the path they took to get inside--Nia sits back in her chair. She almost wishes it had been a little harder to navigate; better to use her brain power for a necessary task than reflect on other things.

It's not possible. It just isn't.

Nia shakes her head and straightens up again. She rubs her arms, which seem a little cold--and besides, she needs the self comfort. Get back to work. Find something, anything. After a moment of silence that's dense and smothering, she inhales deeply to clear her head.

"What's up next?" The words are so husky and inaudible that Nia realizes her acting co-pilot might not have heard her. She casts a glance at him, barely long enough to meet his gaze, and speaks with as much firmness as she can muster. "Booker, where are we headed?"

A second passes before she recognizes the ambiguity, and she rouses herself to clarify. "What systems are coming up? Anything you can tell us about them?"

Graham's overwhelming instinct is to lower his voice and ask Nia if she's all right - but his remaining instincts punch above their weight arguing this is not the time or place.

"Ah, well if all goes well we're meeting Yorktown at Cavinre VII..." He pauses and scowls. "Might be Security work to be done there - don't know a lot of details offhand, but there's a pattern of unrest, protests...if I recall correctly the government's kinda...ah, shitty. Federation embassy could be a target...or just collateral damage, if things go South." After a moment, he adds "I can pull some data while we're onroute, N- Lieutenant."

He clears his throat and shrugs. "More pressingly, but, fingers crossed, irrelevant--we'll be passing within spitting distance of Romulan space. I don't know of any current alerts about activity in the area, but...just to be safe...I'll run a check right now."

Despite her mood, Nia's lips twitch with a minuscule smile. Security Officers. Gotta love 'em.

"I remember our destination, Lieutenant," she says--intending to invest the words with some warmth, but there's no internal furnace to stoke. Still she tries. "I was actually asking you to play nav for me. Wanted to know what milestones we'll be passing on the way to Cavinre.

"But you're right, you should focus on just how long we have until we're at our closest to Romulan territory. Or before that--how long until they're capable of spotting us at all, given their sensors and spy beacons."

While Booker focuses on that, Nia rallies the energy to swivel her chair and re-target her original request behind her--to Rangin, aka the sensor guru. "What, if any, systems or lone outposts or really anything remotely interesting will we be encountering over the next eleven or so hours?"

She could do it herself through her own nav panel, of course. But she wants to keep the crew engaged. Her own head's not in the game and maybe some chatter will unfreeze the brittle, icy shell that's forming around her.

From his observations of Onn since leaving the prison, Dr. Mäkeläinen sees nothing medically amiss with her. He could run a tricorder scan of her, but she, and others, would surely notice it in the relatively tight confines of the shuttle.

Graham's long-range sensor scan shows no other ships in the vicinity, and nothing not already on Federation charts. Cavrinre VII is still almost eleven hours away, as Onn noted; it will not come within scanning range until the last hour or so of the trip. There was nothing in Kylah's download of recent Starfleet communications traffic relating to Jaros II or this region of space. Your destination has been getting some attention on the civilian newsnets in recent weeks, however, due to the ongoing civil unrest there, the planetary government's repressive response and, of course, intermittent threats to the Federation embassy. The USS Yorktown's dispatch to the system has not yet become public knowledge, but one might reasonably expect that it soon will be.

Graham and Rangin may check the onboard library computer, if they wish, to gather additional information on the route.

Rangin hears Lt Onn’s command and looks up from his datapad. “Aye Ma’am,” he responds quietly not really wanting to break the relative peace and quiet in the shuttle.

It seems like a reasonable request and he starts pulling up the course they should be on and the details of any planets, spatial anomalies and the close proximity of the Romulan border they had been warned about before the shuttle left on its mission.

While he doesn’t want to tell Lt Onn her job, it suddenly occurs to him, during his search, that she is a pilot and not a navigator, although she certainly has the skills to do both. But the few pilots he had known were far more likely to cut as much time off as possible and the thought that it might involve skimming the Romulan border instead of giving it a wide berth, starts to make him just a little nervous. He pulls up any known incursions of the Romulan over the border to make sure they are well clear of any known range should they decide that the shuttle is a tasty target for them.

He glances up a few times to Lt. Onn and then back to results coming on the onboard library, wondering how far he should go and what facts to present, when they do arrive.

Rangin learns that there are four star systems along the shuttle's route to Cavinre VII. Two are in Federation territory, on just this side of the Neutral Zone between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire. They have both been surveyed but are uninhabited and have no Class M worlds.

Two systems are in unclaimed or independent territory, neither in the Federation nor the Empire. One has a Class L world, Ollos, and the other, almost twice as distant from the Tesla's route at its closest point of approach, has a M-class world, Grinden IV. There is a single black hole, FGC-92, but it will be safely distant from your current course. There are also three unremarkable nebulae and a rocky, airless rogue planet along the way.

The Tesla will, at Warp 2, never be closer than 3.4 hours' travel time to the edge of the Neutral Zone. It does not appear, to Rangin at least, that coming any closer to the Neutral Zone, let alone crossing into it, would save enough time to be worth the risk - but, of course, Onn may see things differently. In any event, Starfleet records show no Romulan incursions in this region in the past six years.

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...n_Neutral_Zone
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Class_L
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Rogue_planet

Graham nods and answers - mumbles, really, unintentionally - "yes ma'am" and checks to see the range of options for if and when Romulans sticking to their side of the Neutral Zone might detect the shuttle--and intercept it, if they so chose.

Considering the distances involved, and drawing on his knowledge of their sensor capabilities, Graham thinks it unlikely the Romulans could detect the shuttle from their side of the Neutral Zone, although it is possible. If a Romulan bird-of-prey were willing to violate the treaty, cross into Federation space and perhaps provoke a second interstellar war, it could certainly intercept and catch the Tesla, which might be able to hide but would not be nearly fast enough to outrun it.

Rangin looks at all the data being returned to him and feels a little more relaxed as to what he sees scrolling across the screen in front of him. Fairly open space with little opportunity for things to go wrong if it is as even a shuttle flight as the first half was.

He gathers the salient points at the top as a quick precis on the details Lt Onn is looking for before referencing the rest of it below.

“Ma’am, when you’re ready?” he calls back to the front of the shuttle.

Kylah hears the discussion and takes a quick look across the empty seat in front of her to see Velir--whom she could not see when Ms. Hutchinson had been sitting there earlier. She smiles slightly, and transfers her gaze to Mr. Rawlings, sleeping like a massive, contented bear, and then to Dr. Mäkeläinen. He seems to be resting too. Kylah herself is not so very tired, though she suspects a nap is in her future.

She refocuses on her panel, where she has just finished sending a test message to the Yorktown. She again expects that the distance between them now is likely so vast that even with the shuttle's impressively boosted technology, she is hardly likely to get instant, real-time communications. If the receiver picks up anything at all. Still, it is important to track how long the Tesla takes to get back in range with the ship. For efficiency's sake, she will set up a repeating signal to ping the Yorktown and alert her whenever they receive a response.

Afterward, since Lt. Onn appears to be interested in keeping abreast of things, Kylah will review the communications info--both what she downloaded earlier and anything new that might have cropped up--for anything either entertaining or enlightening to report. Scattered transmissions are not usually particularly thrilling; like most of space, objects of interest are rare, random and special.

After a slight hesitation, Nia nods. "Go on, by all means, Mr. Rangin. We don't want to miss out on something special before we've had a chance to enjoy it. Good life lesson, that."

The humor, such as it is, is bleak and she keeps her eyes straight on the starscape ahead.

The sleeping Mäkeläinen is free of his usual intensity and focus. However, occasionally he starts or jerks, as if uncomfortable, or possibly experiencing a nightmare.

Kylah sees nothing else especially interesting in the Starfleet comm traffic she earlier downloaded, or in the few additional items that have come in since then. She has an automated subspace response from the Yorktown's transponder a little over six minutes after she sets up the repeating signal; the starship is far away but obviously not as distant as she might be in the vast galaxy.

Rangin nods in appreciation of the dark humour and responds in the same tone. “Sorry to disappoint you ma’am, but this appears to be a very quiet part of space until we reach our destination. We’re looking at a dozen hours of peace and quiet until we rendezvous with the Yorktown.”

Rangin passes the details from his datapad across to Lt Onn with the associated content. “I’m afraid there is going to be very little that might qualify as special over the next few hours, unless…” Rangin leaves the pause in the air as he considers a few things, “... anyone feels like losing at cards.”

He leaves the open challenge in the air. He knows Kylah is more than capable of playing cards, but to pass the time, it might well be worth it. Even if it involves Lt Graham.

Though Kylah is disappointed not to find something worth sharing, it does seem that with one-third of the crew sleeping, probably the less chatter the better. Her ears perk up while listening to Velir's research findings. She has never even heard of an L-class planet--or if she learned about it at the Academy, she has forgotten. She taps in a quick search to learn (or refresh her memory, whichever is the case).

Then Velir mentions cards, and she tilts to the side in order to get a better look at him with eyes sparkling in amusement. If he sees her, he will certainly notice that she is quite happy to play. I can always move up one seat, and that should make it less likely to disturb the doctor and Mr. Rawlings.

Rangin's recitation of the tourism guide to the Tesla's upcoming route is interesting, Nia supposes, and perhaps she would be asking some questions about various aspects if she were in a different mindset.

"Thanks," she says after a few seconds--when she at last realizes Rangin has stopped talking. Then, belatedly, she registers his offer. Despite herself she gives the man an appraising look. "Are you saying you brought cards with you? Enterprising." She rubs her chilly hands together in thought. "I'm not sure I'd be of any use, though. I'm not... I wouldn't be able to concentrate."

Swiftly Nia returns her focus to the helm. She'd love the distraction that a card game would provide, but she doesn't think she can keep a cheery facade up long enough during a friendly game. The idea's welcome, though. If Booker is occupied by playing against Ranin--frankly she'd pay good money to see that match-up--his own attention will be elsewhere and she won't have to put on a mask.

Dr. Mäkeläinen's uneasy siesta may continue for... an hour? Perhaps longer? --- unless something happens to startle him awake. He did not bring any cards or games along, in any case. He does know how to play many different games, though he would probably not be a match for an expert.

A little over five hours after the shuttle leaves Starfleet Prison Jaros II, it jumps like a bucking bronco and there is a terrible, incredibly loud wrenching sound. You are all thrown from your seats. At that moment, all of the interior lights go out, including the instrument panels.

Bizhi is definitely wide awake now! If the lurching has subsided enough to permit it and he is more or less in one piece and able to get up, he looks around for emergency lighting and immediate deadly hazards like the atmosphere leaking away into space. He has been to the scene of fatal accidents. Whatever happened, the fact that they were not all instantly killed is a good sign, relatively speaking.

"Can everyone hear me?" he asks. "Is anybody hurt?"

If any lights come back on, he tries to see if anyone looks injured, and if there are further obvious dangers like damaged conduits or loose wires.

Kylah (who did move up one row of seats to play a card game) cries out at the sudden jerk but instinctively flings her hands up to block her head from smashing against Velir's chair.

The complete absence of light is terrifying. She hears Dr. Mäkeläinen's question and is immediately grateful for it. "I hear you," she says, her voice wavering. She does not know the answer to his other question, and has to do a quick self-assessment to see if she is injured. Meanwhile her mind reaches out, grasping and groping in the dark for anyone she can sense.

Rangin attempts to pick himself up off the floor feeling every bounce that went into the shuttle’s sudden bouncy experience.

“I’ll let you know in a few minutes,“ he responds to the Doctor, “but I don’t think anything is broken.”

Rangin taps the side of the datapad he is holding on to, to see if it is working and can provide any light or is as dead as the systems on the rest of the shuttle.

"Fuck..."

As soon as he's able, Graham reaches toward where he expects Nia to be, aiming to help her back into her chair.

Whatever happened we need a pilot...

"Nia, are you all right?" he rasps, reaching toward her - or feeling in that direction if it is too dark to see.

With the lurch of the Tesla, there's barely enough time for Nia to even grab hold of the manual helm control before she's knocked forward. Scales erupt all over but she feels the thump of her body against the panels. The shuttle makes a noise no pilot ever wants to hear. And then it--dies.

No no no no! Dazed, Nia recovers her wits somewhat and is about to demand the crew's status but the doc is ahead of her. Instead she searches the darkness frantically. The backup power should kick in, where are the damn emergency lights? She staggers to her feet (assuming she can) and tries to feel her way across the consoles, stabbing at the panels' controls she knows by heart in hopes of restoring something--anything. Failing that, she needs to get to the compartment where there should at least be a portable light.

Until then she'll have to rely on her other senses to even take a stab at the shuttle's status. That terrible ripping noise--have they lost a nacelle? The torpedo tube? The fact that she hasn't been sucked out into space at least tells her the shuttle's main body is in one piece. She takes a deep breath trying to smell smoke or anything leaking. But the air isn't very satisfying. Shit, they might be losing air--or the damaged engine might be exposing them to--

Something touches her hand and Nia nearly yanks it away before she hears his voice. Booker. Oh thank the blessed mother of us all, it's Book. She reaches for him and squeezes his hand, though it takes way too long for her to process his simple question.

"I'm fine," she says hoarsely, though honestly she has no idea how she is. Her head's still swimming, but there are so many warring thoughts it could be confusion and panic rather than a concussion or a problem with the atmosphere. "I'm trying to get some power back, or at least a flashlight. You? Are you hurt? Breathing okay?"

Even as she asks Booker, it occurs to her that the only voice she hasn't heard in the background is Rawlings. "Double-T, status? Rawlings? Everyone. Stay put until the Doctor gets to you, if needed. The backup generator should kick in soon." I hope.

The emergency lighting does not kick in, and the control panels remain off. The only light is coming from Rangin's datapad, which seems unaffected, and dim starlight through the three forward viewports. The stars ahead are not moving, and the shuttle seems motionless.

Kylah can sense her five crewmates around her. No one is panicking, but everyone is, to one degree or another, shaken up and a bit on-edge.

Rawlings quietly says, his voice tight, "My left arm really hurts. I think I may have broken it when I fell."

You can all now hear a soft but distinct whistling noise.

“Please tell me that is not a decompression going on,” says Rangin, as he fears one of the worst things that can happen in a shuttle like this is currently in progress. The general absence of light does not bother him as much as it might. Time spent underground in caves and mines prepare you for sudden blackouts that can occur.

Standing unsteadily, he holds the datapad up and slowly rotates it around the interior of the cabin allowing everyone to get a brief glimpse of what the situation is. As he shines the light over each of crew, he calls out their name, just to make sure he is getting a response from them.

Kylah looks with alarm at Ens. Rawlings, very dimly illuminated by the faint glow from Velir's datapad. She has her own device that can be used similarly... somewhere. She thinks she heard it clatter to the floor during the sharp movement of the shuttle.

Instinctively she steps closer to Velir, then remembers Lt. Onn's order and backs up. When the light is aimed at her, she nods, unable to see anything except his hand holding the datapad. She just stares in his direction with eyes wide with fright. The idea of decompression is horrifying.

All she can do is stand in place, gripping the edge of the chair in an effort to stop trembling.

Mäkeläinen knows he is not the only one who can hear that noise, and Rangin says it. Some kind of leak—whether it is the atmosphere venting out into space, or gases leaking into the cabin, it just became their top priority. Does he smell anything?

"Hang on, Rawlings, and don't move the arm," he calls. "If that is a leak, we need to stop it before we all pass out." They are in danger, but this is a mundane threat, something they know how to deal with. He tries to focus on the damage control procedures drilled into everybody on Mars, and at Starfleet Academy. Assuming he was still seated nearest the back, he calls out to Nia, "I'm going for the emergency repair kit!"

He still cannot see too many details in the dim light, but he tries to quickly yet carefully feel his way to the aft compartment to retrieve the emergency tool kit mounted there and hand it off to Nia or whoever looks like they will be using it. In the pre-flight checklist I said his cyberarm was configured for laser and micro-mechanical surgery. Not sure if that includes one of those laser-driven broadband light sources that produces a narrow, bright beam of white light. Then he turns to tend to Rawlings.

Rawlings, his voice tight, says to Rangin, "It sure sounds like a leak of cabin pressure to me."

Rangin sees, in the glow of his datapad's screen, the faces of each of his shipmates. Everyone seems all right, more or less, except Rawlings, who is clearly in pain. Kylah sees her tricorder on the deck, a few meters away, when the light shines in her direction.

Dr. Mäkeläinen finds the emergency repair kit mounted to the bulkhead of the aft compartment, as expected, and takes it down. He can set his cyberarm to emit a harmless beam of light if he wishes.

Nia flings silent curses into the dark--she's not surprised that there might be a breach, the air already seems thinner to her--but tries to keep any panic from her voice. "Hang tight, Double-T. If that's the issue it'll need a patch-up. From the sound it's likely not too big. Rangin, can you run a scan? Anyone who can tell if the source is near you, speak up."

She's busy kneeling and sliding her hand along the the lower portion of the control panel, midway between her and Booker's seats. The Tesla's slightly different configuration from the regular shuttles is less familiar to her, but she knows there's a master systems control panel down here. If she can find it, she'll work to attempt an emergency restart. "Mäkeläinen, good job--pass the kit up to Graham on your way? I'd like some more light at the very least."

Nia sucks her lips together, mind and heart racing. Why are they at a complete stop? The shuttle's vastly upgraded inertial dampers did a beautiful job of saving their lives before everything went pear-shaped, but normally even with a full engine shutdown the vessel should be moving through external inertia.

Yet it didn't feel like a crash halt; there's nothing in front of them but stars, and even the strengthened defense shields would've been hard-pressed to prevent the shuttle from being crushed like a tin can if they'd slammed into something at Warp 2. But a tech issue... the pre-flight check was solid or she wouldn't have taken off. How could anything have failed?

Unless it was Nia herself. Did her distracted brain miss a hint of trouble?

A flood of desperation nearly makes her groan and she shuts her eyes, grateful for the darkness as she whispers a plea to her lovely Tesla. "Don't do this, girl. Everything's shutting down on me. How did I fuck you up too?"

Kylah is not surprised to have been given no assignment. At least Mr. Rawlings has a reason for doing nothing. Lt. Onn has either forgotten her or considers her useless. But in truth, Kylah cannot think of much she can do, with her communications panel rendered deaf and mute.

She carefully reaches for her tricorder. Grasping it in both hands, she steps out of the aisle back toward her seat--she must not block the doctor, or Velir if he is to search the whole of the shuttle.

The device, unlike Velir's, is calibrated and programmed for communication purposes. It will not scan for... whatever he will be searching for, lowered pressure perhaps? But Kylah's ears work well enough, so she turns and obeys the one command Lt. Onn issued that does apply to her: trying to locate the source of the noise.

Graham grunts acknowledgment Nia's OK.

Thank god is what he wants to say, but he's too...too what? Short term, long term...to hard to puzzle out.

Emergency restart.

You're shit for a pilot, Booker, but you know a bag of tricks for when a shuttle's gotten hammered by enemy action.

"Yes, gimme some light up here!" he says, probably a little louder than he wants to. "Emergency fucking restart..." he mumbles. fumbling around for...where the fuck was it?

Master controls...just left of the pilot's console...find the fucking buttons, Booker. Saving the warranty on this tub doesn't matter now, reboot the goddamn thing as fast as possible at all costs...

If he can find the controls, he punches them in aggressively.

What could they have hit? Some random rock? Bizhi remembers overhearing a pre-flight briefing to the effect that there was basically nothing remarkable along their course. No time yet to wonder about it. For all of their technology and shields, they are at the mercy of space, not its masters. One stray bit of junk drifting into their path, or an unlucky particle flare, could do them in.

With the lights still off, he rolls up his sleeve to expose more of his left arm, which contains machinery instead of flesh. In a moment an intense beam of white light pierces the gloom. It is much too directional to light up the whole cabin, but by directing it Bizhi can avoid tripping over any obstacles, plus he will need it to work on Rawlings, or on anything else.

Holding the emergency toolkit, he makes his way forward to where Graham is, and points the light where he asks.

Onn is able to find the master systems control panel, below and to her left, and firmly presses the switch for an emergency restart. Nothing happens for a minute or so. Then the cabin's emergency lighting comes on, very dimly, perhaps only a fifth as bright as it ought to be. After another minute which feels like an eternity, the pilot and copilot control panels come back to life with a quiet hum, as does the Communications panel beside Kylah's seat. Far too many of the indicator lights are either yellow or red, however, and they're much dimmer than they should be, as well.

Kylah is able, with her tricorder, to locate the two sources of the whistling. Both are along the starboard side of the Tesla, low and about half a meter apart, halfway back along the joining seam between the deck and the bulkhead. There is no visible hole or breach.

The shuttle's interior is now feeling distinctly colder.

With Booker now inches away, having reached for same panel she did, Nia almost smiles despite the grim circumstances. "We must stop meeting like this," she murmurs.

Then a beam of light appears and she's about to thank the doc for finding a flashlight when she looks up and sees that the light's coming from... something unfamiliar, something gleaming and metallic, right at them. She instinctively backs away in shocked alarm.

"Weapon!" she hisses at Booker, unable to see beyond the light in her eyes. and leaps to her feet. "Mäkeläinen! What the hell are you--" But she's risen so quickly her head swims with vertigo. To keep balance she quickly grabs hold of the nearest thing--Booker's elbow.

And now, from this vantage point, she's able to see that... there's no weapon, no threat. It's just the doctor's arm. A bionic arm.

Nia cringes inwardly at her paranoia. "Sorry, Doctor. I didn't... I couldn't tell..." She makes a vague gesture with her free hand toward him. She swallows the shame, apologizes again and forces her attention back to more urgent matters. When she realizes she's holding Booker's elbow like it's a life preserver, she mutters a third embarrassed apology before letting go.

Turning to the colorful chaos of the panel's warning lights, the first thing she checks is the status of the life support system. Everything else is useless if they're all about to suffocate and freeze to death. Even before this all happened, she'd been about to ask if she might raise the temperature. Now it's even colder.

From behind her she hears Kylah reporting that she's found the source of the noise--sources, apparently. And no visible breaches or holes. What else is down there? The starboard nacelle, obviously but... Nia's mind is atypically slow to recall the schematics of a shuttle class she knows like the back of her hand. Clearly she can't do everything at once and so again she passes the sensor work to Rangin. "Follow Kylah and do a reading on just whatever's underneath the deck at those points. I'll be there ASAP."

Staring down at the lights, she knows Booker's right beside her. "No idea what caused this yet," she says softly. "If it's tech failure, pilot failure, I can find those out. But... should we be concerned that there's something--another ship--behind this? That's caught us, somehow? We don't have any of the external screens to get a 360 view, just the windows up here, so... Suggestions?"

Nia grabbing his arm alerts almost every instinct he has to stabilize himself, to be something and someone she can count on...

I wanted that. Still do, differently, of necessity--but that bridge has been burnt to ashes, swept into a pan, and dumped into the sea, I think...

"It's OK, it's ok," is all he can murmur to her apologies.

Her shout of "weapon," on the other hand, alerts every instinct he has and then some. But although he tenses, the only threat he can imagine at the moment is Rangin deciding to frag him, and this seems like an odd time to do it...tensing without over reacting proves to be the right response.

"Jesus Doc - Johnny on the spot, as the saying goes. Thanks." Graham pauses a moment, appreciating the boost but assuming that the backstory probably isn't an uplifting feel-good one. He lowers his voice. "Drinks on me, if you want to share the how and why, back on Yorktown," he murmurs. "Real stuff, from Earth."

Nia's questions are also Johnny--well, Janey--on the spot. He shakes his head clear. "Distress signal if we can get one out. See if it's jammed if we can," he answers quickly.

He grunts. "Probes? Are we carrying probes? If they are self-powered we can pop one out and see if a bad actor knocks it down."

The Master Systems Display (MSD) is glitchy, as Onn sees at once, and the readings fluctuate slightly every few seconds, but it appears that the shuttle is down to about 60% of its life support (LS) capacity due to damage and/or malfunctions. It also looks like a lot of the shuttle's breathable air has vented out into space from the high-capacity compression tanks below your feet. Other updates on shuttle systems are beginning to scroll across the small MSD screen; they aren't especially encouraging.

Graham notices that the torpedo control panel to his right also has an urgently-blinking red light.

The shuttle carries no probes. It does have a very small log buoy, about the size of a tennis ball, which has no transmitter and cannot move on its own. It continuously records the last 24 hours of log entries, hull and engine telemetry, sensor readings, navigational inputs and cabin audio/visual data.

Someone bumps Rawlings in the near-dark, and he almost cries out in pain.

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

Letting others begin to move around the cabin, Rangin makes sure he is off to one side and starts to think what might have happened, although there are likely to be others in the cabin with more experience and knowledge, so the best thing he can do is stay to one side, follow orders and keep throwing out ideas and solutions as best he can.

With Lt Onn’s orders still being called out, he acknowledges them with a brief, “Aye Ma’am”, before moving to join Kylah and see what she has found.

If he can, he pulls up the schematics of the shuttle on his datapad and then cross maps with the locations Kylah has identified. If there are no holes or breaches to outer space, then a couple of other things spring to mind.

“Ma’am,” he calls back to Lt Onn, “Possible coolant leak from something internal?”

It’s something that could account for the drop in temperature. The other is that there is a foreign device on the ship and that is one possibility that Rangin really does not want to contemplate. Especially as they just came from a prison planet.

Things seem to Dr. Mäkeläinen to be happening in slow motion; or is he thinking fast in response to the rapidly evolving situation? These eruptions of ordered chaos (and, moreso, pure chaos) always seem to exist in their own uniquely toned reality. So, he takes it in stride when Nia panics at the sight of exposed metal in his arm. He grimaces, and is about to say a brief word in explanation when Graham, too, reacts. Who is right: something better told of over a nice dram (especially since who knows how they will react to the true story!). "I'll hold you to that," he says.

"You had better take this kit if you are going below," he tells Nia, and leaves it with her. If they lose too much air, or if they freeze, hypoxia and hypothermia can supervene and hit them quickly, and then they are all done for, not that she needs him to remind her. Are there any emergency environmental suits on board, let alone enough for six?

Time to tend to Rawlings. If he is already wincing in pain--- he does not seem like a big whiner--- it could be a bad break that will require more careful treatment on the Yorktown. For now, probably need at least to splint it so it does not move. Using his light if necessary, Dr. Mäkeläinen makes his way back aft to get his kit. First step will be a tricorder scan, to identify the damage.

Shit.

Graham focuses on figuring out the implications of the red light on the torpedo control panel.

One photon torpedo going off is much, much more than needed to vaporize a shuttle...

Nia accepts the kit with gratitude toward Dr. M., but otherwise snaps her focus back to the controls. What's the status of the nacelles? The shields? And given the L/S situation, would their energy be best reserved to maintain those functions? Unless there's a ship or something out there. We'll need our shields too.

"Distress signal. Right." More loudly: "Kylah. If the comms is working, send out a mayday. See if it gets jammed. And open a channel to see if you hear any nearby chatter."

She shudders and hugs herself. She is damn cold. Nia's lived her life on a desert planet and always prefers warm, humid atmospheres. Her tolerance of the cold is probably worse than the humans'. She can do without oxygen longer, though. She has her inhaler, though there's probably only a couple of lungfuls left. The others...

"Book, you'll stay up here, okay? For now? I wanna know about our defenses, the weapons, the shields... they're less important than the L/S, but if there's anything out there... Still, everything will take a backseat to the life support."

Suddenly it strikes her that the circumstances are similar to the last time she and Booker were in a crisis together. And somehow her thoughts begin to leap frog over each other. Booker. Trying to save Marala and Nikolai. No room on the ship for everyone. Too much strain on life support.

That's where she lands. Of course. What did the last mission require most but maintaining L/S under dire circumstances? She knows who worked as hard as anyone to drain every last drop out of the Yorktown's capabilities. She snaps a look towards the xenobiologist and starts to head down the aisle.

With his datapad, Rangin sees it may be possible that there are hull breaches, which would be consistent with the whistling noise and dropping cabin temperature. When he waves his hand over the points Kylah has identified, moreover, he feels a slight but definite suction effect. There are no coolant sources in that area of the hull.

Rangin's medical scan of Rawlings shows that the giant redshirt has broken his left forearm. Fortunately, it is not a compound fracture. Dr. Mäkeläinen may give him a painkiller with his hypospray and splint his forearm; the physician indeed does not have a bone regenerator in his medikit. A quick check of the Tesla's emergency-supply inventory list reveals that there are no environmental suits aboard.

Onn sees that, among other things, there is a large tube of patching epoxy in the repair kit.

The blinking red light on the torpedo control panel which Graham noticed reads

CRIT
TORP
MALF

for "Critical Torpedo Malfunction."

The starboard warp-drive nacelle is not registering at all on the forward control panels; the port nacelle is shut down but appears undamaged. Deflector and navigational shields are also offline but apparently undamaged; likewise the impulse drive. Helm control and navigation systems are very glitchy and only marginally responsive, however, as are sensors.

Kylah sees that a power surge of some kind has fried the shuttle's communications systems; both the transmitter and receiver appear to be completely ruined. She gets nothing but a low subspace static hiss on her communicator, although the communicators of her shipmates do register as being nearby. The communicators, of course, function independently of the shuttle's onboard comm system, but cannot reach more than a few thousand kilometers away. She cannot think of a way to send a Mayday that would go very far.

Kylah's nerves are increasingly on edge, in sync with those of the others in the party. With the one panel she can handle of no use, she drags a hand through her hair in frustration.

With Lt. Onn's orders, she does her best to use a communicator to broadcast a signal out into the void, and to see if she is able to hear anything that might be nearby.

Both attempts prove futile. (Edited to add this, as per EH post above--oops, missed that.) She sits back in frustration and turns to watch Velir work, if for no other reason than the sight of him calms her.

Though about to head to Rangin, Nia turns to the man beside her, very close beside her, in fact, which feels so natural it doesn't even occur to her that it's not appropriate. "Book, is one of the torpedoes in danger of overloading? Is it both? I’d hate to jettison our best weapons.. Our shields are fine but if we can barely go at impulse we wouldn't be able to escape anything after us. Even if the sensors are wonky, is there any way to scan for another entity nearby? Even with a tricorder, if it's near enough? I should know that, but I..."

Her words trail off. Truth is, she can't figure out how to end the sentence. Her brain might as well be made of molasses, it's moving so slowly. If she's having issues with the air, the others must be feeling it too. A captain doesn't show weakness, certainly not more weakness than her crew. No one else is complaining, she sure as hell won't.

She strengthens her tone. "Give it a try if you can. I need to go check the aft system controls, and probably get underneath via the floor access panel. Can you take over up here to see what's outside us? Not just some enemy that might not exist, but... any safe harbor? I know Nav's not your specialty. Still..."

Pulling her hair back into a makeshift bun, Nia stares at him, hoping for some insight or comfort. "This shuttle was in perfect condition," she whispers, almost apologetic. "I'd never've taken it out if Cheverez and I didn't believe she was ready. It must've been... I can't even fathom... something we didn't count on, but what? Trip to the stockade was fine, leaving the planet was fine. I did the pre-flight check with their tech guys... I wish I'd done that myself but whatsername figured it'd save time..."

Nia frowns. She remembers hazily the burst of proprietary annoyance she experienced when Malaj told her she'd presumptuously ordered those men to work on the Tesla. Still, the pre-flight all went smoothly.

A little knot in her stomach tightens. The smoothness of the pre-flight relied on the techies’ accuracy. On their sharing the genuine status reports. Her fingers grip the handle of the emergency kit. "Book," she says softly. "The only unexpected variable on this whole journey so far was the prison's techies working on this shuttle. For the life of me I can't think why but... is sabotage possible?"

“Ok, we have some microfissures here,” Rangin calls out to the rest of the crew, “Do we have anything to patch and seal it, otherwise we are going to slowly suffocate. Or jury rig something instead”

He marks where the fissures are and then starts a wider scan of the shuttle to compare against the schematics to show where the main issues might be as the main terminals appear a little obstructive at the moment.

Graham frowns, trying to concentrate on Nia's orders--and ideas--his mood getting darker as she goes on.

"Well shit...torpedo malfunction. Rigging one to blow would result in very little left of this shuttle." He rubs his chin. "But then also why whack our power?A saboteur wouldn't need us to drift off to suffocate if we'd been vaporized..." He shakes his head. "But this many critical systems blowing on a shipshape shuttle?" He nods grimly. "We should think about what a saboteur would have done, as we troubleshoot."

He sighs. "Speaking of which I'll save the torpedo if I can, and give a jerry rigged tricorder scan a go after that."

As quickly as he can, he attempts to determine the severity and risk of the damaged torpedo.

Mäkeläinen tries to reassure Rawlings, or at least keep him distracted from the pain and pandaemonium. "It's broken, all right, but it's not too bad. You'll need some time with a bone regenerator, when we get back to the ship. First, let me give you something for the pain and swelling. Then we need to splint it."

Analgesic hypos are an essential part of every medical kit, and Mäkeläinen administers a simple painkiller. He then fashions a neat splint using the field surgery supplies in his medikit, immobilizing the broken bone. "There. How is that? It shouldn't hurt as long as you keep the arm still and make sure it does not get banged about." He gently moves Rawlings's arm into a neutral position and ties a simple sling to support it.

About getting to a proper Sickbay, they really do need to get back to the ship. Any ship. Conditions are not so bad--- yet--- but he uses his tricorder to check the oxygen levels in the air, and for any contaminants. He needs to know, even if there is nothing they can do about it, but it looks like Rangin and Onn are already starting emergency repairs.

He wonders what ship might be around to rescue them. There are surely patrol vessels (possibly even Romulan patrols, for that matter) somewhere out there, but with their systems fried, how would they manage to contact them? Waiting may not be a choice; they could try to recover enough navigational capabilities to limp to a nearby system, after repairing the shuttle so that it does not break apart or explode on the way.

Before Nia parts from Booker, she murmurs, "Actually there are two torpedoes--at least, there should be. My girl packs quite a punch. Or used to."

Did the tube detach? Is that what made that screeching sound? She could live with that, but she suspects it's not as simple. The starboard nacelle has gone dark and that's probably the actual culprit. Better to be down a torpedo tube than lose half their ability to crawl forward. Well, she can play guessing games all day but the easiest way to assess the damage to the shuttle is to look at it.

She moves down the aisle past Dr. Mäkeläinen and poor Double-T, sending the latter a sympathetic glance. Now she's near Rangin and, eyeing the space he's indicating, nods while opening the emergency kit. "Take this," she says, handing him the tube of epoxy. "Can you take care of it? And... I need to focus on getting this shuttle moving forward. Would you keep close track of the environmental status? Oxygen, temp, pressure, you know. I know this isn't your area of expertise but it's not entirely, uh, orthogonal to it. Mäkeläinen," she adds toward the doctor, "You too of course. Work together as needed, let me know your ideas--you're probably the two smartest people here anyway."

She redirects her focus to Rangin and lowers her voice. "We need our surroundings to be tolerable, if not comfortable, for as long as possible until the Tesla's back up and running. You did your best to cram those colonists onto the ship and saved a couple hundred extra lives. After that, I figure maintaining the l/s for just six of us'll be a piece of cake, right?"

Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head--and immediately regrets it, since it makes her woozy. "It's already freezing in here and the air's not great--you've probably noticed that already. If we can't improve on that, hopefully we can at least maintain things at this level." Passing Rangin whatever tools he'll need for a patch job, she turns and spots Kylah, having forgotten her entirely. At Nia's questioning look, the girl reports that they're SOL when it comes to mayday signals. Perfect.

After vaguely instructing Kylah to just... keep trying, or help anyone else who needs an extra pair of hands... Nia heads back to get to the aft compartment, where she'll take a look at the actual circuits via the instrument access panel to see what the hell is fried and what's salvageable--if anything. If she has to transplant circuitry from one less important function to fix something else that's absolutely necessary, so be it.

Kylah has no luck reaching anyone outside with her communicator, and just gets subspace static hiss.

Sensors, although still very glitchy, locate nothing else within almost half a light year of the Tesla - no ship, planet, moon, asteroid, comet, no nothing. The shuttle is in deep space.

To his relief, Rangin's tricorder scan locates no other hull breaches, confirming Kylah's earlier findings. All of a sudden, he has an idea pop into the back of his mind, and vaguely remembers an article he read a year or so ago in the Starfleet Astrophysics Journal. He thinks it might be useful. Now, what was it...?

Rawlings, now resting comfortably, smiles and tells Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Thanks, Doc. I feel a whole lot better." The doctor's tricorder scan shows that O2 levels in the cabin are lower than when the shuttle left SPJ2, and carbon dioxide levels higher, but neither are in the danger zone yet. He finds no atmospheric contaminants of any kind.

Onn looks over the interior instrument access panel* in the cramped aft engineering space, where the doctor got the emergency repair kit earlier. The panel's detailed display shows that the starboard warp-drive nacelle suffered significant structural damage from an unknown cause and automatically scrammed to prevent a breach of its small warp core - a breach that would have badly damaged if not destroyed the shuttle. She confirms that the port nacelle, although automatically shut down, probably by an Engineering subroutine when the starboard nacelle scrammed, is undamaged. Deflector and navigational shields, and the impulse drive, are offline but show all green. Helm control, navigation systems and sensors have all suffered significant malfunctions, apparently due to the same power surge that took out communications. Onn thinks she may be able to improve, if not totally restore, helm and nav functions by cannibalizing communications components, but that's it.

Graham sees that one of the Tesla's two photon torpedoes, the starboard one, has somehow been armed - perhaps as a result of the same power surge - and has begun a detonation countdown. It will go off in two minutes, nine seconds... eight seconds... seven....


* The one shown in SidGal's link is outside, on the exterior stern of the shuttle.

“Thank you Ma’am,” Rangin replies as he receives the epoxy to patch the holes, “I’ll look into the Life Support once I have fixed these holes.” He tries to keep his voice as neutral and calm as possible. Whatever it is he is trying to remember is going to have to wait until the job is complete.

Just like a mining accident, there is no point panicking as it only works to your own detriment and this situation should be salvageable. At least that is what Rangin keeps telling himself, he’s been in worse situations than this, times when he thought he was going to die like the USS Lexington.

This…this is just a minor inconvenience.

Feeling slightly relieved that a fix is to hand, Rangin gets to work as quickly as he can to seal the various microholes in the shell. The sooner he starts, the sooner he finishes and, more importantly, the sooner they stop leaking air into the cold vacuum of space. Fortunately, he has a tricorder showing the location of each one, so, he figures that this should be relatively simple. Apply epoxy, move to the next one, then circle back and check it has worked.

Mäkeläinen communicates with Lt. Rangin in terse, efficient sentences as they do their jobs. "OK, air's still good. There's time to seal each one properly, then go back and check. Slightly high CO₂ and low O₂, but not a problem. Yet. It will be, with no reserves, if we don't get life support back. We also need to get the temperature back up, but there are probably several ways to jury-rig that."

He asks Rawlings, "Did you say you were sure it sounded like a leak? Not the the kind of sound one wants to be too familiar with, but if you are, that has got to be a proper yarn." Of which we will all be able to tell our own, come to think of it, if we ever get out of here.

Rangin is able to patch the two holes, and his work seems to hold. The whistling noise stops.

Rawlings says, "Yeah, I was on a shuttle once which took some micrometeorite damage because of a damn hot-dogging pilot in the Messalina asteroid belt. I remember that whistling very well."

On her knees, Nia stares into the panel trying to make fast calculations about the comms components. Cannibalize enough to hopefully let the shuttle limp out slowly? Or fix their communications system--if that's possible--to call for help?

Her desire to view the Tesla from outside to see just what the hell might've happened is off the charts. There's simply no better way than a stroll around a ship's hull to assess and attend to potential damage on the outside. It's obvious enough, but became even more so after Nia made a perilous but vital space walk to cross from the Tesla to a Klingon ship a couple months back.

At the time she realized that the ability to assess the Tesla or any shuttle during a journey would be immeasurably valuable and proffered the idea to to the Engineering team: let's make at least one EV suit standard shuttle equipment. They brought up the reasonable objection that it would take up a lot of room when storage is already so tight.

Hard to argue with that... at least, until now. There aren't any working cameras to show what the outside looks like.* Which means Nia's flying blind. And if there's a component primarily accessible externally, Nia can't get to it.

Maybe... She eyes the storage compartment across from her with more prayer than confidence. Maybe they really listened after all? I had no time to check before we took off... So it's possible, right?

She's 99% sure she knows the answer but can't help herself: she moves to the small storage locker area and opens it.**



* - Or are there? Even if they are, may I assume they'd've been fried with the power surge anyway?

** - Yes I know there's no EV suit, but she doesn't. :)

His patching work now complete, Rangin, racking his brains, thinks he may be getting closer to remembering that article. It is proving frustratingly elusive, however.

There are no external cameras on, and no spacesuit in, the shuttle.

I expect we would have seen one or the other, or both, at some point on TOS if there had been.

Sensing a lot of frustration all around her, Kylah bunches the material of her dress's skirt in tight fists, impotent to assist. Both Dr. Mäkeläinen and Velir, the latter nearest to her, seem to have accomplished their immediate tasks.

"Well done," she says to Velir, the brief words soft and grateful (and also directed at the doctor). "Is there... is there anything I might help you with?" She glances up at the others, including them in the offer although she cannot fathom of what use she would be.

Nia registers the absence of an EV suit with disappointment, even though she pretty much knew what she'd find--nothing. Of course no one listened to her suggestions. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

She slams the locker door shut, then immediately regrets losing her cool. The others don't need to know her mood. Anyway, she can't pin all the blame for the unavailable gear on Engineering for not following her recommendation. If Nia wanted an EV suit on board for this mission she should've bloody well demanded and/or grabbed one herself--rush or no rush.

But she banishes such self-recrimination--because really, what's the point?--and glances over her shoulder, specifically eyeing the floor ahead and the access panel leading beneath the deck. Probably a good idea to check there to get as good an overall view as possible before deciding what to prioritize.

Clambering to her feet, Nia pivots toward the main compartment when a dizzying rush of vertigo nearly makes her stumble. She grabs hold of the nearest solid object and takes a few not-very-satisfying breaths. The others are busy--most of them--and she doesn't think anyone noticed.

She stares out at the crew. If she's having issues with the air, they must be, too. Sidonian biology needs less nitrogen and oxygen than humans do. Not sure about Coridanites or Elasians, but unlike her, they're all from Class M planets with similar atmospheres as Earth. Doesn't immediately appear that anyone's in distress. But even if they are, there's nothing to be done until the l/s system's back online.

That's probably why they're not complaining, she thinks with a little flare of pride. Brave Starfleet officers, all of them. Even Double-T and his arm. Even, Nia grudgingly admits, Kylah.

Once Nia gets her bearings she steadies herself and continues over to the deck access panel. Assuming the others don't need her, she'll again sink to her knees and get to work on unscrewing the bolts.

"Shit."

"Starboard photon torpedo armed and on countdown," Graham shouts. "Firing torpedo, all hands, we are firing starboard torpedo. Repeat, firing starboard torpedo."

He braces himself and punches the controls. Hoping they work.

"If you can think of a way to bodge a communicator or something to send a distress call out far enough, that would be ideal," Mäkeläinen says to Kylah. "Maybe a beacon to broadcast our position, even if we can't receive?

"We've been extremely lucky so far, considering all the damage, but who knows how long that will last. Lt. Onn is trying to get us moving" --- I happen to know she's far from her best at the moment --- "but outside assistance could really save us, if it came down to it."

He pauses for a beat, inscrutable. Then continues in an even tone, including Lt. Rangin in the conversation, "Life support. Heating a small, insulated space like this cannot take that much power. A power cell or two from a phaser? Or whatever we can can get from the shuttle's power bus if it's not absolutely critically low? We don't have to be toasty warm, or even that comfortable. Just need to maintain a certain minimum. And, with a potentially limited air supply, we should focus on scrubbing the CO2 from the air we do have. Many chemicals will do it. What do you think?"

While they are talking, Lt. Graham starts shouting about an armed torpedo. Bizhi turns. "What the---"

If the lights were brighter, the others might notice Kylah's face turning pink. She quickly looks down to hide the reaction. I must seem ignorant indeed, if I have given the impression that I did not consider working on a communication option.

She has already considered a not-dissimilar shuttle incident back at the Academy. It involved the Enterprise
...As usual. That particular crew's adventures were hailed far and wide, acclaim that is mostly deserved. In this case, Kylah does not remember the shuttle name. Galworthy, Gilligan, Kepler, Galileo or Copernicus? Some human-based reference, as with most of the Starfleet vessels.

If there is one benefit to being part of the Klingon Empire, it would be that they do not demand obeisance to their own culture. People died, not their histories. Of course, now is not the time to bemoan the over-representation of ancient Terran culture that has spread, virus-like, throughout the known entire Alpha Quadrant.

In any event, the Enterprise's shuttle was stranded and, in need of extra power, the crew linked their phasers to draw upon their shared energy. But Kylah is fairly sure that linking the Tesla crew's communicators in a similar fashion would do little to amplify a beacon or message.

"Like the the Naradraen," she murmurs. Their SOS was nearly missed entirely. Kylah discovered first one lone mayday message, then multiple sources chanting in unison. The latter did not reach the Yorktown sensor's any sooner.

More energy might help boost signal strength, but she fears any power they have might need to go... elsewhere. Her worried gaze darts to the air vents. It is self-evident that with the need to maintain or even improve life support, all reserves will likely be directed to that purpose.

All she has time to say is, "Of course, doctor, I would be glad of any suggest--" before she senses a sudden burst of alarm near the front of the shuttle, followed immediately by Lt. Graham's warning.

Once he is satisfied that the epoxy is holding and that the holes have been sealed, he sits back on his haunches and tries to think what he needs to do next.

“Holes are sealed,” he calls out to the shuttle. It should help them to know the initial danger has passed. “Anyone need help with anything else?”

As for that idea buzzing around in the back of his head, he reaches for his datapad. He had bought reading material for the trip, so it should have a history of what he has been reading. All he needs is to look back over the articles and see if he can jog his memory a little further as to what article it is.

Nia, bent over the access panel, hears Booker's announcement and reacts instinctively, jerking back and scrabbling toward the shuttle's port side. Not that moving an extra meter or two will matter if a torpedo explodes right beneath the hull, but she can't control the impulse any more than she can control her scales from covering her head to toe.

Graham hits the FIRE TORP button and, after an agonizing pause and then a grinding noise beneath the forward deck that he's never heard before ("What the hell?" Rawlings growls), the Tesla shudders slightly as the photon torpedo is launched. The torpedo status board turns all green. At just the moment the timer indicates, there is a distant silent flare as the torpedo explodes. Graham can see, given the distance the torpedo traveled in so short a time and the intense glare of the explosion, that it must have been set at maximum yield. He knows, from standard procedure, that it would not have been set that way when the shuttle left the Yorktown.

Onn has pulled back the carpeting and gotten the deck access panel open. What would she like to do now?

Rangin can't find the Starfleet Astrophysics Journal article on his past-reading list. It might have been too long ago for that, or perhaps he read it on the Bridge, at a Science workstation or somewhere else. He relaxes his mind just enough, despite the stress he's under, for a memory to, at last, more clearly rise into his consciousness. The article, he now recalls, concerned the recently-discovered quantum filaments and the rare but significant hazards they pose to interstellar navigation.


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