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

"Well then, Mr. Quinn," says Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Er, what form of address do you prefer? I must say, by both name and appearance you do coincidentally resemble one Quinn of some recent notoriety. That must be bloody inconvenient. I would not want any rumours to spread on our account.

"The situation is, the crew of the Doregg, whether under duress or of their own free will, have abandoned her. Rescue of the remaining passengers is being undertaken by Federation Starfleet. The Chalnoth have been promised guest accommodations on board the USS Yorktown for the time being; I can offer you the same. As for what happens afterwards," Mäkeläinen turns sympathetic, "listen, we were in the same boat an hour ago, literally. I figured the very best we could look forward to was a thorough interrogation followed by being turfed to some rock in the Neutral Zone to fend for ourselves. All this after having paid an exorbitant sum for swift passage to our destination and to be otherwise left to our own business. So I realize the prospect of being left on a different rock this side of the Neutral Zone may not be much of an ultimate improvement, from your point of view. But I don't imagine it will come to that. Beyond the Chalnoth, there are quite a number of refugees on board. The Yorktown will certainly be passing though a number of major worlds, gateways to the core of civilization as well as to the far frontier, depending on which way one is headed. And I would like to think the Captain will, any road, do all in her power to aid those caught up, through no fault of their own, in this unfortunate incident, and speed them to their destinations."

"Thank you, Doctor," Quinn says. "I have no interest in going anywhere, at the moment at least, other than away from Federation space."

The others with Dr. Mäkeläinen introduce themselves to him. He nods politely.

"Um...." Graham takes a second to process Kylah's question. One obviously motivated by concern for Rangin, who had treated her...'like shit, as far as I can tell' is the phrase that comes to mind.

"Ah, I'm sure he's fine, being, ah--back on the ship after all." It's a hope he has to believe, because if the ship can cure all ills, Nia's fine too.

He clears his throat. "Stand by and we'll see if you're needed in cryo--you've done a fair bit. A good bit, in fact--you deserve a break if we can swing it." He smiles slightly. "Damned if we all don't."

"Naturally, you may ask to disembark at any safe port," Mäkeläinen says to Quinn. He turns to the crew fresh off the Yorktown, who might know, and asks, "Where are we headed? Back towards Cavinre?"

He explains to Quinn, "The Doregg was headed vaguely in that direction. I am embarrassed to admit I cannot name, off the top of my head, the worlds along the way." Nia might have been able to do it.

Lt. JG Mary Three Crows agrees with Dr. Mäkeläinen and says, "Yes, I believe we'll be returning to Cavinre. Subject to other orders, of course."

Nodding a trifle distractedly in response to Lt. Graham's less-than-confident reassurance of Velir's status, Kylah cannot avoid a swell of guilt for not sharing the actual nature of the younger man's psi-related mystery. Lt. Graham is now the C.O. and has the right to know. But as he says, Velir is back on the Yorktown, and hopefully the medical officers will be able to assess him. Perhaps Dr. T'Var will be his best hope.

To Lt. Graham's other observation, Kylah glances up at him with a little more attention. "You are right. I suppose they will likely relieve us soon," she agrees before turning back to the viewscreen. "The Captain will want a debriefing to understand all that has happened, assuming Lt. Onn has not been able to provide one."

In answer to the Captain's question about what unfinished business they might have, Kylah cannot think of much. "I do wish to see the cryo units again before we leave. There is a lone Uwat in the cryo area. Or there was, when we were shown the hold. This one is likely innocent of involvement in the ship's slave activities, but we do not know for certain. Is this prisoner even still there? Or were they beamed to the Romulan ship along with the other--"

Suddenly she scowls and looks back to Lt. Graham. "Sir. How do you think the Romulans retrieved their frozen compatriots? Could they have just beamed them to their ship, without warming them up first? There was so little time. Then again, we were unconscious during the takeover of the ship, and only have the Major's version of the timeline. Who knows what really happened when we were out?"

The uncertainty is unnerving. As is her increasing awareness that the Yorktown is providing no recommendations or orders. The Captain might be busy simultaneously handling the Cavinre situation that this current rescue mission likely interrupted. Maybe the First Officer and Chief of Engineering are available to assist them.

She clears her throat and continues into the communicator. "Kylah to Yorktown? We are prepared for any instructions you may have as far as what actions we should take now." Again her gaze darts up to include Lt. Graham and Lt. St. Croix, wondering if she is about to ask a foolish question: "Do you--do you need us to try to halt?"

Mäkeläinen does not quite have Quinn's measure, therefore resorts to formal, if genuine, politeness. "You are taking things well, all things considered. I am glad you are all right. You are clear to board the Yorktown, as far as I am concerned, as soon as we re-rendezvous and they are ready to receive passengers. I shall advise our mission leader.

"Bit of a warning, until then, the Chalnoth may be gathering in the Common Room here. They lost some of their comrades and are, understandably, not in a good mood. Probably best to give them some space."

The Doctor will do his best to answer any questions in his purview Mr. Quinn may raise--- if they are concerning security, engineering, or logistics that is up to Three-Crows and the others.

When he gets a chance he will contact the other group over the communicator: "Dr. Mäkeläinen to Team Bridge. We've finished interviewing the final passenger. No medical or security issues; he is simply eager to be dropped off as soon as possible and resume his journey."

A belated flash of memory strikes Kylah, and she speaks solely to the security officers nearby. "Before we were distracted by the ship's sudden course change, we were going to try and find the slavers' original destination, or find a manifest of their 'cargo'. Something to determine where they planned to take their captives--perhaps a market, or worse. And their past destinations can allow us to track the history of their...their transactions." Her face crumples into a grimace for a moment. "Do you think that might be something Security will work on? Now that we have identified the controls, you should know where to look."

Graham takes in Ens. Kylah's earnest but somewhat rapid-fire comments and questions. "There are a lot of questions to be answered," he agrees. "But--unless you want to volunteer--I'm calling them other people's to solve. The captain is putting together a prize crew, and a Science team to study those still in cryosleep. I can't deny I'm curious about what the Romulans were up to, and pissed about these Uwat slavers--but I think that needs to be handed over for further investigation, and not just by the Yorktown."

He pauses and tries to give an encouraging smile. "I think we all have people we--" He was about to say "people we love," something he can't think without Mala and Nia in mind at the same time. He amends that to "Ah, people we miss or are, ah, concerned about, back on the ship." He finished quietly. "I think that's the best place for us now."

"Yorktown - Graham here. We're ready to hand over command."

A flush warms Kylah's cheeks and she nods. To be frank, till now she has not remembered what a "prize crew" was.* And Lt. Graham is correct, of course. As much unfinished business gnaws at her, she will likely not have a role, especially if Lt. Thalen is able to get the UT to work with the Uwat language. But what truly causes her blush is the Lieutenant's acknowledgement--without apparent rancor--of her concern about Velir. Of course, the warm emphasis in his voice reminds her of how much he must long to reunite with his wife and stepchild.

Dr. Mäkeläinen's message about their interview of the stranger is a little cryptic, but perhaps it only feels that way since Kylah is so curious about who that querulous gentleman is, and whether he is connected to the Uwat in any way. She wants details. Her brain hungers for answers. Still, it is a Security matter, not up to a Communications officer.

"Acknowledged, Doctor," she responds automatically, and waits to hear what the Yorktown will require of them.



* Neither did her player, until she looked it up just now.

Quinn thinks for a moment and says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Perhaps best I beam over to your ship now, then. I would prefer not to see or deal with the Chalnoth again." He goes to his cabin to pack.

Thalen replies to Kylah, "We have matched your course and speed. No changes necessary there." To Graham he says, "Cmdr. Vargas is now finalizing a prize crew including a Science team. Do anything else you need to over there, and then you - that is, the Tesla party - should prepare to beam back in ten minutes. Mr. Three Crows and her party will remain there for now."

Overhearing, Three Crows says, "Acknowledged, Yorktown, and thanks."

The only thing Kylah can think of that is left to do--or at least, would be worthwhile to do--is to quickly tap out a memo explaining the layout and purposes of the controls, on the chance the next crew does not yet have the ability to translate the language. Of course, even if they do, they will not have seen the control panels themselves, so this might save them some time in having to work things out in a strange environment.

Still, they seem to have things well in hand already, and she has no wish for her efforts to be duplicative. She messages Thalen to see if this is something he wishes her to do. Likely he would have asked her if he thought her knowledge of Uwat--Uwatese? Uwati? Whatever the name of the Uwat language might be called--could be helpful to the prize crew.

She turns to Lt. Graham. "Unless you have orders for me, sir, I cannot think of anything else I personally need to do. Other than retrieve my belongings, if the Yorktown has not already done so." She hesitates and, blinking, glances down at her one-piece body suit. "Do you think we should change back into our uniforms? It does not matter much to me."

A tiny smile tilts her lips. "But you have a more formal immediate superior than I. And a wife before whom you might wish to appear less..." Her gaze takes in the outfit Lt. Graham cobbled together from the shop back on Ollos, and she tactfully avoids finishing. Her gaze deepens with warmth. "I rather suspect she will not care in the least what you are wearing when you arrive. All she will see is your face."

Even with all that has happened, Bizhi leaves his cabin squared away. He ducks in there to grab any personal items, though he does not have any physical souvenirs from this trip except for some second-hand clothes.

He tells Vielar and Three Crows and Li, it has been a pleasure working with them, and he hopes to see them on board. He asks to be included on the distribution list for the Science team's report, if there are no objections. (Rationally, it is not every day one has a chance to examine unfamiliar cryo and medical tech. Also, there is a nonzero chance he will sometime later be on duty to treat some of the victims, physically or psychologically. However, beyond all of that, he also cares about their fate. Someone should.)

Graham can't help but smile. I have a wife...for which I am grateful and...also someone else...about whom I don't know what to do.

"Well...Marala seems graciously tolerant of how old and scarred my face has become..." He smiles again. "It could all be an act. She was always smarter than me."

And whatever else, he realizes that he's been able to pay a deposit back on a debt going back to their days as teen-agers. She saved me back then.

He sighs. "You've done well, here, ensign. You're at liberty to switch to a regulation uniform." He chuckles. "I've almost forgotten about what I'm wearing - permission is also granted to wear it as a a, uh, piratical badge of pride."

Cmdr. Vargas beams over with an initial party of six people, and in a few moments another group of six beams over from the Yorktown. They are mostly Science and Engineering personnel, including the Chief Engineer, Lt. Cmdr. Edgardo Cheverez. He will command the prize crew, but in the meantime is clearly interested in learning all he can about the Doregg's engines and other systems.

The First Officer nods and says to Graham, "You are relieved, Mr. Graham, and thank you all. Prepare to return to the ship. I'll want to see each of your AMRs" - After-Mission Reports - "by 1100 hours tomorrow."

Thalen agrees that Kylah ought to write down what she's learned of the Uwat language and the controls on the Doregg's Bridge. One of the prize crew is Lt. JG Faraz Pourtash, a helmsman, who has a knack for languages. He peppers Kylah with questions, and she's satisfied he has a good grasp of the situation by the time she has to leave.

Quinn and the Chalnoth are beamed over to the Yorktown five minutes apart and given separate quarters, well away from each other - the Chalnoth not in the Brig, but disarmed and supervised by a Security team led by the no-nonsense Lt. JG Ryan Jones.

Graham, Kylah, Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings are able to gather up their personal effects and take their leave of Three Crows and the rest of the first boarding party. When you beam over, you find Capt. Singh waiting beside Chief Binh Nguyen in Transporter Room 1.

The Captain smiles warmly, first approaches Graham with her hand extended and says, "Welcome back, Mr. Graham, and all of you."

Graham is surprised the Captain is here, in the flesh, and --warm and friendly.

Not for any specific reason, but rather because everything had gone south for a variety of reasons, and it doesn't matter if it's anybody's fault--it wasn't the per the captain's plan.

Graham swallows, straightens, and takes her hand. "Thank you, Captain," he says. He brings his other hand up to clasp hers from the opposite side and shakes his head. "Protocol be damned," he says softly. "Seems like everyting that could go wrong, did go wrong. Thank you, Captain, for having our backs, and--ensuring everyone got home safe."

Dr. Mäkeläinen does his best to stand up straight and look professional, despite his rumpled appearance. "Captain," he acknowledges, and meets her eyes and shakes her hand in his turn.

It does not escape his notice that Lt. Graham seemed ever so slightly surprised the Captain was there to meet them. Why would that be unusual? And surely he was not expecting a bollocking? When it comes to his own official report, everyone from the Tesla will be noted for adhering, under trying circumstances and stress, to the exemplary conduct expected of a Starfleet officer. He will finish at least a passable draft before starting in on any Hullstrippers. But, before any of that, before stopping by his own quarters, even, he needs to visit the Sickbay to check on Onn and Rangin.

The Captain shakes each of your hands and welcomes you aboard. She says, "It's good to have you all back. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up and change back into uniform, those who haven't already, before you get a bite to eat. You're all off-duty until 0900 tomorrow; we'll have a mission debriefing at 1230 over lunch in Conference Room 1. I believe the First Officer already spoke to you about AMRs? Very well. Carry on." If none of you have anything else to say, she will leave.

You see from a chrono on the transporter console that it is 1732 Ship's Time.

Rawlings stretches and takes a long, appreciative breath. "Nice to be breathing clean, well-scrubbed Starfleet air again. It's been too damn long."

Dr. Mäkeläinen learns in Sickbay that Onn and Rangin both remain unconscious but are out of danger.

Relieved, Kylah takes a content glance around the transporter room, nodding her thanks to Chief Nguyen, and waits her turn to shake the Captain's hand when proffered. Her discomfort toward the skin-to-skin gesture still exists, especially when connecting with someone with whom she has not done so before. Even though she has learned to block emotions, Kylah is never completely certain of her abilities. But she is too grateful to let that stop her, and adds a fervent, "Thank you so much, Captain, for accepting Regency Councillor Aldaan's message and responding so quickly."

When the Captain has left, Kylah will join Ens. Rawlings with a deep sigh, and watches the doctor disappear quickly. If she could, she would follow to learn how Velir is doing. And Lt. Onn, of course. It does not seem appropriate, however anxious she is.

Before she leaves, she thanks Chief Nguyen--verbally, this time--and then faces the men who have been by her side. "I--I will see you soon, perhaps tomorrow?" She hesitates, then blurts, "Sir...Mr. Rawlings...thank you both for all you did over the past few days. We none of us wished to go through such an ordeal, but if we had to... I am truly grateful to have had your protection."

With a fleeting smile, she turns to leave, looking forward to getting out of this uniform and into a shower. The one she took this morning already feels like a year ago.

The Captain smiles and says to Kylah, "Of course. His own quick response made a big difference. I'll be thanking him officially, of course, but please pass along my personal best wishes." Kylah gets only a vague psi impression from her: a sense of focus, deep purpose and basic good cheer.

Chief Nguyen also nods and smiles, saying, "Glad to help, Ensign."

Rawlings grins. "Sure thing. What are shipmates for, however badly-dressed? It's a big ship, but I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, even after the debrief."

Dr. Mäkeläinen's excellent memory and attention to detail make for an optimum objective account of the mission's key events for anyone reading it, at least the ones he was witness to. This includes some morsels a human(oid) or computer analyst might flag as potentially worth following up on, like the putative quantum strings appearing in supposedly empty space to cause a deadly navigational hazard for anyone accessing the prison facility, which caused the mission to go pear-shaped in the first place and the wreck of the Tesla (probably already stripped by the time he sits down to write this); the allegations of misconduct by Federation citizens that created such a dangerous, pervasive hostile atmosphere on Ollos; the mysterious dead men that brought them into tangential, yet official contact with local intrigue (though not encountering spies, smugglers, and sicarios at that port would have been quite the exception), and of course what he can piece together about the biology, psychology, and behavior of the Uwat species, and the Chalnoth. The section on the rushed production in th hospital of a viable, albeit crude in its effects, Bilitrium substitute using locally sourced materials and reagents should make for compelling reading for a certain tranche of medical personnel.

When it comes to his analysis of the events and the team's individual and group behavior, he has nothing but praise for Nia's doggedly persevering in delegating leadership and staying in action despite pre-existing medical issues, a hostile climate, and the increasingly debilitating effects of hypobilitria. An obvious conclusion to draw is the necessity to provide, either by emergency resupply or taking with them in the first place, species-specific life support in case of emergencies. A variant of Dr. Anikwata's coveserol may prove invaluable for Sidonians in this respect, with Bilitrium (rare and expensive in any case) being restricted as a hazardous material in many jurisdictions.

Rangin's case is more subtle, since he was behaving erratically under the cumulative effects of physical and psychological shock, plus who knows what kind of leakage from the Uwat's engines. Nor can he ignore what he and Kylah suggested about viral pathogens having re-wired his brain. Mäkeläinen knows Rangin is already undergoing a full work-up in Sickbay, supervised by people with more experience with the Lieutenant's physiology and particular condition than he does, so he is not telling them anything they do not know about screening for latent issues, including psychological, before clearing him for a return to hazardous duty. More crucial are his observations backing up Rangin's conduct at the Black Sun and on the Doregg, that, in his judgement, each time Rangin acted properly in a situation rapidly devolving out of control.

Mäkeläinen puts down his PADD not exactly sanguine, but at last knowing that he, and also Nia, are out of danger, based on what he learned.

He has a thought that Mr. Quinn's veil of anonymity, despite official reports like this one going through appropriate channels, may be worthless in a matter of hours as word nevertheless leaks out. Surely he knows it, and, whatever the man's history, his desire to slip away as soon as possible is understandable. He wonders if he will hide in his quarters, like he did on the Doregg, or try to blend in as just another face among hundreds of people (more difficult for anyone to find him if he is not in one place, but perhaps he is just too recognizable?)

Bizhi, much on his mind, gets himself cleaned up and, for a little while at least, may be found sitting quietly at the ship's bar where he will buy a drink for anyone who turns up to join him, like he promised.

After a quick smile in response to Mr. Rawlins, Kylah will pause if Lt. Graham has anything to say to her, then hurry from the transporter room to her quarters. She is already rethinking the shower as her first action; getting in touch with Uncle Aldaan to thank him and show her presence is more urgent. But what must I look like? He has never failed to remark on her appearance, either compliment or remonstration. Her hand absently touches her naked face. No makeup, hair loose and unstyled...

"What does that matter," she murmurs under her breath, scowling. Her uncle acted so quickly to help. He cares. Their relationship is complex and laced with a multitude of conflicting interests, but Kylah does not doubt her love for him, nor his affection for her. Nor does she doubt that he will have been waiting to hear from her.

When she reaches her cabin she will enter and head straight to the terminal by her desk to attempt to contact Aldaan. Though her eyes glance longingly at her bathroom, Kylah must prioritize family over ablutions.

Graham politely expresses thanks and gratitude to be back onboard while encouraging the rest of the away team to go do whatever will help them rest and relax.

As people begin dispersing, he makes his way to his quarters.

Rawlings, after a long hot shower and putting on a clean uniform, meets Dr. Mäkeläinen in Rec Room 1 (the ship has no bar, as such) and is glad to have a glass of Saurian brandy with the good doctor.

Lt. Thalen sends Kylah's message but says it will take about 20 minutes for it to cross subspace to Elas; there is, of course, no telling how soon a reply will come.

Graham finds Marala and Nicky in their shared quarters. His wife drops her book and flies into his arms, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. Seconds later, his young stepson happily grabs him around the knees.

Gnawing a thumbnail, Kylah gets up from her chair once again and paces her cabin.

She has sent word to Aldaan. She took the much-desired, much-needed shower. Since she is off duty, her body is draped in a casual, comfortable dress--loose and flowy, unlike the restricting bodysuit purchased on Ollos or even her uniform.

Her current discomfort has nothing to do with her clothes, cleanliness or even Aldaan. Halfway through composing her ARM, Kylah grew restless, worried about Velir. Not just about his health, although that is the greatest source of concern. For the life of her she cannot think of a way to determine how he is doing. The medical staff will not tell her; they will not think she has the right to know. In truth, Velir might wish for privacy--that has always been his way.

Except he opened up to her so much on this mission! Physically, back on Ollos in the private room, with his heated mouth on her own, on the pulse beating in her throat... And above all, emotionally, on the Doregg, when he desperately revealed the alarming, uncanny manifestation of the ability to control the Chalnoth...

Which is the cause of the other part of her worry. Moments ago, dictating to her computer, she was trying to relate the incident in the Doregg corridor when she and Lt. Graham found him in such a dire state, among Lt. Onn and those three unconscious Chalnoth. But that is where her narrative cut off. She realizes now that she does not know whether those soldiers were just unconscious. Perhaps those were the three whom the Major described as having died.

Earlier, when recounting what she knew about the bar fight, Kylah affirmed devoutly that the stranger's death had been in self-defense. Velir told her that and of course it was true. But three more dead bodies, by his doing? Should she even acknowledge the possibility that he was responsible? What would Captain Singh, much less Commander Vargas, think? What will they do to him? Aldaan has long warned her to keep her own abilities secret due to the mistrust and prejudice surrounding psi skills. If Velir's have led to multiple deaths...

She has lied and lied in her life, including to Starfleet and her crewmates. Usually it has been to protect herself. Now she must do so for Velir--more selfless, to be sure, but it weighs on her nevertheless. Especially because for once, during most of this mission, she did not feel like a fraud--like someone playing dress-up in a uniform. She felt competent. Even, at times, confident. Lt. Graham had given her such generous words of praise. Earned praise, too: not just granted out of pity or consolation. What kind of Starfleet officer would he think her to be, if she lied in an AMR?

Looking across her quarters at the bathroom mirror, she lifts her chin. "I did not see it happen," she mutters aloud, words buzzing against her fingers resting on her lips. "If I saw nothing, what use is anything I could say?"

Better to omit than to lie.

Kylah's reflection nods back as she does, as if separate from her yet still in agreement. Pretending to be satisfied with this support, she returns to her desk and sits down, tapping her keypad to bring her screen back to life. She continues by simply describing the doctor's arrival and the group's leaving the scene. And when she has finished with that, she gets up again and swiftly leaves her quarters to find something to eat.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Graham says softly, a little choked up himself. "Sight for sore eyes, and all that, ok, ok, ok..."

Accepting Marala's embrace, he tousles Nikolai's hair. He clears his throat. "Nikolai - I need to ask you a favor. I'd like to take your mom out to dinner." He corrects himself. "Your beautiful mom. I hope you'd be willing to let her go for a couple of hours." He smiles. "Whatever you want from the replicator in return is on me."

When Nia awakes, smudges are all she can see, muffled noises all she can hear…and her mind’s as kludgy as an end-of-life Bussard collector.

So far, her health status seems to be ‘blurry.’

But one thing’s as clear as the crystalline skies over Risa: the air. Her lungs. This isn’t the usual Class M mix, or even the stuff they’d miracle-ized back on Ollos that she’d sent up prayers to Sid’Os for. It’s Bilitrium, blessed Bilitrium, which in comparison makes that substitute seem like polluted exhaust from one of her dad’s airships. And now she recognizes that her face is covered in a thin, semi-transparent mask that appears to be pumping pure Bilitrium into her system. The covering explains her smudgy, muffled surroundings, if not her hazy brain.

Reflexively, she lifts a hand to pull down the mask, but a blue figure appears out of nowhere, startling her while gently taking hold of her forearm. A voice mumbles something and one blue blur gestures to another.

Soft crinkling as the cover is lowered to half-mast. Nia was wrong: this wasn’t the only thing causing the blurriness - her eyeballs are coated with some kinda thick, moist substance - but even with less-than-perfect vision and so-so mental coherence, Nia recognizes Dr. Miriam Villa. Her heart rate lowers with relief.

The Chief Medical Officer stands over her in what Nia can now identify as one of Sickbay’s private recovery rooms. “You’ll need to keep the mask on for a little bit longer, Lieutenant,” Dr. Villa says in her soft yet strong voice, reassuring but not soppy. “You’ve improved significantly, but need at least another hour or so of concentrated Bilitrium exposure. How are you feeling?”

Nia starts to speak but it comes out as a gurgle. For the first time, she notices that the inside of her mouth, everything from her soft palate to her tongue and past her throat, is as gloppy as her eyeballs, coated with a cool, tasteless, gelatinous goo straight down to her belly. Claustrophobia sets in. It’s like drowning, except…not, because she can breathe. “What the fuck?” she chokes out, or tries to; the words are fortunately incoherent.

Villa rests a calming hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Nia, it’s all right - don’t panic.”

The other figure in blue, who Nia still can’t identify, nods vigorously. “There’s nothing wrong if you can’t talk right now, ma’am. In fact, it just means your body's stopped absorbing the gel. That’s a good thing.”

Nia flashes this stranger a confused look, but Villa recaptures her attention. “Mr. Alvarez is right, you are doing much better. We’ve reintroduced Bilitrium to normalize your respiratory balance, and your vital signs are nearly back to normal. But your body’s still recovering from the atmospheric deprivation, and you were severely desiccated, especially your mucosal systems. Your eyes, sinuses, throat... they were dry to the point of abrasion. That must have been very uncomfortable."

Swallowing - once, then twice, though the coating is disconcertingly unaffected - Nia just nods. Her insides have felt scratchy for days, and she vaguely remembers tasting the saltiness of blood. She keeps her anxious, questioning stare on the doctor-shaped blur, mutely pleading for the other woman to tell her what she needs to know.

Villa continues. “Actually, there were already signs of mild suboptimal hydration in those labs we processed just before you left on the mission, but I was hoping to address that later with the rest of your ongoing care. Anyway, we administered Hydronex Gel to your mucous membranes. Externally, your dermal matrix showed partial scale deployment. Likely a reflexive response to stress and atmospheric loss. For that we applied topical Hydronex-D to ease the tension and rehydrate.”

Nia absently rubs her hand along her left forearm. The prickly scale-stubble she’s dealt with since the crash has almost entirely retracted. She blinks hard, apparently weeping Hydronex tears, and Alvarez pats away the melted gel with a micro-sponge. She can see him now. Young guy. Must be new; she’d’ve noticed him.

Her gaze returns to the CMO in frustration. All this is great but they’re not easing her worries or answering the most urgent question - and she flutters her hand to her throat, gurgling impotently.

Villa nods. “Yes, let’s take care of that. Carlos was right, you’re ready to be flushed.” She indicates something behind Nia, and while the bed tilts upward into a semi-seated position, the medic returns with a cup, which he hands to Nia.

“This will dissolve the gel that’s remaining, Lt. Onn. Just water with citric acid and glucose.”

Nia nearly yanks the cup from the kid and, needing two hands to steady it, takes several gulps of what turns out to be basically hot lemonade. Every couple of seconds she tries to speak, but Villa insists that she finish the drink. Nia’s wide, insistent gaze remains fixed on Villa, and when at last she drains the cup dry, she coughs and splutters out what she’s been dying to ask this whole time:

“My crew. Are they back? Are they all right?”



Credits: SG with help from EH

Dr. Mäkeläinen is open— within reason, of course— about answering any questions Rawlings may have about his personal life, or about his career. He tells an anecdote about a hastily organized mission to investigate a mysterious viral epidemic that was decimating the crew on a self-contained underwater habitat on Enceladus; there was even talk about a mishap involving secret testing of biogenic weapons, or the involvement of foreign agents. Turned out, due to a simple human programming error (but one with far from straightforward effects) the habitat's biofilters, instead of sterilizing pathogens from the air like they should, were actually facilitating the mutation of vira with otherwise no or limited effects, like the common cold. On the subject of icy worlds (there was also that Federation prison), he asks Rawlings for more details about the latter's previous trip to Ollos, and other possibly notable "Class L" worlds he may have visited. He is also curious about what drew Rawlings to Security (not that the man is not singularly physically massive, especially up close).

One might notice Mäkeläinen is rather pensive, though in any case he does not force the conversation. There are meaningful silences. He appreciates that Rawlings himself does not seem to waste words. Some people are transparent in the way they act (and try to act) and the way they talk, but, Rawlings, he feels, goes much deeper.

Even after— especially after— thinking about his report, the Doctor still cannot help considering all the angles. What could they have done differently? Was it inevitable that Onn and Rangin come that close to death? Some of the Chalnoth did die, and they were not the only ones. The Doregg's cargo, they will receive some help, now... but the cosmos does not feature scales to be balanced.

Kylah, looking for something to eat, finds herself in Rec Room 1. Among the two dozen or so people there, she sees Ens. Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen seated together, having a drink.

Nicky hesitates for just a second, looks at his mother and then says to Graham, putting on a brave face, "Sure, if that's what you want. I'll have some pizza later."

Marala squeezes Graham and says to her son, "With extra green peppers, I promise."

Dr. Villa tells Onn, "Yes, they're all right. Everyone made it back from the Uwat ship, safe and sound... but Mr. Rangin. He's still comatose and under observation, but he's in no danger."

Rawlings says, "I've been on Enceladus twice, both times in Herschel, and both times just passing through. It was cold, cramped and boring, as I remember. I had a Security assignment on Ollos that I'm still not supposed to talk about, but it wasn't anything terribly exciting." He takes a sip from his brandy and smiles. "I went for Security in the first place, back in the day, because it seemed like a good way to see the galaxy, help people, use phasers and - every once in awhile - blow stuff up. Looking back, I think the recruiter might have overemphasized that last part."


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

Graham returns Marala's squeeze and raises an eyebrow. "And black olives?" he says questioningly to Nikolai. "If you're not planning on it, trust me, try it, old school topping on Earth. Nothing better."

On her way to the replicator, Kylah spots Mr. Rawlings and Dr. Mäkeläinen together, and her eyebrows lift slightly in surprise. After spending three days in close confinement, she would not have expected the two to gravitate toward one another so quickly. Then again, they did some exploring of the Doregg on their own; perhaps they forged a friendship. And the doctor is new here, still; he probably does not know many others yet.

She nods at them and, if either notices her, lifts a hand in shy greeting before continuing to get herself something to eat. Staring at the replicator, she purses her lips in thought. "Beef and root vegetable stew," she decides, wishing something hearty. While she waits, she glances around in hopes of finding someone friendly to distract her from the worries of the mission and, of course, Velir. Perhaps she can find other Comms officers; she really does not know them well at all.

Happily, despite being in civilian off-duty clothing, she believes she fits in. Her dress is almost excessively plain and modest, even a less bold shade of red than her uniform. Most of all it is comfortable, like the stew will be (hopefully), and after the time they have had, comfort is uppermost on her mind.

If the stew arrives and seems edible, she will add a glass of water and, with her tray, seek out some convivial company. Or at least, potentially convivial.

Villa's news fills Nia with a paradoxical combination of exhilaration and weariness. She lets her back sink onto the partially upright bed and loosens her death-grip on the empty cup. At least they're all back and alive. Although doctors must have a different definition of "danger," if Rangin's still being in an inexplicable coma doesn't count. But Villa knows more about Coridanite biology--any biology, other than Sidonian--than she does.

"Thanks," she says in a miracle of understatement. "And...and everyone else on the ship? The prize team? The..." Nia's brow crinkles with a sudden bout of forgetfulness. The hairy guys. Why is she blanking on their names? Oh right. "Chalnoth? And the slaves, they were frozen. I felt like that myself in the water. But they really were." Frowning again at her incoherence, she has enough sense to pull her mask back on. Ahhhh there it is. Clarity. Shit, I'm not losing my ability to breathe ship air, am I?

The thought alarms her, and she repeats it aloud--without the curse--and adds, "Because Doctor, I only just spent a whole week on pure Bilitrium too. Y'know, to save resources for the extra refugees. Have I set myself back? Between that and all this, I'm running low anyway, and I don't remember when we're getting a new supply..."

Great, all she needs now is to have to request an early shipment. Vargas hates having the dangerous substance on board as it is.

Nia avoids voicing these insecurities and weakly lifts a hand. "Sorry. Getting ahead of things. Probably keeping you from a lot, too, if the prisoners are defrosting." But she doesn't really want to be alone. She'd love to see the team and thank them, but they need to decompress and rest. Or maybe they already have? She sighs at how loopy she feels and refocuses on Villa. "How long since I got here, anyway? Could be hours or days, I can't tell."

The Doctor does not fail to spot Kylah, and acknowledges her with a smile and a raised glass. She appears to be in good nick.

Nicky makes a face. "I tried black olives once. They were yucky."

Marala laughs. "I have to admit, I don't care for them, either. You can have all of mine, Boojee. And Nicky's, too, I guess!"

Kylah recognizes several people in the Rec Room, by face if not by name, but there's no one here she really knows. Rawlings, with a glance at Dr. Mäkeläinen, invites her over to their table.

Dr. Villa has a quiet word with Alvarez, and he leaves. She then turns back to Onn and says, "Everyone else on the Uwat ship, including the prize crew, is fine, as far as I know. The Chalnoth are in guest quarters aboard the Yorktown but under guard. I don't know what's going on with those in cryosleep over there. You're weak and need to rest, but you're otherwise in pretty good shape. I don't think that you did yourself any harm with your short-term bilitrium regimen; it probably saved your life. You've been here in Sickbay for," she glances at a bulkhead chromo, "about five hours."

Though disappointed to find no one else whom she feels comfortable approaching (and, honestly, having wanted to put this mission out of her mind for at least a brief time) Kylah nods and accepts Mr. Rawlings's gesture, though she will also take a swift look at Dr. Mäkeläinen to see if he wishes her company.

"It is good to see you both looking so well refreshed, at least compared to the last few days." She explains that she has begun her AMR but had to interrupt due to hunger. Suddenly very conscious of the heaping portion of stew and well-buttered rolls on her tray--and the lack of any food in front of the men--Kylah hesitates. "I suppose you have eaten already? I can dine by myself, if you are finished and were planning to leave."

If she can stay, she will ask how they are feeling and, of course, will ask the doctor for any news on Velir and Lt. Onn.

Bizhi, seeing Kylah's hesitation, waves her over as well.

"I am more tired than hungry, at this point," he says. Getting some food in him may be a good idea, though, especially if he is going to have a second drink. Perhaps a chicken sandwich from the replicator?

Just as with Rawlings, this is hardly a time to press her to talk about anything or bring up any uncomfortable subject. All of them need some time to unconsciously process everything that happened, however neatly they may appear to have bounced back. He knows Kylah must be worried about her friend (friends?); Rawlings too, for all they never broached the subject during their conversation. He is not very surprised when Kylah asks him about it. Unfortunately, he does not have much to tell her. "I visited them in Sickbay. They are stable and their lives out of danger--- evacuation came just in the nick of time. I cannot say how soon they will wake up--- the body needs to rest to heal itself--- but they would be happy to know you paid them a visit, if you like."

At Dr. Villa's last words,Nia reflexively pulls her mask down again and leans over, following the doctor's focus to check the time. It's an automatic gesture, since she has no idea what time it was when she was beamed over. Still, she squints in disbelief. Five hours? She can believe five seconds just as easily--or five months, for that matter. Sinking back down, she shakes her head.

"I won't bother the others then," she sighs. They won't have had nearly as much time back on the ship. No way she's gonna interrupt whatever they're doing to recover after the past few days.

It's selfish, she knows, but she's glad there's a lot keeping the senior officers busy right now, and probably for quite a while. Nia isn't ready to face Singh or Vargas. Or especially the Chief. Cheverez is probably the only person who loved the Tesla more than Nia. Its catastrophic failure--her catastrophic failure--is gonna be a gutwrenching post-mortem. The captain and first officer will have plenty to say about her poor judgment calls. Chief will have every right to rip her to shreds for every reckless choice, for every sloppy preparation, for every embarrassing deficiency in her so-called expert tech and piloting skills. Basically, everything Nia Onn is. Or was. Or maybe just thought she was.

And I can't blame Hypobilitria. The disaster started way before that. Doubt he'll buy hormonal issues as an excuse, either.

Nia shuts her eyes to block out the recriminations haunting her. But speaking of the latter health situation...

Now that the other staffer has left them, Nia looks up to Villa. "Mäkeläinen summarized those lab results for me. The ones from before I left," she adds, probably unnecessarily. "I'm...I know I'm not ready to talk about all that yet. My spirit's pretty much at its nadir, even when I wasn't half-asleep. But can we discuss them later? Maybe even try again?"

Nia stares at the blanket as if it holds invisible answers. "I know it's a long shot. Maybe I'm in denial. It's just...I realized one thing during this ordeal. I'm not ready to give up. Not on fertility, not on life, not on anything I stopped fighting for." Or anyone, a tiny voice in her mind whispers, but she can't go there and willfully ignores it. "It's too soon. Too. Damn. Soon."

Kylah leans back in her seat with a tiny relieved exhale. "I will try to be optimistic, then," she murmurs, more a vow to herself than conversational. She takes a roll and tears off a piece. "I would very much like to see Velir--Ensign Rangin--later, if I may. My success will depend on whether Dr. Bennett is there. He is not amenable to non-patients in Sick Bay." An understatement, but she does not know how well Dr. Mäkeläinen knows the personalities of his colleagues.

About to bite into the bread, she looks up suddenly. "Did I say 'Ensign' Rangin? I meant Lieutenant, of course. He was only promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade shortly before you came aboard. It is still odd to say. Pleasing, but odd. To me he is Velir." The dear name is spoken gently, perhaps too much so for this company, and with a flush she stuffs the piece of roll in her mouth to prevent any further foolishness.

After a spoonful of stew, she changes the subject. "I doubt Lt. Onn would be gratified by my visit. I fear I do not rate highly in her esteem. As she made clear." Kylah looks apologetically at Mr. Rawlings. "I do not blame her for lacking patience with me. In writing my AMR I was forced to recall how little I assisted during the shuttle incident. Or defending us from hostiles. Anything that did not involve my specialty. And even there..."

Her lack of general technical knowledge was glaring, and her helplessness against the violence in the bar, against those vampire creatures, and of course the Romulans galls her. Kylah shakes her head and focuses on Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Whereas you are so well-rounded in your expertise, doctor. You assisted ably in the shuttle, and came up with so many strategies and solutions--or just ideas--at every turn. Even in diplomacy and cultural awareness. Your interactions with the Chalnoth and Uwat, and even the Romulans, were laudable."

She glances at Mr. Rawlings for backup; he must have been impressed as well. Then she returns to the doctor. "I greatly admire anyone with such mastery in multiple fields. You must have done very well at the Academy. Taken a wide variety of high-level studies. Or has your time in Starfleet itself offered you such varied experiences?"

Aware she is probably pestering the man, she purses her lips. "Please forgive my curiosity if it is unwelcome. It is just that my own education was narrowly focused and--and unusually accelerated. Perhaps my time on the Yorktown will grant me...oh, I am sorry to be talking so much! I am anxious and overtired."

Dr. Villa nods sympathetically at Onn. "I understand. That's a very important realization to come to. Of course we can talk about it later, or about anything else you like." She pauses. "I'm also sorry you're feeling down. Would you like to talk to Dr. Noel sometime, perhaps?"

Rawlings grins. "Dr. Mäkeläinen is an impressive guy, no doubt. But don't sell yourself short, Ensign. You wouldn't be here if you didn't have a lot to offer, yourself."

Graham rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "So much the better for me, you barbarians," he says, concluding with a laugh.

"Hey--" he says to Marala. "Can we - if you don't mind - go to dinner by way of Sick Bay? My mission CO...I'd like to...well she had a rough go of it. I'd like her to know...ah , shit, I'd like to confirm she's OK."

Nia mulls over Dr. Villa's suggestion, allowing the momentary silence to be filled by the familiar sounds of the ship, as well as the slightly less familiar ones of Sick Bay.

She's proud. It's gonna sting to admit just how shitty she feels to anyone, especially someone who's probably obligated to report anything really troubling. Nia's also pragmatic. The mind's just another type of engine. And it's another one she suspects it'd be beyond her capacity to tackle herself. Is she so proud that she hates having to seek assistance for her critically damaged self-confidence? Hell yeah. But also, no. Because that's giving up, isn't it?

"I think I'd like that," she says, then gives a soundless chuckle. "Well, 'like' is going too far, but you know what I mean. Once I'm officially done with my duties relating to the clusterf--uh, mess of the past few days--I'll have the mental space to deal with the fallout. If Dr. Noel's got the time, I'd be grateful for the help."

The admission tires her, and she holds the mask back up over her mouth and nose for some deep breaths. She lowers it again to add, "Thanks, Doctor."

"You're embarrassing me, both of you," Mäkeläinen says good-humouredly. And it is true: he is not one for roosing. His feelings about his own performance are, as always, mixed. Kylah may feel the same way about herself; in any case, she is probably not merely fishing for compliments right now.

"Terrance is right, though. You clearly have skills," he says. "You may have saved all our lives today. Formal studies— those do not stop at the Academy, by the way— also lay the foundation to learn on your own. It is all narrowly focused compared to the infinite permutations out there. You must be prepared to deal with something you have never seen, or even imagined, before. It's why I joined Starfleet... the Yorktown does not seem likely to disappoint us in that respect. Ultimately, everything's connected."

It takes a second of confusion before Kylah realizes "Terrence" means Ens. Rawlings. She does not remember knowing that. But mostly she is left silent by the doctor's humility, and both men's generosity towards her. Uncle Aldaan was the crew's savior; Kylah's primary contribution to their rescue was her family's influence. And her language skill, she belatedly recalls when the Doregg's near-frying by the star's photosphere leaps to mind. Flushing, she nods her gratitude and listens to Dr. Mäkeläinen's advice.

"I have indeed learned a great deal over the past few months. The Academy feels very distant now. I certainly hope I shall keep gaining in wisdom and confidence." She has noted the doctor's reticence regarding speaking of his personal experiences, so does not press him for answers. After drinking some water she returns to the hearty stew and makes quick work of nearly finishing the bowl. If she can elicit some friendly conversation to learn more about Mr. Rawlings while doing so--it is really a disgrace that she did not know his name--all the better. The possibility of being considered a true comrade nourishes her as much as her meal.

Marala says, "Sure, we can stop by Sickbay before dinner, if you want." She leans in close and whispers to Graham, "Remember I prefer you not swear when Nicky can hear you, though."

Dr. Villa nods. "I'll let you rest now, and will tell Dr. Noel you'd like to see her sometime. That's why she's aboard, after all."

Bizhi still does not have much of an appetite, but he takes advantage of the moment to get himself that sandwich.

"Confidence will get you far," he tells Kylah. "Command notices officers who demonstrate initiative." He shrugs. "Nevertheless--- I do not suggest you bring this up in your promotion interview--- Socrates pointed out that the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. Now, both of you are beautiful individuals of multitudinous talents, but I myself feel very wise, some days." He smiles wryly. Bizhi is still listening, but, at an uncomfortable thought, for a beat his eyes grow infinitely distant, and he glances down to where his mechanical arm lies underneath fabric and skin.

"I am still new to the Yorktown," he works into the conversation. "My calendar's already filled itself with debriefings and seminars and group meetings... but I would like to know about some of the unofficial activities on board. Maybe a music club? (Don't know that I want to play for an audience, though.) Cooking? What are you two into, when your time's your own?"

The doctor's advice is, well, wise, but Kylah cannot help glancing at the drink by his side when he calls her and Ens. Rawlings "beautiful" in atypically florid language, then seems to grow a touch solemn. Perhaps exhaustion and the stress of the past few days has loosened his tongue? She flickers a look at the security officer to see if he, too, noticed the curiously flattering remark.

She brushes past it and--while she must admit she has never cooked in her life--is glad to inform Dr. Mäkeläinen of Lt. Thalen's encouraging of the arts aboard the ship, and the opportunities for joining other like-minded crew members. "You mention music specifically; is that a special interest of yours? I play a zith--that is, a lute, among other instruments, and have played in an ensemble here. Not regularly, but I would like to rectify that. Joining others more frequently would help both of us, as newcomers. Once we are en route to our next destination, if there is time, we should participate in what Lt. Thalen calls the Lyceum. If you wish, sir," she adds hurriedly before finishing her glass of water.

"And we can all get to know one another better, as well. The emergency we endured gave us no time to get acquainted. Regular life onboard is not quite so fraught." Kylah smiles at both men, hope fluttering within her chest like a restless bird. If Velir improves, the future looks far brighter than it did at any previous time since arriving on the Yorktown.

Graham blinks and reaches down to give Marala's hand a squeeze. "Of course, sorry," he whispers back.

It's a request about 10 million light years from anything that would occur to him, or that Jane would have ever admonished him for (she had a knack for creative cursing herself, he remembers bitter-sweetly, as on a few rare occasions it had been directed at him...)

If and when Marala's ready to go, his intention is to go to Sickbay and make professionally perfunctory inquiries after Rangin and then check in on Nia.

Rawlings says, "Yeah, the Lyceum's a great thing here aboard ship. It sponsors and presents plays, concerts, book discussions, talent shows, speeches and debates, movie nights, and on and on - at least three or four things a week. As to my own hobbies: swimming, running and choral singing. I get plenty of the first two; not so much of the third."

Marala is soon ready to go. She gives Nicky a hug and a kiss, and she and Graham make their way to Sickbay on Deck 7. She asks, as you approach its main entrance, "Would you like me to come in with you, Boojee, or would you prefer to talk to Lt. Onn alone? I don't mind, if you do."

Dr. Villa runs another scan of Onn and says, "All right, that should do for now. Are you comfortable, Lieutenant? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

After an instinctive check that her communicator is by the bedside, Nia shakes her head. "No, thanks. Just--if possible, could someone update me if Rangin's status changes? Even if I'm sleeping. He was hurt on my watch, so..." She shrugs without much energy. Villa's heard this often enough to understand.

Before the doctor leaves, Nia makes sure there's another blanket nearby. She's fairly comfortable now, but her temp will drop when she sleeps and it's always good to have the backup. If there's one within reach (or if the blanket she has is temperature-controlled and Nia can adjust it herself), she'll just let Villa go with another weary nod of gratitude.

"Lyceum? Ah! I'm not looking to put on a show, mind you, but it may be fun for some of us to join together in an informal capacity?" He is not about to admit to stage fright... "I can play the violin passably, I suppose. It is a four-stringed chordophone." His voice is not half-bad, but he is no trained choral singer.

One thing Rawlings says gets an especial reaction: "Swimming? I saw they had a few gymnasia on the recreation deck, but... there is indisputably room for it," he nods thoughtfully.

There is still time to catch a few hours of sleep before rotating back on duty--- climbing back onto the wheel, considering where they have been. Bizhi's next stop after everyone disperses will be back in his and Dr. Bennett's quarters. He briefly wonders what Lt. Graham got up to--- the man looked like he would have appreciated a drink or two.