Star Trek RPG - Mission #5: "Of Captains and Capos"

In the dim light of the Paramount, Kylah sees no one who looks like Cledd Okmyx. The tune being played by the jazz combo is hauntingly familiar, although she cannot quite place it.

Rangin says, "No, nothing else suspicious to report, ma'am. Sounds like you know just about everything I do about our situation." The Coridanian xenobiologist thinks a moment. "I'd rather have Mr. Garcia up here, if there's a chance we'll be busting down a door and going in with phasers drawn. We don't know if the guards with the mainframe in the basement are in touch with the other guards who're upstairs with the hostages, but it seems a safe bet. Where would you have the seven people in the apartment beamed - back to the ship?"

Graham continues to be impressed by how consistenly Kylah is playing her role.

"Uh, clearly my...ah, doll would like something near the dance floor," he says with small hand gesture in that direction.

He nods his head in Morris' direction. "My buddy Joe here'll make it worth your while if you can recommend us to a 'specially nice table."

He hopes Morris realizes that Graham knows he didn't pay quite enough attention to be able to determine what amount of local currency he would need to hand the waiter to thread the needle between coming as across as chintzy versus crazy.

Rangin's questions deepen the already-forming scowl on Nia's brow. "Where do I want them beamed? Wait a second... I could've sworn the Captain told me you'd arranged for the whole room to be beamed up to two different transporter rooms, with security standing by ready to contain anyone with weapons. Did I get that wrong?"

She knows she didn't--Rangin somehow forgot. But that doesn't seem like him. Unless... A possible reason for this uncharacteristic lapse occurs to her: his mistrust and possible defensiveness, given everything that went down with Booker.

She shakes her head. "C'mon, Rangin. Were you expecting me to override your decision? Just because I didn't come up with it? Because that's not it at all. Your plan was an excellent one, and I'm just here to help you see it through. I'll be honest--the only command decision I disagree with, at least the from what little I've heard so far, is the original composition of the party." She lowers her voice even though they're alone. "I swear, I don't know what perverse instinct made you pick Ensign Kylah, considering. Sheer bloody-mindedness, as a buddy of mine would say. But whatever--hopefully that choice won't bite us on the ass and she'll avoid stumbling into captivity for one mission."

She lifts a hand and waves the matter aside. "Okay. Point is, I'm with you: the three apparent guards will be transported to the ship, and the four possible hostages transported likewise... each set to a different room. Both rooms well-peppered with security officers.

"Now to your other issue: I agree that it's likely the two pairs of guards are somehow in touch with each other. In fact, that's part of what worries me. There's a minuscule chance that our timing and luck could be really bad, and that the transporters will kick in while one of the guards is talking on their, uh... telephone devices." Nia can't recall if that's what they call their communications tech, but it's probably close enough.

"Imagine you're on the other end of the conversation and suddenly your cohort vanishes mid-sentence. You're sure as hell not gonna stay in one place. If you're one of the mainframe guards, you'd probably come up here to check things out. Or you're getting in touch with any colleague or boss on the outside to let them know something's wrong." Her fingers tap her hip while she thinks. "It's really unlikely, but I've lost such gambles before.

"How about we get Garcia up here--I'm with you, we can use the help just in case--but have him tell the guys in the car to keep the engine running. You, me, Garcia and maybe Zabo or whoever can stand outside the hostage location listening in on what I hope will be a nice, easy transport. Assuming that goes as planned, we move down to the mainframe area and take stock of whatever the situation is. If the guards still there, oblivious, then we can transport the mainframe up to the ship. I figure the guards'll try to contact the men up here with the hostages--unsuccessfully--or they'll possibly flee. We follow discreetly behind and hope they lead us to the Big Boss, assuming he wasn't one of the three we just trapped on the ship."

"Agree?" If so, Nia will send the instructions to Garcia. Then she'll head out with Rangin and look for Zabo and any other of the Krako boys, filling them in too before they sneak up to surround the door possibly containing the hostages. Frankly she'd rather kick the Krako contingent out entirely--they're an unknown quantity to her and may be in on the kidnapping--but if there's about to be some kinda chase, a vehicle might be necessary, along with backup.

In fact... speaking of backup... Logic has been nagging at her ever since she beamed over. She just took Rangin to task for his ability to pick a team. It's absolutely crazy for this mission to consist of a xenobiologist, a communications officer, and--as long as she's being honest, which she almost always is--a pilot. Why Singh picked her for this, Nia has no idea. But she'll be damned if she duplicates the bizarre personnel choices being made right and left by the Yorktown's senior officers.

She flips open her communicator. "Onn to Captain Singh. Ma'am, we're about ready to get in position. But I'd like to request an addition to the team. We're badly lacking in firepower and muscle over here, and we may need both." In fact, since door-busting duties could be required, we should probably have our living, breathing battering ram in on this. "If possible, I'd like to request a security officer--in particular, Ensign Rawlings."

She hopes Singh comes through for her; it's really a no-brainer as far as she's concerned--Security is mandatory on a mission like this. Admittedly, the idea of seeing the massive, muscular Double-T in the same snappy garb the other men here have on is icing on the cake.

Morris smiles understandingly at Graham and greases the palm of the waiter. The four of you are shown to a nice spot, a single table near the dance floor. The music is louder here, but not too loud for conversation. Even from this new perspective, Kylah sees no one who looks like Cledd Okmyx. T'Var looks around with interest.

Rangin reddens. "We'd discussed beaming them all out, yes, but I didn't think that was approved for sure. I... have no objections to your plans, ma'am."

Garcia says via communicator, "On my way, ma'am." Zabo and his two other mooks check their Tommy guns and prepare to come along with Onn and Rangin.

From the Yorktown, Singh says, "Acknowledged and approved, Lieutenant. Stand by." Just a minute or so after Garcia knocks and enters the apartment, Ens. Terrance Thayer "Two Tons" Rawlings, resplendent and massive in a dark Gangland Chicago suit with a shiny gold-patterned tie and gold cufflinks, beams down. Zabo's eyes widen.

The new arrival grins at Onn. "Reporting for duty, ma'am."

Nia has to hold back a delighted chuckle, though she doesn't hide the approval in her gaze. "Wardrobe must've had fun fitting you. But they did a damn good job." She has to admit there's something extremely... attractive... in this ancient attire. Booker must be wearing this same sorta outfit too. Mmm. Hope we meet up before he changes. She can't picture it in her mind, but now's not the time for such reveries anyway.

"Seriously, I'm glad to have you with us, Double-T," she says in only a marginally less amused tone. She fills him in on the plan, then tells everyone to be ready to move as stealthily as possible. Then she hesitates and comes up with a few last questions.

"I'd feel better doing a quick recon before we head down there. Zabo, you know these guys' mindsets here better than I do. If a woman like me walks down the hall and is seen by one of the guards--just in case they happen to open the door for some reason, I dunno, to get some air or whatever--are they likely to take it in stride, or will they get suspicious? I figure I have a better chance of being ignored than a bunch of men with those weapons. Seems like they'd probably just think I'm a local. Or a--"

Her mind suddenly conjures the memory of Andy Johnson reading her some saucy novels he called 'Mills and Boons.' She's never asked why they're called that--of course, he's always trotting out something he calls ancient rhyming slang, so maybe that's it. At any rate, they enjoyed acting out the silly romance scenes, and some of them included the words she supplies now. "--Uh, a floozy. Or tart."

To Rawlings, she offers, "You know Security drills. Come up with an order for the rest of you to travel in. I'm thinking you and the two big gunmen in front, Zabo, Garcia and Rangin behind. If that sounds off, arrange us however you need. Assume I'll already be down there... depending on Zabo's answer."

Her focus shifts to the Communications officer. "Garcia. Can you set up your tricorder to pick up sounds from behind a door, amplify them a bit? Once we're there I'd like to be able to listen in before telling Chief Nguyen to start the transporters."

Finally, while everyone mulls over their answers--and Garcia, hopefully, makes whatever calibrations he needs to his tricorder--she flips open her communicator again. "Onn to Nguyen. Chief, we're moving to stake out the apartment now. Once we're in position, I'll give a very quiet count of three. Are both rooms ready, with Security in place?"

Kylah shakes her head silently at Mr. Graham--he probably took a more accurate look around the club than she could, but she might as well let him know she does not recognize anyone either. Then she turns in her chair just slightly so she can watch the musicians. The music feels like a mosquito buzzing around her, a melody flittering around her brain. Strange, she has very little experience with music of this time period, at least the popular works. Perhaps it is just very catchy. She certainly picked the melody up quickly--but then, she has always done so.

To be honest, she would not be upset if Cledd were not here--or at least, if they must wait for a little while. This is... relaxing, somehow.

Of the combination of musicians, the pianist impresses her most of all, and she leans over to watch his hands. Perhaps she should see if the Yorktown has some similar instrument on which she could learn. The Vulcan lute she played at Fujishiro's funeral was, like her zither, plucked or strummed. If she cannot have her zither, she would like an entirely different experience. As she continues her almost silent hum, her fingers absently mimic the line of the music, pressing down on the tablecloth as if it has its own keys.

Zabo says, "Well, you're a lot better-dressed than most dames in a dump like this, so yeah, that might put 'em a little on-edge. Make 'em kind of suspicious, you know?"

Rawlings glances at Zabo, then looks back at Onn. "With all due respect, ma'am, I don't know these... Iotian gentlemen. Sure you don't want this to be a Starfleet-only op?"

Garcia says thoughtfully, "I haven't done that before, Lieutenant, but I'll see if I can figure something out." The Communications specialist opens his tricorder's display panel and begins tinkering.

From the Yorktown, Nguyen says, "We're ready here, Mr. Onn. We have Security teams standing by in both Transporter Rooms 1 and 2. At the Captain's order, they've familiarized themselves with the faces of the CAG team members from the Potemkin personnel files, so they'll be able to sort them out in a hurry, if necessary."

Morris sees Kylah's fingering on the tablecloth and shares a small smile. He says, "It is a nice tune, isn't it, Ensign?"

The waiter returns. "Something from the bar, ladies, gentlemen? A bite to eat?"

Nia nods appreciatively toward Garcia, then Rangin. "Can you lend Garcia a hand if he needs one, Mr. Rangin? I know you're an expert with sensors." Into the communicator, she says, "Thank you, Chief. Excellent prep. I'll let you know when we're in position."

But even as she speaks, her mind is distracted by Rawlings's comment. Shit. Double-T's right. But his timing stinks. She'd rather he not have told three gangsters with massive guns that they're not deemed trustworthy. Her thoughts race to find a way to save the situation diplomatically.

"Of course, Ensign," she says carefully while she figures out what to say. "I got ahead of myself. That's why a Security officer is so valuable on a team." Nia aims her best smile at the Iotians, particularly Zabo. "First, I appreciate your advice. I wasn't aware of your culture's clothing differences." And thanks a lot to Wardrobe for that. "Second, I'm sorry... Your professionalism made me entirely forget protocol. But Ensign Rawlings is right. It's against Starfleet regulations to put civilians in the front line of any potentially lethal operation. We may be dressed in your garb, but we have years of training in situations like this. Honoring the Federation as you do, I hope you'll understand that we have to follow the rules."

She hesitates; she doesn't want them waiting here, or anywhere near them. "Actually, it'd be extremely helpful if you three could wait in the car. We absolutely must be ready to follow anyone suspicious who flees the building." Her eyebrow raises as she looks back at Rawlings. "That sound like a better plan to you, Ensign?" Nia's stare hopefully conveys that she needs him to follow her lead on this not-entirely-b.s. excuse she's concocted.

Graham glances around at his crewmates briefly, then broadens his shoulders to their widest and stretches backwards a bit in his chair.

If I understand Terran gangland culture correctly, might as well play the game best as I can...what's the expression? Alpha Male?

"You look like you want to dance, d-- ah, dolllface," he says, gently putting a hand over Kylah's fidgeting fingers.

It's not entirely an act in response to Morris' comment. He has no reason to distrust Morris' intentions, but the last thing Kylah needs is some dude trying to crawl up her skirts, honest affection or no, right now...

It's part of the act...well, sort of. It's a signal. Stand the fuck down and stay the hell clear, and let her be, whether you're an Iotian bouncer or for all I care the nicest guy in Starfleet.

"What's the, ah, specialty of the house? We'll take one all around..." He then says, glancing at the waiter. He frowns a little bit, then leans forward conspiratorally. "We was, uh, hoping to buy a drink for an acquaintance of my buddy, Joe..." He lowers his voice. "Cledd. Cledd Okmyx. We heard this was a good place to have a, ah, quiet, private conversation...can you help us out, friend?"

Rawlings says, "Yes, ma'am. That makes good sense to me."

Zabo doesn't look pleased. "Eh, I got some guys in the cars already. Tell you what - we'll stay here, and be ready to back you up if you need us. Don't worry, lady - we can handle ourselves if things get ugly."

The waiter says, "We're known for our martinis, sir. And Mr. Okmyx is unavailable at the moment, but he often mingles with the guests later in the evening."

The band is loud enough that Kylah can barely hear Lt. Morris's question, and she responds only with a smile. Just as the music reaches a particularly engaging section, a large hand covers her wrist, and Mr. Graham suggests that she might like to dance. The warmth of his touch, the invitation in his tone, send her mind reeling.

Jan puts his hand over hers, a jolt of delicious electricity leaping from his skin to hers. Is it the spores? Is it genuine attraction to him? Kylah does not know, but it leaves her breathless. He asks, "How do you know you will not feel the same way again? Who knows what the future might bring?"

In the nightclub, in the present, she goes still and her mouth parts slightly in shock. A barrage of memories attack her in short, disjointed jabs.

"Jan, please... I cannot..." Kylah must draw back further to evade his kisses. "No, please. Can we go somewhere else? You--you mentioned a nightclub, and dancing. Can we go there?"

But he insists he is not dressed correctly for the venue. "...I could go change and then meet you in the nightclub, or, if you like, you could come up to my room and wait just a little there...?"

Now they are in his suite. Jan touches the entertainment system's controls and quiet jazz fills the room. He takes her into his arms. "You know, we could just dance here, if you like. We don't have to go out at all..."

...She tastes the wine on his lips, his tongue. When his hand clutches her hair to draw her even closer, Kylah starts to feel overwhelmed. She’s aware of his strength more than ever and, as euphoric as the spores and his own intense desire are making her, she senses that things are going too far. “Jan,” she says when their mouths part, “we were supposed to go to the club.... I did not plan for this...”

"Vacations are meant to be spontaneous," Jan murmurs. He leans back a little, touching Kylah's chin and lifting her face for another kiss, and she is again silenced by the thrill of this almost electrical contact. His free hand slips through a gap in her dress and touches her bare hip, then slowly moves upwards... Soon he has effortlessly untied the thin silk ribbon that keeps her dress’s halter top in place, and she is exposed, his expert hands everywhere...

With a gasp, Kylah yanks her hand free and cradles it as if scalded. She looks at the man across from her, betrayal and accusation widening her eyes, until she realizes that it is just Mr. Graham. He is already conversing with the waiter, not paying attention to her--not the rapt attention of a seducer.

Her confused gaze falls to the empty place setting in front of her. The small blank canvas of the tablecloth acts like a screen upon which her mind projects a hazy image of Jan. He was tall and fair, elegant and smooth of speech; Mr. Graham is darker, shorter, with a gruff and far less artful voice. They are almost direct opposites. How could she possibly confuse them?

It must be the return of her empathic sense. Just as before in the Syndicate building's lobby, when the gangster beat that stranger so cruelly, Kylah has been forced to remember--to feel--traumatic memories. The emotions churned up in reaction are as vivid as when originally experienced.

This must stop. She must create new memories, to face what she fears and realize that the past is not the present.

She blinks away the tears glazing her eyes--please, please let the others not have seen them!--and looks back at Graham, then up at the waiter. "Do tell us when Mr. Okmyx arrives," she blurts. "I have heard much about him." Then she jerks her attention back to Mr. Graham and--though the music no longer delights her--forces out: "Yes. I would like to dance. Please."

Since the odds seem in Nia's favor--she really can't picture how the transporter plan will fail--she decides to swallow her unease regarding the Krako crew. "All right, if Ensign Rawlings doesn't object. Stay here."

Once she's assessed Rawlings's reaction, she tilts her head toward Rangin. "You know which apartment we're looking for? Share it with the rest of us. Rawlings, come up with the best formation. As soon as Garcia has that tricorder rigged up, we'll go. We wanna move beyond the apartment and preferably take cover behind a corner or in an alcove or a frickin' potted plant, if that's all we've got... not sure what we'll find down there. Phasers on medium stun and at the ready. Stun anyone with a weapon."

She moves closer to her fellow Starfleet officers and murmurs under her breath, "For that matter, if these boys move in without our having asked, stun the hell out of them too."

The waiter says, "Certainly, ma'am." He clears his throat. "Anything you'd like to order...?"

T'Var says unexpectedly, "I believe I will try a martini."

Morris looks at her, then back to the waiter. "Uh... make that two, please. Capone Specials."

"Very good, sir."

Rawlings says in response to Zabo, "OK, we'll try that." He thinks a moment, and then to Onn he says, "I'll go first; you follow me. Mr. Rangin, you go next, with Garcia behind you. Rangin and I flank the bad guys' door, me to port, him to starboard; Onn and Garcia hang back on either side. If we have to bust down the door, I'll go through first, then Rangin, if necessary. Agreed?"

Everyone confirms their phaser-1 settings.

Garcia says, "I think my tricorder's all set."

After a nod and compliments to Garcia for his ingenuity, Nia raises an eyebrow at Rawlings. Let's see, a ten-year vet at landing parties versus a tiny little Coridian who's been in Starfleet for two years, tops. Seriously?

"The order's fine, but I'm swapping Rangin with myself as far as where we're all standing if and when the fun starts." She casts a quick look Rangin-ward. "Just being pragmatic, Ensign. My scales give me at least some armor advantage against propulsive ammo--not much, but it's still better than none."

She gets in line behind Rawlings, than quips, "Besides, seeing a lizard-person might freak them out enough to delay their reactions a bit. Who knows." With a deep breath, she looks at her team. "All likelihood this is overkill, and we're just gonna be spectators to the world's dullest audio broadcast. Once we get to our positions, Garcia, work your magic to see if we can listen."

Before they start down, Nia flips open her communicator with her left hand. "Onn to Nguyen. Chief, I'm keeping an open line so I can give you an easy count of three. I'll be pretty quiet, so listen carefully. And low volume on your end would be equally golden, please."

Once she hears back from Nguyen, she'll give the signal to Rawlings to start moving.

Graham hardly notices Kylah pulling her hand away as he turns his attention to the waiter. It's not unexpected--she's been doing yeoman's work playing a part, but if he we were in her shoes he certainly want his scarred mitts on him more than needed.

In part he's distracted by T'Var voluntarily ordering a martini...he can't quite remember what the line is on Vulcans drinking, although T'Var has been surprising before...

When she catches his attention again, he blinks dumbly for a moment, her words briefly not registering and making sense.

Yes I would like to dance. Please.

She must really frigging like to dance... he thinks. Then after a second it makes sense: she's wanted to speak with him out of Morris' earshot before. She must have noticed something, and this is her way to do it...

The first response that comes to mind is "good thinking, Ensign," which would obviously blow the whole thing.

So he stays in character--try to be suave, Booker...--and stands and with a slightly exaggerated display of chivalry extends an arm to help her up.

"Of course...doll.. Whatever you want."

Kylah shakes her head at the waiter while grasping Mr. Graham's outstretched arm as if it is a life preserver. She eases her grip when they are both standing and move toward the dance floor.

Then she lets go entirely and hesitates. She knows how she danced with Jan, how he held her. But she is uncertain what to do, what posture she should take, how to hold her arms. Instead she looks up at her colleague and gives a helpless little shrug. "How should I... What do you need me to do? You must take charge, just..." She lowers her gaze to his shoulder and tries to keep her voice even. "Not too close. Please."

Rawlings grins at Onn. "I thought you might do that, ma'am."

Nguyen says quietly over the Yorktown comm channel, "Acknowledged, Mr. Onn. Standing by."

Zabo and his men stay behind, as agreed. The four Starfleet officers very quietly go out into the dingy hallway of the apartment building, and then move down two doors and take their positions. Garcia has his tricorder out and muted. Rawlings, phaser drawn, nods to Onn.

At the Paramount, Graham and Kylah take to the dance floor. Two other couples, perhaps inspired by your example, do the same. The jazz combo shifts into a dance tune - not too fast, not too slow, Graham thinks.

Before she takes final position opposite Rawlings, Nia points at Garcia and then to the door. She slinks over by his side and nods at the tricorder, mouthing: Catch what's going on in there?

Garcia whispers in her ear, "Someone's talking... sounds like a male voice. Can't understand what's being said, though."

Nia tightens her lips. So much for that idea. She hesitates before returning to her position, and switches to whispering in Garcia's ear. "Give me a finger count if you hear a second voice in response. Need to know if he's talking to someone in the room or elsewhere." She lifts her communicator as close to her lips as possible when she continues: "We're in position, Chief. On my mark."

Backing away, she ends up on the opposite side of the door from Rawlings. She checks Rangin to make sure he's also in place and can see her encouraging nod, then focuses tightly on Garcia. Even as she watches the Communications officer, she can't help tilting her head toward the door, wondering if she can hear anything going on inside the apartment the old-fashioned way.

Graham chuckles very softly.

"To avoid stepping on your feet I should probably dance with you from a meter or two away," he says quietly. "I apologize in advance. I was never good at this even though Jane loved..."

He falls silent and then holds his left arm forward, just shy of her hip, and his right arm out slightly forward and to the side.

"This is some kind of, I think Swing style or something was the word. Hopefully the right period. You take my right hand, and then the other is on our, uh, just above the hip area. Plenty of daylight in between us," he adds.

"If this is OK," he adds, an earnest undertone finding its way into the question, as suddenly he realizes that she may be torn between trying to arrange for private conversation and being uncomfortable with physical contact with him...or men....or....any number of people for any number of reasons. "Only if its OK," he says, more of a statement than a question.

Garcia nods, and whispers, "Aye, ma'am. I'll hold one up now, because I only hear one; I'll raise another if I hear someone else." He holds up one finger as Onn backs away.

A few more couples join Graham and Kylah on the dance floor, although there is still plenty of room. Another half-dozen people have entered the Paramount and are being shown to their seats by waiters.

Kylah swallows and places her left hand on Mr. Graham's waist. Somehow this is easier than slipping the fingers of her right hand between his. She cannot help wondering who 'Jane' is--she vaguely remembers a conversation with him that touched, very lightly, on his family, but it seems like years ago now and her mind is like a gossamer-thin cobweb. She used to be in charge of what she retained; now she is vulnerable to everything, to the point where the slightest touch of a memory can tear her to shreds.

When their skin makes contact there is a familiar warm tingle of emotional connection from him to her. She braces against it, although for a flash she senses protection, concern. Her gaze, hopeful and relieved, meets his own before falling to his tie.

"It is okay," she repeats, telling herself that as much as Mr. Graham. Her body is stiff and unnatural, and every time he steps forward--leading her backward, as part of the dance--her right hand reflexively twitches as if trying to escape his grasp. A pain in her jaw makes her realize how tightly she is clenching her teeth, and she forces herself to speak. "I know this must seem like a strange request. Dancing does not advance our mission. But..."

The tiniest bit of pressure from the hand lightly touching her waist guides her around, and though she follows Mr. Graham's gentle lead, she is even more uncomfortable. Jan did not push her forcefully. He guided her with ease, like a rag doll or puppet over which he had complete control. From his balcony to the bed in so few steps Kylah barely had time to register how he did it.

He did not do it by himself. I let him. I could have... I should have been stronger.

Kylah's forehead is suddenly cool and damp with sudden perspiration--and Mr. Graham must notice the clamminess of her hand as well. She feels compelled to say more. "You can tell how unnatural I am at this. It... it should not be this way. I always loved music. It has been part of my life. And Elasians dance all the time, when at leisure. But lately... oh..."

She has moved in the wrong direction--forward instead of back--and has stepped on his foot, almost knocking her chest against his. "I am sorry," she whispers with a face now burning instead of cold, and backs away as far as she physically can without detaching herself from him. "Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe everything has been a mistake. I do not know what use I am to you here, or to the ship at all, not for weeks now." Having blurted all this, she widens her eyes in regret, then shakes her head. "Forgive me, sir," she says tightly, and goes back to concentrating on pretending the music and movement are not sending ripples of anxiety through her body. "I am unprofessional. If you want to talk about the mission, please do so."

Despite the situation, Nia can't hide a tiny smile. "Just be careful which finger goes up," she whispers to Garcia before she reaches the doorway. She decides to allow thirty seconds to pass--that should be enough time for Garcia to determine whether this discussion is a solo or duet.

Meanwhile, though still keeping the Communications officer in sight, Nia gets into position and slowly, gently, presses her cheek against the door. Might as well give old-fashioned eavesdropping a try.

That's one good thing about being in such a technologically backward society, at least: no need to worry about sensors that might automatically slide open the door or initiate a doorbell to request entry.

Onn can just barely hear the murmur of what sounds like a male voice, not continuously but starting and stopping now and then, as if talking to someone whom she cannot hear at all. Garcia continues to have only one finger raised.

Graham narrows his eyes slightly, concerned by Kylah's unexpected behavior. And...nerves? Clammy hands, sweat? Is she ill? Is that why she wanted to talk in private

"You've been doing great," he replies, shaking his head just slightly. "I was going to write up how well you've been handling communicating with the Iotians."

He pauses while they proceed through a series of steps. "I figured this was a ploy to speak privately, out of earshot from Morris." He frowns just a bit. "I don't have any evidence, but you're right to wonder if he's hiding something."

He clears his throat. "Look if you don't have anything to, ah report, then there's no reason for you not to enjoy the dance, if it's something you like to do and you're, ah OK dancing with me." He shrugs slightly. "While I will probably be really bad at Elasian dance steps, you should take the lead."

Kylah shakes her head the instant Mr. Graham tells her that she's been doing 'great,' and keeps shaking it in miniscule motions during the rest of his remarks.

"I thought this would help. I cannot run away from everything that makes me remember..." Her throat constricts and cuts off her words when she senses someone nearby--much too close for comfort. When she turns, she sees another couple dancing beside them: a woman and a formally dressed man, the latter of whom is less than an arm's length from her.

The stranger's clothing reminds her of that night--Jan in his pristine tuxedo shirt emerging from the bathroom, jacket tossed over his shoulder. This had made the jacket easy to toss aside when he pulled Kylah close and began to undress her as well. Did he even have the slightest intention of wearing it in the first place--of leaving the room at all?? Was his invitation to his suite part of a plan? Or was everything--his persistent advances, his emotional pressure--something the spores created, something she created through her own receptive and even assertive romantic gestures?

She has assumed the spores were to blame, along with her own recklessness. Now she is not so sure. What men can be trusted? Not Jan, not Zweller, not Ferguson, not her uncle. Not even Velir, who hurt her with words as surely as any of the others did through more overt acts. Mr. Graham has frightened her in the past, but he seems aware and ashamed of those instances. Recently he has been nothing but supportive.

Now, instinctively, she shrinks toward Mr. Graham and swivels away from the stranger, hoping to block the man from view. Then she mutters, "I used to like dancing. I thought I could do so again. I thought being with you would make it safer. Sometimes I fear nothing will ever be safe again."

Graham's brow furrows and he listens to Kylah, moreso when she edges toward rather than away from him.

It's not me, it's...

Remember what.

Safe from WHO...

I thought being with you would make it safer.

Fiona shuts the door to her room, her eyes meeting his silently...

He stands there, silent himself, failing her again, yet another day...

I WILL make them stop...

Graham's muscles tense, and his pulse quickens. Fortunately he thinks their contact is loose enough Kylah wouldn't notice.

She doesn't need some macho tirade, he thinks, disciplining his response.

His dancing slows down unintentionally.

"You have a right to feel safe, Mr. Kylah," he says low and slow. He's concerned...and memories make him ashamed. And shit I guess it's a little menacing too but I'm doing my best to keep who I think is responsible out of it...

"To feel safe, always and everywhere."

The song ends, and the jazz combo switches to a more up-tempo tune. A woman nearby on the dance floor laughs with pleasure.

"To feel safe," Kylah echoes, looking past Mr. Graham's shoulder to a spot far beyond the walls of the nightclub, beyond the boundaries of the city or even planet. "How can I be safe when I seem drawn to danger? When I step towards it, when I--when something in me causes it? It cannot be a coincidence that everywhere I go, trouble haunts me. At some point I must acknowledge that there is only one commonality in these events, and it is obviously me. Me."

Following his lead, she has slowed down too, until they are almost standing in one spot. With the faster music, the other dancers speed around them like satellites. Kylah forces her gaze to Mr. Graham's intense stare and finds... anger? Shame? Worry?

But no judgment. She feels the concern flowing through him and it almost makes her weep, thinking of her father. A weak man, someone who took orders from his wife and brother-in-law as far as how Kylah should be treated. Yet she loved him so.

Mr. Graham is not like him at all. Still, something clicks open inside of her, a key to a cupboard packed full of disgraceful truths, and they spill out in a tumble of words she cannot control. "Mr. Graham, I am always afraid. I trusted the wrong people. I was foolish and... things happened. On the Sakath lab station before you arrived. On Anubis. Even on the ship, at least I think so--I do not know." Her eyes fill with tears but her voice is hollow. "Most of all, there is OC3."

Crap on a cracker. Lady luck can bite me. Nia frowns when her hearing and Garcia's unchanged signal indicate that this stranger is almost certainly in contact with someone on one of those telephonic devices. Either that or he's talking to a mime.

She looks intently at Rawlings, steps forward and whispers into his ear: "I think he's communicating with someone outside the room. If we beam them out now, we'd better expect guests, possibly the mainframe guards. Still think we go ahead with this?"

Rawlings shrugs a little, and whispers back, "We could wait a little, I guess, but the longer we stay in this hallway, the more likely someone is to see us and make a fuss."

Garcia still has only one finger raised.

Nia nods, casting her gaze at the others to make sure everyone is on alert. She concentrates until she feels her skin prickle and harden to a thin, glistening shell of flexible but protective scales. Then, after she tightens her grip on her phaser, she lifts her communicator with her free hand.

"Chief," she whispers, her ears straining to listen beyond the door. "Starting countdown. Three. Two. One. Energize."

He's telling Nia about Fiona, remembering...

She was very pretty, very quiet, and very...alone....

Somehow it was as if the worst goddamned scum on the planet could sense how alone she was...

Graham blinks, feeling as he's just been struck across the forehead with a two-by-four.

OC3.

His mouth goes dry and he essentially stops moving as his suspicions come together...

The hotel. I shouldn't have let Collins call me off.

As soon as the thought coalesces, the answer is clear.

"That was my fault. I was the most experienced member of the team. I should have taken better care of you."

In the back of his mind, he realizes the last sentence isn't quite what he would have said to any number of colleagues who weren't...like Kylah. "Should have had your back," maybe, to somebody who looked like Rawlings.

But maybe that phrasing was about masking what might not sound macho enough, couching it in military language....

In any event the connection between what he felt and what he said was too tight to permit even an instant's reflection.

The music turns to static in Kylah's ears as her body feels consumed first by fire, then ice. She is rigid with horror.

What has she just said... and why? Why would she nearly confess something so shameful? What does he know? Why did he blame himself? How could any of this have been Mr. Graham's fault?

"Oh..." she says, almost silently, realization slowing her racing heartbeat. He must mean the final confrontation with the murderer Fellim Palver. Mr. Graham was there, and... yes, that was terrifying, being under a powerful man's control (again), paralyzed and unable to defend herself (again). But she has nearly forgotten it in the wake of everything else that occurred before and after.

"You mean what happened in Mr. Palver's ship," she says, looking down at her feet. "That was not your fault. He was stronger than both of us. He had mental abilities none of us suspected. If Velir had not freed himself, all three of us would have died, or had our minds erased."

Relief and disappointment battle within her. If he is indeed this mistaken, she can back away. She can pretend that incident is what she meant by her foolish loose tongue.

Except she does not want to. She needs, most desperately, to tell someone. It is too painful to pretend any longer.

...But what else is there to do, here, in this strange place, on a mission where they must be on their guard, not focusing on issues that can only distract and endanger them?

I am already distracted. I could put others in danger if I hold this in much longer.

On the slim chance that he might understand, she forces herself to lift her gaze. "There is something I wish had been erased, Mr. Graham. Something that was my fault, not yours; you were nowhere near me. No one was near me. And that, too, was my fault." She shakes her head and feels the dampness of tears on her cheek. "Will you promise not to tell anyone? I would want to die if anyone knew. Would you swear...?"

"Acknowledged," Nguyen says from the communicator grille in a barely-audible voice. "Energizing... now."

Through the door, Onn can hear the distinctive whine of the transporter effect. Someone inside the apartment shouts out a single word - she can't tell what was said, or the emotional state of the person who spoke. Garcia's eyes widen a little, and he drops his hand.

The upbeat tune was a brief one. Kylah realizes that the combo has now stopped and is putting down its instruments, apparently to take a break.

Kylah breaks her stare at Mr. Graham and notices the departing couples, the musicians preparing to leave. With a twisted knot forming in her stomach, she releases her partner's hand and drops her arms to her side.

"I am sorry, sir," she says as she backs up a step. "That was wrong of me. This is not the time or place, and I should not burden you while we are working." Every word is like the other, nothing emphasized; one dull monotone of self-reproach. "Personal matters must wait until the mission is over."

She wipes the tears from her cheeks and turns to head back to the table.

A swell of elation lifts Nia's lips into a brief smile at Double-T, but she checks her pride knowing too well that it could prove to be hubris. The hostages ain't home yet--not as far as she knows.

She clutches her communicator. "Chief, please confirm," she says in a firm, tight voice. "Do you have them? Both groups?" While she speaks she focuses on Garcia; A jab of her elbow points in the direction of the apartment door, and her eyebrows rise with the unspoken question he can hopefully interpret: You hear anything?

After a long pause, Nguyen responds, "Yes! We got them."

Singh comes on the channel. "Well done, Mr. Onn. We've recovered all four people from the CAG, and three Iotians. They've been disarmed and are headed to the Brig for now."

Garcia looks down at his tricorder, looks up at Onn and shakes his head.

Now Nia lets herself grin. "Excellent, Chief. Captain, I appreciate the congratulations, but the finale was all on Chief Nguyen's end--" She nods, eyes gleaming, at the Coridanite. "And the real work was thanks to Ensign Rangin and his team, for finding them in the first place and coming up with the transporter scheme."

She takes a deep relieved breath, though she knows her goal isn't quite over yet. "How are the hostages? Any trauma, injuries, and so on? And I suppose Commander Vargas will arrange for their debriefing--and an interrogation of the guards?" Those goons must be freaking out right now. One second they're in total control of a room, the next they're suddenly appearing in custody on a starship? The thought widens her grin.

"With your permission, ma'am, I'd like to go after the mainframe now, and see if we can follow the guys watching it--assuming they haven't fled already. They might take us to whoever organized this. Though the CAG folks may know that already. Obviously if we can get any intel from them, or the guards if they're cooperative, it'd be extremely helpful." She hesitates and adds, "Before I forget, just before we nabbed them, one of the men--probably a guard--seems to have been chatting with someone on the outside. Maybe Var--Cmdr. Vargas can try to get an ID on who was on the other end of that discussion?"

Not wanting to leave the slightest opportunity for a big mistake, she lowers her communicator slightly and murmurs to Rangin, "Let's confirm that there are no life forms in the apartment--human or otherwise."

Graham stands still and silent as Kylah retreats to the table.

After a moment, he follows, mulling over what he suspects to be a terrible truth in his mind...and pretty damn sure pressing her on the matter right now is not a viable option.

The Captain says, "Dr. Villa is examining the Potemkin officers now. Looks to me like they're tired and stressed and a little thin, but otherwise OK. Cmdr. Vargas is seeing to the Iotians. Proceed as you see fit, Mr. Onn."

Lt. Thalen will try to determine with whom the person in the apartment was communicating.

Rangin raises his tricorder and scans the apartment. "No one's in there now, ma'am," he says. "No lifesigns." Rawlings relaxes a little.

Kylah manages to get back to the table without bumping into any of the others leaving the dance floor. She sits and nods at the others, trying not to look back at Mr. Graham. What must he think of her? What do any of her crewmates think of her?

She retrieves her purse from the table and slides it onto her lap so she can clutch it tightly. The beads press into her skin, a tiny hint of physical pain that helps keep her mind off everything else she is feeling right now. She vows to continue as long as she can, not letting go, both as distraction and as punishment.

Nia acknowledges the Captain's words and tucks her communicator back into the purse, then starts walking. "Okay, gentlemen. You heard that my inclination's to hop downstairs ASAP. Anyone have a different suggestion, let me hear it. I'm tempted to leave one or two of you here to search that apartment, but I'm not keen on splitting us into even smaller groups. Still, if one of you thinks it'd be helpful, I'm open."

She pauses and looks back, a flash of mischief brightening her smile. "Oh, and Mr. Rangin... please tell Mr. Graham that the hostages have been safely secured on the ship. It was your idea; you should get the honor. Make it a silent text, though--just in case they need to be discreet." Her pleasant expression dims and her tone turns serious. "And don't mention the Collins situation or anything about the change in personnel. I want their minds focused, and that stuff's not on their 'need to know' list as far as I'm concerned."

Thinking of Collins has sobered Nia up. She moves faster and hopes to find the Krako team waiting for them when they turn the corner.

Morris and T'Var now have their drinks and are chatting. T'Var notices Kylah's discomfort and asks, "May I have the pleasure of your company while I visit the... powder room, Ensign?"

Rangin, Rawlings and Garcia all wish to come along with Onn. The Starfleet party moves swiftly down the hall and down the stairs, towards the basement. They see no one on the way. Onn hears a car start up outside.

Rangin texts Graham, whose communicator silently vibrates.

Immediately on alert--T'Var would not invite her along idly--Kylah hesitates before realizing she has no real way out of it. "Yes, doctor, of course," she says with as pleasant an expression as she can muster. She stands and excuses herself to the others, though she barely looks in Mr. Graham's direction. Her grasp on the purse tightens further.

The engine sound--and the notable lack of Zabo and the rest who said they'd stay in place in case needed--sends ripple of annoyance through Nia. "Damn it. If I can't trust gangsters to keep their word..." she mutters dryly, lengthening her stride to reach their destination faster. When she reaches the last stairs she almost dives down three at a time. "Rangin, is your sensor still picking up anyone in the room with the mainframe?"

Graham notices Kylah leaving the table with T'Var with a sense of...well, mostly relief. If anyone find out what's going on, or at the least calm her down, it's the Doc...

Then his communicator buzzes, and once he gets to the table and can take a look at it discreetly hidden as much he can, he looks at the message.

What the fuck does Rangin want? he thinks, annoyed.

T'Var and Kylah leave the main ballroom and reenter the Paramount's shadowy lobby en route to the ladies' room. T'Var says, "You seem distressed, Ensign, and I thought you might wish to get away from Mr. Graham and Mr. Morris. Are you all right?"

Rangin tries to work his tricorder on the run. "Uh... yes, ma'am. Still one lifesign."

Graham reads on his communicator's tiny text screen, CAG hostages safely secured on the ship. RANGIN.

Morris asks, "Good news or bad?"

Graham's about to reply to Morris when he notices the unread text from Nia.

Hope you know I was only thinking of what's best for you and the others. You look great to me, but I've seen you wince a bit when you think no one's noticing.

I notice these things, because I notice you. I like noticing you. And I expect you to return to the ship in one piece, all parts present and accounted for, so I can keep noticing new things about you.

In short, be safe. Because I care about you, Book, and I want you back. I want you.

P.S. play nice with the other kids. -- NIA

He reads the next-to-the-last last line over several times.

It takes him beyond apologizing for missing Valentine's Day. But he's not sure how he should respond.

He lets it lie with At least Nia's safe onboard so that's one thing I don't have to worry about, and can figure out in later.

He mumbles a "sorry," to Morris for the delay.

"Good," he says. "Apparently hostages have been secured," he answers, aware of the question of whether Morris is a person of interest but stopping short of hiding information from a fellow Starfleet officer.

Morris breaks out in a big smile. He says excitedly, "They are? That's fantastic! Oh, I'm so relieved." He glances around. "I think I'll find a quiet room somewhere and contact them. It'd be great to talk to them again. If you can hold the fort here, I won't be long...." He gets up to go.

The tiny detail would've been easy to ignore. Once Nia catches it, she almost halts mid-stride before managing to keep her pace. "Hold on. You say 'still one lifesign,' Ensign? When the captain gave me a rundown of the situation, she told me Collins had reported the mainframe had two guards around it." She lowers her voice as they near their destination. "There was a lot for me to absorb in only five minutes prep time, so did I hear wrong? Did Singh not have the latest info? Or did we really lose one guy in between sensor readings?"

She swivels her head to take in Rangin. "While I'm at it, Rangin: You were dealing with Krako's men the longest so your opinion's worth more than mine. What's your take on their motive for ditching us despite claiming they'd be our backup?"

"This is very considerate of you, Dr. T'Var," Kylah says, willing herself to pull herself together and seem less on-edge than she is. "I admit it has been...challenging...to handle the emotions clamoring for attention in my mind, after a week of utter silence. Certain visceral stimuli seem to make it worse. The music unintentionally reminded me of a disturbing incident in my past. I had been enjoying it until dancing with Mr. Graham, connecting with him... The vulnerability to feeling overwhelmed is worse when there is skin-to-skin contact. I will simply have to avoid it as best I can, and I should be fine. That will be my strategy until... things return to normal."

The inevitable question leaps to her and she cannot help asking: "Unless, doctor... do you think it is possible I will never be normal again?" Kylah's voice breaks slightly and she clears her throat to rid herself of its shakiness. "Is there any way of determining what lies ahead, if we do not know what caused this anomaly in the first place?"

"I thought Collins had reported there was just one guard," Rangin says. "If I got that wrong, ma'am, my apologies. In any event, there's just one lifesign down there now." The Starfleet team is now at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. "And as for these gangsters... I just don't know. I wouldn't trust them any farther than I could throw them."

T'Var says, "That is difficult to say, Ensign. With further study anything is possible. Do not lose hope, and I will do my best to help you, come what may."

Just as Kylah and T'Var are about to enter the ladies' room, the Communications officer sees Cledd Okmyx enter the lobby, talking to another man.

"I appreciate your patience and support, doctor," Kylah says with a sigh. "I wish... I just wish I did not need to call upon them."

Her attention is wrested from her colleague to Cledd Okmyx. She gives a little start and murmurs under her breath, "He is here," just in case the Vulcan did not get a good look at the photograph from earlier. Facing the president's son, Kylah examines him quickly to see if she can gauge his mood. If she senses that he is not in an aggressive or hostile frame of mind, she will take a small step forward and nod her head deferentially, greeting him with a shy smile. "Good evening, Mr. Okmyx."

Nia nods distractedly at Rangin. "All right," she says in a quieter voice, slowing to a halt. "What can you tell about the basement, if your tricorder can distinguish any sense of the layout. Garcia, you were skulking around down here, so you might have something to add too. If we go downstairs, is this one big cellar, or do the stairs lead to a hallway full of doors waiting for us? Any egress you know about? Maybe Krako's crew told you something about it before I got here? Basically I wanna know if there's a place to hide so we can tail this guy. After we transport that mainframe I doubt he'll stay in one place, especially if he really is alone. Usually easier for two people to wait something out than just one with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Rawlings'll back me up on that."

Before she forgets, she pulls out her communicator again. "Onn to Nguyen. Time to put you on the spot again--this time with the Federation mainframe being held in the building's basement. Can you be ready to grab that on my signal?"

"Whoa, whoa," Graham says, leaning forward, lowering voice, and putting a hand on Morris' arm.

"Easy...the last thing we want is the sole un-secured member of the CAG going off somewhere along where the bad guys can grab you. Bad guys who are probably pretty pissed right now."

Graham nods his head toward the chair. He find Morris' reaction a bit...odd. Unless he's got family or a significant other in the group, there's no need to go all giddy...

Morris' behavior lends credence to what he took to be suspicion on Kylah's part.

But in any event, suspicion or no, rank or no, he's the ranking Security officer on the scene and the one non-hostage running off on his own is out of the fucking question.

"Give us a bit to figure out a sound security protocol...a location we can be sure you're safe and secure, and, hopefully, not being listened to, once the Doc and Kylah get back. And we'll figure out a way you can contact your, ah, team."

Cledd and the other man are across the lobby, heading away from the main entrance. Kylah would have to purposefully walk over in order to speak with him.

The other three stop with Onn. Rangin develops a schematic of the basement on his tricorder. There are the stairs down, a large room at the foot of the stairs, and four smaller rooms, all more or less the same size, opening off of it. The lifesign is in the large room, along with the mainframe. There is a small, narrow entryway, apparently a tube or chute, directly from the alley into one of the smaller rooms, but it is too small for a person to go through.

Garcia says, "'Skulking around'? I didn't go all the way down there, ma'am, and neither did Mr. Collins - she just scanned it, too."

From orbit, Chief Nguyen says, "Acknowledged, ma'am. I have a lock on the portable computer and can beam it out whenever you like."

Morris hears Graham out and frowns. "Maybe you're right. OK, I'll wait." He seems to have an idea, then glances around. "You know what, better yet, I'll just text them. I'll cover it with my hat. It's dark enough in here, I don't think anyone will notice."

After Kylah tells T'Var that the person who just entered the lobby is Cledd Okmyx, she sees that he is too far across the lobby to address. Unwilling to be so obvious as to rush toward an apparent stranger for no reason, Kylah reluctantly remains by T'Var's side. Whether T'Var continues into the ladies' room or decides it is prudent to return to the main room, Kylah will follow her.

Garcia's curious defensiveness amuses Nia, and after she acknowledges Nguyen's reply she lifts her palm to placate the Communications officer. "At ease, Mr. Garcia, I didn't mean to imply anything nefarious. I just knew you'd spent a lot of time 'downstairs' and away from Collins and Rangin--or at least, that's what I was told. Seems like my report wasn't as accurate as I'd hoped. Heads will roll, I assure you." She casts a wry glance at Double-T before returning to Garcia. "And that's a joke as well, in case it wasn't clear."

The thought suddenly occurs to her that Garcia might be hypersensitive about anything that even hints that he's been slacking off or derelict in his duty--given what the ship's rumor mill says about his having been chastised for allegedly leaving a certain Elasian trouble-magnet in the lurch back during the Omicron Ceti III spa mission.

If so, that's his problem, not hers. "Anyway. Good work on the layout, Rangin. Doesn't seem like there's an obvious exit except for that chute or pipe deal. And unless our friend is some kinda shapeshifter who can take the form of a tribble, he's outta luck. Still, that alley makes me think..." Nia's fingers stroke her lower lip for a second while she mulls things over. Then she takes in both Garcia and Rangin. "Okay. You're the only two of us who've been outside the building. You think you can find the alley in question and take position somewhere you can see it without being seen in return? This way if there is some kinda egress we can't identify, like a street-level window maybe, at least we'll be covered for the unexpected."

She nods at the largest man in the room... hell, probably the largest man in any room in the near vicinity. "Double-T, we each need to find a place where we can lurk... or should I say, skulk..." Nia grins wickedly but without malice toward Garcia. "Anywhere we can safely see Anonymous Gangster #4 once he leaves. If you think we're both a bit too noticeable together... split us up according to your best strategic instincts. One of us can wait outside but within sight of the front entrance, and one somewhere in sight of the stairwell exit. Or whatever you think's the right move."

She looks at the group. "Questions? Suggestions?"

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T'Var glances over at the younger Okmyx and raises an eyebrow. "Shall we go say hello? We could pretend to be... admirers."

Before the others can respond to Onn, a suited Iotian comes pounding up the stairs. Garcia recognizes him as one of Zabo's men with whom he had been waiting in the alley earlier, and whispers that to Onn.

The man says, "One of Cledd's gunsels just came out of the building, jumped in his car and drove off in a hurry. What's going on?"

Kylah agrees with T'Var and, following her original inclination, walks over to the two men, hoping to catch up with them without being too obvious. She will try to get Mr. Okmyx's attention via a light brush of his sleeve and by softly saying his name with a smile.

Dammit! That's just bloody great. This possibility is precisely why Nia wanted Garcia to stay down in the car. She can't help the aggravated grunt escaping from her throat, but recovers quickly. "Thanks for the update. Did anyone follow him, I hope? Or recognize him, for that matter? And have you seen Zabo and the other two who were with him? They disappeared." Even though they were supposedly so adamant about staying nearby while she and the others undertook the extraction. So what the hell was that about?

Cledd glances away from the other man as T'Var and Kylah walk up, looks away for a moment, then turns back and focuses on them. "Hello, sweetheart," he says, smiling wolfishly. "Do I know you?"

The mook tells Onn, "I think it was Yelek. Telo is following him in one car. I've got another car waiting, if you want."

Zabo and his other mooks come up behind Onn and her party, having now left the apartment into which Onn had beamed down, their guns at the ready. Zabo says, "Telo just called me by radio and told me what's going on. You wanna follow the guy?"

Cledd's expression puts Kylah on alert. Every time she tries to be friendly, men seem to think she is seeking sexual attention. What am I doing wrong? She swallows and maintains her smile. "No, sir, not yet," she says in a pleasant but--hopefully--not flirtatious manner. She quickly introduces herself and "Miss T'Var" -- omitting the title, as she is uncertain whether it is usual for a woman to be in the medical profession here. Then she adds: "But I--we--know you. At least, we know of you, given your well-known name and ownership of this lovely nightclub. It is an honor to meet you."

Nia looks at Rangin, since he knows these people better than she does. As far as she's concerned they have little choice but to accept Zabo's offer, assuming they want to track these guards. Then she answers Zabo directly.

"It'd be a huge help if you can keep getting updates on Yelek's position. Meanwhile, there's another man downstairs who was probably left behind after his pal ran. Since you've got someone following Yelek, I'd like to take this one into custody and see if we can get answers from him." Her attention shifts to Rawlings. "You think that'll be useful? Kind of makes him a hostage, since we don't exactly have jurisdiction, but he does seem to have taken part in kidnapping Starfleet personnel, so I think we can justify it."

Of course, Nia has to ask herself: justify it? To who, anyway? What's the law like down on this planet? Do they have any official police force, or just gangsters running around obeying the president? Whatever. As long as I can justify it to Singh and Vargas, that's all I care about. She continues to Rawlings, "What do you think--try to follow this second guard or just capture him and see if he can be convinced to give up some info?"

"Likewise, I'm sure," Cledd says, reaching for Kylah's hand.

"Makes sense to me," Rawlings says to Onn. "If we can be sure he won't lose the guy in city traffic...?"

Zabo says confidently, "Telo is good - one of the best. He won't lose him."

Garcia adds, smiling, "Better a bird in hand than two in the bush."

Kylah lets Cledd hold her hand and purposely keeps the connection--it is not her preference but she wants to amplify her sense of his emotions. "I am a newcomer here, but have been doubly honored today," she says boldly. "Earlier I had the extreme pleasure of meeting your father, the President. I understand you are not necessarily following the same path, at least not at the moment." Again eyeing the nightclub before returning to examine Cledd closely, she adds in an admiring murmur, "But to be honest, from what I see here... You have a golden touch of your own."

She glances at his friend and nods. "I beg your pardon for interrupting. I do not suppose..." Her gaze returns to Cledd. "Would it be presumptuous of me, or a waste of your time, if I were to ask to join you for a--a drink? With Miss T'Var and your friend, it would make a pleasant foursome."

Satisfied, Nia nods. "Okay, let's get this moving then. Zabo, is there any risk in your being seen as part of our group? I wonder... what about a little scam here? What if..."

Her thoughts coalesce into something more solid as she speaks. "What if we take this guy into custody, just the four of us--" She gestures toward herself and her three crew members--"and attempt to get some intel off him. I can't imagine he'll be cooperative off the bat. But then, how about you boys show up looking for some revenge or payback or whatever... Then we 'defend' him against you. To make it look really good, you could threaten him and I can stun you--it won't hurt, I'll put my weapon on the lowest setting and you'll just be out for a few minutes. This way we'll get a chance to talk to him after having allegedly saved his life--he'll owe us, and might realize he's better off with us than loose with the Krako coalition on his tail. What do you think?"

Kylah, by touch, gets a strong sense of Cledd's cunning and willfulness. It is not a pleasant impression. He says, "That sounds great." He introduces the man with him as Yeg Okmyx, his cousin and advisor, and waves over the maître d'. "Peln, show these ladies to my table, please. We'll be there shortly."

The maître d' leads Kylah and T'Var back into the main room and to a slightly larger table right next to the dance floor. He snaps his fingers and a waiter makes a beeline for them. Kylah can see Graham and Morris at their table; Morris is just getting up from his seat. Neither has noticed the women's return to the room.

Zabo smiles at Onn. "I like it. Always good to put one over on one of Okmyx's bully boys, y'know?"

Graham stifles a frown, preferring to maintain radio silence in any event and worrying at least just a little bit that Morris might be up to something less than good.

But without any evidence he's not on very solid ground to tell a senior officer what to do...

"OK, make it quick and down-low," he says, with little enthusiasm. "And then keep your eyes out for Cledd. Or at least Kylah and T'Var, before we wind up missing our guy or scattered all over the club."

He leans back in his chair but then sits up extra-straight and cranes his neck to look around the club.

Glad to have her hand released, Kylah follows Peln to the table and waits for T'Var to sit before she chooses her own chair. Perhaps she did not do the right thing in soliciting an invitation from Cledd--she has no plan whatsoever except to learn something about him. She murmurs to T'Var, "Did you have an idea in mind after meeting him? He is a dangerous man. That is not news to us, but I felt a certain... recklessness..."

She shakes her head inarticulately when the waiter appears. "Some light cocktail, please," she says, uncertain what the local drinks would be here. "Whatever is best here."

After ordering, she tries to look nonchalantly around at the other guests without giving away that her real target is Mr. Graham. The first man she recognizes, however, is Lt. Morris who is--for some reason--standing. And Mr. Graham does not seem especially happy about it. Why is Lt. Morris so foolish? He is only calling attention to himself.

A frown creases her brow and, anxious that Mr. Graham does not seem to notice her and T'Var's new seating arrangements, much less the arrival of Cledd Okmyx, she purposely drops her beaded handbag with a clatter. The noise and movement should, she hopes, enable Mr. Graham to spot her sitting with T'Var--and might also alert him to Cledd's arrival.

Nia returns Zabo's smile. Good to see him being a team player--or at least, trying to look like one. "Great. You guys make yourself scarce, but two of you should be ready to meet us in the front entrance with your best game faces on. Uh... this place does have a lobby or, uh, a vestibule of sorts, right? Somewhere big enough for this pretend confrontation?"

She hesitates. "And I do mean pretend, everyone. I'm not saying, Mr. Zabo, that you'd purposely kill whoever this goon is without provocation, but I've been told Iotians tend to let their guns start and finish conversations. So just keep your fingers off the triggers, or... however you use those things."

To the rest of her team, she issues orders for them to flank the exit to the stairwell, with phasers on their lowest setting.

Only once everyone is in place and has agreed to the set-up will Nia lift her communicator and prepare to give the signal for Nguyen to beam out the mainframe. Her gaze meets Rawlings and she winks at him. It's rather enjoyable to be on a mission with him again.

"Understood, Mr. Graham, and thank you," Morris says. "I won't be long." He heads for the curtained doorway, and does not seem to notice Kylah and T'Var.

The waiter tells Kylah, "Certainly. Leave it to me, miss."

The Vulcan healer orders a glass of mineral water and, after the waiter has left, says, "We shall be careful, of course. But if Cledd is responsible for the kidnapping of Starfleet personnel, I thought it better to force an introduction than simply to hope for one. I will let you take the lead on conversing with him, however; you are better at small talk than I." She smiles a little. "No doubt due to your Communications training."

"Don't worry it, dollface," Zabo says to Onn, waving a hand dismissively. "I know when to pretend, and when not to. And yeah, there's a lobby at the front of the building, on the ground floor. See you there soon, eh? Toodles." He and his henchmen leave.

Onn's team reset their phasers on the light-stun setting. Rawlings returns Onn's wink; he seems to be having fun, too.

Graham hears Kylah's handbag fall from where he sits, about six tables away. You make eye contact.

Bending down to pick up her bag, Kylah widens her eyes at Graham and tilts her head in the direction of Cledd and his cousin. Then she delicately points a finger at her table to indicate that the gangsters will be joining her and T'Var.

She resumes her upright position, brushing her hair back and adjusting the purse on her lap. To T'Var, she replies with a laugh--more of a shaky exhale--"Thank you, Doctor, but I am only good at small talk compared to a Vulcan. Your people have no patience for such things, and neither do most of mine." She frowns slightly when she glances back at their former table for just a second.

"I wonder why Lt. Morris left?" she murmurs. "I hope he will be safe. I suppose Mr. Graham would not have allowed it otherwise." Her gaze searches the nightclub to see where Cledd has gone.

Nia watches to make sure the gangsters leave, then returns to her team. "Okay, guys. As I was saying before... Garcia, you take Rawlings with you to the outside alley, on the off-chance that our anonymous pal might take some alternate exit. Rangin and I should be able to handle things here--one stun and he'll stop in his tracks."

She hopes Rawlings knows why she prefers him to be with Garcia. She wants at least one person who knows what he's doing if the guard sneaks out the back way. As for this end of things, she's comfortable paired with Rangin, at least professionally. Little guy or not, he did somehow manage to overpower that murderer back on OCIII. He must have some significant strength... of will, if not muscle.

"So," she finishes, backing up so she won't be immediately visible if the guard rushes upstairs. "You two get in position while Rangin and I do the same here. Then just text me when you're ready, and I'll give the nod to Chief Nguyen to start the next transport. Agreed?"

Graham nods quickly and subtly to Kylah, then looks around.

Goddamnit, I didn't mean for Morris to go running out of sight...Especially now that Cledd's here, he concludes, judging that Kylah and T'Var would be highly unlikely to have arranged to sit down with some other random goons.

He moves in the direction Morris went, intending to corral him and keep the team at the least in pairs.

Cledd is still out in the lobby, Kylah guesses, where she last saw him. Or perhaps he has an office on the premises?

Rawlings says, "Will do," and he and Garcia head outside. Onn soon gets a text indicating they're in position out in the alley.

Without too much searching, Graham finds Morris in a phone alcove just off the lobby, his communicator in hand but shielded by his hat. The Potemkin officer looks up with surprise. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Graham is just about to answer when a man he recognizes as Cledd Okmyx, and another man, pass him on their way towards the main ballroom.

Nia tries to situate herself so that she'll have the best line of sight to where the guard is likely to emerge from the stairwell--but also so that she'll be the least conspicuous to someone in a rush. She gestures to Rangin to do the same. Once the safest angles are determined, she waits to take a deep breath and aim her phaser.

Her gaze checks to make sure that her colleague is ready. If he is, she lifts her communicator. "Onn to Garcia," she says softly. "I'm gonna need both hands for this. So on my mark, take a twenty-second countdown on your own and then transport that mainframe to the ship. Okay?" Another deep breath. "Go."

As swiftly as possible, she shoves the communicator back in her bag, then uses her left hand to help steady her right. The whole time, her mind ticks away the seconds of the countdown she hopes is occurring up in the Yorktown. When she reaches zero, her ears strain to hear any familiar transporter sounds--or anything else--from below.

"Acknowledged, Mr. Onn," Chief Nguyen says from the starship high above. "Ready here. Twenty-second countdown commencing."

Just an instant after Onn's own silent count reaches zero, she hears the familiar transporter effect, slightly muffled, downstairs. Someone squawks and she hears footsteps moving about. Rangin meets her eye and returns his attention down the staircase. In moments they both hear the heavy clomp of footsteps on the wooden steps, coming up.

Her lips a thin line, Nia flicks a look at Rangin and lifts her left palm up in a halt gesture before returning it to its original position. They need to wait until this guy has emerged from the stairwell, or he could just run back downstairs again.

In the final seconds she feels her facial and arm scales emerging--part instinctive protection, part conscious tactics. A reptilian woman clad in a silver fringed dress should be enough to throw the stranger off-guard for at least a second or two. That could be all the advantage they need.

Rangin nods.

A small, sweaty, ratlike man pounds his way up the stairs and into view. He is carrying a Tommy gun.

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The gun complicates things, though Nia isn't surprised he's carrying it. If he's the nervous type--and a look at him indicates he could be--one good scare and he might start spraying bullets in every direction. Time to switch tactics.

She takes a steady breath and retracts her facial scales, then lowers the phaser to her hip, still aimed at him but not as conspicuous, especially to someone who's probably not terribly familiar with what Starfleet weapons look like. Despite the less aggressive stance, her finger is pressed on her phaser's trigger as firmly as possible without actually firing. If he moves that gun with intent to fire she do her best to beat him to the punch.

Hopefully it won't come to that.

"Hey mister, what's the rush?" she says in a smooth, calm voice. "I've been waiting for a guy like you. Let's talk."

Once Cledd and company pass Graham leans in toward Morris, his voice low. "Our boy is in the house...Kylah and T'Var, I think, finagled a spot at his table...C'mon, we need to figure out what we do next." After a brief pause, he adds, "We can't leave them in the lurch...you know more than anybody about local stuff."

He gestures for Morris to follow back into the main room.

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Mr. Rat lurches to a stop and raises his machine gun. "Who the hell are you?" he whines, then stares at her more closely. "What the hell are you?"

Morris's eyes widen. "Right. Of course." He quickly finishes sending a text on his communicator, and follows Graham back into the main room.

Nia's stare at the stranger is cool and unalarmed, though her peripheral vision takes careful notice of the weapon in his grip. "I'm the person who's going to get you out of here alive," she says, still not raising her voice from its mellow tone. "The game's over, fella. The CAG hostages have been returned safely and your cohorts are in custody in our starship flying way up in space. That big machine you were guarding that just disappeared? That's back in our hands too."

She places her free hand on her hip and stretches to her full height. "Yes, I said 'our.' You asked me 'what am I,' and I'll tell you: I'm a Starfleet officer from a planet millions of miles away. As is the guy behind you who's pointing his own version of this weapon right at your back--you can turn your head slowly to check him out, if you like--slowly, mind. That's Ensign Rangin. I'm Lieutenant Onn. Both of the starship the U.S.S. Yorktown."

Nia lifts her phaser slightly. "A blast from one of these weapons can turn you into a pile of ashes before you blink the sweat that's currently dripping from your eyes. If two of us blast you, it'll eliminate even the ashes. However, I'm not gonna hurt you--not if I don't have to. That's not the way we do things. Unless provoked."

After a second's pause, she continues flatly, "But there're others hunting for you who don't have the same scruples. You've made some dangerous enemies, fella. I don't know if you're the mastermind behind this or just some goon who's paid by the hour to watch over a piece of machinery you couldn't begin to understand. Either way, I'm guessing you have information for us, and it's my job to make sure you're alive to give it up to us. Then you'll receive proper justice. Not the kind you get from the Syndicate or even the would-be Feddies run by Krako--neither of which are happy to know that you've angered us.

"Now," Nia says, aiming the phaser at his chest as she'd originally planned. "I can help you avoid them if you help us. And you can start by putting that gun down on the floor. Any other move than that and you'll find out what Federation technology is all about."

"To hell with that!" he says, and brings his Tommy gun up.

The thought Always gotta choose the hard way flashes through her mind as Nia squeezes her phaser trigger to blast the little ferret, targeting his chest.

An instant before the stun beam hits Mr. Rat, he pulls the trigger, narrowly missing Onn with a burst of machine-gun fire which chews up the wooden doorframe and plasterwork of the staircase, scattering splinters and particles of plaster. The noise is deafening, leaving Onn's and Rangin's ears ringing, and there is a strong smell of gunsmoke which lingers.

Mr. Rat falls back down the stairs, his gun dropping from his hands.

Nia has fallen into a crouch, a position she stays in for for a few frozen seconds of recovery even though the gunman is no longer visible. Her heart rate fills her head with pounding nearly as deafening as the bullets.

When her muscles lose enough tension so she can move, she can't help twisting to look at the wreckage to the hall from the gunfire. Next she examines herself, in frank astonishment that she survived.

Gleaming silver scales cover 100% of her body--the process must've happened instinctively thanks to the adrenaline and fear--but she knows they couldn't possibly have protected her from the ammo. From a much farther range, sure, they might've prevented the worst of the damage, but up this close? She might as well have sprouted feathers. If that guy had better aim...

No. Not going there.

She reaches for the dropped gun with trembling fingers and clutches the large, clunky weapon--its hot metal calls up a memory of the arms used back on Sidonia. Then, swiveling to the stairwell as she rises, she aims her phaser downstairs, where she hopes the bastard's head met the floor with a well-deserved clunk.

Despite her stance, her gaze targets Rangin. Of course, he was behind Mr. Rat and the gun, but the spray of bullets might've ricocheted anywhere.

"O-okay?" she asks, her mouth bone-dry. She'd rather have been more articulate, like "Are you all right, Ensign?"... but for now, a single word is all she can manage.

Kylah twists the edge of the tablecloth grazing her lap as she waits for Cledd Okmyx and his cousin to join them--and for Mr. Graham and Lt. Morris to return as well. Because she realizes that her and Dr. T'Var's 'innocent stranger' status will last only as long as it takes for Cledd to recognize Morris and--probably inevitably--for the waiter to inform Cledd that the two women who finagled their way to his table originally came in with the Starfleet crew.

"Yeah," says Rangin, his voice shaky. "Unhurt. I'm... unhurt."

Zabo and two mooks come running from the front lobby, guns at the ready. "You two OK?" Zabo says, after a glance downstairs.

Onn's communicator pulses.

Cledd and Yeg Okmyx come to the table in the main ballroom, sitting down with Kylah and T'Var. Cledd snaps his fingers even as an attentive waiter swoops in, ordering champagne. "So what brings you to the Paramount, ladies?" Cledd asks.

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"All right," Graham says to Morris, "let's play it cool. Stay on the other side of me, since Clegg might recognize you."

He grimaces slightly, trying to look nonchalant while throwing a glance toward Clegg's table.

"Let's move casually in that direction, but see if Kylah or T'Var give us a sign."

Or need help, he thinks.

Kylah swallows and tries on a friendly smile. "The Paramount's charms are enough to bring anyone with discernment to its doors, sir. Mr. Okmyx," she corrects herself. "We had heard of you, and that this was a popular spot for someone seeking a pleasurable evening. And the reputation is well deserved. You should be proud. The décor, the service, the music... Everything is so lovely and stimulating." Her smile turns warmer. "This probably sounds like mere flattery, but I assure you I am sincere."

Her sketchy memory of this Terran era tries to conjure up conversation-starters. "I see that this is a well-sized dance room. But the building seems large enough to house even more features than I have seen thus far. Are there other ways for customers to enjoy themselves? Gaming--that is, a casino, perhaps? Private rooms for special events?" Kylah tries to keep her gaze from flickering when she sees, in the periphery, Mr. Graham at the entrance from the lobby.

Glad that Rangin's okay, though she's kinda dying to know if that phaser of his got any use, Nia takes a deep breath to steady herself--which doesn't work as well as expected. A quick mental calculation makes her grit her teeth in understanding. Her body's increased heart rate and bursts of adrenaline are taxing her bloodstream's normally efficient storage of Bilitrium. She's 24 hours away from her next dose, so it's hardly an emergency, but it's annoying as hell.

Seht'Dar's holy balls, she seethes mentally while staring among Rangin, Zabo, his goons, and the rat downstairs. Give me more to worry about, why don't you?

The frustration flares and dies like a dud firecracker, and she shakes it off. Screw it. I want command, I'm gonna have to command. She sucks in her breath a second time and, with a nod, uses her hand to wave Zabo the hell away. "We're fine, thanks," she whispers. "He didn't go quietly. Now please get back in position, will you? All we need is for this braintrust down there to wake up and see us working together."

But she hesitates and contradicts her own words by grabbing Zabo's lapel and yanking him over to the stairwell. "One thing first," she whispers. "Take a look. You recognize that guy?"

Waiting for him to obey--hopefully discreetly--she leans the machine gun against the wall and pulls out her communicator to see who else needs her attention.

Graham and Morris ease back into the main ballroom. Kylah can see them at once. Graham sees his two shipmates sitting with two tuxedoed Iotians.

T'Var strikes up a quiet conversation with Yeg, but Kylah can't hear it. Yeg actually seems quite taken with the Vulcan.

"Gaming, private rooms, a coupla bars, yeah, sure - we got all of that," the young Okmyx boasts to Kylah, clearly proud of his domain. "And lots more. It's the best place in the city, bar none."

Onn is unsure, given how quickly everything happened and the noise of - and debris from the bullets of - the machine gun, if Rangin fired his phaser.

Zabo says of the unmoving guy on the stairs, "Yeah, that's Pon Yommyx. He's one of Cledd's boys."

Rawlings is on the other end of Onn's communicator: "We heard gunfire - you OK in there? Want us to come back in?"

Kylah nods and appears impressed. "I believe you," she says, looking around in admiration before her gaze rests on him. Her aim is to flatter and show interest without crossing the line into flirtation. Despite her conversation with Mr. Kalo earlier, she does not know Cledd Okmyx's behavior toward women, and is unsure how to act without causing anything... untoward.

There is no real danger; after all, Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var are right here. But she does not wish to require their assistance. She is an adult who should be able to handle herself and--for once--make correct choices so that she can contribute to the mission.

"With this club doing so well, do you plan to build others like it? Or do your goals lie in other areas?" Afraid that she is erring too much on the side of an interrogation, she lets her smile turn playful. "Of course, you must have other interests. How do you most enjoy spending your time?"

Nia blinks at the sound of Rawlings's voice. Oh. Yeah. Double-T and Garcia. Forgot about them. What the hell is going on with her? Since when does a little danger turn her brain into mush? She scowls at herself. "We're all good. But yes, come back in and join us. Our boy's not going anywhere."

She flips the communicator shut and first focuses on Rangin. "Better head downstairs and make sure he's not concussed or anything. I'll be right with you." She turns to Zabo. "Thanks for the I.D., not to mention rushing to our rescue." Her smile is almost sheepish. "Probably should've thanked you for that before. Now, if you're still willing, I'd like to go ahead with the fakeout plan. Gotta earn back some trust here--I want him thinking we're a safer option than you."

If he agrees, she'll follow Rangin downstairs.

Graham rubs his chin. "All right, let's give them a minute or two to chat, see if they wave us over...if they don't we'll amble over there in a few," he says.

Champagne is brought to Cledd's table by the waiter and poured all around. Cledd raises his glass to Kylah and T'Var. "Cheers, ladies! So glad we met." After a healthy gulp he replies to Kylah's questions: "I kinda like having one stand-out, top-shelf club like this, but there's no reason I can't expand, open some others, maybe. I want to do well and be respected, like my Pops. How do I like spending my time?" He clinks his glass with Kylah's and grins wolfishly. "Hell, that's easy - sipping bubbly with a knockout like you, doll."

Rangin checks Yommyx, and scans him. "He's all right. Typical phaser stun effect."

Onn notices Zabo looking at Rangin's tricorder with great interest. To Onn's comment he says, "Gotcha, sweetheart."

Garcia and Rawlings return. Rawlings sees the damage done by the Tommy gun and whistles. "Glad you didn't get in the way, ma'am," he says.

Morris says to Graham, "Understood." He takes another sip of his drink.

The jazz ensemble has now finished its break and taken its seats again. It launches into a catchy, upbeat dance tune.

With a glance at T'Var to see if the doctor is drinking as well, Kylah sips from her glass, just a taste, then lowers it back to the table. "That is kind of you, Mr. Okmyx," she says, then leans forward so that she can speak to him without having to shout over the music. "It is an honor to spend time with you, too. A man like you must have many... friends. I suppose you are not yet interested in marriage, or some fortunate woman would have wed you by now. Who would not be proud of a powerful husband like you? And to be part of such an esteemed family?" Kylah is close enough to watch him intently, her dark eyes peering into his, and tries to gauge his emotions to see if he is bothered by the talk of his family--or pleased to be considered one of them.

Nia examines Yommyx with mild interest from her position halfway down the stairs, and says to Rangin, "I was more concerned about that knock on his head. A stun that mild should only leave him a bit dazed. Unless... did you get him too?"

To Rawlings, she responds: "Yeah, tell me about it. If I were a few inches wider I'd probably've caught a bullet or twenty. Lucky I don't eat everything Mr. Johnson tries to shove down my throat." With a grin she nods at the prone Iotian, beckoning her friend. "Once he starts showing signs of life, help him up, will you? I think he'll need your assistance getting back upstairs."

She turns toward the rest of the basement. "Meanwhile I think I'll give this place a once-over. Maybe they were guarding something else. I mean, we've been working on the premise that the mainframe was the only stolen item being held here, but..." Her words die away as she frowns. "Actually... that's a good point."

Why were they keeping this thing down here? They steal this big hunk of weird machinery, obviously valuable, but then just leave it in a basement instead of trying to take it apart or ransoming it. A whole week and they did nothing. Same with the hostages, for that matter. Why?

With a sigh, she edges carefully past Yommyx's body to search the area. Probably they won't know anything unless Thalen or Vargas gets some intel from the recovered CAG or captured guards. "Unless Mr. Quick-on-the-Trigger over there feels like talking once he wakes up," she mutters to herself.

"I been married two or three times," Cledd says, "but at the moment I'm footloose and fancy free." He grins. "Are you applying for the vacancy, miss?"

Rangin says, "No, I didn't fire. The gun, uh, startled me, and by the time I looked back he had already fallen."

Onn finds little of interest in the basement. The floor is hard concrete, clean and not dusty, so there is really no way to tell that the Starfleet portable computer was so recently here. On a table there are some sandwich wrappings and paper cups of cold coffee. Two cots with jumbled blankets are set up in a corner, and a Tommy gun leans against one wall.

Kylah's eyes widen slightly. "Oh--no, not at all! I never meant to imply such a thing. Not that you are not an eligible man," she adds in haste after realizing that she might insult Cledd by resisting with such vehemence. "But we have barely met." Awkward, she picks up her glass, takes another tiny sip, and casts her eyes around while she thinks of something to say. Somehow she wants to get to the topic of the Federation, but right now she cannot fathom a route to broach that topic.

"The band is excellent," she blurts, at least able to be honest with that. "Whoever hired them must have a good ear for music. Do you... were you the one to choose them? I wish I could play in this style. It is infectious."

"Yeah, they're my house band," Cledd says. "'Natty Nat' and his boys. Best in the biz - glad you like 'em. Hey, you wanna dance? C'mon, let's go!" He stands and holds his hand out to Kylah.

Nia reacts to the sight of the gun with a cynical twist of her mouth. So this guy's partner just ran outta here, not even taking his toy with him? Now that's just sloppy.

Still unnerved by the close call earlier, she lifts her phaser, sets it high enough to vaporize metal, and aims it at the weapon. "Heads up, guys," she calls to her colleagues. "You're gonna hear some noise--it's just me taking out some of the thugs' hardware." She squeezes the trigger, knowing that she'll feel better with one less piece of ugly but lethal junk lying around.

Once that's taken care of, she'll return to Yommykx and kneel down, patting him on his cheek to wake him up. If he's still out, she'll try to contact Thalen to see if they've had any luck with the various interviews thus far.

It takes a couple of blinks before Kylah can force herself to make the decision. "I would love to," she says as brightly as she can. She rises to her feet unaided, her concerned glance flickering over to Dr. T'Var, then somewhere in the direction of Mr. Graham's table, before returning to her new partner.

At least the tempo is upbeat, nothing remotely intimate. But that causes a different--and much less serious--type of problem. "I have no idea what the steps are," Kylah admits with an apologetic smile. "I hope you do not mind teaching me." After a deep, steadying inhale, she finally takes Cledd's hand and steps toward him.

Graham's surprised as Kylah takes to the floor with Cledd, but decides to take it as an opportunity.

"She's split them up," he say quietly to Morris. "Let's make our way over to the table, hopefully avoiding notice, so we can talk to the other goon before Cledd gets back."

[Assuming that happens]


Graham approaches the table in an amiable manner. "I see the better half of our team," he says, gesturing at T'Var and then toward the dance floor "found the man we came to see. Do you mind if we sit?" he asks the other Iotian.

Using her phaser-1, Onn vaporizes the Tommy gun. Krako's mooks are duly impressed. "That's some fancy heater you got there, lady," Zabo says. Rawlings narrows his eyes.

From the Yorktown, Communications Officer Thalen says the three captive Iotians, after getting over the surprise of their new surroundings, are loudly demanding to be returned to their planet and have very little to say otherwise. The freed Potemkin officers are being debriefed by Cmdr. Vargas after checkups in Sickbay.

After a few minutes, Pon Yommyx comes around. "Huh... what... holy crap!" he says, clearly startled. "What happened?"

"Glad to, sweetie," Cledd says to Kylah. He turns out to be a pretty skilled dancer, and is glad to lead. He keeps touching her, of course, by the hand or around the waist, and she keeps getting unpleasant telepathic impressions of him. He is an ambitious, cold, cunning, ruthless man with a lot of secrets buried in his psyche.

Morris looks reluctant, but follows Graham over to the other table.

T'Var does not seem especially pleased by Graham's initiative. The Iotian man with her says, "A team? What do you mean?"

Graham spares a quick glance over toward the dancers and then answers the Iotian as he sits down. "We're from the Federation. With the, ah...recent trouble, and nobody who claims to be important being of much help, we'd heard Cledd was a--a player, a man in the know, on the move." He shrugs slightly, and make a quick slightly apologetic glance toward T'Var, realizing he has no idea what she'd been up to that he might have trampled on.

"Seemed obviously someone we ought to talk to, face-to-face."

Nia swivels to stare at Zabo, surprised that he's still around. She could've sworn she told him to scram so they can get in place for their alleged ambush. Plus, she certainly wouldn't have used her phaser so destructively in front of him--she doesn't want anyone to get cold feet once she raises her weapon against him during their little performance for Yommyx.

With a silent wave of her hand, she shoos off Zabo and the gang, and this time makes damn sure they're gone before looking down at Yommyx. Assuming they leave as instructed, Nia returns to focus on Cledd Okmyx's goon. "What happened, you ask? You thought you'd perforate me with bullets, that's what," she says dryly. "My phaser had other ideas. Hold on while I make sure you're okay, then we'll get you to your feet."

Gently looking behind his head--she knows Rangin used his tricorder but sometimes a visual is more satisfying--she makes sure there's no blood or burgeoning lump there. If he passes muster, she'll give a nod to Rawlings so he can help her stand Yommyx upright. Either Rangin or Garcia could do the job, but Double-T's size should be nicely intimidating.

Once he's vertical again, Nia will let Double-T take control of Yommyx's person. She steps back and crosses her arms over her chest. "Okay, buddy. You tried things your way, and look what that got you. Lucky for you I believe in second chances--but trust me, you won't get a third. You gonna cooperate or not? You can start by telling us your name."

The dancing requires a lot of energy--more than Kylah has expended since her varied injuries over the past few missions--and between the exertion and the fizzy music, she would be enjoying herself... if not for her partner. He reminds her of too many men in her not-so-distant past. Charming exterior hiding the viciousness within. But she maintains a smile and her seemingly delighted attitude.

As they turn she notices Lt. Morris and Mr. Graham have arrived at Cledd's table. She catches a glimpse of T'Var, and--for a Vulcan--she seems wary. Confused, Kylah makes sure to avoid staring too long in one direction, quite certain that Cledd is the sort of man who could turn ugly in an instant. Her stomach muscles are tight with concern. Why did the men choose this moment to go over there? Why would Mr. Graham compromise Lt. Morris's safety?

She does not want Cledd seeing Lt. Morris. In an attempt to distract him, she waits until the dance brings them closer together. "This is wonderful," she breathes with an attempt at a laugh. "You are an excellent partner, I wonder if you are as good as a competitor? I play poker quite well, if you would care to try your luck."

The man introduces himself to Graham as Yeg Okmyx, a cousin of Cledd, as well as a business associate and advisor. He seems stand-offish and wary of Graham and Morris, the latter of whom he doesn't appear to recognize.

Onn didn't specifically tell Zabo to go away after he responded to the gunfire, and he didn't. Now he does.

The Sidonian woman finds no injuries on Yommyx other than a minor bump on the head where he fell. Onn and Rawlings help him up; he seems a little unsteady on his feet. The little ratlike Iotian now looks scared of Onn and eager to help. He says, "I'm Yommyx. I was watching the big think-box in the basement."

"Poker, eh?" Cledd says to Kylah, chuckling. "Sure, I've been known to play a hand or two. Don't know too many dames who are good at it, though. What kind of stakes do you wanna play for?"

Kylah's attention is divided between whatever is going on over at the table and the need to keep Cledd from noticing it. While they have been dancing, she has tried her best to glean any emotions emanating from his cousin and her colleagues--are things hostile? Suspicious? Awkward?--even though she knows it is futile. She is too far away and there are too many people for her to focus that acutely.

With all this going on in her mind, she responds to Cledd by stumbling headlong into honesty. "Oh, I do not carry money. But I do not expect to need any--I am very good, I assure you. Can it not be a friendly wager?"

Nia stares at the little man. Think-box? Holy crud, how backward is this guy? "Okay, Yommyx. To refresh your memory, I'm Lt. Nia Onn, and these are my colleagues from the--" She's so tempted to say "big floaty metal ship in the sky," but bites it off before her sarcasm breaks his cooperative mood. "The, uh, Federation starship. We've just hauled off all your colleagues into custody--that's thousands of miles up in space, by the way--and you might meet the same fate. Unless you continue to behave."

Nia smiles, smoothing down Yommyx's rumpled clothes gently, suddenly his buddy. "I can keep you safe from both the Krako Federation-worshippers and whoever you're working for. But you need to talk. Who's running this operation? And what's the reason he, or they, grabbed those hostages? Not to mention the... the 'think-box,' which by the way is called a 'computer.'"

"Sure, why not?" Cledd says, grinning at Kylah. He spins her around, in time to the music, and then pulls her back in close. "No reason we couldn't be real friendly."

Yommyx already looks scared. He stammers to Onn, "I can tell you, but you gotta protect me, lady. Can you Feddies do that? Cl--, uh, the people behind this don't play around. I could be in danger here, you know?"

In response, Nia tucks her phaser into her purse, then stands with arms held out, open and trustworthy and utterly nonthreatening. An easy task when a meter-wide, two-meter-tall behemoth has the prisoner in his massive grip. Yommyx doesn't need to know Rawlings is a teddy bear with one secret tickle spot that will render him helpless.

"Look at me. I'm in danger too, mister, but this is how safe I feel with my boys here." She pats Yommyx's shoulder and keeps her hand there reassuringly. "Nothing's gonna happen to you. One word from me and you'll be taken safely out of here in a snap--just like that machine was. We'll find you a new home on the planet, anywhere you like. Your family too, if you've got one. Not even the Syndicate can match our technology or speed as far as moving people around. When we want to protect someone, they stay protected."

Nia hesitates for impact. "...But we have to have a reason to protect them. So it's time to start talking and drawing us a picture of whatever you've got. Who took the CAG, and why? And before I forget, we know you had a partner down here who ran as soon as the computer disappeared. Where do you think he went?"

Colliding against Cledd's body, Kylah feels the wind knocked out of her, literally and figuratively. She stares up at him, afraid of what she sees and senses from this man. It is all she can do to avoid squirming out of his grasp, especially while the thought of making yet another stupid, reckless mistake sends her nerves into electric overdrive.

"Mr. Okmyx--" Her mouth is dry, and she hesitates. But only for a few seconds. As long as they are talking about poker, she will lay her cards on the table. "Mr. Okmyx," she says. "I--I think you are an attractive and charming man, and also very, very clever. I would find playing against you a stimulating experience. But not that way. I hope you do not think I am willing to wager... myself." Kylah swallows, then adds with a little burst of confidence, "Besides, you will be disappointed. I think luck will fall in my favor."

Luck has nothing to do with it, of course. She will cheat, and cheat as well as she ever has; no poker bluff ever got past her for long. The only time she ever failed to win a game at the Academy was when she played opposite--

Darren Zweller.

She can almost feel the blood draining from her face, and she quickly turns her head to hide what must look like a prelude to a faint.

She must still face the truth: In her Academy days, she could sense none of Zweller's bluffs. But the games were always a draw, I never actually lost. The defense comes quickly, but she knows it is inaccurate. Back on the Yorktown, when the stakes were higher than any mere poker hand, her inability to read Darren Zweller led to... something she still does not truly comprehend, or even remember.

But he was a sociopath. Is Cledd Okmyx the same? She already knows he is dangerous. Her need to prove herself against such great odds is frightening; it is self-destructive. She has never, ever won. Why can she not stop herself from rushing into such predicaments?

If I fail, if something goes wrong, everyone who thinks I am incapable of success will know. I will prove Mr. Graham right, I will prove Cmdr. Vargas right, I will prove Velir right, she thinks in despair.

Nevertheless, while she is facing the table, she sees Morris there. If Cledd recognizes him, if they are given away as Starfleet officers, what truth will Cledd give to them? Nothing. And Lt. Morris will be endangered. She has no idea what Mr. Graham's motives are, but he did it specifically while she and Cledd were away from the table. He must have something in mind, and it involves Cledd Okmyx not being near. He must want privacy. Why, she has no idea... maybe Lt. Morris knows something about this cousin? And getting Yeg away from Cledd is desirable?

Kylah girds herself and looks back up at Cledd's intense gaze, wearing her mother's confident smile. "I assume we will not be engaging in a two-handed game? There will be others around us in this gambling room of yours? If so, let us play."

Yommyx says, "Well... OK." He wipes his sweaty brow. "We work for Cledd Okmyx. He had us put the bag on the Feddies when his dad asked him to. He doesn't like the Feddies trying to run things around here, gettin' a piece of our action. As for where my buddy went, he said he had to see Cledd to tell him about losing touch with our bagmen upstairs, and the... computer disappearing, goin' all sparkly."

Cledd smiles at Kylah again. "Sure, doll, we can play wherever you want to - and for whatever stakes." He does not loosen his grip.

A panicky-looking man in a cheap suit enters the ballroom and makes a beeline towards Cledd. Two much-better-dressed mooks stop him, and Kylah, Graham and Morris (and presumably others) hear him blurt out, "I've got to talk to Mr. Okmyx! This is real important!"

Ask multiple questions at once of Yommyx, if you wish.

Graham smiles slightly, nodding respectfully. "Pleased to me you, Yeg. A guy like you, much like Cledd, might be someone we can do business with, might be someone who can help us out."

As the agitated goon enters the ballroom, Graham lets a hand carefully, as unnoticeably as possible slide toward his phaser, deciding Yeg is going night-night at the slightest hint of trouble to secure their flanks.

He hopes Morris and T'Var notice, but doesn't do anything to give himself away.

Morris and T'Var are both looking at the man who rushed in, as is Yeg, who rises to his feet.

Kylah stops short of pulling away from Cledd when she hears the agitated voice from the stranger. A quick check over at their table shows that both Yeg and Mr. Graham seem on high alert. She has a bad feeling about all this and instinctively attempts to distract Cledd further by dismissing the newcomer.

"I am surprised your bouncer allowed someone like that to barge into your elite establishment," she murmurs with a slight shake of her head. "I suppose such would-be hangers-on are desperate for a chance to seek favors from you." Her heart thrums almost painfully in her chest--and given how tightly Cledd is holding her, she would not be surprised if he feels its rhythm pounding against him. Kylah tries to keep her voice and smile playful. "Can you not let your cousin deal with things? What good is power if you cannot delegate when you wish to enjoy yourself?"

Nia's mind works overtime in an effort to translate Yommyx's slang into something articulate. But most important is the news that not only is the President's son involved in the kidnapping, but apparently so is the father himself. That's not what she learned in the briefing she got from Singh--who herself got it from Booker's group. Who's telling the truth? Is Cledd claiming legitimacy from his father, or did the President flat-out pull the wool over Book's eyes?

The chances that this little guy knows such details are zero to none. She focuses on the other worrying info. "You say your pal is heading off to meet Cledd. Where? We have people following him, but if he's got enough of a head start..." Damn it. Aren't Book and the rest already tracking Cledd down? All we need is a sudden meet-up...

She swivels to Rangin. "Ensign. Contact Graham ASAP and let him know he might have company." Back to Yommyx and a barrage of questions:

"What's Cledd like? How tight are you with him--does he pay attention to, uh, associates at your level? No offense, you just don't strike me as being all that high in the organization."

"And do you have any clue as to what the President, or Cledd, was hoping to achieve by just nabbing the hostages and holding them for a week, rather than killing them?"

"If they don't like the Federation's input on your planet, what the hell did he think he was gonna accomplish by kidnapping one of our own in secret? Why didn't he at least contact Starfleet and ransom them off? Is he so stupid he didn't realize we'd try to get them back once they dropped out of contact?"

"Not to mention, with Krako's Federation cargo cult blowing up, surely they'd've been happy to use the kidnapping as an excuse to start a holy war."

She turns to the rest of her crew. "I know full well I came late to this shindig, so... Rangin, you were in charge. If I'm missing any points, please ask anything as needed."

Cledd frowns. "No, I know this guy. He's one of mine. I gotta handle this, hon; hang on a sec." He says, more loudly to his mooks, "It's OK, let him go." He releases his hold on Kylah.

They do, and the man comes closer to Cledd and Kylah, looking agitated.

Rangin nods, takes out his communicator and calls Graham.

In the dingy apartment building, Onn says, "You say your pal is heading off to meet Cledd. Where? We have people following him, but if he's got enough of a head start...."

"He was headed to the Paramount," the ratlike man says. "Had to report to the boss."

She asks, "What's Cledd like? How tight are you with him--does he pay attention to, uh, associates at your level? No offense, you just don't strike me as being all that high in the organization."

Yommyx purses his lips. "Well, you know... he's the boss. I'm in his crew. I don't pretend to be a capo or anything."

"And do you have any clue as to what the President, or Cledd, was hoping to achieve by just nabbing the hostages and holding them for a week, rather than killing them?"

"Dunno. I got my orders, lady, and I followed 'em. I was guarding the computing doohickie; I wasn't involved with the Feddies."

"If they don't like the Federation's input on your planet, what the hell did he think he was gonna accomplish by kidnapping one of our own in secret? Why didn't he at least contact Starfleet and ransom them off? Is he so stupid he didn't realize we'd try to get them back once they dropped out of contact?"

He crosses his arms. "He didn't discuss that with me, lady."

"Not to mention, with Krako's Federation cargo cult blowing up, surely they'd've been happy to use the kidnapping as an excuse to start a holy war."

He scoffs. "Krako's an idiot. Him and his stupid Feddie ideas." He smiles slyly. "Like you said, lady, no offense."

In the Paramount ballroom, Graham's communicator beeps.

Rangin listens in to the questions while holding the communicator up. Timing was always so important in matters like this and making sure the other group are prepared for what might be coming their way...

As it has T'Var and Graham in the group, it can handle most things, but if they are stuck with a set of Goons on the wrong turf as they had set off to do, it could be a nasty situation up coming depending on what they are up to.

Graham keeps a hand on his phaser in his pocket and grabs his communicator with his free hand, glancing from the newcomer to Yeg, and holding his eyes on Yeg as he answers.

" 'Scuse me, just a message - kinda link a phone" he says to the Iotian as he takes out the communicator, which he holds close to his own ear.

For once Nia's cool snaps, and she jabs a finger into Yommyx's chest. "You wanna see me offended, bub, keep calling me 'lady' instead of 'lieutenant.'" Normally she couldn't care less about how someone addresses her, but she's losing her patience fast for these prehistoric relics. "Okay. Frankly I think you've already outstayed your usefulness, given how little you seem to know. But before we let you go, you're gonna tell us how to get to the Paramount."

She darts a look over at Rangin, a little worried that he's apparently not in touch with Booker yet. What's going on? Their team might already be at this place. In which case we can just have Nguyen beam us to their location, it'll be a helluva lot faster than following this shrimp's directions. If Booker and the others need backup, Nia doesn't feel like taking any scenic routes.

Then again... Nguyen can beam the others away from this Paramount joint just as easily. Nia's protective instincts tug at her with the urge to have Nguyen do just that. Book won't appreciate it if he's in the middle of some breakthrough and I unilaterally decide to yank him outta there. She has no problem risking his anger if his safety's at stake, but if his team can handle things better on their own, it's her job as a leader to let them.

She sighs and turns back to their sorta-captive. "Okay, Yommyx. I'll give you a couple more chances to help us out. Tell me about the guy who ran out of here. His name, his personality, if he's trusted by Okmyx the Lesser, and anything else that might help us if and when we run up against him. Also, give me any of Cledd's vulnerabilities. What makes him angriest? What flatters him?" Nia flashes a brief, cold smile. "Remember, it's to your benefit if we neutralize him as a threat."

Kylah stands still while watching the newcomer approach them. Why is he here? Does it have anything to do with the hostages? What is going on with the other team? Have they been discovered?

Alarmed, she looks toward Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var, who seem miles away. With a swallow, she shifts her hand, intending to clutch at her purse--which is when she realizes that when Cledd so surprised her with the dance invitation, she left her bag--and the phaser inside--on the chair. Stupid, she thinks furiously. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Her gaze moves to the large men who tried to stop the stranger. How difficult will they be for her colleagues to take out, if it should be necessary? Kylah cannot decide whether to move or stay. If she were truly just a young woman taken with Cledd Okmyx, she would probably remain where she is. There is no reason to suspect her... unless Mr. Graham has said something to the cousin.

Frustrated and feeling impotent, she can only wait to see what happens. Which is when she sees Mr. Graham pick up his communicator. In public.

Her eyes widen. She thought she was reckless. Has he gone mad?



Are these men armed? Kylah should be able to see that clearly, but I don't remember if they've been described as wielding visible guns.

As the tone changes to that of the comm being picked up, Rangin can vaguely hear sounds in the background. At least, after what happened on OCIII, Graham would not be taking the call without some modicum of precaution, Rangin hopes.

"Graham, this is Rangin. Company's coming your way of the troublesome kind. Cat's out of the bag, but we got what we came for. What's your situation, do you need anything?"

Rangin can't help the terse voice down the phone from the action of the last few minutes, even though it now seems likes hours. Still he patiently waits, maintaining a calmer demeanour and trying to recover some of his poise.

Yommyx says to Onn, "It's Jer Hako. He's the guy I usually work with. Mr. Okmyx trusts him, sure, as much as he trusts anybody, I guess. What makes Mr. Okmyx angry?" He whistles. "Hoo boy. Where to start? Uh... giving him any lip, not doing what he wants, taking too long to do what he wants, asking too many questions, that kind of thing. And what, uh, flatters him? Hmm, that's tougher. I... I, uh, dunno. I've never tried to flatter him. I just try not to make him mad at me, y'know?"

The mooks at the Paramount who initially stopped the man who ran in aren't carrying guns in their hands, but Kylah notices telltale bulges under their jackets.

Cledd says to the man, "What are you doing, coming here? Didn't I give you an assignment?" The man looks at Kylah, but Cledd says curtly, "Never mind her, out with it!"

The man replies, "The computer's gone, Mr. Okmyx, sir, and I think the Feddies are, too. I was talkin' to Uvell on the phone upstairs in the apartment and, poof, like that, he wasn't there anymore. No one was. I think they're onto us."

Yeg Okmyx comes closer and listens in. Cledd glances at his cousin and then back at the man. "But you didn't see for yourself?"

The man turns red. "I think it was that, you know, 'beaming' thing they do. Nobody answered on the phone so I got out of there. I thought they might grab me next. I knew you'd want to know right away, and I thought I ought to tell you in person."

Kylah can sense Cledd Okmyx's anger as it washes across her mind like a dark, churning tide. Even not touching him, from less than a meter away, she feels particularly attuned to his thoughts.

Lungs frozen in the act of inhaling, Kylah tries to gather her wits and come up with the right thing to do, something to say, anything that might calm Cledd Okmyx's growing rage. She gasps in order to regain some air, but otherwise she has no power at all. She would rather he forget her entirely--which he seems to have done--and so she fights the instinct to back away, to run away from him.

She does not even dare look at Mr. Graham. Given what this man has just said, it is probable that someone has just informed the security officer of the apparent rescue. He is probably requesting a transport, she thinks, hope giving her a little courage. Of course: the ship can recover them instantly. There is really no danger; the Yorktown is monitoring their locations and is ready to yank all of them to safety. And Cledd will be transported into custody, most likely. President Okmyx might be difficult to deal with, but he will surely understand that Starfleet will require justice be served for his son's criminal acts. It will all be over.

And yet with every second that passes without her feeling the pull of the transporter, Kylah's fear remains.

Nia nods at Yommyx, distracted by her attempt to listen in on Rangin's side of the conversation. She has the sense that she'll be disappointing Zabo--their little playacting seems utterly unnecessary now. Not that he'd be disappointed to learn what a stun feels like, but nevertheless...

With a lift of her hand she thanks the underling and mutely tells him to stay put. Then she walks up to Rangin, eyeing him intently. "Well?" she mouths, waiting for a sign that something, anything, is going on. While she does, she pulls her communicator out. If it becomes necessary she wants Nguyen to be ready.

"Onn to Nguyen," she says quietly. "Are you tracking the other team's coordinates? They might need to be beamed out shortly. Any way you can identify where they are and how many Iotians are nearby?"

Graham, surveying the scene, replies evenly, but urgently.

"Two by two security teams, right now, front and back entry points to our location. If Yorktown detects small arms projectile fire stun everyone within 100 meters from orbit Now."

Rangin says to Onn, "He says he wants Security teams at his current location."

From the Yorktown, Nguyen reports, "Yes, they appear to be on the ground floor of a multistory public facility of some kind. There are several dozen Iotians around them." He pauses, and says, his voice rising, "There's hand-phaser fire nearby... now inside!"

Kylah, Graham and Morris hear the hum of phasers firing nearby, inside, perhaps from the lobby. In moments Jojo Krako and more than a dozen men, all in ersatz Starfleet uniforms, burst into the ballroom. Krako and four others are holding phaser-1s; the rest have pistols and Tommy guns. One of the mooks who tried to stop Jer Hako quickly reaches in his coat, but Krako stuns him and drops him.

"Everybody, hands up, now!" Krako shouts.

Rangin can hear the brief event through Graham's communicator and looks across at the others, "I think I just heard Krako's voice at the scene. Sounds like something very big is going down wherever they are. They are gong to need those two Security teams and if we are done here, we should be over there."

He waits for Lt, Onn to give the commands to get things moving.

As Nia takes in the sudden escalation of activity, her hand reflexively clutches the communicator until her knuckles turn pale. She stares at Rawlings and Rangin for two heartbeats before she snaps out to Nguyen: "Chief. I want you to get a lock on every person in the club who doesn't belong on this planet. Confirm that you can get our people out of there on my command. Meanwhile, be prepared to beam the four of us here as close as possible."

She opens a new channel, keeping Nguyen in the loop. "Onn to Vargas. Commander, there's phaser activity in the area of Graham's crew. Can you dispatch a pair of security teams as close to their current location as possible? We'll be joining them. I would rather beam them all out, but..."

But what? Why can't I get Book the hell out of there? Civilians, maybe, they might be in bigger danger. I just don't know... None of us have any fucking idea what is going on.

She takes a steadying breath. "...But if civilians might be endangered by taking our people to safety, I know they're our priority in a situation like this. We just don't know whether that's the case yet. Rangin has contact with Graham; hopefully he'll get us more info. But we're going there now as backup, along with any security officers you can send. Sir." Her tone changes. "Chief? Have you got them?"

While every second ticks away, she feels more tension building in her chest. She hisses to Rangin: "Is Graham still connected? Is he talking? Tell him we're working on beaming them out."

Kylah is staggered by this intrusion--and wonders how she could have possibly missed that so many angry men were right outside. She is glad her hand is down at her side now, since it lets her quickly slip into her sash for the communicator she put there earlier. At least she might be able to ask for help; if only as a backup should Mr. Graham be unable to make the request. Tucking the device tightly between her fingers and palm--hoping that it is relatively hidden in the dark club--she raises her arms slightly.

The phaser fire that drops the gangster makes her react physically, just as she felt it back on the Sakath station. Fortunately a stun is less jarring than the killing shots she inflicted on their mutated attackers. She winces but otherwise stands as still as possible. Her widened gaze flickers between Cledd Okmyx, this newcomer whom she recognizes from the mission dossier as Krako, and finally her teammates. What are Dr. T'Var and Mr. Graham up to?

Graham slowly raises his free hand while speaking casually and quietly into the communicator. "Krako is here with mooks in Starfleet colors, phasers."

Several people cry out in fear and panic when Krako and his mooks storm in; one woman in an elegant silvery gown faints to the floor.

Nguyen sounds stressed but cool. He says, "Scan shows one Vulcan and a bunch of other people - the human and Iotian genomes are just too close to differentiate, Lieutenant. There's another, uh, ambiguous lifeform reading there, too. Multiple phasers on the scene, although the firing has now stopped. I can beam you there whenever you wish. Standing by."

Vargas and Onn both hear Graham's very brief report. The First Officer says briskly, "Security is scrambling. All transporter rooms are now active. I can have two teams of six officers each beamed down in a minute or two. You're the landing-party commander on scene, Mr. Onn, or closest to it. What's your recommendation?"

Dr. T'Var and Morris have both stood and have raised their hands, as has everyone else in the ballroom except the fainted woman and Cledd. Kylah can see that T'Var's eyes are narrowed and she's weighing her options.

"You!" says one of Krako's mooks to Graham, pointing a phaser right at him. "Drop that communicator."

Cledd blusters, "What's the big idea, Krako? You got some nerve, busting in here like this."

"Got it, help on its way. Keep it on, we'll be listening." Rangin sets the communicator to broadcast, and mutes any noise from his end.

"Ma'am, I think Graham is going to be offline shortly. You won't get a lock on the group, other than T'Var, unless we can get close and spot pick them out individually." Rangin weighs up the options, and the time they have. "Frankly, we're the four who are ready. Two at the front..." Rangin nods at Garcia and Rawlings, "...two at the back." He nods at Lt Onn before continuing. "Also, if the have taken the main hall, kitchens will be the best place to take a look at them, through the galley doors. But we need to be there before they send someone in to clear them out."

"Only other thing I will say is that Krako didn't sound like he was going to do anything like this not that long ago, something has provoked him and we had better find out what."

"Drop it?" Graham asks incredulously. "I would think your boss Krako..." Otherwise still, he tilts his head just slightly in the direction of the head good, "Would like to get his hands on a working communicator, not a busted up one."

He shakes the communicator just slightly. "How about I lay it down on the table, nice and slow?"

Chief Nguyen's report is disappointing, to say the least. And disconcerting--an ambiguous reading? Just what the hell is waiting down there? A shapeshifter of some kind?

Being told the obvious by two people she's not exactly on great terms with, on the other hand, is enough for Nia's already growing frustration to boil over. Since she can't glare at Vargas, Nia lets Rangin have her irritated stare--her words are for both of them, anyway:

"If we can't get them out, yes, I want us there ASAP. And the Security teams too." if Vargas can be so kind to tell them to get their asses in gear. "But while Mr. Rangin's tactics are solid, it's news to me that the layout of this club is known to the Chief, to the point that we can be beamed near specific entrances. If so, great, let's proceed now. Otherwise, Chief, please beam us to whatever safe spot you sent Graham's team."

Her attention falls on Yommyx. Nia doesn't particularly care about the gangster, but she promised him safe passage and it's apparent that Krako's crew aren't to be trusted. Damn it. "Chief, belay that for a few more seconds," she says brusquely. "Something needs to be tidied up."

She jerks her head in a tight nod at Cledd's underling. "Your choice now, buddy. You wanna take your chances going out the door? Cledd's guys won't have a clue that you've helped us, but I know there are a few of Krako's team still lurking around, so it could be risky. Or we can beam you up to the ship for safekeeping. At least until the situation down here is resolved. Your decision, but make it fast--you have three seconds."

If Yommyx wants to stay, her job with him is done. If, however, he agrees to take shelter on the ship, Nia will ask Vargas and Nguyen to take care of him before the four Starfleet officers are beamed out.

Either way, she'll get in position, ready for transport.

Kylah gasps at the sight of the phaser aimed at Mr. Graham. Why would a group that worships the Federation be so hostile to someone who shows evidence of being either a fellow fan or the real thing?

She bites her lip. The real question is, how do they have access to a single phaser, much less multiple ones?

Collusion? Is it possible...?

"I know those weapons," she blurts, moving a fraction closer to Cledd. "They are only in use by the--by the outsiders. Like the ones who disappeared." Kylah's breathing quickens as she tries to maintain her anonymity, as much as she can, while accusing Krako. "Were you involved in that?"

The mook glances at Krako, who nods a fraction of an inch. "OK," says the mook to Graham. "Put it down on the table there, then, niiiiice and easy."

Yommyx, eyes wide and sweating profusely, looks like he's about to say something to Onn, then bolts for the door. It slams shut behind him.

"Clam up for a minute, honey, would ya, and let me talk to the man?" Cledd says to Kylah out of the corner of his mouth.

Krako saunters closer to Cledd as his men start disarming everyone in the ballroom. He says smugly, just loud enough for Cledd, Kylah and Yeg to hear, "That's Captain Krako to you, and the big idea, Cledd m'boy, is that you're done messing with the Federation - the real Federation. You and your dear ol' Pops are through. You kidnap their fellas, you steal their computer, you tell them a hundred lies - not good. Not good at all."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Cledd says with a wave of his hand.

Kylah can tell he's lying.

Krako shrugs. "So you say. Kirk thought he could trust your dad, but you've both proved him wrong. I'm the kind of partner the Federation needs - not your dad, and not you."

Graham lowers the communicator, very slowly and deliberately, to the table, leaving it open and transmitting.

He's mostly worried the mooks don't know how to operate a phaser and will accidentally incinerate rather than stun him - although he suspects they have had instruction from someone named "Morris" who's standing right nearby... The text... But he avoids glancing in his direction, deciding to keep his suspicion to himself for the moment.

Krako is focused on Cledd, and Krako's mook doesn't seem to realize the channel is still open. Rangin can hear vague crowd noises in the ballroom, although the communicator's microphone is too far away from Krako and Cledd for him to make out what they're saying.

Nia raises an eyebrow at Yommyx's decision, but only spares a brief second to think Yeah, good luck with that.

"All right," she says into her communicator. "The problem solved itself." Stupidly, but that's Yommyx's lookout. "Chief, please energize--either splitting us up using Rangin's suggestion or, if you don't know the Paramount's layout well enough, sending all of us wherever you sent Graham and the rest."

It strikes her for an instant that she and Rawlings are the only ones who haven't seen Krako--and vice versa, obviously. They might make a better pairing if they want to go in incognito and avoid being marked as a threat. Then, just as quickly as it came, she dismisses that thought. Double-T's gonna be considered a threat by anyone with a working set of eyes.

She sends a quick 'we got this' look of confidence, with a fleeting smile and nod, to all three of her team. Inwardly, she thinks: If one of you gets phasered 'cause of me I swear I'll go back to tightening lug nuts in Engineering.

Kylah does not react well to Cledd's dismissive order or Krako's presumption. Further, she knows she is useless here--the only purpose she can serve is as a distraction. Getting attention away from Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var is the only contribution she can make. I will only get stunned, she thinks optimistically.

She lifts her chin and steps forward. "If you admire the Federation so much, Mr. Krako," she says loudly, hiding the impossibly rapid beating of her heart, "You would not allow your underling to threaten that man, who is obviously from Starfleet. Anyone can see he is a law officer, and someone more experienced than you, regardless of your laughable costume. Your interference will not be appreciated. Certainly not if you hurt anyone."

Graham can't make out what's being discussed but is weighing the option of flipping the table and opening fire versus letting things play out...leaning toward the latter, since the civilians in the club and old fashioned slug throwing weapons won't mix well...

After he puts the communicator down, he tries to shift his eyes (and his head, just subtly enough) to catch T'Var's eye--and very subtly, just over the table, makes a "hold" spread finger gesture.

He can't hear details, but he sees Kylah step forward and raise her chin, speaking forcefully...

Lizzy squares her jaw and lifts her chin, marshalling her courage to challenge him, quenching her tears to tell him she's in the right and there's no way he can stop her from doing what he just tried to forbid....

His heart is breaking because this moment would never happen if he were a better father...

He's so proud his little girl is so strong, and so brave...

Nguyen says, "I found an empty room that's big enough for you four right there at the Paramount. Energizing... now."

Onn, Rawlings, Garcia and Rangin disappear into the transporter effect, tingling and seemingly weightless for a moment, and then reappear in a dressing room of some kind. Fancy women's dresses are on hangers along one wall, and there are large, brightly-lit mirrors along another, and several small chairs. No one else is in the room. You can hear nothing from outside.

Krako looks right at Kylah and smiles. "Starfleet, eh? So your pal didn't just pick up a spare communicator somewhere? Well, that's good. That'll save time. What's your name, sweetheart? And how many of these folks are with you? Him and who else?"

T'Var is tensed and appears ready to move but, seeing Graham's subtle gesture, she nods just as subtly and stands her ground.

Krako's mooks have disarmed just about everyone, including Cledd and Yeg, and are now approaching Graham's table.

Nia glances around, notes the dresses and shakes her head. "Not even gonna ask," she murmurs before lifting her communicator. First she contacts Nguyen to let him know they arrived safely, then adds a polite but firm request for Vargas to get backup as soon as possible.

After snapping her communicator shut and swapping it for her phaser, she nods to the Coridanite nearby. "Okay, Rangin, you're up. How far are we from the nearest people? And can you identify anyone now that we're close up? I guess the easiest to distinguish should be T'Var..."

She scowls in curiosity. Why not Kylah? She should also be sticking out like a sore thumb. Then again, maybe Elasians have more in common with other humanoids than Vulcans do. Or Sidonians, for that matter.

Biology not being her strong suit, she leaves that to Rangin and heads to whatever exit is in the room. She has no plan to leave yet, but she'd like to determine whether she can hear anything through the door or any crack. On her way she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror: the first time she's seen what she looks like in this retro getup.

Damn. Not too shabby, if I do say so. In other circumstances she wouldn't mind Booker seeing her in this sparkling, short, hilariously inappropriate but stunning dress. Her heart gives a thump at the thought of his being endangered somehow, and she sobers up at once. Knock it off. This ain't the place and it definitely ain't the time.

Kylah cannot help noticing the direction of the gangsters' interest, and she thinks wildly of a way to get their attention. Forget emulating Mother. Think of Elaan.

"How dare you!" she cries out, taking another step closer and slamming her hands on her hips. "I am no Federation member. And if I am 'with' anyone, I suppose it is him." She tosses her head at Cledd before aiming her ire back at Krako. "But only for the night, I would imagine. The truth is, that other gentleman invited me to join him on the way into the club, presumably because he is a man and I am..." Kylah lets her free hand run down the curves of her right side, ending with a slight flutter of her skirt. "...I am the sort to catch his eye. But once I saw Mr. Okmyx, he suited me better." Kylah again eyes Cledd before continuing.

"As for the possibility of more of those Starfleet aliens, for all you know, they are all around you. Or surrounding the building. Their flying ship might be overhead now, ready to snatch you into thin air and deposit you in empty space." Her voice is breathy, giving away some of her nervousness, but she forces more strength into it, warming to the idea of taking on her cousin's tempestuous, imperious nature. "How did I know he was Starfleet? He told me. And because I am not just a trinket for men's arms. I have learned to gamble, and cheat, and to... take things. Including, while we were dancing, some of his belongings. Which were very obviously real."

Kylah suddenly calls out to the men nearing Mr. Graham. "You fools are wasting your time. He does not even realize it, but while he was putting his hands on me, I took his weapon and... some other device I do not even recognize. If you want them, you will have better luck finding my purse and looking there."

She moistens her lips. She may have just lost her phaser and tricorder--but if it saves Graham from losing his weapon, the gambit was more than worth it. Please let him realize that! Not wanting to give her colleagues too much attention, Kylah returns to Krako. "I have my uses, as you see. Perhaps such skills would come in handy in your administration... if you were ever to get one, which I doubt." Kylah smiles briefly, hoping she will manage to avoid being stunned for a little while longer. "Ask me why, Mr. Krako."

Graham is momentarily utterly confused by what Kylah might be doing, in part because he can't hear everything she's saying, and in part not sure why she would go so far as almost physically assaulting Krako while unarmed.

Her shout about having stolen his own weapon to the approaching goons is audible, though, and gives him an option, albeit uncomfortable, to play for time.

He shifts his eyes only for a moment to T'Var, then makes a big deal of looking toward Kylah and then her handbag and tensing his body as if he'd jump at it--without actually moving.

"You--slut...bitch, you lifted my phaser off me?" he shouts.

Nguyen says from the ship, "Security teams now assembled, in position and ready to beam down, Lieutenant."

Rangin unlimbers his tricorder. "I have a Vulcan female lifesign out that way, and to the right," he soon says, pointing to the door. "About 20 meters away." He quickly develops a floorplan of the club - main ballroom, lobby, kitchen, casino, offices, performance stage, backstage, dressing rooms like this one, machinery, storage and other spaces - and shows Onn. "Where would you like them beamed down, ma'am?"

Krako seems amused, maybe even taken a little aback, by Kylah's little show. Everyone else is looking, too. "Uh... why?" he asks, smiling.

A mook comes closer to Graham but, seeing how Kylah's remarks and Graham's responding shout have changed the situation, hesitates.

Onn and her party, and Thalen and Nguyen aboard the Yorktown, clearly hear Graham's loud question over the open communicator channel.

"Good work, Ensign. And one second, Chief..." Nia leans over Rangin's shoulder, eyeing the tricorder. She points a finger at the screen and murmurs, "Let's go with the two rooms closest or adjacent to the ballroom--make sure they're empty first. We should split the teams into two and flank them, if possible. Ideally there are multiple access points..." She peers in closer, trying to see while simultaneously keeping her communicator close to her ear.

As a result, Booker Graham's words come through especially loud and clear. Nia jerks instinctively backward, eyes widening at the communicator as if she expects to see Booker's accusing face staring back at her.

"What the holy hell...?" she blurts, then hurries to mute the device. She swivels to gaze in astonishment at Rawlings. "You ever hear him talk like that? Far as I know the guy, I have a way fouler mouth than he does. And who could've got the drop on him so bad he'd--?"

They couldn't. No one could, not a guy with his instincts. I just don't see him...talking to a woman like that... She stops short, not sure how to finish that thought. "Is it a ploy? Or are things really that tense down there?" Nia shakes her head and mutters for Rangin to hurry up his search.

Graham does his best to glower like what he imagines an Iotian version of what a Feddy officer who'd been played for a fool would at Kylah, realizing at the back of his mind he'll find out soon enough if Morris is dirty if the guy gives up the fact that Kylah is Starfleet.

"Maybe you might want to deal with the real Federation and not some...two-bit...two-timing...hussy," Graham says in a warning tone toward Krako, with a meaningful glance at the nearby mook, straining to remember old-time Terran slang from vids and hoping he's not using some from, say the 22nd Century. Or the 12th...

He every so slightly tests his leg against the edge of the table, assessing the right target to stun first were he to flip it. He doesn't dare make it a big enough move to be certain T'Var would notice, but mentally keeps his fingers crossed.

Rawlings looks just as surprised as Onn. "No, that's a new one on me, Lieutenant. Not exactly typical of Mr. Graham."

Rangin frowns over his tricorder display. "There's a large group of people entering the nightclub. Uh... looks like they're armed."

Moments later, those in the ballroom are surprised to see a group of men in Twenties suits, all armed, emerge from a side door to the right of Krako and his men. In the lead are President Okmyx and his right-hand man, Kalo. They have the drop on Krako and his faux-Starfleet-uniformed men.

"Hey there, Krako," Okmyx says, grinning as he points a Tommy gun right at him. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Kylah whirls around at the onslaught of new gangsters, and the courage and confidence she wore temporarily while channeling her cousin stream out of her in a rush so fast she nearly drops to her feet.

She had been shocked by Mr. Graham's words, but knew he was only playing along with her charade. And if there had been time, she would have maintained her role as some manipulative, ambitious thief.

But instead, here is the President, someone who knows she is in Starfleet. There is no value in pretending otherwise. Her eyes signal dismay toward Mr. Graham. Somehow, she has failed him.

Still, she cannot help lashing out at Krako. "You asked how I know you will not be named 'captain.' It is because Starfleet, like me, knows the difference between a true officer and a fraud." She swivels to Kalo, dying to berate him as well, but she knows she must defer to Mr. Graham when dealing with a President, or even his right-hand man.

But she can make sure there is no bloodshed, at least not immediately. She steps in between the President and Krako. Foolish, but not so very much; she does not think Okmyx would dare harm her, and if Krako uses his phaser, he will only be giving Okmyx the best possible excuse to shoot him instead. Her breathing is rapid but she glares from Kalo to the president and back again.

Nia lets a particularly harsh Sidonian expletive fly--but only in her head--as she hears and sees the latest development and is assaulted by an attack of overwhelming insecurity. Why am I here? Why wasn't this a Security operation from the get-go? What the everloving fuck am I gonna do?

Endless internal whining isn't helping the situation. She backs up a step and takes as deep a breath as she can. Then she unmutes her communicator. "All right. Ensign Rangin, send the coordinates of those two adjacent rooms to Chief Nguyen. Chief, that's where you'll be beaming the two teams." With a lick of her dry lips, Nia tilts her head. "Cmdr. Vargas, I don't know if you've assigned a leader to each team. But if you have, or even if you haven't, I'd like one officer from each group to maintain contact with me throughout, with an open channel. Who should I expect?"

A thought strikes her. "Onn to Cheverez. Commander, can you get the ship's phasers set to stun? We all remember the Spock maneuver from our last visit with these goons. A love tap from the Yorktown might give them all the time-out we need." Our people too, but I'll take my chances. If they've done anything to Book or the rest...

"Lt. Thalen," she says after a hesitation. Her gaze shifts to Garcia, since she's about to enter into a topic dear to him. "You're on with us, right? Given what we've heard, Mr. Graham's communicator's been compromised. Please make sure he's kept out of the loop." It hurts to say that. Nia doesn't think he's been injured, even though his out-of-character behavior makes it seem as if he's had a concussion, but it's patently obvious someone's taken his device away, and possibly his phaser as well from the sound of it. "I'd like us to hear whatever's happening on his end, but nothing should be broadcast to his device. And by the way, can you tell if anyone else's communicator is in active use right now?"

She has a few more orders but she needs to give the others a chance to respond. While waiting, she mutes herself quickly and says to her teammates: "Guys, feel free to disagree--I want suggestions--but my instinct is for the four of us to go in first. I wanna see what the situation is before we call in the entire fleet. So to speak," she adds in a mutter. "If so, let's get moving. Rangin, you lead the way to get as close as we can without attracting attention."

"Mr. President," Graham says loudly and distinctly, speaking as much to the room as to whoever--hopefully for god's sake someone other than Rangin--is listening to his communicator. "Unless you and your men plan on using those Tommy guns to mow down Krako and his fake Feddies right now--possibly taking out a bunch of innocent bystanders and some real Federation officers in the process--may I suggest that you let the real Federation take charge of security in the room now, so you can have the, ah...civilized discussion I am sure you came to hvae, without anybody's trigger finger getting itchy."

Okmyx takes Kylah's hand and gallantly kisses it. "Ah, the lovely Ens. Kylah - we meet again! So good to see you. I guess you've already made my son's acquaintance. You left Syndicate HQ in such a hurry - we got your note, of course, but certainly would've appreciated a more... personal farewell."

Krako ignored Kylah's remark. He seems curiously unperturbed as Kalo and Okmyx's other men disarm him and his mooks, taking both phasers and guns. "Another Feddy, eh?" he says. "Good! They should know what you and your son have been up to, Bela."

"That's 'Mr. President' to you, buster," Kalo says, but Krako just rolls his eyes.

Rangin sends the coordinates to Nguyen, who soon reports, "We're beaming down the Security teams now. Ensigns Three Crows and Mahmoud will be commanding them." Moments later, both officers check in with Onn, saying they have arrived at the Paramount undiscovered and are ready to move when ordered. Rangin has shared the building's floorplans with them.

The Captain, from the Yorktown's Bridge high above, says, "Ship's phasers are set on stun for the entire nightclub, and locked on, Mr. Onn. Remember what I told you when I sent you down there, though. I'd prefer not to take such a heavy-handed approach, if possible, but of course you must use your best judgment. Mr. Thalen has remodulated the subspace connection with Mr. Graham's communicator so that you can hear him but he can't hear you." She pauses to talk to Thalen, and then adds, "No communicators other than yours, Three Crows's and Mahmoud's are now in use on the surface."

None of Onn's teams has any suggestions. "Sounds good to me, ma'am," Garcia says. They are all ready to move out. Rangin heads for the door.

"Thanks for the suggestion, pal," President Okmyx says offhandedly to Graham, "but this is my town, and I'm not feeling too itchy at the moment. How 'bout you, boys?"

There is a chorus of "No, boss" and the like. His mooks approach Graham, T'Var and Morris, guns leveled, to disarm them. At a nod from Okmyx, Kalo walks over to Kylah to do the same.

Kylah steps backward, unable to think of what to do but knowing she does not want Kalo near her. Contempt briefly wins over her fear and she spits out, "Do not even think of touching me, you lying lapdog!" Then she whips her head to face the president. "Why are you doing this? What can you possibly gain? Mr. Graham is right, the Federation--no, not even the whole Federation, just the Yorktown--can defeat you in mere seconds. I thought you wanted to be on good terms with us. Why destroy that now?" Frustrated, she aims her concentration from Okmyx to his son to Krako, hoping to catch some telltale emotion from any of them. "Why would you take the hostages in the first place if not for ransom?"

President Okmyx's mooks disarm the Starfleet officers. "Just a precaution, you understand," Kalo says apologetically. "This is a dicey situation." He doesn't seem to notice Graham's communicator on the table, still open and broadcasting.

"Honey, I didn't take the hostages at all," the President says to Kylah, waving a hand. "I got a good thing going with the Federation. I'm top dog of the whole damn planet. Why would I want to screw that up?"

Cledd glares at his father. "Oh, no, you don't, Pops," he says. "Enough's enough. You knew what was going on. You asked me to do it!"

The President protests, "That's not true! That's a lie! Why are you doing this, Cledd?"

Krako, looking on, crosses his arms and grins. "About time someone called you out for this, Bela - and your own son, too. Does my heart good to see the truth laid out there for all to see."

Kylah struggles with her psi powers. The room is a seething mass of mental impressions, all close by and most of them strongly-felt.

Nia confirms to Captain Singh that she's only asking for the ship's phasers as a last resort, but at the very end of her words, she's interrupted by the sound of Graham's voice, distant but forceful, emanating from the communicator.

His words put a tiny, fleeting smile on her face. "Nice one, Book," she murmurs before her expression darkens. After muting her communicator, she looks toward Rawlings. "This situation has rapidly turned into what my first captain liked calling 'a clusterfuck.' I may be a lieutenant, but I'm not gonna pretend I have more Security or Tactical experience than an Ensign who's specialized in that area. So if you see me making a decision that seems really stupid, or if you come up with a strategy that might be better, I am officially ordering you to speak up, and fast."

She sweeps her gaze across the others in the room. "Goes for you guys, too. I've got more years than either of you, but I'm not cocky. Speak up if you have to."

While she rapidly recalculates the situation as it apparently now stands, she gestures to Rangin to keep moving forward. As they walk, she has the opportunity to listen to the subsequent dialogue between what appears to be the president, Krako, and the much softer but bizarrely challenging voice of Kylah. At the latter, Nia is begrudging but impressed, and can't help but eye Rangin to see his reaction.

Then more voices. The guy Kylah seems to have called a lapdog, and then... Calling the president 'Pops'? That must be the son. Which is confirmed immediately. Damn, these guys don't trust anyone, do they?

She decides that the plan stays the same. She needs to see the layout with my own eyes and get a feel for the room. Worst thing that happens is, we're taken captive. But there are twelve more of us waiting in the wings.

"So what have we got," she mutters aloud, "three different factions... four, if you include our team... all confined in one room? Or are they?" Nia scowls and then orders everyone to stop moving for a second.

"Rangin, I need you to--no, skip that, I want your attention on the inside--Garcia, get your tricorder out. I don't wanna be surprised again by yet another frickin' batch of enemy troops sauntering in unannounced. Monitor the perimeter as best you can. You see any more groups of Iotians moving in? For that matter, are there any of the guys who seem to have been part of Okmys's group waiting outside?"

She flips on her communicator again. "Onn to St. Croix and Three Crows. Welcome to the games. This is a hot situation, especially given our remit to avoid too much power. Keep your teams absolutely quiet so you can monitor what's happening in the room. The only time you take offensive action is if I give the order--which might be a whisper, so hopefully you've got sharp ears--or if you hear non-Starfleet weapons going off in the vicinity. Then rush in and stun anyone you don't recognize. Even and especially if they're wearing a Starfleet uniform. Remember, all our people are undercover." Much good did it do us.

Unless anyone has any suggestions or warnings that put her off, Nia will make her way to the front of the group. She's the leader of this mission, and she's not letting Rangin enter the line of fire for her. "Just whisper the directions to me," she says while squeezing past him. Then, girding herself, she moves forward. "I always did like joining parties late," she murmurs. "That's how you make the best entrance."

Helpless, Kylah watches as her communicator disappears into Kalo's hands. A few seconds pass where she fights the instinct to burst into hysterical laughter. How many communicators has she lost or had destroyed now? Three? Four? This must be a record for a Communications officer.

The power struggle among the three main players forces her to remain fixed in reality, even though the confusion from such a barrage of warring emotions threatens to cause another breakdown, like the one in the lobby of the Syndicate building.

She feels surrounded, because she is. She cannot even see her fellow officers across the room, not with Kalo, Krako, Cledd and Okmyx all crowding her. Of course, the men are not paying attention to her; she is merely the fool who shoved herself into this position by trying to protect Krako.

I must concentrate. At least one of these people is lying. Which? She looks from one man to the next before deciding she must take another risk if she is to cut out the interference from a ballroom full of people and, particularly, the fierce emotions from the men immediately nearby. She must touch one of them.

Cledd is a useless target; they already know he performed the kidnapping, and Kylah has already determined that his emotions are turbulent and angry. Nothing to be gained from him. Krako seems to be eliminated as well, unless he somehow manipulated Cledd behind the scenes.

That seems to leave the President. But Okmyx is well-guarded, she learned that back at his building. It must be skin to skin contact; she will need all the access she can get.

Swallowing, she reaches toward the President's wrist, slowly and carefully. "You say your bond with the Federation remains intact," she begins while attempting to make the physical connection. "If--if you are a man with any honor, Mr. President, you will uphold the custom of the era from the Book you so admire. Please shake my hand to prove you intend to uphold that bond. A--And tell me that you truly wish good relations with us. Tell me you did not arrange for the kidnapping."

Graham's about to poke at the implication Cledd's being used (deliberately) as the fall guy--one because seems like it may be true, but two to buy time and get what he hopes is a serious ass Security team on the way more information--when Kylah reaches out her hand to the president.

He can't for the life of him...

Holy fuck is she going to use Elasian tears...

He's torn for a moment between realizing as acting mission leader he might be the one to bring court martial charges--but intervening now without getting her hurt or worse is a hell of a tall order...

He shuts his eyes just for a moment. She's asked you to trust you. You've said you do.

He looks attentively but remains silent.

Garcia runs a tricorder scan and says, "I see no other people on the premises or approaching the nightclub other than those we already know about, ma'am. There are four armed men outside on the sidewalk by the main entrance, but of course there's no way to tell which Iotian faction they're affiliated with."

Three Crows and Mahmoud (St. Croix has not beamed down, as far as Onn knows) quietly acknowledge their orders.

Rangin shows Onn the Paramount's floorplan, and she leads him, Garcia and Rawlings through a dimly-lit, empty hallway to a side door of the main ballroom. It is unguarded from the outside, although Onn can see, through a small, frosted-glass window, the back of a man with a Tommy gun just a meter or so inside. She can see very little beyond him, other than some white-covered tables and two Iotians, a man and a woman, with their hands raised.

President Okmyx hesitates for a moment. He glances around, sees that his mooks have established complete control over the ballroom, and then takes Kylah's hand. She feels a wave of his emotions wash over her, and almost gasps. She senses his powerful ambition, his new distrust of and deep disappointment in his son, and the dark, steady undercurrent of his determination, even ruthlessness. He is much like his son in that, she sees. "I didn't," he says firmly. "By The Book, I swear I didn't." It is difficult at first for her to judge his truthfulness through the floodtide of psionic impressions she is getting.

Graham watches and listens. Kylah, he can tell, is obviously deeply affected by whatever is happening between her and the President.

Perspiration beads beneath Kylah's curls, and the rush of emotions surging within her creates a swell of nausea, but she keeps to her feet. She meets the President's gaze for a few lingering seconds, then uses her other hand to sandwich his own between her fingers, increasing the connection. Though she pretends this is just a way to show gratitude, she actually hopes that the increased connection will reward her with the truth.

Whatever she receives from Okmyx, she will turn next to Krako. Of course, he knows she lied to him; why would he respond at all to a similar request for a vow? He claims to be a true believer...

Kylah releases Okmyx's hand, very glad to do so, and extends it toward Krako. "And you, Mr. Krako? You may mistrust me due to my earlier ruse. But--but you know now that I am indeed a Starfleet officer." Her voice sounds hoarse and she clears it, then forces herself to continue. "I apologize for the falsehood, but it was necessary.

"The President has made it clear that I am an Ensign in Starfleet. I wear the real version of the uniform you have fabricated--a uniform you profess to admire and honor. Only moments ago, in performing my duty, I put myself in between you and the President. Either one of you could have killed me, but I did so to protect you."

She extends her hand toward his. "In recognition of that, and of the high esteem in which you hold the Federation and Starfleet, will you shake my hand as well, and pledge on your loyalty to our values and ideals that you had nothing to do with the kidnapping?"

Nia grimaces at hearing Mahmoud's voice. Have to apologize later for that screw-up. Where'd I get St. Croix from? She shakes the error away and thinks for a moment. Can't see anyone she recognizes nearby. Can hardly see anything, really. What next?

Nia's been listening in as best she can to the conversation in the ballroom, and though Kylah is barely audible, it's obvious she's trying out some kinda ploy with both the president and Krako. Yeah, not too confident there. Given her track record, she'll probably cause a bloodbath.

Speaking of which: if Nia's team all walk in, with or without phasers drawn, they gain literally nothing except captivity and/or gunfire. After her own close-up-and-personal experience with those outdated weapons, Nia knows that despite their obsolete nature, being shot with one of them will hurt now as much as it did on ancient Earth.

There's also the little issue that Krako will recognize Rangin and Garcia. Will he give them away? She makes a quick decision before leaning in close to Rangin: "I'll go in first," she mouths. "Only three people in there know me, and I can pretend to be some lost guest or something. How close is T'Var to us?"

Even as she talks, she makes sure her communicator is still on and, without any pretense at modesty, lowers her dress's decolletage to tuck the device deep into her cleavage. Ouch. Shit. For the thousandth time she vows to work with Engineering to invent a more portable and unobtrusive device, because this is just clumsy as hell, not to mention uncomfortable. Stop bitching, she thinks grimly. I've had worse poking down around there.

When through, she lowers her head slightly and murmurs: "Testing. Mahmoud. You hear me?"

Waiting for Rangin's answer, not to mention Mahmoud's, Nia tries to remember if there was a ladies' room or anything she can use to explain her whereabouts for the past ten minutes, if she were just a regular guest.

Before she releases her grip on the President, Kylah at last senses his truthfulness: he did not order or authorize the kidnapping of the Starfleet Civil Affairs Group. He still has many secrets, and he is no saint, not at all - but in this, at least, she is convinced he isn't lying.

Krako takes her hand with greater reluctance, but he does it, and she at once perceives that he is lying... somehow. The President did not order the kidnapping, but neither, it seems, did Vice President Jojo Krako. It is very strange. Krako is playing a deeper game of some kind; there is something more going on in his mind that Kylah cannot see - yet, or ever? He has more guile and is more clever, she thinks, than either Okmyx.

Rangin nods in response to Onn. He checks his tricorder. "T'Var is about ten meters away, just to your left as you go in."

Mahmoud's muffled voice responds, "Just barely, Lieutenant. Is something blocking your transmission?"

Onn remembers that there are several ladies' rooms on the premises.

Kylah tightens her grip on Krako's hand, just as she did with Okmyx. She tries to look over his shoulder to catch Mr. Graham's attention, then returns her focus to the vice president.

"You take my hand but do not answer me, sir," she says quietly, her eyes seeking his to understand--at least attempt to understand--what is going on. "Will you swear on your faith in the Federation and its principles that you were not responsible for the kidnapping of the CAG members? Or have any involvement in the act, other than the attempt to find them?"

Nia almost smiles at Mahmoud's question. "Yeah, a couple things might be in the way," she mutters dryly. "Hang on." This time she turns around, aware that just because she's comfortable doesn't mean the others are. While one of them has seen far more than she's putting on display now, all three are from different cultures from her own. No sense in risking any distraction.

Reaching beneath the thin straps of her dress and the gossamer-like layer of what passes for 1920s-era undergarments, she takes hold of her breasts and lets her hands do what a proper bra should--separate them and provide a little breathing room. Once things are readjusted, the communicator should have a bit more space, which make her more comfortable both physically and mentally. "Hope that's better, Fariz, 'cause it's as good as it's gonna get. Like I said before, keep your ears peeled."

She moves back to Rangin and the others and again leans in to issue her order. "Go around the corner so you're not immediately visible from that entrance. Once I go out, I wouldn't be surprised if a guard takes a quick look to see if anyone's hiding here. I'll follow Graham's lead and try to narrate what's going on so you know when it's safe. Got it?"

Even as she speaks, she's trying to psyche herself up into character while bearing in mind Rangin's directions. Ten meters to the left, okay, hopefully that's doable. Also hope Book is nearby. Backing up and mussing her hair a little--and calming down so that none of her scales should be in evidence--she will wait until Rangin, Garcia and Rawlings have retreated to a less visible position before beginning her scheme.

Krako clears his throat and says, "I had nothing to do with it. I love the Federation - I'm not the old fart clinging to The Book and standing against the wave of the future." Kylah is now sure he's lying.

Mahmoud replies to Onn, "Uh, my first name is Faisal, but yes, that's clearer. Thank you, ma'am."

Rangin nods. "Understood, ma'am." He and the others move away.

The impact of her perception is such that Kylah gives a start and nearly bumps into the someone behind her--she does not know if it is Cledd or his father--though her hand is still clasped in Krako's. She is this close to voicing the words You are a liar! before she catches herself. There is more here that she does not understand. Why does Krako seem so... undefeated? Does he have no fear from Okmyx at all? Or Cledd? Is he that secure in the Federation's support?

And what role did he play in the kidnapping? Okmyx is--in this instance, anyway--innocent. So why would Cledd falsely accuse his own father, whom he supposedly idolizes? Is it possible that he genuinely believes that his father ordered the attack? I am out of my depth, she thinks, suddenly claustrophobic. There are too many possibilities...

She realizes she has stared at Krako too long, he must see the accusation on her face, even if she has not voiced it. She blinks and looks down for a second, as if nodding, and just murmurs "I see," before pulling back in an attempt to try one last gambit with Cledd.

Oh goddammit to hell, what is wrong with me? Nia murmurs an apology of sorts to Mahmoud and makes a mental note to arrange some special treat for the guy with Ajay. But it's not like her to make this many mistakes, not something as basic as a person's name or even which person she's supposed to be talking to.

She takes a deep breath and again remembers that tonight is her restoration night, and that she left her inhaler behind in the rush to take Collins's place in the mission. Well, that explains her less than tip-top brain performance, but it's not comforting. She doesn't have time to check the time--ironic, that--but she estimates that if this mission lasts any longer than three or four hours, she's screwed.

She empties those disquieting thoughts from her head and focuses on the here and now. And right now, she puts herself into the mindset of some gangster's bimbo who got zonked from too much alcohol. Backing up as far as possible to give herself room, she starts forward, her heels clattering in an irregular pattern as she stumbles through the corridor to the entrance. A sloppy laugh escapes her lips as she starts humming some old sailor's tune Ajay taught her two years and a million miles ago. About a meter from the door she lets the words lazily escape her lips.

"La da da dah da, da la, di dah dah...
La...da... blow the man down..."

She lets herself trip and lean against the doorway, eyes closed but her mouth smiling wickedly as she continues,

"A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet,
Give me some time to blow the man down!"

Again she laughs and this time she steps into the ballroom, one hand pushing her heavy coil of hair back. Almost to herself, she says, "Better gimme some darn music too before all that blowing!"

With a giggle, Nia moves toward the left for a few tottering steps before opening her eyes. "Seris--sero--seriously," she slurs, "Why's it so quiet? I can't've slept through last call alread--"

As soon as she finds the first man with a gun--probably not vary far in--she stops. Though her lids open and shut heavily, in between blinks she takes a sharp measure of whatever she can see. Her seemingly aimless gaze turns to the table directly to her left, searching.

"I couldnt'a been out that long! Where's my honey at?" she says while trying to pick out T'Var or Graham. If she does, she'll squint, shrug, then move on until she stops at one of the muscle men. "You look like an observant guy, you seen anyone who looks like--What... holy cow, mister, what's up with all the guns?"

With tipsy dignity she tries to pretend to stand up straight, not successfully, her chest in nice display during the process. She lets her lips form a worried pout before she leans to the gunman and says in a loud whisper: "What'd I miss? This a game or somethin'?"

Graham is reconciling himself with the fact that the best gameplan seems to be let whatever mojo Kylah is working play out while the cavalry arrives, when....

Holy hell this cannot be happening.


Captain I have an urgent message from Ens. Graham. He wants his girlfriend beamed down alone and unarmed, mostly naked, preferably drunk, in proximity to a room full of armed men.

Rangin's that vicious but the Captain's not that stupid...

Rangin stands quietly with the other guards trying his best not to let the situation and his generally conflicting emotions override his normal good sense. Although it appears that Lt. Onn's sense have temporarily left her, but as she is in charge, it's her call.

While standing in the quiet, his mind casts back over the conversations that emanated from the communicator, the comments that could be picked up. While he was dealing with the tricorder, he could concentrate on the task and do what was necessary. Now, with nothing to do to distract him those words keep coming back...

"You--slut...bitch, you lifted my phaser off me?"

It seems that Kylah is multi-talented in stealing all-sorts of things if she needs to. Of course, it raised the question of what they had been doing in the club, given Graham's over-bearing protectiveness towards her, even if it is a charade. Of course, it appears that whatever Kylah was up to, she had decided to hold court in the middle of the room. He couldn't fault her balls in what she was doing. Maybe she had stolen those from Graham as well.

And now, all he can do is wait for whatever is about to go down...to go down.

Krako lets Kylah's hand go unhesitatingly. He looks upset.

The mook closest to the door whom Onn passes looks her up and down appreciatively, then realizes that President Okmyx is scowling at him. In fact, every eye in the room is now on him and Onn. The mook stammers, "Uh, no. No game, lady. You, uh, wanna sit down?" He pulls out a seat for her at a nearby table, about three tables over from Graham, T'Var and Morris.

Rangin and the other Starfleet personnel in the building can hear pretty clearly what's going on in the ballroom, from the combined open channels of both Onn's and Graham's communicators.

Nia backs away from the gangster. "I've been lyin' down too long. Besides I was with my baby, he was just..." She gestures vaguely to her left, closer to the stage. "Well, I left him right there, an' he promised he'd wait for me. I don't mean any harm, Mr. cutie, I'll be quiet!" Lifting a finger to her mouth, she attempts to tiptoe closer to her colleagues. "I'll just find him and..."

Her gaze falls on the clump of people where the main action is. Of course she recognizes Kylah and Okmyx right away, and Krako after a second. The other beefy man looks an awful lot like the president, which probably makes him the son. Nice company you're mixed up with there, kiddo, she thinks while sending a frowning look at Kylah that, she hopes, serves as a warning to keep quiet. Then she turns her full attention to Okmyx Sr.

"Ohmygosh," Nia blurts in awed delight. "It's him! The Boss! And... and that's the Veep himself, too, ain't it? Now that explains all the heavy artery! I mean artliterary." She pouts and, frustrated, points out each syllable on her fingers. "Ar--till--er--y." When she successfully gets the word out, she sends a brilliant smile toward Okmyx before tilting toward the nearest female guest. "He's even better in person, isn't he, honey?"

As if just noticing that the majority of the people in the room have their hands lifted to the air, Nia makes an exaggerated version of surrender and flaps her hands. "Sorry, Mr. President, sir, don't worry 'bout me. I'll just... you boys go about your business and I'm just gonna be over... I'm gonna..." She swivels toward her crewmates' direction, not stopping on anyone but keeping her stare at T'Var for two seconds before leaning heavily against the near table and holding her stomach. "Oh, I'm gonna be sick."

The intrusive, tipsy woman from over by Mr. Graham's part of the room briefly catches Kylah's attention. She cannot help a tiny curl of her lip in distaste before her brain catches up with her eyesight.

Why... that... that is Lieutenant... For a moment the name escapes her--they have rarely been on the Bridge at the same time--but the truth of the situation does not. This must be an act. When the older woman glares at her, Kylah is certain it is some kind of message, but does not know what is being asked of her. Given the bizarre way the senior officer is behaving, however, Kylah doubts the lieutenant wants to be acknowledged.

Which is fine, and in fact, the distraction is more useful than anything Kylah could have devised. She does not want Krako to notice her sudden need to talk to Cledd.

She swiftly moves to the younger Okmyx, reaching out to him. "Please, Cledd. Mr. Okmyx," she amends in a rushed whisper. "I am sorry for having deceived you earlier, but I must know--I must ask you--do you genuinely believe your father ordered the kidnapping?"

"Hey," Graham says to the mook nearest him, with a quick glance at T'Var. "We're gonna help the lady, all right? Nice and slow. No harm in that, you've got our phas-- er heaters, all right?"

The President seems irritated. "Meno, take her to the powder room. If she has to barf, let her do it there."

"Right, Boss," says the mook to whom Onn first spoke. He reaches for her upper arm. "C'mon, honey. Let's go."

The President snaps his fingers and points to Graham. "And you! Stay where you are."

While his father is distracted, Cledd says quietly but firmly to Kylah, "Of course he did. He ordered me to do it." He sounds bitter. "He wants the Feddies to decide we're not worth the trouble, and to go away and leave us alone... the old fool. But he's my Pop, and I gotta do what he says."

Nia shrugs in an attempt to slip out of the man's grasp. "Get your paws off me, buster. You're not as cute as I thought up close, and I got some standards." She takes a deep breath and holds herself as straight as possible. "I just need some coffee, that's all. Maybe just water or something fizzy. Maybe I wouldn't be so woozy if you guys weren't packing all that heat. I mean, look at all of you!"

She sends her gaze around to make a quick calculation of the gunmen in the room, planning to repeat the number for the sake of the various audiences listening to her. While she counts she keeps a quiet ramble going, loud enough for her side of the room to hear but probably--hopefully--not anyone all the way near Okmyx.

"Geeze, I thought the Boss's kid ran a respectable joint. Girl can't even get a little loopy without having some musclebound creep wanna toss her out like a rotten tomato. He doesn't even know what kinda dame he's dealing with. That guy over there," she adds, lazily giving Booker a meaningful but brief glance. "Now, he's a gentleman. He pays attention to what a girl really needs."

Returning to her count, she shakes her head, trying her hardest to seem casual while she leans against the wall, talking almost as if to herself. "But I don't even need some handsome stranger. I got lotsa guys who'd be happy to take care of me. Could name six right off the bat--no, twelve. Hell, I bet I could just snap my fingers and fifteen'd be here like that, right on command. That's the sorta dame I am. I mean, look at me, you think someone'll say no when I tell 'em to jump? Damn straight they don't. And they won't even ask how high, they ask 'how long you want me to stay in the air, Toots?'"

A giggle escapes her lips, and she aims a sleepy look at Booker. "Yeah, this guy's the same, I bet he'd give me what I need," she says, as if not realizing she's talking aloud, then rests her head back against the wall. Her lids are lowered and she probably appears to be nearly asleep, but she's still sweeping the room, continuing her count to double-check that she hasn't missed anyone. "Yessiree, all I gotta do is say the word. I can make 'em do anything, and I'll make it pretty fun for them too... Just need the right signal, and especially the right time, and that's when the fun begins..."

Nia lets her words fall into a meaningless mumble. She just prays Booker understands the info about the backup team she's passed along and--most important--what she needs his help with. Meanwhile, she thinks she's counted all the men with guns and, if she has, she'll find a way to get it to her team.

Kylah tries her best to ignore whatever is going on with the Sidonian officer and the president. She must focus entirely on Cledd, and she presses herself closer to him, forgetting modesty, forgetting her fear of being touched. "Yes, Cledd, I understand family loyalty too, believe me. You must do what your father says," she repeats, "But did he say it? That is... did he say it? To your face? Because I truly do not think he wanted this. I..." She takes a deep breath and says in an exhale, "I know he did not."

Before he can interrupt her, Kylah rests her hands atop his muscular chest, over his heart, standing even closer to him now than when they were dancing earlier. "I believe someone gave you false information. Introduced you to this scheme, claiming the order was from your father. All in an attempt to turn the Federation against you. To push us into taking power away from your father and giving it to--to someone else. Is that possible?" Urgently her fingers grasp his lapels as she stares deeply into his eyes, trying to read him. "Is it, Cledd?"

Rangin just stays quietly outside listening in and waiting...

Onn counts eight men, including the President, who are armed and there in the ballroom. Everyone else has been disarmed.

"You heard the man. You need some fresh air, toots," the mook says, taking her arm.

Cledd says, "He told me to do it. He ordered me to. I just did what he said." Kylah is certain that he's lying, no matter how fiercely he says it.

Shaking her head, Kylah lets go of Cledd. "I do not know if you lie because you are ashamed," she says softly, "or because you have colluded with Mr. Krako. But you are lying, and I think you are following a fool's path by doing so."

She turns around to see how Lt. Onn is faring with what appears to be a pretense of drunkenness--at least, she hopes it is a pretense--and notices the gangster take hold of her crewmate. She has literally no idea what Lt. Onn is doing here, or why she is behaving the way she is, but there must be a reason for it, and she doubts it will be helped by some thug grabbing her and taking her off alone. After her own experiences with men, the thought makes Kylah ill herself.

Alarmed, she swiftly moves to Okmyx's side. "Sir, please stop that man. There is a better way to deal with this. You remember meeting our doctor, Dr. T'Var. She has a simple medical tool, called a hypospray, that will take only a few seconds to make this woman feel better." Her words are urgent but deferential. "It is actually quite remarkable to see--it was new technology to me as well, only three years ago."

An idea strikes her. "In fact, we--we might even be able to arrange for you to keep it, if Dr. T'Var can instruct some medical professional on how to use it properly. Or at least we might send you one ourselves. I do not know if that would be allowed, so I must not make any promise, but I do know cooperation is always rewarded." Kylah bites her lip in quick thought. "Think how useful it would be for someone in your... your line of business. You must have associates or friends who get injured, or intoxicated. As I said I cannot promise that such technology would be traded, but... but at the least, it will show you how much science and technology can offer you, even more than The Book has revealed. Is it not an amazing power to have? The ability to make the injured or sick well again?"

She lowers her voice to a mere whisper. "If it means anything to you, Mr. President... I genuinely believe what you told me. I will not let your reputation or relationship with the Federation to be harmed by this underhanded attempt to wrest your power from you, using our citizens as pawns. So..." Kylah looks swiftly back at Lt. Onn and the gangster, then at Mr. Graham and Dr. T'Var, before returning to Okmyx. "So will you do me this favor? It disturbs me to see a woman mishandled... I have been treated that way, and it is... I do not like it. Please, let our doctor help?"

Graham does his best to look pissed off, which isn't hard given the president snapping his fingers at him like a dog and some shithead goon about to lay his hands on Nia....

He takes a deep breath and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, letting all the defiance drop from his face and resignation set in. Hands still up slightly, he slides down the wall into a seated position, lowering his head glumly, while stating in low voice as if he's mumbling curses and imprecations under his breath:

"8 bogies, from my position, at..." and adding clock coordinates and distances as best he can judge and jumping off Nia's cue to count the armed bad guys in the room.

I could kiss your right now. Except you're a goddamned pilot so who the hell set you down here in a neglige, for god's sake...

"Yeah?" says Bela Okmyx, looking shrewdly at Kylah. "OK, sweetheart, I'll take a chance." He raises his voice. "Meno, leggo. That other lady there is a doctor, a Feddie doctor. Let her come over to... our latest visitor." The President gestures to Dr. T'Var, who looks at him, then at Onn.

"May I take my bag over to her?" the Vulcan asks the Iotian leader after a moment's thought. "It may be useful."

"Sure," Okmyx says. His eyes narrow. "But if you go for a weapon, all bets are off."

"Understood," T'Var says, with a nod. She picks up her bag and walks over to Onn. Meno remains nearby, within earshot. "Are you all right... miss?" the doctor asks the Sidonian.

Kylah lets her tension out with a deep, ragged sigh. "Thank you, sir," she says, and watches Dr. T'Var with Lt. Onn. Throughout all this she has not paid much attention to Lt. Morris--and, she must admit, she is surprised that none of the gangsters seem to have acknowledged his presence. She eyes the remaining CAG member with interest, wondering what is going through his mind.

Of course, she is much too far away to pick his emotions out from among those of the many present here, in such high-tension circumstances. Still, she has not spoken to him or even been near him since before Cledd arrived, and she is curious how he is reacting to all these revelations. He probably has no idea who Lt. Onn is either.

Then she straightens slightly. Why is Lt. Onn here at all? Where is the other team? Why has she been sent instead of Lts. Garcia and Collins, or Ensign Rangin?

Has something happened? As far as she can remember, the last time she had heard of them, they were somewhere outside the apartment with the guards and hostages. Did everything go as planned? Surely we would have been told if he... if they did not succeed. After all, they were being 'helped' by Krako's men. What if they were betrayed?

A resentful gaze at Krako gives her little satisfaction. She wants to demand an answer about what he knows but decides she had better wait until Lt. Onn has completed whatever bizarre scheme she is undertaking. It must be a raid of some kind. But with only one person? Maybe there are others... and they could be here any moment?

The thought comforts her--at first--until she realizes her own position is not ideal. She is the standing among the various suspects, which puts her in the line of fire. "Perhaps I should return to my crewmates," she murmurs under her breath as she tries to edge away, avoiding the President and his son but unable to prevent another wary look at the would-be 'Captain' Krako.

Nia is about to go limp so that the goon will find her a much less easy burden to pull from the room when the President gives his new order. She nearly laughs and wonders how T'Var managed that one. Did she make some signal to Okmyx? Either way, it's a relief and she lets herself smile at the Vulcan now leaning toward her. "Wow, that's convenient. And a female doctor, for real? That's a new one on me," the pilot says with hidden amusement.

Nia suddenly hears Booker's voice--quiet as it is--emanating from her bra, and abruptly she covers her chest with one hand, pretending to be a little modest around a medical person. It doesn't escape her that the guard is only a few feet away. In an effort to cover the noise even further, she continues to babble softly but persistently.

"But yeah, to answer you, I'm okay, honest. Just, y'know... spacey, you might say. I think I got some bad liquor. My guy brought it with him in a flask, I mean. I'm not sayin' this place would serve anything but top-notch stuff. Anyway I could just use a pick-me-up, honestly. You got something like that? Hot sauce, tomato juice and vodka, that helps, that's what my pal Andy says, and he knows his way around a bar cart." Feeling a little prankish, she adds lightly, "You should meet him, I bet you'd get along. You seem like his type." She flashes a wicked grin then lets it go. "Then again, you were with some pretty good-lookin' fellas. Maybe I could join you once you're done working your magic."

She can't feel any vibrations from the communicator in her chest, so she suspects Graham's message is done with. Pleased that from what little she heard, Booker's communicated the information she needed to, she also wonders if he caught her message about the teams she has waiting in the wings for the go command. She'd really prefer he make that particular call, and hopes he caught that, too.

Meanwhile, as T'Var does whatever placebo work she plans on doing, Nia scans the situation in the center of the room. She doesn't like the lay of the land. She's annoyed to see that Kylah's in completely the wrong place--as usual. Geeze, it's like she has literally no sense of self-preservation. Or worse, she just sabotages everything because she can. She's missed her calling, she should've been a Klingon spy. Wouldn't even have to report back or anything, just go on a mission and fuck it up. Best mole ever.

She needs to warn the others that little miss troublemaker is in the way. "I don't see what's so special about that girl all those bigwigs are swooping around," she murmurs, feigning both exhaustion and jealousy while her mind races for a way to convey the information of the setup to the crew. "Must be some hotshot singer or something? All those bigwigs near her... like she's royalty, maybe, if we had that kinda thing here. Always liked lullabys or fairy stories." She hums a quiet, breathy tune, lowers her chin, and softly sings directly into her cleavage:

"The foreign princess came to see
the King in his own yard.
The fearsome Prince was there, as was
the Captain of the guard."

Not the most obvious of codes but surely one of the crew will pick up the references, especially since they know she's not just singing for her own amusement. Garcia's the code expert, he might get it. Or Thalen. Rangin's clever with words too, maybe more than is good for him. Well, I did my best.

Nia shuts up and waits to figure out her next move.

Cledd seems to reach a point of decision. He suddenly says, "No, just stay here, doll," takes Kylah's arm and doesn't let go. She senses his mind in turmoil, analyzing the situation and angrily trying to figure out what to do next. She catches just a telepathic glimpse of his reaction to Krako, and it hits her: they are secret allies. Cledd has betrayed his father for an alliance with Krako. But why?

Onn hears Thalen say faintly from her concealed communicator, "Understood, Mr. Onn. Security teams, prepare to move."

T'Var checks Onn's pulse, eyes and ears, and palpates her neck. "Shall I scan you?" she asks very quietly, "or would it be better to leave my instruments in the bag?"

"Acknowledged," Nia murmurs to Thalen before responding to T'Var. "Give 'em a show, doc," she says, matching T'Var's soft voice. "As long as whatever you use doesn't look like it's a weapon--that makes me wary about a scan. But otherwise, impress the crowd. No need to be medically accurate, I'm right as rain, I promise."

Except for the slight Bilitrium deficit she's been feeling, but she knows T'Var can't do anything about that. And it's hardly worth mentioning anyway.

While the doctor does her thing, Nia takes another visual sweep to see if any of the guests look like they could be unexpected trouble--well-dressed or not, this is literally a tough crowd and some of the crowd could be getting antsy--when her attention is caught by an odd jerky movement by Kylah. Did the ensign just stop short for some reason? Nia can't see Kylah's entire body from her position so she's not sure. She decides she'll leave it up to Booker. No doubt he's keeping an eye on the lamb loose among the big bad wolves.

Dismissing Kylah for now, she casually checks the two entrances from where the Security officers should emerge. Are they all being guarded by the goons?

dp

Kylah's skin crawls both from repulsion and from the increased sensitivity to Cledd's heightened emotions. That he is allied with Krako is but a confirmation of her suspicions; the lack of a motivation is more troubling--and most troubling of all is the sense that he is a greater danger as long as he is this much on edge.

She tries to remain calm. The ship can beam me away at any time, she reminds herself. Of course, with her communicator gone, she has no Federation technology on her to make her easily identifiable as Starfleet. But that should not matter! They found me on Anubis, and they had an entire planet to search!

Then she remembers how that came about. My zither. Velir only found me because of my zither. Her confidence sinks. And she realizes she cannot recall if Cledd kept his gun or if his father's men took that away as well.

She will have a bruise if he keeps his fingers clenched around her arm. But that is the least of her worries. She is even afraid to show Mr. Graham that she is in distress--she fears how he might react to seeing her mishandled; he could end up hurt himself. The only other potential ally nearby is the President. But not only is he an unreliable ally at best, it is also possible that he will side with his son, no matter what. Kylah has never experienced a parent that loyal, but she knows many exist.

So she can only address Cledd himself. "You are making things worse," she whispers. "If--if Krako offered you some position of power in return for the kidnapping, he was lying. He was using you, do you not see that?"