Star Trek RPG - Mission #3: "Some Other Side of Paradise"

Graham clenches his jaw. Well, here goes.

"Look," he says to Kylah, trying to moderate his professional voice and sound like a friend, even though he feels sure he does not have standing with her as friend. "We all want to get the job done, however we can. But with men--ah, men like Fastolfe, or this Jan character--you don't have to throw yourself at them."

He pauses. That's the Starfleet officer advice part, he thinks. He wonders about stopping there: she's not your daughter, Booker, and even if she were, she's a grown woman and as long as it doesn't interfere with her duties she's as free as anyone to have whatever she considers a good time.

Then he reflects on the last couple days: does it seem like she's been having a good time?

"And you shouldn't," he adds, more quietly.

The air freezes in Kylah's lungs when Graham mention's Jan. And she feels as if she'll never take another breath again when Graham accuses her of throwing herself at him. And Fastolfe? What can he mean? Fastolfe took her visit the wrong way, but Graham was the one who suggested she go to him. And he cannot know what happened.

Nor can Graham know anything about Jan other than that they went to dinner. And that she was in his hotel room, yes, but that is not... Velir told me they ran into him at the nightclub, but Jan said nothing... Velir promised me Jan said nothing!

"I have no idea what you mean," she whispers, exhaling at last. "I do not throw myself at anyone. Why would you think that? How did I--do you think because I defended Lord Fastolfe I was attempting to--to seduce him? I was doing as I was told, you told me to go to him, it is not my fault he took things too far." Realization strikes her like a slap. "This is because of what happened with Lt. Ferguson. You believe his lies after all. But they are lies. I have no idea why he said such things, and I thought you believed me."

She takes a ragged breath. "I am just trying to do my duty. That is all I ever wanted. As for whatever you think happened with Jan... you are mistaken. You are very much mistaken. It was nothing like what you said. You do not know, you were not there!"

Her words splutter to a finish and she walks faster, not wanting him to see her face. But she would have to actually start jogging in order to move beyond him, her legs are so much shorter than his, and so she can only turn away and wish she could disappear into the ground.

Garcia says to Rangin, "Nothing to report here, I'm afraid. The encryption of these files is very good. Hopefully in an hour or two...?"

Delaney reports from Wilson's suite, "I think we're on the home stretch in cracking the safe's code. I tweaked the algorithm and it looks like we're 90, maybe 95% of the way there."

"I wasn't there," Graham says slowly and quietly, accelerating to get a little ahead of Kylah, then stopping. "But security cameras cover all the public areas of the resort, including the garden."

Kylah lifts her face toward Graham, uncomprehending. "The garden?" She can only stare while her mind wildly tries to piece together what he is getting at. That night remains a haze, thankfully, and it takes some time for her to take the mental journey from dinner with Jan to what happened afterwards.

They stopped to look at the stars, Jan's arm around her, always touching her, always keeping the connection between them. His hand on her face. Then she took hold of him and kissed those fingers that had grazed her cheek. He spoke, said something about the spores, said everything felt different. Then despite her own mind warning her not to, she fell against him. Kissed him. He held her and kissed even harder. And soon everything was different.

Kylah's mouth parts in shock. "Cameras..." she echoes, shaking her head in futile disbelief. "You... you were watching me? Spying on me? Why? Why would you do that? You had no right--you were not even in command then, you were only a fellow ensign!"

She backs away from him and clenches her hands into fists. "A video does not show a true picture. Just because you thought something was... untoward... that does not make it true. I know how your mind works. Everyone is guilty, everyone is base and unworthy of trust, until Ensign Graham Booker makes his final judgment. Someone else watching would have understood, would not have misinterpreted things. Were you alone? Who else was with you?" Please not Collins, please not her...

"What?" Graham says a little snappishly, as he's a bit taken aback she's so focused on who was with him. "Wha--I was with Rangin, but I don't see why the hell that matters."

He frowns. "Look," he says starting to point at her, then he pauses and draws his hands back toward his own chest. You're trying to counsel her, not chew her out, he reminds himself. But the fact she's pissed off about his use of the camera--just like Rangin--frustrates him. "Look, in my book, as a fellow ensign on a mission we'd call taking advantage of these cameras 'watching out for each other, not spying.' I'm trying to help you, dammit, not judge you..."

He rubs his hands on his legs for a moment. "What I meant before was--I don't know how you took my direction to be 'good cop' with Fastolfe, but you seemed to get a little too..." Ah hell, he thinks, nowhere to go but there. "Ah, sexual with it. Maybe..." He holds up open hands, "What I meant before was maybe men and women interact differently on Elas, but in Starfleet there are some lines that I'm saying that..." He clasps his hands in front of himself for a moment, a disarming gesture but his tone is firm. "I'm saying that you need to observe or people are going to interpret the wrong way. Or..." He feels a little sick. Somehow the lack of standing as a father he feels with Lizzy is colliding with the lack of standing as a leader he has with the mission team. But that's no justification for punking out. She was out of bounds, whether by choice or because of something else she needs help with, this is your job...

"Or your commanding officer is going to question your judgment," he says.

Rangin. Velir saw that? He did not tell me, why would he not... Kylah's heart sinks and she feels ill--but her dismay is overwhelmed by anger when Graham continues. She barely manages to keep her hands at her side rather than slapping him.

"You think I behaved--sexually? With Lord Fastolfe? I did not. I did not!" Her throat is so tight she nearly chokes. "How dare you? How dare you impute such a thing? You human males," she says, almost spitting the words. "You veer so swiftly between being prigs and libertines. And your explorations in Starfleet betray the worst of your hypocrisy. 'How fascinating other cultures are; so curious, so primitive, so inferior.' And of course, the females of these races are particularly fascinating. We have such different values, such varied ways of reproducing, it is vital to study us as you would a beast in one of your zoos--although a hands-on approach is always preferable, is it not?"

Kylah wraps her hands around her chest, nails digging into her arms even through her uniform. "All through the Academy I was mocked for being cold and frigid, simply because I did not act the way the cadets thought an Elasian woman should act. Now if I show an ounce of sympathy, a hint of friendliness, I am upbraided for behaving like an Orion slave girl. Or for giving 'the wrong impression,' as you generously put it."

She inhales and, though trembling, steps closer to him. "Tell me, sir. What if there had been a security camera in the CP yesterday? What mistaken impression might someone have received if they'd seen you lunge at me, put your hands on me, drag me over to the wall and loom over me so I could not move?"

Her glare is venemous. "Is that what this is really about? Despite that high-minded offer to resign, I suppose in truth you have now realized I am a threat to you. Now you are trying to find a basis for a defense, if I should reveal what happened--even though I have promised you I would not. But an Elasian woman is not to be trusted. So you will claim it was all part of a pattern, my own 'bad judgment.' That I provoked you. That I lured you with some whorish Elasian trick."

Kylah is doing her best not to cry but it is difficult to see Graham clearly through her tears. "I have worked as hard as anyone else to fulfill this mission and perform to the best of my abilities. But by all means, relieve me of duty if you think my judgment is so poor. All it will do is prove to me that humans are as corrupt as they believe the rest of us to be."

"Thank you Sir," Rangin replies to both of them before reporting to Dr T'Var alongside him. "A couple of hours to go on both at least. I imagine the others are still dealing with Lord Fastolfe, otherwise they would have said something by now."

He sits down slightly despondently, wondering what to do next, ticking the things he can think off on his fingers.

"Guests interviewed, security checked out, Wilson's office and suite checked, as much data on the crime scenes as we can find gathered and analysed. No sign of the other knives, no reason for the spore effects to be lost unless something happened to them to cause it. You wouldn't find any trace of a transmitter that could do that, and physiologically the effect would have worn off. The transporter used seven times, if only we could narrow down some of its usages, like the one to Lord Fastolfe's room."

Rangin stops and mouth slightly agape, "Well...why don't we try and narrow down its usages. There is the trace in the park, the trace in the guest house. There are other places we should probably be looking. The room next to the transporter should be a given... but would confirm if the body was moved before it was transported and it might be worth checking the quarters of those effected by the spore loss. There were several uses in a short span last night, likely all involved in the murder, let's see if we can pinpoint where they went. Actually, one last thing to check, can that transporter do remote to remote or does it have to go through the main room, because if not, they would have had to move the body, and given the lack of traces, they either cleaned up well or used a lot of sheeting."

Rangin smiles at the Doctor, "I'll start with the room next to the transporter and then swing out to the guest houses, see if any of them have another trace. I just hope there is enough of a trace left to find." Picking himself up, he heads for the door, another needle in a haystack to look for, but it's something that doesn't make him feel like he is sat there doing nothing.

"That must have been hard for you," Jane said, mussing his hair. "You had to be very stern with Lizzy."

Graham rubbed his eyes. "Well she's got your IQ and my stubbornness, so she can be a handful...but there are ways she needs to behave as a member of this family and she was way out of bounds this morning."

Any professional counselor would probably laugh their ass off at how I am fucking this up, Graham thinks, back in the present moment, but I'm not always wrong, dammit...

"The way cadets treated you at the Academy sounds like it hurt you, a lot," Graham says sympathetically, but he ends more firmly. "But we're not there, and I'm not them."

"Now listen here, young lady," plays through his mind--Oh, that would go over well, he thinks... He tries to choose his words carefully.

"In the CP I got caught up in a moment and the result was behavior that was unprofessional--unplanned, unintended, but on me, my responsibility, no conspiracy theories or intergalactic politics or rationalizations relevant or acceptable."

"And I'm as far from perfect or omniscient as can be, but I've been in Starfleet almost as long as you've been alive and I know what I've seen over the past couple days."

"It's never occurred to me to relieve you of duty--nor to question how hard you're willing to work. But I am going to suggest you take 30 to cool off and decide whether you want to constructively discuss the concerns I expressed in good faith and--even if only temporarily--as a goddamned superior officer."

He softens his tone as he concludes, although it is still firm: "I'm suggesting so it's off the record--I'll make it an order if necessary."

Dr. T'Var says, "I'll come with you." The park and guest houses surrounding it are a short walk away. Outside, from the sidewalk, her and Rangin's tricorders detect trace signs of transporter signatures within the guest houses of both author Rosemary Calvin and billionaire Fellim Palver.

Too angry and upset to respond, Kylah just nods her head. He thinks he is so tolerant and reasonable, she thinks viciously. Hypocrite. Hypocrite! She turns on her heel and stalks away from the resort entrance, staying to the side of the building to avoid giving Graham the impression that she plans to return to Fastolfe for some more seduction time. The very idea makes her ill.

She cannot disagree that what happened with Jan was a mistake. But it was a mistake countless male Starfleet officers have made, and far more consciously--and willingly--than she. Everyone knows of the multitudinous conquests of the great Captain Kirk... he was a role model for half the male cadets at the Academy, and not because of his brilliance as an officer. As for the other accusations about Fastolfe, Kylah will not, will not, accept them. She cannot see how she did anything that could have been interpreted as 'sexual' with the man. Unless merely being present and female counts. And considering Fastolfe's known diversity in lovers, only one of those is truly necessary.

The unfairness of Graham's intimations galls her, and Kylah desperately needs some guidance. Having walked for five minutes, she pulls out her communicator and starts to hail Rangin. But she stops. He saw me and Jan. He might believe the same as Graham. Perhaps that is why he pursued me... Wracked by doubt, Kylah does not want to believe this of Velir. It seems so unlike him. His feelings... she has not sensed them, she purposely avoided infringing on his privacy by testing to see if his emotions were real. Still, she knows he is a man of quality, of sincerity. I cannot be so wrong. There are so few people I find honorable, I cannot be wrong when I finally come across one.

Nevertheless she does not hail him. He is working. She cannot run to him with every argument she has. Then the thought occurs to her that she never did get an answer from Graham about the skin cream. Of course, he was too interested in dissecting her sex life to discuss the actual mission. She decides to send a text message to Velir and T'Var instead--they know the scientific and biological nature of the spores better than anyone. T'Var; Rangin: Question regarding new piece of evidence. One of Fastolfe's staff has prescription Umitril, an antifungal skin cream. Any possibility the spores are fungal in nature? Could they be affected by such medication? -- Kylah

As long as she is sending text messages, she adds another one, hoping to get rid of some more unfinished business. Thalen: Has anything useful been uncovered from the hotel's financial documents and guest communications forwarded to you earlier? -- Kylah

Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Kylah sinks down onto the grass, shaded by the building. She sits for a few moments and contemplates what she can do that might be purposeful, useful, instead of waiting like a misbehaving schoolgirl for the teacher to let her out of the corner. What angle can she take that the others are not looking into? Whom can she talk to who is not considered a witness or suspect?

She thinks of the financial records again and suddenly a little shock runs through her. Of course. She already had plans, tentative ones, to speak with him today. Now she might as well clear the air between them. Perhaps she will be able to explain her behavior. Most of all, she might at least understand a thread of inquiry that seems to be running through the investigation but no one seems quite able to piece together. He is an expert. And no one else will be talking to him, so I will not tread on any toes. Swallowing, Kylah looks down at her communicator again. Do not be a coward. This is the perfect time. Graham will never let you alone again. And besides, he probably expects you to spend your thirty minutes in a quick liaison, she thinks bitterly. Perhaps he hopes he can watch it on the cameras again.

Swiftly--fast enough so that she cannot change her mind--she lifts the device to her ear. "Ensign Kylah to the front desk. Will you please connect me to Jan Švehla?"

"Well, well, well, would you look at that. Two transporter traces which would give rise to the spore losing effect on two separate people." Rangin smiles at the readings. "There are a couple of other places to check for traces, namely the quarters belonging to the other two people in the group. Possibly the lift...sorry elevator, to see if Mr Wilson happened to be transported out of it. Even so, it still gives rise to certain conclusions."

Rangin smiles at the detail of the data before looking across at Dr T'Var. "What would you be willing to wager that those beams came down in the bedrooms. I think it might be a good idea to ask at the houses and see if we can get a better fix. Or rather, I will get a fix and I believe it would be better, Sir, if you notice whether the guests are aware of the situation or not."

Rangin heads up and knocks on Rosemary Calvin's door.

While waiting, he receives Kylah's text, looks at it for a moment and responds. No, Umitril will not affect spores. Spores will actually remove requirement for Umitril. Likely that Fastolfe's staff member should consider abstinence for the next two weeks until itching clears, unless fungal infection is located on scalp, in which case steer clear of said employee.

Graham continues on to the spa.

Dr. T'Var replies to Kylah by text: The spores are the seeds of the Omicron plant, which is, as you know, unique in the Galaxy, but is not fungal in nature. Spores form part of the life cycles of many plants, algae, fungi and protozoa. I agree with Mr. Rangin that Umitril or any other such cream would almost certainly have no effect on the OC3 spores in humanoid lungs. T'VAR.

Ens. Kylah notices that the weather is mirroring her mood. Dark clouds continue to roll in overhead; it looks like a storm could be not long in coming.

Lt. Thalen answers, also by text, I have someone taking a look at those records, but there's a lot of them, and it's slow going. No red flags yet. Will let you know if we find any. THALEN.

Czech businessman and bon vivant Jan Švehla comes on the line after a minute or so and says, "Kylah! I'm so glad you called. How are you?"

Rosemary Calvin answers her door. "Yes?"

Ens. Graham arrives alone at the spa, which is in a large Neoneoclassical adjoining building about ten minutes' walk from the CP. It has an impressive gateway, with rough-hewn granite walls and highly-polished brass gates. He steps inside, and a stunning blonde WR&R staffer greets him in a cool, shady antechamber filled with ferns. She chirps, "Welcome to the OC3 Spa. May I help you, sir?"

Kylah closes her eyes and shudders when she hears Jan speak. It is the first time she has heard him since she practically fled his room that night. As pleasant as his tone and light accent are, they invoke too much within her.

"I am fine, thank you, Jan. You seem--" Her voice cracks and is weaker than she intended. She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes to stare at the roiling storm clouds, and begins again. "You seem well. I hope your stay has been enjoyable. The reason I am contacting you is... I do not mean to be presumptuous, and I know this is last-minute, but I happen to have some free time now. I thought perhaps... perhaps you might be available to meet somewhere? I understand you are probably busy," she says in a rush, almost hoping she is correct.

But beneath that hope, another part of her--the instinctive, physical, almost cellular-level part--remembers how she felt when they were first together. She was as dispirited and depressed then as she is now, and for much the same reason: a dress-down from her superior officer. And being near Jan, near the spores and his own open desire for her, made it all vanish. Remember that peace? That bliss? her body seems to cajole her. It would be so easy to get it back...

Alarmed, Kylah recognizes this longing and it disgusts her. She pushes herself up to her feet, tempted to throw her communicator away altogether.

Instead her fingers tighten around the device until her knuckles turn white, and she continues. "It could only be for a half-hour or so, but I would be very grateful if you are able to meet me. You see, I wish to apologize and explain my behavior. I know I was abrupt that evening, and probably seemed very rude..."

Her voice is getting weak again. Rude. Rude was not listening to her, rude was keeping his naked body covering hers when she begged him to help her get free.

She shakes her head and forces the next words out. "So I... so I wish to clear things up, if I may. And you might also help me in the investigation, if you are willing. There are some things that have cropped up that I do not understand, financial things, and you being a banker, I thought you would not mind explaining how it all works. But mostly I would just like to be with you again." Kylah has to close her eyes again. "Please?"

Hoping that Dr T'Var is watching Mrs Calvin's emotions and seeing how she reacts Rangin nods politely to her in the doorway, "Mrs Calvin. My apologies for calling at this time of day and for interrupting your stay, however certain things have come to light from the murder that took place. You may or may not be aware but there appears to be a link between the murder and your house and we would like to confirm certain facts locally as well as check a couple of facts with your good self."

Rangin continues his explanation while watching for understanding from the person in front of him. "The first thing we need to check is that a transporter signal has been located within your house from the time of the incident and we need to get a more precise fix on its entry point and perhaps determine what was transported. To this end, we would need access briefly to this guest house, if you are willing to accommodate it."

"The second part of this is to ask if you have noticed anything missing from the night of the murder or perhaps found anything in the house you were not expecting. We believe it may also be related to the loss of effect of the spores that you are aware of. May I also say thank you for going through with the medical tests as well."

Rangin looks calmly into her eyes waiting for her reaction, which is likely to be a firm no, but is ever hopeful.

Graham blinks. Oh this would be ironic, he thinks, I just get into a giant dust up with Kylah because she thinks I've accused her of ho'ing around on the job and now I should be like "Hey, how you doin'?"

The irony of it all fuels his rueful mood. If he believed she was a veritable female Captain Kirk--or Billy Coogan--he might tell her to not get distracted while on duty, but her, eh, affairs were her business.

"You know, Booker" Billy said while they sat by a pool on Risa, both on shore leave while still in their 20's. "The best thing about being in Starfleet is getting laid." Billy flashed the grin so many people found irresistible. "Unprecedented ability to meet people and make friends, all over the galaxy....still," he said, frowning. "I am bummed Weinstein plays for the other team. I'd give a year's pay to find out what she's like in the sack."

Graham grunted, his nostrils burning as he choked and snarfed up his drink through his nose. Billy glanced over at him. "Jeez, Booker, can I take you anywhere? Anyway, do me a favor: when the waitress comes back I'm going to ask you a question. Just answer 'Yes, Captain,' OK?"

What a rockhead, Graham remembers thinking. Funny, good shot with a phaser rifle, but a real rockhead...

Kylah doesn't strike him as a Coogan/Kirk type.

Whorish. As he walked to the spa that would kept replaying in his mind. I. Never. Use. That. Word. He wanted to go back and say, his chest tight and his stomach roiling...because... He shook off the impulse. That was a long story and not Kylah's problem. Although Kylah's problem... "All through the Academy I was mocked."

He replays in his head how he could have responded differently: I understand, he could have said. Of course there's no way in hell she would believe me, he reminds himself.

He puts all that aside for the moment: back on the clock, Booker.

"Ah, well, at a place like this," he replies, glancing around and gesturing at the grand surroundings, "I'm sure in many wonderful ways." He shrugs and smiles slightly. "Unfortunately, I'm here on duty. I need to speak with a Paula Goldman, and I was told she might be here."

Jan says, "Of course, dear lady! I'd be glad to meet. Shall we have an early lunch? Say, meet at Otherworldly in ten minutes? My time is yours."

Colvin looks a little surprised by what Rangin says, but replies, "Um... all right. Please come in. I haven't noticed anything missing. What, or where, do you need to check?"

The WR&R staffer nods. "Ms. Goldman is here but is unavailable at the moment. Would you like to wait, or leave a message?"

"Thank you and I hope that it will not be for too long. We don't know precisely where to check, so I believe I will be checking downstairs, while it might be more appropriate for Dr T'Var to look for traces upstairs."

If Mrs Calvin lets them in, Rangin will start checking downstairs, and allow Dr T'Var to go upstairs to scan in the more personal areas where it would be impolite to go. Of course, if Graham were here, Rangin muses, he would insist on examining the bedroom in detail.

The only thing he does look out for is how tidy the house is, given that yesterday she refused Rangin and Kylah entry on the grounds it was a mess.

Relieved beyond measure that Jan did not suggest the same restaurant where they went to dinner--nor does he wish to meet alone--Kylah nods. "Yes, yes. The Otherworldly." She glances toward the spa entrance and the sudden possibility of Graham seeing them turns her face red. "Perhaps the restaurant has some tables that are relatively... inconspicuous? I would rather not run into my colleagues, it would be awkward." Which is putting it mildly. Then again, Kylah is the only one being forced to take a mandatory break; she should be safe. She lifts her chin in defiance. And anyway. He told me to take a break. What I do at such a time is my own aff--my own business. And if I can learn something useful about all these investors and so on, the investigation will be better for it.

"Thank you again, Jan. I will see you there soon."

She puts away her communicator and walks to the entrance nearest the restaurants. Her heart is beating so heavily she worries it might be audible. Inwardly she chants along with it: I am in control this time. I am in control. Nothing will happen... not like that, not ever again.

Graham can't help but sigh.

He's starting to second-guess himself about telling Kylah to take 30: the whole...discussion..was precipitated by his mounting concern given the accumulation of what he'd seen with Ferguson, Jan, and Fastolfe. Now he just sent her off alone, and upset to boot. The story about her being bullied made it that much worse...and closer to home.

I shouldn't have let Collins call me off that night, he thinks, frustrated with himself. Should have gone with my gut.

My gut says go look for her...but my head says that's stupid. What reason would I give? I'd just come across as condescending at best...and what could possibly happen?

He clears his throat. "I suppose I'll wait...do you know how long she'll be, by any chance?" He almost laughs. "Ah, is it possible to have a tour while I wait? Hopefully we might have some down time while we're here." Also I'd have to sell everything I own to raise the credits for one treatment, he suspects, but doesn't say.

Rangin finds nothing of interest in his scan of the downstairs (although it is a little messy) of the author's guest house. T'Var finds a very faint transporter signature in the master bedroom. There are no bedside tables; the signature appears localized on the floor near the head of the bed.

Jan walks into the restaurant ten minutes later almost to the second. He is dressed casually but in very nice clothes. He beams at the sight of Kylah, and says, "I called ahead to arrange for a private room. Would that be all right?"

THe WR&R staffer at the spa, whose name is Jill, says, "I don't know how long she'll be, but sure, I'd be glad to show you around." Graham soon sees that the spa is very large, with saunas, hot and cold pools, jacuzzis, exercise and fitness rooms, massage and aromatherapy rooms, and so on. Everything looks modern and quite clean. Several other WR&R staffers and guests pass in the halls, most looking a bit surprised to see a Starfleet Security man there.

"Well, that's curious indeed and I think indicates one thing," says Rangin, "that its unlikely it was a person coming in and out. Although the readings may be so faint, two signals may be showing as one. Can we scan the floor in the area, see if something was placed there instead?"

Rangin turns to Mrs Calvin. "Actually. Mrs Calvin did you notice if anything was located in this area, not something of yours, but perhaps something that you might have considered fixtures or fittings, a small box perhaps or other item. Something you may have thought that the cleaners would have removed."

Mrs. Calvin squints and thinks, finally saying, "No, there was nothing on the floor there that I ever saw. I would've tripped over it if there had been."

T'Var's readings indicate only a single faint transporter signature. It seems to match that of the resort's transporter.

In the spa, a door opens near Graham and Jill, and a short, fat and very sweaty woman wrapped in a towel steps out. "Ah, here's Ms. Goldman now!" Jill says. "Ma'am, this is Ensign Grance. He's from Starfleet and wishes to speak to you."

"Is that so?" the fat woman says gruffly, looking at Graham and pulling her towel a little tighter around her ample frame. "What about?"

"Excuse for just one moment please Mrs Calvin, I just need to confirm something with Dr T'Var." Rangin politely asks Mrs Calvin.

Walking off to one side with Dr T'Var, Rangin queries the results found. "So, if I understand this correctly Sir, we have one signal, either in or out. Mrs Calvin is certain she noticed nothing there before the night and there is nothing there now. So whatever was transported could move under its own power. From her statements just now, something has to have been transported in. The same thing would have had to have happened in other houses as well. The only thing I can currently think of being transported at this point, without being suspicious at all, is Mrs Calvin herself, whether knowingly or unknowingly...and I would hazard a guess Dr Halsey would not have looked for that in his medical."

"That leaves two things we could try to confirm. Was she transported in, perhaps knowingly or unknowingly? Or if it was not her, can we find any other evidence of anyone else being in this guest house at that time, which might still be lingering? Actually if she was transported in, how did she get out before without being noticed. May have to go back over whatever footage we have and the witness statements, although I doubt anything will turn up."

He looks up at the Vulcan alongside. "What do you think?"

Dr. T'Var frowns. "Given both the location and the relatively small size of the affected area, I strongly doubt Mrs. Calvin herself was transported. I agree that she would certainly be aware of having been beamed in or out, unless, I suppose, she were unconscious at the time."

She scans Mrs. Calvin, with the author's bemused permission, and finds no indication that she has been transported at any time recently other than when she beamed down from the liner which brought her to OC3 - and the ship's transporter signature is definitely different from that of the resort.

"Thank you Mrs Calvin, that has cleared a few things up. The only question then we have is...what was beamed in or out. If it wasn't a person, then what was it. It wasn't there in the evening and was gone by morning. So either it moved by itself or someone else took it during that period."

Rangin looks across at the guest. "I'm sorry to say this, Mrs Calvin, but it appears someone may have been here that night, I would guess collecting whatever was beamed into your room, but I do want to point out I could be wrong." he says solemnly. "I'm sorry to ask this again, Mrs Calvin, but are you sure nothing was out of place or different when you awoke the following morning in this guest house, after the spores lost effect? Please think again, it is important."

He looks across at Dr T'Var, "Sir, perhaps we should see if we can find any further traces of what it might have been or if someone might have come to collect it. Any indent in the carpet, logs from the doors and so on..."

Rangin tries to keep his face calm but inside he can feel his mind trying to turn over what might have happened here and probably in the two other houses.

Under normal circumstances, Graham would consider himself lucky. Goldman is a suspect--that doesn't mean she's guilty, but asking questions when someone isn't expecting them and is a little off balance can be a better way to get at the whole truth than a situation where the interviewee is in comfortable surroundings and has had a chance to prepare.

But he's distracted: I should have sent somebody to check on Ensign Kylah, he thinks. The story about her family background and the academy are nagging at him, as is her apparent alone-ness on the Yorktown.

Predators can smell prey. I learned that a long time ago. He realizes he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts.

"Ah, it's Graham, Ensign Graham, Starfleet Security, Miss Goldman," Graham says, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "You're Fas-- Lord Fastolfe's assistant, is that correct? We're interviewing his staff concerning the murder of Mr. Wilson. I'd appreciate it if you'd answer a few questions." He pauses and gestures slightly toward the towel-clad woman. "Under the circumstances I suppose we can skip executing our search warrant."

He glances at Jill. "Perhaps there's an unoccupied treatment room we could use for a few minutes?"

Calvin is certain nothing has been moved or is out of place. Rangin and T'Var look and scan carefully, but find no other sign that something was on the carpet, or that anyone has been in the guest house other than Calvin and those she authorized.

"It's Ms. Goldman," the fat woman says, "not Miss." Jill shows her and Graham to a nearby lounge, small but comfortable, with two chairs, a couch and a low table. Jill also brings Goldman a plush white bathrobe into which Goldman changes before Graham follows her into the room. The publicist settles onto the couch, taking up most of it.

"Mrs Calvin, thank you very much for your time and willingness to help out. We have a few more answers, but also some more questions that require answering. Sir, is there anything else you can think of?"

Once Dr T'Var is finished and they have headed for the exit and Rangin will contact Lt Delaney and ask if the tricorders would be good enough to notice separate transports if they were close in time, or whether that would be detectable.

Finally, he will turn to Dr T'Var and ask. "If we cannot find trace of a person or object transported in or out, what are the odds that it was not a solid object. Sir, would it be possible to beam in a quantity of epinephrine or something similar as a gas into the area and cause the loss of spore effect as the body reacts to it. I also think we will find the same thing, we will find the same thing occurred at Felim Palver's guest house. We should really check the Vice Admiral's room and that of Lt Cmdr. Ebling to see if the same has occurred to them."

Dr. T'Var says slowly, "I'm not sure you could beam in an uncontained and inchoate quantity of gas in such a way as to have a definite physiological effect on someone in the room." She thinks some more. "I suppose you might beam in a dispenser or container of some kind that distributed it, though, and then beam it back out again. If there were, say, an aerosolized spray of epinephrine in someone's closed room while he or she was sleeping, it might dispel the spores' effect and not be noticed until the person woke up. It would also be metabolized quickly enough that no scannable portion would later remain. We should certainly check Mr. Palver's and Vice Adm. Hardin's rooms, but Lt. Cmdr. Ebling did not lose the spores' effect, did she?"

"No, she didn't, Sir. But then why would you miss out one person in the group if you were going to do this kind of thing. That in itself would make no sense."

Rangin considers the situation for a moment. "Do we know for certain what the effects of the spores are on Tellarites, not to mention whether epinephrine would be an effective remover of the effects for them. Also, if it is a dispenser of some kind, then teleporting it in and out over the course of a few seconds may only register as one power drain or signal on our tricorders. There are seven transporter surges we need to explain, and not, as I have probably wrongly assumed, individual transports, Three go to the guests houses, one goes to the park for Mr Wilson's body. That leaves three unexplained."

Rangin's begins to shake his head slowly, "...possibly two for the other quarters and one for the getaway. Of course, this doesn't answer the one question. Why?"

Rangin straightens up, a look of resolve to start cracking through the enigma facing them.

"Sir, you're correct. Lets check Fellim Palver's house. But while we head there, Sir, unless you know the answer, which would not surprise me, I would suggest contacting the research station and confirming the effects on Tellarites. Also, Sir, please excuse my curiousity, but did Dr Halsey say anything else of interest after I left?"

"Please call me by name, Ensign," T'Var says gently, "or, if you must be formal, 'Doctor' or 'ma'am.' I am still unaccustomed to being referred to as 'sir.' Dr. Anderson said earlier that the spores were safe and effective on Tellarites, but that not much research had been done on their race and the spores in particular. Dr. Halsey, when I just spoke to him, had little to add to what he had said before. He is still puzzled by the loss of the spores' effects on Palver and the others."

In a few minutes, the doctor and the xenobiologist stand outside the Rhaandarite billionaire's guest house.

Kylah's stomach lurches when she sees Jan so close again, there in Otherworldly restaurant, smiling at her, almost beckoning her with his eyes. Why did she do this, why did she think she could handle this? And then the mention of a private room... I cannot, I cannot... After a deep breath, she swallows and girds herself. Do not be ridiculous. It is a restaurant. He will not... I will not do anything untoward. I am in control, she repeats, hoping each echo of these words will make them true.

"Yes, of course. It is good to see you again." Kylah tries to channel her mother, whose calm demeanor could always be relied upon whenever in a social setting. She steps forward, keeping her hands clasped together.

Jan notices her hands and does not reach for them, but squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you called," he says. "I've missed you."

The maitre'd, all smiles, whisks them to a small but plush private room at the back of the restaurant. The walls are papered in the dark red Theban style; two chairs await them at a table covered with a white damask tablecloth and loaded with fine silver and crystal glassware. The maitre'd disappears, a waiter appears and takes their orders, pours the wine which Jan ordered for them both, and then withdraws, leaving the two alone.

"So how are you doing, Kylah?" Jan asks. "Is the investigation going well?"

Kylah watches the waiter leave, trying to clamp down on the instinct to follow him out the door. It was all she could do to tolerate Jan's kiss without flinching, and the room is far more intimate than she ever expected. And wine... She vows not to touch it. Or Jan, for that matter--either physically or mentally. She does not dare press outward even slightly to gauge his mood or intentions.

"I... It is keeping us very busy," she says, slipping the napkin from the table to her lap so she has something to grasp in her hand. The truth is, while she is grateful he did not start off by getting too personal--other than the kiss--she knows she will have to bring the topic up herself. She needs to tell him... she must, for her own sake, express her confusion regarding what happened between them.

However, since it is possible things might turn ugly... he might grow defensive if he believes she is accusing him of coercing or even forcing her into sex. Kylah is glad to start with a safer topic. "There are so many different angles we must consider. Any death leaves much that is complicated behind. And Mr. Wilson--oh, I just realized I have no idea if you knew him. If so, I am sorry."

Kylah finds herself relaxing now that she is in more familiar territory; much of what she has done for two days, it seems, has been offering condolences. "As I was saying, Mr. Wilson left behind a multitude of complications, and we have had some trouble determining what is normal and what might relate to his murder. I am at a particular loss, because much of it is financial or business-related, with contracts and investments and shares and licenses, and I... well, I have never had to deal with that before. That is why I thought of you--since you are in finance yourself, I hoped you would help me make sense of things."

"Of course, I'd be glad to," Jan says.

Kylah thanks him and tries to gather her thoughts. She quickly explains why Starfleet was here in the first place--the Wrigley Resorts & Recreation contract renewal. "Even now, there seems to be little cause to object to the company's role here. But others interested in this land--resort competitors--would not know that. In confidence, without revealing any names, we have identified several current guests who have some relationship to different WR&R competitors. But they are just investors, not owners. In your experience, could someone have such a large investment in a competitor that they would visit WR&R and somehow... attempt to influence the contract renewal?"

"It's possible, I suppose," he says. "A scandal such as a murder, or evidence of wrongdoing by the company that your investigation revealed, might count against WR&R when Starfleet decides whether or not to renew."

Kylah nods doubtfully. "Wrongdoing, yes, but a murder... the company is a victim as well. I cannot see our holding it against WR&R, unless Mr. Wilson's killing was some unified action on their part, which seems..." She shakes her head and refocuses. "Perhaps there was some attempt to influence things. The connection between all these investors being here and Mr. Wilson's death seems too coincidental to ignore. I wonder if Mr. Wilson might have been approached, or even complicit, with some scheme to benefit one or more of the investors, and had a change of heart, making him a danger to them. But why would people with different company interests band together in such a way? That is what makes so little sense. Is there any sort of investor, or someone with some other kind of financial interest of which I am ignorant, who could benefit no matter what happens to the contract?"

He says thoughtfully, "Yes, there might be some investors who have hedged their bets and stand to win regardless of whether or not WR&R keeps its franchise. Or maybe they have inside information and know what's going to happen - or think they do - before anyone else. Insider trading is against the law, of course, but it happens."

"Knowing too much is a double-edged sword," Kylah murmurs, staring at her glass full of blood-red wine. She tightens her grip on the napkin and moves on. "What I also do not understand is the importance of this particular spot of land. Assuming some competitors were hoping to sabotage the license renewal... why would they bother? The whole planet is wide open. Spores are not in the sole jurisdiction of WR&R. Why not just colonize some other section and build that up?"

"Well, as I understand it, WR&R has an exclusive franchise here. The planet is under Starfleet jurisdiction and no one else can build on OC3 without Starfleet's say-so. Obviously WR&R would object to any other resort or similar facility opening here, as that would mean fewer credits in their pockets."

Frowning in thought, Kylah looks back up at Jan. "Yes, that reminds me partly why I thought you might help--you specialize in something like this, do you not? Something to do with colonizing. So much has happened, I forget what you told me. What is your area of expertise again? Could you explain how it works?"

"I'm an investment banker," he says, after drinking a little wine. "Mostly colonial bonds, communications and timber. Colonial bonds are floated - offered to potential investors - to raise money to pay for exploration, colonization, or capital improvements of an already-established colony, such as housing construction, sewer and water improvements, orbital stations, environmental systems, and so on."

It all seems a barrage of words to Kylah--she deeply regrets how little education she has had in financial affairs--but she does her best to concentrate and understand how everything might fall together, assuming any of this has something to do with the case. "That does make more sense now. Yes, colonial bonds was the term I had forgotten. You were clearly the right person to go to, you know so much." She smiles in gratitude, though something is now skittering around her brain, some little puzzle piece trying to find its proper place. "I wonder, have you heard if there are such bonds for OC3? And if so, who would offer them? A company like WR&R, or the owner of the land, such as Starfleet? It seems to me that, as you describe it, there are some different opportunities for corruption, if someone who was in charge of awarding contracts--or gathering funds through these colonial bonds, for example--were willing to sell his influence." Her voice softens as she tries to work things out, almost forgetting Jan is there. "I wonder if someone like Mr. Wilson had learned of a scheme... or was a potential leak in such a scandal... He did have things he was keeping secret...."

"It would somehow seem wrong to call you T'Var given your rank, Ma'am," Rangin replies slightly abashed, "but if you insist, although I'm not sure what the others will make of it." He grins for a moment, "that's their problem."

At the door, Rangin mutters under his breath. "Second verse, same as the first, twice as long, and twice as worst." He knocks on the door ready to start talking to Fellim Palver if he is in, and using the same detail as last time, hoping that he would be just as receiving to their request.

Palver is in, and does not take much persuading to allow you to enter. There is a bedside table in his bedroom, and a virtually identical transporter signature lingers there, as well, your tricorders reveal.

Graham stifles the urge to roll his eyes. 'Miss,' 'Ms.' what the hell's the difference? he wonders. Actually he does wonder what the difference is. But more importantly who the fuck cares...

And what the hell did I just do. The dumbest thing you've done on this mission (and there's serious competition) was let Ensign Kylah go off on her 'interview' mission alone and you just sent went out of your stupid goddamned way to send her off on her own upset and with no back up or cover...


He can't actually muster much ire toward 'Ms.' Goldman because he's too pissed off at himself.

"Of course," he says tightly, "Ms. Goldman."

What the hell do I do now, tell the Security team to locate Kylah because I'm a moron... He minutely shakes his head. For all you know, moron, you're in the room with Wilson's killer.


"I understand you're his Lordship's assistant."

How long have you worked for Lord Fastolfe?
Do you enjoy it?
What have you heard about Wilson's murder?
Where were you that night?

"I'm his publicist," the woman says flatly. "Not his assistant. I've worked for His High-and-Mightyship for four years, and I hate it. I heard the manager of this fleabag 'resort' snuffed it, but know nothing more than that. I was at the guest house that night. I didn't go out with the others to dinner or the nightclub. I went to bed early, maybe 10 or so, and woke up late, and that's when I heard about his death."

In the private room at the restaurant, Kylah trails off. Wilson's secrets. The secure files. The mysterious abbreviations. Co. Bd. "Corporate board, surely," she had said dismissively to Graham. But... 'Co. Bd.' Could it be... Colonial bonds? Kylah realizes she has forgotten to breathe and quick inhales before she looks back up at Jan. She is probably wrong; she must be wrong. "I am sorry," she says hoarsely, knowing her face is flushed and unable to do anything about it. "I am talking to myself and not letting you answer."

He smiles. "That's all right. If I recall correctly, WR&R neither needed nor sought any bonds for building this resort. They had enough cash on hand to pay out of pocket, as it were. It was a somewhat speculative investment for them, you understand, because they might lose their franchise, and they're hardly going to pack everything up and move it somewhere else - wouldn't be at all cost-effective - if Starfleet chooses another company. They'd probably just sell the resort facilities to their successor, even if at a loss. But it seems to have been very worthwhile for the company so far. This is a very important property for the company, and WR&R's stock has been a steady performer for many years."

"You do know a great deal about this. I suppose you must have researched things before you went on your vacation." Kylah's heart is racing again and she does her best to simply look interested and attentive. But she feels ill. Because with what she is now suspecting, she realizes she has no choice but to do what she promised herself she would not do. Slowly, carefully, with the dread of someone inching across a frozen lake in fear of breaking the ice and falling into a black abyss, Kylah pushes her mind toward Jan's emotions as she asks her next questions. "Have you yourself dealt with any investments relating to the resort or the land?"

Jan still seems to be entirely under the influence of the spores, just as he had been when they first met. He says, "No. I have some WR&R stock, but not all that much - less than three percent or so of my portfolio, I think. The resort is valuable, of course, but the land itself? Really not much at all. WR&R typically wouldn't want mineral rights or anything like that; they just needed somewhere to build the resort. It's access to the spores that's invaluable, not the land itself. The galaxy is full of rocky planets, and all of them have land - some more hospitable than others, obviously."

She nods. "I wonder if you know anything about Vice Adm. Hardin, the Comptroller General, who is staying here now? I am embarrassed to admit I never heard of him myself, but since you are so knowledgeable...."

"Hmm. The name sounds familiar, sort of, but I don't know him. I don't think we've ever met. I actually know very few people in Starfleet." He shrugs a little and smiles warmly. "Present company excluded, of course."

Kylah tries to determine if he is being sincere. His answers would be a great relief, if true. "Is it possible that, for some reason, WR&R has less cash than it is letting on? That they might be thinking of offering colonial bonds to expand or improve their property?" She hesitates. She could be breaking confidence, but he is simply a goldmine of knowledge, and it would be a shame to miss the opportunity.... "I realize I am belated in reassuring you that as a guest that you are safe here. Mrs. Hsu is the acting manager--do you know her?--and she has been most helpful. Our Starfleet Security is everywhere, and of course the resort security is quite skilled as well. That is run by Mrs. Hsu's husband, the head of security. I do not know if you have had any dealings with him during your long stay? But he is doing his best."

He seems entirely sincere. "I can't say I'm privy to every last detail of WR&R's finances, but I've heard nothing to suggest they're in a cash crunch. I guess... if their franchise is renewed, and if they're squeezed financially, and if they want to expand or overhaul the resort, then yes, they could try to get bonds, or get a loan, even offer a new class of stock, just like any company could."

"Thank you." Kylah decides to change subjects. "I should also ask you if you are feeling well. Some people have had problems with the spores' effects. If you do, you should inform Dr. Halsey--are you familiar with him? He seems quite competent, although I am worried that the spores seem to be losing their effectiveness."

"I don't know Dr. Halsey, either," he says. "But I feel fine. Never better." He leans a little closer and smiles again, almost shyly. "But I'd feel even better if that night were not our last together."

Now she knows she must address this deeply personal matter. How to begin? "Jan..." she begins, looking down at the tablecloth as her throat tightens. "I do want to ask you... if we may talk about our--our time together. First I want you to know that I have not confided in anyone about it. But one of my colleagues...friends... mentioned that he spoke to you about me. At the nightclub, not very long after we--after I left you. Ens. Rangin said you told him nothing but expressed concern for me. I want to thank you for that." Blinking, she raises her gaze tentatively. "I was aghast that anyone, even Vel... even a close friend, would question you about me. I hope you did not take it amiss and were able to enjoy the rest of your evening. You stayed at the nightclub?"

He looks at her quite seriously, and says quietly, "I did take offense, at the time. I was a little angry. But I'm sure he meant no harm. He was concerned about you, as I was - as I still am. I stayed at the nightclub for maybe another half-hour. What matters to me now, though, Kylah, dear, sweet Kylah, is that you're all right, and that things are all right between us. Are they? Is there something you want to tell me? It pains me that there seems to be a wall between us that wasn't there before."

Only a half-hour. This brings her up short again. That would still give him no alibi... But no, why is she still assuming he needs one, if she is wrong about the bonds? And wrong about the "S" on the other file, too--that it might have referred to Jan's last name.

As they thank Palver and leave the residence, Rangin turns to Dr T'Var, "Same as Mrs Calvin, and I would guess that Fastolfe's would be just the same. Ok...," Rangin forces himself to keep speaking evenly, "...T'Var, I guess we should now check on two hotel rooms, starting with the Vice Admiral."

Rangin waits for the obvious dressing down for addressing a more senior officer so familiarly while on duty even if it was at request.

Graham would have a field day with this attitude, Rangin considers the thought of the big gorilla grunting, beating on his chest and generally acting outraged, about lack of respect. Rangin wasn't sure Graham knew what respect was, it was not like Graham had ever shown much towards his colleagues. After all, we were all far too young and inexperienced...

The good doctor obviously does not mind Rangin's use of her name. The two go to Vice Adm. Hardin's hotel suite; two plainclothes Yorktown Security guards recognize and admit them. Hardin looks a little surprised to see the two in blue, but welcomes them and asks, "Any progress on the murder investigation?" A tricorder scan shows no sign of transporter activity anywhere in the suite.

Kylah forces herself back to the equally unpleasant topic of their night together. A far lesser tragedy than a murder, but she cannot help be nearly as disturbed by it. "I did want to... I need to explain that," she says weakly. "You already know I reacted badly to what happened with us. I did not hide it well. The thing is, Jan, I know you meant no harm, you would never have intended that. And you could not have known why what we did was a mistake, I was giving you so many mixed signals..."

She hears herself and knows she is making no sense. How can she possibly explain without revealing how the spores affected her? Her mind races and then alights on a fairly lame, but at least not impossible, rationale. "The--the truth is that I was not myself. Whenever we were close, I was being influenced by the spores. Your own spores. I did not know, I did not realize, that apparently my people have a sort of... affinity, vulnerability... perhaps you might even call it an allergy... to the spores. Even without inhaling them, if we are too close to someone who is affected, when we touch or--or do more--" Kylah's face is on fire and she has to look away. "They transfer to us. That is what happened to me. The spores were intoxicating. And my judgment was so poor anyway. I knew something was wrong but I liked the way I felt. At least, at first. But things... things spun out of control. I felt I was being pushed down a path I was not ready to take."

"But, Kylah...."

She holds up her hand. She shakes her head and feels tears burning her eyes, which she blinks away. "Please... this is very hard for me. I know it was my responsibility to get out of the situation while I could. I do not want you to think I am accusing you. I know I was kissing you back, that I did not resist when you undressed me...." Reciting it this way makes her entire body feel filthy all over again, as if once again covered with her perspiration, with his, with the heat of his skin on her, with him inside her and trapping her...

She shuts her eyes against the memories and forces herself to continue. "Physically, I was reacting just as nature would intend. But mentally, emotionally, I was not ready. I was not ready. I'm sorry, Jan. I know this is not what you wanted to hear. I was desperate to stop, I did not want to continue, but could not gain control of my actions while we were so close, while the spores were... passing from you to me. Influencing me, carrying me along, no matter how hard I tried to free myself. And Jan... I did ask you for help. I told you I did not want this. I was trying to tell you."

He is speechless.

Swallowing, she continues. "I am not saying what you did was... unnatural, or anything that most people would not do. But what upsets me is the fact that when I asked you to let me go, when I pleaded with you to understand that I was not ready. You told me I could leave, that it was up to me. Perhaps with most women that would have been enough. They would have pushed you off and left. But I could not. I physically could not."

The tears have won, blinding her. She hastily dabs at her eyes with the napkin. "I have felt ashamed and guilty for the past two days. Disgusted by how weak I was. I have blamed myself entirely. But slowly I do remember that there was something you could have done. The truth is, Jan... while you gave me one last chance to leave, you assumed when I did not, that was not a 'no.' But you did not wait for a 'yes.' And I never gave you one. I could not have. I would never have been with someone I did not love."

The last words are almost a sob and she barely controls herself. "That is why I am distant. Since that night I have thought only I was guilty of stupidity and recklessness. But you... again, I am not accusing you of anything criminal or base. I just want you to know that I wish you had listened to what I was saying, rather than what I seemed to be doing. I know it may seem that actions speak louder than words. Sometimes that is true, but not always, not in that situation. I think women have suffered because some men believe that our physical reactions are proof enough of consent. But they are not. They are not. But... I had to say this. I had to tell you, if only for myself. And I thought perhaps next time, in some similar situation, that--that might guide you. I am sorry," she says, and now she does crumple into tears, muffling her words with her napkin. "I am very, very sorry."

After a long pause he says quietly, his voice shaking a little, "You have nothing to apologize for, Kylah. I'm the one who owes you an apology. I thought you were enjoying yourself. I really did. I thought you wanted to be there, making love, growing... closer together. I had no idea the spores, my spores... my consciousness was having that effect upon you. What can I... how can I make things better?"

"You cannot. There is nothing to be done. But... it means a lot to me that you are just listening. That you are not defensive or angry or accusing me of lying." Kylah again blots her eyes and sets her hands back down on her lap, meeting his gaze again. "It matters that you want to help. I was so afraid to see you again. I have avoided much of the resort, as much as possible, for fear of seeing you and not knowing how I would react. I so much feared losing control again that I felt threatened by you--even though, deep down, I know you would not hurt me. Without even trying, without you even realizing it... that night, I turned you into a kind of... monster."

He stares at her.

Guiltily, she lifts her hand onto the table and touches the shining cutlery, rubbing its cool metal against her burning skin. "I even thought you might... you might be involved in the crime. Mr. Wilson's death, I mean. I know it was my own fear doing this; I was creating this demon whom I could blame for everything horrible that happened." She sighs and shakes her head. "There was even a moment just before... when you mentioned the colonial bonds... you see, there is a file, a secured file we cannot yet interpret or decrypt. And it has abbreviations in its name that everyone has assumed meant company board, or corporate board. But just now, I associated it with colonial bonds. And thus, you."

Kylah closes her eyes in embarrassment before looking at him again. "I am sorry. It was unworthy, I should not have had such thoughts. But the coincidence struck me, and I was already afraid of you, and... I was stupid, it was a passing moment. I only tell you now, because I... I want to be truthful with you. To show you just how terrified I have been. And to apologize, because now you have been understanding and... so helpful, as well. Will you forgive me?"

He shakes his head, obviously troubled. "Again, there is nothing to forgive, Kylah. You've done nothing wrong, really. But... if, as you say, there is nothing I can do for you... I think perhaps I should go now. I'll pay for the meal before I go." He stands abruptly, pushing back his chair. "Will you excuse me, please?"

A bit startled, Kylah rises as well. "I have made you angry. Or embarrassed. But please, let me say this before you go?" She looks worriedly at Jan. Why does she feel so guilty now? Yet she does. "One of the reasons you can do nothing for me is because... you have done what I needed most from you. You listened. You did not deride my feelings. You did not cast aspersions on my character. You have no idea what that means, Jan. I have known many men who would not have reacted with such sensitivity." She takes a deep breath. "I must still live with what we did, and the way it happened, and my own mistakes. I think it will be easier to do so, now that you have let me express what I had to, the way you did." Tentatively, she lifts her arm. "Will you... will you shake hands with me?"

"Of course, if you wish it." Jan takes her hand and shakes it once, twice, before letting go. "If ever you want to talk again... if there is a chance, any chance at all, that we might still have a future together, despite all that has happened... I hope you'll get in touch. Tomorrow, next week, next year... whenever. You're a beautiful, fascinating young woman, and I want nothing more in all the worlds than to try to make amends for... what happened. Even... to win your love." He frowns ruefully. "But if I never hear from you again, I'll understand. So for now... goodbye, Kylah."

He leaves.

"Yes Sir, some progress," Rangin replies cheerily to the Vice Admiral, "Dr T'Var and I are following up on some details on the transporter and the last group to be introduced to the spores, which included yourself, Sir. I believe Ensigns Graham and Kylah are talking to Lord Fastolfe. Thank you for your time and patience, Sir"

After they leave, "Ok, one last place to check out, Ma'am, T'Var...I will get this right one day..." bumbles Rangin as they head for the last place to check out, Lt Cmdr Ebling's room. "Maybe it was just the three of the guests and not the two Starfleet officers, which is just as curious."

"Certainly, Ensign," says the Starfleet Comptroller General, smiling. "Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

Dr. T'Var points out the increasingly cloudy skies to Rangin as they go. Lt. Cmdr. Ebling is not in, nor are her plainclothes guards. A tricorder scan from outside her hotel suite reveals no transporter trace at all.

Now alone in The Otherworldly's plush private room, Kylah stares after Jan. Her thoughts are churning along with her emotions.

The conversation went far better than she imagined it would. She expressed everything she wanted to say. And Jan was in every way a gentleman. He did not accuse her of lying. He listened and was clearly regretful that she did not enjoy their evening together. He said such gallant, flattering things, compliments such as she has rarely heard from anyone sincerely, other than Velir. He took her hand and assured her she was not to blame. He cares for her and still wants more.

Yes, the brief meeting should be considered a rare success.

Why does she not feel that? Why does she feel guilty? As if she let him down? Hurt him?

And she feels something else as well. A restless, frustrated surge of... anger. But at what, or whom, she cannot determine.

Kylah turns back to the table, picks up the wine glass and takes a lengthy sip. The sweet warmth soothes her dry throat. Then, replacing it, she looks over at Jan's glass. If she still felt him a suspect--if she still felt the terror that she did when, for a second, everything seemed to coalesce, when the secret files and a possible motive all merged together and formed an image of Jan as murderer--Kylah would be tempted to take the glass and test it for fingerprints.

But it would be wrong. He did not give his permission. Even in the incredibly unlikely possibility that he were guilty, the fingerprints probably would be inadmissible.

He did not do this. He is not a monster. He is just a man.

Kylah raises her glass and takes another sip. Her blood feels warmer now. She lowers the glass and holds it for a while, contemplating the remaining wine. She wanted closure and she probably has it. She should feel she has it. But does not. Somehow, something in this conversation did not go as well as she wanted it to. But she is not sure why, or what it was. It is not enough. Why can it never be enough? What more can I do, what more could he have done?

If nothing else, she accomplished what she needed to regarding the investigation. She learned more. And perhaps she is right about one thing--perhaps the Co. Bd. does indeed mean 'colonial bonds.' It need not relate to Jan. Perhaps Wilson was receiving an offer, somewhere. Or perhaps he learned someone else was receiving a bribe. It is an angle that might be worth pursuing. I can be satisfied at that, at least.

She leaves the room, absently puts her glass down on a nearby waiter's tray, and walks out of the restaurant. Kylah is not satisfied. She is on edge. It is not fair that she should be the one to feel guilty after that discussion. Why? Why?

Outside now, the storm clouds above reflect her own internal torment.

Before she enters the spa resort where she last saw Graham, she stops and looks up at the sky. Rain on me, she pleads. Send hail onto me. Batter me with your precipitation.

She waits a few moments, but nothing happens.

It does not matter. The sky cannot cleanse her.

With a sharp intake of breath, Kylah enters the spa and looks for Graham.

Kylah passes through the shiny brass gates of the spa and in the fern-shaded antechamber meets a very attractive blonde WR&R staffer, who chirps, "Welcome to the OC3 Spa. May I help you, ma'am?"

Rangin looks out of the window at the end of the hall watching the oncoming storm. "Looks like a big one, T'Var. I'm surprised they're allowed this close to the resort." he says with a grim smile.

Eyes fixed outside at the black clouds, "Well, we got our results. Either three or six to the guest houses with one last one for Mr Wilson. I don't think we are going to find any more, at least not easily. But we know more than we did. It might be worth checking the medical supplies to see if they are down three sets of dispensers and a certain amount of ephiniphrine. It's the most likely place they would be, if that kind of mechanism was used."

Black clouds and heavy rain to wash things away, but what?: guilt, evidence, fear, hope?

"We'd better hurry, we don't want to get caught in that." Rangin turns for the lift to head for the medical centre.

Kylah nods at the receptionist or hostess or whatever she is. "Good morning. Or I suppose it might be afternoon by now..." Though she starts to look down for her chronometer, she then decides she does not really care. "I am looking for a male colleague, Ensign Graham. Gray hair, green eyes, strong-looking. Can you tell me if you have seen him? He was intending to interview a woman named Paula Goldman and may have asked for her here?"

Graham can't help but smile slightly and shake his head. "Must be kind of a challenge to publicize a guy you can't stand." He weighs asking further questions or not: she might have been in the house alone, but the transporter signatures suggest that something other than one of the occupants physically sneaking around the house was in play. And being cooped up in a small room with a surly, sweaty woman while wondering whether Ens. Kylah was all right was getting old fast.

He closes his eyes for a moment as his head starts to hurt. "Thank you Ms. Goldman, I appreciate your time. If anything comes to mind that might help us in our investigation please let me know. If we need to ask you further questions we will be in touch, but right now you're free to go."

T'Var says, "I have not heard that WR&R has a weather-control grid here; I suspect it does not."

In the Infirmary, Dr. Halsey says he has no aerosol dispensers and never has. He has a small stock of epinephrine but is quickly able to confirm that none is missing.

The spa hostess grins at Kylah and says, "You left out, 'Wearing a Starfleet uniform like me.' As soon as I saw you, I thought you might be looking for him." She pages him; Graham hears the page just as Goldman, with a harrumph, slouches out of the room.