Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

Rangin looks across at Lt. Devereaux. “Truthfully, I don’t know what caused it. Something they were doing triggered a bad reaction. What I can say is that looked like she was tipped over the edge into shock and fear.”

He tries to push aside the thoughts and images he had seen in those brief moments in time when he was trying to take Kylah's pulse. Perhaps he is still suffering some long term effect from the Sakathian virus he is unaware of, especially after all those psychic tests showing nothing that untoward, but perhaps there is something more he needs to look at. But turning his mind back to Kylah, he continues, “Whatever it is, best thing she can do is get some space, get clear of the room and try and calm down somewhere quieter.”

Then probably go speak to a counsellor to try and figure out what kind of PTSD she has. After all, she’s been through over the last couple of missions, I’d be amazed if she didn’t need someone to help her get her head straight. The words remain unsaid, Rangin is not going to mention this in the gym, Kylah has enough to deal with and him saying any more, would only add to it.

“I think I’m going to go and grab a bite to eat, I feel hungry after all that, probably the adrenaline getting to me as well. Interested? I’ve got something I want to test out.” he asks politely looking to gauge Vivian’s reaction.

Nia manages to return the Science ensign's smile, despite her dismay at being late. She's found that the mere act of smiling helps relax her.

Still, even a minute isn't too little for Vargas to notice, if it's one of his hard-ass days. He has been more congenial lately, but...

Prepping herself, she presses the door chime to announce herself. If he lets her in, she'll... well, walk in. Smiling, but not obsequious; confident but not cocky.

Graham's in some ways more taken aback by Kylah looking...well, normal, from his perspective. He's always been cognizant she's his own daughter's age, and at times that awareness was heightened shen Kylah (like Lizzy, at times--to often) was really mad at him. But Lizzy was more angles and elbows and tomboyish clothes than...well, Kylah's typical appearance.

Graham clears his throat, and runs through what he remembers about interviewing victims. "It's...ah, do you mind if I sit," he asks, if he can see a chair - for god's sake, not the bed - but he wants to reduce the height differential. (If she approves, he does.)

"Ky--Mr. Kylah," he says very slowly and deliberately. "I've known people who considered themselves warriors--with good reason--who'd been hurt, or suffered trauma, such that the wrong kind of noise, or even a smell, would make them freeze up, or break out in a cold sweat, or...ah, wet themselves, even."

He shakes his head slightly. "You don't need to be embarassed, and...your concerns deserve to be taken seriously. " He pauses, looks down, and then back to Kylah. "But I can't investigate what I don't know about." He briefly clasps his hands together...something about Kylah and Nia both makes him keenly aware of the scars..so many. So much water under the bridge...

"You can take your time. With me...now, or later. Or if you'd prefer a female officer." He clears his throat again. "I'm sorry we don't have any other Elasians, if that would be helpful." He pauses. "But...I would like to help, Ensign. It's not just my duty--I would like to help."

When Lt. Graham asks if he may sit down, Kylah nods and raises her arm to indicate the chair nearest him--as if he cannot see it himself.

During his quiet, intense speech, she hugs herself, hands hidden by the robe's large, fuzzy sleeves, and looks down at the light reflected in his black boots. Taking small glances up when she feels momentarily brave; avoiding him again when she does not.

Only his mention of another Elasian woman jerks her chin upwards so she meets his gaze. She nearly interrupts him, but when he finishes, she is glad she did not. His insistence that he wishes to help touches her.

"I know you do, sir. I know you do. If I did not believe that, I would not feel comfortable..." She falls silent and looks at the door. Nothing good has occurred when she has allowed a man into her quarters. His being here will--she hopes--alter that grim pattern. But she leaves that unsaid.

"I could never speak to another Elasian woman. They would have nothing but scorn for me, for such a cowed, frightened creature. if any were to see what I have become--even my sister--" Kylah chokes on her own self-contempt, and shakes her head before focusing on him. "Oh, Lt. Graham, I would rather face Mr. Palver again."

After a few seconds, Kylah breaks the stare and walks a few steps closer to the desk. Her anxious hands must do something, and they target the damp towel. She picks it up, then twists and untwists it as she tries to come up with the right words.

"In the gym, it was... I felt so paralyzed, and it reminded me..." Abruptly she bunches the towel into a tight ball and forces herself to spin around. To face Lt. Graham once and for all. "Our first mission together. You--you must know something, or have guessed, heard the rumors... About what happened at that hotel. About what--what I did there." Her voice is taut, almost hard. "What do you know? Or remember?"

The dinner party was several days ago, not last night. See post 932.

Kostoyev replies, sounding a little panicked, "On my way." Soon he's in Sickbay, looking upset. "What is it, Doctor?" he asks. "Has she gotten worse? Is there anything I can do?"

Devereaux thinks for a moment and says, "Thank you, that would be nice. Where to?"

Vargas says, "Come," and Onn enters. She has seen his spartan office before, bare of personal details other than a silver-framed picture of an elderly couple on his desk. The desk also has several data pads on it, one of which the First Officer is reading. "Ah, Mr. Onn," he says, looking up and gesturing to a seat. "Welcome." He puts down the pad but is obviously distracted. He looks tired, too. "What can I do for you?"

Graham listens carefully to Kylah, paying attention to her body language--and the bit about another Elasian woman, and a sister, both of which are news to him.

When she finishes, he leans forward--very slightly, once again clasping his hands in front of him. "Rumors--I don't care about rumors. What I know is that you should have had better back-up, and more support, full stop...and that I don't trust that Jan character one bit." He glances down at his hands and then back to Kylah. "But I didn't come here to pass judgment, or to tell you some theories I've concocted." He pauses. "I can help you if you tell me...when you're ready...about your concerns...and what has happened to cause them."

"Thank you for meeting with me, sir," Nia says, slowly sitting on the indicated chair. "I appreciate your willingness to see me so quickly."

She tries not to examine him too closely, though her gaze does take in the pad he just deposited on the desk. "If this is a bad time... if something else has come up...I don't want to interrupt if you have anything urgent or important to deal with. My discussion can wait."

After a second in which she has to make a quick decision, Nia tosses caution aside and takes a leap. "Commander, I don't mean to step out of bounds, but you seem troubled. As I said, I can leave... or stay, if there's anything I can do to help." She lifts a palm, as if her assistance is an invisible but physical offering. "It's unlikely but sometimes another ear can help. Even if it's mine," she adds with a slight, self-deprecating smile.

Kylah deflates a little. Her fingers worry the loose end from the balled-up towel.

"What concerns me goes back to Jan and the rumors. You may not care about them, but I must. Because you can teach me self-defense--or perhaps not, given my display before," she adds bitterly. "But those Kata moves will not work against rumors. They are weapons too, sir. Just like a phaser, just like a knife."

She runs an impatient hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face as she turns away from him again.

"Jan's trustworthiness--that no longer matters. It is my character that is now destroyed. My judgment questioned, with good reason, I admit, but what they believe is even worse than the truth."

She drops the towel on what used to be her bed, then backs away from it. "If it were not for OCIII," she says in a low monotone, "I would not be as vulnerable as I am. Now, any enemy can--can do anything,, and they will say I deserved it. I invited it. Am I not an Elasian whore? Perhaps, with my tears, I caused it."

Vargas tenses and then seems to soften a little. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but it's nothing that need concern you. Just goes with the territory. I suspect you'll have to deal with similar matters when you're a First Officer yourself, which I could see happening in the not-too-distant future." He clears his throat. "But tell me, what brings you here today?"

Graham's jaw clenches and unclenches as he listens to Kylah. Part of him is processing, on the job, trying to connect two-and-two together...and it's not like what's she's describing, plus his observations and gut on OCIII makes that hard. But...


When she finishes, Graham swallows and stands, turning away briefly to look at the wall and compose his thoughts. He rubs his forehead, and moves so he can lean one arm against it for support.


"Mr. Kylah," he says quietly, working on forming and getting the words out. "I had--have. she's OK now--a sister." He glances toward Kylah, then closes his eyes for a moment. "When we were young, teenagers, she was beautiful...what I mean is more than just that, I guess what on Earth folks could call 'hot' or 'sexy'-not the way I thought about her, but undeniable...and she was...bullied, I guess. Tormented. There were people who tried to convince her or mock her--goddamn, I can't explain what was in their sick heads."

He musters the ability to look Kylah in the eye. "Foxy Fiona. 'Fuck Me' Fiona, they called her."

He pauses. "To my knowledge, there was no basis in anything she'd ever done for those names. But here's the thing--if she'd ever done anything she'd regretted, or that was--shit, I don't know, wild or weird, on purpose or by accident--that doesn't matter." He blinks and takes a deep breath. "No one has the right to bully or abuse or denigrate anyone. Regardless. Regardless of any goddamned thing.

He rubs his jaw again and takes a deep breath. "The Federation is far from perfect, Mr. Kylah. But the law says no one ever forfeits their dignity. Their right to respect. I respect you, Ens. Kylah. And whether you feel it right now or not...whether my sister felt it in moments where...in..." He blinks again. "When she tried to take her own life--"


Graham clasps his hands in front of himself just above his waist again. "However you feel know, you deserve respect, and accountability for anyone who has treated you otherwise or hurt you."

Rangin ponders the questions for the moment. It doesn’t really matter where, one mess hall is as good as the other and he’s more interested in testing some theories he has. Fortunately, the images he saw are fading, but it will be a long while before he can forget the sensation. Perhaps in a little while, Dr Bennett or Dr T’Var might be the right people to talk this over, but his professional curiousity is piqued and he wants to try a few things first.

“Let’s try Mess Hall 2, it’s a little quieter and after all that excitement I could do without anything more complicated. Sound good?”

If she agrees, Rangin will gesture to her lead the way and then match her stride to the turbolift, otherwise he will wait for her suggestion.

"Sure, let's go," Devereaux says with a smile before you set out. "I could do with a sandwich."

Over the years, Nia has trained herself to maintain a neutral expression when faced with difficult or extraordinary situations. That's why she doesn't react to Vargas's reference to the possibility of her becoming First Officer, presumably of another ship. At least, she doesn't react visibly.

But she's flooded by competing emotions: shock, pride, confusion, doubt--primarily wondering whether he's pulling her leg--and even a hint of concern. Because there's really gotta be something burdening Vargas's mind for him to make a statement like that.

One thing's for sure: it changes her opening statement.

"Thank you, sir. I'm grateful to hear that you believe that someday I might be capable of taking on such an extraordinary responsibility. In fact, it's... it's especially gratifying, because it leads me to hope that you'll look favorably--or at least, not dismiss outright--a proposal I'd like to put forward for you and Captain Singh to consider."

Nia folds her hands together on her lap. "Sir, it's long been my belief that there's a significant--well, maybe I should say, not insignificant--gap in the hierarchy of our crew. Really, of the crews of all Constitution-class ships, as far as I'm aware.

"Currently we have six Helm Officers and four Navigators. Ten of us sitting at the conn at one point or another. Generally speaking, we all work well with each other--either each position among our fellow helmspeople or navs, or as various helm/nav team working in tandem. And all of us are capable solo shuttle pilots--some are particularly excellent."

Nia remains tactfully silent on the details of that last statement.

"Still, there's inevitably gonna be some conflicts, or uncertainties, or even miscommunications, among the crew. Mostly things involving Bridge watch scheduling and other assignments, both on-ship and missions. Even shuttle assignments are pretty heavily fought-for. And there are dozens of other issues, even regarding which shuttles are repaired or upgraded, and in what order.

"Right now, there's no one to oversee these issues--no one except you and Captain Singh, and I'm absolutely not saying that doesn't work. Of course it does. Mostly, we do our best to avoid bothering the ship's two most senior officers about these, um, squabbles. Most of the time, successfully.

"But in the end, these things end up on your or Captain Singh's plates. And as you just said, sir, your plate's pretty heavily burdened as it is. Probably only rivaled by Ensign Rawlings' mess tray," Nia adds with a flashing grin.

She decides to pause, just to test the waters. She's got a lot more prepared, but she wants to check Vargas's mood before she continues.

Everything Lt. Graham says falls upon Kylah with dull thuds of agony--the pain he conveys from his sister, and that which he himself feels as he recounts her history. It is moving, forceful, terrible, sorrowful, encouraging--in the end, at least... and binding.

He trusts her, and trust creates a bond. Perhaps particularly for an empath, but Kylah believes it is true for everyone. Invisible silk ribbons have extended from his heart to hers. It is Kylah's choice to accept them, hold them gently, and meet his trust with her own to tie them together.

Her bare feet pad across the floor until she is in front of his chair, and stares down at him. As tears have streaked down her cheek, she wipes a sleeve to thoroughly dry them. It is hard not to continue to weep, now that she is even closer to the source, but she has taught herself at least that much control--every Elasian woman must do so.

In a gesture he will not understand... or maybe he will, intuitively, though it is not his custom... Kylah reaches out to place both palms gently over his heart. The contact brings another ache from his memories, and she closes her eyes for a second to take it in.

Next she lifts her hands to frame his face, her cool fingers brushing his temple before she bends and lightly kisses his forehead. It is tender, nothing romantic or sexual. It is, in fact, an Elasian maternal gesture.

"Thank you for your trust," she whispers. "I am honored."

Then, after looking down at him again, her eyes glaze over and--to avoid any possible contamination by her tears--she wipes her face, sinks to the floor to sit beside him, and rests her weary head against his knee. She used to do this as a young girl, with her father, when he was reading. Then, once he learned what she was, he no longer allowed such closeness.

"I am sorry," she murmurs, comforted by the strength of his limb against her cheek. "I am sorry your sister suffered through that. People can be so terribly cruel. She was fortunate to have you--and to have such a powerful spirit, to move beyond her pain."

She closes her eyes, a tiny shake of her head as she thinks. "I wish I had known someone like you. Someone to confide him. Not just someone, but a... a father, a father-figure. If you do not mind my calling you that. My own father thought of me simply as a source of deceit from an adoption service.

"So all I had was my uncle. He allowed me to lean on him--not just like this, where he would comfort me and stroke my hair when no one else would even dare touch me. But I could rely on him too. He would listen, and not judge." She smiles wistfully, remembering those years when--so she thought--Aldaan was her closest companion, the person who protected her from a world that would have hated her. Feared her.

She takes a breath and looks at the case that once housed her zither. How tired she is of looking at this symbol of her failure; she must destroy it.

"That did not last. I should have known everything has a cost. When I was older--by then my parents had died and he was my Guardian--he asked me for... favors. He still does, and I hate it. But I must obey, it is the duty I owe him." Kylah sighs with a realization. "In a way, I seem required to pay for every relationship I have with any man."

Finally she swallows. It is time for her to repay Lt. Graham--although this debt, she understands is long overdue, and will...perhaps...help. At least it will help him understand her. "Sir... if I do tell you something, will you... will you try not to get angry?"

Vargas smiles just a little at Onn's reference to Rawlings. He folds his hands in front of him, raises an eyebrow slightly and says, "Go on."

Good, Nia thinks, relaxing just a bit. Still got him.

She nods. "Well, sir, there's all that, and that isn't even including the smaller, more...intangible issues. While none of us is anything less than professional, there's inevitably going to be some..." Her eyes look up while she thinks of a word--or pretends to, because she's got this speech memorized. "...Some imbalances when it comes to skill levels, temperaments, and even just plain chemistry.

"We--Nav and Helm--work so closely... if something's off, the consequences can range from mere mutual annoyance for the duration of a Watch, at one end of the spectrum, to something utterly catastrophic for the entire crew at the other."

Her palm raises swiftly to forestall any misunderstanding. "To my knowledge there's nothing that's even bouncing a needle close to the mid range of that spectrum, much less the red zone. And I'm sure you know all this already. You and the Captain must spend time, consciously or instinctively, balancing these variables out, when it comes to assigning duties. You do your absolute best for the ship."

Okay, enough build-up. And no more sucking up, he'll start thinking I'm bullshitting him.

She sits a little further forward in her chair, rather excited to get to the point. "But that leads back to the issue of your overburdened plates.

"My proposal--as I'm sure you've already anticipated by now," she adds with another small smile, "is that the Yorktown establish a new position: A department chief and sort of ombudsman for the Helm Officers and Navigators. This person would serve as both a direct report for Helm and Nav officers, as well as become a member of the senior staff--a lower-grade one, of course.

"As someone directly working with the flight officers on an intimate basis, the officer would offer practical recommendations to--and accept and relay orders from--both you and Captain Singh. Right now, there isn't anyone filling that purpose for you, and it adds to your plate. Implementing such a position would bridge that gap."

She shifts slightly to some research, because who doesn't love research?

"In surveying the crew hierarchies of individual fleets among various Federation planets--and even some non-Federation ones--I've found that this isn't an unusual position. Precise names vary. Chief of Flight Operations, Senior Conn Officer, Chief Flight Officer, Chief of Helm and Navigation..."

Looking down at her hands, Nia realizes she's been unconsciously counting off the various position titles on her fingers, to help her remember them. She smiles ruefully, drops her hands back to her lap and shrugs.

"Really, I guess there're almost as many names as there are fleets. All comes down to the same thing: Someone responsible for the personnel who help fly the ships and pilot the smaller vessels--shuttles, emergency pods, and so on. In a few cases where the specific officer has significant engineering expertise, they also oversee the operations, maintenance and upgrades of those smaller vessels."

Her heart's racing a little. Nia doesn't get nervous often--except in combat situations--but Vargas just does that to her. It's like his superpower. Inhaling deeply, she relaxes back into her seat, making sure her gaze doesn't waver as she continues for the Big Ask:

"So that's the bulk of my proposal, Commander. Except for the addendum, which I'm also sure you've anticipated: if, after consultation, you and the Captain do decide to implement such a position, I'd respectfully request consideration for this responsibility and honor."

He leans back in his chair. "I see. Of course, all Helm and Nav officers are already in the Command Department, and report to me as First Officer, just as I report to the Captain. Given, as you say, that we don't have any significant problems among them so far - an assessment with which I certainly agree - is there really a need for this new post?"

“Your wife is fine... or at least as fine as she can be under the circumstances.” Nathaniel says. “I’m more concerned with the rest of the crew. This flu is highly contagious and I need to get you tested and anyone else she came in contact with. Can you give me a list ASAP?”

Graham is frozen motionless as Kylah speaks, then moves...partly he's surprised, partly (just a little bit, but he wouldn't have joined Starfleet if he didn't get the infinite diversity of cultures even when species looked like Terrans) he realizes he might be getting a glimpse into real Elasian behavior, and partly...

There's snow falling. New Hampshire. An honest to god wood-burning fire. The old-fashioned book is half closed in his hand, while Lizzy sleeps, her head resting on his thigh where she fell asleep as he read...He doesn't move. Doesn't want to move, ever...Let her sleep here all night...

"I...

He's momentarily alarmed when Kylah describes "favors" her uncle demands--but almost immediately he realizes, at least based on how she's describing things and behaving at the moment, it's not what he initially worries that might mean.

"I..." He struggles for words to reply to the young woman his daughter's age who has just conveyed empathy towards his sister and gone so far as to describe him as fatherly.

You could plunge one of your knives into my quad and I'd have a hard time getting angry at the moment...

"I didn't come here to be angry, Mr. Kylah," he says quietly--true enough, though he's not sure it makes much sense.

Relief and concern play across Kostoyev's face. He says, "Well, there's me, and our two children, and several of the other miners. Let me see: Yelena Golovakha, Gregory Dowd, Mike Chase and, uh, Samantha Pendleton. I think that's all, since she started feeling bad."

Closing her eyes again, Kylah exhales. She imagines holding onto Lt. Graham's leg as if it were a strong tree, anchoring her during a hurricane. The winds could blow and rage while she clung on, battered but safe.

"I will tell you about Jan first," she says into the void of darkness beneath her eyelids. "Because after that... I am not sure any of the rest would have happened.

"We were just supposed to go dancing. You probably remember that. The resort had a ballroom, and it was formal, and... it seemed a good way to end the evening."

She lowers her head, eyes still shut. "I should tell you that--that I was not fully myself. Before I even left for dinner, Lt. Collins and I had bitter words. I do not even remember what they were about. It was probably my fault. I was so arrogant then."

It is hard to believe she is the same person who would think herself better than anyone. "And that dress... I bought it to show off. To impress Velir. I had grown to care for him, but he thought I was so young and he too old, and that we were just friends, nothing more.

"I wanted him to feel differently. To show him I was not a child. But instead he grew cold. He did not approve of me. Between him and Lt. Collins I felt I could please no one. I was upset. I was a child, Velir was right.

"After I went with Jan, he was so attentive and flattering that I felt better around him, I felt attractive and relaxed and..."

Kylah's words falter. How can she explain what happened without revealing a significant part of what was really affecting her? But she cannot do so without breaking her vow to her uncle. Somehow she must find a way...

"I have not told anyone this. Please do not--I hope you will--" Her teeth clamp on her lower lip as she struggles to find words. In the end she settles for lies that are not very far from the truth.

"I do not know why, or how... it may just be that my biological makeup is different, as an Elasian... but the closer I was to Jan, the more I was... affected... by the spores. The ones in his system. The feeling was not dissimilar to the way men react to our tears, so perhaps there is some interaction..."

Kylah again lets her voice fade to silence. She does not want to blame the spores for what happened. Not entirely. Still, she knows there was a connection. The incident makes no sense without them.

"Sir... do you remember how the spores were said to make people feel? Blissful? Carefree? Uninhibited?"

Rangin smiles back at Lt Devereaux as they head for the mess hall. Grabbing a small bite to eat, he waits until they are both sat at a table and tucking into the food.

“Ok, you’re probably wondering what I have in mind, it’s actually quite simple, just something I need to, well, check.” he starts hopefully, keeping her attention, because the more he runs this through his mind, the more he wonders what on earth he is thinking.

“So, really, if you don’t mind, all I want to do is just take your pulse, just to, you know, to make sure I can still do it correctly. Would you mind?” He holds up one hand and smiles confidently at her waiting to see if Vivien agrees.

Of course, that would only be the first part, he wonders what will happen if he does take her pulse? Will he get the same troubled images as he did with Kylah or just nothing at all? There is something else nagging at the back of his head, but he puts it to one side, it’s probably not important now.

Graham listens intently, stock still--as if the slightest move might break the spell that's enabling Kylah to open up.

Occasionally his brow furrows as he tries to connect dots...

He sighs as she pauses. "I'm not sure any of us were at our best on OCIII," he says slowly. He nods just slightly. "I do remember the spores." Then he shakes his head. "Not a fan, but I do remember them....please. go on..."

Well, babe, that's what you get for sucking up, Nia thinks grudgingly, while nodding in acknowledgement of Vargas's response. "Of course, Commander. I know the current Command hierarchy. And, generally speaking, I maintain there are few problems.

"But with respect, sir," she adds--doing her best to actually sound respectful. "Is having 'few problems' the best we should aspire to? I hope it's not too presumptuous to say that I personally hold the Yorktown to no lower standards than the Enterprise. I have no doubt you and Captain Singh feel at least as strongly."

Nia leans forward again. "All right. You, very reasonably, ask me how this addition to the hierarchy would make anything any better. Let me give you three or four reasons why I think the ship and its personnel would benefit from the addition of this hypothetical new position--let's call it the Chief Conn Officer for the sake of this discussion.

"The first I've already expressed: to remove some of the load from your shoulders. You are the First Officer and Chief of Security, running a virtual army of officers. Security is where your heart lies, it's your area of expertise, and it shows. Your officers are without equal."

What a wonderfully ambiguous phrase that is, she thinks, keeping a completely straight face. She continues quickly: "But that leads me to point two. Your officers benefit from your expertise. Your passion for this specific, vital responsibility. This is your purview. But you also have an ACoS, who takes some of the day-to-day--or I should say, minute-by-minute--issues away from your plate. And like you, your ACoS is highly experienced in Security." Nia doesn't smile when she compliments Booker, but inside she's very glad to have the opportunity. "So naturally he's the direct-report for the rest of your security team. He's one of them.

"And that's not unique. If you look at most other divisions, each of them has a department head, or at least senior officer, who is an expert in that particular area.

"The Sickbay staff report directly to Dr. Villa, a fellow medical specialist--and she's assisted by Dr. T'Var. Our Engineers report to Cmdr. Cheverez, an expert Engineer, who's assisted by our new ACoE, um..." Nia squints in thought for a few seconds that feel endless to her. The avian woman, big feathers, what the hell's she called? "Oh! Lt. Vielar. Sorry, blanked out there.

"As I was saying... our Computer systems techs' direct report is Lt. Dosmukhambetov--" A chuckle escapes her. "Now why did I forget an easy name like Vielar, but that name came out naturally? Minds are strange. Anyway... my point is that he's a computer specialist. Same with the scientists, reporting to expert scientists Cmdr. Roble and Lt. Fuji-- Oh. No. I'm sorry... it's Cmdr. Sonak now."

The slip bothers Nia, as would the recollection of any lost comrade. She didn't know Fujishiro well, but the circumstances of her loss, taking place weeks after that initial illness, were so grim. Not the way one expects to go out, if one must, in service to Starfleet.

She forges relentlessly ahead. "The shuttle maintenance crew, headed by one of their own. The Communications officers, ditto. The transporter crew, ditto--and we don't even use transporters every day." Nia smiles to make sure Vargas knows she's not denigrating the importance of transporter technology.

"So there we are. Meanwhile... what about the ten of us most directly responsible for flying the ship? We lack a direct report with everyday knowledge of sitting at the Helm, at the Nav panel. Someone who knows the quirks of every shuttle in the line. Perhaps most important, someone with hands-on expertise in maneuvering a ship of this size in combat situations, working in concert with whichever Security officer's sitting at tactical."

Nia hesitates and says, a bit gently, "As you know, sir, this is such a new protocol. Things were easier--and I hope you'll forgive me if I seem to be disagreeing with decisions made by the higher-ups at Starfleet--they were a lot more logical, when the Helm officer handled weapons on her--or his--own.

"But things have changed, and now there are three of us who need to work in sync. It's not something that would've been part of training years ago. It wasn't even in my Academy training, and I graduated only eight years ago. We all remember the changeover process.*"

She takes a deep breath. Using this much tact and politesse is friggin' exhausting. But she maintains it. "Instead, the four navigators and six helm officers are gathered under your already-crowded umbrella."

Nia lets this sink in for just a few seconds before she goes on. "And all that's just maintaining where we are. As I said, we should be advancing. There's not enough hours in the day for you to manage everything on your own, sir--not innovations specific to our division.

"A Chief Conn Officer could make sure every pair of Helm and Nav officers are running like a single machine--and would spot the ones who don't work that well and make sure they don't get teamed up.

"I'd imagine that whoever's picked for this role could also be the primary person on deck when it comes to combat. We need the person with the most experience at Nav and Helm, and Weapons handling, during a time when fast-thinking and maneuvering are essential. At least one person at the conn on that Bridge should be expert at all these areas--navigation, propulsion, evasion, targeting, timing... She should know how they work symbiotically.

"I'm reading more and more in tech journals that a time will come when technology advances to merge Helm and Nav into one panel--especially now that, as I said, weapons control is now out of the Helm officer's hands. If I recall my history, I'm pretty sure the only reason Helm and Nav were separated in the first place was to make sure the Helm could handle weapons in a combat situation. Now, without that, there's almost no reason to have separate positions."

Nia shrugs. "But we do, and that means three people who need to work very, very closely together in extremely tense situations. And it's hard enough for two minds to work in sync, much less three. So far we've been lucky, but I know you, sir, and you don't want luck to rule when it comes to our chances in a battle with Klingons or Romulans or something we haven't even met yet.

"Well, along with you or the ACoS, a Chief Conn could devise and oversee simulations for the conn officers and the best security officers you prefer at Tactical, making sure everyone's in concert with each other, like three limbs of a single body.

"Then there's the political stuff that I'm sure you'd rather keep far away from. A Chief Conn, being among the crew, could sniff out any personality clashes or ego issues--and I hate to say this about my own people, but you may have noticed that we space jockey types sure do have egos--" Nia grins crookedly. "--And you wouldn't have to deal with the whole power trip thing. The Chief Conn Officer would smack 'em down or boost 'em up, whichever is necessary."

Her hands are a little sweaty from clutching each other--and her own efforts--so she lets them rest on her knees, which peek out from underneath her skirt.

"Then there's the matter of shuttles. A Chief Conn should, I believe, be the most experienced person in piloting a solo vessel, and so should be the chief pilot of the shuttles. But I'd also do more to find and utilize talent."

The unconscious slip in referring to herself passes her by completely. "I think we need more people trained in shuttle piloting. Off-ship missions are getting more commonplace, and while naturally one of our current shuttle pilots is almost always onboard, sometimes a backup is required. Injury. Death. It happens.

"Sure, most every officer on the Yorktown is a relatively competent pilot--you don't get out of the Academy without that experience. But for most of the crew it's been years and years since they actually got behind the helm of a shuttle. Well... I'd propose we start a training and certification program for the crew, specifically in shuttle piloting. And, with a Chief Conn Officer, we'd have someone able to schedule and oversee that, alongside Cmdr. Cheverez.

"I could also coordinate with Cheverez with regards to hangar deck operations, and with Hans--I mean, Lt. Meyer--as far as maintenance and shuttle upgrades. No one keeps up with current and bleeding-edge ship tech innovations the way I do, sir, and just ask any Engineer which pilot spends the most time tinkering with shuttles to experiment and improve--"

At last her mind catches up with her words, and Nia halts mid-sentence. She feels her cheeks burn. "Um... Sorry, sir. I got... carried away. I, um... I suppose I tipped my hand a bit. But I already said I wanted consideration for the job." She tosses her head, dismissing her brief nonplussed demeanor, and tries to regain her aplomb.

"Well... anyway, I'm enthusiastic and yeah, ambitious, but not just for me, sir. It's because I think the Yorktown can keep moving forward, not just literally, but through innovation, leading the way for the rest of Starfleet. Flagship or not. We are the best--or we sure as hell should try to be."

The quiet fills the room except for the blood pounding in Nia's ears. Who knew she'd be this nervous? She realizes that this means more to her than she thought.

Her hands return to rest together in her lap. "Well, sir," she says, with a little shaky laugh. "That's all I've got."


At least I hope so!

Devereaux raises an elegant eyebrow. She smiles slyly. Without a word, she raises a blue-clad sleeve and extends her wrist to Rangin.

Vargas leans back in his chair. "You make some good points, Mr. Onn." He drums his fingers on his desk briefly, thinking, and then says, "Put all that in a memo, if you please, and I'll present it to the Captain with my recommendation."

Nia, who's already prepared her rebuttal argument, has to switch gears and swallow back the words when she realizes Vargas has actually ceded her point. It's not a "hell yes" but she'll take a "maybe." Especially because Captain Singh is, she hopes, more receptive to new ideas.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your time and consideration. I... actually have the proposal written up, as I described it. Minus some of my, um, off-the-cuff remarks. I'll send it to you and the Captain right away."

She clasps the arms of her chair, ready to push herself up, when she looks at Vargas again. "Before I go... you do look tired, sir, if you don't mind my saying. If I can be of any assistance with anything--I've got attentive ears and strong hands, depending on your needs."

Kylah lowers her head. "Yes, sir. Well... that is how the spores seemed to affect me, at least a little. I felt this sense of--of peaceful rapture--whenever Jan touched me. I mean even just by accident," she adds hurriedly. "If our fingers brushed against each other during dinner." She shivers at the memory.

"We left for a walk." Her voice sharpens. "As I recall, you saw us on the security cameras. Embracing, and... more. I am a private person, sir, but I swear, I could not stop. It seemed like intoxication. Then we agreed to start for the ballroom. But first he said he needed to change clothes. It would just take a moment."

The nails from her balled-up fingers dig into her palm.

"So we went to his suite, and he left to the restroom to change. There was music already playing. With him gone, I felt more clearheaded. I looked around--we were supposed to inspect the resort, and this was an opportunity to do so. The room was beautiful, so was the view. Then Jan came up behind me. Not in a tuxedo, just in his shirt sleeves. He held me, he complimented me. And we began to dance."

The music rings in her ears, winds its way through her memories. She never wanted to hear it again--she thought she forgot it, but no, it is still there. Music does not easily give up its hold on her. Dread grips her heart, squeezes it mercilessly with the terror that she has somehow returned to the elegant resort.

Kylah forces her eyes open with a gasp. No: she is still here, in her quarters. Lt. Graham is beside her. His muscles do not seem to be moving. He might not even be breathing, he feels so still and solid, like a marble statue. But not cold. Not at all cold.

"I lost myself in that dance," she whispers. "Something was happening and I--I said we should leave, but he began to... to caress me, and I was helpless. Anywhere he touched my skin was... " Kylah stops. Her hands pull her robe tighter. "I wanted to tell him to stop. But I could not."

She is so ashamed she must close her eyes again. None of this will truly make sense to Lt. Graham, not without his understanding of her empathic connection to Jan. The businessman's passion became her own, his bliss from the spores was now hers. Even when her mind protested, her senses were no longer under her command.

Nevertheless, Kylah goes on. She can only hope Graham will not blame her too much for the egregious events that occurred.

"One moment we were dancing and--and kissing," she continues miserably. "Then he suddenly went further. He untied the top of my dress. I was half-bare, and his hands were... everywhere. I was appalled but felt so weak. I think I whispered no, but he was kissing me and I doubt he thought I meant it.

"The next thing I remember is being lowered to the bed, the rest of my dress slipping off... and Jan discovering my knife. He was surprised. No--not surprised. Amused." Kylah's tone flattens. "A child's toy. He said, 'We will not need that,' and unbuckled and tossed it aside like some trinket. I just watched, useless.

"Until then this all seemed to be happening to someone else. But without my knife, and as he too started to undress, I realized... this was real. Much too far, much too fast. How did things go so wrong? My mind and body seemed disconnected. No matter how much I desperately wanted to leave, I did not."

This wretched admission ends in a croak. Her throat is parched. She knows she has come this far, she must tell the rest. She can sense strong, swirling, unidentifiable emotions from the man beside her, and perhaps she had better break for both of their sakes.

Trying to swallow, she cannot. She shudders and hugs her knees close to her chest and glances at the empty pitcher near her bed. "Sir... forgive me, but could you... may I please have some water?"

Vargas gives Onn a tired smile. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Onn, but I'm all right. Now, if there's nothing else, you're dismissed."

Nia nods and gets to her feet. "Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your time." With a final smile she leaves Vargas's office--and the smile broadens once the door closes behind her. It's all she can do to keep from performing a fist-pump of satisfaction.

Don't get ahead of yourself, she warns herself, easing her self-pride down a couple of notches. It wasn't a yes.

Still, even with her expectations dialed to a more realistic level, she's practically skipping on her way back to her quarters. Her plans: To grab her swimming accessories--cap, goggles, and greenish-silvery suit that matches her scales--and take a multitude of exultant laps in the pool. Right now she feels she could swim to Novy Rostov itself.

Rangin grins wolfishly as he delicately wraps his fingers around the proffered wrist while keeping eye contact with Devereaux. It’s not like he hadn’t done this hundreds of times before, but normally as part of either his training or in the field. Then again, he thinks, this is just one of his colleagues, well, lending a hand.

Without thinking he settles his fingers in place, quickly finding the right spots in which he can feel a pulse, the gentle heartbeat in her veins and he instinctively starts counting under his breath. There are no immediate side effects, no dizziness, no strange thoughts or images, as there had been with Kylah. After he gets to thirty, he begins to wonder why he is doing this and not just for the pleasure of holding the Lt’s wrist, but if what had happened, had really happened or he had imagined it.

But there could be so many different reasons for that and sitting here, with Vivien, in the mess hall, if there is anything to find, is a little unscientific and making it harder to tell.

“Pulse is fine, perhaps a little fast. So, how do you feel?” he asks while maintaining his grip and still feeling the pulse ticking through, while concentrating harder to see if he can pick up anything...

Devereaux seems in no hurry to pull her arm back. She leans closer and says quietly, "Um, just fine, thanks, Velir. Tell me, are you cross-training as a medic?"

He has a vague but noticeable psi impression of her amusement and slight erotic stimulation.

Graham periodically swallows, or takes a prolonged blink as he listens to Kylah recount what happened OCII. He's revising his initial take, but the fundamental fact remains it was a bad scene. And his instincts that something was rotten was right. Yes, there's some anger--he was suspicious of that Jan scumbag right off--but Jan's not here.

Whether or not it would even be possible to try to prosecute him is highly uncertain. But Kylah is here. And she is hurting. Getting pissed about the past takes a backseat.

As she concludes Graham glances at the water pitcher. He takes a deep breath, and leans forward, placing a hand gently on Kylah's shoulder. "No forgiveness is needed," he says quietly, shaking his head slightly. "None at all," he adds, almost to himself as he processes how closed in she is, arms around knees.

Mommy's gone, mommy's gone. Lizzy rocks back and forth on the floor, Graham watched helplessly, afraid to even speak...

This isn't that, but she's hurting, and you can do better now than then.

"Take all the time you need," he says as he stands. "I'll get some water." He moves to get water and bring it back to Kylah.

Kylah watches Lt. Graham walk from her. From her perspective on the floor, he looks taller, larger than usual. Or perhaps she just feels so small. A child, why can she not be a child again? Before her siblings were born, before the truth about her own nature came out. Just a little girl with parents who doted on her, whose happiness was bound up with hers--and, because they were happy, she sensed it and her own joy increased.

Just as, when she disappointed them, her own shame deepened. What would they think of her now?

She accepts the glass with both hands, cupping it prayerfully as she murmurs her thanks. Her trembling hands make the glass unsteady but her teeth clamp it into place before taking a sip. the water is cold and soothes her dry throat.

Once Lt. Graham is seated, Kylah carefully places the glass beside her and hugs herself again. She stares at the wall as if her memories could be projected upon it, images of that night. She cannot picture herself, but Jan--unfortunately--is easy to remember. Handsome yet repulsive, seductive yet callous. No, she thinks while shaking her head. Not callous... surely that is only her imagination. She would have felt that, back then. And she does not remember that.

Her head's tiny movements do not stop. "No," she says, answering herself as if Lt. Graham could hear her thoughts. "I only wish I could blame him for being callous. But it was not his fault. He just wanted what men want. Whereas I... I wanted too many conflicting things. Physically, my body felt as he did. But my mind, my heart--I did not.

"Inside I was screaming at myself but could not find my voice. So he... he kept going, touching me... and I could not help reacting. When at last I told him no, when I said I wished to leave, Jan did not take me seriously. I can understand why. When he kissed me, when he touched me, I--I responded. My body made me a liar."

Too embarrassed to be so close to Lt. Graham, Kylah shifts and, without his source of strength, has nothing to guard against the storm inside her. "I was so ashamed. Scared. Everything had gone wrong. I kept thinking of the ballroom and the romantic dance I had envisioned, like some silly little girl in a fairytale. I was so stupid. So weak.

"He was naked, now, and on top of me, and I could hardly breathe. I could not move on my own. I knew he would have to be the one to separate us. I would have to ask him. It was degrading to admit he had such power over me. But I did it.

"I told him I was not strong enough, I begged him to help. But I suppose he thought I was teasing, or... or that I meant something else. Why should he believe me? He even paused, staring over me, his body covering mine, and said I could go if I wanted to. But I could not. With him so close, with the spores affecting me, I could not move. And when I just lay there, trying to speak, he--he took that as my answer."

Tears burn her cheeks. She hardly realizes she is crying.

"So I gave up," she says at last. "Gave him control. And he took over. He took everything."

Her hands cover her eyes, her head still shaking hopelessly. Finally she lifts her face, her voice a soft monotone while she again stares at the wall--now blank, like her expression.

"When it was over, I waited until he went to the restroom, then got my clothes and left. I ran into you and Dr. T'Var. Do you remember? When you saw me, you turned away. You seemed disgusted. I do not blame you, I can only imagine what you thought. I probably looked... my hair, my dress wrinkled... you were right to be angry. I did not act like a Starfleet officer. I took an hour or two of temporary pleasure and slept with a stranger."

Kylah wipes her bleary eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "Jan himself was also convinced that I had been... pleased by what happened. He never doubted it that night, and he remained convinced, I think, until the day we left that planet.

"That last day, I tried to explain, I met with him. Not to blame him, it was my fault, really. But... I had thought about it and decided I must tell him... it was important that he understand that when I said no he should have listened. He should have stopped. All I wanted was an acknowledgement, not even an apology. Do you understand?"

Kylah starts to turn back to Lt. Graham, but then, afraid of his expression, ducks her head and continues. "Jan was surprised that I was upset. He was taken aback, he said he had certainly not forced me, he had made sure I was ready, more than ready. Obviously I had wanted him."

Bile rises in her throat and she swallows. "But he was wrong. I did not want that. I did not! I could not. I would never have chosen to--to do that. Not then, not that way, with a stranger I cared nothing about." Her eyes glaze over. "Not for my first time."

Still holding carefully onto Vivien's hand, Rangin is not sure whether he is picking up things psychically or if Vivien's body language, the leaning-in closer, the interested look in her eye, the slight lowering of tone of voice, is giving him more signals than he is expecting.

"A medic? I've done some training." He grins at her, "I may be no Ship's Doctor, but I know my way around. I have plenty of practice in administering to those in need of a assistance. Just ask me."

He thinks over what he is doing here, across a table in the mess hall, and why he is holding the Lt's wrist. It is just a little test to see if he could repeat what happened with Kylah. It feels vague at the moment and Kylah was intensely emotional at that point, whereas Vivien is calm, albeit more interested than Rangin had ever expected. The next step would, of course, be in a situation where there was more raw emotion, to see what kind of impact that would have, but that would mean being in such a situation...

He leans in closer across the table, towards her, his voice a little lower than before. "I still need to thank you, you know, for letting me take your pulse. If there is anything I can do, in return, let me know. It is running a little fast though, so perhaps some other part of you that might need careful examination?"

Although he wonders if he is being a little more forward with a superior officer than he should, Rangin realises that the wrist feels like its fits neatly under his fingers, he can still feel her pulse, but now there's also in a slight sheen from the close contact as he tries to get any further impression from Vivien.

Or maybe the perspiration is his.

"You're welcome, Velir," Devereaux says, gently taking her arm back. "But for the moment, at least, I think I need no other examination." She smiles. "Not on a medical basis, at least, although it's kind of you to offer." Some laughter across the room breaks the mood, and she looks over, then back. "How about some coffee?"

“Thank you.” Nathaniel says, as he jots down a mental list of the names he is given. “I’d like for you to get your children and bring them here to be tested immediately.”

“As for these other people, I assume they are all still on board?” Nathaniel asks, as he hopes that is the case.

Dr. Bennett is soon able to reach those he needs to. Within fifteen minutes they have all come to Sickbay, including Mr. Kostoyev and his two very appealing children, Yuri, 8, a towheaded boy trying to look brave, and Katya, 4, a delicate little girl who is near tears.

Rangin sits back in his chair, having gracefully released Vivien's hand back to her as she sits back. What was he thinking, making a comment like that to his superior officer like that? Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained and she is still smiling, back to colleagues again, he guesses.

For a fallback, chatting science over coffee is still a good thing, even if the earlier mood had vanished. "Coffee sounds good", he nods agreeing with the suggestion, "shall I get them? It's the least I can do." Rangin can still remember how she takes it, like most of the people in the science team.

Graham's led on an intellectual and emotional roller-coaster as he listens intently to Kylah.

A lot of things start to make sense...although not yet everything, but there's time for that later...

There are a lot of things to be unhappy about--including his own role on the OCIII mission, and how hard-to-impossible any legal action would be against this Jan scumbag, even if Kylah wanted to pursue it--but there's one thing that trumps everything else.

As far as he's concerned, he hopes--assumes--his daughter back on Earth is having a great time with whatever man--or woman--floats her boat. Or men or women. Or maybe she's not involved with anyone at all...whatever suits her and makes her happy.

He hasn't given any alternative a moment's thought...assuming, perhaps wrongly, that he'd know if her personal experiences hadn't been what he'd hoped.

But would I know? Would my own daughter ever feel able to share something like this with me?

He's truly not sure.

But he's sure , now, he knows what he would feel like if she did. And he how he'd feel about what she'd been through--and her at that moment.

Graham rises slowly.

It seems like a long way to get close enough, behind her, to slowly place one hand on her shoulder.

And still longer to gather his words.

"I understand enough to know you're not the one who should be ashamed. To know it's important and brave that you were willing to share this."

"To promise..." that's the hardest bit to get out, his voice fails slightly.

Why should Kyah believe me? What if Lizzy wouldn't believe me? How could I ever prove it?

"To promise you, I am not angry."

"Yes, please," Devereaux says with a winning smile. "Very hot, and with just a little cream."

Kylah's shoulder tenses underneath Lt. Graham's touch, but even through her robe's material she senses his warm concern, and her neck and arm muscles relax soon.

His reassurance makes her bow her head. "Thank you, sir," she whispers, meaning it.

Yet...

No sooner are the words out when she starts to weep again, and automatically bunches her fists into her eyes to stem the toxic tears. This sudden outburst is not just from sorrow or even shame.

The fact that Lt. Graham insists he is not angry with her... somehow it has unleashed something. Enabled her to access something new--or rare--within herself.

Deep inside her is a void, a place empty of emotion. Now a pinprick of rage appears: a tiny, white, impossibly dense star that builds and builds with growing heat and light that blinds her, even with her eyes closed; it is heavy and dangerous and for an instant Kylah fears she cannot control it.

And she is right.

"But I am angry!" she sobs--almost growls, into the folds of her sleeves. "I am. I despise myself. I despise him. When he--when he rolled off me--I stared at the floor and saw my knife. I should have taken it, while he lay beside me so pleased and smug. Taken it and--and--" Kylah chokes on the words, unable to continue the threat.

She sobs again. "I did use it, that night. Alone, in my bathroom. On that dress. That filthy gown I wore for my own vanity, to flaunt myself. I could not bear the sight of it anymore. It had his hands, his smell, over every revolting square inch. I shredded it. I burned it."

Kylah finally spins to Lt. Graham, trying to keep her face dry, wanting to collapse against him and bury herself in his strong arms. But now it is not just her tears from which she must protect him. She would not dirty this man with her.

Helpless, she again hugs herself, shaking her damp curls that cover and hide her face. "I only wish I could have done the same for my skin... Used the knife he tossed aside to carve out everything he touched. Flayed myself of the memory of everywhere he--he fouled me..."

Rubbing her face red and raw, Kylah stands there, small and trembling and utterly at a loss. "What can I do to forget? What am I supposed to do? What good will come of my telling you this?"

Slightly distracted by the smile, as he raises from the table, Rangin has to put a hand out to avoid bumping into Mr Johnson. "Sorry," he nods to the chef as Rangin heads for the replicators.

Very hot, with a little cream...you are and I'd love to oblige...

...where did that come from?

Rangin keeps moving with a fixed smile plastered across his face as he tries to figure out why he's suddenly acting like a horny teenager. Maybe, this is a further psi effect he is feeling, Rangin is not sure, but it slightly worrying if it is having this effect on him. It's not like he wasn't just chatting up Viv...a superior officer...maybe he did need to have a word with the Doctors about this. On the other hand, the company is certainly enjoyable.

Hoping to calm down slightly as he gets the coffee proves to be more difficult than he expects but by the time he is returning to the table, he thinks he is ok again.

"Here you go Vivien, one coffee, as you like it." he pushes the hot steaming brew across the table before tucking into his own. After a sip, he puts it back down and looks across. He shrugs slightly, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"You know, you mentioned being bored earlier? Well there is a Lyceum concert tonight, 19:00 hours. That is, if you're interested?"

Devereaux takes a sip from her coffee. "Ah, just right. Thanks, but I saw the Lyceum concert's program, and it's not really my kind of music. I appreciate the offer, though." Rangin and she talk for another half-hour or so before she leaves.

Graham is paged by Cmdr. Vargas, who wishes to meet to discuss the landing party arrangements for Novy Rostov tomorrow. It doesn't take long.

Soon after, Ens. Alvarez calls Kylah and says with regret that he cannot make the concert after all, as his Sickbay watch has been extended. He's been assigned to help test those exposed to one of the miners who, he confides, has a contagious disease. He apologizes and asks for a raincheck for a future Lyceum performance.

Within hours, Dr. Bennett confirms with some relief that none of those tested have the Canopian flu. Mrs. Kostoyev remains in quarantine.



Shipboard night passes without incident.

The next morning, the USS Yorktown enters the Eta Ophiuchi system and drops out of warp. Capt. Singh is in the big chair, with Onn at Helm and Bennett at Nav. Graham is at the Security console and Kylah at Communications, with Thalen standing nearby, his hands clasped behind his back. Dr. Bennett is at the Bridge's Life Sciences panel, Rangin at Science I, and Cheverez at Engineering. A Science rating enters the Bridge from the turbolift and approaches the Captain with a report tablet to sign.

"Approaching Novy Rostov," Bennett announces.

"Standard orbit, Mr. Onn," the Captain says with a nod. "Put us over the colony itself, if you please."

Rangin notices from his sensors that there is already another ship in orbit.

Rangin looks at the blip on the console. He activates a scan to identify the ship and its course so he can pass the details to Helm.

He is not expecting anything untoward.

The other ship is in orbit, not on a course. She is the Sarafina of Jarris III, a small merchant ship of Federation registry. Less than a tenth the Yorktown's size, she is listed as having a crew of nine; her master is a Nicholson Bell.

Singh accepts the tablet, briefly reviews and then signs it. The Science rating takes it and leaves.

Novy Rostov is growing large on the forward viewscreen. It is a rocky, bleak, reddish-orange world with no visible bodies of water or clouds. It sort of reminds Graham and the Bennetts of Mars, but without as many distinctive surface features.

Graham runs all the standard protocols and scans for orbital and colony security.

Intense focus on getting that done helps him not be distracted by...Kylah...Rangin...Onn...and Bennett...

Jeez.

Graham detects no potential threats in the star system. There is a single ship in orbit over the mining colony; he learns the same things about it as Rangin just did. The Sarafina has a small forward phaser bank and deflector shields appropriate for her size and role. The Assistant Chief of Security had earlier learned that the colony has a single civilian shield generator, common for such facilities, and no offensive capability; he confirms this is still true.

Nia confirms Singh's order and, as the Yorktown shifts toward the colony, watches the red, seemingly lifeless world. She can't help thinking of rust-colored deserts of Sidonia. If for any reason she's asked to go dirtside, she might get one helluva case of deja vu. Minus Sidonia's harsh sunlight, so bright and jaundiced it stings the uncovered eyes of species that haven't formed protective lids.

Since it's more likely there'll be no reason for her to step on the ground, Nia gives a mental shrug and, whenever the ship is correctly situated above the colony--and making sure there's plenty of distance between the Yorktown's altitude and the Sarafina--will adjust speed until they're in synchronous orbit.

With red-veined eyes that feel gritty as sand, Kylah focuses on her duties. Somehow she missed that Lt. Graham would be on watch with her today. As compassionate and protective as he was last night, she cannot forget all the intimate knowledge he has of her. She wants to shrink beneath her chair, but can do nothing while Lt. Thalen is standing over her.

Velir's proximity is distracting too, although she is glad to see him back on duty. Then there is Dr. Bennett, performing his watch at the Bridge for what Kylah believes is the first time. At least he will be on hand if Velir has any further health problems.

She catches a glimpse of her face in the shining panel beside her. Puffy eyes, dark circles, and--since she barely managed to get through her shower and into her clothes after sleeping through her alarm-- instead of the standard beauty routine she has performed since age 10, Kylah wears no makeup.

I look like a little girl playing dress-up in a Starfleet costume.

She faces her monitor again and performs yet another scan of the local communications activity.

Onn eases the Yorktown into synchronous orbit. The Sarafina is now 50 km astern. The daylit arc of the planet fills the lower half of the Bridge's main viewscreen.

Kylah sees no local communications activity at first, but then the incoming-message indicator on her board lights up. The heavy cruiser is being hailed by both the colony and the Sarafina.

"Incoming hails, Captain, from the ship and colony," Kylah says, her voice husky but she attempts to put more force in it. "I do not know if their simultaneous nature is intentional. Do you wish me to take them separately, and if so, which has priority?"

Singh says, "Acknowledge the Sarafina's signal, and tell them I'll respond shortly. Put through the call from the colony."

Kylah quickly acknowledges the Sarafina before asking them to wait a moment; next, she taps at her panel to receive the communication from the planet below.

Swiveling to face the center of the Bridge, Kylah nods to Singh. "The colony channel is open, Captain."

Nathaniel turns to the group of people he has gathered. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I have been informed that each of you has come in contact with Mrs. Kostoyev and given the how contagious the virus can be, I would like to have you all tested immediately."

Nathaniel watches the variety of reactions from the group, but the only one he takes in is from the little girl. The child looks downright terrified. Nathaniel gulps and berates himself for not noticing her earlier. Maybe he would have softened his words. Or maybe have had one of the nurses handle this. Nathaniel has few weaknesses, at least none he would admit, but he couldn't stand to see children, especially young girls, upset or in pain. And he'd seen far too much of it in his years as a doctor. He pushes away the memories. He couldn't let it get to him. He has to keep focused.

This was why he'd spent most of his career treating adults. In fact he'd taken steps in his career to ensure he'd rarely ever had to treat kids. He just couldn't do it anymore. But he couldn't avoid this. He wouldn't avoid it. He could not help himself. He walks over to her and squats down, coming face to face with her tear stained face.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Bennett." He says in the softest voice he could muster. "What is your name?"

"Katya," the little girl had said shyly.

After Dr. Bennett learned her name, he was able to talk to her and in time to put her, her father and her older brother, Yuri, a bit more at ease. Fortunately, after testing, he'd confirmed that neither they nor the others gathered around him in Sickbay had been infected.

Now the young healer sits on the Bridge, thinking back on last night, and also thinking ahead to what the future might hold.



The Bridge's main viewscreen briefly displays the Federation seal and then clears to show a beefy, red-faced, white-haired man seated behind a desk. "Hello, Yorktown!," he says in a hearty voice. "I'm Gov. Sergey Voronko. Welcome to Novy Rostov."

"Thank you, Governor," the Captain says. "I'm Capt. S.P. Singh, and we're glad to be here. With your permission, we'll begin beaming down the 30 miners and family members we've brought here. Actually, I should tell you, there is one exception - the wife of Mr. Kostoyev, the chief miner, is in quarantine for the moment with Canopian flu. We've confirmed that no one else has been infected."

"Ah, good," Voronko says. "Thank you. I'll let our medical officer know. We'll prepare quarantine quarters for her."

"Thank you. We also have some supplies and equipment you'd requested. I'd also like to beam down a landing party to meet with you, if I may."

"Of course, of course! Any visitors are most welcome. This is hardly a vacation world, but we like to think it has its charms. If you wish to grant shore leave to your crew, please feel free to."

"I'm not sure there will be time for that," Singh says after a moment's thought, "but thank you for your kind offer, Governor. Our landing party and the others will begin beaming down in ten minutes, shall we say?"

"Certainly. I will send you the coordinates for City Hall."

"Thank you, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, the other ship in orbit has also hailed us. My best wishes to you and your colonists. We'll be back in touch soon. Yorktown out." She turns to Kylah. "Put through the Sarafina, please."

Kylah follows the Captain's order and, after apologizing to the Sarafina for the brief delay, sends the connection through to Singh.

The viewscreen clears to show a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard, in a brown uniform which has obviously seen better days. "Nick Bell, master of the Sarafina, here. Is that you, Yorktown?"

"Yes, it is," the Captain says. "Capt. S.P. Singh, at your service. Sorry for the delay in replying; the colony hailed us at the same time."

"No worries. I got nothing but time. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain."

"For me, as well. May I ask what brings you to Novy Rostov?"

He shrugs. "Repairs. Our deflector shield generator conked out on us and we didn't have the right parts, and couldn't fabricate them ourselves. This was the nearest inhabited world and fortunately, they were able to help us out. Some of my crew have taken shore leave, but we should be breaking orbit in the next few hours. And you?"

"We're bringing some miners, their families and supplies to the colony. Also showing the flag a bit, truth be told. We probably won't be here long ourselves."

"Yeah, not exactly a garden spot, is it? Well, nice talking to you, Captain; safe voyage."

Singh smiles. "Likewise, Capt. Bell, and thank you. Yorktown out."

She breaks the connection and says, "Mr. Kylah, tell the miners to proceed to the transporter rooms. Have Chief Harrison make arrangements to beam down the supplies and equipment from Cargo Bays 1 and 2." She thinks for a moment. "Mr. Graham, assemble a landing party, if you please - yourself and five others. You will be in command. Science Officer Roble will be beaming down, as well, but he has other business there and won't be a member of your party."

Kylah does her best to listen carefully to the Captain's orders, but after contacting the miners, she has a private anxious moment when her tired mind cannot recall what she is to do next. Something to do with the equipment...

Well, it must be beamed down, so presumably the transporter engineers must be prepared. But she cannot precisely remember whom Singh mentioned. Until the first name that springs to mind sounds at least partially familiar.

She holds her breath, then turns to Lt. Thalen. "Excuse me, sir, I--may have misheard," she says, trying to hide her dread. "Did the Captain wish me to contact Lt. Ferguson?"

Thalen leans down and says quietly, "No, she said Chief Harrison. I believe he's the duty Transporter Chief this watch."

An invisible but thick cord of tension loosens its knot inside Kylah's stomach. "Thank you," she says to her superior officer. With relief that nearly leaves her lightheaded, she turns and contacts Chief Harrison, passing along Captain Singh's request.

Graham's brow furrows--he resists the urge to scratch his head. Wasn't Ferguson the guy yelling at Kylah on my first watch onboard?

Now's not the time to deal with that though - he's got a landing party to pick, and, sadly, Rangin's no longer comatose, and it's tough to justify leaving a xenobiologist who is standing right there behind. He does want someone else from Security, to conduct the assessment he had in mind. And, well, how better to "show the flag."

He's tempted to pick Mahmoud because of his confidence in his friend, but Ens. St. Croix was solid. No need to play favorites.

Plus Medical--got to be Bennett since he was looking after the sick miner.

And no way I can leave Kylah behind. Probably better for her to feel useful, but I'll bet money she'd assume I didn't think she was up to it, dammit...

"Understood, Captain," Graham says. "Dr. Bennett, Mr. Kylah, you're with me. Mr. Rangin--if you feel up to it." He taps the console to issue the order. "Ens. St. Croix from Secuity will join us."

That's five. He has to hold back a smile.

He pauses as if done, just to savor the moment. "And...Lt. Onn, you're from a, ah, an arid planet, if I recall correctly. I'd welcome your expertise down there."

Nia's attention has been focused on Captain Singh's comment about Nina Kostoyev--she's got some illness that needs quarantine? And she's pregnant? Again Nia's unwelcome, unbidden native instinct to treat births as sacrosanct creates a swell of concern and resentment.

Then Booker's picked to lead a landing party. Mood lightened to pride, Nia smiles to herself.

The smile turns slightly wry when she hears his picks for the team. Let's see, Book hates Rangin, and vice versa. Kylah looks like she's been 'dragged through a hedge backwards,' as Ajay would put it, after her breakdown yesterday--extra points for Booker trying to show confidence, but good grief, the girl is fragile as a crystal ornament.

Plus, Kylah complicates things even more, given the bizarre dynamic between her and Rangin--not to mention that Kylah's someone Booker will (understandably) be overprotective of. And Dr. Bennett flat-out hates everyone. Or at least treats them all with equal disdain.

Is this a landing party or a psychological experiment?

Well, at least St. Croix should keep things sane. Lucky this is just an exploratory thing, no real high stakes. Hopefully his final pick will be another security officer--they'll need as many as they can just to keep Book from killing Rangin if the latter neglects to say 'bless you' after Kylah sneezes.

Suddenly she blinks. Did Book just say her name? Yes, he did, and he's looking at her... like that. Playful but intense. Can anyone else see what she sees in his striking gaze?

Nia doesn't blush, but a pleasant warmth spreads through her body. It's all she can do not to respond with a yes, I'd be happy to serve under you...

"Honored, Lt. Graham. And I'd be very happy to join you. As you say, I do know my dried-up planets pretty well."

Plus I might be able to keep the peace between... well, just about everyone you picked and everyone else. Minus St. Croix.

But her glance takes in the surrounding crew before landing on Captain Singh. "Still, I defer to you, ma'am," she says with a respectful smile. "Not sure if you'd mind being deprived of the majority of your current Bridge complement."

Kylah inhales in surprise and turns to Lt. Graham. She cannot believe he chose her, not after her reaction yesterday, and all she told him, and...

And now he has chosen Velir?

She has purposely avoided looking at the Science station all morning, and does not change that decision now. Of course, she cannot refuse Lt. Graham, there must be some reason he selected her.

Cold hands clasped tightly, fingers bloodless, she looks up at Lt. Thalen, automatically seeking his approval.

Chief Harrison acknowledges his orders.

Singh says, "Thank you, Mr. Graham. I would prefer to keep Lt. Onn aboard for the time being, however. Perhaps you might take along someone from Engineering, instead...?"

Thalen is looking at the Captain and Lt. JG Graham, and not at Kylah.

Looking back at Booker, Nia can't help twisting her mouth sideways, in a well, that sucks sort of facial shrug.

Singh's recommendation of an Engineer sounds highly reasonable. But Nia realizes that Booker--who's still relatively new, despite everything he's been through on- and off-ship already--might not even know all that many of the engineers yet.

"Not to overstep, Lieutenant," she says, addressing Book while lifting an apologetic hand. "But to make up for not being able to join your team, can I make a suggestion? Lt. Coimbra might be a good choice."

She glances at the Captain as if for confirmation before returning to Booker. "Nilo's specialty is metallurgy, which seems like a perfect fit. I mean, it's a mining colony so I'm guessing there's an extractive metallurgist on site. But it might be good to let them talk shop."

Nia flips her hand over, as if offering him her idea on her palm, and finishes with a gentle smile, "Just a thought." After nodding at the Captain, Nia returns her attention to her panel.

Rangin hears Graham order for him to join the landing party and freezes. What he had said to Lt Deveraux the previous day was completely true, he is going to be as bored as possible. That's probably why Graham wants him there, what could be more boring for a xenobiologist than picking up rocks and looking for new lifeforms underneath them, when there aren't any on this rockball? Maybe Graham is just seeing if Rangin could find one of his relatives instead. After all, it's where Graham crawled out from.

He has no problems with St Croix, they worked together well on OCIII, but why is Kylah going planetside? Maybe he should enter the Science sweepstakes on what emergency would befall her on the next planet.

Maybe he can find out what Cmdr Roble is up to and help him instead.

Graham clears his throat. "It's as mineral rich as it is dry, if I understand correctly. Lt. Coimbra makes perfect sense," Graham says, nodding first to the Captain, then to Onn. "Captain, Lieutenant."

His nod and acknowledgment of Nia drags out juuuust the slightest second, with the slightest hint of a smile, he hopes she notices.

"If there are no other orders, Captain, we'll be on our way."

With no apparent objection coming her way from Lt. Thalen, Kylah runs her clammy hands along her skirt before rising. She is disappointed that Lt. Onn will remain onboard; the older woman's sympathy last night meant a great deal. But Kylah cannot expect to be mollycoddled when doing her job. She does not even want such treatment.

While walking stiffly toward Lt. Graham--still not looking at Velir--she tucks a stray curl behind her ear, a nervous habit. She recognizes this and immediately drops her hand, annoyed.

As invisible as she wishes she were, some contrariness spurs her to force out a question. "Pardon me, Captain... is there anything specific you wish us to learn, or shall we just perform a... a standard observation?"

The Captain says offhandedly, "It's mostly a courtesy call on the Governor and colonial leadership. Mr. Roble has his own assignment. Look around as you see fit, keep your eyes and ears open, and you'll be debriefed when you return. I don't expect you to be dirtside for more than a couple of hours, but use your best judgment."

Thalen sits down at the Communications console and asks Lt. JG Nilo Coimbra and Ens. Jeanne St. Croix to report to Transporter Room 1. They both immediately acknowledge the order.

Nia catches Booker's look as she stares out from behind her lowered lashes. She smiles and nods. At least this trip dirtside will almost certainly go a helluva lot better than... well, just about every other one Book's experienced during his time here.

When she tears her eyes away, she tries to give some mute support to Kylah, but the girl doesn't seem able to meet anyone's gaze during her awkward movements, which--unless Nia's guess is off--seem intended to keep Booker between her and Rangin. The way Kylah is shadowing Book reminds Nia of a confused duckling who's imprinted on a bear.

Nia's lips tighten in sympathy. Not toward Kylah, although, yeah, sure, that too. But Booker's gonna have an... interesting group dynamic down there.

With a quick nod and an "Aye, ma'am" to thank the Captain, Kylah starts to follow Lt. Graham. Then she hesitates and returns to her station. "Excuse me, sir," she says to Thalen, pulling her datapad out from where she usually keeps it, leaning against the monitor.

Clutching the slim pad to her chest--glad of having something to do with her hands--Kylah moves quickly back to Lt. Graham's left side.

"All right, team, let's show the governor and the local dignitaries some Yorktown courtesy," Graham says. As he does so, he's keenly aware that however much he feels sure Ens. Kylah wouldn't feel good about being left behind, she certainly doesn't seem enthusiastic about being chosen, either. For a moment he second-guesses himself: damned if you do, damned if you don't.

He's suspects Rangin's presence isn't helpful, but he's also sure Rangin would have made a stink if he were passed over.

As he speaks, he reaches an arm around behind Kylah - not close enough to touch her, but a protective guardrail and invitation to proceed all in one, while turning his body sidewise so anyone trying to get to the lift faster would have to run or go through. "I'll be right behind you, Mr, Kylah," Graham says as calmly and encouragingly as he can.

"Thank you, sir," Kylah says, looking up at him briefly before returning her attention down to the top edge of the gray datapad in her arms.

Despite the tight control she is exerting on her senses, she cannot help feel Lt. Graham's wariness. It is like an electric current surrounding him as he contemplates her. After a second's hesitation she adds very softly, "I will do my best to earn your confidence in me."

A flash of thought closes her eyes. Velir will never think half as well of me as Lt. Graham.

Nathaniel isn’t thrilled to be chosen to be on this mission, not at all. In fact it is the last thing he wanted. These missions always somehow led to disaster. An attack of some sort, someone would get into trouble. And his favorite, the ship would get taken over by hostile aliens. It’s always something. Nathaniel realizes they had to explore new worlds and all that. It is part of the mission statement. He would just rather not be involved, especially since he has to work with that woman Kylah.

Nathaniel couldn’t believe she’d been picked. She seems like she couldn’t get out of bed without bursting into tears. If she is going, this misson couldn’t be that important. But that made him even more annoyed. The new guy gets the short straw again.

Performing surgery at his state of the art facility back on Earth. That was where he felt most comfortable. But he hadn’t been there in a long time and isn’t likely to be there anytime soon. That exisitence, that life is so far away. At least Nia had the good sense to talk her way out of this. He admired her for that. She is as smart as she seemed last night. Not only that, is was a bit charming and funny and didn’t suffer fools, he imagined. For now that’s the most he could ask. Nathaniel isn’t sure if he liked her, but he could tolerate her.

“So,” he sidles over to Nia as the group were all about to leave for Transporter Room 1. “You wanna fake a medical emergency and get me out of this? I promise to make it worth your while.”

The doctor's words widen Nia's smile. "Love to," she says under her breath, "but I don't think I could pull it off. Do I look the sickly type to you?" Her head tilts slightly to the officer on her right. "Your cousin might be a better choice."

Nia can't blame him for trying--and she's not surprised by it, either. "Nah, might as well save that excuse for a rainy day, so to speak, Doctor. Fingers crossed, a basic meet-and-greet on a barren dirt planet should be straightforward. Although with this group, you might have your hands full..."

She shrugs and tosses away her concern. Why prejudice him? ...Even more than he already seems to be prejudiced, that is, which is apparently plenty enough. Ship's gossip got to him already, it seems. Impressive, even for the Yorktown's rumor mill.

A quick take on the Captain reminds Nia that she'd better not keep Dr. Bennett any longer. "Good luck. If you feel the need to vent afterwards, I'm your girl."

The landing party takes the Bridge turbolift and makes its way to Transporter Room 1. Chief Nguyen is behind the transporter console, chatting with Science Officer Roble, who already has a tricorder slung over his shoulder. Security Ens. Jeanne St. Croix stands quietly nearby, her hands behind her back. She nods to Graham. From a storage locker, Nguyen distributes communicators and phaser-1s - standard issue for a mission during which no combat is expected - to all. He also offers tricorders to anybody who wishes one.

Roble welcomes you and says to Graham, "Thanks for letting me tag along, Lieutenant. I'm meeting Dr. Sabeel below and should be out of your hair soon."

Lt. JG Nilo Coimbra arrives. The metallurgist is a tall Brazilian man of average build, with dark curly hair and striking brown eyes. He already has a tricorder, too.

Dr. Bennett naturally has his medikit and medical tricorder with him.

Graham returns St. Croix's nod with some gusto. Feels good to be leading a team you can count on.

Well, actually...

He resists a scowl. This is more like rehab therapy for Kylah - get her back on her feet. And a political necessity to include Rangin. The last thing Vargas needs to hear is Rangin complaining about being passed over because Graham is biased against him. And the new doc seems fine...but if he were expecting any trouble he'd want T'Var by his side for sure. But again...can't fail to give the new guy a chance to get his feet wet on a mission.

"No worries, sir," Graham replies to Roble. "Anything you need, we'll be there for you," he adds. He gestures for St. Croix to take a position on the rear left of the transporter pads, as he takes a position forward right. Probably should've let her do it on her own - standard protocol, don't bunch up Security...

He smiles slightly. "Lt. Coimbra...drinks on me when we get back if you find some kind of rock so weird it's hard to believe it's a real thing."

Coimbra, whom Graham hasn't met before, laughs. "You're on, sir, and thanks for picking me for the landing party." He looks around. "I think we're seven, all told. Want me to beam down after the initial six, sir?" There are only six discs on the transporter platform.

Kylah carefully accepts the phaser and attaches it to her utility belt, but does not bother with a tricorder. She will likely have little to do--Lt. Graham was kind to bring her with him, but she is aware that is all this is.... an attempt to give her some purpose. A gesture of pity.

Well, pity or not: as she vowed to him, she will not let him regret his choice.

She recognizes St. Croix, of course, one of the more benign and capable Security officers she has met during their missions. Not far away she catches a glimpse of Dr. Bennett, who does not need to look at her for her to sense his disdain.

Lt. Roble is rather good-naturedly deferential to Lt. Graham, Kylah notes, pleased for her friend's sake. Friend... Is that what the Security officer is to her? She hopes so.

Her attention is distracted by someone she cannot recall meeting before--Lt. Coimbra, if she caught his name correctly. Very attractive--he has the coloring of most of the Northern sector population of Elas. It is not hard to imagine His Serenity, Dohlman Tel--her brother--growing up to look much like Coimbra. As she takes a few quick peeks toward the engineer, he also reminds her of someone else she knew, long ago. Her cheeks warm and she turns hurriedly away.

The only person in the party she dares not focus on is Velir. She remembers the frightening, intimate connection they shared so briefly in the gym yesterday. Kylah cannot must not allow that to happen again.

With a bracing shake of her head, Kylah prepares herself for beaming out.

Nathaniel hadn’t really expected Nia to take him up on his request. They were strangers and the lady seems far too smart and savvy to be doing big favors for people she hardly knew unless there was something in it for her. Besides, the truth was it doesn’t look good to be begging off on your first mission. Best to grin and bear it.

As for her offer of a talk, Nathaniel hadn’t had the chance to respond, but he just might take her up on that. He needs to get to know the people on the ship and he had the feeling she knows a lot about the Yorktown and it’s crew and would be more than willing to talk about it.

As he takes his phaser along with his medical equipment, Nathaniel realizes there was a time he would have balked to being expected to be armed. He is a doctor and all that, here to save lives, not take them. But he knows better now He learned the hard way dealing with alien races is dangerous, even when it looked perfectly safe and harmless. If he hadn’t of known it before, the last two years has certainly taught him that.

He looks over the landing party. He had only met Kylah and Rangin and that was because of the medical emergency. The rest were strangers but that was going to have to change. As much as he hates the idea, if there was a chance to strike up conversation with someone, he’d do it. Casual talk was not his thing, nor getting to know people. But he has no choice.

Nathaniel is surprised to see Rangin here, the guy was near death not that long ago.

As everyone headed for the teleporter pad, Nathaniel says to Rangin. “I’m surprised to see you here. I must have done a better job than even I thought if you’re fit for missions already.”

After enjoying the rear view of Dr. Bennett leaving, Nia exhales with a small measure of relief.

"That was a close call," she murmurs to Cecilia beside her. "What a line-up. Booker's got a masochistic streak for sure. I'd've gone if only to referee the inevitable in-fighting, but I'm glad I got out of it, just the same. Doesn't sound like your cousin's super-fond of landing parties. Or being on board a ship, for that matter. Has he spent most of his Starfleet time in one place?"

She looks up at Singh, curious as to why the Captain wanted her up here. Probably just good policy to vary the teams a little, give others more experience. Hard to justify including a space jockey planetside, anyway--although hell, Singh doesn't have to justify her decisions. She could order Ajay on a team and no one would say 'boo.' Not aloud, anyway.

Lifting her chin, she aims her next question to Singh. "Excuse me, Captain. About how long do you anticipate we'll be remaining here?" She smiles. "I've either forgotten or didn't get the memo."

Graham nods. "That'll work, Lt. Coimbra. Thanks for volunteering. I'm sure you're probably the keenest to get dirtside among us.

Graham checks the power and settings on his phaser.

At Nav, Lt. Bennett says quietly, "He moved around a bit. And you're right - he's happiest in the OR."

The Captain leans back in her chair and replies to Onn, "Might be only a few hours from now. Starfleet would like us to take up a new patrol route as soon as possible."

In the transporter room, Coimbra nods and steps aside. Everyone else takes a place on the transporter platform. Chief Nguyen looks expectantly at Graham.

Rangin stays quiet for the entire duration trying to work out what Graham’s angle is. Why would he bring Rangin along, given he had only just recovered from the accident? He can figure out why Kylah is here, as long as she can maintain her composure and bad things don’t happen. She can be good with people and diplomatic, so a short mission like this would be ideal. Even so he still wonders if his stake in the sweepstakes for “nothing bad” was at risk.

He accepts the offer for a phaser and communicator but goes for a scientific tricorder. While he is there he might as well see what the local flora and fauna are like. Non-existent probably.

“Sir,” he greets the elderly Science Chief, “anything I can do to help down on the planet, happy to assist. He nods to St Croix feeling better that there will be at least one sensible Security officer on the planet and acknowledges Lt. JG Nilo Coimbra as he walks in.

When he hears the Doctor talking to him, he shrugs as he hears the question. “You did a good job patching me up, fit for duty also includes more than good enough for away missions as well...” He thinks for a moment back, perhaps the Doc can help him, and continues, “...actually I could do with a follow up after this. Couple of things I would like to check out, if you don’t mind?”

"Thank you, Mr. Rangin," the courtly Science Officer says. "I'm delighted to see you back on your feet. I don't think I'll be needing your assistance down below, but I appreciate the offer."

“Of course.” Nathaniel says as he hopes Rangin wasn’t bringing more problems to his doorstep. “Make an appointment as soon as we get back.”

He takes his place on a transporter pad and gets ready to be beamed down and for this mission to begin.

"Energize, Mr. Ngyuen," Graham says once everyone is on their pad.

Chief Nguyen throws some switches and slides his console's three knobs down their tracks. The room disappears around you in a tingling hum, and you feel the usual brief sense of weightless unreality as you are beamed down.

The dazzling transporter effect clears in moments and you find yourselves on the well-kept lawn of a small park, not far from a bland, white, three-story-tall thermocrete and glass office building. The blue Federation flag and another you haven't seen before hang from short flagpoles mounted to either side of the double doors. Other buildings of similar design can be seen through the trees and bushes ringing the park. A clear geodesic dome with a dark metal framework, perhaps forty meters overhead, extends several hundred meters in every direction, noticeably curving downwards in the distance. You can see the stars overhead in a black sky. There are muted city sounds not far away.

A group of five people, one of whom is Gov. Voronko, approaches you from the front plaza of the office building.

Coimbra shimmers into existence nearby a few seconds later, and looks around.

Kylah is surprised by her surroundings. From all she has heard of the colony, she expected a much more rudimentary, uncultivated land. Aside from the dome and the world beyond it, this could be the grounds of any city office compound. Admittedly, that is a big aside, but Kylah remains impressed.

She examines the greeting party in silence. Of course, Lt. Graham will speak for the Yorktown crew, and it is the scientists among them who will likely be most interested in--and interesting to--the miners.

Kylah's role is... well, she does not know into what role, if any, she fits. So she just watches, still hugging her datapad, and tries to take some measure of the strangers, from the governor to the others nearby.

Graham reflexively does a 360 degree scan. It's not that he's nervous, or suspects anything might be wrong...it's just hard wired.

Graham moves slightly forward to separate himself from the rest of the group--and St.Croix, his Security back up. Present welcoming party gone bad two targets, not one.

Not that he expects that. At all. Looks legit.

"Stand at ease," he says, turning toward the team. "Let's show the governor due respect and do Yorktown proud."

He adds" "Mr. Kylah, on me, you're Comms specialist on the team."

Graham clasps his hands behind his back and does his best "official yet friendly" as the group approaches.

With a surprised look that she swiftly tries to hide, Kylah takes a short step forward to stand a little closer to Lt. Graham--stopping to remain a few inches behind him.

Given the role Lt. Graham has just emphasized, she prepares to wish the Governor a good evening--but then pauses. A glance up at the fathomless darkness beyond the dome reminds her that without understanding the atmosphere, she cannot judge whether it is day or night.

Before the strangers stop, Kylah hurriedly tilts her datapad away from her chest and taps in a request for current local time.

Kylah sees that it is 2103 local time.

Armed with this knowledge of the time, Kylah returns to hugging the pad to her chest, this time just with her left arm, and--once the approaching group meets them--says "good evening" in as confident a voice as she can to the Governor and his party.

She then adds: "And thank you for meeting with us at such a late hour. Governor Voronko, may I present En--Lieutenant Graham, the Yorktown's Assistant Chief of Security and the commanding officer of our landing party."

As she finishes, she is glad to have corrected her near-blunder regarding Lt. Graham's title. She cannot help glancing at him with a hint of pride for his accomplishment. Unless she is mistaken, this is the first time he is acting as an official representative of the ship with his new rank and title.

Rangin looks around the area with a little shiver running down his spine. This being a mining planet in some ways reminds of, not just home but, a place he left far behind in his life. In some of the worst areas, domes like this were used to keep out the worst of the industrialised air, although they never extended across the vast shanty towns.

He wondered how similar this would be to Coridan, it doesn’t look like it now, more like any other Federation park. Although there is a chance there is one upside; as a mining colony they normally brew some excellent beverages. Whether he will get a chance given that Lt Graham is in charge. Lt Graham, now there is a wonder, although given that Lt Collins has left, talk about lucky.

At least, he can act like a nice meat shield for Kylah, and he seems to have the right idea, stopped chronometers and all that, when it comes to trying to bolster her confidence.

Well here we are, Nathaniel thinks, less than impressed. What now? He still isn't sure why he is here other than they always sent a doctor. He only hopes hes not needed because that means trouble. And Starfleet seems to have a knack for finding trouble no matter where they went. He supposes he should see what the situation is like medically down here. Even in this day and age mining is a dangerous, nasty occupation. Alot like being on a starship if you thought about it.

Graham's a bit taken aback by Kylah going all herald on him - he simply intended for her to be part of the discussion, rather than treating him as a VIP.

All things considered, thought, he can't help but smile slightly. He clears his throat. "Ah, thank you, Mr. Kylah," he says, turning to nod approvingly in her direction.

He turns back to the governor and his party. "The formality is intended to respect your office, Governor." He puts a hand on his chest for a moment. "But if you prefer to be less formal, the first name's Booker. Either way, we're at your service and we appreciate the welcome."

Gov. Voronko takes it all in stride. He smiles and shakes Graham's hand. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I always believe in using the titles people have earned, at least on first meeting. You and your Starfleet colleagues are very welcome here. May I present Ari Weinstein, President of the Colonial Council," a short, stout, balding man with a ready smile; "Marala Gromov, Chair of the Miners' Guild," an attractive older woman; "Yuri Mezentsev, our Chief of Security," a slim, hard-looking man with a reserved air; "and Dr. Sabeel of the Cochrane Institute," a very tall, dark-skinned Caldonian who seems impatient with the introductions.

Graham acknowledges each in turn, but feels like he cannot take his eyes off Gromov, whom he recognizes at once.

http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Caldonian

“Marala, is it OK, did I…”

She puts a finger to his lips, gently but firmly enough that he knows to stop talking.

“I wanted to do this, Booker Graham, with you, now. I wanted.” Her eyes are so big, wide, luminescent he could fall in and be swallowed up. “You’re not my big brother, you’re my friend.” She pauses and smiles slightly. “Now my lover, I guess.”

“I…” She was beautiful, curvy--a bit, but…compact…as if there were no millimeter of height or curve wasted to make a perfect human being. Girl. Woman, well, obviously, woman, as she lay there naked next to him.

“I…I’m not a good brother. I’m probably not even a good…you know…”

She grabs him and shakes him by his shoulders. Strong for her size. Not that I have strength worth shit, though I as trying, working hard at it, trying to get stronger…

“How the hell do you think I would even know, Boojee? I’m—we’re seventeen. Maybe you’ve been out comparison shopping, but I haven’t, I wanted to be with you, and it’s…it’s good enough for me.”

“Too good, you’re too good, for someone like me” Graham replies, shaking his head.

She bats at the side of his head with one hand. “Stop that. And…anyway…I…I’m moving, Boojee. My uncle in Moscow…he just got married again, and—they’re a little old for kids, but his wife wants…a family. Not like my aunt and uncle here, where…well she thinks she was saddled with the stupid orphan she never wanted.”

Graham stares at her, not knowing what to say or able to speak. “Will we see each other—or…no…Mara, I don’t know what to do.”

She shakes her head slightly. “All I know is nobody will be home for at least a couple hours. Just be with me.”

----

She’s here. Marala.

There are lines around them that weren't there when they were both 17 and he was starting into Marala's strikingly wide eyes, lying next to a naked woman, naked himself, for the first time.

And a seam or a scar - small, on the right side of her chin, but noticeable to him because her face had always seemed perfectly, impossibly symmetrical.

For all that, she seems--more like herself. Graham remembers her as noticeably shorter than him, and curvey, yet compact. As if no millimeter or gram was wasted on anything but she herself, absolutely as she was meant to be.

He's pretty sure that digging into details might show she's (a bit) heavier, overall, wider and thicker than when they were teen-agers. But that only reinforces and brings a solidity to her shape. The same contours he remembers.

Only real friend to a shy, frightened adolescent Graham. First…more than friend.

And then she’d moved away, and he’d kinda sorta gotten his act together, gotten in to the Academy, and he reached out to her….and she’d been seeing someone.

And then, later, she’d reached out to him told him she wasn’t anymore, but he’d already met Jane…

And then...well, he wasn't sure. But somehow, here, now.

Marala.

Gromov. Not the last name by which he knew her.

Everyone and everything except Marala are like shadows and echoes in his head, but he clings to protocol as the introductions are made.

"Thank you, Governor. Ah, this is Lt. Cmdr. Roble, Yorktown's science officer. Dr. Bennett (he emphasizes the "doctor"), from our medical staff, Ens. Rangin, xenobiology...." He's so preoccupied his voice does not convey any disdain or disappointment as he introduces Rangin.

"Ens. Kylah, of course, Communications, and Ens. St. Croix, Security. And Lt. Coimbra, here, is one of our experts on minerals and metallurgy."

After the briefest pause he adds, "For my part I hope I have the chance to to learn something about mining. Miners. And...their..., uh, guild."

Like an unexpected summer storm, a whirlwind strikes Kylah: vague mental images of warm, bare skin and entwined limbs, coupled by the raw emotions of pleasure, shock, yearning and regret.

At once her face burns as if caught by a blast of steam.

Most mortifying, she knows the source generating these feelings and visions: Lt. Graham. He is closest to her, and she recognizes the... the flavor, as she has always described it to herself... of his emotions.

Though unable to explain what could have provoked such feelings, Kylah will not, must not attempt to discern anything further. To the contrary: she desperately tries to focus on something else, to restrain her empathic senses. Whatever this is, it is private--it is beyond private.

She does not care how stupid she looks. Loosening her grip on the datapad, she lets it slip from her elbow and nearly fall to the ground. While bending to catch it, she backs up, murmurs a few likely indistinguishable words of apology and takes the opportunity to move some steps away, closer to Velir and Dr. Bennett. Anything to shield herself from whatever is happening to Lt. Graham.

Marala Gromov laughs and says, "And I'll be glad to tell you, Booker, at length. Whatever you want to know." She beams at him. "Good lord, it's been a long time, hasn't it?"

The Governor turns. "You know Lt. Graham?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "I certainly do. We go 'way back." She steps forward and kisses Graham warmly on the cheek, hugs him tight, and then holds him almost at arm's length, looking him over, her eyes shining. "It's so good to see you again, Boojee. I had no idea you were on the Yorktown now."

Boojee? St. Croix silently repeats with a poorly-suppressed grin behind Graham, her hands still clasped behind her back as she stands at ease.

Dr. Sabeel clears his throat and says, "This little reunion is very nice, but Governor, would you excuse Mr. Roble and me? We need to talk about my research."

The Governor says, "Of course, of course. Don't let us keep you." Dr. Bennett notices Voronko roll his eyes just a little as he says it.

"Excellent. Thank you. Welcome, Mr. Roble. If you'll follow me, please...?"

The Science Officer nods, adjusts his tricorder strap and says, "Certainly. Lead on, sir."

They go off together, Dr. Sabeel looming over Lt. Cmdr. Roble, across the park and through the trees, talking animatedly about stars and sensors.

When they are out of earshot, Weinstein jokes, "Never let it be said that the good doctor is a sentimentalist." Voronko and Gromov both laugh knowingly.

Boojee - Rangin does his utmost to keep a perfectly straight face, although as his eyes look to the side, he can see St Croix having the same internal reaction that he is.

Whoever this Marala is, she had given Rangin a gift unbeknownst or not. Something to laugh at Graham with. No matter, how big or nasty he will be in the future. He is forever Boojee.

Rangin then just hopes that some of the names he has had whispered to him never make the light of day either.

Graham clears his throat, forcing his gaze away from Marala before staring at her mutely gets awkward.

More awkward.

"The team is, ah, at your service, Governor. If I might make a suggestion, this strikes me as an opportunity to understand how you handle security, communications, and medical and how Starfleet can better support colonies like yours--if your staff were willing to brief Ensigns St. Croix and Kylah and Dr. Bennett, respectively."

He pauses and shrugs slightly. "And of course I'm sure Lt. Coimbra and Mr. Rangin are chomping at the bit to learn more about the local geology and fauna."

"All right," says the Governor. "Why don't I show you around, and you can ask whatever questions you have as we go. I'll leave security questions to Chief Mezentsev. As to communications, we have a standard, off-the-shelf Type 3 communications suite, including the usual subspace transmitter and receiver, and internal comm access throughout the colony. We have a small hospital and a medical staff of about 30; you're welcome to visit the hospital, if you like, Dr. Bennett."

"Mining operations have been going on here for almost a century," Marala says. Graham notices that she is looking at him more often than not. "The planet has an interesting geological profile, but not much in the way of flora or fauna that wasn't imported from offworld."

"I think you mean 'champing,' sir," St. Croix whispers to Graham as they walk.

The Governor leads the group through the park, out from under the dome and down an access corridor. Several gastight doorways, apparently of businesses and small shops, open onto the corridor. There are a few dozen people, most of them dressed in mining overalls of varying degrees of cleanliness and repair, who pass by, some with curious stares at the Starfleet men and women.

He goes on, "I'd say we're basically satisfied with what Starfleet has done, and is doing, for us. The occasional visit like yours is always welcome; we're pretty out of the way but that's how most people like it."

Weinstein nods. "The people here are independent-minded and self-reliant, all in all. We don't want to be a burden on anybody, and more often than not we just want to be left alone to do our work and to earn a living."

Kylah only needed to see the woman who approached--and greeted, rather warmly--Lt. Graham to recognize that she is the source of his... memories, dreams, fantasies?

Embarrassed, Kylah is glad to begin a tour. Their communications setup seems more than adequate for their needs. She can think of nothing technical to ask, and so searches for something banal.

"Do you all have your families with you?" she asks the group in general, her gaze stopping on Ms. Gromov before she flushes and, imagining Lt. Graham's emotions again, hurries to focus on the Council President, Mr. Weinstein.

Weinstein says, "Many do, yes. Probably two-thirds or so, as I recall from the last census."

And Rangin's worst fears come to light, flora and fauna imported from off-world. Yes, he is going to be very bored indeed, thank you Boojee and it's not like he really wants to go down the mines again. He got off-world to avoid that particular fate.

Unless they have a Horta here, the chances of that were very small indeed. Rangin had seen the pictures but to meet one face-to-, well, rocky hide, would be of interest.

He looks round to see what flora and fauna is already present and beings wondering what could be introduced without upsetting the local ecosystem.

Kylah nods at Weinstein. "Are there multiple generations of families? That is--are there those who have lived their entire lives here? Pardon me for being ignorant, I may have missed this in our briefing."

She glances back to the dome entrance. "Also, I am curious. Does anyone ever go outside the dome? If one is wearing a protective suit, could one explore?"

As the Starfleet landing party and the others walk down the corridor, Rangin sees no flora or fauna at all. Back under the dome by City Hall, there was no fauna, but the flora included common grass; elm, pine, aspen and larch trees; and some bushes that he didn't recognize of varying sizes.

Weinstein replies to Kylah, "Oh, yes. Some of the families here - not mine, but the Governor's, for instance - trace their ancestry back to the original Russian settlers, more than a hundred years back. I was born here, but my parents came from Boulen VII."

Marala says, "Some miners are out on the surface every day, of course, and scientists and campers or hikers go out now and then, but you could spend your entire life here in the arcology and never venture outside other than, say, on a high school trip. It's a Class K world, so yes, you need a spacesuit to survive out there. You'd die in minutes if you didn't."

The Governor leads the group down the corridor to another open space, apparently larger than where the Yorktown personnel beamed down. The dome overhead is also clear but arches higher overhead than the first one. Drab buildings of the same thermocrete construction as City Hall crowd underneath it, but taller than the administrative center and almost touching the "roof." There are some flower beds but not as much vegetation as you earlier saw.

"This is Dome 2 or the Second Dome," he says. "City Hall is under Old Dome, which we also call First Dome or Dome 1. There are three domes in all; Dome 3 is called the New Dome, or Third Dome, and looks a lot like this. These buildings are mostly offices and apartments. The colony has mostly spread underground since its earliest days, though. The top five levels are habitation spaces, with apartments, recreation, retail, offices, schools and the like. Then there another eight levels farther down for machinery, life support, storage, tankage, manufacturing, workshops, mining and so on. The mine shafts start there; the deepest go almost 6km down."

"Who actually runs the mines?" St. Croix asks.

"The Novy Rostov Mining Co., the local cooperative, is the biggest," Marala says, looking back over her shoulder as she walks. "They employ just over half the miners here. Dytallix, Xiang Harlan and Con-Am each have smaller operations here."

http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Class_K_planet
http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/D...Mining_Company
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outland_(film)
https://www.mining-technology.com/fe...-south-africa/

Nathaniel doesn't think he could take one more minute of this tour. It is mind numbing.

"I don't mean to interrupt." Nathaniel cuts in on the Governor's talk. "But I would like to see your medical facilities. I might have some suggestions on how to improve things if nothing else. If someone would direct me, I'd appreciate it."

The Governor stops and says, "Of course. Just a moment, please." He pulls out a small civilian-model communicator, ovoid and silvery, and says, "Voronko to Hospital. Dr. Cobb, please."

After a moment you hear, "Cobb here. How's it going, Sergey?"

"Hello, Denise. Just fine, thanks. I"m here with Dr. Nathaniel Bennett from the starship Yorktown. He'd like a tour of the hospital. We're in Dome 2, near the entrance to the Politkovskaya Building. Could you send someone to escort him down there, give him the five-credit tour and answer any of his questions?"

"Sure! Things are pretty quiet here at the moment; I'll come myself. Be there soon."

"Thanks. Voronko out." He smiles at Nathaniel. "There you go, Doctor. Should just be a few minutes. There's a bench over there if you'd like to sit down while you wait. Enjoy!"

He leads the group away, across the open area under the dome and then into another corridor which gradually slopes downward. Its walls and ceiling are rough, brownish-coppery rock, with lights embedded in the ceiling every few meters, and pipes and conduits running along both walls. The floor is also rock, much-scuffed but smooth underfoot.

The multiple domes are impressive, as is the Governor's description of the active above-ground life. But it is the magnitude of what lies underground that most astonishes Kylah. She should be used to such enterprises--mining produces a significant part of her planet's resources.

But not to this extent. She wonders if there is any risk of mining too much from the planet that provides them a home. One day these people might find themselves having built a city atop a newly hollowed-out eggshell.

It is not likely, not after only one hundred years. She looks down for a second while the Governor talks to someone about Dr. Bennett--his departure gives her a little flutter of concern, born from experience on other landing parties, runs through her at the thought of being separated.

She does not feel comfortable warning the doctor to be careful, and besides, there is nothing to be careful of, with everyone Federation-based and familiar. Kylah shakes her head. Of course the Federation has internecine battles of its own, despite the self-congratulatory words written about this new era of cooperation and support.

Speaking of battles, she is interested in the rival mining crews. After glancing at Lt. Graham for permission to speak, she begins:

"You maintain a remarkable outpost, sir. Forgive me, may I ask a question? How has the land--or the resources, I suppose--been claimed by each of these companies? I mean, who decides who gets what? Are there... bids? And who makes that determination?"

Kylah lifts her eyebrows hopefully, not certain just how ignorant she sounds. She cannot help looking at Velir for assistance; given his background, he must understand this life more than she.

The Governor says, "The Federation owns the planet and it's administered by the colonial government, which I head. Any individual or company which wants to mine here files a request for mining rights and submits a sealed bid, which the colony reviews and grants in whole or in part, or turns down. The preliminary decision is made by the Mining Operations Oversight Committee, but the NR Colonial Council, which Mr. Weinstein leads, has the final say. The Federation could override a decision if it was 'contrary to the best interests of the colony,' but that's never happened yet."

Graham nods politely and looks around while on tour. "Is Security provided entirely by the Federation, or are their private guards employed by the mining companies?" Graham asks the governor when there's a moment to do so.

The Governor nods to Mezentsev, who says, "We provide our own security; I have 43 officers and support staff. We can call in a Federation marshal or even Starfleet in a crisis, if necessary, but it's been years since we've had to do that. The mining companies are permitted two security officers apiece, and their powers are limited to the companies' property and mines."

The Governor leads the group, minus Dr. Bennett, down several more corridors, past other colonists, and into a large cargo turbolift. You descend to Level 13, go down another corridor, around several turns, and end up in an observation booth overlooking a vast open space hewn from the rock. "This is the main NRMC minehead," he says. Through the wide, somewhat smudged window you can see digging and loading machines moving around on the rocky floor, huge containers of ore being taken off lifts and from hoists, and everywhere, dozens of miners in brightly-colored but dirty coveralls hard at work. The window is soundproofed but you can tell it's very noisy out there on the other side.

Dr. Cobb doesn't keep Dr. Bennett waiting long. She is a friendly, middle-aged woman in well-worn civilian clothes with a white medical blouse over it. "Dr. Bennett? Denise Cobb. Welcome to Novy Rostov! Right this way, please...."

Nathaniel's teeth are on edge. These people are friendly, too friendly. And it makes him very wary. Yet, he follows the woman.

"So," Nathaniel asks. "Just where are we headed?"

Graham makes a point of visibly looking around. "Certainly impressive."

He also makes a point of moving closer to Marala, so he can say, quietly, "I guess I never imagined you as a miner, Marala. How'd you come to be here, running part of the big show?" He gestures at the view as he says this, intending to show his respect for the scale of the operation--and her role, as best her understands it.

Kylah feels claustrophobic this far underground, but the sight outside the windows is, as Lt. Graham says, impressive. She steps to the side to make room for Mr. Coimbra, who is likely much more intrigued by and knowledgeable of such an operation.

This places her a little closer to Velir, but she unconsciously holds her arms more tightly against her, avoiding the likelihood of brushing against him. She remembers the electric, painful--she cannot think of a way to describe it other than mental intrusion--that was so overwhelming when he touched her yesterday. Kylah does not wish to repeat it.

But she still must wait for an opportunity to apologize.

She notices Lt. Graham's interest is again attuned to the woman, Ms. Gromov--or was it Gromova? Kylah frowns slightly and cannot remember, having been so distracted by Lt. Graham's emotions.

Knowing some Russian from her language studies at the Academy, she remembers some Russian woman's names end differently depending on gender. But that practice is very old and not universal, even back on Earth, much less from...wherever this person's homeland is.

She quickly focuses on the window again, trying once more to ask something that will not make her sound as ignorant as she feels. "I know there are a variety of resources you are digging for, sir. What is currently being retrieved--or do you collect everything and sort it later?

"...And where does it all go? I mean..." Kylah stares at the huge machines. "Do outside ships come to collect the material, and if so, how often--and who? Are they different governments, or industrial customers? I am sorry to ask so many questions--I know so little about your field."

Rangin stares out through the glass looking at the people scurrying around below, the tools being shunted back and forth and has to resist the urge to roll his eyes when the Governor mentions the main minehead. This is obviously the tourist show to see how the operation is working in one of the main shafts. The mining itself would be taking place several miles from here with only specialised personnel around.

“The ores will mainly be in layers through the rocks, those containers will take the away to a processing plant and extract the minerals. Waste gets dumped somewhere else.” Rangin looks down, a few memories from the times he had been to the mines remind him of home, hell the entirety of Coridan was a massive mining operation on a scale outweighing this one.

“Freighters from the different companies come to their own mines, pick up what they have extracted and ship it out. Who and what depends on their contracts with the colony and the Federation?”

He looks across at the Governor. “Is that a fair assessment?”

Dr. Cobb says, "NR Memorial Hospital, two levels down. C'mon!" She leads Nathaniel down two staircases at a brisk pace and then along several utilitarian, prefab hallways, much like those he saw connecting the domes on the surface, and eventually through the doors of a clean, brightly-lit hospital waiting room. A worried-looking woman and a small child, and a few seats away an old man with a bad cough, are sitting in chairs. A bored-looking nurse is seated behind a reception desk. "Hey, Pavel," Dr. Cobb says, and the nurse nods. "So you want the full tour, the Governor said?" she asks Dr. Bennett.

Marala squeezes Graham's arm, leans in and says, "We have a lot to catch up on, Boojee. I hope we'll have some time alone to talk later. Anyway, I wasn't a miner for long, but my husband was, and when he died I got this Guild post. I don't get down-shaft very often these days."

The Governor beams at Kylah and says, "Oh, I don't mind questions. You can't learn if you don't ask, I always say. Dilithium and bauxite is mostly what's being mined at the moment, far down below this minehead, although we also extract tngonian, gold, manganese, aluminum, copper, vortonium and some other trace minerals. Everything is dug out of tunnels or shafts, and then the ore is sorted at various sublevels below through scans, chemical tests and mechanical processes before being brought up here. It's refined and then stored until the monthly ore carrier comes, kind of like what Mr., uh, Rangin said. But it's a single ore carrier from the Topgallant Line, under contract to the four mining companies, each time. The ore carrier takes away everything mined in the previous 30 days, each of the shipping containers clearly marked, and then after delivery to Beta Antares IV, it's separated for each company and sent along farther down the line."

Inhaling at the sound of Velir's voice, quiet and silvery and thoughtful as it usually is (at least, when he is not angry), Kylah tries to follow his gaze to see what in particular he is observing.

Except she has the sense--not empathic, just from knowing his face and its subtle expressions--that whatever he is seeing, it is not truly here, on this planet.

She is obliged to turn to the cheerful Governor and take in his detailed explanation. His mention of Beta Antares IV makes her blink at her own forgetfulness. "Of course! That makes perfect sense--I forgot you are only a few days away."

Looking around and almost physically aware of the depths to which they have sunk, she thinks of Beta Antares--which she only saw for the briefest of moments, due to the accident that nearly took Velir's life. "Do many people travel there to get some fresh air, Mr. Weinstein? Like many of us on our ship, your citizens must feel the need for real wind and daylight."

She returns to the Governor--she would ask Ms. Gromov, just to be sure to include her, but she and Lt. Graham seem to be in conversation--to add: "Other than Dilithium, which are the most the most valuable or useful ores? I do not know what... was it vortonium? I do not know its practical uses." She glances at Mr. Coimbra, almost apologetic. "I must seem extraordinarily ill-prepared to you, sir. Geology was my poorest subject at the Academy--aside from hand-to-hand combat."

Weinstein smiles. "Beta Antares IV's a week or two away, depending on the ship, and it can be a pricey trip, so not too many people go there. Not regularly, anyway. Most people here have never felt real wind, but you can feel daylight under the domes."

Coimbra says, "No apology necessary, Ensign. Other than dilithium, tngonian and gold would be the most valuable. I'm not a geologist either, but as I understand it, vortonium is used to make electronics and computer components. In its liquid form, it's an industrial insulator on some worlds."

"That's right," the Governor says.

Coimbra has several mining questions of his own, which the Governor or Marala answer.

Kylah thanks both men for their answers before Mr. Coimbra begins speaking to the others about things far above her level of understanding. She hesitates, staring outside at the still-incomprehensible machinery, and then inhales.

"Does this look much like the mining operations on Coridan, Ens. Rangin?" she asks in a low but casual voice--and after another slight pause, adds even more softly with a lowered gaze, "I owe you an apology for yesterday. I know you were trying to help, but it felt..."

She shakes her head with an economy of movement and lifts her gaze back to the window, this time trying to see Velir's reflection. "I am sorry. I did not know what I was saying."

Graham feels as if there's an electric current running up his arm as Marala squeezes it.

So much to process...too much....

He mumbles "I'm sorry," after she says her husband died. And he is: for Marala to have gone through losing a spouse, as he did, is terrible. Deeply unjust and something she could never deserve.

Yet there's a part of him that's...relieved? Happy? She might not be married.

But that's...ghoulish. Sick, Booker. And what would Nia think of this whole...

Mumbles aside, he clears his throat and nods, listening to the various questions and the general conversation.

Kylah's talking to Rangin, which he assumes can't be good, but she's doing it voluntarily...and he's...

Well, I'd ike to assume he's being an asshole, but I think Coridantes probably do know stuff about mining...


He almost shrugs, but restrains the impulse.

Marala lets go of Graham - a little reluctantly, it almost seems - and says simply, "Thank you. It was hard but I got through it. I still think of him all the time, but that's the past. I try to focus on the here and now, and on the future, for my son."

"I have a daughter," Graham blurts out -- in a low voice -- in response to Marala. "Lizzy...Elizabeth." He pauses for just a second. "Her mother...my wife, Jane....she...she died, too."

Everything in him is empathy for the pain he assumes she feels as he did. Does.

Marala looks like she might cry, but doesn't. She squeezes Graham's shoulder and, with an obvious effort, turns away to listen to the Governor answer Coimbra's question about disposal of waste rock from the deeper mine shafts.

“Sure,” Nathaniel says. “Lead on.”

Though even as he says that, he wonders what is going on with the paitents waiting. The woman seemed upset about something. The child maybe? And what is causing the old man’s cough? Something to do with the mine? Or another ailment. It could be anything. Or it could be something.

“So wait a sec.” Nathaniel pauses. “I’m wondering. 7What’s your average day here like? What kind of medical ailements do you deal with on a day to day basis?”

Dr. Cobb leads Nathaniel through the ER, two ORs and four small but well-equipped labs, and shows him several typical patient rooms - one of which is being prepared by orderlies to serve as a quarantine room for Mrs. Kostoyev - and the general ward. Everything he sees is clean and shipshape.

She explains as you go, "We get ten walk-in patients or so on a typical day, like those folks in the waiting room. Then we have maybe another twenty scheduled appointments. I'm here ten, twelve hours on a typical day. We get a mix of blunt-force trauma from mining accidents or kids doing stupid things, some respiratory ailments and occasional radiation sickness also from the mines, and your typical range of Ob/Gyn, pediatrics, adult-wellness and geriatrics cases for a colony this size. We have surgeries of varying levels of complexity and seriousness a few times a month. I'm the surgeon, and then there's three GPs, a dentist, a psychiatrist, a nutritionist, and a dozen or so nurses and medics, some with specialties of their own. If there's something we can't handle, which isn't often, we ship 'em off to Beta Antares IV if we can."

"There's nothing to apologise for, we're both good at saying things we shouldn't," Rangin sighs quietly as he heels her presence closer to him than he was expecting, certainly with Graham lurking around. Although it appears Boojee has his own history to deal with.

He straightens up and looks ahead through the window to the operations below. "It's a reasonable size. Not as big as some of those on Coridan, but large enough," he shakes his head in resignation, "and they are all as grimy and dirty as each other." Some things are the same no matter where he goes.

Although quiet here, he can almost make out the sounds and shouts the miners would be making. The gestures and movements familiar to those who had spent time underground. But it doesn't make him feel homesick for some reason. The mines were a reason for his leaving, not his staying. At least here, it was unlikely the Orion Syndicate would hold the kind of sway that they did on his homeworld.

"Sorry..." he asides to Kylah as his gaze regains a little focus, "...memories".

The Governor leads the Yorktown landing party through several other mining-related workspaces, pointing out things of interest, then back "upstairs" to the residential areas, a recreation center, pool and gym, and the like. There are many children out and about with their parents, and teenagers in groups, hanging out and talking. After awhile he asks, "Anything else you'd like to see, Mr. Graham?"

Dr. Cobb also finishes showing Nathaniel around the hospital and related facilities. "Any questions?" she asks.

Kylah goes through the tour in relative silence. Velir himself seems preoccupied; he must have his own past demons to slaughter. She is not even clear that he knew what she was apologizing for.

After watching him for just a few seconds longer, she'd returned her attention to the machinery and workers, paying attention to the operations but still a little disconcerted by Velir's response to her apology. He does not seem to recall or care much about what he witnessed yesterday. And not just witnessed. Something happened between them when he took hold of her wrist--nothing romantic or anything like that, but... communicative.

She is certain she heard and felt his impressions of Jan and Darren, echoes of her own thoughts that both mirrored and magnified them. It was painful to her hand, painful to her mind and heart. Kylah could have sworn in that moment that he knew everything she had never said aloud to another being. Not until Lt. Graham, last night.

But perhaps it was her imagination. Or perhaps Velir does not even realize what he did.

A strange mixture of relief and disappointment flooded through her. In a way, she wanted him to understand what happened on OCIII without her having to voice it.

On the other... if she can avoid telling someone other than Lt. Graham about what she experienced with Jan--or, especially, the incident with Darren Zweller, which is so vague even to her--well, it is probably all for the better. A cowardly secret to keep, but at least she will not be judged.

Normally she would have asked him to elaborate on his past, but back at the windows overlooking the mining operations, and all throughout the tour, she has sensed that the past is not something he wants to dwell on. The mines are not a fond memory to Velir, understandably.... and there is something else within him. A sense of disquiet, of repressed anger, that is both remote and worrying. Like the dull, rumble of thunder from a distant storm.

Not entirely unlike the sounds surrounding them. She refocuses her attention to the matter at hand and, while waiting for Lt. Graham to decide what he wishes to see, she turns to the council president. "Mr. Weinstein," she asks when he is free. "May I ask where you are from? And how long you have been with your company?"

She will also ask: "I am curious... I understand that the different companies work separately and everything seems orderly, but is there any sense of competition? If any of their preferred resources overlap, for example. Are you the one who resolves any disputes that may arise? Or would that be Ms. Gromov," she adds with a nod to the woman so apparently close to Lt. Graham.

Weinstein says, "Well, as I mentioned, I was born here, but my parents were from offworld. I don't work for any of the mining companies - I own a computer firm on Level 2." To Kylah's other questions he replies, "The companies all want to maximize profit, of course, but their contracts are pretty clear as to where and how they can do their mining. They tend to cooperate, more often than not. But if they can't work out any disputes among themselves, the Mining Operations Oversight Committee is the first stop, and if they can't resolve it there, they have to go to court. The nearest Federation district court is on Elysium, which is a bit of a hike, although you can do a lot through subspace comm. There've only been three or four lawsuits of any consequence between the companies here in my lifetime, though."

Marala catches Graham's eye and he can tell she'd just as soon get away from the crowd with him.

"Thank you, governor. Ah, much like the good doctor, I'm sure the rest of the team would appreciate some time to learn more about what's closest to their specialty and interests, as they see fit. He clears his throat. "For my part I' sure Ms. Gromov could answer some of my, uh, questions."

Kylah purses her lips in annoyance at her forgetfulness. She has no true role on this mission but to facilitate some sort of communication or information acquisition, and she cannot even remember a simple fact such as where Mr. Weinstein was born?

For some reason Ms. Gromov's presence, together with St. Croix's, makes Kylah feel worse about seeming unprofessional. Women have not always taken her seriously. Then again, neither have men. Not the way I would wish them to.

Although... Lt. Graham's interest in speaking privately with his old... whatever they were to one another (and Kylah knows it was not mere friendship)... might not be entirely professional either. Not that Kylah has any room to judge. Dry as this tour is, she is relieved beyond measure that it is highly unlikely to bring up any unpleasant emotional traumas.

Nodding in appreciation of all Mr. Weinstein has explained, she tries to think of what else might be useful and edifying about this colony. Mining and technology do not particularly interest her, and are not really something Lt. Thalen would expect to hear from her in a report. The small, closely connected culture, on the other hand...

With few immigrants or emigrants, Novy Rostov is quite insular. How much has changed, culturally speaking, among these people who were relatively recently all from one large country on a planet very, very far away?

Curiosity piqued, she makes her decision. "If you do not mind, Governor, I would like to explore this community preserved under glass." Kylah gives a small smile, meaning no offense. "And spreading underground, as well. Your homes, families, relationships... everyday lives when not at work. "

She looks around. "Would it be possible to see some recreational or communal spaces? Living spaces, as well, if it would not be an intrusion. I would enjoy learning about your citizens' choices for education, enjoying the arts, sport or other avocations."

Without thinking, Kylah turns to Velir, mouth parted to ask him if he would join her. But she cuts herself short, frustrated. Even now, after all they have been through, her instinct is still to wish for his company, his insights. But he does not give either of them freely, although in Sickbay only yesterday he seemed willing to mend things.

Nevertheless she cannot rely on him, just as she cannot continually force her company on Lt. Graham. Although this might be the one time Lt. Onn might approve of my presence, she thinks dryly.

Coimbra will seek out his interests, and St. Croix her own. Dr. Bennett, not surprisingly, was the first to focus on that which interests specifically him. Kylah must be just as self-reliant.

Letting her thoughts of Velir's companionship remain unspoken, she turns back to the officials and explains her request a bit more. "I studied a little Russian history at the Starfleet Academy--I am not from Earth--and would like to see how much of the majority population's originating culture has remained... or developed its own unique flavor. Is there someone who could guide me...?"

Gov. Voronko says, "I'd be glad to keep being your guide. There are rec areas other than the one we just visited, sure, although that's the largest. As to education, there are free, tax-supported public schools for all children, and two for-profit private schools, and Novy Rostov College, which offers two- and four-year undergraduate degrees. The arts here include jazz, pop and classical ensembles, several choirs - church and otherwise - a theatre society, and the NR Museum, which is relatively small but has a nice collection. Sports options? Well, there are a lot: swimming, as you saw; volleyball, gymnastics, rugby, squash, tennis, basketball, wrestling, boxing, fencing, badminton, and... I'm probably forgetting some others. And there's the usual range of hobbies and clubs for a colony this size." He smiles. "And if you'd like to see my apartment, you're welcome to. I thought the tour might end up there for drinks, anyway. Or just about anyone's - knock on any door, and I bet most people here would be glad to meet and show off to a visiting Starfleet officer."

Weinstein laughs. "The Governor has a nicer place than mine, but you can see mine, too, if you want, Ensign."

Voronko rolls his eyes and teases, "If you cleaned up every once in awhile, Ari, you could have a nice place, too." Then he turns back to Kylah and says more seriously, "And to answer your other question, Russian culture has persisted here - the food, music and language, in particular. But in a lot of ways we're more Federation than Russian. Anyway, you're welcome to wander freely, but it can be easy to get lost, especially in the lower levels. We can print or download a map for you, or assign a guide - whichever you like."

Marala says, "If you'll excuse Mr. Graham and me, Governor, I'd like him to meet my son...?"

"Of course," he says. "We'll see you later."

Marala says with a grin, "Follow me, if you please, Lieutenant."

As they leave, Lt. Coimbra says, "I'd like to see more of the mining operations, if I could. I'd be grateful to download a map onto my tricorder."

St. Croix clears her throat and says, "I'll skip the drink and take a look at your Security facilities, please, Governor, if Mr. Mezentsev wouldn't mind showing me around."

The Chief of Security smiles for the first time. "I'd be glad to, Ensign. Right this way...."

They leave, and Coimbra, after getting his map, does also.

It is now 2214 local time.

Rangin still surprises himself with just how much he can remember about the mines on Coridan. No, not remember, feel on instinct, a dozen little sights and sounds cramming their way into his mind and blocking out the tour. It's not like he didn't know a fair part of it, but little of what he could remember was pleasant.

The remainder of the group blur slightly to him, ghosts of friends past intermingle in between them and in some ways he is not sure who he is apologising to one moment or explaining to the next. It's only then, he realises that one of his fists has been clenched tight and he can feel the skin stretching taught over his knuckles, nails digging deep into his palm.

He tries to relax, concentrate more on the here and now, the people around him talking. But as they walk around, seeing the people around, it strikes him just how similar it could be to Coridan. Only without the perma-layer of dust and grime that always covered the mining towns, it just feels wrong to him and he cannot place why. What is that quote about crossing the same river twice?

And as the tour comes to a close, he stands there waiting to see what happens next. There is nothing for him here, the setup is as imported as it comes, and it's all he can do to blurt out a request to just transport back to the USS Yorktown and away from here.

"Thank you--both of you--very much, for the information and your offers," Kylah says to the Governor and Mr. Weinstein, while noticing the older woman escorting Lt. Graham somewhere. "I am sure we would all be happy to end our visit with drinks together," she adds with a hint of emphasis.

A strange sense of discomfort is practically radiating from Velir, and she gets distracted for a moment, giving him a quick look of concern. He seems more remote than usual, more internal is the best way she can analyze his emotions. Which she should not be sensing so easily, without even trying. Something has changed in his as-yet unexplored mental capabilities.

She quickly focuses on the other men. "In--in the meantime, if you do not mind, I would enjoy just walking around to some of the places you mentioned, using the map rather than an official escort. I do not wish to offend, it is just that I wish observe Novy Rostov's everyday life and culture among its citizens. And I believe people might be even more casual and well, themselves, when their leaders are not there. Although you imply that they are impressed by Starfleet too, so perhaps..."

Kylah hesitates before turning to Velir, more worried. Could he be having some after-effects of the skydiving uniform malfunction? "Ens. Rangin? A celebratory drink with these gentlemen would be a good way to end our evening here, do you not agree?"

After looking warily at him, she asks the others: "What would they 'show off,' if I may ask?"

Graham clasps his hands behind his back, wringing them unconsciously for a moment, as he accompanies Marala.

He clears his throat. "Your son...how old?" he asks, trying to sound...normal. Well, he doesn't feel normal...

The Governor smiles and says, "Oh, you know - they might want to show off their quarters, or their family, or their collection of Spican flame gems. Who knows? There aren't many wealthy people here, but they're hard-working, independent and proud." He steps into a nearby office and soon returns with a 3D printed map of the colony, since Kylah has no tricorder on which to download one. He draws a star on the map with his stylus. "We're here," he says, and then points out other places she's already seen to help orient her.

Marala puts her arm through Graham's as she leads him through a confusing warren of corridors, some with rock walls and some prefab. Graham soon loses track of how many turns they've made before she leads him down two flights of stairs and unerringly around several corners and through another five - or is it six? - corridors. There are more people here, many in mining coveralls, and several greet Marala. She replies to Graham with some pride, "Nikolai is eight now. He's a good boy but very... high-energy, I have to admit. He's never met anyone from Starfleet."

"Well, then," Graham replies. "I'll do my best not to disappoint him." He gives her arm just the slightest squeeze and chuckles softly. "Guess it's a good thing I put on a clean uniform."

“None, I suppose.” Nathaniel muses. “I guess my main concern is if you’re prepared to handle Mrs. Kostoyev staying here.”

Marala leads Graham to a door much like any other on that level of the mining colony, and thumbs the lock. She has barely stepped inside when a skinny, freckled and tow-headed little boy hurtles into her arms. "Mama!" he says happily. "You're back!"

She squeezes him tight and says, trying not very successfully to sound stern, "And you're supposed to be in bed. It's a long way past your bedtime, young man."

An old man comes into what looks like the living room from another room just beyond. "He wasn't in the mood for sleeping, to put it mildly," he says, chuckling, putting his hands on his hips. He has a slight British accent.

Still holding the boy, Marala kisses the man on the cheek. "Thanks for watching him, Jeremy. I really appreciate it. Lt. Graham, this is Jeremy Cornwall, an old family friend. He worked with my husband for many years."



In the hospital, Dr. Cobb says, "As you saw, we're prepping the room now; should be ready in a couple of hours. We don't get quarantine cases hardly ever. Well. Did you want to rejoin your friends, or see anything else in the colony?"

At the comment of drinking with the locals, especially miners, Rangin can almost hear the prayers they would give, the salutations they would make, for safety below the ground and the promise of returning to the surface.

"To the stone, may it give to us again. To the sky, may it shine on us again."

The thoughts of nights in years past merge with the here and now and he wonders if that too is as static as everything else appears to be albeit with its own local twist. A rueful smile twists his lips as he wonders if whatever they brew here will be as potent as the liquor he knew.

And then he realises who is asking the question, and the thought of Kylah imbibing multiple shots is something that should have Graham in hysterics...only Graham has wandered off chatting away and paying no attention.

No, Kylah being allowed to go anywhere by herself is pretty much a guarantee of disaster. Throw in alcohol, her usual penchant for getting into trouble, the fact she had just had a nervous breakdown in the gym and he remembers the last time they went to an establishment and...and...the list is beginning to look pretty long indeed.

Better to plaster a smile to his face and see if he can prevent the pair of them getting into trouble in the first place. A gentle walk round, a simple toast and back to the USS Yorktown. What could possibly go... Kylah, what else, so probably more things than he could shake a mining laser at. Best foot forward.

"I agree, that sounds like a very pleasant idea indeed."

Velir's hesitation--or perhaps sluggish response time--further concerns Kylah about his mental state. Even the words of approval are stilted.

Of course, this is not so unusual for him. His tone can vary in its figurative temperature, from warmth to ice cold; right now, it is closer the latter than the former, though not nearly as harsh as Kylah has experienced it at its worst.

Putting her worries to one side, she politely thanks the officials, and adds, "I will send a message to everyone with the invitation. I am not sure how long we will be--" Cutting herself off, she shakes her head. "Oh, but it is already so late. I am afraid we did not take into account the difference between your local time and that of our ship. We will not be keeping you and your families up?"

Even as she speaks, Kylah busies herself typing a quick message to Lt. Graham.

GRAHAM, LT. - Sir, we have all been invited to have drinks with the governor and Mr. Weinstein before we leave. If that is acceptable, I can send you the location of the Governor's residence. But when should we all meet? I do not recall how long Capt. Singh wishes us to remain planetside. - KYLAH, ENS.

The Governor says, "Oh, please, don't worry about it, Ensign. We don't get a Starfleet visit all that often; we've cleared our schedules." He leads Kylah and Rangin through a disorienting warren of corridors and then upstairs to his own apartment, which is spacious, comfortable and well-decorated, with a striking view out over the desolate, reddish-orange surface of the planet. His wife, Svetlana, plump and friendly, is waiting there with a big smile; she warmly welcomes you and introduces their striking twin daughters, Irina and Polina, about 14, who are quiet but polite. Mrs. Voronko offers a tempting selection of snacks and a well-stocked bar, and asks what you'd like.

Nathaniel gets Kylah's texted invitation to drinks at the Governor's.

Kylah cannot think of anything to ask for. Indeed, she was not expecting to be led here at all--she thought she had clearly expressed her interest in walking alone, without the officials' guidance. She remains polite and grateful, the appropriate decorum for a guest in someone else's home, and is glad to mee the Governor's family.

But when the others are occupied and not looking, she casts Velir a somewhat confused look. Of course, he barely seems to have paid attention to any of the discussion about their plans for the evening. And he likely did not wish to be alone with her anyway, not after the disaster yesterday.

Kylah returns her attention to Mrs. Voronko. "I suppose... whatever is a popular drink among residents, please. The same for food. Whatever your girls find delicious," she amends with what she hopes is a friendly nod at the twins.

Graham extends a hand to Cornwall. "Any friend of Marala's is a friend of mine," he says as he does so.

Assuming the handshake proceeds without incident, he crouches slightly to reduce the height differential between himself and the boy. "And it's nice to meet you, Nikolai."

His communicator alerts, but he waits for the boy's response before doing anything about it.

Mrs. Voronko says, "Well, vodka has long been popular here, as you might expect, but many people like beer and wine, too. But whichever you please." She pours herself a glass of red wine. "The Dorwinion malbec is especially good, I think. Would you like to try a sip?"

Irina, who seems slightly more outgoing than her sister, says, "I like these little puff pastries with mushrooms, Ens. Kylah." She pops one in her mouth. "Mmm, they're good."



Cornwall shakes Graham's hand and says warmly, "I'm retired from Starfleet myself, long ago. Always good to make another Starfleet friend."

Nikolai seems shy at first but looks up at his mother, turns back to Graham, squares his shoulders and sticks out his hand. "How do you do, sir?"

Kylah nods slowly at the glass, wary--she knows her alcohol tolerance is low. Refusing drinks in some cultures is impolite, but a taste of wine cannot hurt. Calling on her distant memory of elementary diplomatic Russian, she adds, "Da, prosto nemnogo vina, pozhaluysta. blagodaryu vas.."* She turns to Irina and thanks her as well, following her lead on the food. The ingredients seem harmless. Anyway, if she can eat gagh she can eat anything.

She takes the small pastry and carefully takes a bite. Her eyes shift to Velir, wondering what he will choose.


* - Yes, just some wine, please. Thank you.

Mrs. Voronko is pleased by Kylah's use of Russian and, pouring a glass of wine for her, responds in the same tongue, "Of course - I hope you like it! May I ask, where did you learn Russian? You speak it very well."

Graham smiles slightly, and accepts the extended hand which he shakes firmly but gently. "I do very well. And thank you for asking." He tilts his head toward Marala. "I'm pretty sure you're mom is very proud of you, from what I've heard."

Swallowing the last of the small pastry, which was indeed quite good--she smiled at Irina after the first couple of bites--Kylah takes the proffered wine glass and gives a little deprecatory shake of her head. "Spasibo ... Ya izuchal russkiy yazyk v Akademii Zvezdnogo Flota. Khotel by ya svobodno govorit' na vashem yazyke."

Her gaze falls on Velir, and again she shakes her head. "Forgive me, I should not exclude you--I am not sure how well the UT works here. She asked me where I learned Russian. I just told her it was at the Academy, and that I wish I could speak her language more fluently."

Kylah purposely omits Mrs. Voronko's compliment of her accent, and not just out of modesty. Lessons at the Academy notwithstanding, whatever talent she possesses for pronouncing Slavic languages is mostly due to her interactions with Klingons. Their language--tlhIngan Hol--requires very similar consonants and vowels, not to mention glottal stops, which are infrequent in Federation standard.

But expertise in tlhIngan Hol is is most certainly not something to boast about; not to Velir, and indeed the Russian colonists might not appreciate their native language being compared to that of an enemy. She quickly changes the subject. "The pastry was delicious. Thank you, Irina, for recommending it."

The girl reminds her of Ditraa, when her sister was this young. Which was just before Kylah left for the Academy; a lifetime ago.

"Mrs. Voronko, do you work in the government as well?" she asks before taking an experimental sip of wine.



Kylah's translation is pretty accurate. And yep, "Zvezdnogo Flota" is indeed how they say "Starfleet" in Russian--well, in the non-Cyrillic alphabet. God bless ST's popularity.

"I really am," Marala says, bending down and hugging her son. "Thanks again, Jeremy. I'm going to get Nikolai to bed - yes, right now," she says in a firm aside to him as the boy begins to protest, "but you're welcome to stick around and talk with Boo-- uh, with Lt. Graham and me."

The older man shakes his head. He looks tired. "No, thanks. I have an errand to run and then I should be getting to bed myself. Goodnight, Nikolai. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graham." He shakes hands again and leaves.

"What ship are you from, sir?" Nikolai, still perky, asks Graham. "Is it orbiting now? How long will you be here?"

His mother pulls on his arm and starts to draw him away. "You heard me, buster. It's late. Time for bed."



Mrs. Voronko says, "No, I'm an accountant for Con-Am. I've been keeping their books for almost 20 years now."

Her daughters sit down on a couch together and start to whisper back and forth.

Graham stands up and smiles. "It's always important to listen to your mother. Yorktown is her name, we'll be in orbit for just a few hours. I strongly suspect I'll be able to send a vid about the ship to your Mom that you can watch later...when it's not time for bed."

"Wow, that'd be great! Thanks, Mr. Graham!" Nikolai says excitedly before being taken off to bed.

After a few minutes, Marala reappears, smiling but a little tired-looking. "Lord knows I love him, but he's always been a handful." She puts her hands on her hips and says, "Sit down, sit down, please, Boojee! It's so good to see you again. Would you like a drink? Something to eat?"

"I..." Graham takes a moment, swallows, looking at Marala. The tiredness he senses tugs at his heartstrings.

Or, more accurately, it's as if a particularly buff Gorn wrapped his heartstrings around its teeth and pulled like there was no tomorrow...

"Well, I'm technically on duty, but if you'd like to toast, to...old friends. I'll clink a glass and down whatever's your pleasure," he says.

Kylah nods, takes another sip but barely lets more liquid past her lips--she is not going to repeat the display she made at the Captain's dinner--and casts a furtive glance at Velir. He is still not participating, seemingly kilometers away; perhaps even lightyears. On Coridan?

She quickly returns to her hosts. "And are you a long-term resident here? Were your parents colonists as well?"

Marala smiles. "I have just the thing." She goes into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. She pours two icy-cold shots, hands one to Graham and raises hers. Her eyes are shining. "To old friends, too long parted, but finally reunited... better late than never."

Mrs. Voronko says, "Yes, I was born and raised here. My family doesn't go back quite as far here as my husband's, but we've been here for a long time. Do you not like the wine, Ensign? I'm sorry. May I get you something else?"

Kylah, her eyes widening, shakes her head quickly. She forgot that Russians--at least those she has read about--take social drinking seriously. After she girds herself, she takes a larger sip of the wine, feeling a warmth in her belly that is pleasant but a signal that despite this being merely wine, it is stronger than those she is used to.

"Not at all, Madam," she says, her tongue quickly drawing in some of the lingering tart-sweet flavor from her lower lip. Since she wears no makeup, she suspects one upside of the wine will be to give her face some needed color. "This is delicious. I just... do not want to get too far ahead of my colleagues. I am sure they will be arriving soon."

She turns slightly toward the door in a rather silly gesture, as if expecting to see Graham, St. Croix, Coimbra, Bennett or even Dr. Roble to march in on cue. Then her attention returns to the General and his wife.

"By coincidence, both Ensign Rangin and I come from planets heavy with rich deposits of valuable resources. And both have had various rivals fight for control. Indeed, some conflicts have yet to be resolved..."

Of course as soon as she says this, her face flushes, and she dives back into the wine to hide her tactlessness. Velir would not want to be reminded of Coridan's ugly past, and Kylah most assuredly does not want anyone to be aware of Elas's ugly present, playing the Federation and Klingons against one another.

Swallowing, she continues. "I...I just meant... I am curious if there has ever been any concern about... outsiders. Things seem so civilized here, so well coordinated among the various mining companies. I just hope there is no danger of anyone else hoping to wrest control from the present colonists."

"I'd like to supervise Mrs. Kostoyev's placement here." Nathaniel says, his tone relays it was not a request, but something he expects to happen.

This visit was determined to be boring, Nathaniel thinks. He supposes he should be grateful that there hadn't been a disaster or a crisis like on so many other missions to other worlds.

Nathaniel then sees a text inviting him to dinner with the Governor and the rest of the landing crew. He figures he might as well do that for the time being.

"Let me know when she arrives." He says as he walks out.

The Governor's wife says, "Oh, there are problems, occasional tensions or misunderstandings, even lawsuits from time to time, but nothing too bad. There's been mining here since within weeks of First Landing, so after this long we know how to do it without anyone having to lose their tempers - or their profits."

There is a chime at the door. Lt. Coimbra, looking a little dustier than before, enters the apartment and greets the Governor. A few seconds later, he's followed by Ens. St. Croix and NR Chief of Security Mezentsev. Drinks are served, snacks are munched and the noise level increases a bit.



Dr. Cobb crosses her arms and says pleasantly, "You're welcome to observe, Dr. Bennett, and I'd welcome any suggestions you might have, but if by 'supervise' you mean give orders to my staff, I'm afraid not. I'll certainly see to that you're notified when she arrives, though."

Nathaniel can talk further with her, or go to the Governor's cocktail party.

Graham nods and clinks Marala's glass. "Aye," he says, holding her eyes. He pauses before downing the drink. "And here's to having an unexpected opportunity to say 'thank you' - for everything, way back when."

Rangin is used to the welcoming nature of most miners. Given the situations they found themselves in, they always had a certain sense of community and if they invited you in, you were fairly safe. But if you got on the wrong side of them, the whole community would rally together. Well, except where the Orion Syndicate mattered, but that is a different matter.

He listens to Kylah talking enough for both of them and the pleasantries being passed back and forth.

He considers the pastry and if he feels like it, but it seems unappetising for some reason. No doubt cooked well, but he just doesn’t feel in the mood. The vodka on the other hand, well it is after hours and he is technically toasting to their health.

Once the small tumbler is in his hand, “I apologise that my Russian is not as good as Ens. Kylah’s, but За здоровье!*” He raises the glass to his hosts in acknowledgement and takes a sip.

“What Ens. Kylah is trying to say delicately, is that I am from Coridan and it has been a while since I was last down a mine. Please excuse my vagueness, I had forgotten, how much I remembered.”




*pronounced "za zdorov'ye"-- "to your health."

Kylah is glad to see the others from their party--at least, some of them--and holds off on a better explanation of her question, since Mrs. Voronko did not seem to understand where Kylah was headed.

And then Velir speaks out of nowhere, now holding a small glass of clear liquid; Kylah did not hear what he requested. He seems extremely distracted and she wonders if it was a good idea for him to be in such surroundings. Lt. Graham could not have known, and perhaps even Velir did not realize how it would affect him. But Kylah feels it, and it worries her.

After a moment she shakes herself free of the invisible, delicate rope linking her and Velir--which she suspects is only noticed by her--and moves closer to the Voronkos.

"If I may, Governor? I do not think I was clear earlier... by 'outsiders' I did not mean other miners here on Novy Rostov. To the contrary, I repeat my compliments on how well you have maintained a positive atmosphere of cooperative competition." She smiles politely.

"What I meant by problems from outsiders was... have you ever been noticed by off-planet explorers? Ones who might have plans for the resources you colonists have successfully discovered and mined for generations."

Kylah holds her glass with both hands curved around the bowl. Which would be correct for brandy, but not wine--which she prefers cold to warm. Still, she needs the reassurance, somehow.

"Other planets have been fought for with less wealth at stake. I suppose I should be leaving such questions to our security officers. St. Croix has probably spoken about this with your own Security expert, and I am sure Lt. Graham--"

She stops. No, she is not at all sure Lt. Graham is thinking of security right now. It is not her business. If Lt. Onn had not been so kind to her... if the two had not treated her almost as--as parents, in a strange way... Kylah would probably not wonder about Lt. Graham and this woman from his past.

But again... it is not her business, and certainly not a subject to be brought up here. She goes on easily: "...I am sure he has already read your history. But I have not, so forgive my ignorance. Have you had to defend yourselves? From, say, Romulans? The Orion Syndicate?" Kylah swallows and cannot help the slightest hesitation before she finishes: "Klingons?"

Marala tosses back her drink, gestures towards the couch and sits down herself. "Tell me everything about you since we last saw each other, Boojee. The good and the bad - I want to hear it all."

The other Russian-speakers in the room return Rangin's toast in kind. Coimbra and St. Croix have drinks of their own, now, and the party is picking up a bit. A pleasant hum of conversation and occasional laughter fills the room. The Governor comes over, puts his arm around his wife's waist and listens attentively to Kylah's questions. He says, "No, fortunately, we're too far off the beaten track to have attracted any hostile aliens' attention. The Klingons are the closest, of those you mention, and even when Federation-Klingon relations were at their worst, we never had any problems like that."

"That is very good to know, sir," Kylah says, somewhat slowly. A weight seems to be pressing down on her insides, and it is not the wine. She wishes she could erase what she just heard.

The trouble with knowledge is that it is--for her, and more particularly for her Uncle Aldaan--currency. Ever since her parents died, she has been required to provide him with such currency, one way or another, in one form or another. Each time the price grew higher, the cost more dear.

In the last few seconds she has learned something that could be valuable to the Klingons; something of which they are apparently unaware. Which means it is precisely the sort of currency Aldaan expects... demands... from her.

And now? After the dreadful, shameful mishaps, errors in judgment, and personal losses during her time on the Yorktown, all of which have led Kylah to receive first his ice-cold rage, and now this month-long ominous silence?

If she wants to get back into some measure of favor with him, this would be a start: a resource-rich planet ripe for plucking, remote and likely with defensive capability that is no match for a Klingon attack.

Why did I ask, oh why did I ask? Kylah's grip around the glass tightens until the pressure is great enough that she fears it is at risk of breaking. She nods and smiles and tries in vain to think of something to say. Her gaze flickers to Velir, wishing he would rouse himself, talk about mining, anything at all, to help extract her from this discussion. But he will not rescue her, possibly would not do so even if he knew she needs him.

She hurries to return to the Governor.

"I... I am sorry Lt. Graham has not yet arrived," she stammers. "I am sure he means no disrespect. It must have been a surprise to discover an old friend here. Ms. Gromov..." She hesitates and, desperate for something to say, adds more bluntly than she intended: "Is she married?"

"That's all right," the Governor says, smiling a little conspiratorially. "It was obvious they had some catching-up to do."

"She's widowed now," his wife tells Kylah. "Poor dear. A lovely woman, very hard-working, and raising a little boy on her own."

As the party begins to fill out slightly, Rangin begins to relax chatting to a few of the guests and making polite conversation. He lets the general hubbub wash over him, engaging in some brief chatter on mining here and some comments on the community there. The first communal event he had been to since his accident and he can feel a warm glow of companionship, or maybe it’s just the vodka. As he looks around he can see the others from the USS Yorktown only to realise that Kylah has been standing behind him for most of it, or perhaps he just hadn’t noticed her.

Feeling a little guilty that she has been left to the Governor and his wife, even though as a diplomat, she is far more experienced in talking to such. People. But after the last couple of days, well without Graham around, someone should keep an eye on her. He makes his excuses to the current group and heads across in time to hear her question about Ms. Gromov.

...one of those desperate silence filler questions…

which if it lasts, then he will continue as if nothing has happened. “Governor, have you ever considered expanding the variety of flora and fauna you have here?”

Voronko sips his wine and thinks a moment. "No, I can't say I have. What do you have in mind, Ens. Rangin?" He smiles. "Should we create a jungle, or a zoo?"

"Well..." Graham takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. "A tall order, I guess..."

He clears his throat. "Just let me check my communicator that buzzed earlier..." He smiles slightly. "Sorry, burdens of rank, you know. Didn't have them even a few weeks ago."

He can't help but frown as he reads Kylah's message. Not because there's anything wrong with her proposal, but rather because, selfishly, he'd prefer more time with Marala.

Good diplomacy work, Ensign. He texts in response. We'll be along shortly.

Once he replies he takes a deep breath. "So...my sister Fiona, you may remember she was having a lot of, ah, trouble when we were kids. She's OK now." He nods. "All good."

"Uh, well...I guess most other things are more, ah, not all good. I got married, we had a daughter. I made Lt. Commander. Climbing the ladder like I wanted to once I discovered Starfkeet...And then--"

He rubs his hands together, once again keenly aware of the many scars. "My wife died--no she was killed. I, uh...I went looking for whoever did it, to kill them. I guess, I, ah, did kill one guy. Got busted down to Ensign." He shakes his head. "This probably isn't what you want to hear, Marala."

He swallows. "But now I'm back on a ship, assistant chief of Security. Our--my--daughter is on Earth, she's in gradudate school. Smart like her mother."

He pauses. "We're both here...and I'm so...very glad to see you, Marala. but I'm guessing for both of us things didn't go one hundred percent as planned."

Kylah cannot ignore Velir's approach, and it takes a moment to focus on the governor's wife as she must. Something is drawing her to him. Not in the romantic sense, not even in the friendship they once shared. This is almost physical, while simultaneously... intangible.

Yet it seems to be one-sided: it is clear Velir does not feel as she does. He has barely looked at her since she arrived on the Bridge this morning. There is no sense in it.

She frowns and tries to detach her attention from this... whatever it is. Mrs. Voronko has told her something serious, and Kylah concentrates as best she can. "I am sorry to hear that," she says, tilting her head in concern. "Forgive me if this is too personal--may I ask, how did her husband pass away? Was it a mine accident?"

Marala takes Graham's hand and squeezes it. "No, they didn't, but honey, it's so good to see you now." She pours another vodka for herself, but sips it this time and doesn't toss it back as she did the first. She holds up the bottle for Graham, questioning, and pours him another if he wants it. She goes on, "After my family moved I ended up at the University of Singapore - I think you probably heard about that - and got my civil engineering degree. I kicked around in different jobs for awhile, including on Luna and Arcadia, and even spent a year aboard a freighter. Then I met Leo - Leonid Semyonovich Gromov. A Russian, as you probably guessed; he was handsome, and smart, and kind, and really a wonderful man. He proposed nine days after we met; I said no for awhile but he wore me down. It only took another week or so, and we were married by the end of the month. We were very, very happy together."

She smiles wistfully and takes another sip. "Leo was a mining expert and had moved around a lot, too. He was hired by NRMC just after I got pregnant. I can't say I'd been yearning to move to Novy Rostov but we both came to love it. Nikolai was born not long after we arrived, so he's a native, and we've been here ever since. I was able to get a job with the company, too, and everything was going great until Leo was killed in a cave-in. Even these days, with all our sensors and computers and structural analysis, those still happen now and then." Her expression is bleak. "I was devastated, and you can imagine how Nikolai took it, but we'd made a lot of friends here and they helped us through it."



Mrs. Voronko nods sadly. "Yes, a mining accident. Very tragic - he and two others were killed. It was a terrible day for the colony."

Graham accepts her offer of another drink and listens attentively.

When Marala finishes, he offers his glass for her to clink. "To the memory of those we've lost. And to the family and the friends we are lucky enough to have and cherish today." After a brief pause he smiles slightly. "Present company most definitely included."

"Hear, hear." Marala raises her glass and drinks the toast. She gazes at Graham for a moment, then carefully sets her glass down, leans forward, takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

Kylah's expression turns pained. "I am sorry to hear that. Was this--oh, excuse me, please..." She belatedly realizes that what she thought was someone jostling her in the increasing crowd was the slight jump of her communicator.

The message inside is straightforward enough, and the compliment is greatly appreciated--although she does not feel she has done enough to warrant much praise, simply for accepting an invitation. As no response appears required, she returns the device to her hip.

"Forgive me," she says, looking up at the older woman, and adds a glance at the Governor--although he is speaking with Velir now. "Lt. Graham says he--well, he and Ms. Gromov, I believe--will arrive soon."

After a fleeting, downcast look that passes somewhere in the range of Velir's chest, Kylah redirects her attention and recalls what she was about to ask Mrs. Voronko. "Was this tragedy recent?"

Graham is initially taken aback, utterly surprised. And then he puts a hand on her shoulder and returns her kiss, intensely.

There's so such behind reciprocating: the grief and loss they just shared, the surprise and joy at seeing her unexpectedly, and...back then I was a scared, weak kid, now I could be the person--the man--I always wanted to be for and with her...

But I can't.

There's Nia, of course, but whatever angst and complexity that introduces--and it feels like probably "a lot"-- is simply pre-empted by the fact that he knows he has to go. Not just in a few hours back to the ship, but, really, in a few minutes to the soiree Kylah engineered. And in this situation there's no good outcome...

After a moment--maybe two moments, that feel both endless and far too short--and with effort, but he knows it has to happen--he stops pulling her closer and draws back. "Marala--I...there's no--there's no good way for us to--ah, to jump into anything, anything beyond this moment. I--there's a thing with the Governor happening right now my team set up."

He looks into her eyes, blinks, catches them again. " I know, right now--I'll treasure this kiss forever, no matter what. But...I don't know what I'm doing or saying, but I know I have to go."

He takes a deep breath and pulls back his hand to touch one of hers along his face. "I always wished I was a better man back in the day, Marala. Being one comes with doing my duty."

Mrs. Voronko confides to Kylah, "Almost two years ago, I think it was. It almost seems like it was yesterday."

Marala puts her hand over Graham's, holding it against her cheek. She looks into his eyes and asks quietly, "After all these years... can't your duty wait for just a little while longer?"

Rangin hears the Governor's reply and can't help but grin slightly at the thought of a jungle tucked away in one part of the the door. He had been in a few in his time, always finding them a little oppressive but full of life and wonder. The idea of a zoo, especially a small one where people can get used to more animals than a household pet is a good idea. It brings a little bit of the universe closer to home, trapped in this dome. He can remember the time he spent in one of Coridan's own zoos and loving every moment of it. Surely something similar here could only be of benefit to the colonists.

But then the tone of the conversations takes a decidedly sombre turn and he finds himself fidgeting slightly. Mining always was, is and forever would be a dangerous proposition despite everything. Every town in Coridan near a mine had its own memorials to those lost below ground.

Rangin sighs deeply, "They always feel so after they happen," he says quietly, "and I'm sure you have done everything since to make sure it never happens again." He sips the drink, feeling the vodka slowly burn down his throat.

Damn, this was getting morbid, they were supposed to be a standard evening meeting and it seems to be heading nowhere. Rangin takes a deep breath, stands slightly straighter and attempts not to sound either disrespectful or flippant.

“Governor, from what you said earlier, a zoo is very good idea? Mrs. Voronko, do you think there would be a place for such a thing? Ensign Kylah?”

The Governor grunts. "There was some talk of a zoo when I was a teenager, but nothing ever came of it. Too expensive and not enough interest, I think, although maybe people would feel differently about it now."

His wife thinks briefly, and says, "Depending on its size, there are plenty of places here where it might go. The bigger, the more problematic, though, of course."

Kylah, about to respond to Mrs. Voronko's comment about the length of time since the mine accident, is left with mouth parted in surprise when Velir addresses first the governor's wife, then--for some reason--Kylah herself. About zoos, of all things.

She looks down at her glass, takes a small sip, and then waits for the others to respond, listening to Mrs. Voronko's opinion about larger zoos being troublesome.

Since Velir has specifically asked her thoughts, Kylah is obliged to speak. She does so softly: "And yet smaller ones would contain either too few animals, or not enough space for comfort."

Her gaze shifts to the view outside. There is a dome surrounding all these colonists. To someone on the outside, the people of Novy Rostov are the ones in a cage. For their own safety, to be sure, but still: walls are walls.

"I never liked seeing wild animals confined," she murmurs, half to herself. Then she shakes her head, not wanting to insult what the others appear to enjoy. "But if it is the only way to introduce the native citizens here to new living creatures... and if the animals were humanely kept..." Her words hang as she she shrugs and smiles slightly, letting the rest be filled in however they choose.

Kylah wonders if it is right to monopolize the Governor and his wife. Again sipping her wine, she lets her eyes scan the room in an effort to find St. Croix, Coimbra and Bennett--the latter of whom she has not noticed arriving. Perhaps there is a problem with the quarantine? As it stands now, there are only four Starfleet officers here, and she and Velir are sticking with the highest-ranked... Rostovians? Rostovites? What do they call themselves?

It strikes her that if Lt. Graham believes she is doing a proper diplomatic job, she had better actually fulfill his expectations. She searches for anyone who seems interested in meeting someone from Starfleet, as the Governor and Mr. Weinstein assured her would likely be the case. While doing so, she concentrates harder on using her empathic sense as another tool to find someone particularly hoping to speak to her or one of her colleagues.

The Governor says offhandedly, "Well, if we were to have a zoo, I'd certainly want it to be humanely run. For instance, it'd have to include enough room for the animals to move around in a way that was healthy for them, you know?" He takes a sip of his wine. "We could accommodate guinea pigs and spiders, I suppose; I can't imagine we'd ever have enough room for an elephant or a navaarn."

Kylah sees St. Croix and Coimbra across the room, talking and apparently having a good time with Weinstein and the others. Dr. Bennett has still not appeared. She does not get a particular empathic impression from anyone other than the general mood of polite good cheer.

The door chimes and one of the Voronko twins goes to answer it.

Graham blinks and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head just slightly. "We're not kids anymore, and I--."

He stands up, taking her hand in his. "But I don't feel good about showing up randomly and shortly disappearing, and, in the meantime... uh..." He swallows. "Marala, I love you. I've always loved you. I always will." He squeezes her hand. "I may be wrong. But I feel like our memories and what we have deserves more than ten minutes or thirty minutes or whatever it is before I--I have to go. I know I have to go. If that wasn't the case...hell, I don't know. But it is."

Marala stands, squeezes his hand and ruefully smiles. "Yes, of course you're right, Boojee. I understand. Just know that you're always welcome here." She looks in on Nikolai, now sound asleep, and bids Graham goodnight with a kiss on the cheek.

A little at a loss--the Governor has shut down Velir's suggestion, and Kylah cannot think of anything else to ask these literally insular people--she almost resorts to the easy distraction of her wine glass.

Instead, she seeks out an appropriate place where she can set the glass down, half of the drink still remaining. "Pardon me, Governor... Mrs. Voronko... If you do not mind, I would be grateful for the opportunity to meet more of your friends. Will you excuse me?"

She wishes she could take Velir with her, as she is eyeing his own vodka glass and the rapidity with which he's disposing of its contents. Although she has seen him hold his spirits well--at least, better than she can, which is not saying much--she has not been able to predict his behavior of late.

But then she hears the door chime, and her hopes rise. She moves a little closer, expecting Lt. Graham. And if it is Dr. Bennett, Kylah suspects she had better be there before he says something rude to the Voronkos' young daughter.

The door opens and the past slaps Nathaniel right in the face. Leona stood there staring up at him as she smiles, a quizzical look on her tiny face. But as quickly as the past had gripped him, reality of the present brings dark, painful reminders. This wasn’t Leona, this child only looks like her. Leona is dead... they all are dead. Gone. Nathaniel would never see that face again. He’d never see any of them again. As a wave of powerful emotions from grief, to anger, to rage wash over him, he knows he has to go. He has to get out of here. He couldn’t be around this girl, not with her looking at him like that, like Leona once did. He turns to escape and prays no one saw him standing in the doorway.

The Voronko girl calls down the hallway after Nathaniel, "Hello? Hello, sir?"

When Kylah approaches her she says, puzzled, "There was a man in Starfleet uniform at the door, but he turned and left right after I opened the door. He didn't say anything."

Coming from the opposite end of the hall are now two men and a woman, all in civilian clothes.

Nathaniel hears the girls voice, but proceeds to move down the hall. He couldn’t go back, not with that child looking so much like Leona. He hadn’t forgotten the past. The past is why he was here, why he’d joined the crew of the Yorktown. But he has not prepared for this. He doesn’t think he’d ever be prepared for that.

As he reaches the end, closer to escape, for some reason he stops and turns back to the door. He sees the two men and the woman approaching from the other end of the corridor. Curious, he wonders what that was all about. Who are they? And are they headed for the party?

Nathaniel sees the trio approach the same doorway he just left. The girl at the door lets them in, and the door closes behind them.

The Voronko twin introduces Kylah to the new arrivals - Pavel and Elena Antonov, and Song Chon Kun. The Antonovs are an older Russian couple, and Song is a middle-aged Korean man. Mrs. Antonov trills, "Ens. Kayla, is it? Well, aren't you the cutest Starfleet officer I've ever seen!" She grabs Kylah's arm and puts her own through it. "I've always been so interested in Starfleet. Did you know, I almost joined when I was younger? It's true. You serve on the Yorktown, is that right? How long have you been in Starfleet? What do you do on your ship? Oh, I have so many questions for you...." She practically drags Kylah towards an available couch.

Mr. Antonov and Mr. Song exchange glances and head for the bar.

Graham gives Marala's hand a parting squeeze, and then leaves--"grudging but inevitable."

He's conflicted by te fact that he wishes things could be different - could they be 17 again, but only a better 17?

But the fact is I am still struggling to open up to Nia. I know I can't really be there for Marala. I wish I could.

Once clear of her place, he does his best - and looks for some signposts or guidance - to find his way to the shindig Kylah set up.

There are directories or maps at most major intersections in the rabbits'-warren of Novy Rostov's underground corridors, and after a few wrong turns Graham finds himself at the Voronkos' door.

Graham takes a deep breath and rings the chime.

The door is opened by a very pretty girl, about 14, who introduces herself as Irina Voronko, daughter of the Governor. She invites you in. You see a large, very comfortable apartment with a wide picture window looking out over the desolate, reddish-orange surface of the planet. Rangin and Coimbra are talking to various civilians (not all of whom you've seen before), as is St. Croix, who raises her glass in a polite toast when she sees you enter. Kylah seems to have been snagged by an older woman with lots of questions. There is food and drink on offer. The Governor gives you a friendly wave from across the room.

Nathaniel realizes he is being an idiot. What the hell is he doing running from a child? Besides, he needs to be here. He has to start getting to know these damnedable people if his plan will ever bear fruit. Besides he could use a drink. Here the drinks will be free. And who knows there could be.... other distractions as well. Steeling himself, he goes back to the door and rings the bell.

The same girl answers the door. She is plainly surprised to see you again and seems about to say something, but then thinks better of it. Instead, she simply introduces herself as Irina Voronko, daughter of the Governor, and invites you in. The place is much as Graham saw it when he entered a few minutes ago. Four other civilians enter just after Nathaniel and they join the party, too.

Another pretty girl - apparently Irina's twin sister - puts some music on. With that added to the several conversations already underway, it's getting a bit noisy.

Kylah cannot fathom how all this happened so suddenly. Mrs. Antonov is chattering away while Kylah looks up at each ring of the door chime. At first she was certain the person who had run, the person from whom she felt such guilt and discomfort, was Lt. Graham. She knows a bit of his emotions and they match up with the disappearing trace that Kylah sensed.

And yet it wasn't. Could it possibly have been Dr. Bennett? It makes no sense. The girl did say he wore a Starfleet uniform, and unless more team members have beamed down, Dr. Bennett and Lt. Graham were the only ones unaccounted for at the party.

Now she has been almost dragged to the sofa. "I--I--well, thank you," she says to Mrs. Antonov's odd compliment... if that was, indeed, how it was intended. Cute? She has never thought of herself that way. She explains her Communications role in as few words as possible, afraid of being interrupted by the garrulous older woman.

She waits for a chance to get a word in edgewise, and finally something that has tickled her mind since hearing their name bears fruit. "We actually have an officer named Antonov. His first name is Michael... no, Mikhail, I believe. Is this any relation?"

In truth, she doubts there is any connection, given this couple’s curiosity about Starfleet. Surely they would be in touch with a relative who is actually part of a major starship. Still, it is something to ask.

Even as she speaks, she looks around like a small animal searching for a hawk. So many strangers... Then, instead of the unfamiliar, she seeks out the few she knows. St. Croix, Coimbra--Velir, of course. Lt. Graham arrives and she exhales, relieved, especially when he is, followed soon by Dr. Bennett. The medical officer is particularly gratifying:. If he had remained absent much longer she would have contacted him to ensure his safety.

If Kylah is able to get more questions in, she will ask (loudly, to be heard over the music and discussions): "What do you and Mr. Antonov do on the colony? Have you been here all your lives? And who was that gentleman who entered with you--a friend?"

Mrs. Antonov says, "I don't know of any relatives in Starfleet; I'm sure I would know of them if there were any. Mikhail, you say? Hmm. I should contact him and see if he and my husband - that's my husband, Pavel, over there, he's my husband, a dear man, really - are any relation to each other." To Kylah's later questions, she says, "I own and run a small gift shop, and Pavel is retired from the mines. Yes, we're natives - we've both lived here all our lives. The other gentleman - you mean Mr. Song? We don't really know him very well. He goes to our church, I think, but I doubt I've seen him more than three or four times before tonight." She takes a drink and then a deep breath. "But you must tell me more about yourself, Ens. Kenda. Where are you from? Why did you join Starfleet? Why is your ship here at Novy Rostov? Will you be here long? Are you in command of this... group of Starfleet people? Have you had any interesting adventures in your time in Starfleet?"

This woman's remarkable chatter makes Kylah take automatic breaths, hoping Mrs. Antonov will do a little more of that rather than her speech. Kylah's old nurse was chatty as well, but nothing like this.

She does wonder about Mr. Song. That look he and Mr. Antonov exchanged seemed more than strangers. Then again, perhaps they were sharing some relief at getting a rest from Mrs. Antonov's river of words.

Ensign Kenda. Kylah tries not to smile, and now finds herself in an awkward position. She did not correct Mrs. Antonov the first time, and now with this second jumble of her name, Kylah feels it would be unkind to correct her. Then again, it would be worse if someone else were to do it. A simple way around the gaffe strikes her.

"My friends call me Kylah. I would be honored if you would, as well. I do not stand on formality." Which is, of course, one of her bigger lies, but she would rather lie than hurt the woman's feelings. "I hope this is not presumptuous, but may I ask what your religion is? I am very interested in other cultures. I wish, if it were allowed and we had time, I could see one of your services."

She hurries through her background. "I am from Elas, which is still in final negotiations to join the Federation. I joined Starfleet because my family wished to place one of us as a measure of good faith..." Which is an even more egregious lie than before. She rushes on: "...and I thought it was the best option to learn more about the worlds and people outside my home planet. And I certainly have," she adds quietly.

Hardly able to describe all the 'adventures' she has been through--even if she wanted to, and she most assuredly does not--Kylah just says, "I only joined three--nearly four months ago." How is that possible? So much in so little time... and I feel so much older... "But I have been fortunate to be on a few missions--assisting with a scientific experiment, although that turned into a disease outbreak; inspecting conditions at a resort, which also became... more challenging than we expected."

Kylah's hands are clasped and they turn a bloodless white from pressure as she does her best to maintain her cool demeanor. "We made First Contact with a previously unknown race and helped them retrieve a religious artifact. Finally, we stepped in to search for and free hostages. Quite a variety, I suppose. Although my role in most of these was peripheral.

"As for why we are here: we provided passage for a few new colonists. Our ship's captain, Captain Singh, likes to send groups like ours--landing parties, we are called--to be cordial, and interact with people such as you and Mr. Antonov... generally, to learn more about each place we visit." Kylah does not think there is anything wrong with explaining their mission, since it is so straightforward.

Finally, Kylah has to smile at the thought of her being the leader of a mission. "No, I am not in charge at all; it is flattering that you would think me so. In fact, I am the most junior member of the team. Our mission leader has just arrived--Lt. Graham, over there. He is from Earth. I can introduce you, if you like..." She starts to get up. Perhaps it is unfair to foist this woman on Lt. Graham but... well, he was late.

"Fascinating - thank you for being so helpful and forthcoming," Mrs. Antonov says warmly, leaning over and squeezing Kylah's hand. "Just fascinating! Pavel says I ask too many questions, but I always say, how else am I to learn?" She drains her glass and answers the Communications officer's questions: "We're Russian Orthodox, sweetie - always have been. A lot of people here are. A very well-established church here, very respectable. You'd be most welcome to come to one of our services - I'd love to introduce you to Father Boris. Lovely man, just lovely. And meet your commander? Now? Oh, thank you, Ens. Kimba. That would be wonderful!" She stands with Kylah, grabs her arm again and starts marching towards Graham.

Kylah gives up hope on the woman getting her name correct. How strange, though... 'Kylah' is not that difficult to pronounce. Still, the room is noisy, which might explain the woman's hearing comprehension. Kylah must do her best to talk a little louder and more clearly.

"I am sure Lt. Graham will be delighted to meet you, Mrs. Antonov," she says, and suddenly wonders how the older woman will butcher his name. Perhaps I should have called him 'Grem' or 'Grom.' She might end up saying the correct version by accident. The thought is the closest she has come to genuine amusement in a long time.

Still, the pressure from the woman's grasp is beginning to feel uncomfortable--as is her proximity. Is Mrs. Antonov finding it difficult to walk? Kylah cannot think of a graceful way to tell her to let go, especially if the woman has a disability or even just joint pain and needs the support.

"If it is more comfortable for you to remain seated," she says delicately, while she pushes forward a gentle empathic test to see if the woman is in distress of any kind, "I can bring Lt. Graham over here."

Mrs. Antonov does not appear to be in any distress. She's just bossy and hands-on.