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

Graham nods at Nia's order...request.

"Doc, as soon as you've got anything, let me know."

He approaches the group. "Mr. Kylah, Mr. Rawlings -- god willing this is the welcome wagon or the rescue bus or whatever...I'm going to step out into their path. If their response is...." He pauses a second. Marala. You shouldn't have to lose two husbands. "...fatal...Then this is the Alamo, Rawlings hit them with maximum fire."

He raises both hands. "But--anything less--the fact is that we're in a bad way." He lowers his voice. "Rangin, per the Doc, Nia..." He sighs. "Mr. Kylah, if I am incapacitated by anything less than an obvious intent to slaughter us all in the moment, do your best to talk them down. Or talk us up. We need warmth and shelter."

A few precious seconds pass before Nia takes in Booker's words and actions. When she does, a wave of horror washes over her. Does he think--can he actually believe that she intends for him to sacrifice himself? For him to stand alone in front like the subject of some deadly test to see if whoever's out there will attack?

When she said she'll need him to take the lead, she never meant like this.

The idea of telling Vargas how his ACoS was sacrificed... telling Lizzie how her father was sacrificed... They'll think her the worst of cowards.

Her mind's working poorly, that must be it, she must have phrased it wrong, he must have misunderstood her words. He must have misunderstood her. Maybe he always did.

But she told him to make the call. So, dazed and silent, slow and stupid, she moves closer to the others. Her benumbed hand again reaches for her just-fired phaser and she stands beside Rawlings. Nia winces into the wind and toward the snowy hill where the approaching vehicle is likely only seconds away. It will be help. Mother of us all, let it be help.

A tricorder scan shows that the approaching vehicle is slightly longer than the sunken Tesla, and a meter lower but twice as wide. It carries a single human being, is unarmed, and is powered by a small onboard fusion plant which apparently generates electricity to drive its six caterpillar treads, three on each side. It draws closer, and its bright headlights now sweep across the members of the Starfleet party.

Dr. Mäkeläinen determines that, given Rangin's Coridanite physiology, the young xenobiologist will probably be out for ten to fifteen minutes from being phaser-stunned, unless given a stimulant.

Dr. Mäkeläinen announces the scan results. He adds, "They are alone and unarmed, and we do not want whoever it is to think twice about stopping to let in a uniformed squad brandishing phasers."

Rangin (and Onn!) really need some active heating at this point, not just left to shiver underneath a thin blanket, and Rangin is not even capable of that. Depending on what happens in the next moments, if his own tricorder readings show that Rangin is not already hypothermic and they are let into the crawler (he knows how to shift an unconscious Lt. Rangin by himself but would not mind a hand) and it is toasty warm inside, he will let him warm up and recover naturally. Otherwise, he will administer a stimulant. With Onn, he is more loath to administer a stimulant because all of the stress to her system, not least of which from the significant amount and types of medication she has taken recently, would make it a dangerous strain. Besides, she is still (barely) on her own two feet, and, while it would warm her up, the same amount of stimulants may warm her less than they would a warmer-blooded individual, and a more powerful dose would be even more risky.

Graham nods gratefully. "Thanks, doctor." He turns to the others. "Weapons down."

Holstering his own, he raises his hands disarmingly up to either side and steps forward further into the headlights.

"Hello in the vehicle...we are Starfleet officers. Our shuttle crashed. We'd be grateful for assistance," he shouts into the cold.

Kylah squeezes Velir's hand again before rising, very slowly, to her feet and walking up a few steps toward Lt. Onn. She murmurs a pardon me, ma'am to Lt. Onn but the other woman says nothing as Kylah passes slightly in front of her.

She stops, behind and to the right of Lt. Graham, and looks at the vehicle. Small as she is, Kylah hopes she will be seen as nonthreatening. And perhaps as a result of her trusting them, she might seem trustworthy, as well.

Mäkeläinen's findings about the approaching stranger are a relief, at least it seems like it should be, and Nia hugs her blanket still closer to cover the phaser still in her hand. She thinks it's still there. Too cold to feel now.

She sees the blurry figure of Kylah by her side and then ahead of her, treading so carefully it's almost in slow-motion. The young woman excuses herself but Nia doesn't bother reacting. She can only watch and concentrate on three things: staying upright herself, remaining prepared to use her phaser assuming she can lift her arm fast enough, and above all waiting for the response to Booker's request.

The crawler crunches to a halt a few meters away and the driver's door opens. An older, very large Human woman drops down, surprisingly light on her feet as she lands on the snow, and gruffly says, "I figured ya might be. Need a lift to Freetown, I hear." She sees the creatures on the snow and adds, "Ah, run into some icevamps, did ya?" She chuckles. "There's a warm welcome for ya, huh?"

Relief washes down Mäkeläinen's spine. He tries to meet the woman's gaze. "Well met! Speaking of warmth, I don't mean to be rude, but our friend here is down, and he needs to get inside to recover before he freezes to death. The rest of us are not much better. Any chance we can go ahead and put him in the back?"

"I'm Dr. Bizhi Mäkeläinen, by the way," he adds, "Starfleet Medical Corps."

Kylah exhales in gratitude and she swivels back to take a look at Dr. Mäkeläinen and Velir, relieved that the doctor is prioritizing his patient. About to introduce herself, she hesitates and takes in first Lt. Onn, then Lt. Graham. She does not know which of them should be speaking. The former is impossible to read now, and the latter is right in front. Uncertain, she just turns back to the newcomer with a grateful nod. "Yes ma'am, we are from the USS Yorktown. If we may take our injured party inside soon...?"

Out of force of habit, she takes a very brief measure of the stranger's emotions, hoping she is as generous as she seems.

A rush of much-needed adrenaline, brought on by the friendliness of the new arrival, revives Nia somewhat. She tries to stop hunching over to stand up straight, rather than disgracing her uniform and presenting a poor representation of what's supposed to be her command of the mission.

"The--the icevamps we could've done without, but--" Out of breath, she takes in another. "But you're a s-sight for sore eyes. And for--for everything else that's sore." Nia attempts what she hopes is a smile, and totters a step or two ahead. "Lieutenant--" About to introduce herself, she stops for a few nanoseconds of thought, and then defers, instead nodding toward Booker. "This is Lt. Graham, madam. Assistant Ch-chief of Security of the USS Yorktown. We called for help--our injured need attending ASAP."

Again she runs out of breath and, rather than use any more than necessary, shuts up and wills herself to step out of the way for Rangin and Rawlings.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," the woman says, still gruffly. "Go ahead, put him in. How many of you?" She counts. "Six? Yeah, shouldn't be a problem."

Kylah gets the psi impression that the crawler's driver is not friendly, as such, but is, rather, brisk and businesslike. Indeed, Kylah senses that there is an undercurrent of distaste and... hostility? She can't be sure. What the woman says and does, and how she feels, seem to be somewhat at odds.

"Give me a hand with him?" Mäkeläinen asks Graham. "Help me get him comfortable, lying on his side, not right on his back."

The doctor savors the warmth coming from the vehicle. He will keep monitoring Rangin's core temperature periodically, to make sure he is recovering normally. It was not too bad a jolt, but obviously painful, and enough to scramble one's brains and knock him out---just as designed, in other words. Not that it is likely with a hand phaser and by accident, it is absolutely possible to kill someone with a phaser set to 'stun', with enough power at close range, or with repeated shots.

Graham's a little surprised Nia introduces him rather than her--but, on the other hand, she's clearly not feeling well...and misdirection as to who is in command?

In any event, love him or hate him it's not acceptable for Rangin to freeze solid on the snowy ground, and Nia unquestionably needs to get out of the cold.

He listens to the back and forth among his colleagues and the woman, then adds "Much obliged, uh, miss---?"

Taken aback, Kylah is initially rooted in place while the others move around her. She darts a look at Velir--he is the only one who might confirm her impression of the stranger, and could do so without fear of uncovering a secret. But obviously that is not an option. She considers telling Dr. Mäkeläinen of her doubts... yet how could she possibly explain? Besides, the doctor is busy dealing with his two... maybe three patients, if one counts Lt. Onn who seems a likely candidate. He will not likely be moved by anything she must explain away as mere intuition.

Instead she finally detaches herself from her standing place and walks as hastily as possible around the other side of Lt. Graham, keeping herself shielded by his frame from the newcomer. "Sir," she whispers while placing her trembling hand on his sleeve. "She is clearly not the assistance sent to us. We cannot know her intentions yet. It may seem ungrateful or--or overcautious, but perhaps..."

She bites her lower lip, frustrated. "Perhaps one of us ought to check her vehicle first, just a security sweep to see if there is any danger in there? Such as..." Her uncertainty weakens her delivery and she ends on a hesitant, "Weapons or... traps?"

Not believing herself very convincing, she steps out from behind Lt. Graham, hoping she will buy him enough time to make a considered decision. Once the woman has responded to his question, Kylah blurts out, "We are grateful and sorry to keep you from your destination, madam. That is such an unusual vehicle, too." She smiles into the twilight brightened by the snow around them. "What do you use it for, if I may ask?"

"Maude, that's my name," the woman says. She cackles. "'Mad Maude' to my friends. C'mon, let's mount up. I'm not getting any warmer out here." In answer to Kylah's question, she says, "Oh, all kinds of hauling and errands around Freeport and the area. I'm on contract to the Port Authority; they send me out on emergency calls like this now and then."

Nia's eyes are focused--to the degree they can focus--on the crawler. Right now, it's as welcome a sight as a warm inviting bed swathed with furry blankets and down comforters.

"Good to meet you ma'am. I'm Lt. Onn. Shuttle pilot." She nods stiltedly and her gait is even stiffer. When she looks at her wrist she can see why: her scales are in a sort of mid-change state, neither able to perform their function nor fully retract. They're pulling her skin taut and she's losing what little flexibility she's maintained through this icy environment.

Kylah's moved to whisper something to Booker, because yeah we have time for dawdling conversations, but Nia vows not to be distracted from her goal. "Ensign Kylah, get going," she manages while trudging forward. She does her best to stay out of what might be a direct path for the Doc and Rangin. Once she's close enough to Maude, she makes the effort to reach out a hand in greeting, hoping if nothing else to have it grasped by the other woman's strong and probably warm fingers.

Otherwise she'll continue to the crawler, which is well named because that's sure as hell what she feels like doing.

Maude is in a worn, stained winter coverall, including gloves which she does not remove, but she takes Onn's hand just the same, giving it a perfunctory shake.

Graham decides the best he can do is be the last to board: Ens. Kylah's warning is a fair and fine point, although insisting on a Security sweep with their only current hope of avoiding serious consequences for at least Nia and maybe others is perhaps one too many risks to take vis a vis alienating their rescuer.

"OK, onboard folks," he say. Then adds "Mr. Rawlings, a moment..."

He gestures for the others to move along, then approaches his extra large Security colleague. "Board last but for me," he says quietly. "Give me a sit rep. If something's not right, 'condition green' means exactly the opposite, OK?"

In the meantime, Dr. Mäkeläinen is not waiting around for Graham and everyone else to finish chit-chatting. Most of his attention is still focused on Lt. Rangin, who is moved in a fireman's carry and placed in the not-so-freezing-cold crawler in a recovery position. He spares a look at Lt. Onn, to make sure she is coming. Another couple of minutes and he will end up having to move her as well; in fact, he steps back out to give her a hand and help her climb in.

Everybody clambers or is loaded into the crawler, Graham last of all, a watchful Rawlings not having given him any warning sign.

The crawler interior is a bit roomier than the Tesla, other than the lower ceiling, but it is a lot more worn and dirty. There are eight seats in two rows of four each, including the driver's at the front left. Each of the seats is low, rugged, scuffed, fitted with a seatbelt and covered in dark green plastic. There are tie-down brackets and cargo-securing hardpoints here and there on the floor, and a roomy cargo space, currently empty, behind the seats. It is much warmer in here than outside, but it's not exactly a sauna, either.

Maude climbs into her seat, straps herself in and fires up the engine. "OK, everybody ready? Let's get this show on the road."

In the crawler, Kylah tries to ignore her doubts.

Earlier, once Lt. Graham had made his logical decision, she had wrung her hands and fingers into virtual knots. She then went forward--no choice, as she could not argue her point with anything cogent. Perhaps she was wrong; it would not be the first time.

Once in the vehicle, entering just ahead of Ens. Rawlings and Lt. Graham, she has fought her concerns to sit up front as close to Maude as possible. Maybe if she 'monitors' the older woman's feelings now and then, she will be able to sense if the driver...

If what? Why ever would she harm us? Why did I even think her so resentful, before?

Besides, even if Maude is annoyed, that does not necessarily mean anything malevolent. Indeed, it could be as simple as having planned to finish her work so she could go home to a hot dinner, and once the Port Authority called, she took the assignment grudgingly. Almost anyone would be irritated by a delayed meal after a hard wintry day.

Kylah buckles herself into the third seat of the first row, leaving a space between her and Maude out of courtesy. Again she smiles and nods that she is ready, at least, and quite grateful to be here. "Do you see many Starfleet officers here, ma'am?"

Once the somewhat warmer temperature of the crawler reaches Nia, she begins to shiver, with pins and needles prickling her peripheral limbs. She sits with a thud beside Rawlings assuming he's sitting beside the doctor and Rangin, if it matters and shuts her eyes. It's all she can do to keep from leaning against Rawlings's considerable frame, but she's aware his arm may still hurt and doesn't want to exacerbate it. Besides, she'll make him colder even as she gets marginal body heat from him.

She forces a reply to Maude. "Once Lt. Graham gets in we can l-launch." Her back curves into a hunch as she hugs herself and tries to be as compact as possible. Then she belatedly corrects her words. "I mean 'drive.' Not used to land transportation," she mutters, which is true enough but her mind's not 100% even if she were familiar with the lingo.

It takes all her will power to avoid reaching for her inhaler to soothe her dizziness. She has to parcel it out. Plus, too many people around; there's no point in worrying the doctor. She'll wait until they arrive wherever they're headed before safely and discreetly reaching for the nebulizer.

Mäkeläinen addresses Lt. Onn. "How do you want to do this? There is nothing I would like better than to pass out someplace warm, get cleaned up, change out of these clothes. But Mr. Rawlings, at least, needs that arm seen to. Mr. Rangin, too---I am keeping track of his vitals, and he should be coming around in a few minutes, but he needs a quick follow-up. That means straight to a medical facility, at least for some of us. But then they probably want to run us through all the formalities, even without taking into account the crash and the paperwork on that. And I imagine Starfleet may want to hear what has become of us. Also, we may be on official Starfleet business, but there might still be a matter of arranging a transfer of credits. For services," he indicates Mad Maude with his eyes, "fees, and sundries."

Nia reluctantly opens her eyes, trying to focus on the spot directly in front of her in an effort to stave off the whirling in her mind. "Of course, thanks, Doc." She manages a sincere if weak smile. "Details are your specialty, I see. Usually Rangin's strong suit, but I guess..." There's a pause when she can't fathom how she's supposed to finish that sentence. She doesn't even remember starting it.

She gives up and goes elsewhere. "Kylah. How're you doing on talking to the authorit..." No, what's it called? "... Port Authority? Keep trying. Maddie..." Is that even her name? Whatever. "We need help. Medical help. That should be our first stop if that's--if there's somewhere nearby. We also have to get in touch with our ship."

A little thrill of exhilaration makes Nia smile again, 'cause she's pretty sure she actually made sense. "Is that possible? Book, you have other instructions?"

Graham shakes his head at Nia's question. "Medical is the right top priority, lieutenant. For..." he pauses and glances from Nia to Rangin to Rawlings. "Ah, several of us."

Maude fires up the crawler and, with a grinding of gears and an abrupt starting lurch, drives it along the snow-covered road. With a worn plastic joystick in each hand, she retraces her tracks down the gentle slope. The dark woods loom above and to either side of the trail, just beyond the reach of the bright twin headlights at the front of the squat vehicle.

Kylah senses an impersonal and relatively low-key hostility from her. She doesn't want to kill you, but she certainly doesn't want to do you any particular favors. In response to your question, Maude snorts and says, "Sometimes more than I want to, honey, but a job's a job." She tabs a comm key and says, "Maude to OPA. Yeah, I've got the Feddy crashers and I'm on my way back."

"Understood, Maude, and thanks," comes the reply after a few seconds. "See you soon."

Nia is clearly on the verge of passing out, Dr. Mäkeläinen notices, and, frankly, so is he now that he is seated in (relative) comfort rather than doggedly slogging through snow and fighting for his life.

"Thank you for you help, Madame," he says to Maude. "Can't say we were out there for an evening constitutional. Or of our own free will. You can see that we are in no shape to do much talking, or standing up on our own power, tonight. I assume the port has a medical facility; could we head there first? Or, if there is a better one... where would you go with a broken arm, for instance?"

Kylah relaxes and watches the scenery move past. It is not particularly unique, but this is a new planet and the first to have wintry weather since she left Elas. If they had more climate-appropriate clothing, this would be delightful to explore.

Lt. Onn's order snaps Kylah back into a less touristy mindset. She gives a quick "Aye aye, Lieutenant" and opens her communicator again, hoping the reception might be better now--although she suspects that it might not improve until they are closer to the city.

As she listens, she senses the concern of Lt. Graham beside her and Dr. Mäkeläinen behind. If Maude does not mention any distance or timing in response to the doctor's queries, Kylah will add, "How long a trip will it be, ma'am? Forgive my ignorance; we do not currently have access to your planet's maps. What details we have learned are mostly in--in Lt. Rangin's brain" She glances behind her to check on Velir with her own undisguised concern. "And accessing that must wait until he is conscious."

While she is still looking over her shoulder, she adds a sympathetic smile to Ens. Rawlings to remind him that she is also aware of his discomfort.

Pretending to check an issue with one of her boots--not a great distraction but it's all she's got--Nia murmurs something about a pebble annoying her and bends down ostensibly to massage the offended foot. This gives her good cover to reach for her nebulizer, as she planned earlier.

The hit is almost blissful. Pure air, so deliciously clear and revivifying. There's nothing like it.

In one early shore leave to Risa ages ago, Nia and a pair of game young men found an establishment that enabled them to try... not quite legal substances... including something from a hookah. It was pretty damn surprising how quickly it filled her mind with extraordinary images and her soul with supernatural peace.

It didn't last, though. Nia's body quickly learns to filter out anything that resembles a foreign invader and essentially ejects it. (Which is why she can drink anyone under the table during pub crawls.) This illicit drug, whatever-it-was, only worked for a minute before Nia found herself choking for lack of even the nominal relief of 'normal' air.

This inhaler is full of life, and it takes all her will power not to press the button again for a second dose. Too dark to see what number of doses remain, but it can't be more than two. What does that leave her, if she's careful not to expend much energy? Two hours? Three?

Returning the inhaler's chain back under her uniform, she straightens and is happy to see her surroundings without the tunnel vision or blurry waves. Doesn't help the effect that the cold weather is having on her system, but she'll be content enough just to have her lungs full again. Looking at the Doctor with a reassuring smile, she cuddles inside the crinkly blanket and waits for Kylah's report. She'd lean against Rawlings if his arm wasn't hurt. What wouldn't she give right now, to have Double-T's huge arms wrapped around her while she buries her head against his massive chest?

But, not gonna happen. Sighing, she tilts in the opposite direction to rest against the window if there is one and her seat's close enough for her to reach it. She shuts her eyes to concentrate on relaxing, which allows her to utilize one of the many breath control exercises she's learned over the years.

To Dr. Mäkeläinen, Maude grunts, "Yeah, there's a hospital, but the Portmaster said I was to bring ya to him first." To Kylah she replies, "Should be about 20 minutes or so back to Freeport, assuming an avalanche don't sweep us off the trail." Then she cackles.

Kylah hears much the same subspace traffic over her communicator as she had when the Tesla was first approaching Ollos, the key difference now being that nobody in the orbiting ships overhead is screaming at her or complaining. She is able to reach the Port Authority and hears the same female voice as had just responded to Maude: "OPA here. Who is this?"

Maude, overhearing, is annoyed. "What the hell are ya bothering the OPA for? I'm takin' ya there, ain't I?"

Onn does have a small window beside her seat, but she can see little in the darkness outside. Her breath control exercises seem to help a little.

The threat of an avalanche--though it is quite possible Maude is simply joking (and equally plausible that she is not)--makes Kylah glance more warily at the sides of the road she can see.

Then she hears the OPA connection and nearly answers before Maude snaps out her irritation. Taken aback, Kylah twists around to see if she can catch Lt. Onn's eye. But she cannot see much beside Ens. Rawlings, so she turns to Maude while replying briefly to the voice. "This is Ensign Kylah of the Tesla again. Just one moment..."

She looks quizzically at the older woman next to her. "I--I believe we simply wished to know that we can communicate again. We have been without contact for a very long time. We mean no slight against you, ma'am. You have helped saved our lives." Eyeing Maude, she continues to the operator. "Maude has picked us up, and we are most grateful for her timely rescue."

With a look back at Dr. Mäkeläinen and the other two men on either side, Kylah shakes her head in worry. "There is a slight hitch, ma'am. We have two injured parties, and others who could benefit from medical assistance as well. I understand that the Portmaster wants to see that we are safe, but I believe it is important that--well--I think our doctor would prefer a different plan."

Covering her mic for a second, she redirects her attention to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Sir, do you wish to explain...?"

If he does, she will pass the device to him.

Graham makes a point of giving Kylah an approving nod.

"Love 'em or hate 'em," he says to Maude, "we've got to live with rules and reqs. The young ensign was just trying to do her job as she's been instructed too, ma'am." After a brief pause he adds, "And, as she said, let's not let anything distract from the fact that we are indeed grateful for your help."

Bizhi feels it may be premature to put everyone on the spot like this, but he takes the communicator from Kylah. He was hoping to persuade Maude to take them directly to the hospital as a fait accompli before the authorities had anything to say about it, but with the Port Authority on the line again, any damage is already done. Maybe he can resolve this.

"Ahoy Ollos Port! This is Doctor Bizhi Mäkeläinen. My colleagues here and I might all be able to climb back out of this crawler under our own power, but not much more than that, and I can't guarantee even that much. I understand that the Portmaster needs to talk to us urgently. Could we rendezvous at the hospital? I gather there is one on site."

Kylah casts a look of warm thanks to Lt. Graham. She tries to simultaneously listen to the doctor's conversation while engaging in one with the woman in the driver's seat, anything to distract her. "Speaking of gratitude, I would like to mention you by name to your supervisor... or client... whoever contracts you for these jobs. Is 'Maude' a first name? Or are your people customarily mononymous, like mine? Well, I should say, it is mostly nobles and royals who do not have a second name. We go by our Houses, but rarely; truly it is only in correspondence or in official--" She realizes she is going on too much, betraying some nervousness. "Forgive me ma'am. I must give you a chance to answer."

Maude seems mollified. She smiles thinly and says to Kylah, "Maude's enough. Everyone knows me here, but I ain't no damn royalty, honey."

The OPA contact says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "Stand by." After a minute or so, she comes back on and says, "Yeah, go ahead to the hospital, then. The Portmaster will meet you there. Same fare for each of you, even though it's a little farther into town. You catch that, Maude?"

"I caught it. Will do."

Ah, yes; credits. Bizhi suspected it might come down to that. While Starfleet officers have access to some Federation credits [in case they need to impulse-buy some Tribbles], surely accepted at a commercial hub like Ollos, it is not that much for junior officers, even though none of the current expenses should eventually come out of their personal "pay." A 20-minute ride should not be a problem, but who knows how much things cost here? They still need supplies and accommodation, and who knows what will transpire at the hospital? Yet another reason to re-establish contact with their ship and get everything straightened out.

"Sounds good," he simply announces. "Thank you sincerely, again, and good night."

He would love to nod off for a few minutes, but with Rangin still unconscious that is out of the question.

The discussion feels like something indistinct reaching Nia through an echoing hallway. She's trying to stay awake, and it's working only barely.

When they all entered the crawler, the difference in temperature was heavenly, a relief like... like... The Swaddling Sands, Nia remembers--a well-guarded retreat where due to some quirk of nature, the sand stays cool beneath the surface. Of course that was a place to feel relief from heat, not adding it, but Nia recalls the bliss of burrowing into the sand to escape the relentless sun. Cost her family a lot, but it was worth it. All households in their region--and even beyond, people making a dangerous trip from other settlements--made at least one visit to this Seht'dar-blessed oasis.

So Nia had that same moment earlier, entering the vehicle. But time has passed and the temperature she perceived as a comfort before is now sneaking beneath her blanket. Cold surrounds and smothers her like some malicious entity.

No. The sensation of being smothered is not from the encroaching cold. Even warm air would suffocate her. And it will, soon enough.

She forces herself to remain part of the conversation, even though she's only heard bits and snatches. "The Postmaster," she mumbles, then tries again. "The Postmaster... sounds like a good head on his shoulders. Do you get a lot of... castaways? From sea or sky? Just wondering how Ollos's weather affects travel here."

"I think you mean the Portmaster, honey," Maude says, glancing over her shoulder. "And no, not too many. This is only, uh, what? The second time I've had to go and get someone who crashed out in the sticks? Naw, lemme see... I guess it's the third."

The crawler crunches on through the snow, heartstoppingly slipping to the right once on a slope before Maude regains control, but then still making its way along the trail through dense forest. Eventually you round a corner and there, below you and not far away, is a weatherbeaten town, lights blazing against the night sky. Its prefab metal structures and squat thermocrete domes are set alongside a large bay enclosed by jagged, snow-capped mountains. A dozen modern but beat-up boats are anchored in the bay. It all reminds Graham of the Norwegian fjords he once saw, although Freetown is much less quaint than the seaside villages he remembers.

The view--at least, part of it--entrances Kylah. "How lovely," she says in a hushed voice. "I have not seen mountains like this since... no, I do not think I have ever done so. Not--not blanketed by snow. Now I see what is meant in that Terran folk poem... 'mountain majesties.' Like kings and queens wearing ermine capes."

She continues peering out. "Elas is generally plains, or woods. Well. Not all of the planet, of course other continents and regions have their own..." Kylah shakes her head when the word eludes her. "Landscapes, I suppose? I speak only of the places I've been."

Which, she realizes, is not much. She is shockingly ignorant of the geography of her own planet. If asked, she could rattle off the royal Houses and noble family hierarchies of each minor realm, followed by relating their lengthy history. Music, art, theater, literature as well. But reality, the actual sights and scenery of lands other than the Capitol... Kylah has learned none of it.

The embarrassing realization silences her. Probably for the best as she suspects no one else is enjoying the view, much less interested in Elasian topography. 'Topography'! That is the word. Kylah sighs quietly with satisfaction. Then at last she returns to the serious situation. She twists around toward the back, hoping for Velir's recovery. "Doctor... should he not have awoken by now?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen has been monitoring Lt. Rangin and, if after fifteen minutes he is not showing signs of coming around, he hypo-injects him with an appropriate stimulant.

He would not mind a bit of stimulant himself; hospital coffee will have to do. He is starting to get cold again, too. Just a few more minutes, now that they are nearly in town. He appreciates the view but does not engage in conversation about it.

With the hypospray dose, Rangin comes to almost right away; he is woozy and disoriented. "What... what the...." He stops and looks around curiously. "Where am I? What happened?"

Maude cackles again. "Rise and shine, sweetheart! We're almost there." She steers the crawler down the hill and into town. The streets are mostly plowed but are either gravel or crumbling thermocrete. The buildings look even dingier up close. She takes you to a long, low, somewhat more presentable building with a lit sign by the entrance, FREETOWN HOSPITAL. She parks the crawler alongside and takes it out of gear, turns around and says, "OK, let's see, six of you... that'll be 50 monits apiece."

Nia sits up enough to give Rangin a relieved but wan smile. "We crash-landed but we're all okay," she says hoarsely. "And damn glad you're up again. Good job, Doc."

She huddles in her blanket, not in a rush to expose herself to the weather again even if the end goal is a proper habitat. "Thanks, ma'am. I'm not much at handling a land vehicle... or, turns out, a space vehicle either." Nia swallows back her bigger regret. This is one taste she'll remember as long as she lives--and hey, bright side, might not be very long. "But I could feel you working that wheel against the weather. Solid driving. We're all grateful."

A few coughs interrupt her for a seconds until she can add, "Fares. Right. It'd be in credits, unless someone has... monits, is that right? Never heard of them but... some of the humans or frequent travelers here...?" Another wave of warm dizziness washes over her. She holds her breath, gathering herself, and then exhales, "Lt. Graham, can you... get us straight with Maude, find where we need to go, talk to the doctors...with Doc here..."

That's about as much as she can handle on one breath. Nia lets her head drop against the cold window pane beside her. It's not comfortable, but lifting even her neck seems like too much at this moment.

Velir's green-brown eyes are far better a sight than anything outside the crawler. Kylah smiles and leans towards him, spontaneously trying to catch hold of his hand. Fortunately she stops before the others bear witness to her unprofessional, inappropriate affection. So instead she clutches the back of the seat next to her.

Notwithstanding, she cannot change her expression of delight. "We fought those flying... ice-vampire things. Lt. Graham stunned the creature headed for you, and you were caught in the..." Kylah's shoulders raise dismissively. "But you are fine now. And we have arrived at the city. Town. It looks..." For the first time she notices how generally run-down this area seems. "It does not matter. We are at the hospital--oh! Dr. Mäkeläinen, forgive me, you should probably be the first to talk with him." She flushes and sits properly in her seat, facing forward again. To Maude, while they are waiting for the money situation to be dealt with, she asks politely, "Do you live nearby, ma'am, or are you farther out in the country?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen cannot suppress a smile at Kylah's energy. "It's all right. He can talk." He says to Lt. Rangin, "It's normal to feel a little light-headed; give it a minute. You caught the edge of that phaser blast."

He looks at Nia with growing worry, but she hung in there, and here they are at the hospital. She can probably explain the fine points of Sidonian response to cold and stress, and particular physiological requirements, better than he can, and, if necessary and with her permission, he will share her recent medical history and medical tricorder readings with the doctors here.

But, first... He looks at Rawlings... Graham... Kylah... for any indication that they have any monits. Rawlings, at least, has been here before. Mäkeläinen himself has no access to monits, or Romulan currency, or latinum at the moment. "How did the other rescued parties pay?" he asks Maude. "Can we make a conversion on the spot? We are certainly prepared to pay in credits, as the Lieutenant says. A little extra for yourself, of course." Kylah has a working datapad and is sitting near Maude, so they will probably try to get her help with the transaction, unless Maude has her own terminal that Graham can use to authorize a transfer of funds.

"Monits," Maude repeats. "Monetary units. It's the Ollos currency. The others I picked up had cash with them - not monits, but we worked out the exchange rate - and paid me with that."

Kylah's pad does not have a subspace transmitter or a means to link, at this distance, to any Federation datanet.

Two Tellarites, thickly bundled against the cold, emerge from the hospital and approach the crawler.

Kylah listens to this conversation, aware that Maude is (understandably) more interested in getting paid than conversing about her homelife with some stranger. With a glance at Dr. Mäkeläinen, who seems the most pragmatic of the group right now, she lifts her communicator. "We generally do not carry cash, ma'am. As you see in our uniforms, there is no place to keep it," she adds with an attempt at levity, which is not her strong suit. "When I last carried coins I was fortunate to have a bag, and even that was not--was not--"

She falters and her face turns a burning pink. Shrinking unconsciously closer to Lt. Graham, she curls her fingers into the material of her blanket. "It was not wise," she finishes softly, and turns to the front window to look at the outside. Even the unsettling appearance of the approaching Tellarites cannot force the memory of the attack on Anubis from her mind, even months later.

After a slight pause she recovers her more conversational tone. "Once we are connected to a subspace channel, I presume in the hospital or Port Authority building, I can transfer funds to your bank, if you wish. Or one of the others... the senior officers..."

With a frown, she turns to Lt. Graham, still too awkward to meet his gaze after referring to the behavior that got her kidnapped and beaten. "Sir, I am not sure how this works in such a setting. I usually just pay. Does the mission commander handle these things?"

Graham nods. "Ens. Kylah is correct, Maude - we need a subspace connection in order transfer credits from our ship to your account. That's something I am more than happy to do at whatever the going exchange rate is, once we reach one..."He pauses. "Plus, say, 25 percent for the inconvenience and delay?" he offers. "If you have a recording device I'll state it for the record, as ranking Security officer."

The latter is somewhat gratuitous, but hopefully lends his pledge more weight.

Maude says doubtfully, "We could do something like that, maybe. How are you going to pay for the subspace link, though?"

The two Tellarites reach the crawler. One reaches up and pounds on the driver's door.

Kylah frowns slightly at Maude's question. "Forgive me, I do not understand. We would just pay with the credits once--"

Her words cut off with a start at the sudden demanding noise from the Tellarite. Obviously the matter is urgent, so she remains silent.

Graham glances sideling at the door the Tellarites are pounding on. Before turning his attention to that, he can honestly manage a small smile. "Trust me, Maude--any subspace operator worth a damn knows Starfleeet's credit is good. And to transmit a Security priority message?" He shrugs his shoulders. "They'll be competing for our business."

Bizhi is willing to grant that Maude is perfectly reasonable to insist on cash payment— hardly a unique situation, especially on the frontier— and that Maude's logic is therefore unassailable, but surely she is taking it a bit far with injured crash survivors. His eyes betray a rare flash and he is about to start arguing with her, offering personal guarantees and explanations but quickly leading to the premise that what they really need is to bring in their patients while she irons out the details with Graham and Kylah. The arrival of the two— orderlies?— has hopefully simplified things. Unless they want cash up front, too? He waits for Maude to open her door or window to the arrivals.

Maude, looking irritated, rolls down her window. "What?" she says.

"The Portmaster's waiting," the Tellarite wheezes. Both of them are large and hulking and dressed in heavy winter coats; they don't look like hospital orderlies. "Come inside now."

Grumbling, your driver rolls her window back up, opens the door and gets out. The Tellarites step back and the one who spoke gestures towards the hospital doorway. "This way, please," he calls to you all.

Kylah slides over to what had been Maude's seat, curious about the Tellarites and their connection to Maude and/or the Portmaster. As she steps carefully down from the door exit, she asks, "Is the Portmaster the leader of this community--the equivalent of a city mayor or similar?"

The two men--if they are male, Kylah is not certain about identifying genders with this race--are imposing, but she is not frightened. Just anxious about getting Velir and Mr. Rawlings the help that they need. And Lt. Onn will be warmer, as they all will. Indeed, she eyes the Tellarites' coats with some longing. "Those look very comfortable," she ventures, and adds an attempt at humor: "I think you would receive quite a profit, if we were allowed to bid at an auction right now."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is getting irritated at the seeming unconcern for their welfare. They are more accident victims than unwelcome interlopers. What does it bode when people cannot stick together in a crisis? And what in the world kind of reception is this at the entrance to a hospital? "Everyone OK?" he asks his comrades. "Mind your step on the way out." Sandwiched between Rangin and Rawlings, he is unable to disembark first to help them alight. (Good thing that everyone is ambulatory, for the moment.)

To Maude he adds, "We have to get inside. But you have my personal guarantee as well, Madame Maude. Something extra for your troubles."

It takes awhile for Nia to notice that the crawler's stopped. She opens her eyes, and for a few disoriented seconds isn't sure where she is, or how long she's been out--either asleep or semiconscious, she can't tell. Wherever she's been, it was comfortable, and she doesn't want to leave.

Then sudden cold blasts its cruel way towards her: a door has opened, letting the icy wind inside. Wincing, she shies back like a horse faced with a savage wolf, curling even more tightly within the blanket. Why would anyone leave this nest? Her inclination is to burrow inside, hide from the wind and weather, and just let herself get back to the safe, warm void.

Her eyes open again. It's just occurred to her that they've probably reached their destination. (Nia's forgotten what it was, but it matters little right now.) Oh no just leave me here, she begs silently. Happily there seems to be a delay--at least, no one's moved as far as she can tell. The big bulk of Rawlings is still beside her, for which she's rarely been more grateful. So she stays silent and shuts her eyes until whenever she absolutely must leave.

Tellarite males and females do look very similar, but Kylah thinks these are both males. The first one says with a certain pride, "Yes, the Portmaster's in charge. This is a port, and he's the master of it."

The second says gruffly, "Our coats are not for sale."

Maude rolls her eyes at Dr. Mäkeläinen, says nothing and heads for the hospital door.

Rawlings helps Rangin up and says quietly to Graham, "It looks like Lt. Onn may need some assistance, sir."

Graham nods to Rawlings. In a low voice he says "Good man. Let's get that arm taken care of." He places his hands on Onn's shoulders--as gently as he can, but firm enough to make sure he can prevent her from falling over if Rawlings' departure leaves her unstable.

"Hey, Nia..." he says quietly. "It's time to go into someplace warm. W-a-r-m. Let me help you."

Since she has often been quick to take offense at jokes herself, Kylah is not surprised that the Tellarite took her offer seriously. She is surprised by Maude's discourteous reaction to Dr. Mäkeläinen's gracious remarks, and turns to him with a look of commiseration. "They are treating us less than hospitably considering what we have been through. The Tellarites might have been ignorant, but Maude knows our situation." Tightening the blanket around her--her uniform is really inadequate for the weather, and her legs are freezing--Kylah adds somewhat archly, "If Maude does not wish the gratuity you are offering, we should respect her wishes and let her purse stay empty."

She looks to see if there is anything she can do to help Velir. Seeing him so close to Ens. Rawlings only emphasizes Velir's diminished state, and if she can speak any encouraging words to him, she will.

Once the wall-sized shield that is Double-T Rawlings has moved, Nia's no longer protected from the icy air. She groans, knowing there's no choice now. That is, there is a choice, but she's not willing to make the wrong one. She still has her duty to perform.

Suddenly warm hands clasp her shoulders and a familiar gentle, low rumble of a voice speaks her name. Nia nods, or at least her shuddering body makes the effort to do something to indicate that she's heard him. "Right," she whispers. "I--I'm okay."

The words end in a wheezing cough that she tries to disguise in the action of grabbing hold of Booker's arm with fingers that are practically stiff claws. Bad enough that the crew knows she's severely affected by the cold. No one but Mäkeläinen knows her lungs are effectively drowning in this frigid, inadequate air, and that her time's quickly running out. Nia hopes to keep it that way as long as possible. She's the head of what's likely her last mission, and she wants to see it out with at least some dignity.

As much dignity as an utter failure of a mission commander deserves, anyway.

"Just keep me on my feet, Lieutenant," she rasps, dragging herself up and intending to let him guide her toward the exit. "I think--maybe I can walk to..." Nia hesitates because her mind's truly blank, and at last she looks up to Booker, eyes questioning. "...The port building?"

The Starfleet contingent makes its way, with some difficulty, into the hospital. It looks better on the inside - clean, well-lit and modern, by all appearances. A nurse in Reception directs Onn, Rangin and Rawlings to the Emergency Room. One of the Tellarites stands by watchfully as a brisk young Nigerian physician, Dr. Sophie Anikwata, welcomes Dr. Mäkeläinen. She quickly looks the three patients over, examining and scanning them. She offers an osteogenic stabilizer to Bizhi to fix Rawlings's broken arm, orders Rangin to remain in bed and under observation for at least three hours, and privately asks Onn what she needs, saying, "I confess I've never seen or treated a Sidonian before."

Graham and Kylah are taken by the other Tellarite down another hallway to a conference room with a shiny wooden table and six comfortable leather-upholstered chairs. Sitting at the head of the table is another Tellarite, the ugliest Graham has ever seen, broad-shouldered and solemn. He is in a dark suit of a conservative cut, with the portmaster's traditional gold fouled-anchor-and-star insignia of office pinned to one lapel. He gestures to chairs, apparently inviting you to sit down. The Tellarite who escorted you goes to stand behind him.

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki...nic_stimulator
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foul_(nautical)

Dr. Mäkeläinen thanks Dr. Anikwata correctly for the warm reception and for the professional courtesy. He is happy to be back in his element—although, under different circumstances, and possibly in hindsight, exploring an alien ice world and experiencing the local wildlife up close might make for a fun and exciting adventure, not that he would deliberately seek out repeated close brushes with death. He tends to Rawlings' arm with the osteogenic stimulator meticulously, making sure that the fractured bone is aligned and fusing correctly. He chit-chats with Dr. Anikwata about how long she has been working here and what it is like, but makes sure to stay out of her way and not impede her work in the emergency room.

When he gets a chance, he asks Anikwata if he might possibly impose upon her so far as to be allowed to fetch hot coffee from the lounge, for her and for Rawlings (should they want some) as well as for himself. At any rate, the Tesla crew still have a lot to think about, like finding a subspace transmitter.

Kylah does not show her reaction to the Portmaster's appearance--she has met with too many Klingons of varying physical features and decorative medals to let a large, strange-looking man in an imposing uniform throw her off-guard--at least, not under these circumstances. Even so, she does find this man almost aggressively unattractive. If ugliness could be weaponized he would be dangerous indeed.

She is very glad for Lt. Graham's strong presence. She takes a seat and folds her hands in her lap, remaining silent and giving her superior officer a glance with the slightest hint of warning. This interaction has no reason to be anything but welcoming... eventually. From what Kylah knows of Tellarite society, things may start off less than pleasantly.

The hospital is bright and busy, a little too noisy for Nia's current state but she's too glad to be out of the worst of the weather to care.

From beneath a blanket she wishes were several kilos heavier and filled with down, she looks hazily at the doctor and draws in her breath with difficulty. "H-heat," she whispers. "Outside and in. My core..." Nia wraps her arms around her middle and shudders. "It's frozen. Even my blood... can you warm... plasma?"

She means to say intravenously but it's too much effort. The problem is that her knowledge of her own biology is fairly detailed but she's not actually sure of what the technology here can do to raise the temperature of her very organs and veins.

Is there a point to telling this doctor about her hypobilitremia? Which by now feels well on the way to becoming hypobilitria. It will explain her vitals, at least, and the doctor should know what not to waste time on. If Rangin were here she'd ask him to scan the system for Bilitrium--she'd've done so on the Tesla if their sensors had been online. But the odds of there being any of this extremely rare, highly reactive element in its most relatively stable form, much less the ability to trace, gather and process it safely, are so meager that contemplating them makes her want to cry.

She can't remember what she told Dr. M., but she's pretty sure he'll have shared the info with this doctor already, she realizes. Nia's hand lifts slightly, a weak gesture intended to point to Mäkeläinen where she vaguely thinks he might be, or at least was when she last remembers seeing him. "I'm running out of time. Ask... the doc. Bilitrium... I only have this much." It's difficult but she drags her hand to the nebulizer chain around her throat. "I'm shutting down anyway. Please just..." A wave of fear chills her as much as the weather did, and she swallows back the instinct to whimper. Instead she stares up at the other woman. "Just keep me comfortable?"

There's little more to hope for, other than the hope that she can get back to the ship or a usable Bilitrium supply before her organs shut down completely and her upcoming coma/hibernation turns to death.

She can't remember--when Booker led her here, did she have a chance to tell him what to do? She doubts she needed to ask because it's likely the first thing he'd think of anyway, but in case there's some administrative red tape involved that's causing a delay, she voices the request now to this stranger.

"Tell the Yorktown we're here," she sighs.

With Nia's permission, Dr. Mäkeläinen informs Dr. Anikwata, "I have been monitoring her vitals per her request. The primary condition is severe hypothermia. The Sidonian metabolism does not deal with freezing temperatures. To her credit, she is still awake through sheer willpower, but her metabolism is well on its way to shutting down even though we were not out there that long, relatively speaking. We need to get her core temperature back up, immediately.

"The sequela, or even comorbidity, is hypobilitremia exacerbated by the hypothermia, and she has been under extra stress—she's not the only one, mind you—including sleep deprivation, and medication including hormonal contraceptives and moderately-high doses of Lexorin. She has one, maybe two, doses in reserve, she told me. The only treatment is to get more, as far as I know. It's necessary for Sidonian respiration."

Graham nods acknowledgment of the senior Tellarite and takes a seat himself, nodding and gesturing to Ens. Kylah to take a seat as well.

"We're grateful for the rescue, port master," he says once he's seated.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is soon able to fully heal Rawlings, and Rangin also is looking much better, although he lies down to rest without only a little grumbling.

Dr. Anikwata tells Bizhi that she's been on Ollos for almost three years and that she likes it, "although it's not exactly Lagos when it comes to sophisticated amenities, as you've probably already figured out." She asks an orderly to offer hot coffee or tea to any of the Tesla crew who would like some. After having Onn changed out of her damp uniform and dressed in warm hospital garb - an option she gives the others, as well - she places additional blankets on her and adjusts the thermostat to raise the temperature in the room. She also sends a nurse to see if there is any Lexorin in the hospital's pharmacopoeia stores.

The Portmaster grunts to Graham, "You're welcome. There were some who wanted you shot out of the sky after you came roaring in out of nowhere and then fired off a torpedo. Starfleet has not exactly made many friends here in the past week."

If an orderly comes by this meeting room, Kylah will fight her habit of asking for hot chocolate and gratefully requests hot tea--sweetened, and with lemon and honey (if available).

She blinks in concern at the Portmaster's comment. They have only been in the system a few hours, what could he mean...? But she focuses on a hurried, profuse apology. "We--we are so terribly sorry for such chaos, sir. There was little we could do; our shuttle was barely operable. I... I do not understand everything that happened regarding the torpedo, or--or torpedoes--" Kylah gives a deferential but uncertain look toward her crew mate before adding quickly, "--As I have little knowledge of weaponry. I was occupied trying to warn you of our situation, along with any vessels in orbit. But Lt. Graham can explain why we needed to take that step. For safety reasons, I am sure."

Buried under the layers of soft, heavy warmth, Nia tries to imagine it radiating through her whole body, even though she feels like ice down to the marrow. This is a great help for now, nearly heavenly compared to how she's felt for the last... how many hours? Truth is, she can't remember not being cold.

She's not sure if the doctor fully understands Dr. Mäkeläinen's report--the element she requires is little known as a breathable substance even by Starfleet Medical, mainly since they have a test subject sample size of precisely one. Gathering her wits, she tries to explain.

"He means Bilitrium--the dose, that is. In my atmosphere..." She frowns, eyes closed while trying to concentrate. "My planet's atmosphere... it's what we breathe. Mostly. The dose is a compound with oxygen, nitrogen... much more common here. You may not even know Bilitrium is gaseous. In most systems it's solid. I... I mean, it's only stable in solid crystalline form. Not very, either." She groans in frustration at hearing herself. "Not very stable. Sorry, I'm having..."

Another plaintive moan. The word that means "difficulty" is evading her entirely, and while attempting to capture its meaning she loses track of whatever she was going to say anyway. Without bothering to continue wasting her breath--literally--she sinks further into the pillow and lapses into silence.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is concerned about Nia, but he does not frown or grimace; he tries to do something that will actually help her. He clarifies, "It's not the danger of Lexorin withdrawal, though that should be properly tapered off, of course. To stabilize her we need to get some Bilitrium, and compound it into gaseous form. Unless some other form will do...?" he looks at Nia quizically. "If we have to stay here even a couple of days, that would be cutting things much too close." Or even sealing her fate.

"Perhaps there is an industrial source? Mining? Research? Unless you happen to have some on hand, I can start searching. We need access to a subspace-capable communications terminal anyway." Even if there is some Bilitrium nearby to be had, he does not expect some shady factor to hand it over purely on his say-so. They need monits urgently, and possibly some official authorization.

Graham nods to acknowledge Kylah's comment. "I can understand how that looked, Portmaster. 'Roaring in' is the operative phrase...we weren't sure at that point if we were going to be able to regain control, and..." he pauses, forehead creasing as he recalls the torpedo malfunction that should have been impossible. "As part of the, ah...technical problems affecting the shuttle, we has also experienced a torpedo malfunction." He rubs his chin. "The long and the short of it being that it we came down hard we wanted to ensure that wouldn't include a live torpedo detonation on the surface."

The orderly does not come by the meeting room, so Kylah does not have the opportunity to order tea. Maude the crawler driver comes in, however, and flops into a chair. The Portmaster looks at her but says nothing, then returns his attention to Graham.

Dr. Anikwata frowns. "I don't know of any source for bilitrium anywhere here. Maybe one of the ships in orbit has it? Let me make some inquiries." She leaves Dr. Mäkeläinen alone with Onn.

The Portmaster says, in response to Graham's explanation, "I see." He does not seem convinced. Then he fires off a series of questions, listening carefully to Graham's (and Kylah's, if she chooses to speak) answers:

"Do you have anything to do with the Beowulf?"
"How long do you intend to stay here?"
"What is your destination?"
"Are you looking to hire a ship, or will Starfleet be picking you up?"
"How will you pay for your crawler pickup, and for the medical care now being provided to your party?"
"Where will you be spending the night?"

Graham and the other Tesla crew are all tired indeed, given recent events, and it is now the middle of the night here.


Questions asked in sequence here just to move things along.

Bizhi stifles a yawn. Until there is some news, he judges it best to let Nia rest. The lack of available Bilitrium looks like it is going to be a problem. He hopes against hope that Dr. Anikwata will come up with something. It is not like he has better contacts than she does. Except​—​he is a Starfleet officer. Passing this up the chain of command, even if the Yorktown is not in range, some kind of emergency delivery could surely be brokered. At this point, it is imperative to get on the subspace channels without delay.

He waits for Dr. Anikwata to return with some news. Should it prove disappointing, he will politely ask the Tellarite [bailiff? steward?], whose presence has not escaped him, to lead him to the Portmaster and his colleagues. "It is a matter of life and death."

Graham takes a moment to breathe and rub the back of his neck. He glances at Kylah, wondering if he looks as tired as she does. Or more tired.

"Well we certainly don't intend to intrude on your hospitality very long at all, port master," he replies. "We were in fact on our way to rendezvous with our ship, the Yorktown. As soon as we can access subspace comms, we will determine how and how quickly we can re-unite with her...and whether or not that entails getting picked up or hiring a ship."

He spreads his hands in front of himself on the table. "Of course, at the same time we can arrange transfer of credits to do right by our rescuer here, the medical care...and, ah, I suppose, lodging? Given the nature of our arrival we must rely on your guidance on a place to secure overnight quarters."

He pauses a moment, then shrugs. "Uh, as I mentioned, our ship is Yorktown. I don't have any specific knowledge of a ship "Beowulf."

Dr. Anikwata returns shortly and says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "As I thought, we have none of it here. I'll send out a call to the ships in-system and see what I can find."

Rangin and Rawlings are both resting comfortably; Onn, less so. The Tellarite, without a word, nods and leads the doctor to the conference room, where he finds Graham, Kylah and the others.

The Portmaster grunts. "Subspace comms are offline for now. If you'd like to arrange a loan, Federation credits for Ollos monits, I think I could arrange that. I could also suggest a hotel, if you wish." He goes on, looking even more serious, "Four days ago, the Starfleet frigate Beowulf tried to stop the free trader Jaunty from leaving orbit, and then blew her up. Twenty dead; no survivors. Starfleet is not exactly beloved on Ollos right now." He holds up a hooflike hand. "I know, I know, these things happen - I have friends in the Fleet, and no particular grudge against you all. But you may wish to get new clothes. That, too, can be arranged."

In addition to gazing with some pride toward Lt. Graham for his deft diplomacy in responding to the Tellarite's irritable manner, Kylah has been trying to guess as to what "the Beowulf" might mean. All she knows of such a word is as the title of an ancient Terran tale that was one of the closest things to a Klingon legend she has seen from human literature.

Lt. Graham's calling it a ship makes her nod with a little relief before backing him up. "Nor I, sir--I do not recall hearing anything about such a vessel either." She turns back to the Portmaster. Simulpost. Can we assume the above is before the Portmaster's response?

After hearing the Portmaster's disturbing news about this frigate, Kylah hurriedly searches her memory for anything that might be useful regarding Tellarite culture. "I am very sorry to hear of such a grievous loss, Mr.--Mr.--forgive me, I do not know how you prefer to be addressed. Such an action seems...quite drastic." She flashes an alarmed glance at Lt. Graham. "It is not usually Starfleet protocol to..." To fire on a ship that is not threatening their own, she thinks, but realizes she does not know the story at all, and should leave talk of such strategies to Lt. Graham. "To do something without good reason," she says with fading certainty.

She changes direction with a respectfully somber tone, "May I ask if you know why this Beowulf wished to stop the Jaunty? Is the ship still in this system? Perhaps we could contact them...?"

The offer of clothing and a hotel is most welcome, and Kylah adds quick words of gratitude to the Postmaster--especially for arranging a way to contact the Yorktown.

When she hears the door open and close, she turns to see the doctor entering. Her eyes widen slightly, mutely questioning how the various patients are.

A little thrill of anxiety keeps Nia staring at the door while Dr. Mäkeläinen leaves. She doesn't want to be alone, or with strangers, as she feels time slipping away from her. But there's not much she can do in her current state.

Dr. Anikwata's news about Bilitrium doesn't surprise her. The doctors clearly don't know much about it--which is par for the course. It's not something used in any medical context, aside from her own. Too bad Nia didn't ask Villa on the mission. Not that Villa would've been able to magically conjure up an element that's vanishingly rare. But at least she'd know just how dire things are.

Maybe it's best that Mäkeläinen not know. Lessens the likelihood he'll pass along his concerns to the others. Though Nia's not sure how the others would react. Probably Rawlings would be most affected, having known her for the longest and most intimately--sexually speaking. Kylah's emotionally fragile and would make a fuss. The others...

Closing her burning eyes for a second, Nia shakes her head before remarking to the other woman in the room, "Trust me. No one... no one's carrying Bilitrium around. Just not safe. Even the Yorktown isn't thrilled with the small amount I have onboard. They wouldn't go near it, if not... if not for me." Vargas has expressed unease with the ship carrying such an infamously unstable, explosive element--one with no practical use except as a deadly weapon. Cheverez too, but he's been more tactful in his concern.

Well, if they aren't able to pick up the Tesla crew by morning, likely everyone will get their wish. Nia will be gone and they can safely eject what used to be their late colleague's breathing supplies into a star.

Forcing herself to look at the other woman, she bites her lip to let the pain waken her somewhat. "The... the Lexnor? I mean..." Nia struggles to remember the name of the drug Mäkeläinen gave her earlier. "Lexorin? Did you find any? I don't want..." She doesn't want to sleep. She'll be sleeping long enough, soon. Taking a heaving but unsatisfying breath, she starts again. "I need to talk to my ship."

The large Tellarite says, "My name is Goll. You may call me Portmaster." He clears his throat, a terrible, wet sound. "The Beowulf's captain said something about contraband and smuggling, but Federation law does not apply here. This is not a Federation world. The Jaunty was only defending itself. The frigate, its deed done, left the system almost immediately afterwards."

Dr. Anikwata says to Onn, "I will see what I can do. Rest for now. I'll have a nurse look in on you shortly." She leaves.

"Sorry to interrupt," says Bizhi. He nods in acknowledgement to Maude and to his colleagues and sits down on one of the chairs in the conference room.

"Portmaster," he begins. He is unsure of any formalities (or that such would be appreciated, should the Portmaster be a genuine expatriate from Tellar), and the man probably knows exactly who he is, so he quickly gets down to business. "I am the medical officer on our mission. Everyone is all right for now; I mean stable. They are resting in the E.R. and under observation. But we still have one medical emergency that can't be treated here. We need to rejoin our ship. Barring that, or in any case, if subspace comms cannot be re-established, maybe some ship can relay a priority message? At least system-wide? Surely someone can help. I tell you plainly, if we simply wait around, our friend will not make it."

What if there is nothing within range, no way to get more Bilitrium? Is there anything that could buy Nia more time, he wonders to himself? Cryogenic treatment to slow down or freeze the metabolism? Transporter magic? This is a nightmare scenario, one that evokes unpleasant flashbacks. He reminds himself to think logically and systematically, despite the fatigue.

Kylah breathes in sharply after Dr. Mäkeläinen's words. What had been curiosity now turns to a stab of alarm. Velir has been on her mind so much that at first she cannot help immediately assuming that he is the one in jeopardy. But he seemed fairly well recovered from a stun. Mr. Rawlings had but an arm injury. Lt. Onn...

"From the cold?" she blurts in shock. "It was bad, but we were only exposed for a short while. How can--" She stops short and cannot help a look at Lt. Graham, who probably knows more of his friend's biology than she does. Besides, this is not the place for such questions; not from her, at any rate. Swallowing back her need to understand, Kylah turns hopefully to the Postmaster.

She knows they should address the Beowulf's extremely inappropriate behavior--and "inappropriate" is putting it mildly, at least if what this Tellarite has told them is true--but time does not seem to be on their side. And if the frigate is out of range, they would need access to a comms signal anyway, so if Postmaster Goll fulfills their request, they can perhaps get to the bottom of his own concern while assisting their unfortunate colleague.

Nia watches the doctor leave, dizzy and unsure of what is going on. Why didn't this Anik-whatever-her-name-is person give Nia the Lexorin that Mäkeläinen asked her for earlier? She didn't even remark about it, not specifically. Or the intravenous fluids. Or even something hot to drink. Anything to warm Nia's frozen core, the hard cold dead part of her that the blankets just can't reach.

Maybe this is a subpar hospital facility with bored, inattentive and/or negilgant staff. Wouldn't surprise Nia--by now, after the day she's had, no turn of bad luck would be a surprise.

After a few seconds she switches her focus to the lights above her. Cold and harsh, like all hospitals. Not on Sidonia; that's one thing she can say for her culture--they have an innate understanding of just how important ambiance can be when it comes to healing the mind and soul together with the body. Particularly for healthy newborns, which of course is the primary goal of her world's medical practice.

Nia lets her head drop on the pillow. She doesn't like being here. It's unnerving and she's alone. And scared. The acknowledgment feels shameful but... if she's not gonna be scared of imminent death, when else? With a dry sob she searches the room, trying to find her uniform, her duty belt, and most especially her communicator.

The Portmaster says to Bizhi, "We can reach ships in orbit but not beyond this system. But do you wish the loan I offered? You already have debts here - to Maude, and now to this hospital. You must pay for these things you want."

A nurse comes in with a hypospray, sees Onn on her feet and says sharply, "Get back in bed, please. Doctor's orders." She raises the hypospray. "Here's the Lexorin she also ordered. May I get you anything else?"

Bizhi looks to Lt. Graham—​and Ens. Kylah—​for support, or if they have something to add, but continues speaking; there are not many options here.

He shrugs. "Certainly we will take the loan. We already said as much to Maude. We do not expect any special treatment, nor to be mulcted. We are on official Starfleet business, and our superiors will back us up.

"But, sir, please understand that this is no longer just a matter of arranging guest accommodations or paying for the bone regenerator, or something that can wait until morning. We need a small quantity of Bilitrium. Now, that is a not-particularly-common industrial chemical which is not going to be randomly kept in stock, given the difficulties of handling it. Dr. Anikwata is checking with ships with orbit as we speak. However, as the Portmaster here, you are best positioned to authorize a deal should she find anything, and if not, well, we will need to hire the first ship heading off-system. I did not quite catch the discussion when I came in, but I don't imagine that saving the life of a Starfleet officer will go unappreciated when it comes to making any persistent problems you may be having with the Federation go away.

Graham can't help but start forward slightly as the doctor speaks.

Dammit... Nia's plight makes sense now in light of his experience back in her quarters...

Thank god the doc is on top of this.

But that doesn't help all that much unless they can get Billitrium, or unlock some other option...


"Portmaster...you've been gracious with your advice, and the offer of a loan...as the doctor says, we'll of course take it, and we will make good on any reasonable terms and then some."

"I'm sorry to hear about the loss of life on the Jaunty. As the doctor explained, we may be facing a...a potential...loss.." It's hard to get out. "Ourselves."

Graham leans forward. "As a Security officer, I know use of lethal force against civilian ships is supposed to be very rare indeed. In addition to doing right on any financial terms, I can promise that I will make any lawful inquiry a to what happened with the Beowulf, and, if I can, tell you what caused the...what happened."

The more the Tellarite speaks, the more frustrated and aggrieved Kylah gets. Fastening such importance to money when clearly someone's life is on the line! And the entire Tesla crew are survivors of a near-deadly crash, yet even providing simple shelter and medical assistance seems immaterial; only payment seems uppermost on their minds--Maude's as well.

She remembers one formal event back home some years back, a dinner with Klingons present, when a general tried to boast of all the vastly superior reach the Klingon Empire has throughout the quadrant, including races as yet unknown to the Federation and their meager alliance.

One society he spoke of with particular contempt--and that is from a Klingon, whose contempt towards others can only be dwarfed by Romulans'. He described them as small little creatures, large heads and enormous ears, who thought of little but acquisitions and commercial trade. If the House of the Silver Weeping Tree and the Royal Council wished to make use of their grasping nature, the Klingon bragged, they would be quite a useful trading partner for a planet as mineral-rich as Elas.

It was not beyond Klingons to lie, especially when involved with what they considered "diplomacy" (clumsy at best, Kylah felt). Which is why her Uncle took advantage of Kylah's abilities to ferret out such deception. And while she was not certain of this tale's veracity at the time, Uncle Aldaan waved her off from doing research; the matter was considered inconsequential to the Council, and they let the matter drop.

And indeed, at no time since, either before or after her joining Starfleet, has Kylah ever heard mention of this likely mythical race.

But right now, staring at the Tellarite who would focus on loans and recompense at such a time... well, she can better believe such a greedy society exists.

She has kept her mouth shut while the Doctor--an excellent communicator, she notes--and Lt. Graham talk to the Portmaster. But she must back them up and add one question.

"It is as they said, Portmaster Goll. We will give you whatever we owe, a fair price or whatever we incur during our stay. If you accept credits we will vouchsafe their value. This is our mission commander in danger, sir. I can assure you, you will be well rewarded. I have plenty on hand even personally, I would be willing to..." Her voice falters. Something nags at her and makes her uneasy, but the current situation is more important than figuring out the source of her discomfort.

She shakes her head free of such distractions. "But as to being unable to communicate outside the system... is that always the case, sir? There are no subspace relays nearby? Or is there interference from some celestial body? I would be grateful for the opportunity to attempt to connect with someone. There are ways to magnify signals considerably. And of course, all such efforts and assistance, along with the provision of the technology we may need, will be generously compensated," Kylah adds respectfully, despite the annoyance raging inside.

Nia blinks, surprised and alarmed to realize she's apparently slid from the bed to her feet. She only intended to search the room with her gaze, but she must be so out of it that she's barely in control of her actions. Even so, she's leaning against the bed for support when the nurse orders her back up. And it's a testament to how crappy she feels that Nia doesn't tell the obnoxious nurse to, frankly, perch and rotate.

But she's glad to be horizontal again, and especially under the covers, and since she's reliant on these medic personnel for what remains of her very life, Nia refrains from giving the waspish nurse any painful anal-related suggestions.

She holds her arm out for the Lexorin and waits for its restorative powers to kick in. "Yeah," she whispers in response to the offer of whatever she wants (other than freedom, apparently). "Something hot. Soup. Tea. Oatmeal. Anything, please." Again burrowing under the blankets, she looks up at the nurse, hating herself for being so needy. "And my... my communicator? The others... I want to know where my crew is." Closing her tired eyes that are beginning to ache from the light, Nia hesitates before exhaling her next words. "Please? I'm so alone."

The big Tellarite glances only briefly at Kylah, then turns his gaze back to Graham. "Good," he says, taking a datapad out of his coat, making a few notes on it and then pushing it across the table to Graham. "I am gladdened. Please review this, sign it and affix your thumbprint." The pad contains a short, straightforward contract, written in Federation Standard. It authorizes a loan of ten thousand monits from the Office of the Portmaster of Ollos to the crew of the Starfleet shuttlecraft Tesla. Graham will be promising, on his honor as a Starfleet officer backed by the full faith and credit of the United Federation of Planets, to repay the loan, with reasonable interest, within six Earth months. Either his personal payment, or that of Starfleet, will be acceptable. Graham has seen more than a few legal documents in his time, and he notices no troubling fine print or suspicious legalese.

The Lexorin shot soon has Onn feeling better. In response to her request, the nurse brings a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, both steaming hot. The soup tastes good; the tea most definitely does not. A few minutes later, she also brings Onn her communicator.

Taking a deep breath, Kylah lets it out in a silent, measured exhale. She does not remember enough about Tellarite culture--if she ever knew it, which is doubtful--to know whether they are misogynistic enough to deem females beneath their recognition.

If the portmaster does not wish to address her, she will not speak until or unless she is required. Anyway, Lt. Graham and the doctor have far more to contribute. Except, somewhat ironically considering the Tellarite's fixation, financially.

Graham glances at the doctor and Kylah after scanning the document. "Thank you, Portmaster--very fair." He signs and affixes his thumbprint.

"In different circumstances I'd offer to buy us all a drink," he says, most directly addressing the Portmaster. "But as it stands right now--we're damn tired and one of our crew is still in hospital...if you could direct us to where we could get some rest, and, in the morning, secure some new clothes...well, we'd all be much obliged, I'm sure."

Nia finishes the soup, savoring the heat more than the taste, needless to say. But she's not picky. Her people grew used to eating saggy reeds in barely-filtered swamp water. She can deal with... whatever the hell this is. The warmth hits her throat down her esophagus to her stomach in an achingly delicious journey.

"Thank you," she whispers to the nurse, both for the food and the communicator. Snuggling down into the covers so they're a virtual chrysalis, she turns on her side and flips open the communicator, thumb absently rubbing the keys as she tries to gather thoughts together.

It's pointless, the Yorktown's too far away. But Nia has to try. If nothing else, should things continue in their inevitable direction, those who return the Tesla crew to the ship and retrieve her belongings will be able to pass along the message. It takes her far longer than it should to concentrate enough to hit the right keys, and only after the first line does she remember she can dictate instead.

SINGH, CAPT.; VARGAS, CMDR; CHEVEREZ, LT. CMDR; VILLA, LT:

I'm sorry to report that on our return trip from the penal colony, the Tesla had catastrophic malfunctions that cut off nearly all systems. We were forced to make a crash landing on Ollos. The log will give you details. I don't know what happened to her--I tried to fix her but I wasn't enough. Forgive me, Chief. Worse, we landed on ice and the shuttle sank. If you can reclaim her a full autopsy may reveal the cause.

Speaking of autopsies, I might need one myself

Nia coughs a wry chuckle before erasing those words.

Then she gives a quick explanation of the unexpected repercussions of her having withdrawn so abruptly from the pure Bilitrium. For Villa's sake, she recounts what she remembers of the earliest symptoms, which go back further than she realized at the time. Then the effect of the frigid temperature on her system, taxing it to its limit. Her organ functions slowly ebbing to a hibernation, or possibly death. She emphasizes the extreme care and assistance by her able crewmates.

I know this is a message in a bottle and won't reach you in time. I'm sending this on an open Starfleet-encoded channel, so maybe another ship will hear this too. If there's a miracle, and the Yorktown has completed its mission and can get here within... I don't know, frankly. Six hours? As many as ten? Not sure how long it'll be by the time this reaches you.

Closing her eyes to search her memory, Nia recites the coordinates of the system and planet to the best of her ability.

If someone can arrive with my tank, it might be enough. Or maybe you can contact some mining vessel near one of the known sources... I know some are very close to Romulan territory but...

Of course I don't expect anyone to drop everything or endanger the crew; each of you have all already accommodated my unique needs more than I could have asked. In the end, please know that serving onboard the Yorktown was the most extraordinarily rewarding experience of my life.

Nia stares at the small screen and the words that have been recorded. She finishes up her goodbyes quickly, apologizes again for her failure to return the shuttle or to keep her crew out of harm's way--and of course, mentions again how bravely the Tesla team performed through the crisis.

I hope I'm wrong about my chances. I hope I wake up and give you the chance to chastise me for breaking our girl, Chief. And that Cmdr. Vargas can dole out whatever other punishments he deems fit. And mostly, Captain, that I can thank you in person for providing me with the honor of serving with you.

Nia shuts her eyes and again falls back on her pillow, exhausted. With her arm lying beneath the covers, her thumb hovers over the SEND button. Then she presses it.

She looks up at the white blankets covering her, breaths shallow. She argues with herself. Then she flips open the device once more. This time, she forces herself to type. She doesn't trust her ability to speak without emotion right now.

GRAHAM, LT.

I'm still conscious. Probably not for long. I need to know what's happening. Please report and debrief. I'm still CO, mister, while my mind's capable.

The backs of her eyes prickle and burn, and she closes them again. She's feeling the weight of the world on her chest and she's barely awake.

All of you need food and rest. That should come first. I just don't know if I'll be able to see you and I need

Frowning slightly at her screen, Nia whispers no and intends to delete the line. Instead, however, her fingers twitch unconsciously and hit the SEND button early. After a groan and another dry, grim chuckle, she shuts the device. They're probably already asleep anyway.

Dr. Mäkeläinen just waits for the Portmaster to get on with it. Rationally, he knows that the Portmaster must not appreciate having been awoken in the middle of the night to deal with a rogue ship, and that overseeing trade, including, in this case, making sure everybody gets paid, is automatically in his scope of responsibility. So he does not say or do anything to annoy him further; he just hopes that, the document having been formally signed to his satisfaction, there will be no more delays before he gets to the admittedly non-trivial task of purveying them some Bilitrium. If there are, he will certainly speak up.

He apparently missed much of the inevitable speer concerning their crash, and there is obviously some story behind Lt. Graham's mention of lethal force against ships, but he will find out later. Right now, he is dead tired and has his own business to worry about, which cannot wait. If not for that, Graham's suggestion to get some rest would sound pretty good; and he would bet Maude knows where they can get some appropriate clothes.

"Might we have our uniforms laundered overnight?" Kylah murmurs distractedly, before adding a hurried "for a price?"

Her exhausted mind is occupied with trying to understand what is happening with Lt. Onn and wondering if Velir and Ens. Rawlings are still in a ward or hospital rooms or wherever they were healed, or if they are sufficiently recovered to rejoin the group--if only for a small evening meal, and to discuss their current stranded situation.

"Sir," she says to Lt. Graham, "I feel it is my duty to attempt to notify the Yorktown what has happened. Lt. Onn ordered me repeatedly to make that a priority. Even without the concern over her... ailment..." Kylah is not sure exactly what to call whatever is happening with the older woman. "...We will be expected to return by--by--" Having lost all concept of time, she realizes she knows neither how long they have traveled nor precisely when they were supposed to return to the ship. "Well, probably only a few hours. Before morning, surely. With no trace of the Tesla, how will they know to find us?"

She turns to the Portmaster and invests her words with as much humility as she can muster. "If you please, sir: are there any ships heading out before morning? Perhaps we could ask--that is, commission--someone to transmit a message for us."

Kylah looks tired...no, she looks like shit warmed over, Graham thinks--although I've seen her looking far worse...

But her questions, and her dangling more credits in front of the Portmaster are smart.

Graham nods approvingly. "Good ideas, Ensign. I'm pleased to see you're on the ball despite the lateness of the hour."

The Lieutenant's compliment is unexpected but of course quite welcome. Kylah does take some pride in the fact that she has been focusing on the party as a whole, rather than being myopically limited to her own immediate troubles. Tired as she is, she still feels more... alert? Aware?... of the absent members of their team. Even more than the superior officers at times. She darts a surreptitious look at the Security officer, expecting him to call her aside to make a request, but as far as she can tell his emotions are not what she would expect them to be.

But of course, the reason is immediately clear, and she flushes when the answer comes to her: of course he is tired and she more conscious of various business that ought to be attended to. Unlike the others, especially Lts. Graham and Onn, and Dr. Mäkeläinen too, Kylah put forth almost no effort during the shuttle crisis. Not nearly as the rest did. Except for Mr. Rawlings due to his injury.

Her eyes widen in surprise with a realization. Why... this is the first time I have escaped injury on a mission. She checks her left wrist, which is a little purplish and sore from the harsh landing. As usual, it is particularly prone to such aches--it will not let her forget being bitten by that Slime Beast back on the Sakathian station.

Still, a bruise and a little soreness? It is nothing to her.

She gives a little start when she hears a quiet buzz of a communicator notification. Immediately she takes hold of her communicator from her duty belt--it must be Velir, she thinks or rather hopes--but disappointingly, there is no vibration or little light to indicate a message. She must have misidentified the source of the sound. Likely someone is contacting the Portmaster. Or the (thus far) gratifyingly silent Maude.

She returns to her wish to mention something to Lt. Graham. He seems highly in need of rest, and she does not wish to delay him, but... Kylah hesitates, tugging at her lower lip in consternation. How should she tactfully express something personal?

"Thank you sir," she says to him at last. "Getting in touch with the Yorktown is our top priority. After all, if we are unexpectedly delayed without a trace or hint of our situation, people might be quite worried. Especially those who--who are close to us."

The last words are spoken with gentle emphasis, accompanied by the quickest of glances toward the ring finger of Lt. Graham's left hand. Her caring gaze flicks back up to meet his. "If I am successful and able to transmit a message somehow," she finishes softly, "do you wish to convey something to anyone in particular?"

Graham smiles a sincere albeit exhausted smile, hand belatedly dropping to his hip where...I think it did?...his communicator had buzzed.

"That's very thoughtful, Ensign," he replies quietly. "Be clear that we're all OK, and I am sure they will let Marala know."

Pulling his communicator out, he holds it over his lap and tilts his head down to check for any new messages.

The Portmaster takes his datapad back, glances at the screen, taps a few keys and puts it away with a nod. He now seems slightly more friendly. "It's too late for me for a drink, but thank you for your offer, Lieutenant. I've noted the loan on your party's communicators. You can each now draw on the funds. Maude," he says to the crawler driver, "take those who are able to the Starfarer, please. If the night manager gives you any trouble, tell him I would consider it a personal favor if he finds room for Mr. Graham and his crewmates. Those who are still ailing can remain here; perhaps some or all may then be discharged from the hospital in the morning." He says to Kylah, "You can have laundry done while at the hotel. There are, hmm, three ships breaking orbit in the next few hours; you may be able to make use of their comm facilities, or perhaps those of one of the other eighteen ships here. Our own transmitter will likely be back online by morning, in any event."

Onn's message to Captain Singh and the Yorktown's senior officers goes nowhere, as she does not have access to a transmitter with offworld capabilities. With a flat, muted beep, it remains in the NOT YET SENT queue of her communicator.

Graham, who is obviously well within communicator range, sees Onn's text appear on his communicator's screen.

Maude and the two Tellarites rise and head for the door.

The notification sound produces a dry laugh from Nia, crappy as she feels. She turns onto her side, arms hugging her pillow, and just looks without interest at the various medical instruments and supplies, some unidentifiable, visible nearby.

It's perfect, really. All that soul-baring for nothing. Failure to connect. Story of my life. What the hell was I thinking? Needless to say, that question has more meaning than a pointless attempt at reaching the ship.

"I will not be joining you, at least not right away," says Bizhi. "I still have to wait for Dr. Anikwata and talk to her. Please send me the details once you secure rooms at the hotel."

He tells the Portmaster and Maude, "Thank you, sir and madam, again for your assistance. It could have gone worse for us, and we were lucky to come out of that crash at all."

Kylah nods gratefully to the doctor, who clearly takes his responsibility with appropriate seriousness. For Lt. Graham, however, she must keep her face neutral. The truth is, she is still a little taken aback by his choice of how to communicate his status to his new bride.

"I--yes, sir, I am sure someone will let inform her," she says slowly. Kylah has never been married of course; indeed, she has actively avoided it, given the options she has been offered. But this all seems a little...cavalier for a newlywed. He need not composer a love note, but still...

And Lt. Graham's demeanor is off in other ways, too. She searches his eyes for some hint, a slight spark, of concern about their absent colleagues' welfare. He is tired, yet his behavior is pleasant, and even in relative good humor judging by his smiles. Almost sanguine.

In her experience, Lt. Graham is overprotective towards his crewmates. To a fault, at times, true, but even so, Kylah has personally been the fortunate recipient of his protection on multiple occasions--even when they were at odds. It is his most endearing quality. For this to be absent now almost causes her to wonder if something is affecting his mind.

"But Lieutenant," she continues, "surely I cannot say we are all well. Half our crew required hospitalization and one is in jeopardy of--of losing her life. And she is your--" Kylah barely prevents herself from referring to his past relationship with Lt. Onn, and changes quickly to, "She is our commander, after all."

She turns to Dr. Mäkeläinen. "Doctor, may I accompany you? I could use help in composing a succinct message to the Yorktown regarding everyone's health status. Actually--" Another area of concern strikes her, one that Lt. Graham has always treated most seriously: their party has been separated. "I think we should make certain all three are safe. People have been separated from landing parties before, not always under their own volition, or with someone worthy of their trust."

She avoids looking at Lt. Graham, instead sending her embarrassed glance to the floor. When she speaks it is very quietly, to avoid being heard by anyone but her two crewmates. "I do not lightly suggest any wrongdoing in a hospital, but locations are not always what they seem. In some of those instances when we were isolated, people were... that is, there were incidents..." Kylah steels herself and returns her burning face to the doctor. "Things did not go well."

Graham's attention is divided between Nia's alarming message...

I'm still conscious. Probably not for long. I need to know what's happening. Please report and debrief. I'm still CO, mister, while my mind's capable....All of you need food and rest. That should come first. I just don't know if I'll be able to see you and I need

...and Kylah's voice...

"Half our crew required hospitalization and one is in jeopardy of--of losing her life."

The spark of connection between those two things is like a jolt of lightning into his heart. What...have I been asleep at the fucking switch?

He snaps his head up. "Doctor, wait...urgently, situation assessment for Lt. Onn. And--is Rawlings fit for return to duty?"

Is Kylah worried about him? If she were worried about herself she would probably stick with the security officers. This place looks like a normal hospital, even well-equipped as far as frontier hospitals go. It probably has to be, considering all the traffic through the system. [I am assuming all this is the case, since nobody actually saw anything weird...] Mercenary, sure, but if there were anything unseemly going on, it probably would have already transpired.

Kylah's sudden concern and cryptic warnings momentarily throws him out of kilter and makes him feel queer; or that could just be pure fatigue mingled with adrenaline catching up to him.

Dr. Mäkeläinen says to her, "Yes, you may join me if you like. I'm going back to the emergency room, where everybody else is. Mr. Rawlings is ready to be discharged, if he hasn't been already, and they should let Mr. Rangin go soon. The doctor promised to check with ships in orbit for that Bilitrium. It could be good news or bad news; either way, there will be a lot of work to do. I warn you it may not be very interesting to watch. Nor is it my ER, so I expect to do some waiting myself. They do have coffee, and other hot beverages.

He tells Graham, "Rawlings is fine, Lieutenant. He's probably milling around the Emergency Room wondering where we are. Lt. Onn​—​it's no secret by now she needs Bilitrium to breathe. I wouldn't have mentioned something like that, but the Portmaster had to know why we suddenly need a rare and volatile element in the middle of the night, especially if he is going to make it happen. I was just saying, the ER doctor is on the local comms network scouring all the ships in orbit to try to find some. Best-case scenario, we purchase what we need and the lab here can prepare it; she will still be spending all night in the hospital, at the very least. Without it... I think we can keep her alive, but you should be aware she could lapse into a coma-like state."

Despite everything that is going on, before/if the crew splits up, Bizhi will not forget to pay Maude off, plus 25 percent. He did promise.

Maude flops back down into her seat. She pulls out a personal datapad and says, "The meter's running. Let me know when you're ready to go."

The Portmaster and his aide leave the conference room; the third Tellarite joins them from the Emergency Room, and they trudge out into the freezing night.

If Kylah thought it even 1 AU near appropriate, she would be hugging Lt. Graham's arm now in relief and gratitude. She has only realized just now how long it has been since they all had someone in a position of authority. It may be wrong to judge Lt. Onn, but she has not been anything like at full capacity, physically and (more importantly) mentally.

When Maude yet again asks for her money, Kylah puts on her most diplomatically correct expression and faces her. "Thank you again for your help. Perhaps you would like us to pay for what we owe now, and restart the...the meter, as you say, when we--assuming we leave for the hotel? I feel as if you might prefer having the certainty of monits in your possession immediately." If so, she will wait for Maude to tell her the current total and pay.

Meanwhile she watches Dr. Mäkeläinen as attentively as her tired eyes can focus--a little better, now that she is so glad that Lt. Graham is more engaged, and that Ens. Rawlings is all right. Velir's continuing presence in the ER worries her, however. After a mere stun? She was stunned on OCIII, but by an unfamiliar weapon; she has nothing to compare it to, and does not know if it was worse or better than the low level setting on a normal phaser.

Kylah shakes her head infinitesimally, still paying attention to the doctor. "I am very familiar with waiting, Doctor. I have been on both sides of a hospital room door, either waiting to be released or waiting for reports on someone else's status. It is not pleasant but I can bear it. Especially if they do have hot beverages."

Her brief small smile fades quickly. She has put off thinking of what Lt. Onn is going through. "Is there nothing we can do for her? I suppose a blood transfusion would make no difference, if there are no internal injuries. Or an organ donation?" She grimaces. "A foolish thought, I know. Her physiology... I know nothing about it, her race I mean."

Graham shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck.

"Thanks, doc....thank you, Mr. Kylah." Other conversation aside, he addresses Maude. "We're ready - but we'll go via the hospital, to collect our people. And...I need to see Lt. Onn."

He nods crisply. "I assure you, as our doctor has, you'll be treated more than fairly."

"I remember the way back." Bizhi starts heading back from the conference room to where he left Nia in the Emergency Room.

Kylah seems genuinely sympathetic about her colleague. Were they on each other's nerves earlier? Seems like ancient history, already. Bizhi simply says, "Finding oneself alone, in a hospital, as a patient, is no one's idea of fun. But she is not alone. We are going to check on her, right now. And nothing is the last thing we are going to do for her; far from it.

"It is a good thought, but even replacing all her blood would not help. All of her tissues need Bilitrium, like there are trace elements without which your or my metabolism would eventually fail." Maybe there is some sort of substitute, or it does not have to be pure elemental Bilitrium? Humans can breathe certain liquids instead of air, for example, but oxygen still needs to be introduced into the system. After going to see Nia, he had really better see what Dr. Anikwata has come up with, if anything.

Muade accepts payment from Dr. Mäkeläinen with a smile. To Kylah she says, not unkindly, "As long as I'm sitting here I'm not at home, happy in my nice warm bed, so the meter's still running, honey."

Back in the ER Dr. Anikwata tells Dr. Mäkeläinen, "I've confirmed there's no Bilitrium on the planet, so I've sent a request to the medical officers, or the equivalent, of all the orbiting ships, but nothing yet. By the morning, I hope."

Rawlings is completely healed and eager to leave, despite, like the rest of you, being very tired. He yawns hugely. Rangin is also ready to go, but Dr. Anikwata, being less knowledgeable of Coridanite physiology, would prefer to keep him in the hospital and under observation overnight.

She says you may now see Onn, if you wish.

Graham claps Rawlings on the (uninjured) shoulder. "Good man, Rawlings. Glad you're with us." Then he adds "Dr. Mäkeläinen, I'm inclined to bring Mr. Rangin along, but where Rangin spends the night is your call."

He thanks Dr. Anikwata. "Then I'll see N- Lt. Onn now, thank you."

"I say it's up to him," replies Bizhi. "The ER doctor is right that, by the book, he should stay under observation for another couple of hours, in case there are any late effects." What about that latent virus Kylah mentioned might have side effects? Surely that would already have kicked in if it were going to be triggered by stress? Better ask Rangin himself about it. "But, if he is feeling fine and wants to go, I won't stop him."

Bizhi himself will soon not be much good if he does not get some rest, but he does not fancy leaving Nia alone---he definitely wants to be around should her condition suddenly destabilize, or, conversely, should some Bilitrium turn up after all. Perhaps he could snooze or kip in the waiting area, later. Though it will probably be cold. And he imagines he is starting to feel dirty in his uniform, high-tech wonder fabric or not.

Dr. Anikwata shows Graham - and anyone else who'd like to come along - into Onn's private room. Rawlings and Rangin (who will indeed be heading to the hotel with you), perhaps sensing that Graham might like to be alone with her, take seats in the waiting room outside the ER.

Kylah would like to see Lt. Onn, though it might be overwhelming to have so many visitors, especially unannounced. Too, while the Helm Officer has a casual demeanor, Kylah knows there is pride, too. She does not know what precise state Lt. Onn is currently in, but she must be ill and weak. Being seen like this might cause her undue stress. And since the other woman has often expressed some irritation with her, she might not wish Kylah's company.

Of course, Dr. Mäkeläinen likely needs to check on Lt. Onn's status. Three would make them a crowd, so Kylah backs away before placing a delicate hand on Lt. Graham's elbow. She suspects he wishes to be alone. The pair are no longer... well, a pair... but there are still warm feelings between them. Kylah would know this without any empathic ability at all.

"I shall wait, if she agrees to more visitors. If not, please send my hopes for her recovery." She doubts he hears her. She remembers how she felt while waiting for her still-living mother after the cruiser accident, for Velir after his. The circumstances narrowed her focus to the object of her worry. For Lt. Graham, that person is most certainly, understandably, not Kylah. Still she gives his arm a little squeeze of comfort before moving from the door.

She nearly turns right to Velir to ask him how he feels, whether there was any damage from that monster--and to blurt how happy she is to see him, at long last conscious. But it strikes her that it might appear in poor taste until Lt. Graham is gone; she does not wish anyone to think Velir is why she is not visiting Lt. Onn.

So instead she nods to Ens. Rawlings, murmuring that she is gratified to see his arm healed, and walks to a seat beside Velir. Kylah does give him a relieved look, but accompanied by no smile or word. This is not the time.

Dr. Mäkeläinen stares at the ceiling for a moment, looking for order hidden beyond the runs of pipes and panels.

Since Lt. Rangin says he is feeling fine and wants to go, as Dr. Mäkeläinen said, he does not interfere. A thorough examination (including checking how a virus may have edited his genetic code) can come later, and it is his medical opinion that that does not seem currently relevant, and also that he seems recovered from the phaser's effects and that he will be getting some well-needed rest in a hotel room, not going on his way to pull a double watch.

He says to Kylah, "After they are done," meaning Graham and Onn, "we can go visit her. Our plan for later... wait for any news regarding Bilitrium, of course, and wait for planetary subspace comms to be restored if we cannot get a message to Starfleet relayed through one of the ships in orbit. And an early order of business, if we have to do a lot of sitting around, may be to scrounge up a couple of blankets.

"If you will excuse me, I need to confer with the doctor." Dr. Mäkeläinen consults with Dr. Anikwata about further treatment beyond merely keeping Lt. Onn under observation. Small details like titrating the tapering off of the Lexorin, but also any ideas that might help to save her life. For instance, is there another substance, perhaps not a perfect substitute, but that might give her some energy, or at least keep her somewhat stable? He does have, by now, at least a modicum of information on Sidonian biology, which he can contribute to the discussion. As for the possibility of slowing down her metabolism, he asks if they have any cryosleep facilities, stasis fields, or anything similarly high-tech, and also about the possibility of an induced coma.

Unless he does not get the chance because everyone will have slipped out during this discussion, he uses his access to the team's borrowed funds to pay Maude the agreed-upon amount owed for the trip to the hospital, generously augmented, but this will not include the upcoming ride to the hotel, which Lt. Graham can deal with. He uses the opportunity to ask a presumably placated Maude if she knows a good place to get appropriately warm clothing like work coveralls; something decent-quality from the slop trade, not the even more outrageously expensive apparel normally offered to everyone who does not know any better.

Surprised and (despite the severity of the circumstances) pleased that Dr. Mäkeläinen is specifically informing and including her in his proposed actions, Kylah nods, thanks him, and watches him leave with purpose to see the other doctor.

She sits back slowly, embarrassed that she does not know exactly what Bilitrium is or why it is so rare. Lt. Onn seems to breathe perfectly normally on the Yorktown and on missions. But again she knows nothing of the Sidonian race. Not even a word of their language. It is, naturally given the obscurity, not a course of study at the Academy--at least, not when she was there. (Almost a year ago, she realizes with a little start. It does not seem so very long, while simultaneously so much has happened since graduation, it might as well be a decade.)

At last she turns to Velir. "How are you? You were out for so long..." She peers into his eyes to see if he has the lingering dazed effect of the stun. Her fingers, gripping the edge of her chair, surreptitiously slide over to his and brush his skin with the gentlest of strokes before quickly pulling them back. "I was afraid," she says, stating what is no doubt obvious to him. "Did the doctors say if you were injured from the--I forget the name--oh yes, the icevamp?"

Rawlings tells Kylah, "I'm fine, thanks." He yawns again, hugely. "Just really tired. And hungry, come to think of it."

Rangin smiles crookedly says to her, "The icevamp didn't get me, I guess," gingerly feeling around his neck and upper chest. "No puncture wounds, fortunately. The phaser blast caught me a little, but I feel all better now. Thanks for asking. How are you doing?"

Dr. Anikwata tells Dr. Mäkeläinen, "I think continued dosages, as needed, of Lexorin should get her though the night, at least. No helpful word yet from any of the orbiting ships, but a lot of 'No, sorry' responses. I'm looking into Bilitrium substitutes, but nothing quite seems to fit the bill, given how little is known of the Sidonian physiology. I have no cryosleep facilities or stasis fields, sorry. Wish I did! An induced coma is an extreme step and I'm not willing to consider it yet."

Maude is happy to accept payment from the Starfleet physician. She looks not quite so grumpy as she waits to take you to your hotel. She says, "Lefty's is a good place for warm, useful clothes of all kinds. They're closed until the morning, though. I think they open at 0900."

Graham clears his throat, take a deep breath, and enters Nia's room.

When Ens. Rawlings mentions hunger, Kylah automatically puts her hand on her belly, which is both flat and right now, quite empty--something she did not really notice until now. She is tired too, of course, and Mr. Rawlings's yawning is contagious. Covering her mouth, she follows suit but is alert when Velir speaks.

"I am as well as can be expected." She watches him rub his neck and must tamp down her instinct to ask if she might do so for him. Kylah would be grateful for the chance, but he would refuse such intimacy in front of their colleagues for the same reason she does not offer. "Grateful to have made it here, but extremely sorry for what the Lieutenant is going through. I do not...fully understand it," she adds in a feat of understatement.

The sounds of the hospital, echoing voices and machines and people moving about, fill the brief silence. "I should have said something. There was something different about her throughout the trip. She was not herself. Not that I have really spent much time with her other than missions. I do not think she thinks well of me as an officer, to put it mildly. Yet she was kind to me when I had that--the panic attack. In the gym." Her cheeks warm and she looks back to the door where Lt. Graham has just entered. "That speaks well of her."

It occurs to her that she sounds as if she is practicing for a eulogy. "All this reminds me of Lt. Fujishiro," she says softly. "Of course I hope it goes very differently, but--" Kylah shakes her head slightly, focusing on Dr. Mäkeläinen farther down the hall, and hurries to change the subject. "Perhaps I should look for some food dispensaries... vending machines, whatever they call them here. I could bring the two of you back some coffee or tea, at least. Or maybe we should all go to get something to eat, maybe with Dr. Mäkeläinen?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen is, naturally, frustrated, but not really surprised at the lack of Bilitrium procurable from the first ship or two that happen to be nearby. He does not understand what is going on with the system's main subspace relay, but he is pinning more hopes on it being available by morning, as the Portmaster hinted, or on them finding a ship that can relay a message for them. He really needs to talk to Ens. Kylah about communication possibilities. That one thing will open up a range of hopeful possibilities, like arranging an emergency medical evacuation.

"I understand," he tells Dr. Anikwata, "and I thank you for your diligent help with this even though it must be monopolizing a lot of your time. I agree with you about the Lexorin, and we are trying to find a working comms relay soonest, to seek any possible off-world resources."

He does want to go in to see Onn, to see for himself how she is doing, and not to deliver bad news but to try to reassure her. Should she and Graham still be speaking after he is done conferring with Dr. Anikwata, he will head back to join Kylah and the others.

As Nia lies on her bed, waiting for the Lexorin to work its magic--seems to be taking longer now that she's worse off--she hears the door open and close. Somehow, even without lifting her head, Nia just knows.

Doing her best to push herself up slightly, Nia stares at Booker in silence for a few long seconds, examining his state just as he's probably doing to her. His skin is mottled, red and pale, maybe even frostbitten. Are they even treating him? The others?

His hair, usually neat in its ponytail, is fighting being reined in, disheveled, stray hairs framing his tired face and somehow making him look... softer. Which isn't the vibe she gets from him--soft, that is. His muscles visible beneath this... What the hell is he wearing?... this coverall-like uniform that's too tight for his biceps oh how I loved those arms around me are visible, clenched and taut. When he moves up to her, his familiar gait is tense, leg muscles coiled and ready to spring into action. For her? Nice to think so, but she's beyond his kind of action. He must hate this.

And she caused it. Not just whatever he's feeling--the responsibility for which she finds gut-wrenching--or her own sorry circumstances, but the risked lives of the crew here and the wasted work of the Yorktown team who worked on the Tesla...

"Book," she says, barely a croak. She can't hold herself up anymore and she lets her head fall back on the pillow. Groaning, she lets her muscles rest so that she'll gather more strength. There's so much she wants to say and probably not much time enough to do it. Overwhelmed, she focuses on the here and now: her duty.

"What's... what's happening? What are they doing for you?" Searching his gaze, she braces for more bad news. Bad is all this whole impossibly long day has consisted of. A wellspring of despair whirls within her. The only way she'll get through this is by remembering that she's C.O. for at least a few minutes longer. "The crew. How are the others?"

Graham knows he must look like hell, but Nia…

She still looks cold, shivering even, and he’s not sure why the hell that hasn’t been fixed. Her skin is…not normal, gray. Her hair’s spread out all over the pillow behind her, it’s almost as if…

They never found Jane’s body. Is that what she looked like, alone, fading…?

But Nia’s not Jane. He can see her scales, and almost a silver sheen…

Is this a defensive mechanism? Or…a prelude to…

"Fine, all fine," he replies quickly, unnaturally so, not wanting what looks to be an already overtaxed Nia suffer further. He clears his throat. "It seems as long as the Portmaster can count on being well-reimbursed, he's more than happy to extend every courtesy." He pauses awkawardly and then shakes his head. "Nothing for you ro worry about, Nia."

A brief silence falls as Nia's tense muscles relax slightly at Booker's words. He might be brushing her concerns aside in deference to her situation, normally something she'd resent and push right back. But shamefully, she's willing to let him pacify her. At least for now. She wants to speak to him, very aware of the time passing.

"Hard to believe," she begins haltingly, her aching lungs hitching a little. "Couple of weeks ago we were giving each other flowers and books and picnics. Life sure took a weird fucking turn." Her best attempt at a smile flickers on her lips. "But that's how it goes. Plot out in advance, navigate all you want. Gonna be asteroids you can't dodge. Novy Rostov, for one."

She runs out of air and stops. The memories are too painful anyway. Inhaling, she gives a tiny shake of her head. "No. Don't worry, Book. I'm not ending this on a guilt trip. You made the best choice. We didn't plan for this, but it worked out. She'll be good for you. Already is. I wouldn't've been able to give you what she can. I mean, I'm so..." Nia swallows with difficulty and her hands fumble for the cup on the tray attached to the bed.

* * *

Graham’s reactions aren’t as fast as they were when he was practicing quick-drawing a phase in the Academy–over and over, for hours and hour–but there’s still some muscle memory there, he thinks, jerking forward to ensure the cup stays upright, and he can guide into her hands…or to her lips, if necessary.

“No one’s ending anything,” he answers tightly while leaning to support her movements. “Not here, not now, not this way,” he says maybe as much to himself as to her. “Nothing’s ending.”

He wishes he could believe it with as much intensity as he says it.

***

Once she finishes a long sip of the water, with his help, Nia shuts her eyes briefly, then gives a low chuckle before looking fondly back up at him. "Everything's ended for me. No magic'll bring the Yorktown here with my supplies. If there's actually Bilitrium anywhere nearby it's probably in Romulan territory.

"But it's not only that," she says hoarsely. "My body's already giving up on me. Villa told me this morning--" She frowns. "Was it just this morning? I don't know time anymore." A few seconds pass as she breathes deeply, her lungs filling her with substandard air.

Then she exhales the painful truth. "I've entered the Sunset. Prematurely. Years prematurely, I don't know why." Belatedly she remembers that he must have no idea what that means. "Sunset... that's the phase when Sidonian women lose their... fertility."

Her gaze avoids him. "Being fertile's the whole reason I exist. At least according to my people. Everything I was taught. I know it's not true, rationally." A thin smile lightens her face. "Never thought that crap belief was still inside me, but, well. Guess you can take the girl outta Sidonia...

"I had five kids before I was twenty," Nia murmurs as her hazy thoughts take her back to her planet, her heartache. "Never saw them after birth. It broke me and when I left I swore I was done. Never again. My years in Starfleet were spent celebrating--flaunting--that now I could choose what I did with my body, who I could be with. Breaking our Laws with birth control."

Nia sighs. "Last couple of years, I've felt calmer. Really free. Free enough to be flexible. Maybe someday I'd change my mind after all. Have another chance. Another child. Just one. One I could keep, watch grow. With a partner who wasn't forced on me. I waited too long. I didn't realize what I felt until..." Booker's right in front of her, and they're alone. But the shadows of him at his wedding, with his new family of Marala and Nikolai, haunt her. "I--I just fucked up."

The prickling sensation in the back of her eyes--a remnant from when Sidonians could easily produce tears--makes her wince. "I did, Book," she says, her voice soft. "I fucked up so much."

* * *

“Slag it from orbit.”

The mission was classified, the stakes high. Maybe open war if they failed–one in which the Federation might start at a disadvantage, if their quarry and its payload made it to enemy space.

And they’d fucked it up.

Officially the mission was the captain’s responsibility, but the crew had been selected because they were good. They thought they were good–they’d all accepted the mission with swagger.

And they’d fucked it up.

Taken casualties: missing, presumed dead. Probably dead. Almost certainly dead.

(Who wants to tell a family “dad was almost certainly dead before we vaporized three square kilometers around his last known location.”)

Lost the element of surprise.

Took too long.

Fucked. Everything. Up.

The feeling in his gut and heart at the moment makes the memory that Nia’s self imprecations just evoked feel like merely a random bad day by comparison.

“Nia–” Graham blinks and takes a breath. He’s wishing there was something he could slag from orbit. Or smash.

He forces himself to kneel by her bedside. “I know a lot about fucking things up. But…I’m sorry. I–I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry Nia.”

It takes him a second to collect himself, and even then he can’t help a sob. “The Fedration is not fucking Sidonia.” His hands grip the sheets. “We’ll find a way. We will find a way.”

The last was a whisper: intense, intent, not even sure what he’s talking about.

That you don’t die here. That you get more years of life. That you have a chance to…

I’d been thinking about taking her to meet Lizzy.

“We’ll find a way.” But his last statement sounds hollow to his own ears: it’s a plea, a mindless platitude, a last gasp of giving in to exhaustion.

Or not.

***

He's so close to her. Nia should be able to see every flickering expression in his eyes. But she can't fully read him. She's not sure if even he believes his reassurances. But she loves that he's trying. She loves that he's here, inches away.

She loves--

Abruptly her mind flees from what's begging to be said. Despite a chest heavy as if she's being slowly crushed by a boulder, she breathes through the obstacles. Truth is, the Lexorin is working and her energy's improved a bit--but her tight chest is from her efforts to smother her emotions. "Maybe. If anyone can find it, you will." Twitching her fingers, she reaches for the communicator beside her.

"I... I wrote to the Yorktown. Where we are, why we're here. Explaining everything. Ruining the Tesla. Endangering my crew. I commended all of you. But I couldn't send it. No link. Stupid to forget that." Her fingertips push the device on the bed toward Booker. "Once you're able, will you... will you make sure to get it to them ASAP? After I... if I can't?"

A shudder runs through her, no longer from the cold. Staring at her trembling grey-sliver fingers and the communicator she's essentially bequeathing to Booker, she closes her eyes. "Book," she whispers, in a small voice that no one's heard since she was a twelve-year-old girl preparing to birth her first child. "I'm scared."



Graham by general_urko, Nia by me.

Rawlings smiles wearily and says to Kylah, "I can't tell if I'm more tired or more hungry, but if there's a roasted ox anywhere nearby, I think I'd eat it all now."

Rangin nods. "I could go for a bite, too, if there's anything here worth biting."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is told by a nurse that Onn and Graham are still talking. He returns to find Rawlings, Rangin and Kylah talking about getting something to eat before leaving for the hotel.

A tired Dr. Mäkeläinen joins the other waiting crewmembers. His expression does not give very much away. "I forgot all about food," he says. "I did find out where we can procure some warm clothes in the morning." He looks down at his possibly stained, certainly not pristine Starfleet uniform. "I am rather ravenous, now that you mention it." He can tell eating will hasten him to the point where he can no longer keep his eyes open.

Graham swallows hard and closes his eyes for a moment, then places a hand on Nia's shoulder.

His first vocalization is a sigh. Then her name.

"I'll stay with you if...if..."

You want me to?
You might die alone tonight?

He can't finish the thought and clears his throat instead. "Should I send for the doc?"

Kylah stands, a little unsteady from her own tiredness. "Yes, I hope we can eat somewhere close by. I do not whether we should wait for Lt. Graham. Do you think I ought to ask..." She takes a step toward the door but goes no further. Her senses are pervaded by something very... dark. Not ominous, not dangerous, just devoid of hope. It is too strong to come from just one person.

"Oh," she says softly, the word drawn out of her. Swallowing, she shakes her head and retreats without a word.

Once Booker places his hand on her shoulder, Nia automatically leans her cheek against it, desolate and in need of the comfort, warmth and tenderness of his touch. She expects, hopes for more, for him to hold her. The safety of his arms enveloping her, trying to protect her even if this isn't something he can vanquish. He would do that--offer a hug of consolation--for just about anyone, man or woman, relative or friend, much less a former... whatever she was to him.

But there's no embrace. The sting of confused disappointment is swiftly followed by something worse. He makes a weak offer to stay "if." If. His continued presence is apparently conditional. Only if necessary. If she really requires it.

If it won't take too long for her to die and let him get back to real life.

She turns her head from him and stares at the opposite wall. She's laid bare her terror to Starfleet's most famous protector of Women Who Must Be Defended and gets a shoulder shake in response. She's no longer belongs in that category. If she ever did in the first place. The ease and sheer speed with which he willingly committed himself for life, not just for convenience, to a woman he last saw twentysomething years ago pretty much proved that Nia was never long-term material.

Even so, it doesn't explain his behavior...or lack of it..now. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned giving up her children. Or being newly barren. He didn't react with much sympathy. In fact he gave no reaction at all. Is that what did it? He can't comprehend abandoning her infants, anathema to his idea of maternal behavior? And now that her fertility is nearly over, she's losing the most purely feminine aspect a woman can possess.

She wouldn't've thought he had a--what do they call it, something like a madonna/whore complex?--given what his sister went through. But that's the thing. Those bullies were lying about her. Fiona was innocent, not what the boys were accusing in their taunts. Wasn't even into guys at all.

Jane was the mother of his child, taken from Lizzie only by death. Poor widowed Marala, of course, kept Nikolai with her.

Nia's breathing is constricted and each inhale comes with a soft moan. She has one more dose left in the nebulizer over on the sidetable. But she won't ask him for it. Too much like that night when, both naked in her bed, they were interrupted by her choking attack. Afterward he lay there, allowed her to rest in his arms. That had meant so much to her, and she'd been able to sleep on the even, calming rise and fall of his chest. Not quite the passionate evening they'd expected. Maybe they'd have continued in the morning if duty hadn't called them to the Bridge.

They'd tried again another night but his attempt at lovemaking was anger, misplaced anger, and Nia put a stop to it. She was right to do so, she still believes that now. She wasn't gonna be the sexual version of a punching bag. He seemed to agree once he realized what he was doing, but...

With one thing and another occupying their schedules, the opportunity never came again.

Her eyes close at the realization. That's probably it. He spent weeks with the ship's mattress and never even got laid. Only thing I was good for and he never sealed the deal.

No wonder he grabbed at the Marala-shaped lifeline when it suddenly presented itself. One day of courtship was probably all it took to start where they'd left off. Their lovemaking must've been joyful. Tender. Familiar in the best sense.

Better a warm-blooded human saint than a cold-blooded reptile-thing whore.

"No, thank you. I trust the Doc's judgement; I don't need to ask," she says as steadily as she can. "You can all report to me in the morning if I'm still here." She means in the hospital but of course, there's an alternative, morbid meaning, She doesn't bother clarifying since that more grim option is equally likely--more so.

Her sigh is like a creaking door swinging shut on exhausted hinges barely able to support it. "Otherwise, I guess... I guess that's it, Lieutenant." Nia closes her eyes and softly corrects herself. "Book."

Graham lets his hand linger on Nia's shoulder. The tenderness of her cheek against it...her beautiful and stunning skin against his scars...

And yet I'm the one who's healthy and not in danger...

"Nia..."

That's all he manages at first: just stating her name in response to his.

"That's it."


He has no idea what to do.

He clears his throat. "In the morning, then," he says, slowly rising, and turning to go.

He manages one step away before looking over his shoulder at her face, eyes closed, then turns back to clasp her cheeks in his hands and kiss her forehead.


"Nia" is just a whisper.

The light cupping of his fingers on her cheek is unexpected, and Nia inhales sharply--a mistake, since her lungs hitch and protest, treating the air like a poison to be avoided. But though her chest hurts she is focused solely on the brush of his lips on her forehead, and he's staying here, just for a moment. At least he's giving her that. Despite the shield she wants to raise against anything that's more bitter than sweet, Nia takes what she can get. If these are her last hours, what use is there in being proud? She'll be remembered--or forgotten--the same either way.

So she lifts her right hand to cover his. Barely a caress. Just a connection. Maybe their last. Maybe their most important.

To her surprise she feels something wet on her cheek. Is she bleeding? Where? That isn't it. Can't be sweat, she's still cold. Fingertips still delicately holding Booker's, she opens her eyes and finds her vision impaired, Booker's face a blur. In disbelief, she raises her free hand to touch the few drops that have fallen down the side of her face and stares at the result. Tears.

The wonder is swiftly followed by a wave of despair. Her body's losing its capacity to restrict loss of fluids. One of the most basic abilities of her race. Even that defense is gone.

Blinking--it doesn't take much to clear her eyes of the few tears turning to hot rivulets down her cheek--she meets Booker's gaze. She could tell him what she longs to. It's just words. If she's facing death, what danger can three little words hold for her?

She can't. She just can't. Frozen for a few seconds, instead she tugs gently at his fingers to remove them from her right cheek. But she doesn't let go. She just turns his hand over and kisses his wrist where his pulse is beating against her lips. She moves to the soft flesh of his palm and kisses it, too. Then, finally, she turns his hand one last time and presses her cool lips against his fingers, a last heartfelt kiss.

A Sidonian would recognize these gestures. They were part of the bonding ceremony--something that used to be permanent, like marriage, but has lost much of its meaning over the years. Marriage is rare and Nia never expected to have any part of it. She knows she never will.

Too cowardly to say what she wants, she expresses it through the silent language of her people's dying tradition. Maybe someday he'll understand.

Finally, she lets him go.

I love you.

Graham thinks it.

But it doesn't make it to words as he stands, turns, and leaves Nia's room to find the team.

There is a small food dispenser off the waiting room and you're able to get some not-especially-appetizing packaged food.

All of you but Onn go back out into the cold, and Mad Maude drives you to the hotel. It has seen better days but at least looks clean. The night manager seems about to turn you away but Maude mentions the Portmaster and he changes his tune at once. Kylah gets a tiny single room, and the four men are crammed into a room that really would be more comfortable for three, or even two, although you each at least have a narrow bed. Your funds are reduced by 650 monits.

The night passes without incident, and you awake to a bright sun shining brilliantly on the snowy town and icy streets outside. The day manager offers to call Maude or arrange for other transportation, or some or all of you may choose to walk.

Onn, in her hospital room, sleeps dreamlessly and wakes feeling, to her surprise, considerably better.

Graham looks grim when he comes out of Onn's room. Is she that unwell?

[Assuming Dr. Mäkeläinen gets in to see Nia before they all leave to get some rest] he tries to judge whether she looks better or worse. His professional perspective is that at least she is breathing and stable and out of immediate danger of crashing thanks to Dr. Anikwata's (and his) efforts, precarious though her status may be. He is not sure if she is in a state to listen, but he explains all that they have done and goes on to say that they are going to continue to try to access out-of-system comms; it was promised by morning but how can they know the veracity of that statement? In any case they will pay for a relay if they have to. He has to step out for some food and a little rest, but they will be back soon and he will bring her some better clothes and anything else she might ask for.

The night does not pass comfortably, but that is more due to worry than to any physical discomfort. He is no stranger to spartan conditions, and, in any case, when one is tired enough blessed sleep comes upon one literally anywhere, possibly short of standing up unsupported. He worries about sending that emergency message by hook or by crook, like he promised, but that is really Ens. Kylah's purvue, even if he were to stay up all night, though he can help if it is a matter of talking to more people in parallel.

Come morning, he will take breakfast to regain some energy and invites anyone who cares to join him in walking to Maude's recommended clothing outlet. Despite everything, he is still able to appreciate the sunny, snowy, utilitarian town.

He asks Kylah how she is doing in general, and also whether an urgent status message to Starfleet can get through now that time has passed.

Kylah huddles in her large but inadequate for the weather clothing, greeting any of the crew who are in the vicinity. She notes the others do not seem to have had a very comfortable night, and she is a little guilty for having better accommodations. Hearing Dr. Mäkeläinen's question, she moves toward him with arms crossing her chest and hands stuffed beneath her sleeves for warmth.

"I am well. Cold but well. I am sorry you did not have as much room as I. Really, one or two of you could have stayed with me. It would not have been troublesome to share a bed--" Her gaze falls on Velir and her cheeks, already red from the cold, add much-needed warmth with her flush. "Bedroom," she clarifies swiftly before she changes focus. "I intended to get up early to arrange for a subspace link, if one is finally available. I fear I overslept. It is terrible, the Yorktown will have expected to have heard from us hours ago. Indeed, I believe the time has past when we were to have met up with them."

She turns to the Day Manager. "Please, sir, we do need to get to the Port Authority if that is the only place where we might test our ability to send a subspace message. Do you know if the problems have been fixed?" Kylah takes a swift look around at the bright outdoors. "If it is far I do think we ought to contact Maude. Our clothing is helpful but not...suitable for the weather. Though of course I can cope if walking is best," she adds hurriedly.

How she wishes she had her marmot fur cloak, used during her few ceremonial trips to Elas's northern-most sub-realms. Soft as down but dense with long white fur, the cloaks--two for day use, and one for evening events as well--were excellent protection from the frigid temperatures.

Kylah takes a surreptitious look at Lt. Graham, wondering how he has fared. "Doctor," she murmurs, "I assume you have not heard anything about Lt. Onn? If not, that would be... good, would it not? I mean surely they would have told us if... her condition changed."

The doctor says, "I would have been alerted. ER patients' vital signs are constantly monitored, and they had nurses regularly looking in on her. It all looked ship-shape.

"I know we originally planned to spend all night nearby, but Lt. Onn needed some rest most of all, as did we. I talked to her before we left. The best thing we can do is get on subspace and arrange transport out of here.

"I was about to go through a place called Lefty's for some suitable clothing. We can't keep walking around in these thin uniforms, even if we are technically on duty." He adds quietly, "Also, we will be less conspicuous, with whatever is going on with that other ship."

"I agree, doctor," Graham says. "We're sticking out like sore thumbs in Starfleet uniforms. All things considered, saving credits is the last thing on my mind so I think we should take the offer of calling Maude for transport. Let's get some inconspicuous - and weather appropriate - gear."

Unless anyone says otherwise we agrees to the day manager's offer to call Maude.

You have a decent breakfast at the hotel.

Maude responds to the manager's call after about ten minutes, and pulls up in her crawler another ten minutes or so after that. She takes you to Lefty's, a cavernous, poorly-heated prefab structure not too far away. It is filled with second-hand stuff of all kinds from just about every corner of known space. Quite a bit of it is junk, but there's some good stuff, too, if you look hard enough. There is clothing of all kinds and styles available, including cold-weather gear, some items of which smell better than others. Lefty himself is there, a small, tired-looking Human male, and a young sales clerk who looks like she'd rather be somewhere else. Neither of them seem especially delighted to see Starfleet personnel, although Lefty smiles a little when he learns you have monits to spend.

Our heroes are far from being naïfs, but do they actually know how much clothes are really worth? Bizhi is mindful of their rapidly disappearing supply of monits. He knows they will not be able to afford another night in a hotel, and possibly equally essential services, unless they are able to contact someone at a Starfleet disbursing office to authorize funds (and who knows how long it will take such an officer to verify their circumstances, get approval for emergency disbursement, of non-Federation hard currency moreover, and get back to both them and the appropriate local official?)

But he was not necessarily going to look for coats of rare and expensive furs in any case. For his part, Bizhi looks for cold-weather gear suitable for a humanoid his size. He is not completely indifferent to looks, but he primarily selects for useful functions and features like active heating/thermal regulation. Hopefully his past experience with specialized Martian clothing gives him at least somewhat of an eye for distinguishing quality functional textiles from junk and useless bling.

"Nia will need something, too," he says. With the implication she will eventually be out of a hospital bed and in a position to need it.

With no response from the Day Manager at the hotel regarding whether the subspace communications system has been fixed, and as usual getting little of value from Maude, Kylah looks without much interest at the unappealing clothing selection. She suspects she could probably buy the entire lot if she wished, but nothing is particularly aesthetically pleasing and besides, her mind is elsewhere.

Since the fastest way to get to a communications unit is buying something and leaving, she grabs something that seems roughly her size, seems warm--neoprene, it says, though that does not enlighten Kylah much. Except for her Starfleet-issue uniforms, her clothes are made from natural sources. The legs might be too long for her, but it is stretchy and it will probably be easy to tuck anything extra inside her boots.

She finds a coat with a furry hood and tries it on, still distracted. When she catches sight of Lt. Graham, she moves closer. "Sir, what do you suggest we do next? I truly must get in touch with the ship--or with someone who can pass along the message for us. It is insupportable to be out of contact this long. They might be thinking anything happened to us. They will know something is wrong. Lt. Onn would not have lagged so far behind schedule. That is not her..." Kylah shrugs in the outsized coat, its fur hood temporarily falling over her eyes until she pushes it back. "Her usual style."

She tries to see if the Lieutenant is trying on anything that will fit him, or if his own thoughts are taken up by thoughts of being so far from his wife, of being so far from the safety of the Yorktown, utterly without any means to leave, and with their commanding officer in a medical emergency. There is an empty hole, a chasm, between all of them, and it is hard not to get lost in it.

"We might as well be in the Delta Quadrant," she says softly, her own thoughts drifting back to a dark place. "They cannot help us, try though they might, and we cannot reach them. Lt. Onn... I cannot imagine what it must be like for her to be trapped on an unfamiliar planet, desperate and surrounded by danger just for being here, regretting things, dreading that she will die in such a strange place..."

Kylah pales and hugs herself in the coat's puffy warmth. Of course she is wrong. She does not have to imagine it. Beaten and battered in the dwindling twilight in a cold alley. "Anubis," she whispers to herself. "I wanted you to find me but could not fathom anything but how helpless and hopeless it was."

Now too warm in the coat, she looks down and unzips it, having some trouble with the zipper through her hazy, fearful thoughts that make her clumsy. "Forgive me. This is no way to talk," she mutters when she finally pulls the jacket off and stuffs it in her arms. Kylah looks up at Lt. Graham again, sensing that some of her despair is bleeding from him. She tightens her embrace around the coat. "We will do our best."

A day. How has it only been a day? Has it been a day? Nia reaches for her communicator to check the time, although her still slow-moving thoughts can't remember if it's auto-adjusted to local time vs. whatever time it would be on the Yorktown. As she looks she realizes that Booker didn't take the device from her, to pass along her message to the Captain. He must really think I'm leaving here, she thinks with a sad but fond shake of her head. She'll forward it to him instead. (Assuming the communicators can link to one another locally?)

Nia pushes herself up against her pillows to a seated position, going slowly to avoid a sense of vertigo. Her stomach is empty as a black hole and she's almost grateful for the nagging ache of hunger. She eyes whatever wires or tubes she's connected to, wondering if any of them are some sort of nutrients. Almost certainly they're giving her fluids with electrolytes. Her mouth's still dry and she finds the call button to ask if she might have something to eat.

If Nia's room has a window, she'll look outside at the sunny day and try to fathom what it would be like to inhale that crisp, cold air--what it'd feel like to be invigorated and alive, instead of having lungs that shrivel against the temperature and lack of necessary elements.

In addition to being hungry, she's awake, which is more than she expected last night. She didn't even want to fall asleep, terrified it would be her last. But she did, and here she is, so... she gets another few hours? I don't want to spend them in bed, she vows, although with a wry, fleeting smile she thinks there might be one situation where a bed wouldn't be so bad to spend your last hours in.

With her current endurance, though? She wouldn't last thirty seconds. She can think of men where that'd be plenty, but... not any she wants to be with.

She coughs and her chest and abdomen ache with how often she's abused those muscles. It's automatic for her to reach for her nebulizer around her neck, so she does, but... it's not there. It's empty, anyway, wherever it is. She managed to reach for and use its last precious dose last night, after Book left and after that sweet kiss, did I dream it? Please let it be real.

Book. And the crew. What are they doing now? Are they in contact with the ship yet?

Jaw jutting as firm as cement, Nia stares out ahead of her. "I'm getting out of here," she says aloud to no one, her voice weak and rough but determined. "I will be with my people when I go."

"That's good to hear, Doctor," Graham reflexively says when the doctor implies Nia will be...up and at 'em A-S-A-P...his own thoughts mock his thin reed of hope.

Deluded hope? Selfish hope? Hope...

Hopeless. Helpless.

It takes him a second focus on an earnest Mr. Kylah, and for all of her earnest--and commendable--efforts to stay on mission and focus the team's attention, she might have been a Denebian Slime Devil ripping out his heart and giving it a good chew before pissing on it.

Hopeless. Helpless.

Like Nia.

Like Jane.

You saved Marala...

But at what price: I was going to bring Nia to meet Lizzy.

A fiendish jester-like Graham flashes before his eyes, garish smile, dancing in front of a bedridden Nia.

Look now I've got a s-o-n...

He paws at some greasy looking fake leathery tunic - that nonetheless looks cheap and warm.

Graham's first attempt at replying doesn't work. It's just a "wh--" sound.

He clears his throat, forcing at least the outward shell over his hollow void to look resolute.

"We need to contact the ship, you're right. Any Starfleet ship. By any and all means necessary."

The hotel's day manager had no update for you on communications links offworld.

With some diligent searching, you can all find cold-weather gear that fits you and isn't too expensive. Please specify if you'll just be buying outerwear, or a replacement for your Starfleet uniform too (shirt and pants).

Onn is able to reach the communicators of Graham and all her Yorktown shipmates on Ollos.

Kylah bites her lip in consternation over the churning emotions evident in Lt. Graham beside her, so carefully controlling himself despite the dark, bleak veil shrouding him. Guilty for having said anything, she looks around self-consciously to make sure no one sees them.

Once she is confident others' attentions are elsewhere, she moves closer to Lt. Graham and tucks her arm underneath his, resting her cheek against his sleeve and giving him a quick but warm, one-armed hug. "We will do so, sir, thank you," she says softly, and then--even more quietly: "You help make me stronger."

Slipping away to allow him his privacy--and out of embarrassment for saying something so personal--she takes heed of Dr. Mäkeläinen's remark about finding something for Lt. Onn... who, hopefully, will have use for it despite the grim prospects. Kylah's eyes scan the racks and tables. The older woman needs warmth above all, so she searches for the heaviest coat that might fit the taller, well-proportioned helmswoman.

The best option is in a section for male clothing, and Kylah moves to take a better look. It is thick leather, tough externally but with a soft fleece lining. Clearly it has seen many years of rough wear; some mended tears are proof of that. But though older, the coat is well-made, with waterproof hide that while stiff now, could probably feel smooth as butter if carefully tended. Whatever injuries the garment has endured, it has been skillfully--albeit visibly--stitched together, and rugged enough to protect from the elements.

It is like Lt. Graham.

Flushing at the thought, which he might not appreciate, she drapes it over her arm. He might not approve or agree with the comparison, but the truth is, Kylah knows he too would protect Lt. Onn from anything if he could.

Laden by the coat, Kylah brings it and the black thermal ski suit for herself (which serves as a replacement for her uniform as well as an outer garment), and the fur hood, toward the front of the store. At the last minute she spots a pair of fur-lined mittens and impulsively grabs from a bin. They are almost clownishly big and floppy on her hands, but the warmth is undeniable and that is what matters.

Plonking her heavy burdens on the counter, and giving a little nod of greeting to "Lefty," she turns to see if the men are on their way. And some claim women take longer to buy things, she thinks with amusement. Kylah is somewhat proud that she never takes long to shop. (That this talent is due to having almost unlimited funds, which allows her to buy whatever catches her fancy, does not immediately cross her mind.)

Bizhi does look for some serviceable shirt and pants, or sark, trousers, robe, tunic, jumpsuit, essentially something or anything that resembles the ordinary clothing he has observed local civilians wearing. It cannot cost much more on top of decent outerwear, and, after all, who knows what might happen? He could fall into a frozen lake and get soaked, for example, and then where would he be without a change of clothes?

"You help make me stronger."

Graham tries to come up with words to respond, but fails before Kylah moves away.

Marala made me stronger, when I was weak.

Too weak to make my sister stronger.

Would Jane have said that?

Would Lizzy say that?

Nia?

Nonetheless it's a lifeline.

You show up to do the job.

Graham looks for utilitarian shirt and pants and then some outer garments built as best he can find for both warmth and durability.

I'll take something that can slow down a shiv as a coat given our reception so far...

Everyone is able to find what they want, more or less, including by Kylah for Onn, and Graham completes the purchase. The final bill is for 422 monits.

Anxious to find news of the subspace link, Kylah bounces lightly on her feet while waiting for the transaction to finish. She quickly offers to pay from her account, at least from her portion of the monits if there is enough to pay for all. She glances at the bright outdoors and turns to the doctor and Lt. Graham.

"If either of you is going to the hospital, perhaps you might deliver the coat for me? If Lt. Onn is... up," she finishes somewhat inadequately. Then she looks across to Velir and then up at Ens. Rawlings--quite a study in contrasting views. "Unless you are going. As a xenobiologist I would imagine you might be of great value," she says gently to Velir, then to Mr. Rawlings: "And of course you are a--"

Kylah is suddenly at a loss for words. From comments here and there it is clear Lt. Onn and the Security Officer are, at the very least, friends, a friendship that was most likely not always platonic. "As a--colleague?" she concludes, even more inadequately than before.

Rawlings says, "I'd be glad to see Lt. Onn again, but I'll go where I'm needed."

Rangin nods. "Likewise. Communicating with our ship and finding a way off this rock have to be our priorities, if you ask me." He looks at Graham.

Regarding the monits, Bizhi says, "I do not think we have individual portions. I thought that just about did it for our funds, but it seems the transaction went through. Otherwise we would end up looking for odd jobs."

"As soon as we are done here, I plan to go straight to the hospital to visit Lt. Onn. At any rate, it does not look like anyone in this port is spontaneously going to go out of their way to help us. Those priorities are something we must actively pursue.

Kylah is suddenly aware that she feels a trifle... defensive, with a hint of irritation. Neither the doctor nor Velir needs to remind her that getting in touch with the ship is their first priority. She does not think she has been remiss in stressing the urgency of her finding a method to get in touch with one of the ships in orbit.

And for Velir to be so unhelpful towards a dying crewmate is unnerving. He was so attentive to Lt. Fujishiro and they did not serve together nearly as long. Perhaps his dislike of Lt. Graham is spreading to Lt. Onn? It is an unworthy thought but while he is not human, he has his prejudices too, as everyone does. She glances at Lt. Graham, wondering if he notices the lack of assistance from an expert on alien biology.

Shrugging off the vague sense that the men seem to believe she must be told of her job--possibly because she is the sole female active on this mission--Kylah turns and reaches to deposit the heavy coat for Lt. Onn into Dr. Mäkeläinen's arms. "Thank you, Doctor. If she is awake, I am sure she will be glad to see a member of her crew. Especially one of those who can possibly assist her case," she says with a note of acerbity aimed in Velir's direction. "Please take this coat to her?"

She turns to Lucky. "I wish to change into my warm clothing now. Is there a dressing room or other area to do so, please?" A thought occurs to her, and Kylah again looks to Lt. Graham. "Sir, do we report our status to Lt. Onn, if she is... conscious? Or are you now... Has Lt. Onn..." An awkward pause ensues as she tries to think of a tactful way to ask this, and fails. "Is she considered unfit to command?"

Graham blinks and takes a moment to process Kylah's question.

"She ah--last night she really needed rest," he replies evenly and reasonably truthfully. He clears his throat. "Next steps will be up to the doctor's evaluation..."

He rubs his chin. "Give the potential hostility toward Starfleet the Portmaster warned us about, no one travels solo if we avoid it. Rawlings - you go with the doc."

He pauses again. "As for the rest of us - well, in this case, Mr. Rangin is right, that's our first order of business." He adds after a second, "Unless Lt. Onn chooses to issue other orders."

Rawlings says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "I think that's right, about the monits. At least, that's how I understood it." Naturally he accepts Graham's order to go with the doctor to the hospital.

Lefty directs you to two none-too-clean changing rooms. You all change into your new clothes before leaving the store.

Maude, waiting outside in the crawler, agrees to take Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings to the hospital. Where do the rest of you wish to go?

Dr. Mäkeläinen nods and receives the coat from Ens. Kylah without comment.

He is pleased with his new clothes after spending so much time, and, of course, so many days, in the same Starfleet uniform (and, not that Fleet dress ever featured prominently in his thoughts, but it lacks something, fashion-wise). It is nice to select clothes based on practical considerations. Plus, they are properly warm. He would feel even better about them if they had been cleaned in living memory, but he judges that any probable exotic pathogens would not have lasted that long, either.

Lt Onn... he will have to see how she is, obviously, but, unless she suddenly took a turn for the worse overnight, as far as he is concerned she is still in charge of this mission. Not that she would be passing any physicals if it is exhausting just to keep breathing and stay awake for a few hours at a time. [A chill as he pictures the physical and mental sensations, and begins to successfully imagine how she must be feeling....] But what is left to do on this mission but arrange to get off this rock, as Rangin put it? So much depends on simply accessing a subspace relay. The wreckage of the Tesla will have to be recovered and every piece carefully examined, and there is that nasty business with the rogue ship or whatever it was, but it seems like they are in a position to help with none of those things.

Kylah tilts her head at Velir and Lt. Graham. She is part of a trio that she would not have anticipated to work alone together, and is not certain how well they will do so now. She hopes their usual... animus... does not rear its head. They are professionals but that has hardly stopped the men from clashing before. Velir can be caustic and Lt. Graham somewhat aggressive. Frankly she cannot tell if her presence will help or hurt their ability to maintain civil relations. Especially if the Lieutenant-- Oh! They are both lieutenants now. Well then if Lt. Graham is in as tense a state as he is now.

With a little clearing of her throat, Kylah lifts a hand in the vague direction away from the hotel. Her furry mitten flaps a little and Kylah feels like a child wearing her parent's clothing. But the mittens were not chosen for their dignity.

"The Port Authority, sir? Sirs," she corrects with a small smile towards Velir before sobering. "I should think that would be the best place to get in touch with ships in orbit, or possibly even access to a nearby subspace relay if the transmitter has been repaired." Her gaze finds Maude. "Have you heard if the system is back online, madam?"

"Haven't heard," Maude says, "but it probably is. When it's out, it usually ain't for long."

Nodding, Kylah takes it upon herself to enter the vehicle. She is being somewhat presumptuous but the whole point of this excursion is to communicate with other ships and convey messages, and these are her tasks. It is relatively rare that Kylah is in a position where the only thing to be done on a mission is her responsibility.

As she gets in she realizes that if she is the first to be seated, the men will have to sit beside one another. That could be awkward, but... there is nothing she can do about it. Or rather, there is nothing she currently feels like doing about it.

She lifts her head to speak to Maude. "Then unless either of the officers objects, let us go there, please, madam."

Mäkeläinen considers asking Maude for walking directions to the hospital, changes his mind, even though it is a nice day and he is finally dressed for it. He wants to just get there as fast as possible and visit Lt. Onn; he could not properly enjoy it, anyway, with that case preoccupying his mind, nor is he sure he would make good company, even if he suspects that, out of all the people here, he would find the unflappable Rawlings one of the easiest to get along with right now. He does not know for sure walking would be safe (though Rawlings does not look like a person someone would casually mess with), but that alone definitely would not stop him.

So, he is content to take a seat in the crawler.

Graham nods at Kylah's somewhat surprising taking of the initiative. "Let's go."

Everyone climbs aboard and Maude drives off, the crawler crunching through snow already beginning to melt in the bright sunshine. There are a few people out and about, picking their way through the streets, and some other vehicles. They, like the town itself, look worn and hard-used. Maude chortles as she sprays pedestrians with dirty, icy slush thrown out by the crawler's treads when she takes sharp corners.

The Ollos Port Authority building is a modern, drab thermocrete dome three stories tall. Portmaster Goll is out, but one of his assistants directs you to the Communications Room. There, a young Tellarite woman sits at a new-ish comm console. She confirms that the colony's out-system subspace commnet is back up again. She explains that a text-only message to the Yorktown will cost 220 monits per word; a real-time audiovisual link will cost 700 monits a second.

Graham listens to the pricing, conscious of their 10,000 monit total loan but also that the most important thing they can do is get the Yorktown hauling ass back here.

"Mr. Kylah, as comms officer, do you have a recommendation about how to best contact the ship?"

The money discussion does not concern Kylah, since to her, it is merely a matter of transferring funds. She focuses on the various buttons, pads and indicators on the new console, trying to get a handle on what they all must mean.

"Yes sir," she says distractedly to Lt. Graham, then moves a little closer to the Tellarite. "Is this strong enough to reach the nearest relay? Or if not, which ship or ships are heading in the right direction? Which would be..."

She pauses, suddenly stuck. She has lost her sense of where they are relative to the Yorktown and Cavinre VII. Or was it Cavinre VI? Her fingers pinch her chin as she tries to concentrate, but decides there is no point in wasting time hoping her memory will return. "Our ship is meant to be at Cavinre... VII...?" Not very confident, she glances up to Velir, then back down to the Tellarite. "We need to get our message there. I do not know how powerful your local relay is. Is it best to ask one of the ships in orbit? We could even hire one to travel in that direction, if there is one willing to change their route."

Kylah straightens, hands on hips, and eyes the console again. "You know your system best, ma'am," she says while examining the screen. "Which tactic would you take?"

The Tellarite frowns as Kylah looks at her communications console a little too closely for her liking. She seems a bit... territorial. "I can reach anywhere you like in the Cavinre system," she says.

The doctor is impatient to get moving, but he is aware that this is their best, maybe only, reasonable chance to summon timely help. His presence here is surely of no help technical-wise or with protocol, but he does have a good memory: "It is certain that a message to the Federation embassy on Cavinre VII marked priority, emergency, whatever the proper term is, will be promptly relayed to the Yorktown, whatever her precise location at the moment."

"Agreed," says Rawlings, "although we could probably also reach the ship directly. Subspace communications reach just about everywhere."

"If you can reach that far," Kylah says with relief to the Tellarite, "please do. Let me have the cont--" She stops herself, noting the somewhat bristly mood of the woman behind the console. Having to be diplomatic when she and the rest of the Tesla crew are so anxious is not an easy task, but the Tellarite has the power to countermand Kylah's request and deny them access, if she were that petty. "That is... may I use your headset and controls? Of course, you know your system far better than I."

In truth the system does not look difficult at all to Kylah, whose Academy training--while shorter than most--was quite thorough when it came to understanding different communications systems. But it costs her nothing to err on the side of flattery.

"If you prefer to open hailing frequencies I will pass along the specific direct subspace band for the Yorktown--our ship," she explains before realizing the context was likely clear from the doctor's reference. "How far are we from the Cavinre system? We went quite off-course during our shuttle breakdown. How much of a transmission delay should there be, if any?"

Graham nods approvingly, his concern for Nia at least momentarily relieved by seeing Kylah apparently in her element and acting with confidence.

The Tellarite, whose name is Ylan, says, a little haughtily, "Sorry, you may not operate the Port Authority's communications system; only qualified employees may do so. There will be," she checks a chart, "a 42-second delay in reaching Cavinre from here. Now then: what message would you like to send? And will that be via text or A/V?" She doesn't have to remind you of the fees for each.

Kylah thanks the operator--not effusively, given the other woman's attitude, but her manner is polite enough. Then she turns to the others. "I should think text would be enough, unless any of you feel our circumstances are best conveyed accurately through visual or audio cues. But the facts--the technical ones about the shuttle and how we ended up here, at least--are straightforward enough for text to serve adequately. It is passing along the news about Lt. Onn that might require some... nuance. Do you agree?"

She has been speaking to them all generally, but now she turns to the doctor. "Should we contact the hospital first to check on her progress, so you may report back? I suppose you wish to confer with Dr. Villa as to whether any treatment is possible." Kylah's hands clasp and unclasp nervously as she glances at Lt. Graham and hurries on. "I mean--possible without the Yorktown's assistance? They are still so far away. If there is a delay of 42 seconds, that means they are... um..." She focuses on Velir, flushing a little. He is much quicker in calculating such things than she is. "How many lightyears would that be? Do we need them to return, or is it..."

Kylah cannot think of a tactful way to ask if there is any purpose in their returning to assist Lt. Onn, or if it will be a waste of time. The mission commander may not have long enough to make a return useful.

"Whatever you think best," she finishes, deferring to Dr. Mäkeläinen, Lt. Graham and Velir, each of whom has areas of knowledge that are of more help than any of Kylah's guesses. But she adds, mostly to Lt. Graham, "And whatever you think Lt. Onn would wish to say, if she could."

Dr. Mäkeläinen says, "Not much nuance to work with in a few words. I would be lying if I said I had any experience with this particular mode of communications, but we need to lay out the essentials and emphasize the need for an urgent response. Something along the lines of TESLA DAMAGED EN ROUTE UNKNOWN CAUSE X CRASHED OLLOS SYSTEM SHUTTLE LOST X PILOT INCAPACITATED X MEDICAL EMERGENCY X REQUEST TRANSPORT REQUEST BILITRIUM AUTHORIZE EMERGENCY EXPENDITURES MONITS X CONTACT VIA OLLOS PORT AUTHORITY, along with a priority flag and a Starfleet authentication code, we should barely be able to afford."

Graham squints listening to the doctor. "Emergency expenditures is a good idea, Doc." He nods, then pauses, collecting himself.

"Doc, what's the--" he clears his throat. "The...prognosis...for N- Lt. Onn..."

Fuck it.

"If she does not get Bilitrium how much time does she have?"

Listening attentively to the doctor's suggestions, Kylah then realizes that he means his truncated sentences--mere phrases, really--to be verbatim. Her brow furrows in some puzzlement but she hurries to take down his words using her tricorder, fingers tapping with quick accuracy.

But when through she holds the device to her chest, almost as if hugging it protectively. After a sidelong look at the operator, she moves slightly farther from the woman's station to whisper to Velir. "I do not quite understand. Why is there the need for such brevity? And the monit issue... why is it--"

She hesitates, worried about sounding foolish or inexperienced or, most likely of all, extremely privileged and out of touch with financial matters. None of which she can argue with, if accused.

When she pauses she registers Lt. Graham's question about Lt. Onn, and falls into a respectful and concerned silence.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is acutely aware of all the attention (and tension). He says, "This is my first case of a patient with hypobilitria. Starfleet Medical has precious few relevant statistics, so I will not quote you figures that are unreliable at best. As soon as I see her current charts with a plot of Bilitrium levels over time, I may be able to give you some sort of estimate. I do know— it could be all Sidonians, but she is even tougher than she looks, which is already something. Based on everything I have read, and what the Lieutenant herself told me, if she falls into a coma, treatment with pure Bilitrium can still stop it, but that is when the clock really starts ticking. Think of a human with acute altitude sickness. But that has not happened yet.

"I am officially declaring a medical emergency, which was in our message. What we hear from the Yorktown in the next couple of minutes, whether they can divert, or send another warp-capable shuttle along with a supply of Bilitrium, or send us the funds to hire our way off world, will determine our best course of action. I suggest whatever's fastest."

The message which Dr. Mäkeläinen proposed is soon sent, with some minor alterations by Graham. The reply comes back three minutes later: Message received. Priorities: restore pilot health, secure shuttle wreck. Bilitrium availability in your sector unknown to us. No Starfleet vessel nearby. Charter or book passage aboard civilian vessel. Come to Cavinre system ASAP. Federation line of credit approved for disbursement, Ollos Port Authority. Best wishes. SINGH, SP, USS Yorktown, commanding.

Ylan deducts 7260 monits from your loan account. She says, "I have separate confirmation of your line of credit, for the equivalent of another 20,065.9 monits."

"'Restore pilot health'," Kylah repeats, shaking her head. "Is it that easy? Perhaps I should have better conveyed the urgency of the matter. Perhaps they would have sent a shuttle themselves with the Bilitrium." She wonders how Lt. Graham feels about the Captain's muted response. Rereading the message, she shakes her head a second time. "I wonder how we can secure the shuttle on our own, in its state. They must not realize just how 'lost' it truly is. As for chartering a--"

Now she stops and rereads the message. "No Starfleet vessel in the vicinity? What about the one that caused problems last night? I suppose it has gone too far out of range already."

Having played her only real part here, Kylah thanks the operator and turns to the others, particularly Dr. Mäkeläinen. "I suppose the hospital should be our next stop? Or should we split, as we planned before? Lt. Graham, Velir and I could try to charter a vessel...?"

"Fuck."

The grunt is reflexive. Like a punch to the gut or a flash of pain behind the eyes. When I did a stint in law enforcement back on Earth a "signal zero"--"officer down"--meant all hands on deck at making heaven and earth move... And now the doc's righteous declaration of a medical emergency, our best effort gets a fucking dot the i's and try harder.

"Don't beat yourself up, Mr. Kylah..." his s speech becomes slower word by word as he realizes what he is saying to whom.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. "I mean - it's not your fault, full stop." He squints at the small young woman suggesting she and Rangin cooperate. "Are you...are you comfortable with that, Ensign?"

Turning her wide, sympathetic eyes to Lt. Graham, Kylah hesitates, uncertain for his concern. She can tell he is not pleased by Capt. Singh's relatively lackluster response, understandably so, and she addresses him gently.

"Why... yes, sir. Of course I do not object. You suggested we split the team before we left, do you not remember? With the doctor and Mr. Rawlings going to the hospital, and the rest of us coming here--"

The meaning of his question coalesces in her mind and she suddenly recognizes the miscommunication. Her sentence had been ambiguous. Lt. Graham thought she meant just her and Velir. And I used 'Velir', too, so casually. He must be wondering...

She flushes and takes a micro-step closer to him. "But you would surely be the best person to select the safest transportation. That is, I am sure Lt. Rangin would accurately assess their scientific capabilities, of course, and I might offer some insight into what the strangers are--"

About to say feeling, she swiftly changes to "--are saying, if--in the unlikely possibility that there is some nuanced language that is not translating well. But for security and a sense of authority, you are surely ideal. Barring Lt. Onn herself." Kylah pauses in regret, then softens her voice further. "That said, if you wish to go to the hospital yourself, we will do our best."

Mäkeläinen feels much the same as Lt. Graham, but no expletive. Is that because he is not truly surprised? Here they are at the mercy of an (at best) unfeeling and unforgiving universe. He should have expected that response. "So, nothing is changed, essentially. We are still on our own. At least we have the credits, I mean monits, to pay what we owe and procure the means to depart.

"I am going straight to the hospital. As for the conveyance, I don't know about counting on that Starfleet vessel—if they are in range, they may be tied up here in red tape for the next half-century or so. The fastest way to Cavinre... in this kind of port, there are packets and freighters, and there are bound to be some independent traders. If you can find a fast ship heading in that direction anyway, equipped with passenger cabins or life support in the cargo hold, they should be more than willing to pick up some extra profit by taking on a few passengers."

"Take good care if N- Lt. Onn, doctor," Graham says quietly. "And in a sane universe what you say makes sense about transport..." He shrugs, and then gives a small smile to Ens. Kyah. "I guess we'll find out. He pauses. "Yes I would like to go to the hospital, but you're right than a team effort to get off this rock is what we need to do."

He grunts. "Rawlings, if anything happens to the doc, that's going to be pretty embarrassing to our department, right?" He adds more softly. "Nia too."

He claps his hands. "All right if there's nothing else let's get to it."

Kylah wishes Dr. Mäkeläinen and Mr. Rawlings good luck, and offers her good wishes to Lt. Onn. She turns to the operator again. "Thank you for your assistance," she says respectfully. "If we may trouble you further... where is the best place here to find or book off-planet transportation?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen assures Lt. Graham that they will check in with the rest of the party after they arrive. He (presumably accompanied by Rawlings) tries to arrange a ride with Maude or another driver who is on call, or public transport---whatever will take them straight to the hospital building where they left Lt. Onn.

Rawlings says to Graham, "Understood, sir. You can count on me." He agrees with the doctor about your good odds in finding a ship in so busy a port.

Ylan overhears what Kylah says and puts in, "The Beowulf was here four days ago, not last night." She adds, "You want a ship? You'll want go to the Black Sun."

Maude agrees, when you ask her, "Quite a place, quite a bar. It's the most popular watering hole around here for offworlders, including starship crew. If you can't find a ship there, I don't know where you could. Tell you what, I could drop you off there after I take the Doc and anybody else back to the hospital, hey? It's not far past that."

You all trudge back out to her crawler, shivering a bit in the biting cold despite the bright morning sunshine and your warm new-ish clothes. In a few minutes Maude has stopped at the hospital, where Dr. Mäkeläinen and Rawlings climb down from the crawler and go inside. She then takes the rest of you to the Black Sun, which is in a black, near-ruined but sizable thermocrete pile with its name in zig-zagging purple hololights over the doorway. On one side is a storefront for Wo & Shade, Importers, and on the other a temple-brothel of the Secret Sisterhood.

What appears to be a body lies partially buried in snow to the left side of the door of the bar.

Kylah (who must have been too tired to catch the correct timing of the Beowulf incident) is busy taking a second surprised look at the "temple-brothel" building when her brain processes what her gaze just skimmed past. Is that lump a buried body?

With a gasp she takes an immediate step toward it, but just as quickly stops short. This is Lt. Graham's area of expertise, and Velir can run a scan to see if this... whatever it is... is (or was, as the case may be) a living being. Kylah will stay out of their way, but tries to empathically reach out to see if this is someone simply unconscious or even asleep.

"Still a bit nithered," Bizhi absently tells Rawlings as they enter the hospital. "It must take a few days to get used to the climate...." He looks down at the outfit of warm clothes that Kylah picked out for Nia.

More forcefully, he proceeds, "First order of business, then: let's visit the Lieutenant. Fetch her something to eat better than hospital food, if she's feeling up to it." She will appreciate a briefing, too, not that there is much to report yet, even including the short message from the Yorktown, which has not appreciably changed anything regarding their circumstances.

He heads toward the Emergency Room reception, where they will ask to see Lt. Onn.

Graham raises an eyebrow at the bar, the brothel, and the...body.

"Mr. Rangin, as inconspicuously as you can, check what that is and if it--they--are still alive."

Rangin looks around, sees no one else on the street, and runs a discreet tricorder scan. He says, "Human male, about 40, sir, and dead, unfortunately. I'm no medico, but it looks like he froze to death at least... six hours or so ago."

A nurse shows Bizhi and Rawlings into Lt. Onn's room. She is sitting up and looks much better than when you last saw her.

Kylah exhales, having held her breath while Velir ran his scan, and stares down at the unknown man. "Froze. How horrible!" Her shuddering is no longer simply from the weather. She cannot forget how close they all might have been to such a death, back in the Tesla.

"Is there no chance that he could be..." The question, whether the man might be revived if warmed up, seems foolish and she does not complete it. She forces herself to keep her gaze on the man--it is the least she can do now to pay him, in his death, the attention and respect that were wanting at the end of his life.

The sip of cool, fresh water is, as always, a relief and joy that Nia feels grateful for even now, ten years after leaving Sidonia behind and with her life in dire straits. Of course she can only take small sips, because she needs to breathe more than she needs to enjoy the luxury of drinking. Any moment swallowing is a moment without even the pretense of breathable air.

She hears the door to her room whoosh open, which isn't a surprise since she's expecting the nurse with the breakfast she requested earlier. (To her hungry stomach it seems like she pressed that call button a month ago!*) But when she lowers the cup she sees the equally welcome face of Dr. Mäkeläinen.

"You're back!" Nia blurts, then almost winces at the banality. I've got few enough words left. Probably shouldn't waste them on the obvious. She clears her throat so her voice is somewhat less of a rasp, and tries to mask her short shallow breaths through action: namely, trying to swing her legs off the bed. "Well," she says somewhat shakily, "If nothing else, we've both learned how good Lexorin is. Did you reach the ship?"

Please say 'yes, and despite the infinitely tiny likelihood, the Yorktown somehow tracked us and has traveled all night at Warp 9 to get here, which'll be in about an hour.'


* hee :)

Dr. Mäkeläinen is touched by Nia's reaction. He feels vaguely guilty for not staying overnight: it must not have been fun spending the night sick and alone (or surrounded by indifferent hospital staff). But, ultimately, she is technically the Ollos Port General Hospital's patient, not his, and, even if he were employed here, spending hours loitering around the Emergency Room while too tired to do any real work would not have made Bilitrium or any other medicine appear any faster. Also, Nia knows as well as he does that duty sometimes brings hazards and privations as it does, other times, wonders and ineffable beauty. She did not need her entire crew around to hold her hand....

Despite no news being good news, he is relieved to see her with his own eyes looking much more animated. He doubts it has anything to do with Lexorin as much as her own natural resilience plus the cocktail of other medications they have been pouring into her, but it is not time to discuss that, nor has he seen her charts or talked to the ER doctors yet.

She wants to hear about the Yorktown first, anyway. "We did this morning," he answers, "but it did not improve our situation as much as you would think. Here, see for yourself—" if he has a copy of the original orders he shows her and forwards it to her communicator if it is not already there. "I emphasized it was an emergency, but, whatever is going on in this sector, Starfleet does not have and cannot send any ship. We have enough currency to pay our bills and, if we're lucky, hire a small yet fast ship to take us to Cavinre. The others are out taking care of that right now.

Not sure how we are meant to secure the Tesla. Even if we could afford to take our time, we would have to contract with someone to raise it out of the frozen lake. We may be able to guard it, but, with no one coming, what then? Get it onto a ship as freight? They are right about one thing: it's Starfleet property, we still don't know what hit us in the first place which I am sure they are eager to find out, I know I am, and, if we do not do anything, some local entrepreneur is going to try getting their hands on it on their own initiative."

He pauses for a minute, reflecting.

"We brought you some clothes," he says, and places the bundle next to the rest of her stuff. "And we can get you something to eat better than hospital food." He realizes he has no idea what she likes for breakfast. "What do you prefer?"

As Mäkeläinen talks--his bedside manner is quiet but professional--Nia reads Singh's message or listens to the Doc's recitation of it, if he doesn't have the text to forward to her and keeps her expression still and frozen, like the Tesla is now. But, also like the Tesla, her heart has plummeted and she doubts her spirits are recoverable.

"I see," she murmurs, processing it all while her gaze remains somewhere in the vicinity of Mäkeläinen's chest. "Well. No cavalry. Didn't expect one, but..."

But is this really all they've got for her? She's not expecting weeping and wailing on this brusquely, curiously terse message*, but some regret would've been nice. Even better would've been a pledge to contact any Starfleet ships close enough to rendezvous halfway between here and Cavinre with whatever sluggish piece of junk the crew can hire for passage.

What do you expect? You fucked up the prototype for a much faster, much more powerful shuttle, and you're high-maintenance damaged goods yourself. Face it, your value's to Starfleet's gone way the hell down.

After a second or two she rouses herself to get back into Mission Commander mode, and sits up straighter to look back up at the doctor.

"Thanks, Doc. For the report, and clothes, too. Securing the Tesla... there's tech on there, experimental stuff, that really shouldn't be discovered by outsiders. Especially any Romulans near this system." That was a long sentence and she takes a much-needed breath and tries to chop up her words more efficiently.

"So if we can't raise or adequately secure it, we might need to do some diving work." Breathe. "...And disassemble some of those newer features. Or set it to self-destruct." Breathe. Her eyes close at the prospect of destroying that shuttle. "At least, if that's what Vargas wants."

Nia puts both hands on the edge of the thin mattress, clutching it like a life raft. "Your orders are clear, anyway. 'Restore pilot health.' Easy-peasy," she adds dryly. Then after a deep breath. "Anyway. Breakfast. Right. Thanks. Something with protein--if my kidneys can handle it. Gotta watch out for organ shut down. Not that you need reminding of that." She gives a sort of apologetic shrug for again speaking the obvious.

What isn't obvious, and what she absolutely needs to convey, are her wishes. Or orders. Assuming she's still in command. Nia's not even sure what her status is, but she's sure as hell gonna act as if she's still leading. She won't go out shirking duty.

"Once I get some food in me," she says more energetically, "I'll use those clothes. Give 'em here, please?" Nia holds out her arms for the bundle Mäkeläinen's carrying. "Are the rest of the crew here too? I want to get out and back to duty."

It sounds ridiculous even to her ears, and she tries to stave off any medical objections. "I'm dizzy and my nerves are buzzing. Like I'm one big communicator on vibrate. But I can think, and I can walk." She smiles crookedly at him. "I might be the walking dead, but as long as I can move... I want to lead my crew. For as long as I've got."

The last words are weak and shaky, too emotional, and she quickly clears her throat and boosts her mood. She tilts her head wryly. "That is, unless Graham's mutinied already?"



* She doesn't know the message length restrictions.

Graham grunts acknowledgement of Rangin's report. "At least no obvious signs of foul play, " he says to the two officers accompanying him. "Initial cause of death Romulan disruptor would be all we need right now."

He rubs his chin. "Mr. Kylah, you're at my side. We may need your communications skills. Mr. Rangin...I hope you don't take offense at 'Security' duty, but you're our wingman. Keep your eyes peeled and don't hesitate to subtly--or not--let me know if something looks squirrely."

"All right, if there are no other questions, let's enter this...ah, fine establishment..."

A harried-looking orderly comes in with Onn's breakfast, says a quick "Hello" to her visitors, and puts the tray on her bedside table. "Need anything else?" she asks the patient.

"Understood, sir," says Rangin to Graham. They and Kylah enter the Black Sun together. Two very large Tellarite bouncers/security guards stand near the inside entrance and boredly look you over. A wave of smoke bearing the scents of a dozen hard-to-identify intoxicants washes over you; Rangin can't help but cough. It's loud and pretty dark inside, with many voices talking all at once, and indirect and somewhat jarring lighting of red, purple and green here and there. Kylah has a sense that the room is very large, but none of you can see very far back into it. From where you stand, though, you can see several dozen people at tables or in booths, mostly Human but a number of other races too. Some look at you but most pay no attention.

Weird and loud music is coming from a four-piece electronica group farther into the bar and to your left; the singer appears to be a young Klingon woman in a tight black leather outfit with wild hair.

A mangy-looking Caitian waiter directs you to a table, or you could be seated at the long bar which runs along the wall to your right, disappearing into the dark.

Realizing she hasn't greeted Rawlings, Nia offers him a gentle, affectionate nod. They weren't a love match by any stretch, but the few times they had together were fun. A big man with a kind heart.

She looks down at the meal on the tray, trying to identify it all, then thanks the orderly. "Possible to get some coffee, please? Tea? Even hot water'll do." While sleeping Nia warmed up under the covers at last, but now that she's awake, she's feeling the chill of emotional and physical weariness. The disappointing word from the Yorktown didn't help, either. It's still hurtful.

Her brows lower in a frown as she thinks of it. I mean... "Restore pilot health." Wouldn't even use my name. Doesn't seem like Thalen so he was probably transcribing. Was it Singh? Vargas? Either way I'm obviously already gone to them.

Picking up a piece of toast, she nibbles at a corner. It's as dry and depressing as she feels.

The visuals, scents and sounds are overwhelming. Kylah stays close to the men though her attention bounces from place to place like one of the arcade games she once played on Earth. Even so, ever since they entered the club so quickly, something has been nagging at the back of her mind. At last it hits the forefront.

She tiptoes up to reach Lt. Graham, the only way she will probably be heard. "Sir... should we not have seen if the man outside had any ID? Just leaving him there... Someone might know him." Heels back on the floor, Kylah passes the same concerned look to Velir. "I just asked if I should have looked for identification for that poor man," she explains.

About to add a little more, her focus suddenly shifts to the Klingon on stage. A Klingon. Kylah's lips part in surprise, then hurriedly darts her gaze from the singer to Lt. Graham to Velir and back again.

If possible, she will try to find someone receptive enough for a question so she can ask, loud enough to reach past the music, "Pardon me, what is the name of this band?"

The orderly nods, and soon returns with coffee, which is surprisingly good for hospital coffee.

Rawlings says, "You're looking better, Mr. Onn. Last night, if you'll pardon my saying so, you looked like death warmed over. Whatever the doc gave you did you a world of good. How do you feel, really?"

The Caitian waiter says in barely understandable Federation Standard, "The group's name is Klara and The Threats."

Mäkeläinen looks longingly at the coffee. Regarding the tray of food, he says, "If you have an appetite, I will get you something more substantial from the canteen."

"The others are not here; I just left them. They are on their way to some local hangout to charter a ship. Mutiny, well, there is always the risk someone will be seduced by this utopian tropical paradise and not want to leave, but I daresay you should be able to raise them via communicator."

Concerning the Tesla, he suggests, "If it were merely a matter of raising the wreck, a deal might be worked out with a local salvage operation, though it is not clear what we are authorized to offer them beyond our inadequate remainder of cash. Also—" he thinks for a second about what she said about classified technology; for all they know, it could be the Romulans who are the best in the salvage business here, and, in any case, how likely are they to find anyone outside of the crew of the Tesla with a Starfleet security clearance? He continues, "Anyway, we can communicate with the Yorktown for further instructions."

He agrees with Rawlings' remark that she looks better, but he wants to talk to the physician on duty and look over her charts. She understandably wants to get back to work, but she was on the verge of systemic collapse only last night. If Ens. Rawlings had not asked her for a self-assessment, he would have done so himself, so he pays attention to her response.

Graham cocks an eyebrow at Kylah, wondering about her question about the band.

He leans in toward the young ensign. "That band certainly got here from somewhere else...is that what you're thinking?"

He gestures for Kylah and Rangin to follow him to the table.

Kylah is glad for the darkness as she moves toward the table. "I am interested in music, and this sort is... new to me." It does not sound like music, in fact, at least not the sort she enjoys hearing--and is not at all typical of Klingon tastes, either.

She wonders at neither Velir nor Lt. Graham's answering her question about the dead man's ID, but suspects it must have been a naive impulse. They have more experience at places like this; perhaps such things are commonplace on Coridan and Earth, at least wherever Lt. Graham hails from.

Sitting, she turns around to watch the band, particularly the singer of course. She tries to explain her interest--at least, some of it--further. "I have not heard of Klingons traveling by themselves, off-world, much less involved in a group that does not include other Klingons. Does that not seem curious to you?"

With a shrug Kylah switches her gaze to search for anyone who seems to be wearing any sort of uniform. Though uniforms are hardly necessary for civilian space flight, it is also not unusual to have crew wearing some distinctive outfit of some sort.

The hot, strong coffee is perfect for warming Nia's insides, and the steam wafting to her face as she lifts the cup towards her with both hands feels good as well. She takes her time sipping, allowing her to listen to Rawlings and the Doc--who has an impressive array of knowledge. Someone with such broad experience will be a highly useful crewmate to have on missions off the ship. Maybe she should edit her memo to the Captain to add this observation.

She takes in Mäkeläinen's report, surprisingly disappointed that the others aren't here but, on the other hand, relieved that they're off finding transportation. "Thanks," she says to both men after lowering the coffee. "I am hungry, enough to eat whatever this stuff is. So that probably shows just how hungry I am."

The remark is lighthearted--the food doesn't really seem bad. She addresses the doctor first. "You're right. We'll have to see if we can get more detailed information from Vargas re salvaging or scrapping the Tesla. Are funds that low?" Nia frowns, trying to recall if she knew this or not. "I don't want to sound like I like spending other people's money, but we've got royalty on board. Surely the Elasian treasury is wide open to Kylah. Starfleet can reimburse her if it comes to it."

She is, of course, stalling. They probably know she's stalling, too. Setting the coffee down and breaking off another piece of toast, Nia pretends she's occupied with spreading whatever-it-is, some goo like jelly or jam or marmite (Ajay's favorite) that she doesn't immediately identify, onto the bread.

"How I'm feeling," she says at last. "It's a mix. I feel like I've got a shot of a stimulant of some kind zipping through me. My muscles want to move. My head is foggy but I'm not feeling like I'll pass out any minute." Hesitating, she puts the toast back on the tray without tasting. She just stares at it.

At last she aims an honest, not-quite-as-desperate-as-she-is-but-still-pretty-fucking-concerned look at the doctor. "I want," she says quietly but intensely, "to take a breath that doesn't make me feel worse than the one before. It's like--like--" Words fail her for a few seconds. "Like I'm in a building that's burning in slow-motion. The air's thick. Flames all around me so there's nowhere to escape. I can still breathe but the smoke's rising higher and higher, choking me and turning my lungs to ash. Slow. But steady." She swallows her sore throat. "And inevitable."

Graham, Kylah and Rangin sit down at a table. Rangin rubs his chin and says to Kylah, "You're right, it is kind of unusual to find a Klingon off by himself or herself. Maybe she wants to be a rock star... or maybe there are other Klingons around that we just haven't met yet."

Kylah sees several people in uniforms, or scraps of uniforms, but none that she recognizes.

There is shouting a few tables away, then screaming, as a hulking four-armed alien knifes a much smaller Axanar, who noisily dies as he is pulled away and towards the door by one of the Tellarite bouncers. No one seems to take much notice of it. The larger alien turns back to its tankards of some purplish brew.

At the hospital, Dr. Mäkeläinen is able to find Dr. Sophie Anikwata, who looks surprisingly well-rested and put-together, considering that she was apparently at the hospital all night. After greeting him and exchanging a little chit-chat, she somberly tells the Starfleet physician, "Your Lt. Onn was in very bad shape after you left last night, but the CMO of a Denobulan freighter upstairs was able to synthesize some coveserol for me. It's an LNT-3 stabilizer. There was a clinical trial on Arcadia that I read about a few months back and, since we couldn't get any bilitrium, it seemed like the next best thing. Between you and me, she could have died without it. She responded well to it, fortunately, and her biosigns this morning are much improved. It's a stopgap, though, really, until you can get her back on bilitrium." She hands him a small, gray, rugged carrying case. "There are seven doses in here, which at one a day should last you a week. She might build up a tolerance and it won't last you that long, though. I just don't know for sure, with a Sidonian. The sooner you can get her bilitrium, the better."

Rawlings, concerned, squeezes Onn's shoulder. "Hang in there, Lieutenant. We're going to get you back to the Yorktown as soon as we can."


https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Axanar
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Denobulan

"Still on shift?" Mäkeläinen commiserates, knowingly.

He listens carefully to what Dr. Anikwata has to say about Lt. Onn's condition, then finally nods. "Sounds like nearly the best we can hope for in the short term, barring a source of Bilitrium. My colleagues and I are operating under the assumption, so far borne out, there is none to be obtained in this sector, at least not through regular channels in a timely manner, and we've already prioritised chartering a ship.

"To that end, the Lieutenant says she is feeling somewhat better, relatively speaking, and is understandably anxious to do something besides lie in bed and wait. With the stabilizer in effect, would you be able to release her for limited duty? Talking to our ship, coordinating operations, and so forth, not strenuous exercise?"

At the first sound of the fight Kylah swiveled in concern at the ruckus. Once the knife appeared and that--that unknown multilimbed alien aimed it at the small one, she jerked with alarm out of her chair and backed away behind it. Now her hands clasp the chair back and she stares, horrified, at the corpse's lifeless journey as it is propelled outdoors like a mere nuisance.

Worse, the killer is allowed to sit back down. Kylah, mouth agape, stares from him to her crewmates. "What--what do we do? How can they just--" Her gaze falls to the floor when she notices the trail of the victim's blood. She cannot identify what color it is due to the lights, but it does not look either red or purple, as she is used to. It still makes her ill. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she gasps, "Is this place utterly lawless?!"

Dr. Anikwata smiles and says, "Yes, I don't think she should be running in any marathons, and she should avoid stress if possible, but I'm willing to discharge her. You should keep a close eye on her, though." She picks up a data pad and makes a few notations. "There. She's free to go. Talk to the admin assistant before you go for billing, would you? Right. Safe travels!"

Rangin looks at Kylah with sympathy and then says, his face grim as he sees the blood trail, "It was like this on some parts of Coridan. Not lawless... not entirely. But definitely not safe, either. This isn't the Federation, remember. This isn't our world, and they don't live by our rules."

The music pounds away. The Caitian waiter returns. "Your orders, gentlebeings: libations, intoxicants, mood alterers...?"

A kind smile flickers on Nia's lips and she reaches up to cover Rawlings's large hand with hers where it clasps her shoulder. She's a tall woman, curvy and strong-boned, but Double-T's always made her feel uniquely small and... almost dainty. Delicate. As much as she can be, anyway. Probably the way Cece Bennett feels all the time. The sort men swarm to protect.

Nia's been raised not to need that--she's taught herself not to need it. Now and then, though... it's not a bad thing, to be vulnerable. When there's someone to be there with you.

"Thanks, Double-T. Hope to see the Yorktown again. If not..." She glances up at him speculatively. Well, Lu might kill me for saying this, but if I'm dead it won't matter much. "I'll leave you with a little nudge. Not sure if you're 'with' anyone now. But... you know Guzman--Luisa Guzman? Relief Nav? She's kinda shy, but funny and real warm when you get past her shields." Nia's eyebrow raises in amusement. "And I don't think that'd be too hard. I've seen her noticing you. Just have a hunch you might make a nice pair. If you're looking."

Squeezing his hand and releasing it, Nia reaches for her coffee again. Maybe if she croaks on this rock, her legacy'll be having selflessly paired up her past romantic Yorktown partners with other women. She's on quite a roll. Between Book and Double-T that's 2 for 2 so far. That leaves, what, a dozen more still onboard to go? she thinks wryly. Not sure I can manage that from who-knows-how-many light years away.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is in a position to appreciate all that Dr. Anikwata has done for them. He asks for a link to the clinical trials she mentioned and thanks her, saying it was a pleasure to meet her.

Back with Lt. Onn and Ens. Rawlings, he tells her, "Well, you are officially discharged. Whenever you feel you're ready, we can settle our bill and walk out of here. I don't think we can count on any miracles; medically speaking, getting back to the Yorktown is still a priority.

"Here," he hands over the case containing the coveserol mixture. "This is the synthetic stabilizer they used in lieu of Bilitrium. You should be the one to hold on to it. One dose per day."