Star Trek RPG - Mission #4: "Codex Aelyrr"

Like a light going on in a pitch black room, Collins' is suddenly struck with the memory of where she saw the Chorell's name before. "Computer," she says definitively, "Search all Starfleet classified Security reports and briefings from the last fourteen days for any mention of the star ship Chorell."

Anxiety chilling her, Kylah manages a grateful nod at Chief Nguyen while opening her communicator with pale, bloodless fingers. "Ensign Kylah to Det. Lt. Ruthen," she says, her voice betraying her taut nerves. "We are about to beam you up, if you are ready; I will be here to greet you. Our transporter chief will lock on your police communicator, as you suggested. Please let us know if you are ready and we will energize on your word."

Roble steps aside from the Science I station for Collins to ask her question of the Library Computer. It whirs briefly before stating, in its flat quasi-female voice, "Working... search complete. Caution: classified information may not be verbally disclosed in the presence of personnel lacking appropriate clearances. Do you wish a printout?"

Ruthen says, "Thank you. Ready when you are." Chief Nguyen beams her up at once, and she looks around the transporter room. The Thoth detective is a black Human woman of late middle age, with sad eyes and short gray hair, and is dressed in a dark suit. "Never been on a starship before," she says, smiling a little. As she steps down from the platform, Kylah sees she is holding a large datapad. "You must be Ens. Kylah...?"

Kylah nods. "Yes, ma'am. Welcome to the Yorktown; I appreciate your meeting me here," she says, trying to put some warmth into her words although the effort is a strain. She introduces Ruthen to Chief Nguyen and, after thanking the latter, asks Ruthen to follow her.

As they walk to the turbolift,* Kylah explains that they will be heading to Conference Room 2. "I have asked a colleague to join us. He is a security officer and accustomed to such procedures, and I wanted his company. I... I hope that is all right."



* Transporters are on decks 7 and 21, while conference rooms on decks 2, 7 and 17. I assume the rooms are numbered from the top down. So logically I gather Conference Room #2 is up on the highest deck possible--although it kinda depends how many conference rooms there are on the ship. Anyway, if I'm wrong, please correct me.

"Yes." Collins tells the computer.

Rangin nods at Delaney as he begins his work and then turns to the remaining guests. "If you will excuse me, I need to return to Sciences to pick up some extra telemetry devices for the bioscanner. With luck, we can at least have a test rig running in the next 24 hours, ready for some proper testing."

He takes his leave and heads off out of the Cargo Bay with a checklist of things to get.

Det. Lt. Ruthen says, "Sure, no problem. You can have someone with you." You soon arrive in Conference Room 2; Ens. Graham walks in shortly afterwards.

The Library Computer provides Lt. JG Collins with a printout. The only reference to the Chorell in the past two weeks is a classified Starfleet Intelligence report from 12 days ago stating that the freighter - along with two other cargo ships, the Adeline and Mists of Yvarra - was mentioned by a previously-reliable informant on Morra III as possibly being engaged in arms smuggling along the Orion frontier. There was no independent confirmation of the report by SI at the time, and there's been no update since. Collins now remembers having seen the report at the time it was first distributed.

"Very well," says Lt. Patel. "Carry on, Mr. Rangin."

Collins stands and lets Roble sit again. She half sits on the console beside him. "Commander, the Chorell could be involved in smuggling. Could their cargo be camouflaging weaponry?"

Graham introduces himself to the detective and gives Kylah an encouraging nod and brief smile before sitting down--one chair away from his colleague, hoping to find a balance between being supportive, giving her space, and not interfering.

Giving Graham a grateful but almost pleading look, Kylah then turns to Ruthen and invites her to sit down. She then takes her own seat and keeps her hands clasped tightly beneath the conference table--but when they feel too damp with perspiration, wipes them on her skirt before clasping them again.

"I... have never done anything like this," she murmurs, unable to keep from staring at the datapad. "Of course I will help however I can, but I must tell you, my memories from yesterday are not very strong. They gave me a concussion, and things surrounding the attack are foggy. Besides, it was dark and they were all wearing masks..." Kylah shrugs in embarrassment and finishes hoarsely, "I hope I can be of use despite everything."

Roble shrugs. "Anything's possible, but I doubt it, based on the earlier scans. Would you like a more intensive scan, Lieutenant? We could launch a probe, with APC approval, or I could use the ship's sensors more intrusively."

The Thoth cop sits down at the broad table. "I understand. Please just relax, and do your best." She turns her datapad so that Kylah can see its large display, which is blank at the moment. Her voice shifts and she now sounds like she is speaking almost by rote, following a script as she has done many times before: "I am about to show you a photo array compiled by my fellow officers. You will see ten people of similar appearance. You may see a closeup of any of them you wish, or look at them in any order you wish after seeing all ten. The images can be rotated so that you may see them from any angle. You may or may not recognize any of the faces you see. The array may or may not show an actual suspect in your case. It is possible you will recognize no one, and of course you should not feel obliged or required to pick any person. You may pick none, one or several. In keeping with best police practices, I do not myself know which, if any, person shown may be a suspect in your case, so that I cannot, even without meaning to do so, influence you. The decision is yours alone. But if you have seen anyone shown, at any time since your arrival here, please tell me. Take as much time as you need." She coughs. "Do you have any questions, ma'am?"

Not only are her hands clammy, but Kylah feels beads of perspiration forming on her scalp and forehead beneath her thick, curling hair. "I understand," she says, and since the words are so breathy they are nearly inaudible, she clears her throat and repeats them, adding: "Then... if I recognize someone, it might not be a suspect. It could just be a passerby, someone I saw at a shop--someone not involved at all."

She darts a glance at Graham before looking back at the older woman. "I do not wish to implicate anyone if I cannot remember how I know them, simply because they look familiar." Her gaze sinks to the datapad in front of her. "But I will do my best," she finishes in a murmur.

"Let's start with a deeper scan," Collins says while thinking about her options "and if there's an inkling of anything there, we'll check with APC about that probe."

Rangin heads back to the Science labs and picks up a couple of diagnostic recorders and the plans for the old Garudo Mk VI. It's been a little while since he last used one, but it was a workhorse for many years and a lot more robust than the current ones.

He smiles wryly as he refreshes his memory, thinking back to a safari he had been on as a student. Two weeks spent running around and over arid plains cataloging insect species, lugging it around between ten of them and keeping it in running order. They could have got rough figures from orbit, but it had been decided that a more local team would be preferable so as to not disturb the habitat. He'd been one of the first to volunteer and the credits for it had been useful. It had survived better than they had, when they crawled back into civilisation, but the experience was about to become even more invaluable.

Ruthen nods. "OK. Here you go." She taps a button, and ten faces appear on the screen. All are white Human men of generally similar looks, each about 40 to 50 years old. Kylah immediately recognizes Man #4 as the man who gave her the briefcase with the Andorian crowns in the bar's basement office. Man #10 looks familiar but she can't quite place him. Graham recognizes none of them, although Man #9 looks a little like an Academy classmate of his.

Roble turns back to the Science console and taps at the keys, turning the Yorktown's advanced sensor suite to even more thorough use. "Stand by... scanning now."

Rangin continues to go about his work.

Kylah has experience at keeping her face neutral, and she does so now. But she cannot control her dry mouth or the slight burning of her cheeks. Swallowing, she lifts a hand to touch the photo of Man #10, expanding it and looking at it from various angles in order to determine why he seems familiar to her.

Although she has put it off as long as possible, she then turns her attention to Man #4. A stab of nausea hits her, and her leg muscles start to ache and contract as if her adrenaline is ordering them to prepare to flee.

She does not touch his face. Even his photo seems likely to harm her. Was he in that dark room with the other two men? She thinks he was, that was her impression at the time and still is. But she will not say as much.

After a deep breath, she exhales. "The fourth image," her voice croaks out. "He is the man who exchanged my money. I do not know his name. I do not know if he was..." Kylah turns to Graham for support, licking her lips in a hopeless attempt to moisten them. "...If he was involved in the mugging," she concludes, looking back at Ruthen. "I just know he exchanged my money as asked, and gave me the cash in return. I know that for certain. The light in the basement of the bar, where we made the exchange, was dim but clear enough to see."

Her gaze shifts to Man #10. "This one--I am sorry, I mean number ten--he... I may have seen him before. He has a familiar face, but I am not sure..." Kylah concentrates to search her memory.

"Just say what you remember, to the best of your ability," Graham says quietly as Kylah looks toward him. Mostly he's worried about how she's doing trying to remember the traumatic incident--though at the back of his mind the run-around he was getting from the bartender nags at him.

With a small nod, as much to herself as to Graham, Kylah continues to look at the tenth image for a few seconds more. "My memory of the incident is vague but I do remember the money exchange," she says, a little more forcefully than before. She wants to assure Graham that she is being truthful, even though he knows that she intends to keep a great deal of her story a fiction.

"I can only say for sure that number #4 is the person who gave me the Andorian crowns for my credits. More than that, I... I did not see the attackers. They wore masks." Kylah knows both of the others are aware of this, yet finds herself repeating it anyway. "But exchanging the money is not something you can arrest him for. Or... is it?" Her eyes widen and her heart races with the new concern. "Such a transaction--that is not illegal on Anubis, is it? Am I in trouble? I promise I never meant to break the law!"

Sinking back into her chair--as if distance from the datapad will prevent her from being associated with the men depicted on it--Kylah hugs herself and falls silent. Surely Graham would have told her if she was implicating herself in a crime? And Lt. Thalen...

Calm. Remain calm. I am letting my imagination run away with me. She forces her breathing to slow down and, although her fingernails are digging into her arms wrapped around her body, she does her best not to exude such obvious desperation and guilt. With difficulty, she looks back at the datapad and the vaguely familiar final image.

Graham realizes he had started leaning forward toward Kylah a bit, and straightens slowly in his chair, shifting his gaze from Kylah to the detective. Out of professional courtesy and in order to make sure he's not perceived as interfering he'd prefer she speak first--although he hopes she doesn't leave Kylah hanging, in obvious distress...

"Currency exchanges over certain amounts are supposed to be reported under Anubis law," the cop says, "but that's not my concern, and it's not part of our investigation. Don't worry about it. How certain are you about Man #4? And when, or in what context, do you think you might have seen Man #10?"

Graham can't help but smile slightly at the detective's reply. He doesn't know Thoth law or how they organize their justice system, but in his experience most street cops would see violation of a "victimless" check-the-box financial reporting requirement as a cross-agency bureaucratic nightmare they want no part of.

He clears his throat, searching for something to say that wouldn't in any way appear to bias Kylah's response. "Take your time, ah--can I get you any water, Mr. Kylah?" he offers. "Detective?" he adds, with a glance her way.

While Roble monitors the scan, Collins goes back to the big chair and sits but doesn't relax.

The detective says, "No, thanks, but I wouldn't object to coffee."

After a few minutes, Roble says, "Scan complete. Still nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Collins. I think it very unlikely they're smuggling; at least, not now, and not with this cargo. We could ask - or insist - on sending a boarding party, if you wish...?"

Collins considers the options but comes to no definite conclusion. "I defer to your experience, Commander." she tells Roble.

Kylah shakes her head. "No, thank you, Mr. Graham." She is feeling lightheaded, having had no breakfast today--nor anything to eat yesterday other than the Bellaque. But she wants to get this over with. "Detective, I do not think I can identify the man in #10. He might be someone I saw at a shop or the bar or in the street... or he could just remind me of someone from the resort planet we left recently. But as for #4..."

She drags her attention back to the earlier image and pauses for a moment, remembering how smooth and businesslike he was as he handed her the heavy briefcase. Her eyes flutter closed at the memory before she recovers herself. "I am very sure," she says hoarsely. "Unless he has a twin or a clone, the person in the fourth photo is the man who exchanged my Federation credits in the bar in Thoth."

Her hands reach up to clutch the edge of the table with white fingertips, trying to draw strength from it. "Given what you told me earlier about your lack of knowledge of the case... I do not suppose you know whether this photo is from some old record, or if--if he has been arrested?" Kylah turns to Graham, also for strength. "Will he know that I identified him?"

Graham swallows. It's pained him to watch how much Kylah has struggled, and, despite her age, her last comment is the final straw...

The sound wakes him, instantly, and he's across the room, and while Jane is still starting ask 'what was that?' he's through the hall, into the bedroom. Nothing but a nightmare. Lizzy clutches at him as he takes a seat on the bed. 'It's OK, you're safe,' he says, taking hold of her.

There's no monster here. But if there were, you'll get away even if I won't, and that's ok, he thinks.

The Thoth cops he's interacted with have been solid, but he's sure of it anyway. He glances at the detective, then leans forward toward Kylah, only holding back from placing a hand on hers because...well, I don't know why...

"Either way, it doesn't matter," he says quietly but with conviction. "You're safe."

Roble thinks for a moment. "Knowing what we now do, I would not advise a boarding, Mr. Collins. But you have the conn, and I'd be glad to discuss the possibility of further steps with you and the Captain."

"All of these pictures were taken in the last year or two," the cop says. "I don't know if he's been arrested. He is entitled in due course to know, and will be told, that you identified him." She looks at Graham, then back to Kylah, and smiles. "But I agree, you're perfectly safe."

She swears in Kylah, takes a brief statement as to Man #4, and then calls and updates Det. Lunnd. He comes onscreen and says with a big grin, "Fantastic. Thank you, Ens. Kylah. Man #4 is Verenn Beglett, who the other two suspects already separately identified as the man who hired them to rob you. No honor among thieves, eh? Beglett has a long record and is facing serious prison time, and maybe even mindwipe."

"Can I get that coffee now?" Ruthen asks.

Graham's reassurance reaches through some of the cloud of fear that surrounds Kylah. But she knows some threats cannot be blocked by muscles or a well-aimed phaser.

When Lunnd appears onscreen, she listens and tries to feel relief. Then his last word resonates with her. Ruthen says something but Kylah focuses only on the screen. "Mindwipe," she repeats, a swell of revulsion making her dizzy. Kylah stares blindly at the datapad in Ruthen's hands, though she cannot see Beglett's picture any longer, and then swivels to face Graham, aghast. Her lightheadedness nearly causes her to lose her balance, but she grabs at his sleeve at the last moment. "What--what does he mean? They will do something to his mind? As a punishment?" Because of me?

"Okay," Collins replies, oddly relieved that this conflict with the Chorell can be postponed, possibly avoided. "Perhaps we can include Commander Vargas? I will send the Captain a message."

She composes the message, Collins to Captain Singh and Commander Vargas. We have learned that the Chorell has previously been connected to arms smuggling. Commander Roble conducted a deep scan but did not find anything suspicious. I would appreciate if at your convenience the two of you could meet with us and discuss options. Collins out., and sends it off. She sits back a little in the chair, but still does not relax.

Ruthen says, "The court can order it for habitual offenders in some cases, if convicted. There are different levels of adjustment, or erasure, of criminal or antisocial personality traits. It's very safe, and usually effective."

Singh soon replies over the comm system, "Mr. Collins, Mr. Roble, please report to my office. Cmdr. Vargas will be there as well. Mr. Kendin, you have the conn."

"Aye, Captain," the Algolian officer replies as he rises from the Helm console.

Collins goes to the turbo lift, and when it opens, holds the door for Cmdr. Roble.

Safe. Effective. And barbaric. Kylah shakes her head, wishing she had not identified the man at all.

When she was eight, her parents had exhausted most of the tests and primitive mental probes available to their private physician, all in attempts to rid her of her brain's deformity. Finally the doctor suggested a mental eradication--something to clear her mind of everything she had learned and, hopefully, eliminate its ability to recognize emotions and thoughts altogether.

One test procedure proved tentatively successful: Kylah lost an entire month's worth of memories, and although her abilities were only slightly affected for a day or two, the doctor insisted to her parents that he deemed this a triumph. The three adults agreed that the next step would be a second, more invasive and permanent procedure.

Only Aldaan had stopped things from progressing further. When he learned what had happened and discovered Kylah could not remember his previous visit merely a week prior--not even the concert they had attended that night for her birthday--he was furious with Mother. He used all his considerable powers of persuasion to convince his sister that she was torturing rather than helping her child.

Kylah has always been grateful to her uncle. Her temporarily dulled abilities soon flooded back and became, almost perversely, stronger than ever. But that lost month never returned to her. Fifteen years later, she still has that hole in her life, and only a faded program from the concert, kept among her belongings back home even now, is the sole proof that it existed.

Kylah is revolted by the knowledge that she might be responsible for someone else going through such an experience. No one's mind should be changed against his will. Even after what this man did to her--or paid others to do. What of their minds? Has their turning in the man who bought their services saved them from his punishment? Will they always be able to look back fondly on the time they battered me and left me unconscious?

Almost able to feel the blood draining from her face, she unconsciously steps away from Ruthen. "May I go now?" she asks faintly. "Will I be needed further? Our ship has been delayed long enough because of me."

Ruthen says, "That should do it. Thank you for your help." She shrugs. "I guess I'll get my first cup of starship coffee some other time. Which way to the transporter room?"

Roble and Collins go to the Captain's quiet, oak-paneled office. Singh and Vargas are already there. Roble briefly explains the situation. "What's your proposal, Mr. Collins?" the Captain asks, turning to her.

"Other than the suspicious change of orbit," Collins says tentatively, more than a little bit intimidated but loathe to show it, "The Chorell hasn't done anything overtly illegal. Since the scans didn't turn up actionable, we should just continue to monitor them and track them as best we can when they leave orbit," she pauses, checking Singh's and Vargas' faces for any clue she's on the right track, "as long as it doesn't interfere with our original mission."

Graham hastily replies to the Thoth detective. "If you can spare a few minutes, I can take you the long way around to the transporter room - get you your coffee, and just happen to walk by a viewport so you can have a look at Thoth from above, if you like."

He turns back toward Kylah and asks quietly. "Are you sure you're OK? You did great."

Kylah gives Graham a tight nod. "Yes. Thank you very much for being here, Mr. Graham. I truly appreciate your support. And thank you for your assistance," she adds to Ruthen, affording the older woman a glance before rounding the table and aiming herself toward the door. "If you do not mind, Ensign Graham will escort you to the transporter, and of course you may have whatever beverage you wish. I must get back to my duties. Please thank Detective Lunnd and the rest for me."

She walks as quickly from the conference room as possible, heading down the corridor to the turbolift. Before she gets there, a wave of dizziness and emotions overtakes her and she slips around a corner to find a place to hide. She ends up near the Science lab area, which currently seems deserted enough for her needs.

At last her eyes close and she bends down, hands on her knees and head lowered in hopes of returning the blood back to it. With the curtain of her hair hiding her, she takes deep refreshing breaths. It is almost over, Kylah repeats to herself as a mantra. Everything but telling Uncle Aldaan what happened.

Vargas nods and says, "Makes sense to me."

The Yorktown's commanding officer leans back in her chair. "Knowing what we do now, and given how little our scans have revealed otherwise, I agree. Thank you, Mr. Collins. Carry on. Mr. Roble, please take the conn when you go back up." Roble and Collins return to the Bridge by turbolift. Kendin, having already heard from the Captain while the two were en route, yields the big chair to the Science Officer. Collins relieves Ens. Three Crows at the Security post.

Ruthen smiles at Graham. "That would be great - thanks. I've taken some suborbital flights before, but I've never been up this high."

A little time passes and Kylah realizes someone is stooping over her. "Are you all right, Ensign?" a Jenezite woman in Science blue asks.

Rangin picks up the datapad with the details, along with the rest of the materials he is gathering, the scanners, cables and a couple of tools before heading out of the Science area to head back for the Cargo Bay to get to work. He's wondering what's the best way to get the sensor up from Engineering but decides that it's easier to let Ens. Delaney to handle that.

From behind a corner, he can hear someone asking if another is alright and he steps up his pace to lend a hand. Rounding it, he can see his fellow Science colleague in front of someone.

"Can I help?" he asks politely, as he looks past her to the figure on the floor. His breath catches in his throat when he realises who it is and his mind freezes slightly as he wonders what Kylah is doing up here of all places.

Embarrassed when the Jenezite officer discovers her, Kylah starts to shake her head and respond. Then embarrassment turns to mortification when an all-too-familiar presence nears and she hears Velir's voice. His emotions are calm, and he sounds so gentle and concerned. This is the Velir Rangin she knows, the one she dearly cares for. But she instantly suspects he did not recognize her. The truth is, she realizes with an ache, he no longer treats her as kindly as he would a stranger.

"No, no, I am fine, thank you." Except the words are breathy and even she finds them hard to hear. She takes another deep breath and forces herself to stand, wiping some perspiration from her forehead as she does. Her hair feels as damp as if she has been caught in a brief rainshower. The whole time she does not dare look at Velir--fearing that if she sees the same contempt in his face as before, she might burst into tears again.

"I just felt dizzy for a moment, I needed some air. I am sorry to have caused any concern. If you please, I should get back to my station." With a ghost of a smile at the other Science officer, Kylah slips past the woman and starts around the corner. Moving too quickly, she has another bout of lightheadedness and quickly reaches her arm out to steady herself by leaning a hand on the wall. She remains on her feet and prays the others did not see.

Well, I blew that one, didn't I? Collins chastises herself Where the hell was my self confidence when I needed it? She doesn't dare turn around to look at Roble at the conn, instead concentrating on monitoring the Chorell and keeping an eye on her ship's systems.

Arms still full of equipment, Rangin can do little to react as Kylah heads past round the corner that he has just walked from. He can see she is not alright despite her protestations, not to mention that she is refusing to look at him and the fact she is heading towards the Science area he has just come from and not the Bridge, which is in the other direction.

He would love to just let her go, cut her loose, ignore her, it would all be for the best. But she is still a colleague on the USS Yorktown, still not well and he won't drop his principles because of her. If that means rendering help, Rangin will bite his tongue and just do so. He still needed to talk to her regardless and lending assistance is what he did well...perhaps this would be a good place to start again, after all it wouldn't be the first time as he remembers her limping on OCIII, the bittersweet memories and the time they spent afterwards in the Control room, as he spent time patching her up. No longer broken.

Shuffling the equipment around in his arms, he looks round at his colleague, "I'll check on her, make sure she's alright," he adds as an aside before heading round the corner to see Kylah leaning against the wall. Shaking his head, he ghosts up beside her, "Kylah, are you alright, what happened? Here let me give you a hand." he says quietly and gently, "you're heading for Science, not the Bridge." hoping his Jenezite colleague has headed off.

The Jenezite officer gives Rangin an understanding look with her outsized eyes, and walks away.

Collins sees nothing out of the ordinary with the Chorell or any other of the many ships in the Yorktown's orbital zone. She hears the bosun's whistle sound and the Captain's voice on the big chair's intercom. "Singh to Bridge."

"Bridge here," Roble says.

"Mr. Roble, Thoth police say they have all they need from us. Order all personnel on shore leave to return to the ship within one hour. Prepare for deep space. I'd like to break orbit as soon as everyone's aboard. And notify Anubis Port Control, please."

"Aye, Captain. I'll see to it."

Kylah closes her eyes at Velir's nearness. "I thought I was heading to the turbolift," she murmurs, letting go of the wall and holding herself as straight as possible. "I also thought you said you did not want to know me. Was I wrong about that, too, Mr. Rangin?" Slowly she opens her eyes, staring straight ahead. "I do not understand why you wish to help a corrupt strumpet who you believe tried to bribe you into keeping silent about whoring herself with a stranger in a barroom basement."

She takes deep breaths. She should have eaten, she is feeling worse and worse. "I do not need your help, thank you. I know I owe you a great deal and since I cannot repay what you have already done, I do not want to incur a greater debt..." Kylah's hard tone fades and she slumps slightly. He is so close to her. She is afraid he will touch her... and afraid he will not.

Her head shakes slightly. "I wish I could forget all this," she whispers. "Maybe they can wipe my mind, as well. It is a barbaric process, unworthy of the Federation. But I see the benefits. I could forget those men surrounding me with clubs. I could forget what happened in that hotel room. And I could forget that there was a time when you cared for me. When you held me and said soft words, not vile insults..."

Overcome, Kylah covers her eyes with trembling hands. "Please, Velir, go away. It is as cruel to treat me with false kindness as it is to call me a broken, miserable, lying siren."

T'Var continues with her regular duties in Sickbay. She tries to focus on them, but can't help but think of Fujishiro and those who will be most impacted by her death. And why is Fujishiro's condition having this much of an impact on her as well? T'Var has no answers, only deeply disturbing questions.

The doctor hopes her off-duty meditations will give some insight and some answers. Perhaps a game of chess and a delicious meal with Andrew Johnson will help as well.

"Because regardless of how I feel, you're still a colleague on this ship who needs help. This isn't false kindness, this is an honest concern for someone who really should not be on watch," Rangin states evenly keeping firm control of what he might be thinking and feeling, easier to just treat her as someone else than as Kylah.

He sighs, wondering why she is even still on duty at what she is saying. "You're right Kylah, I shouldn't have called you those names. That was wrong of me, I should have known better." He shifts slightly under the weight trying to stop his arms aching and takes a deep breath. "Kylah, there are no debts between us, just broken trust. You did lie to me and it hurt, but I don't intend to go on like that. You said that you would give me some answers, when you were ready. I would still like to hear those answers. That's all you owe me, nothing more."

He looks up and down the shaking figure, seeing what shape she is in and Rangin looks on sadly, unable to hate the near-pitiful woman in front of him and concerned about her. "Oh forget it, we can argue later. Look Kylah as someone who...cared for you, please take a break somewhere quiet. What ever it was you were doing, you look wiped out."

Shuffling the gear into one arm, he offers an elbow to her, even though she isn't looking at it. "Here, take an arm to lean on, if you wish."

Graham (to the best of his knowledge as a newbie on the Yorktown) leads Ruthen to one of the nicer lounges to get coffee and to a suitable viewport on the appropriate side of the ship to see the planet.

"The Thoth Constabulary's been solid--much appreciated, and please convey my thanks to Det. Lunnd as well."

Finally Kylah faces Velir and lowers her hands. He seems far away--not just emotionally, but physically, as if she sees him through a tunnel--even though she knows he is right by her side. "I have eaten very little but a pastry since yesterday morning--so that is all, I am just hungry and a bit dizzy," she murmers. "I can perform my watch, Velir. I do not want to be alone in my cabin, or in Sickbay where Fujishiro is dying and nobody can do anything, just like Mrs. Porr.

"Yes--Mrs. Porr," she repeats, the symmetry suddenly powerful. "Do you remember her? Her husband stood by her, even when she was turning into a monster. He refused to believe it. Why will people not believe it of me? I am not a monster. I do not know why I am different, no one can explain it. I do not wish to be what I am..."

She sucks in a lungful of air to clear her foggy mind and leans forward a bit. She cannot help herself--she reaches for Velir to maintain her balance. And his touch makes her moan with the assault of emotions. "You regret calling me the names, but you do not think you were wrong. You do not even trust that I am here, on this deck, for a good reason. I will tell you: they have caught the man who hired the attack. I had to identify him." Kylah lowers her grasp to his hand, tightening around his fingers. "That is what I earned. Someone paid others to beat and rob me, all because I was a fool. Can you not let that be my lesson? I will never get my mother's jewelry back, or my zither. Have I not been punished enough?"

Tiny bursts of light turn to darkness and she is no longer sure if her legs are strong enough to bear her weight. Clutching Velir's arm more tightly, she sways toward him. "What if I tell you what I can about Jan," she whispers in shame. "Will you forgive me? Or is it wrong for you to be shackled to me, just like Chief Porr and his monstrous wife. Am I selfish? Will you hold me again if you knew I was a monster? Will you..." Kylah feels as if the world is closing in on her. "Hold me?"

This time it is a plea. Her damp fingers slip from his arm and suddenly she is falling, alone and unsupported, just as she always knew she would.

Collins swivels her chair to face Roble. "Commander, before we go, with your permission, I'd like to contact the authorities. I'd spoken to both Hathor and Thoth about returning as much of Ensign Kylah's zither as they can. I feel certain she'd appreciate having it back, even if it is in pieces."

Pourtash and Hayes eventually leave Sickbay, but several other friends of Fujishiro's drop by that day, T'Var notices. Word spreads fast on a starship.

Ruthen is grateful for the coffee and for the look outside. In Observation Lounge 2, with all of Anubis laid out below her, sunlit and glorious, she sighs, savoring the view. Finally she says to Graham, "Just doing our jobs - glad we could help." She sips her coffee and smiles. "And it looks like the DA will have a very strong case if it ever goes to trial. Odds are, the bad guys'll plead out anyway."

On the Bridge, Roble says, "Good idea, Mr. Collins. See to it, please."

Rangin starts listening to Kylah as she begins to mumble, catching that she hasn't had much food at all, and he wonders who would let her on watch in such a state. As she leans forward and balances on his shoulder, he can feel her hands slowly try to grip tighter as she compares herself to a monster.

"Kylah, you're not a monster", he tries to interject, but she doesn't appear to be listening to him and with her last utterance he can feel the grip suddenly loosen as she topples to one side.

A dozen different thoughts run through his head, but all of them are pushed aside by his instinct to catch her. Dropping the sensors and cables as the grip fades, he reaches across to prevent her hitting the floor. A loud clatter fills the hallway as one arm grasps at thin air, but the other manages to slip under her side arresting her descent. But off balance, she is too awkward and the weight drags him down to his knees supporting her as his other arm flails around trying to stop his own fall.

After what feels like minutes, but is only a seconds or so, Rangin is holding Kylah off the floor, though the she feels much heavier than she looks. Resting her head on his shoulder and taking a firmer grip around her waist, he can hear her still burbling and he tries to cut through to her, worried by just how limp she feels, not caring about what he might think, but that she needs help.

"Ok, take some deep breaths, let's get you seated properly. Then we can get someone from Sickbay to look at you."

+ + +

Everything is swimming before her eyes, and Kylah tries to keep focused on what Velir is saying, taking breaths, but she feels his hands around her, and his concern radiates toward her in such a powerful, warm wave she wants to sink into it. Kylah shakes her aching head. "No, no, it is nothing, I can stand." She wills herself to be upright, the thought of Sickbay, of being so near Fujishiro, and being examined again by the doctors... she cannot abide it. "I promise I will ask Lt. Thalen for time to get something to eat. But do not take me to Sickbay, please."

+ + +

"Are you sure?" Rangin enquires nervously, still worried, but slowly helping Kylah to straighten while bracing against the wall. Looking over her, Kylah shows all the signs of fatigue and exhaustion and is barely holding herself together.

"Look, I'm worried about you and regardless of how I feel, I don't want to see you like this. You can't keep pushing yourself on like this, punishing yourself for things that have happened. You've been through a lot and need time to recover." Rangin gently brushes the hair back out from her eyes and tucks it neatly behind one ear, before holding her head up to peer into one eye to see how well she is focusing on him.

Kylah gazes back at him, slightly unfocused, with tired, sad eyes and the light he knew dimmed slightly from the events of the last few weeks. "Come on, I've patched you up once before, I'll help you again."

+ + +

Shivering under the tender touch as Velir carefully moves her hair, she freezes not wanting to look into his eyes for fear of what she may see. But when he guides her to do so and she stares back into his face, his concern is clearly there and his words make her eyes glaze with tears. "Do not say things that make me hope, Velir. Not if you say them because you feel sorry for me. It is too painful to believe you could like me again. It would be a lie, and you are too good to lie. I am the liar, not you." She leans her head back against the wall with a sob. "If you really wish you never met me, if that is still true, then walk away and let me be. Otherwise be compassionate, forgive me and let me explain. Anything else is unfair."

+ + +

Rangin nods slightly, at her request, he can do little else but accede. "First things first Kylah, before explanations, before anything else you need to recover. Once you're better we can talk about us, we both have things to share, but for now you're going to Sickbay. I think you may have bumped your head."

+ + +

Kylah shakes her head weakly. "No, I do not want to go, I told you. You cannot make me." She knows she sounds like a child but cannot help herself. Frustrated, she pushes ineffectually at his chest. "I can stand on my own now!"

But even as he loosens his grip, Kylah's body betrays her again and she starts to slip downwards. At once she feels his protective hold preventing her from falling further. Her eyes close in a wretched combination of gratitude and helplessness. "Please, Velir, I just want to be left alone!"

+ + +

"No, that's no longer an option. No-one should have let you go on watch like this." Rangin's voice hardens slightly, not with anger or amusement, but worry for his colleague who is now firmly held in his arm instead of balanced against the wall.

Lifting her back on to her feet with one arm tight supporting her, he shakes his head. "Come on," he sighs, "you're not thinking straight, you certainly can't take care of yourself and need help. There's no use arguing as we've had this argument before, I was right then and I'm right now. You need looking after and it seems I'm the only one who really cares for you. You're going to have to trust me, it's for your own good."

Kylah by choie and Rangin by CIAS

Collins composes a message to Officer Pendleton of Hathor and Detective Lunnd of Thoth: Thank you both and both your departments for everything you've done in the case of Ensign Kylah's attack. We are set to leave orbit shortly, and I wanted to know if you're finished with the pieces of the zither, as we'd discussed having them returned to their owner. When you're ready to beam them up, let me know and I will make sure they are handled properly. Collins out. and sends it off.

Pendleton soon responds, Yes, we've taken pictures and scans, and you can have the zither remnants back now. He provides coordinates from which they can be beamed back.

Graham and his guest hear the announcement that the Yorktown will soon be breaking orbit. "Time to head back, I guess," Det. Lt. Ruthen says, a little regretfully, as she finishes her coffee.

T'Var greets Fujishiro's friends and gives them the time and privacy they need with her.

"Ain't that the truth," Graham replies to Ruthen's comment about plea bargains. "But if we let the perfect be the enemy of the good in this business, we'd never get anything done."

He offers some observations and trivia about Starfleet Security and Federation ships as he leads the Thoth detective toward a transporter room. He's genuinely in a good mood: for what it's worth, some justice will be done. Kylah seems to be back on her feet. And I'm looking forward to the--well, the date tonight...

His reverie is only mildly interrupted by some sort of noise ahead as they approach a turn in the corridor. Well won't that be embarrassing if I have to lead Ruthen past a maintenance hatch that's just fallen to the floor, he thinks.

Graham is caught flat footed by what he sees instead. Kylah, looking...terrible. Hurt. Rangin all over her.

Oh no.

The flash anguish lasts just a moment and is immediately superseded. Reflexively his hand snaps to his sidearm and he shifts slightly into a shooting stance, even though consciously he knows he won't need it to separate them and arrest Rangin...

Graham's never gotten any pleasure from violence. But there have been those few moments, when the command "drop your weapons and come out showing your hands" was completely insincere. No, don't. Come out fighting so we can take the shot and erase a stain in the fabric of the universe. Erase you.

Now that would be perfect...

"Get your goddamned hands off her," he growls, tightly, moving toward them. He's too focused to be bothered by the fact that it's less than professional protocol in front of the detective. He mentally paces of the distance between himself and the pair of them with each step, now acutely aware not only of Rangin's hold on her but also that Kylah looks as if she can barely stand.

Thank you, Officer Pendelton. Collins turns to Roble again. "They're ready to beam the zither up. With your permission, I'll go to Transporter Room Two to retrieve it."

The cop seems a little surprised by Graham's response to the situation but says nothing.

Roble says, "Yes, please, Mr. Collins."

A short turbolift ride and a walk later, Collins is in the transporter room. Mr. Ferguson is on duty, and beams up the Elasian zither pieces, which are in a large plastic bag marked THOTH CONSTABULARY. "Will there be anything else, ma'am?" he asks.

"No, thank you, Lieutenant." Collins smiles at Ferguson, takes the package, and heads to her quarters to drop it off before returning to the bridge.

Kylah is trying to stay awake and upright, greatly helped by the force of Velir's words--and the unexpected declaration that he does care about her, which bears the heat of truth in both his tone and the emotions surging through his body wherever it touches hers. She puts her hands on his chest in an effort to steady herself and in an unconscious attempt to connect to him in any way possible.

Still, she is afraid of returning to Sickbay, and is about to complain when Graham's voice comes from what seems like miles away. Her head turns to find the security officer closer than expected--and, shockingly, armed with a phaser. Kylah now wonders if she is dreaming, if she has lost consciousness after all. Dream or not, this is wrong, terribly wrong.

"Stop, do not hurt him!" she says, her fingers on Velir's uniform tightening to clasp the material so he will not move. When looking down she notices the scattered science articles and imagines what the two of them must look like. "Oh--do not blame Velir, Mr. Graham, please. It is all my fault... he is trying to help. He wants what is best for me, I know he does. He said so." She gazes at Velir, almost accusing him, daring him to disagree with her and pretend he feels nothing.

Graham halts his forward progress and licks his lips, his mouth dry. "No one is going to hurt anyone," he says evenly, a comment intended as much for Rangin as a reply to Kylah. He slowly extends a hand toward her, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring as if... As if I'm talking to a hostage. I am talking to a hostage...

"Kylah, why don't you take a step toward me and tell me what happened here," he says, gently, his anger replaced by concern. Spacing the sonofabitch is not an option...What matters is getting her out of the situation...

Kylah swallows and shakes her head. "Lower the phaser," she says, and tries to position herself so that her body blocks the weapon. She can feel Velir's increased breathing and she looks back up at him, remembering how upset he was the last time Graham tried to protect her, back in Sickbay--and how he vented his frustration at her.

"Velir, it is a misunderstanding, that is all." She tilts her head toward Graham but keeps her gaze steady on Velir. "He means well, he will not do anything. Do not be angry with me again!"

She now turns to face Graham. The truth is, if she tries to step away, she might not remain on her feet. She fears that something dreadful might occur if either man acts rashly. "I grew faint and dizzy after our meeting, and took a moment to rest," she begins, trying to be lucid but her energy is flagging fast. "Velir found me and helped me up. I thought I could leave but I... I was stupid. I am too weak, I could not stand on my own. He caught me." Kylah inhales deeply. "Please put your weapon away, Mr. Graham? I will go with you, but... not if you threaten Ensign Rangin."

Ruthen is tense but her hand does not go to her sidearm.

Two Science techs in blue overalls, talking and laughing, round the nearby corner but stop short when they see what is happening. One starts to back away.

Rangin's mind is ticking down the list of things he needs to do in terms of getting Kylah some help, despite her apparent resistance to go to Sickbay even though it's the most sensible thing to do when he hears Ens. Graham growling at him from one side. Rangin can't help but freeze wondering if he is about to be assaulted again. Looking across he can see the Security man, phaser at the ready and Rangin wonders what kind of hair-trigger psychopath he must be, pulling a weapon like that.

Kylah then speaks out, about how Rangin is only trying to help and he grinds his teeth but says nothing, not wanting to spark Graham off, who then suggests that Kylah start walking away towards him. Rangin can't contemplate letting her near anyone so violent, not in her current condition and his fingers reflexively curl tighter around Kylah, unwilling to let her move.

Then as Kylah tries to move round to stand between Rangin and Graham, Rangin holds her firm and moves himself in the way, not wanting to let Graham near her, not knowing what may occur, what he may do. But then as she suggests that she go with Graham just to appease him, he flashes back to the Sickbay and how Collins appeased him last time. Was this always going to be the case?

As he spies the two Science techs, Rangin thinks of a better way to resolve this. "No, Kylah appeasing him isn't going to help?" he whispers to her.

Rangin then calls out to the two Science techs, "Can one of you call Cmdr. Vargas or Lt. JG Collins please, whichever is available? I believe they should be made aware, and can the other gather this equipment up, while I assist Mr Kylah."

He then stands back slightly, still supporting Kylah but giving a little more free space. "Mr Kylah, The Science bays are nearby. Let's get you there for starters and see what shape you're in. Then we can decide if you need to go to Sickbay or just the galley for the meal you should have had." His voice may be more businesslike, but his grip betrays his worry for her. He doesn't want to let her go as past memories of holding her tight start to flicker though his mind.

From what Kylah had said, she had been looking at photos, with a Thoth detective and it was highly likely Graham had been there as well. Which meant Graham had let her wander around in this condition. Rangin is furious, and looking back over one shoulder, he glares at Graham. "Mr Graham, I believe you have a guest to attend to. I strongly suggest you join us, once you have finished."

He turns back to Kylah, "When you're ready," Rangin says, ready to help her onwards.

One Science tech says "Aye, sir," and immediately walks away.

The other stands there, looking uncertainly at Graham. "Uh... sir? Can I pick up this equipment? Would that be OK?"

"Yes, Velir," Kylah whispers. The onlookers make this situation worse, and she wants to bury her head against Velir's shoulder and hide. Must every incident in her life be witnessed by her crewmates?

Instead she forces herself to look warily at Graham, hoping he will not escalate things by preventing them from leaving. "That will be all right, Mr. Graham?"

Graham looks carefully at Kylah's face--almost peering, really--trying to gauge her state of mind, condition...honesty.

"'All right' is pretty far from the phrase I would use," he says quietly and almost sadly. He relaxes his posture and releases his weapon.

"It's your choice, Mr. Kylah," he adds. Although at the moment he doesn't believe she is able to make a free choice, he doesn't have a lot of immediate options either.

He takes a step back, half-turns, and gestures--offhandedly, not officiously--to the Science crewman. "Have at it," he says, shurgging slightly.

He's already assumed Kylah will sick with Rangin--for the moment, at least.

"I'll contact Lt. Collins myself," he more loudly and firmly, now addressing both Kylah and Ragin. What the hell else can I say? Threaten the guy like we're in some old mob movie?

He barely audibly sighs and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Well, Detective...I'm sure you're ah, enjoying the tour...I'll--ah, well, the transporter room isn't far, this way."

He can't stand to look at Kyah and Rangin as they continue on. It's an accident waiting to happen--no, worse than an 'accident' and it's already happening.

With the release of the immediate perceived threat, Kylah's adrenaline lowers and exhaustion takes its place. "Thank you," she says. "I am sorry for frightening you, Mr. Graham. I am sorry for everything. Everything."

The dizziness is returning, and--despite her hating that she must seem like a useless clinging vine--she squeezes her eyes tight and lets her head fall against Velir's shoulder. "Please get me somewhere I can sit down," she whispers into his uniform as she clutches his arm. "I do not want to fall in front of everyone again."

Graham nods barely perceptibly at Kylah's apology and (assuming Ruthen follows) continues walking.

Rangin keeps quiet but relaxes slightly as Graham starts to walk away. He nods to the Science tech to begin picking up the equipment while then guiding Kylah back to the Science lab to find a seat to recover on

While Velir leads her away, Kylah squints her eyes open enough to see Graham leave without a response. Her stomach twists. Every choice I make disappoints someone, she mourns inwardly, eyes screwed tightly shut against the dizziness and tears.

Paying no attention to where she has been taken, Kylah soon finds herself placed on a chair and reluctantly lets go of Velir, feeling colder without him. Immediately she curls forward and holds her head in both hands, breathing in. "Thank you," she says in a voice so thin it could float away mid-air. "I am sorry to you too, Velir. You should not have been treated like that. By him or me." Though she tries to suck in enough oxygen to clear her head, her words are beginning to slur. "You should not have to... to do all this..."

Rangin delicately helps Kylah to sit down and as she curls up in the chair he stands back slightly to get a better idea of what condition she is in, before turning slightly to the technician with the equipment. "Thanks for that. Just put them on the table in xenobiology, I'll deal with it shortly," he says quietly, not wanting to disturb Kylah and then dismissing the Tech with a nod.

Turning back to her, he crouches down to respond to her, "Of course I have to do all this, you need a little assistance. I can't believe you're trying to work in this condition. Actually, I'm amazed no-one has noticed and told you to stop and take a break." He holds on to the thought that the last person who should have noticed this was Ens. Graham and tries to clamp down on the anger, even though it was so typical for the man.

"Before anything else, you need a chance to recover, the last few days have not been good to you." Rangin chokes slightly as he considers all Kylah had gone through, the fights, the rejection and then the assault she had faced on the planet. "Look take a few minutes to just sit and gather your wits, and then we can see whether you need to go to Sickbay or if you are ok."

Kylah has to rouse herself--she seems to be sinking into a warm bath of sleep, and must resist. When she opens her eyes and sees Velir kneeling in front of her, she almost smiles in bittersweet recognition. Just like at the resort. I fell there too. A joking line humans used at the Academy emerges from her hazy memory. "We must stop meeting like this," she murmurs, dropping one weary hand so that her fingertips brush his wrist. She then curls her arm around her stomach, which aches.

"Do not blame anyone but me, Velir. As usual this is my fault. I wanted to be on duty." Her head and chest rise with a deep inhale. "Do you know what I keep thinking of? You and me, at that bar. Not on Anubis," she adds with a faint flush. "On Starbase 27. When we were together. Do you remember how happy we were?"

She closes her eyes, imagining it. "That meal... the hamburger and potatoes. I would crawl on my hands and knees for such a meal now. I do not deserve it, I do not like eating when I have not earned it." A scowl lowers her brows. Her father's voice is resolute and cold. "You have disobeyed us again, Kylah. You know the rule. If you fill your mind with our thoughts, you will not fill your belly. Leave the table." She shakes off the past by wiping a hand across her eyes.

"Did you like the dinner I sent you?" Kylah looks at Velir again, hope in her tired gaze. "We were to share that together. But I ruined that, and so did not have anything. Then on Anubis... of course I could not eat. I should not have had the Bellaque Mr. Johnson gave me, but I was so hungry."

She swallows. The thought of the delicious pastry is making her mouth water. "I made up for it this morning, I stayed strong. I thought I could last but obviously not. If it will keep me from Sickbay, I will get something to eat. Then I will be fine and you do not have to waste your time with me. I know you are busy..." She tries to identify exactly where they are. She has never been in this room and it strikes her that this must be where Velir usually spends his days. The idea brightens her mood. "This is the Science lab? Where you work?"

Rangin shakes his head, saying nothing but thinking plenty, as Kylah starts to mention how she hasn't eaten at all. She can't allow herself to eat unless she's earned it - she's in Starfleet for pity's sake, she's earned every mouthful.

"Yes. Yes, this is the science labs where I usually carry out my duties and try to stay out of trouble. And no, you don't get to look around it until you have recovered. After you have done, then you can come and peer at the xenobiology labs and all the paperwork. But..." Rangin straightens up, "...first you have to go and have something to eat. If you haven't eaten anything in the last two days apart from some what-ever-it-was from Mr Johnson, then you are certainly doing yourself a disservice." Not to mention everyone in the crew when we are supposed to look out for each other.

He sighs almost despairingly at Kylah in front of him, "So either you let Lt. Thalen know that you need some time to recover after the identification session you mentioned, go eat a full meal and we can talk after that or I call Dr Villa and she can lecture you on taking care of yourself and you get to spend more time in Sickbay having nutrients firmly, but most assuredly, administered."

"And no I don't blame you," Rangin adds quietly, "and yes, we really should stop meeting like this."

Kylah wants very much to hold Velir's hand when he offers to show her where he works--it seems so friendly, so convivial. Perhaps he is not angry with me anymore. He might be later but now... She smiles slightly, nodding at whatever he is saying--until he mentions Dr. Villa.

"No, no! I do not want that. I will call Lt. Thalen. I promise. He said I could." She hesitates. "He actually said I should, if I needed to. He is a kind person." She straightens slightly to get her communicator, opening it.

"Lt. Kylah to-- no. Ensign Kylah to Lieutenant Thalen. I am sorry to bother you, sir. I had to leave my watch to meet with a Thoth detective. She had suspects to identify. Now that we are done, I am not... feeling well. I became somewhat dizzy. I apologize for the inconvenience, but with your permission, I need some additional time to eat something. Breakfast... or is it lunch?"

Kylah looks at Velir, realizing she does not know what time it is. The expression on his face makes her continue hurriedly and in a humbled tone: "To be honest, sir, I may not be able to finish today's watch after all. In truth, I find I am less... less fit for duty than I hoped. Perhaps if I may sleep a bit, I will be able to take on an overnight watch for someone else? It is the least I can do... I have caused enough work for everyone. May I have your permission, sir?"

Another glance at the man so close to her--so very close, after what feels like months of being distant and untouchable. But it is only a few days. So much has happened... maybe I can make things right after all... She finally offers Velir a hopeful smile as she waits for Thalen's response.

Having placed the package of zither pieces at the foot of Kylah's bad, Collins is now back on the bridge at her station.

Graham glances at Ruthen as they walk. "You know when you're sure something really bad is going to happen...or has happened, behind closed doors, but you can't do a damned thing until you actually see a crime committed?" He sighs. "That shitty situation still happens, even on a Starship...been there?"

The Science tech picks up the gear and carries it away.

Lt. Thalen says, "Of course, Ensign. Almost lunch by now, I think. Take off the rest of the day, if you wish."

Things are busy on the Bridge, Collins sees, as the crew prepares to break orbit and leave the Anubis system.

Det. Lt. Ruthen snorts. "More often than I'd like to admit, Ens. Graham. I think it might be a near-universal situation." She sticks out her hand as they arrive in the transporter room. "Thanks again for the coffee and the tour. Best wishes, wherever your travels take you."

Rangin nods with relief at Lt Thalen's words over the communicator. After she is ready, he looks at her hoping that she will do what Andorian said and actually take care of herself.

"Well, if you are going to the Galley for some food, I think I will come along. I may not be able to stay long, but at least I can make sure you get something to eat."

After thanking Thalen and apologizing yet again, Kylah closes her communicator and looks at Velir, hardly daring to believe his offer of coming with her to the mess hall. Do not get too hopeful, she warns herself before responding. "If you are too busy it is not necessary, I will eat, I promise. But I... would appreciate it," she admits shyly. "I promise I will try not to lean on you."

Biting her lower lip, she braces herself and slowly stands up, closing her eyes against the lightheaded swirling of her mind. One white-knuckled hand grips the edge of the chair while she steadies herself. A few seconds later, she is ready to try walking with Velir to the turbolift.

Collins takes her seat and performs her share of the pre-departure procedures.

Graham returns the handshake with appreciation. After the detective leaves he sends a message to Collins asking to speak with her when she has a chance.

Collins messages back to Graham Meet me outside the gym after watch.

Graham returns to his patrol route in a decidedly less cheerful mood.

The gift he was able to secure for Nia--and his assumption it will be as surprising as the snow globe--gives him some comfort.

At least I can count on accomplishing one useful thing today, no matter what, he thinks.

He tries to convince himself the odds of something terrible--more terrible--than what's already happened to Kylah is small in the interval between the present and when he has a chance to talk to Collins. Maybe T'Var, too...

Short of throwing him out an airlock (which has it's appeal) I'm at the end of my rope on how to deal with Rangin's "tender ministrations," he thinks, gritting his teeth unconsciously.

He just hopes Collins doesn't insist on talking while playing basketball. I guess we did meet in the pool, he reminds himself. But still, I don't want to show up to our first date all sweaty...

Maybe leaving all sweaty would be OK...

At 1109 hours, the Captain returns to the Bridge. Roble yields the big chair to her and reports, "All shore leave personnel have returned and are present and accounted for. All visitors have gone back ashore. All cargo and supplies are loaded and secure. Mr. Cheverez reports warp power is ready at your discretion. Anubis Port Control has given us departure clearance. The ship is ready in all respects for deep space, ma'am."

Singh settles in and says, "Thank you, Mr. Roble. Helm, set course for the FGC 23 pulsar cluster. Warp 6."

"Warp 6, aye," Kendin says. "Course plotted and laid in."

"ETA at that speed?" A yeoman brings her a datapad with a report for her approval.

"Nine days, three hours, ma'am."

She signs and hands it back. "Very well. Ahead, warp factor 6."

Kendin taps the buttons which awaken the slumbering energies of the Yorktown's impulse engines, and the heavy cruiser smoothly eases away from the gravitational pull of Anubis. Soon the warp drive is engaged, and the ship races out and away, into the eternal night of deep space.

The rest of the watch passes without incident, and by the time the Captain yields the conn to the First Officer, the Anubis system has fallen far behind, its once-prominent star now barely distinguishable from the others in the vast heavenly array.

Your watches conclude, and you are now off-duty.

Roughly an hour after she'd message Graham, she remembers T'Var asked her to come to sick bay for some reason. She sends Graham another message Hey Booker, I forgot T'Var wanted to see me, so meet me in Sickbay instead, Okay?"

When watch ends, Collins heads to Sickbay to talk to T'Var. When she gets there, she tells one of the orderlies why she's there and would they please tell T'Var she's there. She hums to herself while she waits.

The orderly says, "Of course, ma'am," and moves off.

Rangin and Graham both get messages from the First Officer, asking them to meet him in his office in half an hour.

It is now 1603 hours.

Kylah opens her heavy-lidded eyes, already aware that she is in the relative comfort of her own bed. In truth, since arriving on the Yorktown, she has spent fewer nights here than off-ship. But it is not Sickbay, nor is it OCIII or the Sakathian station.

She yawns and turns over on her side, hearing something fall from her bedcovers. Her clothes? She looks down and realizes that she is still in her uniform--even her boots. Vaguely she remembers crawling into bed, drawn there as if magnetized. The only thing she removed before falling asleep was her communicator, since it pressed uncomfortably on her hip.

Kylah thinks back to her lunch--breakfast, really--with Velir. The long silent walk from Science to the turbolift, then from there to the mess hall. Velir was by her side the whole time, one hand not quite touching hers but always read if she needed it to lean on. She only needed it once or twice, mainly because her gait was so slow. Any faster and she might have lost her balance.

The few times she hurried to clasp his arm, it was there, waiting for her. But also quick to let her go. Or at least, not prevent her from moving. Maybe he was conscious of Graham's strange accusations? Worried about attracting attention by appearing to hold on to Kylah too tightly? That does not seem like Velir, but then again... He has not consistently acted like the Velir she thought she knew for some time now.

Then they reached the mess hall, Velir sitting her in a chair--she was too tired to make it further than the closest table to the door--and ordering food for her: eggs, toast, water, a large glass of some kind of juice, and hot chocolate. Somewhat to her disappointment, the eggs were hardly the heaping platter she envisioned, and no butter or cheese on the toast. But Velir explained that she should not eat too much on such an empty stomach, and no dairy other than her beloved chocolate; she might get sick.

As she ate, the warmth of the eggs and toast and familiar sweetness of the hot drink could be felt every inch down her throat to her stomach. Velir spoke little except to gently caution her to take small bites and to chew as thoroughly as possible. He seemed like a concerned parent rather than a peer, much less a... partner, or whatever euphemism one might use.

I deserved no better, Kylah thinks now, embarrassed by the entire morning's string of incidents. Showing weakness in front of the science crew, collapsing into Velir's arms, being the subject of that ugly scene between Velir and Graham... How much of a spectacle is she going to make of herself? As if she hasn't already been the subject of enough gossip since returning from OCIII. No, even before then: going back to that confrontation with Ferguson.

But while others may have been watching Kylah, during the mess hall visit with Velir, she noticed that he--pointedly? Considerately? she is still unsure--turned to his datapad to work or research. As she carefully ate her food as ordered, as she did as a little girl under her nurse's watchful eye, Kylah kept sneaking looks up at him. Now and then she found him eyeing her, nodding in approval at her food intake. But then he would quickly direct his gaze back down to his datapad.

He was impossible to read, even for her. When tired her empathic abilities were dulled, and of course, she has long refused to reach out and impose her powers on Velir. If he only knew that she did have some ethics and restraint... He would only think it the least I could do, Kylah acknowledges now. He is unlikely to reward me for acting as I should.

Finally, when she was nearly through, Velir suddenly stood up and said he would need to leave, now that she seemed better. Kylah hurried to swallow her mouthful of eggs before getting to her feet. "Of course," she said then, staring at him and trying not to look desperate. "Thank you for taking so much of your time... I would not have made it here without you. I know you must go back on duty. But can we not... Can we talk later? Please? You did say we could."

Kylah still remembers his tilted smile. At the time, Kylah could not read the smile, and she still cannot interpret it. "I know I did. When you've had enough rest. Maybe tomorrow?"

He said more, but Kylah just nodded and agreed. As tired as she was, she knew she was grasping for anything from him, any sign that they might return to their normal friendship. But it was too soon. This whole morning had been an emergency situation. Perhaps it would be the spark that would start them on a path to a richer understanding of each other. Perhaps it would be nothing more than an uneasy truce. Kylah sank back down, finished her meal, and felt strong enough to nearly sleepwalk her way to her quarters alone.

Now Kylah sighs, rubs her eyes, and slowly sits up. "Lights," she says huskily. She peers at her chronometer to discover she slept nearly four hours. And yet she could easily return to it, if she wanted. Instead she needs to go to the bathroom. Pushing herself up, she rises groggily and kicks something on her way to the foot of the bed. She looks down to discover an envelope. Oh. This must be what she accidentally pushed off her bedcovers earlier.

When she bends down Kylah reads the label and alarm rushes through her. It is from the Thoth Constabulary. A knot of nerves interacts with the still digesting food and causes Kylah to clutch her stomach. She lifts the padded envelope and drops it back on the bed as if it is electrified. She must go to the bathroom before dealing with... whatever this is.

I thought this was over for now, she thinks, closing the door behind her and staring at the mirror. Why will it not end?

Rangin stands back having packed the rest of the tools away and nods to Ens. Delaney. Happy with the progress the pair of them are making on setting up both sensors, Rangin thanks him and for the work so far and that they should be able to finish off the work tomorrow.

After everything going on, Rangin is looking forward to a more peaceful night. He'd heard that Fujishiro was in a bad way, so he needs to visit her at least once, he is still most of the way through that story, and it would be wrong not to finish it for her. Then, from earlier today, he wonders if Kylah is ready to talk, or if she is sleeping, like she really should be. He hadn't wanted to get too close, not just because of everything that had happened with Graham, but because he wanted to make sure she was better before anything else.

- - -

Thinking back, she had been in as bad a condition as she looked. She stumbled a few times on the way to the galley and he'd had to guide her into a seat. As she'd been too tired to even get her own meal, he'd fetched it for her, although she seemed slightly upset there wasn't more. He'd also had to stop her trying to eat it all at once and take her time. It wasn't that he was trying to mother her, just stop her being sick.

After a while, he had felt comfortable to going back to his coffee and datapad leaving Kylah to eat alongside. But more often than not, he'd find himself just watching her slowly work her way through the meal, the datapad held loosely in his hand and coffee slowly ingested. Every so often, she'd look up and he'd quickly look down back to the schematics he was supposed to be reading. He was there as a colleague, not someone supposed to be overseeing her recovery, that was Dr Villa's role, not his.

After a little while, he had realised how long he had been there for and the mug was empty. He tried to catch Kylah's attention a couple of times, but she still seemed tired. It wasn't until he stood up that perhaps it got through to her.

"I'm sorry Kylah, I do have to go. I'm still on watch and I expect some people will be wondering where I am." She had looked slightly shocked that he was leaving, perhaps she hadn't heard and it may not have registered that he was still on watch, even though she wasn't.

"Thank you for taking so much of your time... I would not have made it here without you. I know you must go back on duty. But can we not... Can we talk later? Please? You did say we could." she seemed to stutter out and he tried to resist the urge to stay a while longer, but no, talking later once she had recovered would be better, for both of them. Velir cannot help but feel guilty for the scene in Sickbay but then remembers the meeting with Jan on OCIII and...well they had both acted without thinking.

But perhaps they could start anew, or at least try to understand each other and he couldn't help but smile for the good moments they had had. "I know I did. When you've had enough rest. Maybe tomorrow?"

Kylah had nodded, tiredly but as enthusiastically as she could manage, before stifling a yawn she probably didn't even realise she had.

"But yes I do want to talk, with you and sooner rather than later. Just, please take care of yourself and get some sleep." and then he'd picked up the cup and headed off.

On the way out he was stopped by the chef and looking up the figure realised the lanky form of Mr Johnson in front of him. "She alright sir?" a single thumb jerked in the direction of Kylah and the obvious feeling that anything was wrong, Rangin was going to regret it.
"She's not in a great way, hungry and tired. She may need a hand getting back to her quarters if she falls asleep there."
"And you're just gonna leave her there, classy."
"I'm not even supposed to be here, but she needed someone to help her out. I don't suppose you could find someone to help her back to her quarters after she's finished. And no, please don't call Sickbay, she's just tired, not ill. She's already refused once."
The withering look and the grunt from Mr Johnson told Rangin all he needed to know, before the shake of the head. "Yeah, I'm sure I can find someone." before another snort and he heads back into the kitchen.

- - -

Rangin just hoped that everything had gone alright and that he was likely to find out in the next hour or so...until the message comes from Cmdr Vargas.

So, he wants to see him in his office, but no clue as to what about. Is there something about the scanners he needs to know that hadn't been mentioned. No, it was more likely to be about Ens. Graham and the harassment that had occurred over the last day or so.

Rangin was going to need another coffee, no, a shower and then a coffee.

Graham frowns. Swallows. Tenses and resists the urge to rip the comm panel off the wall. He stares at the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

OK Booker, get a grip.

A sociopath like Rangin: manipulation is his game. Odds are he's been laying groundwork for this since he came onboard, choreographing his chess moves so he could pat himself on the back at maintaining his mild-mannered persona while laughing as anyone who stands in the way of his prey is transferred to the ass end of nowhere.

The fact is, it's not my game, Graham thinks, even if I know it's underway.

His frustration, and concern, about Kylah are interrupted: and I'd really like to at least have dinner as planned with Nia, tonight...

Graham thinks for a moment, then starts moving quickly. One thing at a time. Any one sinks or swims without the others.

He replies to Collins that he'll be in Sickbay ASAP. He showers and shaves triple-time, then looks for something to wear. Options between "work out" and "Starfleet dress uniform" are slim. But he finds a black Nehru collar shirt he wore to Patil's wedding..

He puts that on, checks himself in the mirror, takes his box with his gift in hand, and heads to Sickbay. Try to create a new lifeline for Kylah. See Vargas...come what may. And...hopefully...one last supper.

"What would Bennett think?" intrudes on his thoughts. He shakes his head. Stupid to even think about...Nice perfume, too bad that old man was sent away... but...should I talk to her about Kylah?

He pauses before opening the door to the corridor from his quarters. You've volunteered for suicide missions before, Booker, and this feels like one.

So be it, he thinks, "shooshing" the door open.

Graham nearly runs into Ens. Mahmoud as he goes through the door. "Whoa, Booker, is there an alert?" He takes in Graham's shirt and gift in hand, and breaks into a grin. "Or... a big date?"

Following a shower and a coffee, Rangin is ready outside Vargas' office on the dot. He is not trying to work out what may occur in the meeting because it invariably winds up being completely different to his expectations. All he can do is wait and see.

With a deep breath he presses the chime and waits for the response.

T'Var thanks the orderly, then leaves her office to find Collins.

"You may have heard by now," T'Var begins. "Ensign Fujishiro is dying. She does not have much longer. You are welcome to spend some time with her."

Collins is a little shocked. She hadn't heard much of anything beyond Fujishiro being in a coma, and that the OC3 spores weren't going to be of any help. She had no idea her crewmate's condition was deteriorating. It takes her a few moments to find her voice. "I, uh, thank you for telling me, Doctor. I need a minute before I go in."

She starts replaying the Sakathian mission over in her mind. She hadn't done anything directly to Fujishiro, but a mission leader is responsible for her team, therefore Tomeo's condition was Collins' fault. Slowly she walks to her fallen comrade's bed, the flow of tears getting stronger with each step. At bedside, she barely squeaks out "I'm sorry" before running from Sickbay in search of somewhere private, completely forgetting her appointment with Graham.

Graham grunts, the realizes he probably looks more like he's on his way to a funeral than a date.

"Uh, yeah, I, ah--I'm having dinner with Lt. Onn later."

He clears his throat and tugs at his collar with his free hand, trying to focus on dinner with Nia rather than the meeting with Vargas and Rangin.

He brightens up and shrugs. "I mean--that is unless she comes to her sense before then, of course."

Shit, the meeting with Vargas and Rangin--he checks the time and decides its better to keep Collins waiting than Vargas.

When he and Mahmoud are done talking he heads to Vargas' office.

Once Kylah is back in the main area of her quarters, her stomach may feel better but the envelope on her bed still causes some mental discomfort. She tears it open carefully and reaches in, expecting some sort of document. Instead there is a plastic bag, very light, which she pulls out to reveal a label marked Evidence followed by an indecipherable case code after it, and inside, familiar contents: The same combination of dusty white powder, shards of stone, and random shapes of crystal that is still scattered in her dirty canvas bag.

She does not remember sitting on the bed, but somehow she is. Her free hand clutches the bedcovers while the other holds the plastic evidence bag in her lap. There is no further sense of grief at her ruined zither. Just a rush of guilt at the reminder of the dire consequences of her folly. And a curious objectivity. There is not enough here to constitute the entire instrument, she thinks, turning the plastic over and touching it cautiously. They must have kept some of it. Evidence for the prosecution? Evidence of what? How does this connect to the suspects? Kylah's mind is too dull right now to imagine how her zither's remains could be used against the criminals. All she knows is that she cannot bear to see it anymore.

With effort she pushes herself over to the other side of the bed and drops the plastic bag in the open canvas bag, then rolls over onto her stomach, hugging her pillow. She supposes it was thoughtful of the police to sent it back to her, but... in the end it serves no purpose except a reminder of what she has lost, and the failure in her duty to her family.

That thought triggers a tug of dread. Kylah reluctantly shifts her gaze to her computer terminal over on her desk. She cannot put this off indefinitely.

Soon she has forced herself over to the chair and is now composing the message. After a few seconds staring at the empty screen with hands poised over her keyboard, she changes her mind. It strikes her that a video message will be much more effective. From the examination of her face in the bathroom mirror, Kylah knows just how beaten she looks. The faint remains of a not-completely-healed bruise on her forehead, her lifeless dark eyes, the ashen complexion...

Surely, if Aldaan sees her, he will realize she did not break the zither purposely?

Rangin sees Graham round the corner, walking towards Vargas's office door. He is not in uniform. They are alone in the corridor, at least for the moment.

Rangin glances down the corridor and sees Graham walking down in something smart, but more importantly not in uniform as Rangin is. He shudders wondering if his fate is already determined, after all, if Graham is turning up like that to go through the assault that Graham committed then Cmdr. Vargas has obviously decided.

Saying nothing he resolutely turns back to the door and waits, listening as Graham makes his way down, getting tenser and more nervous. Given everything, Rangin expects Graham to try something, even outside Vargas' door, just because he's that kind of psychopathic bully.

Graham sees Rangin ahead of him, and the progression of this thoughts and feelings is quick.

Anger is quickly replaced: pointless and irrelevant to the situation.

Anxiety strikes around a little longer: if he were just meeting Vargas, he'd take whatever dressing down Vargas might see fit to administer (if any) but given the MO of dirtbags like Rangin Graham can't help but worry he's got some angle, some manipulative scheme in play.

But even the anxiety is replaced by sadness. It's not about me or him. It's about Kylah, and...I don't know what to do.

Regardless of what happens in Vargas' office, I'm going in not knowing what to do, and I'll come out not knowing what to do.

Unless Vargas flushes Rangin out an airlock, he allows himself that hope.

Pensive, he walks slowly toward Rangin and the door. Just beyond arm's reach from Rangin he silently turns to look at Vargas' door rather than his crew mate. A deep breath released almost as a sigh is the only noise he makes.

The two are right on time. The door will not open unless either gets closer to it.

It takes Graham a moment the two of them are standing in the hall like idiots too far from the door to trigger it.

He resolves to hold fast to the fact that this is not about Rangin. This is about Kylah. He might as well be some sort of parasite that needs to be pried off her or a disease that needs to be cured.

Maybe I should ask T'Var about some particularly gross pustules, he thinks.

Without looking at Rangin he steps up to the door.

Having set up her terminal to record a visual and audio message, Kylah sits and stares at the keyboard while she collects her thoughts. Finally she clears her throat and lifts her chin.

"Commence recording," she says softly. After a few seconds, she bows her head, then her gaze returns to the screen as evenly as possible. "My humble greetings to you, Uncle Aldaan." She adds the usual salutations to Dohlman Tel and her sister Ditraa, and wishes everyone in the household is well.

"I am sending this message in such a format because I--I suspect by the time this gets to you, you will have heard some news reports of an incident that occurred to me. I thought seeing me would ease your mind. Just in case you have not..."

Kylah inhales and quickly explains about the shore leave on Anubis, the kidnapping, and the attack. "I wish I had fought better, Uncle, but you know I am not strong, not a warrior as an Elasian woman should be. It is something I plan to practice, far more diligently. I did use my knife... I think I struck one of the men. But I am not sure. I forgot to ask.

"They--they stole some money and some objects I had with me. Including the knife, I fear--it was my last one, as the other was lost during my first mission. And they beat me until I was unconscious. I am fine, now," she adds hurriedly. "As you see, I am all but healed. Although I might not have survived if it were not for my crewmates.

"One of them--the Coridanite I told you about in my last message?" Kylah's voice turns a shade warmer and she looks down at her bruised left wrist, rubbing it unconsciously. "He was so clever, he was able to find me although the thieves had broken my communicator and abandoned me to bleed out in an empty building. Other crewmates followed his lead and took me back to the ship, where the doctors cared for me. I am fortunate to have such intelligent and skilled colleagues. If my friend had not discovered my whereabouts..."

A faint burning in her cheeks warns her to avoid this topic. Besides, she must now confess the worst of it. "But... Uncle... I am afraid to admit this to you. The thieves did not just break me. They--" Kylah's eyes fill with tears. "They destroyed Grandmother's zither. Your mother's zither." She blinks away from the screen and nervously repeats the lie she has told so many times: that she brought it down to the planet for repairs. Then she looks back, eyes wide.

"It cannot be fixed, nor, I know, replaced." She wrings her hands in misery. "I am so, so very sorry, Uncle. All that is left is crushed stone and powder. I do not know why they chose to ruin it. The animals have been caught, but I never thought to ask anything of them, and now we have left the planet's orbit. It probably does not matter; what is done, is done."

With her helpless shrug, hot tears spill down her cheeks. "Please forgive me, Aldaan. I know what it means to our family, and--and what an honor it was for you to have trusted me with it. Perhaps I was unworthy of such trust."

Kylah leans forward, wiping her tears away as her heart pounds in anxiety. "But Uncle, I know you wished me to continue to work on my music. I will not fail you. I have already asked, and my superior officer--who is an artist himself--has said there is a suitable instrument I can use, a lute of some kind. Of course it cannot possess the grace and nuance of an Elasian zither, but--" She bites her lip, trying to think of a harmless way to share her thoughts in this open communication.

"--But nevertheless, I am sure I will be able to express myself in much the same way, through my compositions, even if I must learn how to play all over again. I swear I will continue to practice my music skills just as you wish me to. I will not shirk my responsibilities." Her tone is intense, as is her stare into the blank screen. Aldaan will surely believe her, he must hear and see her sincerity.

"So please, again, I hope you will forgive me. Not only for this horrible loss, but for any untoward scandal or notoriety my experience has brought to our family. I am ashamed to have been caught up in such a disgrace."

Kylah thinks for a few seconds. "I should mention that our next mission is, I believe, related to scientific exploration. I know very little about it, but I expect it is unlikely to involve any communications activity. Which does not bother me, to be honest. For the first time since I arrived, I should be able to work more regularly in my department, taking on Bridge watches--which is a great honor for one as junior as myself. And a relief, too," she adds under her breath, then quickly adds: "Of course, I am proud to have been selected as part of a landing party for two missions right after I started, but... I did not expect them to be as dangerous as they were."

Her tone sounds hollow even to her. "So I think the ability to establish a routine and get to know the ship and my crewmates better will be good for me. This has been a more challenging month than I ever dreamed. Especially the past week or so." She gazes through the screen now, seeing the Sakathians, Mrs. Porr, Fujishiro, Jan, Wilson, Hardin, Palver, the three men and their vicious clubs...

Kylah shakes her head to break free of the spell. "Again, please forgive my loss of the zither. And please extend my wish for pardon from His Serenity the Dohlman--although I am sure my brother has far more important things on his mind, as you ably guide and teach him how to ascend to the leadership role that will be his."

She takes another deep breath. "I pray you pass along my humble respect and duty to him, and my best wishes to Her Grace Ditraa. And to you, Uncle Aldaan..." Wiping her face again, she attempts a hopeful smile. "My love and affection, and my wish for your guidance. My sincerest wish is to have better news to share with you in my next message. I want dearly to make you proud of me." Kylah swallows, a tight knot in her throat causing her some pain. "If you can spare the time, please let me know how you are. I bid you farewell, Uncle Aldaan."

With a final bow of her head, she closes her eyes. And, five seconds later, she whispers: "Kylah out. Cease recording."

Collins finds an empty conference room, enters, and locks the door behind her. She flops into a chair and begins sobbing uncontrollably. She hugs herself and rocks back and forth. Why I am so upset? Why can't I stop crying? I wish I were home so I could curl up next to Mom on the couch. Mom! I never told her about the miscarriage. I never told her I was pregnant. She'd make a fantastic grandmother. And Dad! He's spoil the baby silly! Her sobs increase as a wave of homesickness overtakes her. She starts yelling at herself internally. STOP THIS! YOU'RE A STARFLEET OFFICER! GET OVER YOURSELF! but it does not good. She brings her feet up onto the chair, hugs her knees tightly, and continues rocking, hoping that if she gets it all out of her system now, maybe she can get back to normal faster.

Rangin and Graham enter the First Officer's spartan office. Cmdr. Vargas is seated behind his desk, which is bare but for a datapad and a framed silver picture of an elderly couple. He does not ask you to sit, leaving you both standing at attention. He says grimly, "It has come to my attention that there was another altercation between you two last watch, and that Ens. Kylah was once again at the center of it. I am not pleased. I would, however, like to hear your respective explanations of what happened." He looks from one to the other.

Collins remains alone with her thoughts in the empty conference room.

Graham makes sure his at-attention stance is textbook, at the same time being careful not to upset his package and feeling awkward about having it in hand, given the circumstances.

He looks directly at Vargas and doesn't bother so much as glancing toward Rangin. Or waiting to give Rangin a chance to speak.

He keeps his voice neutral and without animosity: something made easier by the formality of the setting. Just making a report, could be about anything or anyone...

"I observed what, in the totality of circumstances, appeared to be unwanted physical contact with Mr. Kylah initiated by Mr. Rangin. I instructed him to desist."

He pauses very briefly. "I wouldn't call it an altercation sir. I, ah--could have used more 'by-the-book' phrasing, however."

"Please put your... package down, Mr. Graham, and tell me more about what happened," Vargas says.

Hearing what Graham has to say only serves to confirm that Graham is a loon and has a real problem with anyone being near Kylah who isn't him. Then again from her actions, it appears that Kylah is not only afraid of him but in some ways welcomes the attention...something else they really need to talk about.

Deciding that the best way is to point out exactly what happens, perhaps Vargas might see what a danger Graham is and at least put a stop to it.

"His precise words were, sir," Rangin interjects, "Get your goddamned hands off her! This was while stalking towards both of us with one hand on his phaser."

Rangin takes a short breath before continuing. "I was assisting Ens. Kylah at the time, who had just finished identifying suspects and was not feeling well. I was coming back from Sciences with some equipment for the new sensor when I came across her in the corridor looking unwell. She had actually pushed herself a little too far, was feeling faint and I offered assistance to help her to the Galley, where she could recover. Unfortunately, she was a little unsteady and I had to drop the equipment in order to catch her, before she fell. It was while I was assisting Ens. Kylah back to her feet that Mr Graham came across us."

Rangin glances to one side to see how Graham reacts but doesn't expect anything given his cold, violent heart that seems only to enjoy inflicting pain. "Ens. Kylah's reaction on seeing Mr Graham was an expectation that he was going to assault me again. I believe she was thinking of a repeat of the incident in Sickbay. When two of my colleagues turned up, I asked one of them to contact you and the other to assist me with Ens. Kylah. At which point Mr Graham backed down and I was able to continue helping Ens. Kylah."

Rangin waits to see what Graham has to say for himself and how Vargas reacts.

Graham's jaw tightens involuntarily while Rangin spins his tale.

What a steaming pile of Mugato shit...

Of course it is just what he expected: completely in line with his urbane, eminently reasonable persona he's spent who knows how long cultivating.

Putting the box down--very gently and carefully--gives him a moment to collect himself.

He resumes his at-attention stance and pays lip service to glancing toward Rangin--although in fact the movement of his head is so slight he doesn't even enter his field of vision.

He clears his throat. "As I said, sir, I could have used less colorful language." Hhe adds, as drily as he understand's Nia's planet to be, "Perhaps that is what he was entirely uncooperative."

He pauses, thinking back to the highly unexpected encounter.

"I heard raised voices as we--that is, Detective Ruthen of the Thoth Constabulary and I--approached. As we turned a corner I observed--ah, stuff scattered around the floor. Mr. Rangin had hold of Mr. Kylah, whose hands were on his chest in what I believe was an unsuccessful attempt to push him away." This time he does look at Rangin. His voice is flat. "Then, as previously, she was in a--highly agitated state."

Thanks to this asshole.

He turns back to Vargas and clears his throat again, wondering how much detail to provide.

Not much.

"Then, as previously, she--" he chooses his words carefully. "Insisted she did not need any assistance at that time."

He shrugs ever so slightly. This part at least isn't personal.

"Given the initial distance between us and what I perceived to be an, ah, altercation, had there had been an attempt--by either party--to strike the other that the use of light stun was at least an option to have on the table, sir."

Graham feels sick. This is exactly how it's supposed to work, ins't it? Find ways to isolate her, Vargas will probably order me to avoid the both of them. The psychopath probably has chess pieces associated with each of us he'll knock over once he's back in his quarters...

"All right," says Vargas icily, "I've heard enough. You both clearly have a problem with each other. What it is, I'm still not quite sure, but obviously Ens. Kylah is at the heart of it. I remind you that you are both Starfleet officers with a job to do, and a sworn obligation to the Federation, this ship and your crewmates to do it well. From now on, you will strive to carry out your duties to the very best of your abilities and to have no further incidents of this kind. None. I hereby order you to avoid each other unless it is unavoidable while on-duty. If there are any further problems between you, any at all, I will make it my personal crusade to see one or both of you booted off this ship and even court-martialed. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?"

"Crystal, sir," Graham replies once again as if Rangin weren't there. He remains at attention, waiting to be dismissed and wondering whether Rangin's satisfied with this result in relation to whatever twisted plan he has in mind, or will instead try to sway Vargas toward something else.

"As Crystal, sir," Rangin replies simultaneously while waiting to be dismissed. The fact that Graham is effectively ordered to back off fills Rangin with small amount of relief given that he wants nothing to do with the bully and has no intention of ever going near him again.

Of course, that's not going to stop someone as obstinate as the knuckledragger standing next to him. Chances are Rangin is going to have to watch out for Graham to rope in other people to carry out his dirty work. No, Rangin has a few questions of his own to ask other people...time to find out what really makes Ens. Graham tick.

Then if Graham does decide to escalate, Rangin is not going to be unprepared for it.

"Very well," says Vargas, a flicker of amusement showing in his eyes at their near-identical responses. "Mr. Rangin, you're dismissed."

Once the xenobiologist is gone, the First Officer folds his hands and says, "Mr. Graham, I don't how they did things on your previous ship, but on the Yorktown, when you report to me or any other senior officer, even if you're otherwise off-duty, you will show up in full uniform and with no extraneous gear in your hands. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," says Graham.

"Good. Now cast your mind back to our little chat when you first came aboard at Starbase 27, Ensign, and remind yourself of just what a chance the Captain has taken on you. Then consider the future path of your career, such as it will be, if she decides she made a mistake in taking that chance. From this moment forward, I don't care if you see Ens. Rangin relieving himself and strangling kittens as he sits in the big chair on the Bridge, singing the anthem of the Romulan Star Empire. Call someone else from Security and don't lay a hand on him, not even a finger. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Outstanding. Now the next time I have to call you in here, it had better be to pin a well-deserved medal on you. Dismissed."

Kylah stands outside Sickbay.

She did not want to return here--many hours ago, she expended so much effort begging Velir not to send her here. But something has drawn her back. After sending the message off to her uncle, Kylah felt her mood settle from despondent anxiety to... she cannot describe it... a sense of remoteness? Detachment? Even dissociation?

The fact that she has no way to retrieve the message has helped her accept whatever happens now. How Aldaan will react is a complete unknown, and there is no use in worrying about it. He might not receive it for days, even longer, and it could be weeks until she hears back. It is out of her hands now.

Only yesterday afternoon, she thought it possible to escape. Now she knows it was always impossible. At no time in Kylah's life has she been free, and as long as this chain of deadly secrets continues to encircle her throat, she will remain bound to whoever holds her fate in his hands--first her parents, now her uncle.

Acceptance of this fact brings with it a strange peace. Resignation, she corrects herself. Fighting is exhausting; thinking about her problems is exhausting. And Kylah desperately needs to rest.

That is why she is at Sickbay: because someone else is about to find rest--and Kylah soberly acknowledges that it is a rest from a greater struggle and a crueler fate than she herself has ever known.

Of course, Kylah is aware that she is a virtual stranger. It would be obscene to pretend otherwise. She will defer any right to visit to any other crew member who wishes to be with their friend or colleague. Still, she hopes she will be allowed inside, if only briefly.

Earlier, in her hysteria born of exhaustion, she was terrified of being near the dying officer. Now it feels proper to be here. She fought the enemy that brought this young woman to her current state. Thanks to Kylah's empathic link to Mrs. Porr and the other altered Sakathians, Kylah knows as well as anyone--unless T'Var has done a mind-meld, and Kylah dearly hopes the Vulcan spared herself that horror--what that sick experiment's many victims' last sentient moments were like.

Kylah keenly remembers it, despite spending many nights vainly trying to forget. All of her own personal misery, her fear, her emotional and physical pain over the past two weeks: they were nothing compared to that.

She seeks perspective. She seeks to stop dwelling on herself and pay respect to someone else's suffering, to someone else who stands on the brink of eternal night.

Now, shuddering, Kylah hugs her thin shawl closer around her plainest off-duty dress. The shawl is gleaming, pearlescent ivory silk exquisitely embroidered with hundreds of actual pearls following Elasian tradition. It is beautiful despite having been knitted by her nurse in the haste following Kylah's parents' sudden deaths, and--also following Elasian tradition--Kylah has taken five pearls from the shawl's rippling edge and holds them tightly in one hand. Ten pearls are already gone from the shawl, having been cremated with Kylah's mother and father more than a decade ago.

And whenever the current visitor leaves, Kylah will humbly ask T'Var if she might spend a few moments inside: to reflect, to say goodbye, and to offer these pearls to Lt. JG Fujishiro on her journey into oblivion.

Collins is exhausted. She stands, smooths the wrinkles from her tunic and pants, takes a deep breath, and steps to the door of the conference room. It whooshes open, but she doesn't move right away, instead staring at the wall across from her, or rather, through it. Jeremi desperately wants to shake off this melancholy and be back to her happy self, but it hangs around her like a fog. There is a remedy she knows of, and it will push the sadness far away, but she has promised to never again use it.
Collins begins walking towards the Turbolift, still undecided as to what she'll do next. She's not really hungry, she hasn't the energy for a workout, and she's definitely not in the mood for other physical pursuits with Cooper. She decides to just walk the corridors until she's tired enough to sleep. If anyone talks to her, she'll respond, but will not accept any invitations to any activities. If she keeps moving until she's ready to conk out, she can ignore the distant call of the little vials buried deep in her dresser.

Rangin doesn't hesitate when dismissed by Cmdr. Vargas and neatly and formally leaves the office not showing any sign of the stress he is under. It is only when outside that, with no-one else around, he lets out an explosive sigh of relief.

For tonight, at least, Rangin was fairly safe, but it wouldn't take Graham too long to find some other way to try and take out this setback on himself. He wasn't really in the mood for anything social or in the mood for work. Actually, there was something relaxing to do, something that came back to mind before Vargas' order had come through.

After grabbing a bite to eat in one of the Mess Halls, he has a story to finish for Fujishiro. At this time of night, not many others would be around, so with luck he can finish off the story for her. Whether she can hear it or not is irrelevant, but Rangin is of the opinion that its more likely than not. With that in mind he heads for the Galley for a well earned meal, considering all the work on the sensor done in the previous few hours.

Graham is oddly relieved by the private dressing-down from Vargas: more or less what I expected--minus the dress code violation.

Maybe I'm giving Rangin's scheming more credit than I should.

After he leaves Vargas' office he curses under his breath and hopes he hasn't kept Collins waiting too long in Sickbay. All the more important to ask her to keep an eye on Kylah--and Rangin--now.

He heads toward Sickbay.

T'Var tells Kylah, "Mr. Fujishiro is alone, for the moment. Just go through that door."

Collins bumps into no one she knows well as she walks the corridors.

The mess hall is not very full, but Rangin sees Zweller, Three Crows, Thalen and Cheverez, among others.

Graham soon makes his way to Sickbay.

Kylah thanks T'Var, searching the older woman's face to see how she herself is doing. It cannot be easy to lose a patient, much less one who is also a colleague.

Her tread is light, almost a tiptoe, when she nears Fujishiro. She sinks into the chair and examines Fujishiro's face. How has it changed during this... process? "I do not know if you can hear me," Kylah murmurs. "I am Ensign Kylah; we served on the Sakathian mission together. I am extremely sorry I did not get a chance to know you. And that we could not help you."

Lowering her head, Kylah lifts her palm with the five tiny pearls of warmest white. "I looked up your culture before I came here," she says, tilting her hand and letting the pearls fall into a tiny, silken drawstring bag--no bigger than Kylah's little finger. "Like my own, your ancient people believed pearls were appropriate accompaniments to those who--who were going beyond. For Elasians, they signify the richness of nature, that allows its beings to create beauty from pain."

She pulls the drawstring shut and hesitates. The string is usually looped around the dying or dead person's wrist. But that would mean touching the other woman, and of course, there is a protective field surrounding Fujishiro's body. Is this correct?

Gnawing at her lip, Kylah tries to think of a way around the problem. She could just place the small offering beside the nearby table. Then, when Fujishiro does breathe her last and her body is prepared, perhaps the doctors and assistants will place it in the casket with her.

It feels wrong. But Kylah has little choice; she cannot remove the force field herself. Tears well up. Fujishiro is not only dying light years away from those who loved her, but dying without the comfort of a last, friendly, mournful touch.

Kylah fleetingly remembers that she, too, was unable to touch her late mother's hand, though she wanted to. After the accident, Mother's skin and flesh were charred, melted, and Kylah was too horrified to believe that this unrecognizable form belonged to someone she knew so well. Only the achingly scarred, motionless face was visual proof that this corpse was truly her mother.

She shakes her head free of those awful memories and focuses on Fujishiro, where her thoughts should be. "I hope it is not presumptuous to send this offering along with you, Lieutenant," she whispers, trembling. "I will tell Dr. T'Var, and she may remove it if it is inappropriate. Still... I read that your own ancients placed pearls in their loved ones' mouths. I wonder what your family would wish..."

At once she freezes. "Your family," she repeats through a choking throat. "I am so sorry they are not here. They should be. It is a cruel circumstance that forces them to be so far away from you at this time. I will write them, Lieutenant; they will know how brave you were on the station."

Finally she can postpone no longer. Others will wish to visit, and there is no time to wait for some mythical burst of emotional strength. Kylah reaches forward and gently places the bag on the night table.

Standing, she stares down again at Fujishiro's face. If she cannot touch her physically, there is another way. She has been working as hard as she can to erect a mental wall between her and Fujishiro, but now she closes her eyes. With a deep inhale, she girds herself and at last pushes her mind forward, through the protective field that can prevent almost anything from passing through--but not emotions, not thoughts.

"What are you going through now, Lieutenant Fujishiro?" she whispers to herself in both dread and awe. Please, please, let it be peaceful.

Rangin looks at the choices representing work, a reminder of Ens. Graham, a reminder of Ens. Kylah and work...

...Rangin decides to sit with some of the other people and chat about more social news and events for a while. The last thing he currently wants is anything serious.

Fujishiro makes no reply. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest, and the muted tones of the bed's biomedical monitor screen above her head, tell Kylah that the Japanese woman is alive at all.

Rangin sits down with two crewmates whom he hasn't met before. Crewman Nahida Farunia is a young, pretty Kuwaiti woman and a Command Subsystems technician; Spec/1 Tovek, a thin-faced Vulcan male, is a Science lab tech. They both welcome Rangin to their table. "How has your day gone, Mr. Rangin?" Farunia asks.

Kylah is relieved and surprised that there is no mental activity at all. It is completely different from her experience with Mrs. Porr--or, indeed, any person near-death, unless they were declared brain-dead. She squints at the monitors, trying to determine if that is the case with Fujishiro.

"Oh, it's had its ups and downs," Rangin replies conversationally as he tucks into a plate of hot beef casserole. "Actually feels like its been a long day, so I'm glad watch is over and can take a break. How about your days?" he throws the question open to the pair sat with him.

Rangin is quite happy to chat, get to know them and shoot the breeze for a little while until his meal is over.

Collins realizes all that crying gave her a nasty headache, and the aimless wandering isn't helping, so she heads back to Sickbay for an analgesic.

As near as Kylah can figure out from the monitor, Fujishiro still has some low-level brain function. The Communications officer gets no empathic impression from her at all, however.

Farunia takes a big bite of her vegetable pot pie and says, "I had a pretty good day. Routine systems checks on Deck 7; everything went smoothly."

Tovek says, "My day was not quite as pleasant. Several of us had to clean and take inventory in the Organic Chemistry Lab." He takes a spoonful of a tan-colored soup of some kind, and then a drink of water.

Collins finds her way to Sickbay with no problem, despite her headache. A nurse asks, "What may we do for you this afternoon, Lieutenant?"

Graham's mentally kicks himself when he arrives at Sickbay and doesn't see Collins. He only has to spend a minute debating whether to hail her or not until she comes in and talks to a nurse.

Graham approaches, his apology for being late superseded after getting a closer look at her. "Uh, whoa, L-T, you look like hell..." He's concerned, not joking: "All you all right?" he asks quietly.

"Something for my headache, please, Nurse." Collins says, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. Then she hears Graham beside her, "Yes, ... no, ... I don't know" She looks at him, "Fujishiro is dying," she tells him quietly when the nurse steps out of earshot "and it could be my fault." She doesn't wait for a reaction before continuing. "You wanted to talk to me anyway and I really need someone to talk to now. After I get my hypospray, can we go talk somewhere quiet?

"Ouch." replies Rangin to Tovek, "what did you do to annoy Lt. Cmdr Roble? That job has been waiting for a while." remembering how big a task it is. "I should be glad I got to spend most of the day setting up sensor arrays." Rangin takes another mouthful of the meal, savouring the rich tastes and hoping that Mr Johnson didn't see him coming and decide to amend it in any way.

"Do you know if there is anything going on with the Lyceum tonight?" he casually asks. Something to take his mind off current matters would always be welcome, but Rangin knows he is just putting off his own visit to Fujishiro.

Graahm's not sure who Fujishiro is, but given the context it doesn't matter, he grasps what's likely on Collins' mind.

Shit, if even Rangin died on my watch I'd feel bad. Well, at least from a professional pride standpoint.

"Uh, yeah, sure--of course" Graham says, surprised by the turn of events but feeling genuine empathy for the Security officer decades his junior. Is this her first KIA under her command? he wonders.

Kylah looks away from the monitors and, turning toward Fujishiro again, bows her head in recognition. "May you find whatever you seek," she murmurs, an Elasian farewell. She wraps her shawl around her and leaves the room.

As she passes through the main Sickbay area, Kylah slows to a halt upon seeing Collins and Graham. Collins is fairly radiating unhappiness, and she appears to have been crying. It is the second time in only a few days that Kylah has come across her roommate in such an emotional state, and though the reason seems clear--Fujishiro is, after all, a colleague who served under her command--Kylah cannot help but be surprised and concerned to see Collins so overwhelmed by emotion. It is not a side of the other woman she recognizes.

Kylah's gaze shifts to Graham, and she is a bit surprised to see him out of uniform. The outfit suits him well--he seems almost elegant, not normally a description she would associate with the tough security officer. The reminder that he is security makes her curious as to why two such officers are in Sickbay. Is something wrong?

Her fingers pull her shawl around her more tightly, and in doing so they come across the empty area where she removed the five pearls. The act nudges her to look for T'Var--Kylah wants to see if including the tiny silk bag with Fujishiro--however the poor woman will meet her end--will be possible.

In her peripheral vision Collins notices someone coming out of Fujishiro's room. She turns to see its Kylah, wearing a shawl sporadically studded with pearls. She doesn't want to catch her roommate's eye but it's too late for that. She nods at the young ensign, a shared brief moment, then turns back to Graham, "as soon as I get something for my headache, we can go." Graham is the only person, other than Doctor Villa, to whom she can talk about her addiction. She trusts he won't tell anyone; he'd given his word.

Graham rubs his jaw and almost involuntarily reaches out his free hand to touch Collins' shoulder. "Don't worry about it, no rush, L-T," he says quietly. "I'll be right here," he adds, gesturing around the anteroom to Sickbay while taking a step back toward Kylah.

"Are you--are you OK?" he asks. It's not like she can read his mind, but he still tries to force his thoughts into something in between "is that piece of shit Rangin hurting you?" and "did you know Fujishiro?"

The nurse goes away and then returns. "I can give you an off-the-shelf analgesic, if you wish, Lieutenant, or you can see the doctor for something stronger."

Farunia says, "If I remember right, there's a chamber-music concert at 1730, and a movie from a few years ago - To Boldly Go, about early space exploration - at 1900."

"Thank you" Collins tells Graham.

"Off the shelf is fine," Collins tells the nurse. "If it gets worse I'll come back to see the doctor." She presents her left upper arm to the nurse for a hypospray; she watches Graham and Kylah while the nurse administers the medicine.

Rangin nods his appreciation at the details while still munching away. "Concert sounds good," he says, "I think I'll give that a try. Should be nice and relaxing, I hope." Rangin stops and thinks for a moment, "Hold on, that's only half an hour or so. Still plenty of time. So, either of you interested in going?" he smiles to the others.

Perhaps it would help to get his mind off everything, it wasn't really his type of music and is likely to get bored halfway through, but it's not thinking about Kylah or Graham...and it gives him enough time that evening before going to see Fujishiro, for possibly the last time.

Not seeing T'Var around, Kylah starts to leave--first returning the greeting nod from Collins, who might as well have a sign on her chest reading "yes, I see you, but leave me alone"--but is waylaid by Graham.

His voice is hesitant but she is distracted and shaken by the intensity of his thoughts. They are forceful, directing entirely different questions at her. Most worryingly is the first, some horrible accusation about Velir. Is Graham actually trying... can he possibly be attempting to communicate with her telepathically?

Kylah's eyes widen in alarm, both at the question and the possibility he has guessed her abilities. "No!" she blurts, unthinkingly answering the first unspoken question rather than the voiced one. "Of course not!"

The instant her words are out, she feels like a fool. Paranoia has temporarily made her lose her wits. Flushing, Kylah tries to gather them again, and with a quick glance back toward the private area she just left, she lifts a shoulder in an attempt to salvage the situation. "That is... I was just with Lt. Fujishiro. It is... distressing. I barely knew her, but my first mission was the one where she was mortally injured. She is the first crewmate I have seen cut down like that. Also, she is so young, and her family is not here to be with her. No one should be so alone at the time they meet death." Her eyes fill with tears, thinking of her mother.

Kylah hugs herself and moves unconsciously closer to Graham, trying to read him better to see if he continues to speak to her. He is not a telepathic race, he is a human, as far as she knows. But he must have been thinking those things with astonishing strength if she could read them; her powers are almost all empathic, not telepathic. Touching someone makes the latter much easier for her. But of course, she is not touching Graham now. Still, she can feel sadness in him, sharp and sudden. Something she said has bothered him. Is it sadness for her? For him? She cannot tell.

Biting her lip, she looks up intently at him. "Physically I am feeling better," she says softly. "Much better. Ensign Rangin took me to get something to eat, although he did not let me eat as much as I wanted. I could have eaten a targ. A--a boar," she amends, flushing at the risky slip-up of mentioning a Klingon food. Most humans would likely not recognize the reference, but someone with Graham's experience must surely know at least a little about Klingon culture. "Uh... but Mr. Rangin told me not to overdo things, and of course he was right. Then I slept for some time."

Now she decides to reach out. Her right hand slips from beneath the shawl to rest her fingertips on his wrist. "Mr. Graham," she adds in a gentle tone, "what happened this morning... I swear to you, it was not his fault. He was helping me. I was stupid, I did not eat, I had not eaten for days, not truly. It frightens me that you would be so--so violent toward someone who was helping me. You meant well, but..." She shakes her head.

"I know after everything he said to us yesterday, it is hard to believe he cares. I do not know what if anything lies between us anymore. But at the very least, he cares because I am a crewmate. He said that. I suppose he meant that his concern does not go away, merely because he no longer has...feelings for me." Kylah's hand slips further around his wrist, tightening in hope. "But perhaps he does still like me. Is that... not possible? I fear I do not know men very well. Do feelings change so quickly?"

No one should be so alone at the time they meet death.

And that's the thing, isn't it Booker?

It's not that you believe you could have saved her by being there. You're only one man.

It's that she was alone.

You can't bear the fact that Jane was alone.

But neither can you bear the thought of Elizabeth being left alone.

A lock without a key.

"Some never change," Graham whispers, looking at and through Kylah, at once literally answering her question but not the actual question she was asking.

It scares me that you could be so violent.

Focusing on what Kylah is saying is like listening at a distance, but that comes through, and he can feel her hand on his wrist.

Then thank god she can't read my mind, he thinks. He feels as if he's being twisted in half from the inside-out with all the violence of a solar storm: torn between despair from which the only relief is either the oblivion of a deep drunk or the adrenaline of a life-or-death confrontation.

Implode? Explode? Moving takes such an effort that it feels almost slow-motion, as he reaches to touch the hand holding his wrist with such exaggerated gentleness it's as if he's touching a butterfly made of glass.

Which would be the harder...to reach the last inch to touch Jane's cold or Lizzy's warm hand?

But you're here, now, he reminds himself. Clear and present need for you by two crew mates.

He's not sure how to take what she's said about herself, and about Rangin. Take her insistence at face value, or interpret in light of her repeatedly blaming, criticizing herself? Describing Rangin telling her what to do?

The wort-case scenario was that she withdraw, he thinks. She's not. That's what counts at the moment.

'You're not stupid," he says quietly. He licks his lips. "I'm maybe not the best person to ask for advice." He realizes that Collins was his back-up option--that's why he wanted to talk to her--and now look at the state she's in...

"Uh, just be careful," he says. Meaning it but knowing it's a stupid answer--but the best he has at the moment.

It has taken a while--what was instantaneous yesterday is now slower, more deliberate--but whatever is going through Graham's mind now has just reached from him to her, and the burst of pain behind Kylah's eyes almost makes her stagger. Sucking in air through her teeth, Kylah shrinks backwards. "Oh..." she whispers, an automatic sigh or groan of shock.

She retrieves her hand and holds it, as if burned, and blinks at Graham from behind the bright flashes blocking her vision for a few seconds. Be careful, he has said. Is it a warning? Is he telling her to be careful of Velir? The silent roar of fury suddenly inside Booker Graham is more frightening than even Velir's cruelest words yesterday.

Does he hate Velir that much? No, it cannot be. Something else. Something involving her, but.. but not her. It cannot be her, she could not possibly engender this level of pain in someone. Not purposely. But he would not talk to her. He thinks of her as some delicate victim, and perhaps she is, perhaps that is all she can be. Still, he needs an outlet for... for whatever this thing is that he is feeling.

Without a thought to what he said, Kylah stares up at him, concern flooding through her. "Mr. Graham," she whispers. "If I said something wrong, please forgive me. You have offered me help, and I am grateful. But do you have someone? To... to be with? Someone who will listen?"

Graham smiles--a wan smile, to be sure, but a real and spontaneous one.

"That's--that's very nice," he replies, feeling the knot inside himself, if not untangle, recede into the background.

He's not sure how to answer until after a moment he becomes conscious of the gift he's still holding with one hand.

"I, uh--" He shrugs and smiles again. "Well, ah ask me after dinner tonight."

He clears his throat, the here-and-now coming even more clearly into focus. "Speaking of which--I should go back to my, ah, conversation with Collins."

He starts to turn away then stops and adds quietly "thanks." He's not sure whether he's saying it because she didn't withdraw from him (whether in fear of him or due to Rangin's influence) or for expressing concern about him. Or both.

The nurse gives Collins her hypospray injection, and almost at once her headache begins to ease.

Farunia takes another bite and says, "Yes, we were both going to the concert. Not sure yet about the movie."

Collins thanks the nurse and actually smiles a little. She wonders if she should ask Graham how Kylah is doing, or if she should step over to them and ask for herself. After a brief internal debate, she decides on the latter.

"How did the photo ID session go, Kylah?" Collins asks her roommate with genuine concern.

"She did great," Graham blurts out in response to Collins' question addressed to Kylah.

Shit, I sound like a proud father, he thinks, remembering how concerned Kylah had been about proving herself and hoping he didn't come across as condescending.

Kylah stares after Graham. 'Ask me after dinner tonight. ...Speaking of which, I should get back to my conversation with Collins...' She swallows back the question that springs to her lips, mainly because not only is it rude, it is too late: Collins is now talking to her.

But she is dumbstruck. Does he mean... does he mean that he wishes to be with Collins? Does he not know about Cooper? Or perhaps he does not care. Perhaps Collins does not care.

While she is thinking all this, she is aware that the woman in question has asked a question. Kylah looks at Collins with a blank expression, trying to hide the confusion running through her mind. "The photo ID session," she repeats stupidly. Then she remembers. It feels like a million years ago.

"It was all right, thank you, Lieutenant. I recognized one of the men as the person who had exchanged my money. The detective--Lunnd, I mean--he said the accomplices had named him as the one who had hired them to attack me. I do not even understand how the attackers were found in the first place. Many people must have been involved."

Kylah glances at Graham, then back at Collins. "All of you who investigated... I hope you know that I am grateful for your help." She looks past the others to Fujishiro's room. "And I am especially grateful that no one was hurt because of me. It is mortifying enough to have caused so much bother. The police even returned the remnants of my zither to me. It was kind, although..."

Shaking her head, Kylah is uncertain how to continue. The truth is, the remains of the zither only emphasize the loss. She was a steward of that heirloom, and the shards are the proof that silently accuses her of her failure in that duty.

"...Although unnecessary," she finishes, not wanting to sound churlish. "The police there must be very efficient to have remembered such a thing. But I suppose that signifies that is the end of the case as far as I am concerned. I am very glad we are no longer around that planet and can move forward again, to new places, new--new situations."

Kylah's gaze shifts back to Graham, wondering if he is a good match for Collins. They seemed to fit well on OCIII, when they both seemed so... rough. His bullying Wilson with that knife. Collins's insults toward her that first day. Of course, she has apologized, but... Will they bring out the best or worst in each other? I would wish partners for them that would bring them peace, not reinforce any troubles in their nature...

But who is she to judge? What partners has Kylah had? And who has as many troubles as she? She flushes and takes a step back. "I--I should let you two alone. Have a good evening, Lt. Collins. Mr. Graham. Thank you for everything." Uncomfortable, she attempts a fleeting and not very convincing smile before she leaves Sickbay.

"Kylah," Collins attempts to stop the young ensign with her voice. "It was Ensign Rangin's idea, and I followed through on it. The return of your zither, that is. I made sure they returned all that they did not need for the trial because I, ... he, ... we thought it was important to you."

Collins hopes by telling Kylah this, she can bring those two back together.

Collins's words stop Kylah in her tracks. He thought of it. When? It must have been before what happened in Sickbay yesterday. She tries to collect herself before turning to face them.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Each hoarse word is spoken carefully with effort. "For the thought, for following through, and for... for telling me. I am touched that you made such a gesture for me. I will thank Mr. Rangin if--when I see him again."

Graham looks from one to the other, then back to Collins.

Aside from her apparent distress a few minutes ago, her latest comments convince him that now is not the time to share his thoughts about Rangin and creative uses for the remnants of the zither.

With a swallow, Kylah cannot help sending a pleading look at Graham. Does this mean anything? Does this... change your mind? At all? She says nothing of the sort to him, of course. He seems to be examining Collins. Is he jealous? Goodness he cannot think there is anything between Collins and Velir.

The mere thought of Velir with another woman makes Kylah's stomach churn. She has never been jealous, never even known a proprietary feeling toward a man before. And she is almost certain there is only friendship, if that, between the two crewmates. But for the first time, Kylah has contemplated the possibility that Velir might care for someone else, and it... it makes her weak with loneliness.

I have no hold on him, we have known each other only a month. This is insane! Kylah remembers her mother's words about the relationship between men and women: "Elasian women are above jealousy, they do not deign to feel such petty emotions. What need have we for envy when a man is ours with one tear?"

She tightens her lips and turns from Graham and Collins, weary of thinking of such complicated issues as romantic entanglements. They are beyond her understanding, she feels young and pathetically inexperienced--the horror of that night with Jan notwithstanding--and for a flash she wishes she had never started to feel as she does for Velir.

"Thank you again," she says quietly. "Good night." She tightens her shawl and flees the Sickbay.

Graham rubs his jaw with his free hand, once again conscious of the box he's holding carefully in the other a little awkwardly so it doesn't tip.

He's not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing that Kylah's leaving--fleeing?--but she's not walking out with Rangin and he'll take that.

"Uh, so, L-T, ah--should we find someplace quiet?" he says quietly, turning to Collins.

"Sure," Collins replies, "There's an empty conference room down this corridor."

Kylah sees an occasional friendly nod or smile, and hears several greetings as she passes through the Yorktown's corridors, but no one stops her.

Collins and Graham find the conference room is still empty.

"Okay, Booker," Collins says as she sits in one of the chairs and leans back "what can I do for you?"

"Ok, I may see you there then." Rangin finishes off his meal when something does occur to him and he looks round the galley to see if Ens. Zweller is still there and enquire if Lt. Patel and he would be interested in going along.

If he is there, Rangin will finish his meal and ask him. Regardless of the answer, Rangin will freshen up and then head along for the recital.

Zweller is still there, eating with some Engineering types whom Rangin doesn't know. "Hey, thanks," he says with a grin. "Classical music isn't really my thing, but I may go. I'll pass the word to Lt. Patel."

"In which case I may, or may not, see you there." Rangin nods in acknowledgement, then heads off and saying thanks to Crewman Farunia and Spec Tovek before leaving the Mess Hall to freshen up.

Once back in his quarters, he puts aside the datapad with the half finished story for later when he goes to visit Fujishiro. Then, when he is feeling a little more relaxed, he heads out the door to the recital curious to see who will be there and hopefully spend an enjoyable hour or two.

Hungry again, Kylah heads to the mess hall, ordering a bowl of Plomeek soup--bearing in mind Velir's recommendation that she keep her menu mild for today--and a heaping portion of mashed potatoes and gravy, which probably would not meet Velir's approval. But she craves something starchy, solid and comforting. The potatoes suit all three needs.

She finds a private table, not noticing or indeed looking for anyone familiar to talk to. Removing her shawl and folding it carefully in the chair beside her so it is not at risk, Kylah sips the broth and closes her eyes, wishing its warmth could suffuse her entire body.

Graham sits and leans forward a little. "Under the, ah--most recent circumstances, I was going to ask you the same thing, L-T." He gestures in the general direction of Sickbay. "You seemed pretty upset back there."

"Yeah," Collins admits "but at least my headache is gone," she winks. "But you're the one who wanted to talk, so you go first, then I'll spill my guts. And off duty, you can call me Jeremi"

"Sure, L- Jeremi," Graham replies, shifting slightly in his seat. "Well, look, this is probably not the best time for this, but, ah, Vargas ripped me a new one earlier about--well, let's just say it would be prudent for me to avoid Rangin as much as possible."

He grimaces. "Which is fine by me, actually, except that--well, you saw how he treated Kylah in Sickbay, and just earlier there was another weird moment that really made me wonder what the hell is going on."

He sighs and leans back in his chair and shakes his head. "Anyway, the point is I was hoping you could keep kind of a, uh, extra special close eye on her...from a, ah, professional as well as personal standpoint."

Collins tilts her head a little and studies Graham's face. "You shot first and forgot to ask questions afterwards, again, didn't you?" She sits upright and leans towards him. "I heard how he spoke to her, yeah. But I also spoke with him later and I think that was just his frustration spilling out on her for whatever they disagreed about on shore leave. I'm no expert, but I believe those two genuinely care about each other. What was this other weird moment?"

Graham's a bit taken aback by Collins tilting her head, which evokes the image of Nia. And shit, when am I supposed to meet her?

He shakes his head. "More like stepped in a giant pile of targ shit, fell and rolled around in it." Why do I have targs on my mind? Haven't encountered that word since training cadets on boarding Klingon ships...or did I hear it recently?

"Look--I know I don't have conclusive proof of anything except that Kylah's been upset a lot and that our 'mild-mannered' Mr. Rangin was a world-class asshole the other day." He pauses a moment.

"I'm just saying--I'm just asking... She's almost exactly my daughter's age. Just consider the hypothesis that--you must have gone through the same training in the Academy that I did, about recognizing abuse and abusers--uh, unless they changed it in the last hundred years or so--just consider that maybe things aren't right and keep an eye out for it."

"Okay." Collins smiles. "It'll be easy enough since she's my roommate. Anything else on your mind, Book? What's in the box?"

"What? Oh, uh, nothing, really, a little present--I, ah, I'm having dinner with N-- Lt. Onn later, is all," Graham stammers, taken aback by the question and still ruminating about Collins' rather glib answer--but best to let it lie.

"She's, ah, from a desert planet, did you know that?"

He exhales. "Anyway I was more concerned about you." He re-focuses and looks ta her more closely. "I know what it is to lose somebody on your watch," he continues, slowly and quietly. "It can make you want to...turn to...stuff."

Collins stares at Graham a few moments, then stands up and paces around the room as she talks. "It's overwhelming. And right on top of my..." Her voice trails off. She's by a view port now, and she stares out. "I thought I'd finished with being emotionally frayed. I had a good day yesterday, a great night with Ben, and a good day today. Even though it wasn't for very long, sitting in that chair was better than any drug I could take." She is quiet a few moments. "But finding out that there is absolutely no hope for a crewmate who was felled while under my command... . I keep replying the last two hours of that mission in my head. What did I do wrong? What should I have done instead? I know they taught us to learn from our mistakes and move on, but I don't know what I learned other than I'm a lousy leader. And OC3 did nothing to change that." Collins is crying again. She hugs herself and continues to stare out the viewport.

"I didn't, don't, know Fujishiro very well other than we came aboard at the same time, and we were both promoted after our first mission. The Sakathian Science Station was just supposed to be a look-see. They had a law there about no weapons on the station, so we had all our phasers locked up. But an experiment-gone-wrong turned the whole thing into a horror story. People were becoming mindless creatures operating only on the instinct to attack or feed. A lot of people were wounded or killed. The only way back to our shuttle and safety was via a malfunctioning transporter that Delaney jury-rigged. There was no guarantee it would work, so I decided I should go first. I couldn't ask someone else to do something I was afraid to do. So I went; and once on the shuttle, I beamed the others aboard, but it was too late. Fujishiro had been infected." Collins leaves out the bit about wanting to chain one of the scientists responsible for the zombies to his by then infected wife who was obviously about to become one of the mindless creatures.

"We got her back to sickbay, but the doctors couldn't cure her. All they could do what put her in stasis so she wouldn't completely turn." Collins is again silent for a few moments. "A life cut short because I didn't say something I should have, or because I didn't insist on keeping our weapons on hand, or because I should have taken the hit myself instead of her, or ..." she is sobbing again.

"I just want the pain, hers and mine, to go away. I want to go back in time and suggest that the Captain put someone else in charge of that mission. I want to go back to the Academy and study more about leadership. I want to go home to Old Mansfield and sit on the couch hugging my mother!" She collapses on the floor, weeping helplessly.

Fuck...

Given what Collins just told him, he's not surprised she's upset, but his day seems to be going from bad to worse...

Graham slowly gets up, giving her a little time and space, then crouches down and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "There are--there's an infinite number of 'what ifs' you can ask--that any decent person and good officer would ask." He shakes his head slowly. "There's no end--what if I gave a different order. What if I'd gotten an order, but disobeyed it...?"

He pauses a moment. "The fact is you can't know. What you can know is about you. Did you care about your team? Did you do your best?"

"Missions are going to be carried out. Missions have got to be carried out. I haven't heard that Starfleet has found a species of infallible and indestructible beings willing to take the load off the rest of us."

His tone gets a little firmer. "Until that day, if the answers to those other questions are 'I care about my team' and 'I do my best' you're doing something that matters by showing up. And something that in the long run is going to save lives compared to a service starved of talent or led by a bunch of cowboys."

His voice softens. "And Fuji- ah, Fujishiro did something that mattered by showing up, too--and taking the risk she did, that we all do."

Collins throws her arms around Graham in a hug, almost knocking him off balance. She holds him tightly while still crying, but the presence of a caring friend helps to calm her.

When she catches enough breath, she tells him, "I almost did, go for the Elsewhere. If I hadn't gotten that headache, I'd be back in my quarters, sweetly drifting into oblivion for a few hours. But I didn't. Partly because of you being here for me, partly because I know I shouldn't. I feel like an apple that's been sandpapered. But I won't take anything, I swear. I'll just be a sad little grump for a few days." She tries to smile, but she's too tired for it to last very long.

Graham's taken aback by the abrupt embrace, but manages to hold his ground.

Stand someplace and be solid. OK, we're in my comfort zone now, he thinks.

"Yeah, well--oblivion bad, sleep good. I know that from experience."

He leaves an arm available to lean on, if Collins chooses to do so. "You ah, look tired--walk you to your quarters?" He pauses a moment. "Or that Ben guy - he seemed all right," he adds, sincerely, noting the contrast between the impression he got from him versus Rangin....

Rangin finds a seat in the Ship's Auditorium on Deck 8 shortly before the Lyceum chamber-music concert is to begin. Patel is there, but Zweller is not. Also present are the Captain, First Officer, Lts. Thalen, Bennett, Vaudreuil and Gunnarsdottir, and about two dozen other Yorktown officers and crew. Rangin looks over the program, which lists music by J.S. Bach, G.F. Handel, M.L. Aurelia, Delvok and F. Chopin.

Kylah eats her dinner in peace, and no one bothers her.

It is now 1728 hours.

http://en.memory-alpha.wikia.com/wik...lia_(composer)
http://en.memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Delvok

Rangin mingles with the assembled audience and exchanges a few pleasantries, polite conversation without betraying the fact that this is not his usual kind of music.

A few words to Lt Patel hoping she enjoys her time on board, a brief chat to Lt Gunnarsdottir about some new geological findings, acknowledgement to Farunia and Tovek when they arrive. He steers clear of the Captain and First Officer other than briefly greet them, unless they wish to say anything further of the events of the last few days. He gossips slightly with Lts Thalen and Bennett about life on the Yorktown and how he is still finding out some things even after only a few weeks on board.

Shortly before the recital is due to start, and unless anyone wants to sit next to him, Rangin quietly takes his seat somewhere towards the back of the auditorium and settles down waiting for the music to commence.

"Yeah," Collins admits, " 'that Ben guy' is terrific, and he makes me happy. But I'd be terrible company for him tonight, so yeah, my quarters." She accepts Graham's help getting to her feet, hugs him again, and through her body language shows that she's okay to walk without support. "Thank you. I'm glad I can talk to you about this stuff." She tells him as they leave the conference room. "I'll be fine, but you might want to change you shirt," she points to the tear stains on his sternum, "before you meet up with 'N-- Lt Onn' " Collins pauses and gives Graham a mischievous look, "you dog, you." She smiles bigger than she has since coming off watch, then heads to the turbolift on her own, leaving Graham to go on his date.

Once, in her quarters, she quickly gets ready for bed, so as not to spend too much time near her dresser, pulls down the covers, and gets into a comfortable position on her bunk. She picks up a data pad and scrolls thru a selection of books, settling on the fourth book in a series from the early 21st Century about a couple of brothers who investigate paranormal phenomena.

Once she is through eating, Kylah replaces her tray and returns to wrap her shawl around her again. She leaves the mess hall, her mind distracted thinking of Fujishiro and her inevitable loss of the battle against this disease.

And why Fujishiro, but not Velir? Though supremely grateful that Velir survived, Kylah finds the disparity even more frustrating. Why such a difference in reactions to the Sakathians' venom? What of the rest of the victims? Did anyone else on that station survive such a bite? she wonders. Have there been any legal repercussions for Dr. Waite and the university for all the losses suffered due to this revolting experiment?

She pays little attention to where on the ship she wanders as her mind focuses on the tragedy.

Farunia and Tovek enter and take their seats. Rangin does not have long to chat before the lights dim. Eight musicians in dress uniform emerge from offstage to warm applause, and at once launch into Bach's vigorous, glorious "Double Violin Concerto."

Collins soon is immersed in her book.

Kylah may, of course, use the Library Computer to learn more about the aftermath of the Sakathian mission, if she wishes. She might check Starfleet records, public newsnets, the Miskatonic University database and the like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vesrqFeq9rU
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concer...Violins_(Bach)

The shimmering green dress slinks down Nia's body, which is bare except for the scant black lace material covering the essentials down below.

She never wears a bra--her scales circle around and beneath her chest and, when she chooses, can be made firm enough to support or release her not-inconsiderable assets. Right now, they're nicely displayed in this thin-strapped dress's circular neckline but covered enough to avoid looking like she's giving away her entire inventory, so to speak.

Nia runs down the plans in her mind. Thanks to some judicious research courtesy of her connections in the Galley, she identified Booker's most commonly ordered meals from the replicator, and as a result knows he's an avid carnivore with a penchant for steak. So at least he should enjoy the dinner--Ktarian steak, a new acquisition from fairly new friends of the Federation; mashed potatoes; and to start, authentic Boston clam chowder.

Thanks to arrangements with the Quartermaster, the setting will be Observation Lounge 5, which is small enough for a sense of intimacy and has the best view available to anyone who's not Captain Singh or a VIP.

Humming along with the music playing in her cabin, Nia finishes dressing by slipping into some silver shoes--not too high, since she's tall enough and Booker isn't exactly a beanpole--and pulls on a single silver bangle on her left wrist.

Finally she stands, hands on hips, and eyes herself critically in the mirror. Hair up or down? Down, she decides, pulling the band to free her mane from its usual ponytail. It takes a few shakes and finger-combing to settle the tight spiraling curls into something that looks both managed and yet not so neat that anyone would think she'd mind if it gets a little...unruly.

Smiling at the thought, Nia adjusts the dress, its color almost exactly matching her eyes, so that the skirt smoothly follows her hips to fall sinuously to her knees.

She dabs her index finger in a pot of sheer, berry-colored and -flavored gloss, tinting her full lips only a couple of shades darker than usual. Her cheeks need no color, her eyelids already have the silvery-green sheen of her scales, and her lashes require only a light layer of mascara to darken them.

As a final touch, Nia lifts a perfume crystal and touches it behind each ear. This was a present from a man back on Risa last year: marketed under the brand name Scents Memory, the crystal activates the hippocampus and posterior piriform cortex--as her scientist admirer explained--and triggers the inhaler's olfactory memory of a most pleasant scent, changing depending on circumstances, and of course unique to each person.

For Nia, tonight it's redolent of the dewy fresh honeysuckle leaves she discovered on her first day of walking the grounds of the Academy. A scent that reminds her of all the promise of new worlds to discover.

How appropriate, she thinks, amused. I'll have to ask Booker what it evokes in him. Assuming he gets close enough. Here's hoping.

She's been fairly careless about tidying things up as she prepares, but before she leaves, Nia glances backwards, imagining what Booker's first impression of the cabin might be--again, assuming he gets close enough. It looks tolerable, with her breathing tank stored and hidden, the bed made but lightly strewn with various discarded garments, and her soft gray cashmere throw blanket draped at the foot.

Nia always finds the ship's temperature somewhat cool, and the blanket was yet another gift from someone who noticed her trembling even after their mutual exertion. He actually knitted it for her, pretty impressive, especially since by then they were no longer... well, exerting together. Nia knows she could change the room's environmental controls, but truth is, she likes the physical sensation of the blanket--and the pleasant memories it evokes of someone who cared enough to make such an effort.

Standing in the doorway, she nods. Sure, the room isn't pin-neat, but it's not a mess, either, even if it lacks any romantic artifice such as candles or flowers. The only nod to that sort of thing is the music, which she decides to keep on. If she's fortunate, it'll be a nice accompaniment for a guest to hear. If she isn't, it'll be company for her when she returns alone.

Satisfied, she murmurs "Lights out" and leaves. She strides confidently down the hall, smiling in anticipation of--at the very least--a pleasant meal.

Graham looks down and brushes at his shirt after Collins leaves, noting that it is indeed a bit damp and rumbled to boot.

He's not sure however, that he isn't already pushing it on time. And even if I did go back to my quarters, do I have anything to change into besides a t-shrt or my uniform?

He's not sure.

And Nia made all the arrangements, it would be really shitty to keep her waiting...

And dammit, I started the day looking for to this, before--everything else.

He takes a deep breath, tries to clear his head, and heads for Observation Lounge 5.

Rangin relaxes back in his seat as the lights dim slightly and the music starts.

He focuses on the musicians on the podium and lets his mind wander.

In the candlelit corner of the observation room, Nia stands and... well, observes. The stars don't move much, but a few planets and planetoids can be seen seemingly taking their leisurely time rolling across the distance.

She's already checked the meal on the white linen-draped table under the stainless steel covers: perfect, as usual. The steak is sizzling on the hot platter, but it's all right if it cooks a little more on its own; it arrived intentionally rarer than ideal. Since no servers are lurking in the background, the entire meal is ready and waiting, from the soup to the mousse chilling on the cart pushed to one side.

Yup, everything's perfect, Nia thinks, her hands clasped behind her back as she watches the expanse of space through which the Yorktown is speeding. Only thing this meal's missing is the guy who's supposed to be eating with me.

She twists her head to examine the chronometer on her chair. Ten minutes late. Not a crime. Or actually, maybe a crime--Booker is security, after all. Hopefully no one's causing any trouble. She shrugs and turns back to the infinite darkness interspersed with diamond-like stars. Five more minutes and she'll send him a message. He's new, maybe he got the rooms mixed up...

* * *

Graham wants to pause and collect himself before entering the lounge, but he's certain he must be late already. In the end he takes too short a time to accomplish anything and too long a pause that makes him feel worse about not being on time.

He almost lurches into the room and then takes a moment to orient himself--there's food here, from the smell of it, and Nia...

Nia is standing looking out at the passing stars, looking...well, stunning...

Not just, like, hot--well, that, but...present, like really...here...

He clears his throat and stands still, a bit awkwardly, for a second, then walks toward her.

He sets his gift down along the way and reaches out a hand. "I...ah, I'm sorry I think I'm late."

He pauses just before reaching her and tilts his head toward the viewport. "With you here, we don't need the stars," he says quietly, shaking his head slightly. "Not at all."

* * *

Nia's heart thumps at hearing his footfall, as quiet as it was, and then she feels her heartbeat quicken further with his soft words.

She turns to him and cannot help but let her own eyes appreciate the sight. The collarless shirt is an unusual look for a human, and though he seems a bit tired around the edges of his mouth, the energy coiled within him snaps in his admiring gaze.

"I think I just forgot what stars look like," Nia murmurs, instinctively reaching out and slowly smoothing a rumpled--and curiously damp?--patch of his shirt. Her hand traces the hard muscles beneath. "And ten minutes isn't late--we have a whole night." With a slow smile, she leans forward to kiss his cheek as a greeting, adding gently: "I am glad you're here, Booker."

* * *

Now that they're close, her...just her proximity is such a sharp contrast to every single bit of human contact Graham's had that day. As she leans forward he takes an extra half-step and takes hold of her shoulders, feeling her skin, caressing them firmly enough to feel her muscles beneath, and he pulls her toward him, sweeping his head from right to left across her hair and cheek, bringing his lips closer to hers...

"Oh..."

The scent hits him like a Gorn's haymaker. He freezes and rocks back in place just slightly.

It's vile, like a Terran skunk, and...

"It's the most beautiful butterfly I've ever seen, Daddy," Elizabeth said, wide-eyed, pointing at the butterfly-like thing flitting by overhead.

Graham conceded she may be right: its size and color were amazing. Knowing the resort planet was specifically billed as lacking any dangerous fauna, after a certain amount of gentle encouragement Graham convinced the somewhat dubious 8-year-old that it would be safe to find a place where they congregated and stay very still, hoping to entice one to land on her finger.

"I'll do it too, if you want," Graham added.

They wandered across gently wooded fields until they found a patch of some sort of flower.

It may have taken an hour of just sitting quietly, but it could have taken a million years and it would have been worth his daughter's smile when one landed on her tiny outstretched finger, flapping its spectacular wings for a moment...

And then in her excitement Lizzy moved too quickly to show it to Graham, triggering--what he later learned--was its powerful and pungent defensive mechanism, much like a Terran skunk.

But it didn't matter. They reeked together. Lizzy decided the best answer would be to collect enough wildflowers to put in each other's hair to counteract it.

They spent the rest of the day that way, together...

...and the scent was that of a moment of perfect happiness.

He had jerked backwards, but now leans back in carefully toward Nia's neck, letting the smell wash over him.

How could you know, he almost asks... Don't be an idiot Booker... It's probably a Sidonian perfume that's as common as aftershave there and just smells different to humans. Just a crazy coincidence...

Pulling his head away...slowly...seems as difficult as towing a Starship...

At first his eyes teared from the pungency, but almost immediately they moistened for an entirely different reason.

"You're..." He clears his throat. "Your perfume is...really wonderful. I--" He pauses. "Really."

It's hard to let the lingering aroma go, but he decides burying his face in her neck at this point is not the way to start the dinner...

"And, uh, you even got dinner for us?" he adds, glancing over at what look to be the preparations.

* * *

Aware that Booker seems to have had some curiously powerful reaction to the perfume, Nia isn't entirely sure she dares ask the question on her lips. Instead she gestures to the table. "Friends in high places. Starter, Boston Clam Chowder. Main, a rare steak--rare in both senses of the word, with creamy potatoes on the side, and in a nod to good health, some greens, because why not feel virtuous." She then leans over to the champagne on ice. "And because virtue isn't its own reward, some champagne."

She chuckles and lifts a hand. "I know, I know, you're the whisky type. But I didn't get shore leave yesterday and couldn't go shopping for anything good. So you're stuck with what I had on hand. Hope everything at the table meets with your approval," she finishes, moving to her chair and looking up at him with innocent eyes.

* * *

Graham manages to take his eyes off Nia for a moment to gesture at the champagne and shrug. "Well...I'll choke that down. For you," he adds, batting his eyelashes and smiling slightly.

Taking a seat as soon as she does, he looks down at the table for a moment, then back up at her. "I...I...appreciate everything, everything about tonight, Nia," he replies.

He watches as Nia raises an eyebrow, her mouth lifting in an off-center smile as she fills the champagne glasses for each of them. She raises hers. "Tonight's barely begun. Better save the appreciation until you've tasted everything on the menu."

Graham clears his throat, noting again how she tilts her expressions. "Well, I was brought up that it was rude to refuse anything I was served."

The two sip and begin to eat the delicious food in mutual, comfortable silence, though soon talk flows freely. After the first course, they're deep in conversation and Graham delves into a story he realizes he'd normally never share with most women on a first date. By the middle he's busy describing some past and slightly dubious romantic experiences...

He clears his throat and looks down, poking at his steak. "...Well, ah, it was, uh, basically of the 'hey Feddy you look to be on shore leave, too,' and some, ah, less than four-star establishments." He shakes his head, and glances up briefly, wondering how Nia will respond to that. He can't help but chuckle slightly. "Yeah, this one time, I was, uh, a little taken aback, by a new, ah, acquaintance and to--well, apologize I had to explain that Terran women only have two nipples."

He rubs his temples. "The funny thing is, that really upset her..." He looks up at Nia again. "'But the children will fight over access to food, and the little ones might starve,' she said." His smile fades and he flushes slightly. "I'm not proud that I don't remember her species...or even her name," he finishes quietly.

He gestures dismissively. "I'm sure you think that's just pathetic. I mean, not like a smart, beautiful, senior officer like you, you probably have the pick of the litter. Uh--weird metaphor. I mean I wouldn't be surprised if some Admiral was pushing through 'special assignments' and curiously timed shore leave..." His eyes abruptly widen. "Not that--uh, I didn't mean you'd be trolling for a patron kind of thing," he adds quickly. "Just--I meant...you're in a different league."

* * *

Nia just sits and watches him, her chin resting on her hand, while she's smirking in increasing amusement. When Graham finally winds down with what he finally decides is a compliment, she maintains her smile and lets the silence fall around them, as if the atmosphere itself is taking a deep, relieved rest.

"Thanks," she says eventually, eyes beaming pleasure at him. "Y'know what's going on in my head right now, Booker? While you talk about multi-nippled past dates, and turning several cute shades of pink as you compliment me by implying Admirals are beating a path to my door... I've been spending the past, oh, twenty minutes or so...thinking to myself: Here's a man who's experienced, mature, ruggedly handsome, and able to talk to hardened criminals who'd blast him if he says the wrong word..."

Nia shakes her head, still smiling. "...So why is this same guy so intimidated by a woman who's made it perfectly clear that she thinks he's pretty damn intriguing?"

She leans forward now, both elbows on the table, her eyes meeting his over the candlelight. "It's flattering that you seem to think I'm some unreachable senior officer who's being sent bouquets by Admirals and anyone with a rank higher than two stripes. Clearly you haven't done much due diligence about me. Because that isn't who I am."

"I mean... yes, I don't lack for partners when I want 'em, and you can confirm that with..." Nia pauses to calculate, lifting her fingers to count. "...About four of your current Security crewmates, and I don't have enough fingers to enumerate the other department representatives you might want to survey.

"But in the end, I could not possibly care less about hierarchy or rank. Please, Booker. Forget that I'm a senior officer. When we're off-duty, you're a man. I'm a woman. We're equal. At least, in the eyes of any respectable culture," she adds, her tone briefly turning hard before she continues. "So let's just talk like we're equal, okay?"

She reaches out and clasps his hand across the table. "I want to hear about you--the real stuff. I know a bit about your career; I'll admit rank does have its privileges, and when you were first transferred here I heard something about your... atypical Starfleet history, although few actual details. Go back further. Why did you join Starfleet, and why have you stayed with it so long, even though you've had setbacks?"

Nia squeezes his hand, her thumb caressing his slightly rough skin. "And don't get me wrong. I don't care about those setbacks. In fact, I admire you for being stubborn enough to stick with this outfit despite them."

She looks down at their hands, her scales receding as she slips her fingers between his so they're entwined. "Determination. Attitude. Pride. Loyalty. Resilience. Those are more important, more attractive to me than any number of stripes on a sleeve or medals on a chest." Her gaze returns to his. "So please, Booker. Tell me what makes you, you."


To be continued

After getting somewhat lost amid the nearly identical corridors she has traversed since leaving the mess hall, Kylah shakes herself from her trance-like state and finds her way back to her quarters. When the door whooshes open, she is surprised to find Collins present. Not just present, but already in bed.

Kylah backs across the invisible line dividing their halves of the cabin. "Lieutenant," she says in greeting, slowly removing her shawl again and folding it neatly into the tissue-paper-lined box in her dresser. She pushes the drawer shut, opens another to remove her filmy pink nightgown, and then stands, awkward, near her bed. Her right hand cradles her left wrist, which still hurts on and off. "I hope I am not disturbing you." Why is she not with Mr. Cooper? I do not think we have both been in the cabin at the same time since... I cannot even remember.

But of course: Fujishiro. Kylah is embarrassed not to have realized Collins might be mourning her colleague. "Are you all right?" she asks gently.

When Kylah enters their quarters, Collins marks her place in the book, and puts the pad aside so that she could talk to her roommate.
"I've been better," she tells the younger woman, "I went to see Fujishiro, ... I'm sure you've heard by now, ... It dredged up a lot of feelings for me. But I'll be okay. How about you? Are you okay? I heard Graham's side of the encounter from this afternoon. I'd like to hear your side, if you're up to talking about it."

Bunching up her nightgown, Kylah sits on the edge of her bed. She is a little concerned that Collins does not remember--or perhaps did not realize--that Kylah went to visit Fujishiro herself, and that they saw each other in Sickbay. But quickly Collins turns the conversation away from herself; possibly, or really probably, on purpose. She does not seem to relish showing vulnerability to Kylah.

But Kylah has spoken so much about herself. Not always the truth, admittedly, but still. She decides to push back against the course Collins wishes the conversation to take. "I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you," she says, as if Collins asked nothing about her. "You served with Lt. Fujishiro... Iota... longer than I." Kylah prefers to use the woman's first name, it seems to personalize her, make her alive again. "Were you on many missions with her? She worked in the Science department, I believe."

This fact strikes her anew. Did--does--Velir know her well? Is he grieving? Kylah forces the thoughts from her mind and concentrates on Collins. "I have never experienced the loss of a crewmate," she says, looking down at the frothy material that she twists into a bunch on her lap. "Have you? Do you know if... I mean... when she dies... what happens? On the ship, I mean. Is there a service of some kind?"

"I'm sure there will be some kind of service," Collins answers "maybe something from her culture. I didn't know her that well. We came aboard at the same time and had only been on one mission together before the Sakathian station." Collins now sits up and faces Kylah. "But please. I really want to know what happened this afternoon. Have you and Ensign Rangin made up? I saw, yesterday, how his words hurt you, but I know he didn't mean it. He was just upset by something."

As the music continues to play, Rangin lets his gaze wander across the rest of the audience seeing how they are responding to the music, seeing those who are enraptured, and those who are being polite.

Kylah's face burns at the thought of talking to Collins about such a private matter, especially one so painful. And how can the other woman possibly know so much about what is in Velir's heart? Collins has never struck Kylah as being such a breathless romantic, and the idea of such optimism when Kylah herself knows how unlikely things are to work out well... it only hurts more.

She is too tired to put up a façade. "No, Lieutenant," she murmurs, looking down at the floor. "With respect... you are wrong. Velir meant what he said. I know it. That was not--it was not the first time he expressed such a low opinion of me. Not just yesterday, but... a few times before. He has more anger and mistrust in him than you might think. He is a good man, please do not mistake me. You know how I admire him. Despite his harsh opinion of me, he helped me today, and showed compassion. That only raises him in my eyes. I believe one's character is measured by how we treat those we dislike, not by those we... love."

Tears are pricking her eyes and she blinks, hoping to avoid such emotion. "I cannot deny that he has cause to mistrust me, from his point of view; at least, if he wishes to take the worst possible reading of certain situations.

"But he is also very... very hard, in some ways. He has strong ethics--that is why I admire him so. But it means he has a high standard that I cannot live up to, as much as I wish I could. When I am with him, I feel as if I am not good enough, that if he knew more about me, the less he would like me.

"And what is more painful is that, as flawed as I truly am, he thinks I am even worse. He thinks I am a woman who--who--" Kylah shakes her head and raises a hand to cool her cheek, which feels as if it is on fire. At first unsure how to continue, she finally blurts: "Earlier he accused me of using the shore leave to seduce a stranger. While Velir was one flight above, waiting for me in the bar, he thought I was having sex with another man. He believes me capable of that."

Kylah turns away and hugs the nightgown to her chest. "But I am not, Lieutenant. I know what others think of me, of Elasians, but... I do not do such things. And to a degree, I understand why he does not trust me. It goes back to OCIII, what happened there. A--a private matter. Truthfully, Velir and I do not know each other that well, but I am expected to reveal things I would rather never remember--you do not know how terrible things were on that planet, but--"

She stops short and, mortified, stares at Collins. "Oh. Oh, Lieutenant, I am sorry. I never meant to... I should not be talking about that, as if my circumstances were anything compared to yours." Kylah wipes a hand over her teary eyes and digs her nails into her knee, furious with herself for such insensitivity. "This is all so unimportant, it is just two people who are unable to connect because of stupid mistakes on my part, and harsh judgment on his. That is all, not a matter even close to what you have experienced. Please forgive me."

This is not the same Kylah I met when she was first assigned to my quarters, Collins thinks. "Nothing to forgive. Your experiences are just as important as anyone else's." Collins reaches across the gap between the bunks with opens hands for Kylah to hold. "You may tell me anything you want, it will help to talk about it. Whatever you went through, I want to help you get over it." she smirks a little bit "Like I'm the best example of getting over anything" Collins says with a hint of sarcasm, "But we can help each other. I need to learn not to keep things to myself. Maybe that's something you need to learn, too." Collins didn't grow up with siblings but she found a brother figure in Graham, maybe she'll find a sister figure in Kylah. "We can be each other's rock, if you like."

Kylah looks warily at Collins's outstretched hands. This hypersensitive, almost painfully friendly woman bears no resemblance to the officer Kylah has known for a month. Perhaps she has been prescribed some sort of psychiatric medication. She does not even react to most of what I said... I suppose it must be some sort of mood-calming medicine. If so, it is even stronger than whatever T'Var gave Kylah herself after her attack.

Then the thought strikes her: Or might it be hormonal? Mother varied so much after her miscarriages. With so many losses, her mother's mood toward Kylah varied between ice cold rejection and a desperate need for love and attention. Could Collins be going through the latter phase?

Despite her own discomfort, Kylah does not wish to offend, and would prefer to appease whatever Collins needs rather than risk turning the older woman against her again. So she reaches out and lightly touches Collins's hand, attempting a fleeting smile before her own protective instincts kick in and she lets go, returning to hug herself.

"I am grateful for your sympathy," she says quietly, although Collins's response did not really indicate that she accepts what Kylah said about Velir's behavior. "You are very kind to extend such an invitation. I wish I could be more open. Or anyone's rock. I... I do listen well, and whatever you wish to share, please do. I hope I can help, if it is possible. But as for me, I am so... I am not quite..." She struggles with how to put this tactfully. "It will take time for me to do likewise," she says finally with a sigh. "I am ashamed of having revealed as much as I just did."

"Please don't be." Collins is disappointed how quickly Kylah pulled her hands away. I guess a hug is out of the question. "I know it's not easy to open up to someone you don't know very well. But I can promise you, I won't judge you. If anything, you and I could be more similar than either suspects." Realizing that her roommate just isn't up to talking right now, Collins lies back on her bunk and rolls to her side, facing Kylah. "Anytime you feel like talking, let me know. And I will do the same, but I was able to get it all off my chest, for today anyway, thanks to Booker, Ensign Graham. I didn't have a brother or a sister growing up. I guess this crew is my family now."

Anytime you feel like talking. Kylah turns her face away, pretending it is necessary to straighten out her gown in preparation for changing. But she needs to hide her dismay. Have I not already said enough? I told her all that about Velir, yet... it did not matter. Did nothing I said get through?

It occurs to her, as she composes herself, that the fact that Collins is an only child puts things into perspective. Kylah learned her place in the household thanks to the presence of her siblings. For her first seven years, she had her parents' full attention, at least until they realized they had adopted a malformed child. The addition of a sister, and then a brother, diminished Kylah's role even further. But she remembers what it was like, being the suns and stars to her parents.

Kylah looks back to Collins, calm again. "The crew is your family. That is an admirable sentiment. I hope one day I feel like that. I have siblings, but we are not very close in age. And my brother's position makes it difficult for me to have any relationship with him, except of course affection and obedience. I would not even be in Starfleet if it were not for his forbearance, so of course I am grateful as well." She bows her head automatically, natural as breathing to an Elasian when mentioning the Dohlman. "May I ask, are your parents alive?"

"Yep," Collins says. "They are on Earth, in a country called The United States, in a state call Massachusetts, in a town called Old Mansfield. It's very nice there, not too fancy. We have a nice house with plenty of room for visitors. Perhaps if the Yorktown goes near Sol, you could come with me on shore leave and see it."

Looking around, Rangin thinks most of the audience is enjoying the music. A few have their eyes closed and might be dozing, he supposes, but no one looks bored.

The Lyceum chamber ensemble next plays G.F. Handel's "Arrival of the Queen of Sheba."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TGKJ9MgCOQ
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solomon_(Handel)

Graham feels as if he’s teetering along a tightrope, balancing between processing what Nia is saying—which is much more serious than idle chit-chat—and getting lost in the way the light is dancing--and that’s the right word, dancing—across her eyes.

He brings his free hand over to cover their conjoined hands, glancing down and noticing that her scales seem to come and go.

He wonders how far…where…when…they go…

He gives her hand a little squeeze, then looks back up at her face.

“What makes me, me. I guess I actually know the answer to that,” he says softly. “The very specific answer.” He looks down. “I don’t know that I’ve ever told anyone…” He turns and looks off to the side, his eyes unfocused, and not fully certain whether he says this out loud or not. “Not even Jane…”

He clears his throat, looks back down at their hands, and then back at Nia. “It may be that Mr. and Mrs. Graham didn’t hold to much of a, ah, ‘respectable culture’.”

“They wanted a son—but no gene therapy or other interventions for them.” He shakes his head slightly. “Real old fashioned. By the time they had four daughters, things weren’t so great between them. And then when they had a son…”

He sighs and leans back—although he doesn’t pull his hand away from hers—and sighs. “He wasn’t the little ‘man’ he supposed to be. He was scrawny, scared…weak.” His final word drips with the contempt he sensed from his father from as far back as he can remember as a child.

He closes his eyes for a moment. “My older sisters—they got the hell out of Dodge as fast as they could….” He re-opens them--and the light is still dancing over Nia’s. “Uh, Earth expression—left in hurry, as soon as they were old enough. The youngest, closest to my age…Fiona…she was still in high school when I was a freshman.”

This time he shifts position and does pull his hand back, rubbing his jaw for a moment and taking a drink.

* * *

Nia says nothing, the force of her concentration almost palpable. She can't help wondering about Jane. She knows he was married, he's a widower... Jane must be his late wife. And he told her none of this? Why?

The swell of indignation for the boy who was Booker Graham almost hurts Nia's lungs. She keeps her hand very still in his and waits for him to continue, afraid that even a hint of motion from her will break the flow of his words.

* * *

“By that time…ah, Dad—he was a cop, back on Earth—he pretty much spent his time at home complaining how women, or aliens, or anyone and anything but his own attitude and drinking kept him from getting promoted.” Graham shrugs and smiles a little ruefully. “Oh, did I mention during that time at home he was mostly drunk? Mom…well, she didn’t talk much at all.”

He clears his throat again. “Fiona, she was…” He swallows and closes his eyes. “Beautiful. And quiet. And I think…I think somehow it came across that she was alone.”

He realizes Nia’s hand is sitting, abandoned, on the table. He leans forward and enfolds it gently with both of his. “The—what would you call it, ‘alpha dog,’ ‘big man on campus…’ I guess the best word is ‘bully’ picked Fiona as his special victim.” He lowers his eyes. “Foxy Fiona. Fuck Me Fiona.” He shakes his head. “I can’t even remember all the things he and his little gang of sycophants said.”

He looks back up at her eyes and shrugs. “So things became like a game. I’d tell him to stop, he’d ask what I was going to do about it, and then I’d get beat down until I couldn’t get up. I think they all enjoyed the routine.”

Unconsciously, he tighten his grip on her hand. He licks his lips, which are suddenly dry. “What would mom have said? Probably that Fiona’d brought it on. Dad? That I was her brother and ought to take care of it. A real shit sandwich.”

He blinks. “And then she…she started…cutting herself.” He pulls one hand up, Nia’s coming with it, and traces a line along the wrist and lower arm. He’s rougher than he would have wanted to be if he was aware of it, but he’s not. He lowers their hands—now gently—to the table. “It had to stop.”

* * *

A fist of dread tightens Nia's heart. She is swept along with his story, letting him almost re-enact the violence on her own hand, and she forces her scales to remain receded instead of protecting her against Booker's rough touch. Something in her wants to feel what he's trying to express. He isn't a sadist--Nia has known one, and Graham doesn't ring that same malicious note; he's not hurting her because he wants to. Besides, the pain is minimal. Nia is strong and she can take it. She senses she needs it to understand who this man is.

* * *

Graham lets his head drop backwards, stretching his neck, for a moment. “I came up with a plan…practiced…when I was ready, I got in Alpha Dog’s face but good when he started his bullshit with Fiona. But this time I didn’t take my beating and go down. I kept getting up. At first it was all the more entertaining. Then he started to get pissed.”

“When I finally couldn’t get up again, he did exactly what I thought he’d do. He started kicking me when I was down.” He chuckles a little. “I’d practiced how much of an impact I could take to my ribs without passing out by hurling myself into all kinds of things---poles, walls… On the third kick to my ribs I took his leg into my arms and rolled over.” He huffs. “Broke his leg in two places. The first time I rolled over.”

He licks his lips and clears his throat again. “I made the point that if he came within 100 meters of my sister again, somebody would be going to more than the hospital.” He shakes his head. “Him or me. He stayed away after that.”

He shrugs. “That was the day the Booker Graham everybody knows and loves today was born.” He pulls his hand back and steeples them in front of his lips. “Three months later, Fiona attempted suicide. It was a Starfleet Security officer who found her…saved her. He got her out of the house, into a program—pretty sure he broke a bunch of rules to do it.” He looks down and then back to Nia. “He was why I joined the Academy as soon as I could after that.”

* * *

At last he finishes. Nia exhales silently, watching Booker's eyes, meeting him without any judgment. Dear Seht'Dar, I hope this family's found peace, she thinks, aching for the siblings who got away... and the two who didn't.

When she breaks her concentration, her scales ripple upwards, protecting the slight marks on her arm: a shield against an enemy that no longer exists. Which seems very appropriate, and quite possibly analogous to Booker Graham's own exterior.

But such psychoanalysis will wait. Nia is here, in the present, and she can't control her words. "That's horrible," she blurts, anger flushing her face. "What you endured. What your sister went through, and what you suffered for her sake. And it's remarkable that you persevered until you could protect her. And you call yourself weak? Even as a boy you must've had the will of a mountain."

She swallows and wishes they weren't at a table, seated in a lounge. She wants to be next to him, to cradle his head against her shoulder and to stroke his hair. Instead Nia just extends her other hand and caresses his wrist, wanting as much contact with him as possible when she asks what she must. "You don't have to answer," she murmurs intently. "But do you mind if I ask... how is Fiona now? What happened to her?"

* * *

Graham smiles—really smiles, widely and without reservation, more than he has in a long time. “She’s—she’s fine, good…”

He shakes his head. “You must think everything about me is a tale of violence or woe or both.” He’s conscious of her touch on his wrist and he thinks it would take a Klingon armada to convince him to move it. But with his free hand he brushes away a tear from his right eye.

“She was always—quiet. But she loved to write. She’s been married for a long time now, to a—well, it’s funny, they’re farmers, like, real old-school preserving the craft farmers. But her wife is ex-Starfleet. Did five years and didn’t like the…the, ah, stuff—she was in Security.”

His smile returns. “Pretty badass, too. When I first met them together, Fiona said she reminded her of me. I started to say—well, given what you just heard, I thought mostly I just let her down when we were kids. She told me if I didn’t stop talking her wife was going to make me shut up.”

He looks down for a moment. His free arm starts to move, then he lets it drop. Then he regains his resolve and brings it up to gently touch Nia’s cheek for a moment and brush a stray hair aside.

“But what about you? I, ah…” he immediately regrets bringing it up, but the die was cast… “I read about Sidonia…. It seems like a pretty, uh, tough place.”

* * *

Nia's face leans toward Booker's fingers when he briefly touches her, drawn like a magnet. She finds herself returning his infectious smile--he looks boyish, far from a word Nia would have used to describe him before--except in his sometimes awkward ways with her.

"First, I'm really happy for Fiona, and you. And her wife, for that matter." On Sidonia, same-sex relationships between people of child-bearing age are illegal. It wasn't until Nia attended the Academy that she learned that such pairings were allowed and, indeed, treated no differently from others.

"Second... hopefully this won't embarrass you, but..." She squeezes his hand and slowly and with obvious reluctance lets go, putting one of her own on her heart. "I'm touched and genuinely honored that you'd share something like that with me, Booker. Seriously. Some guys wouldn't be that open."

Of course, some guys would, and they'd be using such vulnerability as a manipulative tool to pry her legs apart. Nia doesn't think this particular man is capable of that kind of game. She could be wrong--she has been before, but not for a long time. Especially since she's not exactly hard to get.

Nia takes a sip of her ice water, clears her throat, and returns her gaze to him. "Anyway. So you want to hear about Sidonia. If you've read up on it, you know the basics.

"Number one, Sidonia's ugly. Most of the planet consists of arid, barren land, with the only above-ground water found in patches of mud. That's where you find our predators--humanoids and other indigenous creatures who lurk behind the dunes, waiting until their prey have to quench our thirst. Meanwhile, if you're caught outside during solar flare activity, the air gets hot enough to scorch your nostrils and lungs. If you're a crazy kid like me and you fly far North, your ship's windows get pelted with dust you can barely see through. Dust made up of--"

Nia shrugs and smiles, deciding against ruining the meal. They've now reached the dessert course, and the chocolate mousse is too good to spoil with talk of dirt and dried carcasses.

"But Sidonia's also beautiful," she says eventually, her eyes focusing past Booker to imagine what she used to see during better days. "The same atmosphere that killed half our planet creates a sky that has to be seen to be believed. When a distant dust storm is approaching, that portion of the sky creates a kind of...what, an optical illusion, I guess? The sun glints off of the dust and suddenly, in addition to the reds and golds, there's purple and pink everywhere. And even the land's not dull to look at. Nothing's ever the same, because the wind constantly re-sculpts the sand. The way Terrans talk about finding shapes in clouds? I'd try to find pictures in the sand."

Nia refocuses on Booker. Her smile is still there, but it's wistful. "But most of all, Sidonia's doomed. Our sun is dying. The very atmosphere we need to breathe is likely to kill us, by fire or radiation or toxins, take your pick. Many people die or try to flee, now that there's some attempt at emigration. And most of those who stay aren't free, not... not what I'd call free." She toys with her fork, absently drawing lines in her mousse. "But most of them wouldn't leave even if they were free. We're determined to save our culture. A culture that's just as ugly, beautiful, and doomed as the planet itself."

Nia places the fork carefully on the plate and refreshes her expression, leaving behind the morbid thoughts. "I left fourteen years ago for a few different reasons. One of them was in hopes of finding a new home, or figuring out some way to extend and better the lives of the people stuck on the planet. To convince Sidonians that changing our laws so we can join the Federation is worth what they'd be giving up. And--other reasons.

"But it's fourteen years later and the Federation's not exactly desperate to get involved in a planet that has no resources or even future. They've helped a bit, absolutely they have. But time's running out. Sidonians are frustrating too, they won't change, they think it's their only way to survive, creating laws that most Federation planets would abhor, and staying on a planet that wants them dead, like it's ridding itself of parasites."

Nia exhales and, after a moment, adds softly: "I understand why they don't want to leave. For all I've said about it, the place is... wild. Raw. Unpredictable. Frightening, yeah, but also... exciting. When there's fire in the sky and warm wind beats against your face as you run forward, you feel like..." She stops, looks up at Graham and suddenly laughs, shaking her head. "Listen to me. I guess I'm homesick. Homesick for hell, can you imagine that?"

* * *

Despite the fact that Nia's laughing, Graham frowns just slightly. "I'd like to think joining the Federation is more than just a beauty contest." He brightens up. "Although if that were the case and every Sidonian looked like you, you'd be in in a heartbeat."

He clears his throat. "Uh, but, yeah, 'homesick for hell...' Kinda funny." He shakes his head a little. "When I was assigned to police duty on-planet I sometimes missed the job, even though a lot of it involved seeing what most would consider the worst aspects of, you know, our miraculous modern Federation life..."

He leans backwards, pulling his hands back and reaching underneath his seat. "But--well, to brighten up your quarters or hell--or wherever, I brought you something." He puts a a rectangular black box on the table, with a black cloth over the top. He steeples his hands in front of his face, some of his anticipation probably obvious. "I didn't know the half of what you told me, but I read about the whole desert thing--I mean, beyond what we talked about before. So, I, ah -- well, I was on patrol today and stopped in the Botany lab and asked if the guys there could help me out..."

He smiles. "Open it. Uh, I mean, please -- if you want," he adds quickly,

* * *

Nia isn't tremendously surprised by the change of subject from her feelings about her homeland to her appearance. Men are men, after all, and maybe talking about Sidonia and its problems was more depth than Booker prefers from a date. Of course, his tale of abuse and suicide and beat-downs wasn't exactly light banter, but she did ask for the truth about himself. Booker didn't quite do that. Yet he doesn't seem the shallow type, only interested in himself. Maybe he's distracted. Or he just doesn't know how to communicate.

Except--she notices as he pulls out a gift box--with presents.

She stares from the box to Booker, disconcerted for a few seconds. "Another gift?" she says, not intending to sound ungrateful. "Booker, what is this?" She laughs in disbelief. "Uh, you're not under the impression it's my birthday week or something, are you? The snowglobe was more than enough, you didn't have to..."

But he seems genuinely interested in seeing her reaction, so she lets the words fade away and just accepts the box, taking care to move her dessert dish well out of the way. Eyes narrowing in mock suspicion, she pulls off the black cloth to look inside.

Like the snowglobe, there's a glass container and water. But this one is open and wide, the shape of an oval. And floating on top is a bed of green leaves--and resting atop that, like a ballerina in a tutu, is an exquisite blossoming flower--the light blue color of an early spring sky on Earth. Even from the distance Nia can smell the rich fragrance.

"Ohhh, Booker," she says, her eyes drinking in the beauty. "It's beautiful. But why... why do you keep giving me gifts when..." Nia shakes her head rather than finishing, when I haven't given you anything. Is this an Earth tradition? Unlikely, given the numerous Terrans Nia's been with. Most gave her nothing, only a few gave her bouquets or candy, and one gave her nothing but the flu.

So why does Booker seem to think gifts are necessary? What should she give him in return?

Or does she know the answer to that? Nia's gaze shifts upwards to meet Booker's. She doesn't change her pleased expression, but for the first time tonight, she has a tiny bit of wariness. She doesn't like feeling obligated to anyone. Truth is, Nia has enough partners that most of her crewmates know she hardly needs to be bought. Nonetheless, she doesn't like anyone thinking she can be.

But while there's an expectation in Booker's eyes, she doesn't read it as being expectation of anything... reciprocal. At least she doesn't think so.

All she does is smile warmly. "You already know I love it. But what exactly is it?"

* * *

Graham returns her smile, an slightly-so slightly anxious look as she opened it vanishing once she seems pleased. "I hoped you would--uh, it's kind of old-school, but still done on Earth to bring flowers on a date ...but given what you told me about Sidonia, and swimming, and snow...it's a Pacifican water lily. Grows in water, not dry ground..."

He adds quickly. "Not that dry ground can't be nice too--like the 'pictures in the sand' on Sidonia."

Something about the moment when she opened the box having passed, combined with what happened during the day, causes Graham's mood to darken for a moment.

He looks down and pokes at the food on this plate--after a second, most frustrated with himself: you were looking forward to this all day, and now you're letting yourself think about...never mind ruining this for yourself, you'll ruin it for her after all she did...

He clears his throat and returns his attention to Nia. "I really appreciate everything you did--this room, the dinner...that's a gift too, Nia."

* * *

Nia lets herself relax again and puts the glass bowl down not too far from her dessert plate. "If it was a gift, it was for both of us. Thank you for this, Booker," she says with a nod toward the lily. "It's outrageously thoughtful. And unnecessary, and unexpected, but... I guess gifts aren't as much fun when they're necessary, are they? As for unexpected..."

Her hand reaches out to his, covering his fingers with hers. "I didn't expect to be touched by you," she says, looking into his eyes, which in this light seem far darker than they are. "But I have been. Not just by your gifts, as I hope you know." She pauses, and the silence between them lingers without a trace of awkwardness. After several long breaths, Nia adds quietly: "I think something as delicate as this--" She glances at the floating lily beside her before returning to Booker. "--Needs to be nurtured as soon as possible. The blossom is so sweet, I don't want to lose a moment of it."

She moistens her lips and her voice drops slightly. "Shall we take this to my cabin?"

* * *

Graham can't imagine any universe in which the answer would be "no."


Graham= general_urko, Nia=Sidonian Gal. To be continued...

The invitation to Collins's birthplace is yet another shock for Kylah. She cannot fathom what such a visit would be like. An ordinary house, a pair of living parents who probably doted on their daughter, Collins feeling perfectly comfortable... and Kylah. Who has attended royal banquets at the high table and can recite the ritual chants for the annual Klingon Blood Warrior Feasts, but has never once spent a meal in a normal family home.

"You are too generous," she says, twisting her fingers together. "I would be very happy and curious to see your hometown." She does not offer the same invitation, not wishing to lie. After all, if Aldaan's price is met, the Federation may well be barred from Elas one day in the not too distant future.

"And your parents... what do they do? Are they satisfied that you are in Starfleet?" she asks a tad wistfully.

"Dad works in an office," Collins tells Kylah, "He supervises about two dozen people. Mom used to work there, too. That's how they met, but now she makes quilts to raise money for the local shelter. I guess they're proud of me, they've never said otherwise. They always told me that it didn't matter what I did with my life, as long as I was happy. And so far, I am happy with Starfleet."

Nodding, Kylah tries not to look ignorant, even though almost everything Collins has just told her only leads to more questions. Her father works in an office--do not most people have offices? Kylah is unsure why the location is supposed to be informative. Although if he is a supervisor he must be important. And the mother makes quilts, for... money? But not for herself, for someone else's shelter?

The most pertinent comment is the simple line: it didn't matter what I did with my life, as long as I was happy. No Elasian of any rank would say such a thing.

But how lovely the sentiment is, she thinks with a pang. Kylah finds herself sitting forward on the edge of her bed, hands on either side of her clutching the bedspread.

"And... if you do not mind my asking... what about Mr. Cooper?" She lowers her voice respectfully, knowing she is speaking of something very personal. "Are you happy with him? What is he like? And what would your parents think of him?"

"Those, my friend," Collins says with a bit of a laugh as she rolls onto her back and brings her hands up behind her head, "are very good questions. Let's see. Am I happy with him? He does make me happy when we are together, so that's a yes. What's he like?" Collins pauses to think about Ben's qualities, "He's smart, athletic, very good looking, caring, gentle, fun, sexy as all get out, and patient. And I'm pretty sure my parents would adore him. But I'm not at the 'bring him home to meet the folks' stage yet. At least, not in the 'Mom, Dad, he's the one' sense, anyway." She stares at the ceiling for a moment. "I don't know when, if at all, I'll be ready for that step with Ben or with anyone. Did you have a boyfriend on Elas?"

"No," Kylah says, glad that Collins is looking up rather than at her. "I was not... My Guardian did not think it appropriate. There was a young man... who was a friend. But not the way you mean. That is--he liked me, that way, but the match would not have been allowed, so I could not reciprocate. I should not have even let him speak to me, it caused him trouble in the end. But I..." I was lonely.

She does not finish, instead stares down at her feet feeling like a little girl admitting to stealing a cookie. "It must sound foolish and complicated."

Collins turns her head to look at Kylah who looks very sad. "Complicated, yeah. I never got why families did things like that to their children. But foolish? Not in the least." She rolls to her side again and props herself up on her elbow. "I'll tell you something else my parents always told me. Never be ashamed of feeling something. Feelings can't do damage even though it may seem they can. It's the actions we have to watch out for. They also taught me that my self worth should never be dependent on someone else's perception of me. So let me pass that one onto you. Only you are responsible for you. What you feel, how you act, that all comes from you, and no one has the right to take that from you, not figuratively, not literally. You be you and be proud of you." Collins hopes Kylah understands what she's saying, because she suddenly feels like she spouted a bunch of drivel.

The Handel piece comes to an end, and after a brief pause to retune, the ensemble begins playing a more modern piece, Aurelia's quiet, winsome "Twilight in Anorien."

Which sounds quite a bit like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkT3QPBh4hw

When Collins offers sympathy, Kylah appreciates it, but feels a swell of defensiveness over the slight against her family. It is her own fault: she has been very disloyal, and her complaints have been not at all appropriate for someone in her position.

She listens to the words of wisdom from Collins's parents, which seem reasonable enough. Yet Kylah is ashamed, not only because of how others see her, but how she sees herself; when she is so aware of her faults, she can only assume others see what she does. If it were not so, she would have had more friends, less disapproval from most people she meets.

When Collins is through, Kylah waits a moment and acknowledges the advice. "Your parents sound very intelligent, Lieutenant. Thank you." She cannot help wondering just how much Collins obeys all these homilies. "I am sure you are right. But I must... I must correct a misimpression I may have given. There is a very good reason for the rules placed on me. Royal alliances are of great importance, and as the oldest daughter in my house, even if not by blood, I am of significant value, not just for Elasians but other worlds--just as my cousin Elaan was, though of course, I have not one tenth her worth. Still, my Guardian knows those wish to raise their prospects higher than their own station, and if they wanted to be connected to my family, it would have been easy for them to compromise me and take advantage of my youth and... inexperience."

Kylah's face flames up and she stands, heading to the bathroom to hide her reaction to her own words. What she has just described is--except for the desire to link to her family--precisely what happened with Jan. She hurries to finish: "Until I am fully of age, it is up to my Guardian to make the decision that is best for Elas, and thus for me." Her shoulders slump. "And yes, I know this makes my feelings for Velir seem hopeless. So perhaps it is for the best, how things turned out."

She enters the bathroom to wash and change into her nightclothes. It is still early but she feels dead tired. The sad truth is that she is right: she would have had to end things with Velir at some point. Going further only to be forced to break their bond would have been even more painful. Not to mention the necessity of keeping the relationship a secret from Aldaan. The very thought sends a tremor through her. Thankfully he will never know.

Collins can tell her roommate would like to finish this conversation, poor sad little thing. "For what it's worth, Kylah," she speaks towards the bathroom, "I think you and Rangin would have made a cute couple." With that, she picks up the pad and resumes reading.

Rangin is unsure what it is about the music, but he can feel it tugging on his emotions. As the piece comes to a close and a brief interval is called, he takes the opportunity to slip away and that there is one last thing to do this evening.

Hurrying back to his quarters, he retrieves the datapad and then heads to Sickbay to stand vigil over Fujishiro.

Rangin arrives in Sickbay just as Ens. Horst Leventhal, a relief Helmsman, is leaving Fujishiro's bedside. Rangin can't be sure, but thinks he may have been crying.

See the music link just added to post 1392.

Kylah has already begun to remove her clothes when she hears Collins's comment. She looks at herself in the mirror, stripped to her undergarments, and shakes her head slightly. No, Lieutenant. We lost our ability to be a 'cute couple' when I went into that hotel room on Omicron Ceti III.

She washes and dresses herself in her diaphanous gown, hangs up her civilian dress, and returns to the main quarters. "Thank you," she says eventually, sitting on her bed and looking at the little wooden harp on her night table--where her jewelry box used to sit. "You have been very considerate to me today, Lieutenant. I hope I can be as thoughtful for you."

Collins just looks over at Kylah and smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. Her smiles are always sincere, but at this angle, from her bed, it may be hard to tell.

Rangin slowly walks into the slightly darkened room where Fujishiro is lying. The room is as empty as he remembers it from only a few nights ago, the constant beeping of the monitors the only sign that life is still there.

Pulling up a chair and setting a glass of water down, Rangin pulls out the datapad and puts it on the chair before walking up to the prone body. Looking down at the pallid features, he shudders and slowly shakes his head in sadness. "Hello Fujishiro, I've come back to finish the story. I wish there was a way I could help you. It's wrong that I survived and you didn't. We should both have been able to live through it and I should have been smarter, cleverer in working out what caused it, its supposed to be my area of expertise and all that happened is that I couldn't do anything about it. I failed. Wouldn't be the first time either, no matter what I try."

Rangin composes himself with a deep breath, trying not to let the words catch in his throat. "Sorry just isn't enough for what happened, it never will be. All I can do is never forget what happened and try to never let it happen again."

Sitting back down on the chair, he flicks on the datapad, already preset to the right location in the story and begins to read aloud:

"I was in trouble and I knew it, deeper than a river at midnight, and as lost as the blind beggars at the main gate. The tea-set had been spirited away from beyond my grasp and it could only mean one thing - that there was a traitor in the Daimyo's retinue..."

The journey from Observation Room 5 to Nia's quarters seems to last an hour, with the pair exchanging no words except the command to the Turbolift.

Graham's sure something with as low an alcohol content as champagne could have gone to his head, but it's hard for him to believe they're on the same ship as the one on which they started the date. Maybe it's the occasional whiff of her surprising fragrance--which has changed a little now, less verbatim what he remembered and mixed with something more objectively pleasant...

Like hot, wind-blown sand, he thinks. OK, don't try writing poetry.

And for god's sake don't stare like a horny teenager.

Dinner and conversation were--the word "captivating" comes to mind. Now that they're walking the full... impact... of Nia's dress hits him and his gaze drops a few times to her legs, and her breasts...

He smoothly (hopes smoothly) drops a half-step behind her, focusing on her hair, the side of her face, her shoulder... no less alluring to look at, but a lot less rude...

* * *

Soon they reach her cabin's door, which opens and shuts again when they enter, leaving them in darkness. In one fluid movement Nia has set the water lily down on the nearest side table and, without time or desire to turn on the lights, almost falls into Booker's shadowed figure.

"Just one kiss, just one," she whispers, arms wrapping around his neck and her fingers clutching his hair. "I've waited as long as I can." Her mouth meets his face a bit off-center, making her smile--the dark has made her clumsy--but soon they're locked together. He seems surprised, or at least not having anticipated her. Nia softens her touch, waiting until his own lips match hers kiss for kiss. So much for 'just one.'

But Nia knows they can't just stand in the dark forever. At last they part and she murmurs--hoarsely at first, then repeated more loudly: "Lights. Lights."

They look at each other and Nia grins, wiping away the traces of her berry lip color from his cheek. "Sorry for the mess," she breathes, turning to face her not-as-tidy-as-she-remembered cabin. "Um... have a seat? Let me just... um... make some space..."

Guiding Booker toward her little sofa, she first whisks away some pairs of black stockings, a camisole, her uniform, and a couple of datapads from the cushions before he finds a place to sit. As she cleans, the music provides a nice counterpoint to her own embarrassed patter: "I could've sworn this place looked better before I left. Has a mind of its own, just loves to make me look like a slob."

She bends over the bed to grab a few more items of clothing into a pile, thinking rapidly: I'll shove it all into the shower, that should do for now...

Graham's a little surprised by the kiss, but much more by what Nia says: "I've waited as long as I can."

It's--not a throwaway line, not a naked come-on. It's...touching.

That too nudges him into a different sense of time and place.

As does the scene when the lights come on. Jane was always neat--but with specific exceptions, allowances that somehow made sense to her. Stockings over the back of chairs...

A few memories mix with taking in how Nia moves and talks, her demeanor in her own space. When were you last in a woman's own--really their own space? he wonders.

It demands a certain sort of respect... reverence.

It's also cute that Nia seems a little flustered by the clutter.

Graham smiles slightly. "To be honest, 'slob' is really one of the last words I'd use to describe what you look like right now," he replies as she bends over the bed...

Nia grabs the pile of haphazardly placed items and enters her bathroom, plopping them down in the corner outside the shower. You never know, the shower might end up getting usage...

"Thanks," she says, somewhat belatedly realizing he just complimented her. "Oh, feel free to grab some ice water, it's in the cooler by the bed. Always keep some on hand." She takes a few seconds to look in the mirror. Hair still decent, lip gloss gone--which is fine, she doesn't want to taste berry-flavored Booker, just him.

She washes her hands and calls out over the sound: "Hey, it just struck me. With all our dinner talk, we never did the 'how was your day' thing. How was it? I heard Kylah's muggers were caught. That must make you happy, all the bad guys safely out of the way. And with your help, I've no doubt."

Nia's question is timed perfectly to sink in just as he's closing the cooler door--which he does harder than he intended, maybe hard enough to be audible.

"If only it were that fucking simple," he blurts out, almost as if she'd tapped a spot that triggered a reflexive release of all the frustration he felt over the whole day.

He stands straight, takes a breath, and rubs his jaw. "I'm sorry," he says in a vastly softer tone. With a flash of anger having passed, he's left feeling beaten and burdened instead. "There's no reason to snap at you, Nia." He clears his throat and takes a few restless paces in spite of himself, feeling his shoulders tense. "Or to ruin our night with my problems."

Nia emerges from the bathroom to stare at Booker, absently wiping her hands together while trying to discern his emotions. "You didn't snap at me. You answered my question honestly." She watches him stride the small length of her quarters. "Maybe talking about your problems can get them out of your head faster, so we can really forget about them."

She moves toward him, takes hold of his right arm, and guides him over to the bed. "Sit," she orders as gently as possible. When he complies, she sits beside him, hip brushing against his. "Now, talk. There's obviously some complication I don't know about. If the case isn't cleared, why did we leave orbit?"

Graham follows Nia's instructions as much by instinct as conscious thought and finds himself seated next to her on the bed. The memory of Kylah's small hand grasping his hand grasping his intrudes on the moment, and he looks at his hands, then let's them fall into his lap. "It's not the case," he replies, shaking his head. "It's the 'bad guy' part."

He glances up at Nia. "I don't have a goddamned bit of proof, and she's insistent... Kylah, that is, is insistent--too insistent--she doesn't need any help. But I trust Rangin's intentions toward her as far as I can throw him." His hands clench into fists for a moment and he laughs bitterly. "No, I can throw him a lot farther than I trust him... give me five meters of straight corridor and an open airlock..."

He shakes his head again. "I fucked everything up, Nia. Collins thinks they would make a great couple. Vargas is ready to have me doing KP on a garbage scow off Betelgeuse if I so much as look funny in his direction."

More distant memories, those of the day, and the thoughts of the moment run together.

"I'm as shitty a friend as I am a father," he says without thinking about or even really intending too. His whole body tenses as if he's about to spring up: on reflection Graham would acknowledge there's not a physical solution to problem, but by nature he feels he should do something.

Nia examines Graham, the lines on his face deeper, his muscles coiled in anger, and his eyes fixed fiercely ahead--but clearly focused on something buried inside himself. "Okay, listen," she says eventually, leaning against him. "I don't like anyone insulting a friend of mine, including that friend. So please knock it off."

She kisses his shoulder briefly before again letting her head rest on it. "More seriously. I don't know a thing about how you are as a father--and unless you need to talk about it now, maybe that's a subject better left for another night. But what I'm hearing is that you're genuinely worried and sympathetic toward someone who seems pretty vulnerable. That's what makes you the security officer you need to be, isn't it?" Her hand runs absently up and down his arm, as if to warm him.

"Whatever's going on with Kylah and Rangin... I wish I knew what to say. At least you know she's safe for now. Collins is her roommate, and she may have a closer perspective than you do. She is security herself, she's got a duty to protect her crewmates that's presumably uppermost in her mind. And since it sounds like you've spoken to her, I'm sure she'll be on the lookout for any danger signs. She'll know there are lots of ugly secrets behind closed doors, even among Starfleet's best and the brightest.

"Speaking personally, I don't know either of them--her less than him. Rangin has always seemed like a good guy, and I'll be honest, I wrote up a report to Vargas commending the guy for his insights and hard work in finding Kylah and tracking down the bastards who hurt her." Nia can feel Booker's body tensing up even further, but she doesn't backtrack. "I'm sorry, he earned the credit, like it or not, Booker. She'd be dead without his work."

A dark memory makes her close her eyes. "But..." she adds quietly. "That doesn't necessarily mean you're wrong. I've known hunters who get almost... proprietary... toward their prey. They won't let anyone else lay a hand on whatever they've marked as their own target. It's their trophy, not anyone else's."

As her voice speaks in an almost hypnotic monotone, Nia shudders, suddenly chilly herself. Change the subject. Fast.

"As for what you say about yourself. I just spent two hours with you. I know a lot of men, good and bad. You strike me as a good one, just... with some demons I don't know about yet." She lifts a hand to cup Booker's chin, tenderly turning his head toward her. "The thing is, you're trying. You're trying damn hard. That counts," she insists, caressing his cheek, and her last words are just as much a caress: "At least to me, Book."

Graham tenses even further while Nia speaks, barely able to stop himself from interrupting when she says "he seems like a good guy." That's exactly the fucking point, he thinks.

He feels almost physically torn as he recognizes her kindness and feels--well, honored, if confused about why, he's earned her attention while reacting to words intended to be soothing that could have been tailor-made to fuel his frustration and anger.

He reaches up, suddenly uncomfortable, intending to move her hand away from his face.

But as she continues he's glad he didn't interrupt. She understands what I'm worried about, she's not pooh-pooing this... A 'proprietary predator.' She gets it, or, at least, is willing to consider--why the fuck can't anyone else? Before something even worse happens...

And then calls him what only Jane ever called him. Not like her--her voice and manner are nothing like Jane's. But no one else has ever called him "Book" intimately before...

His hand freezes in mid-air, and he stares at her, mutely, for a moment. He blinks and takes a deep breath, feeling his shoulders loosen a little.

Instead of removing her hand, he brings his--as gently as he remembers trying to catch alien butterflies year ago--to touch the scales on the side of her neck.

"The, um, scales....I know how they feel to me... But, ah, how do they feel to you, Nia?" he asks softly.

Nia closes her eyes and shivers at the brush of his warm fingertips, surprised but gladdened that his mood seems to have altered from introspection to... this.

"The ones that are always visible..." she murmurs, "they're thin, pliant. Almost exactly like skin. It only takes a little more pressure for sensations to--well, penetrate them." Her eyes open again and she smiles at the obvious innuendo. "I can make them recede voluntarily as a gesture of trust. But when I feel safe and perfectly relaxed with someone, they'll vanish on their own. It's how I know... at least, one way I know... that things are right. When the scales go away and leave just...me."

With a light shrug she lets one of her shoulder straps fall slightly, revealing more of her scales and skin. She draws Graham closer to her for a long, deep kiss, then leans up so that her lips graze his ear and his own mouth is closer to her jawline. "Make them go away," she whispers. "Please try."

Graham feels so much washing over him that it's like static filling his ears.

"It's fourth and goal with a hot woman," he can hear his Academy mate Billy Coogan over his shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you, go for it, man!"

But that's just a nit. "Book." He almost never talked shop with Jane, it seemed like an...ugly, dangerous intrusion...into her beautiful world...

But a world can be ugly or dangerous and beautiful at the same time--like Sidonia...

He's slow to move--to respond--to her.

It's an effort to separate the anger he stills--not at her, the opposite: she's like shelter from the storm, but the storm's still there. Proprietary predator. The sonofabitch is enjoying the whole goddamned thing...

The desperate need he feels to escape from all the bullshit and to do something--anything... Give her what she wants, at least. Hell it's what you both want right now, isn't it? You know the drill. 'Hey Feddy, you're on leave, I'm on leave, let's work off some steam.'

"Safe...I could do that at least, for you," he whispers, closing his eyes as his hands reach for her shoulders, taking hold of them, pushing her slightly downward and sliding further down, reaching toward her breasts. "And whatever else you want..."

In a different moment, Graham would have been baffled by his simulacurum not calling her by name. But it doesn't register in this one.

Instead of the heated kisses along her shoulder Nia expected, Booker pauses, and she can feel his muscles tightening as if in preparation for some kind of leap. And then, after his heated whisper, he does leap--in a sense--his hands clutching needily at her, as if trying to steady himself. Then he's pushing forward, not exactly forcefully, but... decisively. His hungry mouth meets hers, and his hand now grasping her breast feels like a falling man desperately flailing to hold on to something, anything real.

Okaaay, wow, where was this guy hiding all night? Nia savors the taste of his tongue and--oh--the sensation of his fingers, which have slipped beneath her dress to her bare flesh, first gentle, now rough, then tender again. "Book," she sighs into his mouth, trying to get her arms loose so she can be a bit more of a participant in this. She wants to hold him, unbutton his shirt, feel his skin just as he's exploring hers.

His kisses move downward, and she gasps when his mouth replaces his fingers, which then grab onto her other breast. When his tongue briefly pauses in teasing her, he murmurs something, nothing articulate. Her body's on fire but something feels...

It feels wrong.

Booker isn't really listening to her, or even... Nia can't explain it... paying attention to her reactions, her instincts. He's going through the motions of lust and pleasuring a woman, except he's not taking his time to find out what would pleasure Nia. It's as if desperation is pushing him more than desire.

He's not hurting her, exactly--it's a bit rougher than she expected from him, but Nia doesn't mind rough. What she does mind is that this doesn't seem like Booker. Not the man she had dinner with, not the man she's been talking to. At least, not until the Rangin issue came up.

That's the problem, she realizes, just as Graham's body starts to press harder against hers, his free hand now feeling her thigh--newly bare now that he's lifted her dress. The pressure is building and she wants to melt against him, she wants to feel all of him and shut her mind off because his power is intoxicating.

But Nia has been with a lot of men, and she knows what their touches should be like. This is the touch of someone whose mind is on anything but her. He's upset. He's frustrated. He's taking it out on her. He's using her.

She isn't a partner, she's a life preserver.

Against every physical instinct, Nia pulls her hands up and grabs hold of Booker's shoulders. "Booker," she gasps--it has to be a gasp, his hand has parted her legs and sneaked beneath the black lace and what he's doing is incredible, but... "Book--Booker, slow down. Let's stop for a second."

When he looks up, she meets his gaze. It's unfocused, just as she thought it would be. What, did he forget I'm here? she thinks, more in concern than anger. They're both breathing heavily. When she catches her breath, she slides out from underneath him--he makes no move--and sits up.

"This doesn't feel right," she says, calm but straightforward. "I feel like this isn't sex to you, it's physical therapy." Nia exhales and brushes a hand through Graham's hair. "We need to wait, Book. Until you're in a better space, emotionally. Because as much as I want you, I am not an exercise machine or sparring partner you use to work out your frustration."

To be continued Nia=SidonianGal Graham=general_urko