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

"I--" Graham starts to reply then shuts his mouth.

He's almost too embarrassed to speak.

"You're--right." His instinct is to apologize, but as she runs a hand through his hair he feels she doesn't want him to say "sorry" a thousand times.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts. He shifts so he's facing her and gently takes the straps he'd dislodged and carefully places them onto her shoulders. "I'd be crazy not to want to have sex with you--even under, um--the right circumstances. But I want to make love with you more--Nia," he says slowly.

He leans against her--the shock of the moment when she gasped has disarmed both his anger and arousal. "Tell me something I need to know about you to--become the "right" man to make love with Nia Onn."

Nia's racing heartbeat is slowly returning to normal, and she's caught her breath. Touched by his making the distinction between sex and making love, she chuckles low in her throat at his question. "Now, it'd be cheating if I tell you how," she says lightly, but since he's obviously sincere she sobers up. "I actually don't know what it takes. Sex is kinda... what I do. But 'making love'... there's only been one or two men who've made those scales go away. One of them is here, and we're best friends, with sex as an added bonus. Or at least, it was until he decided to try monogamy on for size." She laughs again. "But we're still friends. I can tell him anything, and vice versa. So I guess the answer is, I need someone to know me. And someone I know. Mutual sharing, layer by layer. Like unpeeling an onion."

She gets up off the bed and reaches out a hand to Booker, who grasps it and stands up too. "I hope we can do that, Book. I hope... you want to. Because if this was just a taste of what the real thing would be like with you, I..." Nia looks down, almost shy--she's never shy, what the hell? "I want the real Booker. Very, very much."

"The real Booker Graham." On the one hand, he's not sure who that is. Or if he's worth a damn anymore...

But...

He stands, holding one of her hands in his, looking at her as he did when he first walked in to the Observation Lounge: she's present, alive...here.

"I--ah...your perfume, it reminded me...reminded me of maybe who the real Graham was. Or--is."

"I hope neither of us wants to give up on this..."

He leans forward and gives her a kiss that would be chaste except that it continues far longer than one between acquaintances.

"...until I can make sure that he shows up to be with you."

He hopes she feels as he does--and tries to convey with his eyes--that enough has been said that night--not too little, and not too much. The right time to go...

He gives her hand one last gentle squeeze as he says goodnight and backs out of the room.

Once the door has whooshed shut and he's alone in the corridor, the urge to punch a bulkhead has long past. Instead he trails a finger along the wall, walking slowly, pensive.

Your life is like a lock with no key, Booker. But it feels like...a door has been opened.

He wonders what that means for him and for Nia. He doesn't come with an answer during his slow walk to his own bed, but for once he's ruminating on something that feels good.

Thus concludes the big date. Nia=SidonianGal Graham=general_urko

Getting no response, Kylah just stares at the harp for a while. Collins has probably given up on her for the night. She does not seem interested in anything but Kylah's love life, such as it is; no interest in Elas, or her family.

It strikes her that this is typical of the humans she has met since the Academy. They display little curiosity toward aspects of Elasian culture, but highly prurient fascination about, for example, exactly how Elasian women enslave men, and how many, and how often.

But Collins seems almost naïve, rather than prurient; her thoughts on Velir and Kylah are simplistic and innocent. Kylah does not understand it. How can anyone have witnessed what Collins did in that Sickbay and remain optimistic?

With a sigh, she curls under the covers and turns away from the harp. He did say he was willing to talk, she admits, remembering the feel of Velir's arms around her. He promised we would. Maybe... he will listen, really listen, this time? She shakes her head and settles down to go to sleep. But before she does, she says a prayer for Fujishiro, wondering if the poor woman will last the night. I hope she is not alone now, she thinks, closing her eyes.

Rangin reads on. The duty nurse looks in briefly, and awhile later, Dr. T'Var. Fujishiro does not respond.

Sleep comes soon for Kylah, and in time, Collins feels her own eyelids growing heavy.

The Yorktown sails ever farther into space.

Nia watches the door close behind Booker--and she has to imagine her feet have been glued to the floor in order to keep from dashing after him. She knows it was the right decision but... damn, the feel of his rough skin against her face, the sweet force of his tongue, the delicious agony from his fingers and mouth...

And not just the sensuality of it all, because that was somewhat stained by knowing he wasn't really there. But him. He's an enigma. He's self-deprecating--almost to a fault--yet also physically sure of himself, evident in his walk, his movements when he didn't think she was looking. Darkness surrounds him, something impenetrable thanks to her knowing so little about him; and yet he's funny, he's optimistic and a romantic.

He's smart and has a lifetime of stories, but when she spoke he paid close attention: not just waiting for her to shut up until he got the chance to speak again, but listened. He's awkward at times, bafflingly so, but then... there was nothing awkward in those hands as they expertly taunted her breasts and slid up between her legs, so close to satisfying her aching...

She suddenly half-groans, half-laughs, lifting her gaze to the ceiling in disbelief. "Nia, Nia, Nia. Did you seriously just let that man walk out of here?"

Shaking her head, she takes two seconds to shrug out of the green dress and shimmy out of her underwear, swooping downwards to pick them up from the floor and hang the dress in her closet and toss the underwear in the hamper. In the bathroom she splashes water on her face, then exits to find the Pacifican Water Lily bowl from the far table and put it beside the snowglobe on her bedside table.

"Main lights out; bed lamp on, half-power," she says, looking at both gifts. The two of them look lovely in the dim light, and she smiles. Reaching for her lightly perfumed skin lotion, she strokes it on her scales, from her temples to her neck, shoulders, arms and finally down her sides.

Next the bottle is tossed aside, the lights are extinguished, and now, her sinuous body naked beneath the bedcovers, Nia fantasizes what will happen--hopefully soon--when Booker Graham is back here, his mind totally focused on her, his hands no longer angry, and Nia more than receptive to each... delicious... touch...

As the night draws on, Rangin continues to read to Fujishiro, now lost in the world he is describing and hoping that Fujishiro can hear. It's a pretty forlorn hope really, but he ignores it in favour of the story. Taking a sip of water to keep his throat wet he keeps on speaking. The tones from the machines have blended into the background, tuned out in favour of the sounds of the action taking place on the pages in front of him.

To Rangin, all that matters is that making sure he stands vigil for Fujishiro, as one affected to another. He may blame himself for not doing enough, but he knows in his heart that the only real person to blame for it is Dr Waite, his silence condemning her to this fate. He couldn't blame Dr T'Var, her own ethics had prevented her acting, even if Rangin didn't believe in them, but he still thought that, just perhaps, she could have done more.

This wasn't the first time he had done this. A stint in Cordas Zoo soon gave a healthy appreciation for mortality and when he had been injured in the M-5 disaster, a couple of friends had come to visit more often than not until he had recovered, while in the bed next to him, another of his friends had died from their injuries...and then there was the one incident he should never have survived.

Rangin stops for a moment and looks across at Fujishiro, trying to commit her features to memory. As his eyes scan over her face, one hand unconsciously slides to his ribs and he can slowly feel the pull of them through his uniform. There may be no mark there, but Rangin would swear he could feel each break, each one mark of cowardice and helplessness. At least here he could pay respects to Fujishiro in relative peace, not begging for his life while his friend was taken away and vanished by the Orion Syndicate. Closing his eyes, he can still picture the scene and he shivers. A raid that went wrong, four of them trying to show how clever they were and it all went so horribly, horribly wrong.

Rangin gulps for air as he opens his eyes again, focusing once more on the here and now as the tone of the machines fills the air banishing the voices and sounds of places past, where he died a little inside, just as he is doing now. He cannot hope to grasp why he keeps surviving when those around him don't. Perhaps, perhaps it would be best not to get too attached to anyone, just to see them ending up like Fujishiro in front of him.

But no, this time, here and now is for Fujishiro; to honour her as a colleague and friend, others can wait. He sits back down and takes another sip of water and begins to finish the story.

Once completed, he sits there for a while, remembering her from the few memories he had from the time he worked with her, before rising and bowing slightly towards the figure. "Goodbye, Fujishiro, may you be alone no longer."

Rangin leaves Sickbay for his quarters, wondering when he is next going to be in this position again.

Mahmoud is working at their shared desk when Graham walks in. He looks up and smiles. "Hey, Booker. Where've you been?"

Rangin finds his quarters empty when he gets there. A few minutes later, his cabinmate Ens. Charles Gordon walks in wearing workout gear, a towel around his neck. "How's it going, Velir? Have a good day?"

Graham rubs his chin, still reflective but acknowledging his old friend's question.

"Well...first Vargas ripped me a new one, then Collins had a good cry on my shoulder, and then Ni--uh, Lt. Onn served me a really nice dinner." He sighs and shrugs. "Perfectly normal day, I guess. How was yours--trigger any galactic incidents? Discover a secret family you never knew you had?"

Mahmoud says, "Yes, one of each. Just since lunch I was sentenced to death by the Romulan government for stealing the Jewel of Hroshar, and found out that Lord Fastolfe is actually my half-brother. You can see how upset I am."

Rangin is sitting on the bunk and leaning against the wall behind it, thinking about life, the universe and everything, as Ens. Gordon enters. Looking across to, Rangin smiles, "Hi Charlie," he greets him, "well, it's been one of those days."

Rangin shuffles on the bed and sits upright, "Let's see: the good part. Got to play around with that shiny, new Astro sensor and Jim Delaney is still a genius at fixing things. Still can't believe he got demoted after OCIII, somebody must have really got out of bed on the wrong side." Rangin shakes his head at the thought of it, there had been worse that went unpunished on that mission.

"The sad part: went to pay respects to Fujishiro, it doesn't looks like she will last much longer. It's a damn shame they couldn't save her and I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it. We both were bitten but I made it and she didn't. The doctor's can still only guess at what happened." Rangin glances across at the datapad still lying on the side and fidgets slightly, before he remembers what else occurred in the past few hours and groans.

"And then we have the stupid. Had another run in with Ens. Bully Graham, who's been on my case since he got here. The guy is a Grade-A sick fuck with proprietary issues. There I was helping out Ens. Kylah, the one who got assaulted on the planet, when he turns up and starts demanding I get away from her." Rangin holds up a hand while placing the other over his heart and looking sincere. "Before you ask, I was just helping up off the floor because she wasn't feeling well. That's all. I may have had an arm around her waist to steady but that is all, nothing more."

Rangin leans back against the wall again and continues. "Of course, he comes storming down the hallway like a Denebian Slime Devil and twice as ugly. I'm pretty sure he would have assaulted me again, if a couple of friends from Science hadn't turned up. He backed off at that point - like I said, he's a real bully. I don't think he was too happy when Vargas yanked the pair of us in for a cordial chat and told him, in no uncertain terms, to act like a member of Starfleet and whatever his problem was, quit it. That suits me fine."

"Of course," Rangin reaches up and taps the end of his nose with a finger in the universal sign of secrecy, "you didn't hear it from me." He winks at Ens. Gordon now knowing that whatever he said would soon be doing the rounds of engineering.

"So yeah, overall, a good day. Thanks for that Charlie, feel better getting that off my chest." Rangin relaxes, scratches an itch on the back of his arm and looks back across, "So, never mind my travails, how was your day in the depths of Engineering?"

Graham chuckles. Ending the night in the company of a friend who has literally been a comrade-in-arms cements his already positive mood.

He bids his roommate goodnight and takes a long shower before bed, still mulling over what Nia said earlier: "the real Booker Graham."

Gordon says, "Wow, that's quite a day! Y'know, I'd heard a little scuttlebutt before about Graham. He had a real up-and-down career before he came aboard. Hope Vargas's little chat does some good with him." He frowns. "And it's sad about Fujishiro. I didn't - uh, don't really know her. Always a shame when someone aboard gets hurt that way." He starts digging around in his closet. "My day was OK. Spent a loooong time calibrating deuterium flow sensors on Deck 16, starboard. Everything was five by five." He grins. "If the ship doesn't blow up overnight, I should get full credit."

Mahmoud says goodnight and turns back to his work.

"Are we getting a ship's inspection some time soon?" Rangin comments lightheartedly, "Roble had people cleaning out Organic Chemistry and that takes ages. Perhaps they think we're all slacking off, or maybe they've got one of those long task lists to keep us all occupied for the next week or so. We'll find out in the morning I guess."

Rangin stretches and climbs under the sheets, immediately beginning to feel tired as he settles down. "Goodnight Charlie." he says drowsily as he begins to feel sleep's embrace.

"You too, Velir," Gordon says, slipping into the bathroom for a shower.

Relaxing in his quarters, Andy looks around the room for the third time in fifteen minutes, trying to make sure everything is neat and clean. Clothes tidied away, surfaces dust-free and shiny. In short it was almost as clean as the kitchen he works in, well maybe not that clean, but getting on for.

Smiling to himself for still not having a roommate as Lt. Bennett still can't find someone willing to put up with his sense of humour. Surprisingly everyone wants to chat with him, but seem strangely reluctant to share quarters. In some ways it helps, being able to act as a sounding board for gripes, moans and suggestions without anyone thinking he is biased.

Whistling gently to himself while some non-descript music plays in the background, he goes back to taking care of his hands, making sure they are in the best condition while wondering if his sole occupant status is about to change. A glance at the neatly setup chess board and the bottles of water give a hint to the evening ahead.

Before long a chime rings out and there is a shudden shiver of excitement that ripples down Andy's spine as his head twists in the direction of the door. Quickly putting the manicure set down, he calls out, "Come in," as he stands and walks across. Framed in the door, as it opens, is the shape of T'Var and Andy nods to her, "Hi, come on in, the board's ready when you are."

The doctor is in a Vulcan civilian robe. "Good evening," she says, smiling slightly.

Nia lies on her bed, deeply breathing; her eyes are closed and a smile is on her face. After a while, she turns to her side and stretches languorously, but then reaches her arm out and picks up her communicator.

She thinks for a moment before her fingers start typing a message to Booker:

I realize I forgot to thank you again for the exquisite flower, which I'm looking at right now. It's beautiful. Thank you, Booker.

Tonight's dinner was delicious in more ways than one. I'm in bed now, very relaxed after spending some lovely time thinking of you, of being with you. But it only makes me anticipate the real thing even more.

I know my dreams will be sweet. Will yours? Hope we can share them sometime soon. -- NIA

Sending the message off, Nia pulls out a bottle of water and rehydrates herself, then falls back against her pillows with a sigh of contentment.

Collins opens her eyes and realizes how hungry she is, having skipped dinner. She turns her head to check the small clock her nightstand, and sees it's only 0214. As quietly as she can, so as not to wake her roommate, Collins slips out of bed, throws a kaftan on over her pajamas, and leaves her quarters to head to the mess.

When she gets there, she sees a bunch of her ship mates, none of whom look familiar to her, and she is reminded of just how big a Constitution-class ship is. She orders up a bowl of strawberry ice cream, a half dozen small sugar cookies, and a mug of hot cocoa. She finds a table to enjoy her snack and digs in.

Graham's dozing off when a chime alerts him he has a message. As a Security officer alerts for professional matters never shut off--and he's made it habit to add individuals to the "24-7" list, too. He sees it's from Nia. For some reason, he feels sure it's...nothing bad.

It's almost hard for him to believe that's how he feels, but he remains in bed feeling that it will be something nice to wake up to tomorrow...

Collins has been noshing for just a minute or so when the mess hall doors whoosh open and the Captain comes in. She looks tired. She gets a big mug of coffee from the bulkhead replicator, sees Collins and ambles over. "Late-night hunger pangs, Mr. Collins?" she asks.

At the sound of Graham's comm chime, Mahmoud looks up from his work, stretches, and turns off the desk light. "All right, Booker," he says, "now I'm ready for all the filthy details. Tell me about your date. Leave nothing out."

Collins adjusts her posture from m the slouch she'd slid into, to straight backed upon hearing the Captain's voice. She looks up and smiles, and once she swallows the cookie she'd stuffed in her mouth, she says "Yes, ma'am. I skipped dinner. Please have a seat."

Graham grunts, a little nonplussed by his roommate interrupting a pleasant reverie he expected would soon lead to sleep--but blowing off his long-time friend and colleague isn't in his nature.

The question makes him think though: it's not that I don't believe her, that she, uh, "gets around..."

But that's not what she is to me, he thinks, suspecting that even if were inclined to "leave nothing out" Mahmoud would probably be disappointed.

"Ah, if you want lurid entertainment, I'm sure there are some vids you can find on the system," he replies.

He speaks a little slower than usual, still turning things over in his mind.


"It was--nice, really nice. She, ah--looked great. Really great. And set up a dinner and everything."

He pauses and shrugs although the gesture is awkward lying down. "We talked, and then we went to her place. It was...nice." He clears his throat. "She thought it was too cluttered but it was fine."

He grimaces internally. "I'm not an exercise machine or your sparring partner."

If they'd...carried on...that would have ruined everything, Graham thinks. I would have ruined everything...

For once he's free of any regrets, though: but I didn't. We didn't.

"I think we'll do it again," he adds, pausing then following that statement quickly with "a date, I mean. It was like a real date, and I think we'll go on another one."

"And if you're waiting for a report on how far down the scales go or anything, you're better off downloading some Sidonian anatomy textbooks, perve," he says jokingly. "I'm not one to kiss and tell," he adds, faking a demure voice that trails off into a yawn.

Singh hesitates for a second, then sits down. "Thank you. I had dinner but felt the need for some decaf before I turn in. A long night with too much paperwork."

Mahmoud grins. "So coy, Booker! She must be something special."

"Paperwork is my least favorite part of any assignment" Collins commiserates. "Isn't it funny how all these centuries later, we still call it 'paperwork'?"

The Captain smiles and takes a sip from her mug. "Yes, our names for things we don't like tend not to keep up technology. Why did you skip dinner, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Well," Collins debates how much of her evening she's willing to disclose, "I went to visit Lieutenant Fujishiro. Y'know, one last time and all. It got to me, much more than I'd expected it to." She drags her spoon across her ice cream, making designs as she speaks. "And I lost my appetite." Collins scoops up a spoonful of the creamy pink dessert and puts the whole thing in her mouth.

Graham tosses a pillow in Mahmoud's direction and grunts "good night."

Singh nods soberly. "Yes, I looked in on her earlier. Very, very sad to see things come to this point for her." The Captain and the Security woman talk awhile longer and then go their separate ways.

Graham soon drops off to sleep.

The night passes, and the Yorktown races ever more deeply into space. The next day passes uneventfully, and the day after that. Fujishiro hangs tenaciously onto life.

On the third day out from Anubis, Kylah is working in the Communications Center when she notices an unusual subspace signal.

Kylah frowns slightly, curious. She tries to isolate the signal, determine its nature and place of origin, and increase its amplitude to see whether she can recognize if the signal is transmitting anything identifiable.

In Cargo Bay 4, Rangin is putting the newly installed scanners through their paces, making sure they are all wired in and are responding to the test signals correctly. He cannot help but be impressed by Dr Brold's new scanner, the more he hears about it, and is well aware that he's nowhere near clever enough to work out how it fully works.

Then again, he is spending time trying to get Dr Brold and his assistants open up about their home planet, as Rangin's xenobiological curiousity kicks in about the three of them.

However, as the hours lengthen working on the scanners, he is short of time for anything else, including being able to talk with Ens. Kylah leaving the situation between them unresolved. At least, Ens. Graham is staying out of his way, Rangin hasn't heard a peep out of him for a while.

Kylah finds that the signal is very faint, and of unknown and previously-undetected origin. It has an irregularity and pattern that strongly suggest it is artificial and not natural. Triangulating with several Starfleet subspace relays already rapidly dropping aft - for the Yorktown's course will soon take it into uncharted space - she determines that the signal is from somewhere ahead.

Rangin's work is going well, but he has much yet to do. Dr. Brold is gruffly uninterested in talking with him about anything but their work. Veled, one of his assistants, is more friendly, but only when his boss isn't looking. "What did you want to know about the Gnalish?" he asks once Brold leaves with Patel to talk to the Captain. "And tell me about your own people."

Gnawing her lower lip in curiosity, Kylah starts recording, hoping to catch as much as possible just in case the signal disappears. She also tries to determine whether any additional data is being carried along with the signal. Most of all, she will do her best to modulate the amplitude to boost the signal's perceived strength.

Then she contacts Lt. Thalen--if he is in Communications currently, she'll just speak to him in person; otherwise she'll use her communicator.

First she relays the information she has discovered, then adds: "I am recording the signal in case we lose it, and am also monitoring to see if the pattern repeats itself--I cannot tell if this is a beacon of some kind, or a one-time message. As yet, I..." She pauses for a moment, attempting to get a better idea of the coordinates, or at least the direction, of the signal. "As yet I have not determined any specific source for the signal, but I will keep trying."

Sitting back, Kylah watches the sine waves on her screen. "If the beacon is a recurring pattern, I might be able to determine if it is an attempt to communicate--numerical patterns can sometimes be easy to decrypt if they are not intended to be secret, and encryption is one of my specialties. Otherwise, perhaps an expert like Lt. Garcia could be of use. Do you have any recommendations, sir? And do you believe we should inform the Captain?"

During the course of his duties, Graham grabs an extra cup of coffee. He's tired...and a little sore.

He's been fitting in some extra time to workout, and pushing himself even harder than usual while doing so.

He's glad Mahmoud hasn't noticed--yet anyway--because his roommate would surely assume it's in preparation for his next date with Nia. He'd never hear the end of it. "Working on that six pack, Booker? I'll notice if you dye your gray..."

He couldn't really deny that maybe that was on his mind, at least a little, having seen how she looked on date one...

But it also gave him time and focus to think. The order to avoid Rangin became a relief, leading him to think about how to help Kylah rather than get into a pissing context with him. And he had some ideas...

Thalen, reached by communicator, says, "That all sounds good. Run it through the linguistics banks and see if you get any matches, and then try the universal translator before you try the standard Level 1 decryption program. No need to bother the Captain about it just yet."

The signal is very weak and amplitude modulation, Kylah finds, does only so much to distinguish it from subspace background hiss. She finds no other data being carried in the transmission. There have been no repeats in the signal yet.

Graham's duties today include calibrating and test-firing phaser-1s in the Armory.

Collins monitors the comings and goings of assorted space debris, keeping an eye out for asteroids and anything else potentially harmful to the ship

"Yes, sir, thank you," Kylah says, and after she disconnects she follows through with Thalen's suggestions. She checks the linguistic banks for matches, then the UT--almost hoping there is no perfect match, since the idea of finding an undiscovered civilization actually excites her. It has been quite a long time since Kylah found unalloyed pleasure in her job.

Now she settles down for some calculating. How much stronger, if at all, has the signal grown since she first heard it? Tapping the screen panel in front of her, she enters what she knows is the maximum distance from which the Yorktown is capable of detecting a signal at this particular frequency--something she learned at the Academy. She then compares it with the current known speed of the ship, and takes into account the time when she first detected the signal. That should at least give her some idea of how much closer they are to the signal.

But what she really wants is to figure out the direction from which this whisper in space is being emitted. While her own station handles the aforementioned tasks, Kylah rolls her chair to a nearby free computer and decides to work on pinpointing the signal's possible origin.

Fingers moving rapidly, she sets up this system to scan, using as narrow a band as possible, an arc in each direction surrounding the ship, degree by degree. Next, she enters the signal's precise frequency, wavelength and amplitude--That should cut out any random chatter, she hopes--and directs the tracker to stop and notify her as soon as it finds a match.

She rolls her chair back to her station to see how the linguistics and translator programs are doing. "Where are you, and what are you trying to say?" she murmurs under her breath.

Tightening one last clip in the sensor before closing the lid, Rangin steps and nods back to Veled, amused by the fact they only really talk freely without Dr Brold around. "Ok. Run test program Rangin Alpha-4." Stepping back to put the tools away, Rangin listens to the slight hum of the sensor as it starts up, and crosses his fingers hoping the modifications work. With a slow grin creeping across his face, he turns to Veled, "Sounds normal, we can check the results in fifteen minutes."

With the tests running, Rangin steps back admiring their collective handiwork, "So, about the Gnalish. I'd love to know about your planet and culture. There aren't that many details on your race, other than basic details, so I'm curious about everything."

"As for me, I'm from Coridan. A slightly chilly, sparsely populated, mining planet with a very dubious and shady reputation. Everyone knows someone and if you can afford it, someone can sell it to you, no matter what it is. We've had trouble with several other races, who wanted to keep control of the dilithiuim deposits, but we're finally making our own way in the galaxy."

"Coridanites are generally similar to earthlings and most earthlings could pass at a glance for a Coridanite, but physiologically we're hardier than your average human." Rangin gives a snort of disgust, "I still get some idiots thinking there is no difference between us."

"Most Coridanites live in the main cities, and the remainder are mainly mining towns." A dreamy look comes over Rangin's face as he remembers some of the vistas and sights from his home planet. "But it's true beauty is out in the wild. Vast tracts of unspoiled land, with nothing but wildlife."

Rangin looks back across at Veled and sighs sadly, the fond reminiscence of his home planet still lingering. "Haven't been home in several years, maybe I'll get a chance someday."

"Ok Veled, your turn"

Collins, who is on the Bridge at the Security console, sees nothing but open space directly ahead.

Kylah refines her monitoring of the signal; it has grown only slightly in strength since she first noticed it. The Yorktown's advanced subspace receivers can detect signals from several hundred light years away. Her best estimate is that the ship could reach the source of the signal, about ten degrees off the starboard bow, in less than two days at current speed. It appears to be moving, suggesting that it is not coming from a fixed point such as a planet or base. After a lengthy search, the Library Computer's linguistics banks note some similarities to High Caitian - perhaps one word in thirty (if words they are) from the transmission has a rough match to that ancient tongue. The UT can do little more at the moment, given the limited data set, but begins building a translational matrix.

Veled tells Rangin, "Gnal Prime is a hot, rocky world with heavier gravity than Earth or Coridan. There are many carnivorous life forms; our people are the dominant predators and have been for uncounted ages. We have a very egalitarian, meritocratic society in which all are encouraged to make full use of their skills for the betterment of all Gnalish. We prize rationality, education and science. We have not joined the Federation, but our government is actively considering it."

Rangin listens to Veled's description and wishes that his own planet was even half so civilised. "Your planet appear to be closer to the Federation ideals than mine own. We're only just beginning to have the understanding that it can be better to work for all than just the few." He looks glumly at the floor and kicks his heels thinking of just what Coridan is like. "But we're getting better about it, it's just a long hard road ahead."

The thoughts of why he joined Starfleet forced to the surface of his mind, and he has no intention of letting his people down. One day, it will be its own planet and not in thrall to the Orion Syndicate or the Andorians or Tellarites or Vulcans or any other group. He shrugs, now is not really the time for getting melancholy over planetary politics.

"So, what about you? How did you wind up working on this sensor on Anubis? It's a bit far from home isn't it?"

Veled says, "I've been working for Dr. Brold for awhile now. He's a brilliant engineer and I've learned a lot. Where he goes, I go, at least for the next few years."

Nodding at the various findings, Kylah asks the computer to track the trajectory of the signal's movement. She is interested to see if this is a straight path or if it is in orbit, like a satellite--in which case the signal will eventually take a circular motion away from the Yorktown again. Also, its current trajectory might be a hint as to where it came from in the first place. Of course, in uncharted space, that might not be particularly useful. Still. There is no harm in the knowledge.

A pang makes her throat tight. This sort of discovery would be something that would fascinate Velir. If their relationship were in any decent state, she would contact him with this news. But that is not possible. He has not been in touch with her since he left the mess hall two days ago, despite his claiming to be interested in hearing her side of things. In fact, he seems to be studiously avoiding her.

It seems he wishes to go back to being strangers. So be it; Kylah has scraped herself up from the depths of despair long enough to remember her Elasian pride. She will not take the initiative. She has made her feelings very clear--embarrassingly so. She has buried herself in work and, when off-duty, studying the lute Lt. Thalen lent her, as promised.

Thinking of her superior, she contacts him again to provide an update, wanting him to know that the object is moving and that--depending on whether the signal does indeed change course--the ship may intercept in a couple of days. "Also, sir, the possible link to ancient High Caitian... While my programs are running, I would like to take a moment to research the history of the Caitian people--may I have your permission to do so, Lieutenant? And do you know if we have any Caitians on board?"

During the limited time Ens. Kylah's been monitoring the signal, its source appears to be traveling in a straight line, and farther than a typical planetary orbit would take it. Cometary orbits can be extremely long, though, she knows.

Lt. Thalen appreciates the update and says, "You can certainly research the Caitians - you don't need my permission for that, Mr. Kylah."

Kylah flushes lightly and looks down. "Thank you, sir. It is just... since I missed several watches this week due to my--my personal problems--I thought it best to ask before I took time away from my primary duties for research, even if it is tangentially related to this current finding. I will continue to monitor the scans as carefully as I can."

She hesitates. "And the crew member, sir? I suppose I can look on our manifest, but I thought... well, you seem to know so much about what goes on board the ship, and those who serve on it as well." And it is very pleasant talking to someone kind, she thinks, rather hungry for companionship.

Rangin nods at Veled's firm assertion almost encouraging him to continue, but the pause seems to last a little while as he realises that the Gnalish scientist has finished. "So, no plans to visit home any time soon then? What about family and friends to stay in touch with then?"

No sooner does he say it, then Rangin feels the weight of the communicator on his hip, a sensation once again threatening to anchor him to the spot. While still being interested in what Veled has to say, Rangin feels a torn inside over something he hasn't done and still needs to do. Something that should have been done a while ago...

+ + +

Sitting quietly on his bed, alone in his quarters and knowing Ens Gordon will be out for at least an hour, Rangin turns the communicator over and over in his hands. He knows what is waiting for him on it, a single message from Ens. Kylah. One he keeps putting off and putting off listening to. There had been the run in with Ens Graham yesterday and then helping Kylah to the Mess Hall. They had seemed to get along and she did indeed want to talk. Rangin felt a knot in his stomach and fidgets slightly as he recalls that he was the one to say they should speak today. But with getting the sensors done and other things taking longer than he thought, he hadn't had the time. No, he is lying to himself, he does have the time, but is prevaricating about it, leading to his current predicament.

Telling himself not to be so silly, he flicks open the unit and recalls the message ready to be played. Remembering the few words the message had played, that Kylah had heard or learned something...something about Rangin himself. Originally, he had thought it about the restrictions and that she couldn't care less for him. But now he isn't so sure, her reaction to him had been more of embarrassment and shame than of hatred. Swinging round to sit over the side and taking a deep breath, Rangin mutters to himself, "Come on, no time like the present. Get it over and done with." and starts the message playing back.

Once again, Kylah's voice can be heard, just as weak and tired as he remembers.

"Velir, I know you do not wish to talk to me. But I just learned--I just heard--" Rangin screws himself up, waiting for some bombshell to drop, wating for her to curse him out.

"You saved me." Caught completely unawares, Rangin cannot exhale cleanly, but coughs out the lungful of air that is held tight in his chest. What on Coridan?

"Lt. Thalen told me how you were able to locate me after I was attacked. Without you, I doubt I would be here. I might have died, alone, on that planet. You saved my life." Rangin is stunned by what he hears, almost not understanding the distinctive sound of gratitude in her voice, pleading out to him.

"I must tell you how grateful I am. I am also sorry, sorry for everything, unbearably sorry you hate me so deeply. And I am humbled that despite that hatred, you acted as only you can. With the compassion and honor I always admired. I still admire you. And more. So much more, you will never know. I wish you would listen, I wish you would let me tell you." But, but, you're a colleague, Rangin's thoughts scream out, I would have done that for anyone He cannot understand how the words she utters in this message match up with what he had thought about her before and he beings to question whether anything he knows is right or wrong.

"Please, Velir," the final words are choked out through tears and the message ends. Rangin resists the urge to hurl the communicator across the room and shatter it on the far wall, but instead settles for just flipping it to the end of the bed before putting his heads in his hands and wondering what to think.

And then slowly he can feel his ribs start to tighten again. She had nearly died alone on Anubis, battered and bloodied. But at least she had fought back, the evidence showed, whereas what had he done in that situation. As he struggles to gain control of his breathing again, he knows she has far braver in those few moments than he had been. Twice he had been helpless, and twice he had done nothing, been able to do nothing, whether at the hands of the Orion Syndicate or in the grasp of the creatures roaming on the Sakath station.

And yet she still admires him, considers him to have honour and compassion, even when he had shown none of it in Sickbay and yet perhaps more...and he doesn't know how he can face her knowing that.

+ + +

... "Actually, sorry Veled, if you will excuse me for a moment, I've just remembered something. Can you give me two minutes."

Rangin moves off to one side and pulls out the communicator to send a message. Ens. Kylah, I apologise for not being in touch, but would you be able to meet up this evening and talk? Regards, Ens. Rangin. Looking at it, it appears more like a general note and yet while he craves being able to keep his distance, it's not the way to continue. They are not just two crewmates meeting up for a drink, they have something more to discuss. Deleting the two ranks, he looks over it once and sends it before he can think again, before he can prevent himself from deleting the entire message and trying to bury himself back into his work.

Kylah, I apologise for not being in touch, but would you be able to meet up this evening and talk? Rangin.

He turns back, a friendly smile on his face while inside he cannot help but wonder if he is making another mistake. "So, where were we?"

Thalen says, "Research that has any bearing on your work is fine." He chuckles. "Starfleet and I both encourage inquisitiveness. But no, sorry - there are no Caitians in the crew."

Veled says heavily, "I don't have much to lure me back home. My parents and I don't get along, and my siblings have long since gone their separate ways. I have a few friends from when I was a hatchling, and we keep in touch occasionally. Right now, though, my work keeps me very busy."

Kylah thanks Thalen again and returns her hands to the control panel, accessing the system's library on the history of Caitians and their travels. The notification from her communicator makes her wonder if her supervisor has had another recommendation, and she picks up the device while still reading her screen. Then she flips it open and looks down.

Her lungs freeze mid-breath. Velir wants to talk to her. To see her. She bites her lip to keep from speaking his name aloud, and holds the communicator in both hands--cradling it like a baby bird as she reads the message again and again.

The third time is when she notices the way he signed off. Rangin. Kylah's elation diminishes significantly. Using merely his last name is distancing: the perfect way to end a note while reminding her that they are merely colleagues.

Kylah does not have the ability to use this particular nuance; in standard Starfleet usage she is just Kylah, no reference to her House or parentage that she can add to remind him of her changed feelings. And she would not even if she could, because her feelings have not changed... not significantly. She cannot pretend otherwise. Whether he believes it or not, she has opened herself to him as much as she is capable--as much as she feels safe to.

She responds quickly. Velir: Do not apologize, I understand you are busy. Yes, I would like to talk with you tonight. If you are not on watch at 18:00, perhaps then? -- Kylah.

After sending the message, she hesitates, glancing back at her screen before returning to the communicator and typing as quickly as possible.

Velir: Am sorry to bother you again, but do you know anything about the Caitians? E.g., whether they have travelled beyond charted territory? Have found an ongoing signal with similarities to their ancient language. Could be connected. Am conducting my own research but your expertise would be valuable.

Kylah gets an idea and adds: The object could be a ship, as it is in motion. Might the experimental device be used to enhance our ability to identify such an object? To see if this is a recorded message, or if a living being is broadcasting it? -- Kylah.

She sends the message, glad to have something neutral to discuss with Velir. Then she returns to the database to view the records on Caitians.

http://en.memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Caitian

Kylah knows a little about Caitians already, having met a few at the Academy, but there is always more to learn. Cait has been a member of the Federation for almost 40 years. Caitians are noted for their honest and efficient planetary government, close family ties and warm hospitality to visitors. They are not known for interstellar explorations other than through their service in Starfleet, and there is no record of any Caitian ship ever having come out this far in the Anubis sector.

"Well, we are certainly going to be kept busy for the next few weeks with this sensor," replies Rangin as his gaze skips back over the sensors sat nearby. The moment's silence is broken only by the sound of Rangin's communicator beeping again. Wondering who it might be, surely Kylah has not got back to him that quickly, Rangin opens it up to see the messages.

When he sees they are both from Kylah, he wonders what she is sending and with a sense of trepdation reads the first one. There is a feeling of relief as he reads it and sees she still wants to talk. Even the use of his first name, makes him feel that perhaps it will be more amicable than he might have thought.

The second message about Caitians and a new signal intrigues him. Scratching idly at the side of his face in thought, his interest piqued, this might be as good a test as any for the new sensor while they are setting it up.

Kylah, have plenty about the Caitian, but wouldn't expect them in this sector. Will see if possible to use the new sensor to assist. Velir. PS. Will be happy to meet you tonight at 18:00.

Rangin sends the message on before turning to Veled. "Something interesting has just come up and we might be able to help. Comms have just picked up a signal or ship at far sensor range for the Yorktown. They're wondering if the prototype could be used to get a better view."

A gleam of excitement flickers in Rangin's eyes as the chance to actually test the sensor on something appears to have presented itself. "We'll have to get Dr Brold and Capt. Singh's permission, but I think it might be worth it. What do you think? It's ready for a long range test. This could be as good an opportunity as any?"

Veled says thoughtfully, "The sensor module is designed for radio astronomy, studying things like quasars, pulsars and Vaoi stars. I'm not sure about its usefulness for subspace applications... and I'd bet Dr. Brold won't be too eager to try."

The transmission Kylah was studying ends after eighteen minutes, followed a few seconds later by a transmission from a different source in the same language and on the same subspace frequency. That transmission lasts a minute and nine seconds, followed by another transmission, apparently from the original source, lasting just fourteen seconds. Then there is silence.

Still cautiously optimistic after reading the message from Velir, Kylah is startled by the second transmission, and darts over to the other terminal to determine if the source is coming from the same general direction. At this distance, she doubts she would be able to pinpoint how far apart they are from one another, but the computer might be able to tell her if this sender is traveling the same path as the first. Are these two vessels, traveling together in a sort of convoy?

But what could one ship say to the other for eighteen minutes--and possibly more, since Kylah knows it might have begun long before she first caught that first signal?

Barely forty seconds after she asks the computer to trace this second transmission, it ends; then there is the relatively fast volley from the original source. Was there time for the computer to locate this second signal?

Waiting for the answer with her interest highly piqued, Kylah makes a copy of the recording of the entire 'conversation'--if that's what it was--and asks the computer to attempt a transliteration into Federation standard. She'll do the same, listening to the words through her earpiece at a high volume.

Neither transliteration will be perfect, she knows; they will be approximations at best. All she realistically wishes is to identify any patterns of speech, such as repeated words or phonemes. Of course, one cannot translate a language from mere sounds, not without any context. Still... something might sound familiar, and she can and will search for any links to High Caitian.

Leaning over her workstation, Kylah closes her eyes and begins to replay the recording, writing out the sounds as she listens.

Graham would prefer testing beefier phaser II's but doesn't mind the assignment at all. Although I could work off more pent up...tension...by, say, demonstrating the bat'leth to younger Security personnel who hadn't been in Starfleet during the worst periods of conflict with the Klingons. Maybe using a dummy of Rangin. Or hell, the real thing...

Kylah determines that both transmissions were from the same general direction; she cannot tell with any certainty how far apart the sources were from each other, or from the Yorktown. The second transmission seemed to be from a stationary source, however. Both signals were equally faint. The Communications console's interpretive subroutine generates a transliteration in seconds. The UT is still working on a translation - nothing yet, although there were some repeated words or phonemes. The High Caitian language seems a promising lead, but it is still more dissimilar than similar to whatever language she is now hearing.

Mahmoud looks in on Graham. "How's it going, Booker?" he asks.

Graham looks up from his carefully arranged row of phasers and shrugs. "Well enough. Unless I incinerate my own leg or blow a hole in a bulkhead I should be able to complete this assignment with flying colors."

Between monitoring her panels, Collins sends Graham a message: So? How was dinner? Did you get all smoochy? Kid sister needs to know

Graham doesn't find phaser testing tedious: in some ways, it's a clearly necessary task with a steady, occupying rhythm.

But he doesn't mind Collins' message interrupting his flow. Rightly or wrongly it encourages him she's on top of her...problem.

He messages back: Like that's something I would tell a kid sister??? Well, dinner was great. Yeah, there was some 'smooching.'

Collins smiles when she reads Graham's reply. She sends another message: you gonna see her again? Maybe we can double next shore leave.

Graham shakes his head and chuckles. I'll have to tell Collins she has some weird ideas about spending time with family--even if some dude's all right I doubt I'd want to spectate while he made out with my sister...., he thinks.

He pauses a moment before replying. I hope so. Actually yes unless she comes to her senses first. Sure, why the hell not.

Great. Collins messages back. Catch you later. Collins swivels in her chair just enough to see Onn from the corner of her eye. You'd better be good to him, she thinks, even though she's pretty sure she'd lose if she and Onn ever came to blows.




Collins by anyrose, Graham by general_urko

One stationary, the other in motion. A starport? A planet? Kylah ponders while she puts the recording and her manual transcription on hold. Perhaps the stationary object is a large vessel, and the other is its exploratory shuttle, or something similar?

She scowls. Eighteen minutes seems like an awfully long report for a shuttle to make to its mother ship. Her finger taps the arm of her chair as she thinks. Or... maybe the non-moving thing is an incapacitated vessel, and the other ship is traveling to assist it.

Really, it could be any or none of these guesses. She will likely have to wait two days to find out--and even then, the sources of these signals could end up leaving the Yorktown's path altogether, and this mystery will remain unsolved.

...Unless Velir's device (as she has come to think of it, though Dr. Brold would certainly take umbrage) can indeed be used to identify the objects. Kylah's mood lifts. Oh! I have not told him there are two now. Perhaps it will make a difference?

VELIR --

Again I am sorry to bother you but thought you should know: I discovered a second signal, this one stationary--perhaps a planet or ship? I am unsure, but it was almost certainly communicating with the original source. Might the fact that this could be a planet be useful in Dr. Brold's making the decision?

Unfortunately the signals have gone quiet. I am trying to wrest some information from their messages, but with an unknown language and no context, the odds are slim. I will continue to try. It may very well be nothing important.

Still, it is exciting to have 'met' these beings before anyone else has. I find it an honor, as well. Does that make sense, somehow?

Please thank Dr. Brold for considering using the device, regardless of his decision. And thank you for asking. -- yours, KYLAH

She sends the message off about two seconds before it registers that she was foolish and forgetful enough to have included such a personal salutation.

"Oh no, no!" she moans in despair, shutting the communicator and pushing it away from her on the workstation--as if physically distancing herself from it will make any difference. Ending the note this way was entirely natural for her, it is how she has sent many messages to him. But to do so now, given the fractious state of their... connection?

Face burning, Kylah tries to forget her stupidity. Maybe Velir will not notice; he is busy and may not even read her entire message.

With this dim hope, Kylah again looks at the computer's transcription. High Caitian, High Caitian. Why the similarity? Pure coincidence? She sighs and returns to the database's meager records on the Caitian planet. How far is it from here? Might the ancient Caitians have emigrated from... whatever civilization to which these signals belong?

There is so little information on them. It does not say whether they are native to their planet. Maybe any immigration to their current planet happened so long ago that the records do not include it?

Kylah chews on her thumbnail and mulls over her options. They are few, as far as she can tell. First, she sends a note to Thalen following up to inform him about the second signal and what her research and the computer analysis has uncovered thus far--which is not much. She finishes with asking for his advice, if he has any. Likely he will tell her to write it all up so he can report it to the Captain in whatever daily briefing occurs among the top levels of the ship's hierarchy. As Thalen said, it hardly warrants much attention; just one of many standard findings during the Yorktown's travels.

Nevertheless, until Thalen tells her otherwise, she will continue to create her own transliteration/transcription and then compare it to the computer's. But first, she must follow up on this High Caitian issue.

She sends a request to the computer to translate the words most similar to High Caitian. If this were High Caitian--however slim the possibility--what would these particular words mean?

Mahmoud laughs. "With a roomful of phasers, better flying colors than frying colors." After Graham texts back and forth with Collins, he asks, "Everything OK?"

Thalen says, "Keep at it, Ensign. You're doing just what I'd do. Draft a report by the end of your watch for me to share with the Captain, please."

Archeological records and genetic studies suggest that the Caitians did not originate on their current homeworld, but very little is known of their prehistory. Emigration from another planet is an occasionally popular but unproven theory. A subspace message to Cait, sent from the Yorktown's current position, would take just over two days to get there. With each passing minute, it falls further behind. There is no closer Caitian outpost or colony.

Running the messages through the High Caitian database, which is itself fragmentary since it is a long-dead language, comes up with possible matches for the words way, course, through, codex, sacred and enemy.

Kylah almost smiles at Thalen's response, both because of his praise as well as the accuracy of her prediction.

A report by the end of her watch. And when is that? She glances at her chronometer to see how much more time she has.

This transcription is taking longer than she had hoped. The language is difficult to render through the standard Federation Phonetic Alphabet, with some sounds too faint and too complex to accurately render in either diacritics or typical letter combinations.

It is hard enough to listen to one foreign language and write it down in another; but harder still is that Kylah thinks in Elasian. Juggling this many languages is vexing, to put it mildly. She would have an easier time writing in Elasian, but that would be of little use to the rest of her department. No one she knows is fluent in Elasian, not yet.

More frustratingly, her left wrist--badly injured twice in less than a month--is sore and less flexible than it used to be, making typing slow and awkward.

All this means she is unsure whether she will be finished by the end of her watch. Besides, part of her is holding out hope that the transmissions will begin again, and she does not want to miss out. Perhaps Thalen will let me work longer, she hopes, massaging her tired wrist.

Now: what to do about the Caitians? Two days--more than that--means that they might encounter the source of this signal before the message ever gets to Cait. And that does not count the time it will take for any response they send to me. Kylah considers the options and decides there is no harm in trying; maybe her earlier thought is correct and the Yorktown will not cross paths with this particular source after all. The vessel (if it is a vessel) could change direction at any time. Why not chance it? I can lose nothing by the attempt.

Kylah searches the system's database for the identity and contact information of the Federation ambassador to Cait, as well as any history specialist in the embassy. Whomever she finds will quickly be sent an abridged copy of the broadcast, an explanation of its source, and a politely worded request asking for assistance in determining whether this could be some distant relative of the Caitians--and, of course, help in translating the language, if possible. Finally she asks her contact(s) if there is a sacred text specifically referred to as a codex in any of the current or past Caitian subcultures.

That word--codex--intrigues her. As linguistics and the study of other cultures are her particular areas of interest, Kylah would be fascinated to examine a holy book from an utterly unknown civilization. Much can be revealed about a people by the scriptures they revere... even if the rules are no longer followed. Sometimes especially if the rules are not followed.

Meanwhile, enemy is worrying indeed. Particularly when added to sacred and codex. Could this refer to some kind of conflict between religions, even a crusade of some sort? She is well aware of the bitter irony that few battles are bloodier than those in which the combatants believe their causes to be sanctioned by different deities.

Sending the message(s) off, Kylah decides to set the transcription aside for now so she can start her report to Thalen. Her interpretation could be very wrong--the translator is not perfect and even if it were, the words are devoid of context--but she is certain that Vargas and Singh will want to know if the Yorktown is speeding toward a holy war.

"Oh come on Veled, where's you sense of adventure. Besides, we will not be looking for some subspace entities, this will be attempting to find the very real sources of some transmissions. This would be an ideal test over a range to see what it can find, preferably a planet. It can detect a planet can't it? Don't worry I'm sure that Dr Brold and the Captain will be interested."

Rangin turns to the far end of the Cargo Bay, "Hey, Mr Zweller, do you think it's ready for a test?"

While waiting for an answer, Rangin gets ready to contact Dr Brold and the Captain who should be in a meeting together at this time.

Graham chuckles. "Yeah, that was Collins, inquiring after my, uh, romantic life." He shakes his head and holds up both hands in a disarming gesture. "Don't be jealous, I didn't give her any more details than I gave you."

Kylah has another three hours remaining on her watch. She realizes that Cait, being a Federation member world, does not have a Federation ambassador assigned there. She could ask an expert at any of the great Caitian schools or cultural institutions, or, for a faster response, make inquiries at the University of Anubis, not nearly so far astern.

Zweller says, "We're not in range of FGC 23 yet. What did you want to test it on?"

Mahmoud snorts. "A likely story. All right, I'll see you around." He leaves.

Kylah shakes her head at her forgetfulness and quickly checks the identity of the top-rated museums and universities on Cait, as well as on Anubis. She will then direct her messages and the brief snippet of the recording--aware that the whole thing might be confidential--to the heads of the schools' linguistics and history departments, and the museums' archivists.

Kylah sends her subspace queries to the Caitian Cultural Heritage Center and the University of Merrien, on Cait, as well as to the appropriate staff at the Museum of All Worlds and the University of Anubis, on that planet.

At the helm, Nia gets a prickly feeling on the back of her neck, then a gentle 'pop' as her own personal armor quietly hardens and turns from skin to scales down her spine. She knows this sensation: it's an evolutionary holdover, a sixth sense her ancient relatives used to protect themselves from predators.

In short, Nia can tell someone is looking at her.

She swivels slightly and in her peripheral vision catches Lt. JG Collins giving her a side-eyed glance before quickly returning to the security panel. Nia raises an eyebrow. "Everything good over there, Mr. Collins? There's nothing I need to be aware about, is there?"

Graham whistles off-key, immersing himself in detecting the slightest defect in any of the armory's phase I's. This things are underpowered enough as it is, he muses, mentally acknowledging that humans went into battle with clubs for thousands of years and relatively speaking he had little cause to complain taking one of them up against a Klingon or Orion.

Still the "deuce" feels so much better, he thinks.

That leads hims to think about Nia...calbrating her phaser...He shakes his head clear and re-focuses on his assignment.

"Five by five, Lieutenant." Collins replies unashamedly, and turns back to face her panels.

Nia hides a smile, then wonders: why bother? A good report from security is perfectly deserving of a happy response. "Excellent. Just what we like to hear."

On the Bridge, a yeoman brings a datapad to the First Officer, who looks it over and grimaces. He rises from the big chair and says, "Mr. Collins, I have to go below. You have the conn."

Graham works his way through the phasers. Most are fine, but he finds two with variances in their charging coils that are just a bit outside of acceptable Starfleet parameters.

"Aye, sir." Collins says as she moves to the big chair, once again aware that there are more senior officers on the bridge, ones likely with more ops experience than she. She sits, and looks around the bridge, wondering what the others are thinking.

"Well, if I knew what it is we could be scanning for, I wouldn't need a sensor," says Rangin with the voice of an angel to Veled and Zweller. "Think of it as a dry run before testing proper, I certainly don't want to turn up at FGC 23 without at least one proper test carried out in preparation for full testing. Why, that could be considered being almost negligent in not making sure its fully prepped?"

Hearing the sound of the communicator going again, Rangin reaches down while looking at the pair to see how much further convincing they need. Veled would obviously not want to bother Dr Brold in any way, but from what he remembers of Ens. Zweller from his Academy days, Rangin thinks he used to be more interested in taking an opportunity.

Reading through the message, Rangin scans it briefly and can feel a small sense of elation at the note giving a perfect reason as to be carrying it out. "Well, it appears that Comms have noted two signals, one of which is stationary, as in a...." Rangin's voice tails off as he reads the last of the message. Slightly stunned by the familiarity of it, he finds it hard to continue, before snapping it shut to try and dispel the words in front of him.

"...err, yes, a planet. " Rangin fumbles the words out, his mind still thinking back to Kylah's signoff. "I think it's a good a warmup test as any. We're heading into uncharted space, so bio-sensors aren't going to be immediately needed, if we run the prototype for a little while. It certainly would be good to make sure it's connected properly above and beyond the tests...and if we are heading into something new, might be good to find out in advance."

Rangin considers his last words and wonders if he should send a message back to Kylah to find out if there is anything new he is going to be finding out tonight, but it can wait until tonight. He's not going to necessarily get the same luxury with her.

"So, if I contact the Captain and Dr Brold, are you in?"

Veled and Zweller look at each other. Zweller grins, shrugs and says, "Sure, why not?" The Gnalish scientist nods.

Kylah completes her report on the signal discovery, now having appended that she sent for assistance. She reads it over to make sure she left nothing out, but although she is satisfied with it, she does not send it to Thalen yet--hoping, still, that she will be able to contribute more. And maybe the signals will start again, she thinks.

She sets the datapad down and returns to her transcription effort, listening carefully but working as fast as she can. All the while she wonders: will Velir be able to get a positive response from Dr. Brold?

With a grin apparent, Rangin contacts the Captain who is supposed to be in a meeting with Dr Brold to ask permission for this particular test of the scanner, outlining the arguments above. He will, of course, ask for Dr Brold's permission and oversight in this situation. The only downside is likely to be the loss of Bio Scanners for a brief period of time, while the test is running, but if they are required it would be easy enough to terminate the test.

Graham separates the two phasers and makes the appropriate maintenance log entries.

Here comes that medal, Vargas, he thinks, chuckling.

Kylah keeps working but makes no breakthroughs.

Dr. Brold and the Captain come down to the cargo bay. The scientist says, "The sensor module is designed for radio astronomy. It would be of no use for subspace scans." He is becoming agitated, and his muscular tail swings back and forth. "This is more Starfleet trickery. You are setting me up for failure, Ens. Rangin!"

The Captain says calmly, "He's doing nothing of the kind. He has an idea, and it just might work. No one will hold it against you if it doesn't, Doctor, but in any event, your objection is noted." She turns to Rangin and asks, "How exactly did you intend to use the module in this situation, Ensign?"

Graham finishes his work. Lt. JG Ryan Jones, the Security duty officer, looks at his report and smiles. "Good work, Mr. Graham. I've got nothing else for you to do here. Want to go on patrol, or do something else for the rest of your watch?"

Graham looks thoughtful. "Well, lieutenant--a massage, maybe followed by a pedicure would be great," he offers hopefully, raising his eyebrows. "But failing that, sir, I'm always happy to take a turn on patrol. Just tell me where to go."

Jones smiles politely. "Patrol it is. Choose your route." He looks at the bulkhead chrono. "You've got about an hour and a half to go."

Rangin nods in appreciation of the Captain's words. "Thank you Captain. The purpose of this tests it twofold. The first is to actually ensure that all the steps we have taken so far have worked and that it will be ready for full testing when we reach our destination. I would hate to get there and find out that we had missed something and testing had to be delayed," he looks across at the agitated Gnalish, "in which case you would have every reason to be annoyed Dr Brold." Rangin attempts to soothe Dr Brold's nerves.

"The second is to take advantage of the opportunity that has presented itself to us. While I am more specialised in bio-sensors, I am well aware of what this sensor is capable of and would not consider asking for it to be used for sub space scans. Instead, given that one of the sources of the communications appears to have been stationary, my suggestion is to use Dr Brold's prototype to see what is in that area and determine if there are any bodies located there, stellar, planetary or otherwise. If there is, then sensor should be able to pick them"

"The main outcome I am looking for is to perform a dry run and show that the sensor is well on its way to being configured properly. But an opportunity to find something new is presenting itself, and I believe we should grasp it."

Graham's tempted to return to the forward primary hull as his beat--it would give me a reason to stop by the Bridge, and say hello to Nia...

But he decides his libido shouldn't override his long-time practice of getting to know a new ship inside and out. Aft section and water tanks and waste reclamation is a poor substitute...but I haven't checked them out in ay detail yet.

"I haven't worked a beat in the aft section of the ship yet, sir. It'll help me get to know her better."

Jones nods. "All right, Ensign. Primary hull or secondary?"

The Captain says with a glance at Dr. Brold, "It would do no harm to try. Carry on, Mr. Rangin."

"Secondary," Graham replies, deciding he doesn't know Jones well enough to make a joke about the ass end of the ship yet.

"Very well," says Jones. "Draw a phaser-1 and communicator from the Armory, and carry on."

"Thank you ma'am," Rangin says with almost unadulterated delight. The possibility of finding something new and giving the prototype sensor, not to mention talking round the Captain who could so easily have ignored his suggestion, gives him an added burst of excitement. "I'll get right on to it."

Mentally ticking off the things he needs to do, he looks at the sensor first. "Mr Zweller, Veled. Please can you check the sensor is ready for the test scan. Dr Brold, if you would care to oversee to make sure nothing is awry."

Flicking open his communicator he messages Kylah back. Kylah, permission granted to use the sensor. Please send the coordinates of the signal and we will see what we can see. Velir

Heading to a comms panel on the wall, and slightly out of the way, Rangin contacts the Captain's chair, expecting to get Cmdr. Vargas as the Captain is next to him. "Ensign Rangin to the Bridge. The Captain has given permission for a test run of the prototype sensor in Cargo Bay four. Requesting clearance to do so. Impact will be the loss of bio-sensors for the duration of the test." He stands straight waiting for the gruff voice to echo from the wall.

Before replying, Collins looks to the crewmen at Science and Security "Are we good with that?" referring to Rangin's request.

Graham pats the phaser one at the small of his back, confident it is well within optimal specifications. Before he stows his communicator he sends a short message to Nia.

Hope you're having a good watch. I'm off on patrol to make sure no alien parasites have attached themselves to the anti-matter storage pods. Booker.

Might as well start at the bottom and work my way forward, he thinks, heading for deck 23.

Kylah perks up at the sound of Velir's voice, but the news that they are jumping to perform the sensor test worries her--particularly due to the possible translation of the words within the message. Biting her lip, she decides she had better send the report sooner rather than later. She opens her communicator and tries to think of whom she should contact. She decides on Velir, her supervisor and the Captain.

"Ensign Kylah to Captain Singh, Lieutenant Thalen and Ensign Rangin. I have not been able to determine the precise coordinates of the signals; they are too far away. I know the approximate location and can send those to you." She transmits the information to Velir. "Further, the few words that have been translated--the language is unknown but a few words match with High Caitian--indicate some potential cause for concern."

She glances down at her datapad nervously, and simultaneously transmits the report to Thalen and the Captain. "Captain, Lieutenant, I have just sent the report to you now. Ensign Rangin, do you know if our activating the sensor will be noticed by the subjects?" Her gaze focuses on her transcription. "I just wonder what might happen if they are made aware that we are observing them."

Nia is still smiling at the message from Graham and is about to respond when she hears Ensign Rangin's message followed by the question of the BCDO. Who is, yet again, Lt. JG Collins.

Earlier, when Vargas left, she had to wonder, Damn, who is Collins related to, anyway? Gotta be someone major to explain why she's always the pick of the litter for the big chair.

Regardless, Nia defers to the younger woman as required. It rankles a bit, because Nia knows she's up for the task--she's already captained several shuttle missions--but really, she prefers flying to merely ordering others to do the work. As long as the orders are sensible, Nia will follow them dutifully without question.

After the Bridge's science and security officers respond to Collins, Nia will ask, "Sir, does the sensor require a stationary ship, or require us to move in any new direction? Or are we good to go as we are?"

Zweller and Veled begin checking the module's systems together. Zweller says, "It'll take another 20 minutes to get it set up properly."

Dr. Brold is clearly not pleased by the Captain's decision, but says grudgingly, "Perhaps sooner. Let me see...."

The Captain watches with interest, and has an occasional helpful comment herself. She clearly knows her way around a sensor module.

Ens. Russell at the Security console on the Bridge, and Lt. Antonov at Science, anticipate no problems with the test. Antonov has read up on the Brold prototype and tells Collins, "We have no current use for biosensors here in deep space, so interference with their functioning now won't matter."

Graham descends to the bottommost level of the ship, Deck 23. The antimatter storage pod area is behind several codelocked and very secure doors, which he is able to go through with his Security password of the day. The ovoid pods are built into the bulkheads, each with its own control panel and emergency-jettison pad. A low hum fills the long, narrow compartment. Lt. Timur Dosmukhambetov, the Yorktown's Chief Computer Officer, a heavyset Kazakh man with a magnificent mustache, is there with two technicians in red Engineering coveralls. He explains, when Graham asks, that he is overseeing a standard periodic upgrade to the pods' software.

Rangin does not believe that the two signal sources, whoever or whatever they are, will be aware of the scan. Antonov concurs.

Antonov also hears Onn's question and volunteers, "We should be able to maintain current course and speed without interfering with the test, ma'am. It'll be a more realistic test that way, anyway."

"In that case," Collins decides "go for it." She sits back a little, disappointed in herself that she didn't think of that question first. Another reason I'm not ready for command.

Mildly surprised at the sound of Lt. JG. Collins voice coming through the speaker, it takes Rangin a moment to respond. "Thank you ma'am. I will keep you informed of our progress. Rangin out."

Shaking his head in slight amusement, Rangin wonders how Collins ended up in the Captain's chair given there is, at least, one Lieutenant on the Bridge. Then again, maybe the Juniors are getting a brief taste of the responsibility while all is quiet. Still, it is curious Collins didn't ask to be kept up to date. Perhaps Vargas would be perched on her shoulder and remind her when it is necessary. The thought of the aquilined nosed officer perching anywhere, only amuses Rangin all the more.

While the others prep the sensor, he enters in the coordinates that Kylah had sent him, all the while hoping that this time, something good will come of their interaction. Finally, he checks over the partly installed bio-sensor to make sure it doesn't affect the experiment.

When preparations are complete, Rangin will give an update to the Bridge stating the experiment is about to begin, before getting Dr. Brold to do the honours, standing back and waiting for the results to come in.

Graham asks what options there are for manually ejecting the anti-matter storage pods if the computer is offline.

Once he thanks the lieutenant for his answer, he heads to the machine shops. Potential source of home-made weapons, if it comes to that, he thinks,

Kylah stands up, eyeing both her monitor and the one in the station beside hers, which she set up to narrow down the possible locations of the signals. She hopes something this vague is enough to be useful to Velir and the others. As she looks over her findings, she distractedly speaks into her communicator again. "Ensign Kylah to Captain Singh and Lieutenant Thalen. Excuse me, ma'am...sir. But can you confirm receipt of my report on the possible matching words with ancient High Caitian--and their translation? I am continuing to seek more matches but have not yet found anything further."

She waits for a response. In truth, she is very nervous at having instigated such a test, and wishes Lt. Thalen were here. She glances around the room, trying to find one of her other superiors, perhaps Garcia or Soerjosoemarno, to... well, to confirm that she has not made a mistake. Thalen was supportive and encouraging, and seems to think she's done everything correctly, but the reality of having created a situation where a new technology is going to be tested because of something she found... it is highly daunting.

And what if something goes wrong with the sensor? she thinks, a chill falling over her. Is this putting anyone in danger? The Captain? Velir? The possibility makes her throat go dry.

With Dr. Brold's help, the sensor module is ready in about 15 minutes after all. All of the necessary data is input and, with a nod from the Captain, Dr. Brold activates it. After a few moments, data begins flowing across the display screen.

Lt. Dosmukhambetov says, "Each pod has a self-contained manual-eject control that can be activated either here, from the Bridge, or from Engineering. I've never heard of it having to be used, though."

There are a dozen machine shops on Decks 19 and 20, where Engineering artificers, specialists and shipwrights can make virtually anything, large or small, that is not already carried aboard the starship. Some of the shops are empty, but Graham sees about several red-clad techs at work in others. There is nothing weapons-related that is immediately apparent.

Thalen responds to Kylah: "Yes, I got your report, thanks. I think the Captain is otherwise engaged. You'll be hearing from us if any followup is necessary."

Rangin takes a back seat and let's the experts start to work the sensor, clarifying the results coming in and refining the search. He also keeps an eye on making sure the sensor is operating correctly and that the bio-sensor alongside is not impacting anything.

Graham decides not to interrupt anyone's work, but makes a careful study of the machine shops and the layout of each deck. If we had to fall back to an "Alamo" these shops filled with tools and raw materials to build stuff would be a lot better than a conference room, he muses. Of course, it wouldn't do us much good without some skilled techs...

When he's finished making the rounds on decks 19 and 20 he heads toward the water storage tanks.

The prototype sensor module appears to be operating correctly. Biosensor functions are severely degraded, however, just as with the Gagarin tests.

The Yorktown's water storage tanks are large and nearly featureless, on either side of the several low-ceilinged corridors Graham visits on the two lower decks. No one else is there. Graham almost thinks he hears gurgling all around him, but he knows it's probably his imagination.

Graham runs his hand along a storage tank.

I wonder if Nia would like it hear, with all this water...yeah, that you can't see. Or hear except for your hallucinations, Booker....don't be an idiot.

He' not that far from the Arboretum, where Lt. Bennett--Cecilia-had been reading. Like...like Jane. She even looks a bit like...

Don't let the gurgling go to your damn head.


He decides to head to deck 17, thinking a walk around quarters and interacting with people is a good idea.

Before he does he sends a message to Nia.

Checking the water tanks. Made me think of you.


He sighs Other things too, he thinks, but he lets that lie.

There are quite a few more people out and about on Deck 17. In the corridors Ens. Graham sees several people he knows, or at least with whom he is on a nodding acquaintance. No crime wave is apparent.

After thanking Antonov for his response to her question, Nia does her periodic check of the helm console to make sure everything is copacetic. She then looks over to her current partner at Navigation (who is...?) and cocks her head questioningly to make sure all's well.

She is curious about this test that's being conducted, and hopes Collins--or Antonov, the sensor expert--will get updated and share some details with them. The current Bridge crew is not chatty, and she's somewhat restless. If this were her crew, she'd encourage conversation. No reason for such silence when is running perfectly as expected, and they're just zipping through empty space marking time until they reach their destination.

About to toss out a possible area of conversation--whether anyone saw the concert a couple of nights ago--Nia feels her communicator buzz against her hip. Lifting it up, she's surprised to see another message from Booker. Damn, should've responded to him. Hope he doesn't think I'm brushing him off.

But his comment about the water tanks makes her lips twitch, hiding her affectionate smile. She types back:

My, quite a sentimental creature for such a hardbitten security man, Mr. G. I'm glad it wasn't the waste reclamation plant that inspired thoughts of me.

Seriously, thanks. Staring at the stars up on this very silent Bridge is giving me plenty of time to think of you, too. (It really is tomb-like up here. Looking forward to being much more lively with you tonight.)

Nia sends the message on its way. And this time, she doesn't bother hiding her smile.

Rangin makes a few brief notes from the bio-sensor about the impact it is having. It is a shame that it is not fully set up to provide lots of data from the internal monitoring that he is looking to add in, but at least he can see with his own eyes that it does have an impact.

Then he heads across to the others gathered around the console for the prototype, "Dr Brold, how does it look?" he enquires politely while trying to gauge the mood of the group, "Is the sensor working as you would expect and have we been lucky enough to find something new?"

All is well on the Bridge. Lt. JG John Brooks, a middle-aged American male, is the navigator this watch. He is pleasant but a man of few words, Onn has found on previous watches.

The prototype's interference with the Yorktown's biosensors is much as it was in the Gagarin tests. Rangin is able to get lots of data but still feels no closer to an answer. The others in the group - the Captain, Dr. Brold, Veled and Zweller - are calm and professional.

Dr. Brold replies to Rangin, a little gruffly, "This is not what it is designed for, as I said before, but it is working as it should. Let me see...." He studies the readouts carefully as data continues to come in. "There is no radio-astronomy source at or near the source of the original subspace transmission, but there is a red giant star near the source of the second."

With her search for any superior officers in the Communications Center turning up empty, Kylah exhales and tries to calm her nerves. She sits back down and looks over her completed transliteration, comparing it to the computer version. As she does, she adjusts her earpiece, hoping to catch some new activity from the mysterious signals again.

It is frustrating to feel so left out. She found the signals, she has helped interpret... some of them... possibly. Will she get credit for the discovery? Or blame, if it turns out I have unlocked a Pandora's Box? The thought of the ancient myth she learned while at the Academy reminds her of the partially translated words. Codex. Sacred. What could this mean? Some holy book. Imagine reading such a thing. So much can be learned from cultures by what they worship...

But then there was Enemy. Thinking back on the messages she heard, they were not angry. They were not anything, in fact. She has no idea if they were living voices or some computer AI reading out code. Kylah does not like remaining ignorant. It reminds her of the virtual wall that Fellim Palver placed around his mind, making it impossible for her to breach. As much as she hates being overwhelmed by too much information--the way she was with the Hwuen back on OCIII, or the first two days after her mugging--Kylah is just as frightened when her empathic ability turns up... nothing.

I have grown too used to eavesdropping, she thinks, her gaze flickering down in embarrassment. Why must everything be all or nothing? When will I learn moderation?

She sighs and looks at the datapad on which she wrote her report. It concerns her that neither the captain nor Thalen are taking her warning seriously. I suppose since the signal sources are two days away from us, there is probably no danger. But... how can Captain Singh or Lt. Thalen know any of that unless they read my findings? Foolhardy.

With a shake of her head, Kylah returns to stare at the readout and her typed transcription. After some thought, she asks the computer to listen to her as she repeats the words aloud, using the transliteration, and to alert her to any matched translations in any language, particularly Ancient High Caitian. Perhaps the UT will recognize words when she speaks them more clearly.

Besides, any slight differences in Kylah's pronunciation might mimic the natural language drift from... whatever this language is... to Ancient High Caitian. Ironically, a mispronunciation could result in a more accurate a translation than the original message.

If nothing else, it is better than sitting hear listening in vain for a new signal or waiting to be told if her discovery has led to anything promising.

Graham can't help but smile reading Nia's message.

Hardbitten.

I wouldn't call myself hardbitten....but...yeah, well.

What is she getting herself into? he asks himself--realizing that the answer is one he himself ought to be able to provide, but isn't, at least not yet.

"Oh come now Dr. Brold. Most people are well aware that planets can be detected by radio astronomy, if only from the emitting of energy gathered from a local stellar body." Rangin says light heartedly. "If there is a planet there, it may be hidden by that red giant. Then again, there may be nothing at all. The good news is that the sensor is working well."

Rangin steps back to give room. "It is early days though, let's see what else we can find. "

No further useful data comes from the prototype - for now, at least. Brold and Veled intend to study the complex readouts more closely.

The rest of Graham's patrol goes uneventfully.

The watch comes to a close, and you all go off-duty. Lt. Thalen drops by the Communications Center. "Thanks for the report, Ensign," he says. "It's just what we needed." He looks carefully at her and encourages her to get some rest, given her recent troubles. She has still not found the answers she seeks, though, as to the alien transmissions.

Science Officer Roble sends a text to Rangin: In keeping with your BCDO studies, I have a chance for you to stand a watch on the Bridge starting at 2300 tonight, if you wish.

It is now 1600 hours.

Kylah almost jumps when she sees Thalen by her side. She thanks him for his support and listens to his advice.

"If you do not mind, sir," she says, glancing back at her readouts--her console is a mass of datapads--and then returning to her supervisor, "I would very much like to stay here longer, with your permission."

She is not sure Thalen is convinced, so she adds quickly, "I assure you the task is not tiring. Not at all. I find it fascinating, working with this language. It is like a code, and I wish to know what it contains, should I be able to. Why," she says in wonder, "possibly history is written in these garbled and unknown words, if I can more conclusively connect them with Ancient High Caitian.

"Just think: even the Starfleet database does not know the true origin of their civilization. And now, maybe I have been privileged to hear the voices of their distant forefathers... or at least, the language they would have spoken. Besides, I do so want to be here if the signal appears again. Please, sir?"

Collins rises from her chair and starts to leave the bridge when her attention is drawn to Lieutenant Nia Onn and a thought strikes her: Maybe Onn can teach me a few things, like how to know what questions to ask of who. Snap decisions are easy. It's the thinking that I have trouble with.

As those coming off watch make their way to the turbolift, Collins taps Onn on the shoulder. "Lieutenant, would you like to get a beer or something?"

The older woman turns, mild surprise widening her eyes. She hesitates for a few seconds--just long enough for Collins to wonder if the invitation was a bad idea. But then Onn continues: "Sorry, just trying to remember my schedule for tonight. I have plans for dinner, but until then I'm free and up for anything. Is this just us, or are you getting a group together?"

"Just us this time," Collins replies. "I ..." she pauses "I thought it'd be nice to get to know my watch-mates, one at a time," she lies. If I told her the real reason right out, I'd deserve whatever ribbing she'd dish out.

"Not surprising. You newcomers have been kept pretty active since joining--not much time for 'welcome aboard' activities." Onn enters the turbolift and waits for Collins to join her, which she does. "Any ideas where you want to go? How's Rec Room 3?"

Collins agrees, and the two head toward the lower deck. Soon they're comfortable at one of the tables in the fairly crowded lounge, Collins with her beer, a dark lager reminiscent of those from home, and Onn with some icy fruit drink. "A squashed strawberry and lime freeze," Onn says when asked. "I don't synthesize alcohol, it's wasted on me." She grins like the Cheshire Cat. "I find other ways to let my hair down. So, Collins--you mind if I call you Jeremi? I'm Nia, either way--how are you acclimating to the ship?"

"Good, fine," Collins says, sipping her beverage. "I've made a friend or two so far," she smiles, half to herself, thinking about Ben Cooper, "and I haven't gotten lost yet. Of course, it helps that before this, I served on the Enterprise. Still, I keep seeing faces of people I don't know, and I want to change that. How long have you been aboard, Lieu... uh, Nia?"

Collins notices that when she mentioned making friends, Nia inhaled as if she was about to speak, but then just smiled in return. Now she responds, "Two and a half--no, almost three years now, my anniversary is coming up in just a couple of months. And frankly even though I've met most of the crew, and even served with a few of 'em on other ships, I still see people I don't recognize. So don't feel bad."

She stirs her drink with the straw provided, then sips. "Mmm. I wish I could transport whole vats of this drink down to my home planet. They wouldn't believe such a thing is possible. Want a taste?" Collins sees a gleam in Nia's eyes. "I don't mind sharing."

"Thank you." Collins accepts the glass and takes a sip. It is cold and sweet and tasty. "Mmmm," she says with a smile as she hands the glass back. "I'll have to remember that one for another time." She holds her beer toward Nia. "This is more savory in flavor. Have a sip."

The lieutenant accepts and drinks. "Oof," she says, laughing and shaking her head. "No no no no nope. I'm afraid that suffered a bit from my having something so sweet first. I'm sure in other circumstances I'd probably like it. Thanks, though." Nia returns the glass and watches Collins with obvious curiosity. "So... if you don't mind my asking, did you invite me at random, or was there any particular reason you picked me today?"

"Actually, yeah. I want to make sure you're cool with me being made BCDO instead of you, twice now." Collins says earnestly. "and maybe you can teach me a few things about being a better leader - things not found in the texts."

Nia's eyebrow arches and she sits back, cradling her drink with both hands. "I've spent plenty of time in the big chair over the years," she says, her fingers tapping the glass's stem. "Bound to be someone else's turn now and then, especially since the Captain does enjoy encouraging multi-skilled officers.

"I admit I like sitting there, and appreciate the honor and responsibility. Whenever Vargas or the Captain gets up from the conn, my heart gives a little leap of expectation. But I'm hardly the only full L.T. being passed over. Easier to handle rejection as long as it's spread around."

With a grin, Nia shrugs and sips before continuing. "It has been notable how often you've been chosen for the gig lately--as well as placed in multiple missions--over the heads of more experienced officers. Seems clear you're on the fast track, and that someone wants you there, presumably because they see potential. You should feel good, Jeremi. You're being groomed for something." She hesitates, then leans forward a bit. "But if I may speak frankly... you don't feel good, do you? You seem uneasy. Hope you don't mind my saying so."

"You're not wrong," Collins admits, wondering just how much to reveal. "My mistakes come back to bite me, and I'd really, really, like to know how to avoid that. And how to ask the right questions. Put me in a life or death situation and I'm in my wheelhouse. But, not so much when it comes to making everyday decisions."

Nia nods. "I understand that. What's important--particularly when it comes to leadership skills, but this is really true in everything we do--is to juggle multiple balls in the air and not forget any of them. That skill will come with experience." She smiles encouragingly, then goes on in a quiet, thoughtful tone. "For now, the one piece of advice I'd give is... slow down.

"Making fast decisions can be vital, but not as often as you think. It took me a while to learn to consider before you speak or act. When you're presented with a problem, never be afraid to say two things: 'Let me think about that' and 'what do you think about that?' And then I calculate everything from every angle."

She puts her drink down on the table and leans forward again. "When I was younger I thought showing uncertainty made you weak as a leader, and others wouldn't trust me. But that's a dangerous precept. Look at it from your own experience as a junior officer. What makes us trust our superiors? I know that personally, I respect those who take some time before they answer questions. Gives me confidence to know they're paying attention and showing proper consideration to the problem, y'know? And if they ask for advice, even better.

"So when I'm on the other side of things, in the leader role, taking time before I act or speak really helps me look at the situation with a cooler, more objective--and more flexible--mind. Even in an emergency, when I've piloted shuttles and been under fire, I tried to keep as cool as possible so I could think. There's obviously much less time to ponder all angles, but there's always some split-second decisions are extremely rare and almost always very, very dangerous. Even spending an extra five seconds on a problem can and very often will save a life."

Sighing with some memory, Nia shakes her head. "If nothing else, playing it cool really does make you look calm and self-assured. Only someone with a lot of confidence allows herself to ask for time and assistance from others. Seems counter-intuitive but it's really very true." Nia shrugs and gives Collins a tilting smile. "That'd be my first and most important lesson. For what it's worth. Does that help at all?"

"Yes, it does," Collins says thoughtfully. "I have to let it all sink in. Hopefully I'll be able to incorporate it next time. I like to think that I'd have thought to ask Rangin if we should full stop or not, but truth is, I don't know if I would have. Thank you for jumping in."

Collins takes a sip of her beer and looks into the glass as if searching for something, then looks up at Nia. "You know, as long as we're here, I hear you and Booker Graham have started seeing each other. I feel it's my duty to make sure you're good enough for him." Collins flashes a big smile, then lifts her glass in a toast.

Nia's eyebrows rise again, but she raises her glass too. "I hope I've lived up to your standards so far," she says with light acerbity and sparkling eyes. "If not, I'll do my best to prove myself. Um... if you don't mind my asking, why are you his guard dog? Do you and he have some kind of history? If so I may need to correct the shipboard rumor mill, which pegs you as hot and heavy with one of my colleagues at the Helm."

"Me and Booker?" Collins laughs. "No, I just think of him as my bearish big brother. Plus he's a good friend." she sips her beer. "And if you mean Ben Cooper, yes, I've been seeing him. He's pretty great, and we have a lot of fun together; we also have a lot of fun," Collins winks slyly, "together."

"I imagine so. Coop is a... fun person." Nia takes a long sip of her drink, seemingly very interested in the contents of her glass. When finished, she sets it down with a clink. "The important thing is that you're happy, Jeremi. And I appreciate your loyalty and willingness to keep an eye out for Booker. I've got a couple of friends like that too--I mean, people who I'd be willing to wrestle a slime devil for."

After a moment's pause during which Onn toys with her napkin--the first time Collins has seen the other woman fidget--she inhales deeply. "Not to be presumptuous, but, well, you mentioned you don't know that many people on the crew yet, so I just wanted to say... if you ever want another woman to talk to--something your 'bearish big brother' might not be right for--I'm more than willing." Her crooked grin flashes brightly. "Call me your 'lizardish big sister' if you want."

"Heh. Sounds good." Collins smiles at the other woman, and takes another sip of beer. "Am I mistaken," she tilts her head slightly, "or were you going to say something else about Ben?"

"Oh, generally I think it's wiser to avoid swapping war stories with my crewmates' girlfriends. Assuming that's an accurate label," Nia says, tilting her head. "But it you have any specific questions now or later... like I said, my door's open. I don't mean to push you on the big sister thing. Wouldn't want to force a connection if you don't feel it."

The older woman's gaze turns sober. "In fact, that's some more good advice I can share. And it's kinda related to the earlier batch, too. Don't let anyone persuade you to make a commitment before you're good and ready. You're a strong young woman, from what I've seen and heard. I'm sure you wouldn't allow anyone to take advantage or emotionally manipulate you."

Nia's expression lightens. "But that sorta talk goes poorly with such a frothy drink," she says while tapping her nails on her empty glass. "Just saying, I'm glad you and Ben are doing well."

With a raised eyebrow, Collins is about to speak when movement by the doorway catches her eye. "Speak of the devil..." She waves to Cooper to call him over.




Starring anyrose as Collins and choie as Nia Onn

Rangin congratulates everyone there on the test being successfully run, with the added bonus of it picking up at least something in the area. However, he feels satisfaction and a certain amount of vindication in his pushing for the test run.

After gathering up the data for the bio-sensor, he can starts to think about what steps to take next when he receives Lt. Cmdr Roble's text. A small hum of interest escapes his lips, he wouldn't often get a chance to be on the Bridge, with so many LT's in Science, so any opportunity should be taken...just like this test was. Besides, if it's a quiet shift in the middle of the night, he can have a chance to go over his readings, let alone those from the prototype.

Feeling pretty good, he sends a message back accepting, before realising he still has things to do that evening, before he gets some shuteye for a late watch. Taking a deep breath he drops off a note to Kylah:

Kylah. Thank you for the info, all went well. Looking forward to see you at 18:00. Where would you like to meet? Velir

Still in a good mood, he heads off to grab a bite to eat and work out what on earth he is going to ask her this evening or even how to start talking to Kylah. But so far, so good today and Rangin hopes he can keep it going for the rest of the day.

Lt. Bennett is now the BCDO.

Thalen looks dubious at Kylah's request, but then smiles. "All right, if you insist, but only on condition that you take an hour or two off for a meal and/or a nap... and that you report to me on the Bridge after that."

Cooper's eyes widen a little when he sees Onn and Collins sitting together. He almost - almost - looks as if he's considering turning right around and leaving, but he gamely makes his way through the crowd and comes over to their table. "Uh... hi!" he says.

Acknowledged, Roble replies to the young Coridanite xenobiologist. See you then.

"Hi, sweetie." Collins says, as she takes hold of his hand and pulls him towards her for a kiss. Then asks "You okay?"

Nia, about to leave herself, settles back when she notices Cooper's discomfort. She hooks her arm over the back of her chair casually and aims a serene smile toward him. "Yeah, Coop. You look a little green. Everything all right?"

Collins notices the change in Onn's demeanor and looks at her quizzically.

Cooper returns Collins's kiss with a bit less than his usual fervor. "Yeah, thanks... I'm fine." He sneaks a concerned sideways glance at Onn before smiling uneasily at Collins.

Rangin realizes that Zweller has fallen into step next to him. "Mind if I tag along for dinner?"

Graham's watch passes without incident, but as time passes his otherwise good mood is soured somewhat by his own internal debate.

What is she--Nia--getting herself into? he thinks.

That depends on you. That's the problem.

Get your goddamned head screwed on straight, Booker, he thinks--but in this case, that simple mantra seems to be not quite suited to the task at hand.

Nia's eyes sparkle with mirth. "Fine, are you? Good to hear." She lifts her glass and drains the remnants of the sweet flavored ice at the bottom, then sets it down. Although enjoying herself, she doesn't want to make the other woman uncomfortable. Coop, yeah, but not Jeremi. "So, two's company, and all that. I'll let you two alone. I have my own tete-a-tete later on that I need to prepare for."

She stands and nods pleasantly. "Jeremi, thanks for the invite, it was a great idea. Glad we did this--maybe we can make it a regular thing? I'm always up for some girl talk." Unable to help herself, she flicks a knowing--or maybe warning--glance at Cooper, then returns to her new friend. "And remember, if you ever need any advice or anything, just ask. See you around, kiddos."

With a hand raised in a half salute, Nia smiles genuinely at Jeremi, then cools it ten degrees when she sends it to Cooper. Her gait is smooth and unrushed as she walks from the rec room.

Once out in the corridor, she walks faster and starts to chuckle to herself, but stops when her lungs turn the laugh to a wheeze. What the hell, this early? Nia scowls, more annoyed than worried, and stops to catch her breath. The coughing spasm over, she looks at her chronometer and sees it's actually a little later than she'd estimated. Okay, that's more like it.

It should just take an hour or so to get her through the rest of the night, certainly through her date with Booker. Unfortunately it can't be an all-nighter, but maybe that's for the best.

She flips open her communicator and taps away as she walks--more slowly than before--to the turbolift.

Booker,

I've got to take care of something for a couple hours, but from 19:00 till midnight, I'm all yours. So, what time and where? I made the plans the other night--tonight, you get to lavish me.

That's lavish, with an l.

Nia grins, walks into the Turbolift, and is about to send the message when she hastily adds:

...But no gifts! You're enough for me, mister.

-- Nia

Sending the message, she takes the Turbolift to her deck, then exits and finally reaches her quarters. Her uniform is shed in fifteen seconds, and not ten seconds later she's grabbed her respirator and tank from under her bed. She crawls under the covers and fits the mask over her mouth. One inhale and everything clarifies--the room seems a little brighter, the details sharper.

Nia sets her alarm for one hour, closes her eyes, and continues to take deep, even breaths, letting Sidonia's nearly unique Bilitrium compound refresh her system and work its magic. At least, until tonight, when hopefully she and Booker Graham will make some magic of their own.

Kylah is slightly disappointed by Thalen's conditions under which she will be allowed to work a second watch, but of course she agrees to them. "Yes, sir. Thank you, I will do as you say."

Turning around, she stares at the datapads she has compiled and monitors she has commandeered. She feels proprietary of her work and almost wishes she could ask everyone to keep away. But that is neither professional nor appropriate--nor practical. What if the signal does return? Someone must be around to catch it.

She sighs and reluctantly removes her earpiece, setting it down at her station before leaving the Communications Center. It is strange; her body is tired, still not 100% after the beating, and yet her mind is whirring with activity. Something about this signal has captured her imagination and she cannot let it go.

Perhaps I will just grab a soup from a lounge replicator and find another library computer. I should be able to do some research on the Caitians, and I might hear back from the Caitian museum and university resources. Then I can go back to listening--

Blinking, she stops short. No. Of course she cannot. How could she forget?

Even though no one could possibly know her thoughts, she blushes guiltily and looks around like a child caught stealing a piece of Ikarian Delight before dinner. Then she hurries to a nearby alcove and pulls out her communicator. About to contact Velir, she discovers that he sent her a message just moments ago--and she was so focused on Thalen she did not even notice. Utterly unlike her. Her face is now even hotter.

She starts to type back but then changes her mind and lifts the device to her ear. "Kylah to Rangin," she begins. Then, more softly: "Velir, are you still on duty, or are you free to talk?"

Rangin looks across to the Ensign walking alongside, "Hi. Yeah a meal sounds good. I've got plans for later on, but I'm hungry now." Chatting about the sensors as he makes his way into the Mess Hall, Rangin then grabs a tray of food, piling it high as he realises how starving he is, before taking a seat opposite Zweller.

No sooner as he sat down, then he feeling the communicator go off. Rangin puts the cutlery down and pulls the device out. "Excuse me for a moment," he apologises wondering who it is.

As he hears the voice, he forces himself to relax slightly, "Hi Kylah, yes, I'm fine to talk, just give me two secs," Rangin puts his hand over the mouthpiece, "Sorry about this, don't wait for me," Rangin gestures to Zweller's plate before holding the communicator up again. "Hi there," he says cheerily to Kylah, "did you get my message?"

Kylah leans against the wall and holds the communicator with both hands, closing her eyes. She can actually feel Velir through the connection--something she has almost never been able to do. His comforting presence seems to surround her. How can this be? Is he nearby? Maybe just a deck apart?

She ignores the whys and hows and just focuses on Velir, enjoying the warmth and goodwill she senses in him. "Yes, I just saw your message now. Thank you, I am so pleased what I sent was useful. It seemed so vague; I only wish I had been able to offer you more. But were you able to find any--no, I shall wait until I see you to ask questions." Kylah inhales contentedly. They will see each other, and he sounds friendly and polite. Almost like normal, like before everything happened. Why, what changed his mood? I must not question it. I will ruin things.

"I just needed to ask a favor. Would you be able to see me earlier than we planned? I am returning to duty tonight, to monitor the signal. But I have some time before I do, and I thought if you were available we could possibly meet in a half-hour? Or an hour, about 17:00? Please do not be angry," she hastens to add. "I do not mean to sound as if I am treating our... our conversation as unimportant. It means a great deal to me. But I had no idea that I would discover this signal--these signals, I should say."

Rangin listens to Kylah's voice from the unit and a wry smile forms on his lips, it seems things are going his way today. He can meet her earlier and they can chat for a bit longer and he can get some more sleep before his next watch. "No, 17:00 would be fine. I'll look forward to it, you can tell me more about the signals you found as well. How about one of the crew lounges in Deck 13, they're normally quieter, unless there is somewhere else you'd prefer?"

Kylah still seemed so nervous over the comm link and Rangin hopes she manages to relax slightly before they meet.

"You got it." Collins tells Onn as the older woman leaves."Have fun tonight" She turns to Cooper as she motions for him to sit "What was that about? Anything I need to know about you two? Because I think I've picked up that you and she had a thing going in the past. How serious was it?"

"No, anywhere you wish is fine," Kylah says, nodding her head as if Velir can see her. "I will be there, in the first lounge near the turbolift. And I look forward to it too." She bites her lip to prevent herself from saying anything more fervent. The last thing she wants is to seem as desperate as she feels; he might think she is trying to manipulate him.

A suddenly dismal thought strikes her: Will I ever be able to speak my mind without fearing some negative consequence?

But all she finishes with is a simple "Goodbye, Velir." And when he finishes their conversation, she closes her communicator gently and returns it to her belt.

Hurrying as quickly as her tired body will allow, she heads straight to her quarters to wash her face, change to a fresh uniform, and do what she can to make herself look... well, better than she has over the past four days. Or, really, longer. She styles her hair so the front is pulled back and braided, and then goes to get her favorite clip.

...Which is, of course, gone. Her mother's barrette was among the things stolen back on Anubis.

The stab of regret hurts her anew as she stares at her dresser drawer, now missing the ebony jewelry box with its filigree silver design. It is gone. I must get used to that. Instead she pulls out a red silk ribbon and uses that to tie the end of the braid. She returns to the bathroom mirror and looks askance at the loose curls that are too short to fit in the braid and thus fall around her face in thin tendrils.

Sighing in disappointment at her appearance, she adds blush to give her cheeks some much-needed color and decides that there is no time for anything further--not if she is to get something to eat as Thalen ordered. Soon Kylah is out the door and in the Crew Lounge, a bowl of beef stew providing her with warmth and satiety. As she eats, she tries to imagine just what she will say to Velir--and what he will say to her.

"Sounds good to me. See you later Kylah." Rangin finishes up the conversation and puts the communicator away, before turning his attention back to Zweller. "Sorry about that, just arranging meeting up with someone on." Picking up the cutlery, he starts to dig in to the pile of food in front of him and takes a few large mouthfuls in a losing attempt to catch up with Zweller.

Settling back and taking a drink from the mug alongside, Rangin wonders what his dinner companion has been up to since the first year of the Academy. They had been acquaintances at the time but as time went on and studies changed, Velir had found himself with other people and other interests.

"I was going to ask what you've been up to in all that time since we joined the Academy at the same time, but I'm betting it's a sorry tale of posting after posting." Rangin grins across the table, "No, what I really want to know is: at that party in New Florence, halfway through the first year at the Academy, how did you manage to get that beacon on top of the fountain in Vedici Plaza?"

Graham is now off-duty and can do what he pleases.

Onn feels better now that she's back in her quarters and breathing Sidonian air. She soon dozes off.

Cooper blushes deep red and says, "We, uh... well, we dated for awhile. It was before you came aboard. I didn't know you knew her."

Kylah finds the beef stew to be excellent. She sees several people she recognizes in the Crew Lounge, but none come over to her table.

Zweller laughs. "Sorry, I was sworn to secrecy by Lt. Barnstaple. Starfleet Intelligence wanted to use that beacon trick and insisted I tell no one how we pulled it off." He has a thick slice of sausage-and-green-pepper pizza on his plate, and takes a bite. "I will say that the sky is literally the limit when you have an antigrav disc, a good sense of balance and no fear of heights." You chat for awhile and eventually he casually asks, "Did I hear you say 'Kylah' on your communicator earlier? That name rings a bell, somehow."

"You heard right, though I think it's a bit more common than Zweller." Rangin chuckles back. "She's in Comms, gave us the reason for the test we just ran."

Cutting through some of the vegetables on his plate, Rangin thinks for a bit. "Not sure where you would know her from though, she wasn't in our year at the Academy." He shrugs and goes back to his food.

"We've been on the same watch together a few times now." Collins replies to Cooper. "so I wanted to get to know her. And it's cool that you dated her, but why are you uncomfortable about it? I realize you had a life before I showed up." She smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

"You're probably right," Zweller says easily, taking a drink of ice water. "So. Do you like it here on the Yorktown?"

Cooper looks relieved, and squeezes back. "I know. It just... it could be a little awkward. It's a big ship, but not that big, you know?"

Graham lifts the heavy Claymore, a relic of his ancestors dating from the 15th Century, down from the hooks holding it on the wall of the quarters he shares with Mahmoud.

In workout pants and a sleeveless shirt, the scars he sometimes tries to hide bared to the world, he stalks toward the gym with the sword over his shoulder.

He can imagine encountering one of his colleagues on patrol, depending on what Vargas has communicated: “No, I’m not on my way to kill Rangin, I have other things on my mind.”

He knows the weapon will shred the heaviest bag available, but they can deduct that from my pay, he thinks without hesitation.

"Right, and we're all stuck with each other." Collins laughs."So, anything you want to fess up before Nia and I get into some serious girl talk?"

"Yeah, the Yorktown's pretty good, at least from a Science perspective. They're a good bunch and Lt. Cmdr. Roble is pretty on the ball. The rest are ok, but Security seems to have the run of the ship here. Already found out the hard way, which ones to avoid." Rangin puts his fork down thinking back over times past. "Actually that reminds me, though I'm betting you don't remember, I owe you one."

Before Zweller can react, Rangin holds up a hand to stop him saying anything. "When was it, oh yes, it was another party, towards the end of year just on campus. Arranged by a few of the seniors there. A couple of them thought that because I was from Coridan I could supply all the right sort of things to the party to give it a real swing. They were already out of it and probably not just on alcohol." Rangin can almost picture the two tall cadets looming over him, even though stupidly enough he had been older than them. "I remember them getting really shirty when I told them to get stuffed. If you hadn't turned up at that point, I'm pretty sure they were going to try a little more forceful persuasion. Don't know how you managed to talk them round and get them to leave me alone, let alone apologise for being idiots, but you did...and then you wandered off into the party. Never did get a chance to say thanks."

Rangin raises his glass "So, thanks," he says inclining it slightly in Zweller's direction, before taking a final drink. Putting the glass down, Rangin looks at the empty tray. "Well, I have some things to sort out, so I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, my watches have been re-arranged slightly. Besides Dr Brold has plenty of data to keep him occupied. We'll have to catch up some more."

Rangin gets up from the table and gathers his tray leaving Zweller behind and heads for the door. He has about twenty minutes to wind down before meeting Kylah, actually make that fifteen, it might be better to get there in advance with a cup of her favourite hot chocolate. At least they can start off the meeting in a reasonable fashion...Rangin just hopes it will stay that way.

Graham and his sword get some startled glances in the corridors, but he makes his way to the Gym without incident.

Cooper says slowly, "I don't think so, but... well, it might be best not to ask Nia too many questions about our... relationship. What's done is done." He adds hastily, "We parted on good terms, but I'd just as soon not make things uncomfortable for anyone. OK?"

Zweller looks a little puzzled. "You know, I think I just barely remember that, but in any event, you're welcome. I went to a lot of parties and... well, anyway, no problem. Sometimes cadets can be stupid, and I'm Exhibit A." As Rangin leaves he says, "OK, thanks for dinner. See you around. I'm meeting a friend later myself."

"Okay," Collins says with a fake pout. "So, what do you want to do tonight after dinner? A movie, or something?"

Once at the gym Graham pauses and frowns. After his last ass-chewing from Vargas "destroying Starfleet property" seems a bad way to work off steam--at least compared to "logged extra time doing weapons training."

That gives him an idea. He marks off a suitable area with safety cones, and hurries to the nearest available place he can secure a tricorder. He sets it up to audio and video record his regimen.

While he warms up, he provides some context on the heavy, two-handed weapon. While it is designed to inflict powerful slashing blows, even the strongest person would quickly become fatigued if they relied solely on big, overhead strokes--especially compared to species like Klingons and Vulcans.

And without knowing how to pull it close in and use the pommel as an impact weapon, a skilled opponent with a knife could close and finish you off...

With a knife. Weapon instruction.... Graham remembers Kylah's statement that she did not feel able to defend herself and wonders if she would trust him enough to teach her to do so better...

Once he begins his demonstration, his body leads the way with muscle memory. His voice follows, explaining each movement and when it would make sense (or likely get you killed).

This leaves his mind free to wander, from...

Bennett, sitting in the Arboretum reading an old-fashioned book, who reminded him of...

Jane, peeking mischievously over a leather-bound tome at him, which reminds him of...

Nia...

Who doesn't otherwise remind him at all of Jane, except...

She'd be the first since who wanted to know anything more about me than whether our sexual organs were compatible. Mostly compatible.

Warmed up, he caps off the session with a series of moved that are his best guess at tactics that might work in hand-to-hand combat with Klingons equipped with some of their favorite heavy hand-held weapons.

The moves are combination of exaggerated withdrawal and caution and extreme exertion and aggressiveness. They assume you're facing an enemy more eager to kill you, less reluctant to die, and physically stronger, so constantly adapting the tempo is the only option...

That's what it feels like.

He looks forward to dinner, and maybe... more... But it feels like being ready to dance with a Klingon....to enter a different game...

Are you ready, Booker?

Realizing he's soaked in sweat, breathing heavily, and bruised and slightly cut in a few places, he ends the session so he can clean up before go time...

Cooper grins. "Whatever you like, Jer. The night is young, and I'm at your disposal."

Graham finishes his session and suddenly realizes that he's drawn a small crowd - he hadn't noticed before, given his intense focus. A half-dozen people good-naturedly applaud and then disperse. Among them is Bennett, in uniform, who comes closer, smiling dazzlingly. "We had a report on the Bridge of a strange man with a giant sword stalking the corridors and ending up here. I just had to come down to have a look."

With her soup finished, Kylah returns her tray and, after some thought, orders a single chocolate mint. The mint will ensure that she doesn't smell like beef, and the chocolate... well, it is chocolate. No further rationale is necessary, as far as Kylah is concerned.

Chewing and making sure none of the chocolate is on her face or fingers, she sits down and folds her hands on the table. She is anxious and still somewhat charged from the discovery of the signals.

...Which explains why her fingers are manically rearranging themselves and scraping her clear nail polish. Noticing this, she abruptly slides her hands down into her lap. This way she can fidget and tear at her nails all she wants.

Mostly, she just breathes quickly and wonders what she can possibly say to Velir to repair whatever remains of their relationship.

Or if nothing else... at least make him think better of her.

Rangin heads into the Crew Lounge five minutes early and picks up a coffee and a hot chocolate before heading to the area Kylah had suggested she would be in. Sure enough, she is sitting there looking nervous and watching other crew members go by. The only reason she hasn't noticed Rangin is because he came from the far end and she is watching the door. Getting closer he can see that Kylah is looking better than when he had last seen her, but he can see the little start as yet someone else walks by followed by that slight deflation as it turns out to be someone else.

"Hello Kylah," Rangin says softly not wanting to announce to all and sundry in the quiet of the Lounge, "I hope you don't mind?" he asks while sliding the cup of hot chocolate across to her.

Graham acknowledges the applause a little sheepishly--Bennett's comment even more so.

"Uh--I--" he clears his throat. "Uh, sword, ah yes," he replies, holding it point-down alongside his body. "But, ah--strange? Nope, couldn't possibly be me, must be some other guy. Ma'am" he adds with a shrug and obviously exaggerated attempt to look around the gym for some weirdo with a zweihander.

He smiles slightly, then becomes serious once more. "I, ah, hope it didn't cause any problems, Ce- Lieutenant."

Velir's voice, though gentle, reaches through Kylah's whirlwind of thoughts. She gives a start and then sees his offering, which makes her feel warm even before drinking it.

"Thank you," she says, her heart beating faster. She knows she must remain calm, but it is hard to do so when so much seems to be riding on this conversation. Wrapping her hands around the cup, she draws it nearer, almost protectively. "I am very grateful that you agreed to see me."

She takes a sip of the comforting chocolate, keeping her gaze on Velir. She longs to ask many questions, say many things, but for now she confines things to the most general and obvious topic. "How did the experiments go? Have you learned anything? And what is this device really like?"

Still smiling, Bennett touches Graham's arm lightly. "You're off-duty, and you're not making an official report - so please, it's 'Cecilia.' And don't worry, you haven't caused any problems. How'd you come by the sword, though?"

Rawlings enters the lounge and makes eye contact with Kylah. He nods and smiles, then heads towards the replicators.

Graham almost blushes at Bennett's touch. "It's a--well, it seems the Graham's have always tended to make a living that entailed swinging weapons, at least at times...I have an old nightstick that I can trace back to one Graham who was on the Boston police force in the 1900s. This..." He holds the weapon between them, pommel up, and then lowers it. "This I can't trace back to a specific ancestor--the Grahams weren't anybody important. But it appears we did do some sword fighting on behalf of important people in the 1500s."

He clears his throat. "Er--ah, mostly against the English, truth be told... no offense."

"Let's see what's playing," Collins says as she taps her datapad a few times. She also checks the live performance schedule in case the movie doesn't interest her.

"None taken," Bennett says. "We already discussed the English, the Scots and their sometimes-fraught relations, as I recall. I did a little fencing at Eton, as it happens, but never with anything that heavy - just the foil." They talk a little more and she says, "Anyway, while I'm here... I'll be taking my dinner break at midwatch, maybe three or four hours from now. Are you free?"

Collins checks the Lyceum events calendar for that night. There is a reading of Fomalhautian poetry already underway in Rec Room 1. At 1700, there will be a showing in the Ship's Auditorium of a popular movie from a few years ago, Add Three, Carry the Nine, Then Marry Me, a comedy about a math genius with a messy personal life. There are no other cultural events scheduled today.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fomalhaut

"Let's go see the movie," Collins suggests, then whispers "and we can sit in the back row and make out." In a normal voice, she adds "We can have dinner afterwards since it starts shortly."

"On the contrary, thank you for coming. I will admit, I wasn't sure what you answer would be." Rangin lifts the coffee cup to his lips and takes a quick sip before putting it back down. "First of all, thank you for the suggestion for the sensor." Rangin cannot hide the big grin that starts to cover his face while still feeling for all the world like a kid in a candy shop. "Not only did we get to put the new sensor through its paces, we may even have found something out there. But, before I get too overconfident in its capabilities, Dr Brold and his assistants are going to look over the data further to clarify whatever we might have find." Rangin tries to rein his mood in to be more appropriate. "It may still be a glitch in the system, we'll know for sure later. The other good part is that I got to put the bio-sensor through a few tests giving me something to look over on watch tonight."

"As for what it looks like, it's a big shiny box with wires coming out of it, pretty much like a lot of other sensors." Realising Kylah might mistake his tone, Rangin hurriedly continues, "No seriously, its not that different to most other sensors. It has a few more interesting parts within it and some few clever software backing it up. But, by and large, it's just another sensor."

Trying to recover slightly, and not give offence, Rangin thinks that perhaps he should be showing more interest in Kylah's discovery and trying to remember what she had told him. "Then again, without your discovery, we wouldn't have had the opportunity to use it. I'd really like to know about the signal you found? How did you find it and where does the High Caitian come into it?"

Kylah listens and watches Velir, struck by his enthusiasm and open demeanor. This sense of curiosity and quest for knowledge are two of the qualities that draw her to him, and it has been a long while since they shared such thoughts. And his genuine smile... she cannot even remember when she last saw him wear such an expression. Even if it is not directed at her, Kylah is just glad that he feels able to display such pleasure.

When he stops to ask her about the messages, she responds quickly to explain the process in locating and transcribing the signals. She adds, "The Universal Translator found a few words that bear some similarity to High Caitian. Not many, but a few. I wondered if this might mean that this distant... whatever it is, a planet, a moon, I do not know... is the origin of the Caitian species. They are not native to their planet, you know.

"Tonight my goal is to read back my own transliteration of the language and see if the UT finds any other matches--with the theory that any difference in pronunciation might resemble the inevitable drift in language, when a culture moves and evolves over time. I hope to hear more from the two sources--probably the one that is in motion, and which we ourselves might encounter in two days at our current course. I am a little concerned that the words speak of some kind of enemy. I sent the translation to the Captain and Lt. Thalen, but..."

Kylah shrugs slightly. "I know this could be pure coincidence. While the words may, as I believe, be related, they may actually be false cognates. Sounding the same but having no relation to one another in meaning. For example, in Terran languages such as English, say means speak, while in French c'est means it is. Yet in Elasian seii is our word for the stars. So I could be chasing a phantom link. Still, it is exciting and I hope my theory is correct. Honestly, I am just pleased to be useful in some way. Instead of a detriment or a burden."

At last she falls silent and just looks at Velir. If only they could spend more time like this, expressing their mutual interest in new species--on his part--and new languages, on hers. But she knows they cannot simply forget the terrible events of the last two weeks. After some moments she breaks their locked gaze to look down at the swirling froth of her hot chocolate.

"Velir," she murmurs. "Before we... talk. I must thank you again for all you did to find me. I am sure you would have done it for anyone, but considering all that had passed between us, and what you felt about me... it could have crossed your mind to let me remain lost. Not that you would have wanted me to die, but--but you could not have known I was in danger when you were searching for me. You never wanted to see me again, yet nevertheless searched for me. I owe my life to your sense of duty, and I am sincerely grateful."

Graham fidgets slightly. "Oh--that's, ah, very, uh, nice," Graham stammers in response to Bennett's invitation. "I would but--anytime--but I'm busy tonight. I mean I actually have dinner plans already--not just, uh, washing my hair or sitting around polishing my sword."

Internal alarm bells start to go off. Could be for any number of reasons, but the most rational one is I am pushing it on time...

"Uh...in fact I'm afraid I'm in danger of being late, Cecilia--so I'd better, ah, get going."

He starts to back away and turn to leave, but then pauses to add "But I'd be happy to have dinner...or lunch...or for that matter fence, if you're willing to spot me some kind of handicap, I suspect you'll have a serious advantage with an epee."

Bennett shows her disappointment for just a moment, then smiles and says, "Of course. Sorry for the late notice. Have fun, and I'll catch you another time." She leaves, presumably to return to the Bridge.

Graham hustles back to his quarters, where he is alternately shocked, relieved, and alarmed by the message from Nia waiting for him.

On the one hand, I have more time than I thought...on the other, why? And on yet another: "lavish." What can I do to match the other night?

Graham directs a personal message to Mahmoud. "Faisal, I'm totally screwed, need your help: I need a picnic basket ASAP, you know, for like a--romantic picnic. Do you know anybody who has one? PS if you have one I need it, but you'll never hear the end of it. Booker."

Nia's eyes blink open from her brief nap; the added Bilitrium compound has revived her rather than helping her stay asleep. She stretches and reaches an arm out to her night table, where her communicator sits.

The chronometer indicates she's been napping for under an hour, which explains why the alarm hasn't woken her--it hasn't even gone off. More of a surprise is that there's no message from the man she's supposed to be seeing tonight.

Hope nothing's wrong, she thinks with a yawn and another languid stretch of her nearly naked body. Probably just busy. Or he's planning to ambush me in my room, using some Security access code to sneak in and fake a ravishment.

Grinning at the thought, which is not at all unpleasant--but such roleplaying doesn't seem a bit like Booker Graham--Nia lifts off her mask and breathes in slowly. The habit is second nature to her now, a necessity when going from this synthesized version of her planet's breathable air to the ship's. She needs to get used to the Class-M atmosphere again. As usual, the first couple of inhales are rough and unsatisfying--like breathing through a damp rag. But soon she's ready to stand and feels much refreshed. A little Bilitrium goes a long way.

As she stoops to pick up her dropped uniform, Nia catches the scent of the water lily by her bed. She straightens just enough to take another deep breath, drinking in the flower's sweet perfume, before smiling and heading to her closet. First she tosses the uniform into the laundry area, and follows it with her underwear. Before long she's submerged in her shower, the suds from her exfoliating cleanser sliding down her skin. What does he have planned, she wonders, her eyes closed as she smiles into the pouring water spray. Good food, good conversation, and... Anything else we feel like doing, she thinks with a contented sigh while rinsing.

Whatever else happens... if anything else happens... it'll be good with him. Nia knows it: she knows men, she knows the chemistry she's felt with some and not others. And Graham is one of the some.

She hopes he feels the same way.

After a few minutes Mahmoud replies, OK, working on it. I'll get back to you. Ten minutes later he adds, Got it. I know a guy who knows a gal who knows a guy etc. etc.... well, I've got your basket. Should be at our cabin soon. Less than a minute later, the doorchime sounds. Graham goes to the door and finds a man in blue Science coveralls holding an authentic, by-gods antique woven wicker picnic basket. "Booker Graham?" he asks, grinning. "Joe Peller. I hear you were looking for this...?"

Collins and Cooper settle into seats at the back of the Auditorium, and the lights dim for the movie.

While listening to Kylah, Rangin is drawn by the insight and inquisitiveness she is showing. He can only remember a few moments in the short time he has known her that she has looked so engaged. Indeed, most of the time has been an ongoing disaster punctuated all too briefly by a few moments of happiness. Then when she mentions rescuing her, he also looks down at the coffee in front of him, not feeling comfortable enough to face her, but nodding at her thanks.

"I don't know what to say, other than it wasn't just duty. It never crossed my mind to just run some nominal scans to find you." Rangin takes a deep breath and steels himself, "Actually, it was worry about what had happened to you, at that time I just wanted to see you safe and sound." He shakes his head thinking about the scans. "You know what's ironic, I found you by playing your zither. I couldn't find you with a normal scan, but your zither is ...was a little unique in composition. The scan was designed to make it resonate and pick up the response."

Rangin looks back up to Kylah wondering what she is thinking but continues on. "About what happened on Anubis, I do you an apology and I shouldn't have reacted as harshly as that, or made the insinuations I did. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me the truth?"

Rangin settles uncomfortably back into the seat waiting nervously to see what Kylah is going to say and do. He wants to try and understand what happened, but wonders if he will get the chance to do so.

Collins leans in towards Cooper, allowing him to put his arm around her; she nestles in to the crook of his shoulder and rests her hand on his leg.

Cooper puts his hand lightly on Collins's, and kisses the top of her head.

When Kylah hears Velir's touching explanation of finding her using her zither, she looks down, her eyes glazing with tears--both from his ingenuity, his knowledge of her, and the realization that that was the last time her zither would 'play' for anyone.

She fights back her emotions and lifts her right hand and rests it on the table, near his, so her smallest finger brushes against him. Perhaps it was not wise, after all, to meet here. How can she express her gratitude and sorrow, or explain the shameful truth, without breaking down?

"I could not tell you the truth because it reveals me as a coward." Her voice is almost a whisper. She cannot let anyone else hear. And she is certain she is about to shatter the fragile peace between her and Velir. "You may find it worse than what you already thought of me. Except... except it is not a personal betrayal, as you feared. I would never do that knowingly. Even..."

Kylah does not continue with her sentence. Uttering Jan's name would be fatal, and he will never believe her. She remains still for some time, trying to formulate the right words, but in the end she knows nothing will be right.

"Telling you this will put my career in jeopardy but I do not dare ask for your confidence. I have not earned it." Staring at their hands, she is aware how close they are now, physically. Soon, she is certain, he will not want to associate with her. "I went down to Anubis, and brought my zither and clothes and jewelry with me, because--because I knew there was a good chance I would not return to the ship."

Graham shakes Peller's hand enthusiastically, and is equally effusive with his thanks.

"It's perfect--Peller, is it? You really saved my ass here--I owe you one, anytime...This is...perfect...I'll take good care of it, I promise."

Once done with Peller, and now having some semblance of a plan, Graham realizes he needs to respond to Nia's message.

Meet me outside the Arboretum at 1930, he sends.

He knows it's later than she offered but he knows he's behind getting things together...

Peller says, "No problem. Glad to help. Just get it back to me in the next day or two, all right?"

After further re-assuring Peller, Graham curses once he's left: should've asked if he likes whisky. This is worth giving the basket back with one of my personal stash...

He quickly focuses on the task at hand, which is assembling food and drink suitable for an old-fashioned Terran picnic. Blanket, candles...

And I need a tricorder, to download some music...like accordion trattoria stuff, corny, but...well I hope Nia likes it...

He hurries off to get a tricorder and to visit the galley: Plan A, see what they have that's really human made...baguette? Cheese? Olives? Pate? Plan B...rev up the replicator. And Chianti. We need Chianti...

He leaves his quarters then spins around to shower quickly and then rush off on his errands...

Rangin listens carefully to Kylah not fully understanding what she is saying. He had never known her to be a coward before and could not understand why it would affect her career? Surely the events of OCIII would have been worse than the trip to Anubis. But then she says she might not have been returning to the ship. He tries to comprehend the meaning she is aiming for but it slips beyond his grasp.

"I...I don't think I understand, why wouldn't you come back to the ship?" Rangin's lack of comprehension is obvious, but his quiet voice is audible only for Kylah. "I have never taken you for a coward; you have always been brave, perhaps foolhardy on occasion, but not a coward. You asked for my confidence before and it was freely given." Rangin skips over the part where she told people after wanting to keep things quiet about them.

"I don't see how it is any kind of betrayal and I don't see any reason as to why you would leave? Were you given an order or a new commission by someone in private, did your Guardian decide you were required back on Elas? If that is the case than I am so sorry that my last words to you were so harsh, but I wish you had told me, I would have understood?"

Rangin shivers in his seat at the thought of those final moments and then thinks of the the gift she had given him. "Is...is that why you gave me that gift, to try and say goodbye?"

At his question, Kylah is forced to look up at Velir. "No," she says, feeling hollow. "It was not to say goodbye. Very much the opposite--at the time." After girding herself, she continues. "I do not think you could understand why or how I felt I had to leave, unless I explain fully. I must tell you what I did, in proper order... it is how I have rehearsed it, the only way I will be able to get it out.

She swallows and forces herself to go on, dropping her gaze again. "I sought out that bar... it could have been any such seedy place... because I needed help. I did not want my financial activities to be tracked either by Starfleet or my Guardian--our treasurer informs him if I spend 15,000 credits or more. So I knew cash would be best for such transactions, and it seemed likely that a bartender in that sort of establishment would know someone who would exchange my credits for cash, no questions asked. And then I could escape.

"That is why I needed the money, Velir. I wanted to give up my duties, break my oath, and abandon everything I hold dear. Including you."

A tear falls onto the table and she wipes it away, embarrassed. "As for why... Things have been so bad on the ship. In my brief time here, I have already engendered so much animus, from you, Collins--although we had made some peace before I went on shore leave--Graham, Ferguson, all those Security officers... and then there was my reputation, the lies told about me and Lord Fastolfe and even Mr. Palver...

"But most of all, I could not face what had happened with you, in my quarters, the night before... I had degraded myself. I just wanted to obliterate my existence from Starfleet, from my own family. I wanted to be anonymous. Forgotten."

She shakes her head. "Even then, I was not sure I would flee. I just wanted the option. In fact, shortly after I received the money, I had reason to change my mind. When I spoke to Lt. Thalen asking for more time, he was so generous to me. Even Cmdr. Vargas was, as well. And you--I thought I could make things right with you. I felt renewed hope for the first time in a long while. On my way to meet you, I passed a shop with beautiful blown glass items, all sorts of animals, and I immediately thought of you, so I went inside. After I found something that seemed perfect, I hurried to meet you. But when I did--"

Her words are choked off. She knows he remembers what happened next; there is no need to repeat the ugliness. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse and weary with resignation. "After that, I gave up. To be on the same ship, knowing you were there, that you wished we had never met, and that I had ruined everything... I could not bear it. I understand it was a cowardly act. But I was weak. And stupid and naïve and... everything that led me to seek assistance from the wrong people. They betrayed me, just as I did Starfleet. I was tricked and captured and robbed and beaten and abandoned like garbage.

"So despite my wish to disappear and no longer be a concern to anyone, I ended up needing your help, and that of everyone on the ship whom I'd deserted. I am sorry." Her eyes squeeze shut and now she covers her face with her hands, too wretchedly ashamed to see Velir's reaction. "I am so sorry."

In the main galley, Mr Johnson is happily dishing out the evening meal and keeping on eye everything going on. It's reasonably busy and he is occupying his time handing out a few drinks and quietly chatting to a couple of people over a few personal issues they wanted a friendly ear for and didn't want to visit the Ship's Quack.

Rangin listens with ever increasing horror at Kylah's tale, of what she had thought and why she had tried to...tried to run. He still couldn't comprehend it, why would anyone want to not just go AWOL but desert Starfleet. It just isn't something that he could fathom, especially from someone kile Kylah. And yet, she had had enough reason to not only consider it, but to actively attempt it.

"I...I don't know what to say," is all he can stammer out quietly at Kylah, but even as he does, he reaches out with one hand and puts it on her shoulder before squeezing it gently. In some ways, he feels partly responsible for her current actions, his actions had led to her thoughts. In fact, if he hadn't blown up at her, the last time they had spoken on Anubis, none of it would have happened. She would never have attempted to run, never been injured, never gone through being alone.

However, one little voice in the back of his head reminds him that none of this would have happened if she hadn't lied to him and obfuscated her intentions in the first place. The trust that had been between them is, although not gone, in pieces, though unlike her zither it could be put together in time. Trying to think over the situation and rush into something had only led to problems before, he needed to think. She had tried to desert, it is something that is just...wrong, unthinkable, any single reason would be better than that. Kylah had given plenty of reasons as to why.

"Ok, Kylah, I've heard...enough." The term may be decisive, but his voice behind it is wavering. "I can see why you did it. It was wrong, but understandable and if I had been a better friend it wouldn't have happened." He drops his hand back to the table. and wraps it back around the coffee cup trying to warm the cold feeling in his hands despite the warmth of the Crew lounge. "I'm also not sure how I feel. I hadn't realised what you were giving up that night and took it the wrong way, please forgive me for that." Degraded herself, Kylah had said and Rangin could only think that she is not as experienced as he had assumed she was and he felt all the more ashamed for it.

"I need some time to think, to try to understand, because my mind is a whirl currently and I want to work out what I am thinking before I stumble into saying or doing something stupid again. I don't want to do that and hurt or lose you as a friend and I've come too close to that too many times over the last few days." Rangin looks across at Kylah hoping she can understand, but not knowing what she wants of him. "We also have a lot of truths to catch up on. Can we do that as well; I still hope at some point you might tell me what really happened on OCIII with Jan, if not now?"

"What do you think?"

Peller nods and leaves.

Graham, in a rush, finds Johnson in the Galley.

Cooper and Collins find themselves glad that the Auditorium is dark as the movie plays on - not that they're watching much of it.

"Good Evening sir, what can I do you for?" enquires Johnson with a cheery smile as he eyes up the Ensign who has just bustled into the Galley.

Velir's touch on her shoulder shocks Kylah so much that she lowers her hands to stare at him. And her senses tell her different tales about this man. His expression is muted, his features almost forced into neutrality by what must be sheer will. But his touch... it surges his emotions toward her, through her, like a sword. He is aghast, guilty, disapproving, confused, reproachful.

She knew before she told him that a man with his convictions, his loyalty toward the Federation, would not take kindly to her willingness to break her oath, shirk her responsibilities. But now, feeling his dismay... oh, it is worse, much worse than she expected.

He lets go of her--perhaps figuratively as well as literally--and uses the word 'friend' so often Kylah has an almost hysterical desire to scream if she hears it once more. Why? What is wrong with a friend? It is more than she can expect, more than she deserves. Throughout her years at the Academy, she would have been thrilled to have a single friend. What has changed?

Even as she wonders this, Velir mentions what she has dreaded--and the answer to her own question: Jan. He still wants to understand what happened with Jan.

Kylah knows why Velir's friendship is not enough. It might have been, before. Before he woke something inside her, starting the night of their dinner on Starbase 27, a tiny spark that has glowed more brightly every day. And then there had been Jan, when at last she knew what the act of intimacy was--even though that repellant night with Jan was a sham, with her body and her spore-addled mind lying to both her and Jan.

She wants to erase that, to... to make up for it, somehow. Perhaps that is what is driving her toward Velir, what allowed her to bare herself to him that night. A desperate need to substitute an obscenely ugly experience with something that should be, would be, must be tender; beautiful. To expunge the memory of Jan's hands, his mouth, his forceful weight on her, in her...

She shuts her eyes against the churning nausea just as Velir asks What do you think?

Somehow she opens them again and keeps her face still, hides all she has just thought. She knows it is not fair to expect Velir to make up for her own mistake. To accept her, someone damaged physically and mentally--broken, he called me broken and he was right--when he should have someone worthy of him.

"I..." Her voice is unrecognizable, her throat is so tight and strained. "I think you are right. You must weigh in your mind whether you can trust me again. Assuming you ever did," she adds quietly. "I know you must process what you have heard. I also know I do not want to lose you either." She cannot address Jan. Not now, not when his belief in her judgment is already so poor. "I wish I could tell you about... him. But I am not ready. I am sorry, but I am not."

Do not break down, do not... She uses every strength of will she possesses to avoid crying, and asks in a small voice: "Do you--do you understand that I still care for you? That leaving you behind was the hardest part of my decision?"

"Ah, Johnson, right?" Graham asks, remembering him from the other night. "Thank god your a chef, not a comedian...I could use some expert help." He looks around the galley, not actually knowing where anything is or how it would be stored or prepared...cooking is definitely not one of my talents.

"I'm trying to put together a picnic--a really nice, old-school Earth picnic...for a friend who I don't think has ever experienced one." He sighs and shakes his head. "You probably know what the basket should contain better than I do, but I was thinking fruit, cheese, a nice bread--like a baguette, pate, that sort of thing...I'm not sure what's available that's natural and hand-made versus replicated...".

He shrugs. "No disrespect to the replicator eggheads but I think Mother Nature and guys like you still have an edge over their algorithms..."

"Kylah. I have a small glass statue that shows me just how much you care and in some ways that you know me better than I know myself." Rangin's voice is quiet and sincere as he thinks of her gift. He wishes, as he looks into her eyes with a sad smile, that these events had never happened. "I wish I could find something which would fill you with as much happiness as I when I finally opened it."

"I did trust you, still want to trust you and hope to do so again to return the trust you have just shown me. I won't ask any questions of you further, but will be ready to listen when you are ready to tell me."

Rangin yearns for what they first had and wishes he could tell Kylah the same, but if she isn't what he thinks, it would be a disaster all over again. "I don't want to lose you either, but I want it to be right. I hope that's possible."

Nodding and wiping away some traitorous tears that have spilled onto her cheeks despite her best efforts, Kylah whispers, "I hope so, too." The words sound dull and dead, though she tried hard to invest them with feeling. "Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me speak."

She pauses, looking at her cooled drink, and says softly, "I wish you good luck on your watch tonight, Velir."

Coming up for air, Collins notices the end credits are rolling on the screen. She smiles, inwardly and outwardly. "Aw, rats." She says quietly, jokingly, "we missed the whole film. Whatever shall we do now?"

Rangin fidgets awkwardly on the seat, aware that the conversation is coming to a close, but unwilling to want it to end like this, tired and worn. He thinks for a moment and then decides that if he is going to try and regain his trust in Kylah, then he may as well start now. Today had been a good day so far and he isn't going to let it slip now.

"Actually Kylah, I still have a couple of hours before I should get some sleep. If you don't have any further plans for this evening, would you be interested in a game of something?" He tries to sound hopeful and raises his voice slightly in anticipation. "Not cards, where the whole point is to be duplicitous, but something more collaborative where we have to work together to win the game."

Rangin drops his voice slightly and looks across at her hoping she is interested. "It's been a good day, and I want my time with you to be just the same."

"Spoken like a man in desperate need of assistance," comes Johnson's mischievous reply, "well you're in the right place for good food. So, a picnic for a friend eh. Sounds like you want to go French as well, I'm sure we can throw something good together. You owe me one though."

After a few moments thought, Johnson can think of what to create. "Just a couple of questions. Who's the lucky person and how long have I got? The longer it is, the more I can make. Also, you're missing a blanket to sit on."

Graham exhales loudly, partly in relief, partly in exasperation. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "Short of a blanket, short of time...I guess we have about 45 minutes.*" He clear his throat. "Maybe an hour if I meet her there--at the Arboretum--first with wine and candles and the blanket and you--or somebody here--is willing to bring the basket I scrounged up over..."

He shakes his head. "Then I'd owe you eve more. It's for Ni - Lt. Onn. I don't want to disappoint her, except I already have but for some help from Mahmoud to find me a picnic basket, and whatever you're willing and able to prepare..." He shrugs. "I don't suppose you have one of those old style red-checker pattern blankets? That'd be perfect."

After a pause he adds, "Uh--do you like whisky? I may have some hard-to-find bottles. You definitely don't want me cooking or singing for you. Although if a Klingon has been bullying a relative or something, I've got some relevant experience there...might be my highest and best use for a favor."


*I'm guessing time was tight but Graham's pushing the time back 30 minutes puts us about there...?

Kylah blinks. "A game?" she says, as if not recognizing the words. In a way she feels he is already playing with her, and not collaboratively: one moment telling her he wishes them to be apart, and the next asking to linger with her. It is like a cruel child teasing a pet by offering it a treat while hovering it far out of the animal's reach.

"I do not understand what you are asking of me. I... I thought you needed time. What are you trying to achieve, Velir?" She stares at him, confused and hurt. "I want nothing more than to spend time with you. But I am afraid of having my hopes dashed if you decide to push me away again. Will I do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing? It is like navigating an unshielded ship through an array of cloaked mines."

Kylah shakes her head. "And yet... despite my fear, perhaps despite my own self-interest, I would do anything you asked of me if I thought it would help fix things. You know I would. I am so lonely for you that I cannot refuse." With an exhale, she lifts her chin to look at him wearily, pleadingly. "So tell me what you wish to do, Velir Rangin, and I will follow. I will play your game, if you explain the rules."

Cooper smiles mischievously. "Oh, I don't know... I'm sure we could think of something."

Security Lt. JG Ryan Jones comes into the Galley and sees Graham and Johnson talking. He nods at Johnson and says to the Security man, "Mr. Graham! And how are you this fine evening?"

Johnson sucks his breath through his teeth in that near universal sound of it's gonna cost you. "Forty-five minutes is asking quite a bit you know. But I'm sure I can whip something special up for the pair of you. Won't be too grand, but most of it will be cooked and not replicated. We can sort out what you owe some other time. No blankets mind, but I think I have a sturdy tablecloth that should do the trick, in Gingham though. But easily big enough for you both to lie on."

He takes the picnic basket from Graham's hands, holding it carefully. "You know, I don't think Nia's been taken on a picnic before," Johnson says with an evil chuckle. He notices Lt JG Jones and responds before Graham can get a word in edgeways. "Oh evening sir, don't mind Mr Graham, he's just getting Onn top of a situation."


I'll see you in forty-five, sir." he says to Graham as Johnson leaves the two Security men to chat while heading back to prepare a feast for the pair.

"I think you misunderstand me Kylah. I'm not looking to play games with you, well no, I am looking to play a game with you." Rangin's mouth opens and shuts a few times as he tries to comprehend what Kylah has said and the garbled message he is trying to get out. Why was this so damn confusing, why couldn't he just be honest with her...well, why isn't he?

"Ok, let me start again. Yes, I need some time to try and work out what kind of relationship would make me, and to be honest you, happy. And please don't just say being with me, because that is probably going to make me run a mile." Rangin can feel the sweat beginning to gather on his forehead as he tries to find a way to express himself.

"The times I have spent with you, when we have been friends, have been most enjoyable and I would like to continue that. I thought that a game where the idea is to work together to win would be more suitable than perhaps losing at poker to you again." Rangin looks across wondering if he is just making things worse for her, if it is just another of those stupid ideas that cropped up from time to time, or if perhaps on a day when everything has gone well, it will work. "I'm hoping that it will help fix things, it's a game for trust and teamwork, and I'm hoping...well I'm not sure what I'm hoping other than it's enjoyable and we can relax in each other's company once again without us both wondering if we are going to say something wrong."


"So, have you ever heard of a game called Epidemic?"

Kylah inwardly cringes when Velir tells her he wants what will make her happy--as long as she wants only so much, only what makes him comfortable; if she wants more he will flee from her entirely.

And what makes him comfortable is for them to be merely friends.

I have mistaken him. I have misunderstood everything. Shame floods through her, and she struggles to prevent him from seeing how crushed she is by his rejection. If this is all he can give her, there is nothing she can do. Kylah cannot force him to feel what she does--to try would make her no better than Jan or any number of the men who wished to use her. Or Elaan, using her tears to enslave others.

The thought is repugnant. And she already promised she would do whatever he said. If she wants anything from him, she must learn to be satisfied with this. Their relationship will be on his terms or there will be nothing at all.

Kylah is the daughter of withholding parents. She is used to gratefully accepting a morsel when a feast is denied her.

"No," she murmurs, her voice shaky but docile, her face a mask hiding her pain. "I have not played such a game. You will have to teach me. But I must report to Lt. Thalen in an hour or so. Will that be enough time?"

Graham hardly has time to process feelings from relief and gratitude to a suspicion that Johnson is mocking Nia, and the instinct to take him to the deck then and there, consequences be damned...but Nia hasn't been shy about her...social activities...and Graham concludes it's more likely Graham is mocking him, so who cares....Or he's making jokes Nia might...might...appreciate, or at least not be offended by...

But what the hell does it matter, this evening is about me and her.

He thanks Johnson, who's already turned his back to him, and replies to Jones. "Uh, well sir, good, so far, on this fine evening...I have dinner with...a friend, later, as long as I don't foul that up things'll be great. And yourself? You seem to be in a good mood, lieutenant."

"I am, yes, indeed," Jones says, grinning and slapping Graham on the back. "Living the dream on the best damn ship in the Fleet! What's not to be in a good mood about?"

Collins gives Cooper a passionate kiss and whispers "Dinner first. I'm hungry." She stands up, takes his hand as he stands, and they head to the mess hall.

Johnson looks around the galley and starts pulling out a few pans and bowls and checking the oven is up to temperature. So, what to make for Nia and Ens. Graham. Despite the comments, he is still going to put together a fine spread - enough to be filling, but not so filling as to ruin any apres-picnic activities they may be considering.

First things first, check to see what dough was left from the day because he isn't going to be able to magic fresh bread out of thin air. Hmm, not that much, so it's going to be mini baguettes instead. Neatly pummelled into shape and then slammed into the over, Johnson turns his attention to what was next. Being lizardine, Nia would definitely prefer some meat to go with it, and Graham was the probably kind of person whose idea of a picnic was steak and chips. What was it Graham wanted? Pate? He would have to replicate that, so would else did he have. Looking at what had been served for the evening, there were at least three types of meat he could season and do bite size pieces of. That would be a little over the top, so he settles for the lamb and beef, creating little morsels in a hot pan that sizzle as he sears and seasons them.

Next he starts on the salad. Now salad was easy, there was plenty of choice from the day, so throwing some, neatly cut, with some crudites into a large bowl. As he does so, Johnson smirks knowing that Nia loves her crudities. Some dressing, French not Ranch, and a salsa to go with the meat are quickly put together. Whipping the rolls out of the oven and leaving them to cool, alongside the freshly prepared meat, he moves on to a small bowl of fruit, grapes, kiwi fruit, apple, peaches and pears, all neatly sliced and diced, even if some of it had to be replicated. He would like to make some French tarts, but just doesn't have the time. Finally a bottle of still water (replicated) and a bottle of sparkling french wine (purloined) round out the picnic.

Grabbing the tablecloth from the store where it is buried under a pile of clean linen and he is done. One picnic basket all completed and Johnson relaxes with a little glass of the white wine, which is now currently residing in the basket, just waiting for Graham's return.

As Johnson looks across to the entrance to the galley, he can see a few people sniffing around enquiringly about what he is cooking and wondering why their food doesn't smell so delicious.

Graham had bloody well better appreciate it.

Despite his anxiety about messing up what could fairly be called his and Nia's "second date." Graham can't help but smile back at Ryan. "All right, fair enough--maybe try to infuse a little cheer into Vargas if you can." He excuses himself to prepare for dinner while Johnson works, then (unless interrupted) goes to the ship's stores to find candles--2 long white candles with silver or pewter handles if he can find them. Then he swings by the Armory to check out a Security tricorder, which he puts to use downloading cheesy yet classic tunes one might have heard picnicking by the Seine in the 1930s.

He sends Nia a short message: Almost ready. BG

When he has his gear in hand he returns to the Galley to check in with Johnson.

Nia has been lying in her bed, her body clean and refreshed, as she remains under the breathing mask as long as possible. Her eyes open when she hears the bzz of her communicator vibrating on her night table.

Almost ready. She smiles at the message and quickly types back: I hope so. -- NIA

Not certain what Booker has planned, Nia decides that simple is the way to go, choosing an ivory camisole and a black skirt that winds around her hips, hugging her tightly. She likes the contrast of the top against both her skin and the skirt--it makes her complexion seem darker and her eyes brighter.

Her hair is pulled back into a heavy braid, curls springing out here and there where they refuse to be tamed. She ties the mass together with a violet-colored ribbon--the only splash of color in her outfit.

Finished, Nia slips her feet into black heels, and her communicator into the thin pocket of her skirt. The device ruins the smooth line of the material draped against her curves, but that can't be helped. No one's ever fully off-duty on the Yorktown.

She hums happily as she walks slowly toward the turbolift.

Cooper and Collins go the Mess Hall. Cooper chooses French toast and orange juice. "I feel like another breakfast," he explains.

Jones speaks to another Galley staffer and gets what he needs, then leaves.

Onn attracts some admiring glances in the corridors on her way.

"Yes, we should have time for a single game at least." replies Rangin, "I've got a set of it in my quarters, so we can go and get it and work out where to go play it."

Rangin rises from the table before looking back. "That is alright with you isn't it?"

Collins playful "feels" Cooper along his arm and back. "No, you don't," she chirps. Collins selects an Asian stir fry with chicken, hold the onions and garlic, and a chai latté.

Kylah listens to Velir, her mind on automatic.

In Elasian mythology there are many legends involving the ancient minor deity Dekki--a half god, the result of the sun god Tellun's mating with a deformed maiden--whose job it was to listen to people's prayers and direct them to the other gods, depending on what was requested. But Dekki was a trickster and jealous of his betters; wanting to be worshipped on his own, he took his malice out on those who prayed by promising them that he could provide the wealth, health, love or whatever else they wished for...but at a price.

The hero or heroine of these myths--there were several using this formula, each with different lessons--would find themselves assigned rites that would insult the other gods while appeasing Dekki, or sent on quests for treasures to offer him, or required to perform chores that were impossible to fulfill, simply for the demigod's amusement.

Sometimes the results would be successful; in other tales, Dekki twisted the words of a hero's prayer so that while the boon appeared to be granted, in fact, some horrible and unforeseen consequence caused the demise of the hapless supplicant or a loved one.

Kylah feels she has been trapped inside one of these myths, perhaps for years. Unfortunately, she does not know which ending will result: Will she traverse all these mazes and obstacles correctly and get what she wants in the end? Or is Dekki mocking her, watching her failures and laughing at each vain attempt?

Right now she is desperate to solve the latest puzzle, to say just the right things, to perform the right tasks, if it will somehow fix this mess that she created. So in response to Velir's latest request she just nods and says yes and gets up from the table to follow Velir, play his game, prove herself worthy, whatever he requires of her. All in hopes that in the end, she will at least have his friendship.

Rangin walks with Kylah in near silence back to his quarters as ge wonders what else he should say but the time passes quickly and before long they are standing outside the door.

"Come on in, I believe Ens. Gordon is out at the moment," Rangin says as the door whooshes open and breathes a small note of relief as he sees the lights are off. "Lights," he calls out illuminating the clean and tidy room, obvious from the bits and pieces in the room which part belongs to a scientist with journals and papers neatly placed on one side and which part doesn't, filled with manuals and models and a few other pieces besides.

A few photos share space on the table, only one of them containing a picture of Rangin alonside two adults and a child, as he beckons Kylah in and gestures to a seat, "Please, I won't be a moment finding it." Heading for a drawer, he opens and starts to rummage under some papers before pulling out a box with a small triumphal cheer. "Found it."

Turning round, he heads back across and sits on the nearby bed, "So where would you like to go play then. I'm sure we could find a place in one of the Rec Rooms or even back in the Crew Lounge. Actually, given we don't have much time, umm, we could play here?"

Cooper rolls his eyes and laughs at Collins's joke. They dig into their food and the time flies by.

Graham arrives back at the Galley and looks around for Johnson. He still has a little while before he's due to meet Onn.

Entering the room once the lights are on, Kylah's dulled mind perks up with interest. She has not seen Velir's quarters before, and of course there are clues to his life in here, small hints of the person whose history she does not yet know. She cannot help but be curious.

When he offers her a seat she moves further in, her gaze drawn to the photos on the table. Naturally she wants to take a closer look. Who are the adults--his parents, presumably? What about these other images; what are they of, whom does he wish to remember? Kylah wishes she could ask, but is afraid he will think she is prying. She is still standing, despite his invitation, when he sits down and suggests they stay.

She inhales and is about to answer, whatever you wish, when she realizes the door is shut. Of course it is, that is how the ship's doors work. Velir has not done it purposely. Still, they are alone, together, in his quarters.

"You know, we could just dance here, if you like. We don't have to go out at all."

"I... I hope you did not think I came up here for...."

"You aren't easy to leave, you know," he says, coming close again and nuzzling behind her ear. "Mmm, this is a good song, too. How about a dance here before we go?"

“Jan, we were supposed to go to the club....”

"Vacations are meant to be spontaneous."

Jan's mouth, Jan's hands, are everywhere, they are all Kylah feels even though she is now millions of kilometers away from OCIII. Even now she remembers her dress being unfastened, then removed...

Kylah's face burns and her heart speeds up precipitously. The circumstances are entirely different; Velir is entirely different. But rational thoughts hold no sway over her, and as her fight or flight mechanism kicks in she backs away, as far as she can, until she reaches the edge of the table and bumps it, knocking some of the photo frames over.

She spins to the table and tries to replace the photos despite her clumsy, trembling hands. "I am sorry," she mutters, or thinks she does. I cannot breathe, why is there no air... In fact, she is breathing very fast. When she turns around again Kylah betrays her own secret promise and does what she has never done before: pushes outward, gauging Velir's intent. There is nothing to fear from him, not that she can find. In her current panic her own ability to concentrate is unreliable.

There is no way to reconcile the instincts battling inside her: she must be as agreeable as Velir needs her to be, but she also must feel safe. She cannot prevent her racing, suspicious thoughts, despite Velir being in almost every detail nothing whatsoever like Jan.

Kylah shakes her head and forces her breathing into a slower rhythm before she starts hyperventilating. "Velir," she says at last, her voice small and trembling. "You... you are sure you just want to play the game? That is all?"

Only when the words leave her mouth does she realize that she sounds as if she is coming on to him. Either that or they are unspeakably offensive. Afraid she has insulted someone she only wants to please, she looks around wildly for the chair she saw a moment ago, then sinks into it, trapping herself willingly, just as she did on OCIII. "I am sorry. I--I do not know why I asked that." She points weakly toward the box in his hands. "Please, I want you to teach me." And for no reason--no reason Velir would understand--she silently starts to cry.

Rangin isn't sure what is happening. All he did is suggest that they play in his quarters and Kylah suddenly reacts and reacts badly. He is slightly offended by the question, but her actions make no sense as she sits there at the table and he's not even sure if he should reach out a hand to reassure her when tears beginning to slowly make their way down her cheeks.

"I don't know what you mean?" he says warily, "It is only to play the game I suggested." Rangin puts the game on the table before rising and picking up some tissues and offering them across. "Kylah, before we start perhaps you should dry your eyes."

Whether she accepts them or not, Velir reaches across the table and puts the last remaining photo back upright. "Don't worry about those, are you still alright? Are you really up to playing?"

Kylah takes the tissues and uses them, mortified that she lost control--and by Velir's businesslike reaction, as if a stranger had inconvenienced him. "Thank you," she says hoarsely after she has finished blotting the tears away and carefully disposed of the tissues. "I am sorry, I just felt claustrophobic. I suppose I am not fully recovered from the--the attack, and something reminded me..." Kylah's voice trails away for a few seconds, but then she shakes her head. "It does not matter. I am fine now, please do not concern yourself."

She tries to retain some dignity by straightening her back and recovering some composure. Focusing on the game box, Kylah nods toward it. "How does one play?"

Rangin sits there for a moment trying to judge what is wrong with Kylah. Something had obviously upset her, but he isn't sure if it was something he had done or if it was just a panic attack. Rangin racks his brains trying to think what might have set it off but comes up blank.

He sits back and looks at the face currently doing its best to concentrate on the game and not make eye contact and shakes his head in sadness. It probably is something he had done, but asking now would be wrong, she had already revealed so much this evening already.

"Ok, Kylah, I'll explain how it plays," he says taking hold of the game and beginning to open it. "But it does matter to me, that you are in distress. If you want to talk about it I'll listen and if I was the cause of you being reminded then I am sorry I upset you." Or at least I would if I knew what I did, he thinks knowing that Kylah is unlikely to say what the issue is. "I know how bad Fellim Palver's attack was for all of us there." he adds hoping it's the right thing to say.

If Kylah decides to talk then Rangin will listen, but otherwise will give a rundown of the rules and setup the board for them to play. But each time he says something, he waits just a little bit longer than perhaps he should waiting to see if Kylah does say something.

Kylah almost corrects Velir when he mentions the Palver attack--"No, I meant the mugging"--but she changes her mind. It is, in a dark way, humorous that she has been in so many threatening situations in the past month. Since she has no intention of bringing up Jan, it is just as easy to lie about one as the other.

At least he seems genuinely concerned. She remains silent long enough to make sure she is back in control of her emotions, and then says softly, "I appreciate that, Velir, thank you. But I should not dwell on it. Please go on."

She watches him set up the game and explain the rules; it does not escape her that he is pausing and casting a concerned glance over to her while he speaks. Her stiffened muscles relax when she sees that, at least as a colleague, he does care about her. The game he describes is interesting despite its somewhat disturbing premise--an outbreak of a deadly disease on a non-Federation planet, which she and Velir must try to contain and cure together. At least in her randomly chosen role of a medical officer, she can pretend to make some difference in others' lives, fictional though they may be.

And the game will divert her enough to forget her troubles for an hour.

Graham approaches Johnson. "Are we good to go?" he asks somewhat anxiously, then pauses, glancing at the basket and sniffing the air. "Well--uh, we must be, I don't know what kind of magic you worked up, but something sure smells damned good..."

He puffs up his cheeks and blows out a long breath, realizing he's ready in time. "Like I said before, I owe you one, for sure, Johnson."

"Evening sir. Your picnic is ready to go. You can return the bits and pieces tomorrow, when you're able." Johnson nods affably at Ens. Graham and hands the basket across. "And yes, you do owe me one."

Johnson smiles as he ushers Graham out of the galley. At least Nia isn't going to be lonely for too long, he thinks as he goes back to wiping down the work surfaces and thinking what to cook next. Actually, if it does go wrong then Nia would want some pick-me-up to sate her later on, even if she didn't decide to pop by anyway. Johnson gets out the recipe book and starts baking.

Rangin sets up the simpler version of the game to make sure that they have enough time to play it. Taking the random role of an Engineer, they begin. It takes a little while to coordinate, but the cooperative nature of the game comes to the fore and they are soon working well together. Rangin thinks back to times past when they had done so and is both gladdened and relieved to see that they still can. At least for the purposes of the game.

As it draws to a end and the pair win with a couple of turns to spare, Rangin leans back and congratulates Kylah for her skill."Well played. That was close, I wasn't sure if we were going to win that one. And most of all, thank you for playing with me. I thoroughly enjoyed it and I hope you did too?"

"Yes, I did," Kylah says, looking up from the board with a small, fleeting smile that Velir would have to be very quick to see. "It was engaging. I did not expect to care so much about all the risks and changes of fortune when it was only a fake situation, but I did. Thank you for teaching me, and letting me..."

She does not continue the thought and drops her gaze from Velir's. After a few seconds she stands up and replaces the chair where it belongs, her hands squeezing its top edge for support. "I had better go. I must check in with Lt. Thalen before he will let me take another watch. I hope I can convince him I am up to it. Do I look--" Again she cuts herself off, this time flushing at nearly asking Velir's opinion of her appearance. "I--I hope your evening goes well. And I am sorry again for..."

For what? For not telling him the truth, overestimating his affection for her, reacting as if he had some sinister motive in bringing her here... Too much to enumerate. Tucking some loose curls away from her face, she shakes her head. "For everything," she finishes inadequately. "Goodbye, Velir."

She moves to the door quickly. The sooner she speaks to Thalen, the sooner she can return to her station, where even the mysterious language makes more sense to her than the confusing, ever-changing relationship between her and Velir.

The Arboretum is kept a few degrees warmer and far more humid than the rest of the ship, a combination that always meets with Nia's approval. To be honest, she's usually somewhat chilly on the Yorktown, which has a regulated temperature comfortable to most of the others on board, but is nearly 15°C below that which Sidonians have evolved to tolerate.

A cursory look around shows no sign of Booker, and when Nia checks her chronometer she sees that she's a trifle early. Nia isn't the "I'll wait to make an entrance" type of woman, and as a pilot she takes the importance of arriving on schedule very seriously. As she walks around the large room, she decides to find a bench somewhere around the perimeter. If Booker has prepared something, he likely won't want her to see him carrying... whatever the heck it is.

She spots an empty area that glows red with heating lamps around some small trees with spiky trunks and large, flat leaves. Tiny hoses up near the ceiling sporadically mist the air, presumably to keep the leaves plump and damp. The jungle-like atmosphere--apparently necessary to maintain these mystery plants--pleases her, and she sits down and basks in the moist warmth. In this light, her skin looks copper, her hair a burnished rust, and her white shirt bright orange.

Leaning back, Nia lets her hands rest on the bench on either side of her. There is almost no noise here other than the minuscule drops of water alighting on the leaves. Relaxed and content even with the little thrill of anticipation running through her, she closes her eyes and lets her mind wander--and wonder--about what Booker has planned for the evening.

Surprised by how fast Kylah goes from completing the game to saying goodbye to heading for the door, Rangin is only half risen from his seat as she reaches the exit. "Kylah. Thanks for playing and please, don't be sorry. I hope Lt. Thalen lets you continue. Good night."

The door closes behind her and he's not sure if she heard him in her rush out of the door. He slowly packs the game away before realising that he hadn't asked her anything about her background, it had purely been about what had happened on Anubis. Rangin sits slowly down again as he tries to comprehend what she had said, but still finds it difficult. The thought that she would abandon everything and flee was still alien to him. He would think on it further tonight, perhaps it might pass some time on the quiet watch later on.

Speaking of which, he needed to get a brief nap before he had to get up again. Putting the game away, he settles down to sleep, setting his alarm and rolling over hoping his thoughts can clear enough to allow him a nap.

Graham arrives at the Arboretum, picnic basket in hand, and soon finds Onn. They have the place to themselves.

Thalen asks Kylah when she calls, "Are you feeling up to standing another watch, Ensign? Would you maybe rather have it be a half-watch, just four hours?"

Rangin soon drops off to a dreamless sleep.

Kylah shakes her head despite not being seen by Thalen, and continues to walk to the Communications Center. When she reaches the entrance she stops and folds her arm across her chest, still holding the communicator with the other. "I would like to stay as long as I can, sir--as long as you'll let me. I have nothing else to do and I have not found much solace in sleep, anyway. At least if I am working, I am productive and possibly of service. Please, sir?"

As they bus their dinner trays, Collins turns to Cooper. With an overtone of mischievousness, she asks him "What would you like for dessert?"

Finding Nia is not too hard, as she looks...well, a lot more striking than some tree, Graham thinks.

The area where she's been waiting looks to be a fine enough spot.

He pats the side of the basket. "Well, this, ah, isn't exactly 'lavish' but it's an old Earth tradition...Would you, uh, just sit down on the grass there, and close your eyes?" Graham asks.

When Nia does so, he opens the basket and removes the blanket, fluffing it far enough from her not to hit her, but close enough that she can feel the breeze. He lays that down, then sets up and lights two candles, and places the tricorder on the far side of the blanket from them. He starts playing the old school strolling Trattoria music, and puts the open basket in the center of the blanket.

Then he takes her hands and leads her gently just a few feet so that they are both seated on the blanket next to the basket.

He clears his throat. "It's called a 'picnic,'" he says, till holding her hands. "Go ahead and open your eyes...."