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The Vulcan healer hesitates, then says, "Mr. Rangin had some kind of seizure. He is out of danger now, but still unconscious. We are trying to determine what went wrong. This was an unusual incident, especially given what appeared to be his earlier recovery."
A seizure. "It is that serious," Kylah whispers, a chill making her shudder. She stares at the older woman for a few seconds until the oxygen seems to flee the Sickbay, and Dr. T'Var doubles and triples before her very eyes. Her hand slips from the wall and when her legs can no longer supporter her, she narrowly avoids collapsing to the floor by grabbing onto the chair beside her.
Their last argument, the vicious words, the cold rejection... none of it seems important now. It will, someday, if--when--he recovers. But not now. Her head shakes over and over as she tries to suck in enough air to keep from losing consciousness. "Can you help him, Doctor? You must. You must fix him."
"We are doing our very best, Ensign," Dr. T'Var says. She looks at the young Elasian woman with concern. "But you appear to be unwell yourself. Would you like to lie down?"
Nathaniel knows he is being mocked, but he does not give a damn. He was used to people making humor at his expense. It had been that way all of his life. A child from his so called friends and even his own family, as a medical student from those jealous of his brilliance and excellence, as a member of Starfleet where he refused to fit the mold of what it was thought he should be. And he does not care if people thought he had an ego. He knows he does. But why should he not? Hell, he was good. The best at what he did. Why should he be humble about it?
“The point is, I’d like to make the surgical unit the best it can possibly be. I’m already seeing where things might be improved.” Nathaniel says. “But I can’t do that if I don’t have a certain.... atonomy. It’s how I’ve always worked in the past and the results speak for themselves. Having someone looking over my shoulder and questioning every decision I may make will only get in the way of me doing my best work. That is what we both want, isn’t it?”
Graham sends a text to Nia.
Bet you'll never guess the news Vargas had for me.
Then he hails Lt. Cmdr. Edgardo Cheverez and asks if he is available.
Lie down? Kylah looks warily toward one of the rooms. If she gets horizontal she cannot imagine remaining awake. She shakes her head and steps back, a little clumsily. "No, no, thank you. I am just... I did not eat much today, I suppose." An overstatement, considering she had neither breakfast nor lunch, but Dr. T'Var does not need to know this.
"I am fine, really. Just very worried." Kylah lowers her gaze, swallowing, and continues in a soft whisper. "You must know how much I care for him. You have seen us at our worst, but it--it was not always like this."
Just as Nia turns off the shower, the chirp of her communicator reaches her ears. Her smile--she greatly enjoyed herself in the rush of water--broadens. Giya must be fine, then.
She steps out and wraps a towel around her shoulders to prevent her hair from dripping too much. As usual, she'll let the air dry her glowing bare skin. One squirt of a special skin lotion changes the scent in the bathroom to a heady iris perfume, and while rubbing the moisturizer along her arms, Nia pads over to peek at Giya's message.
Well! She guessed wrong. Happy to hear from Booker--though a little concerned about her friend--Nia makes sure the lotion has seeped into her thirsty skin before she taps the device to read Booker's words.
Mysterious, aren't we? Nia raises an eyebrow and types:
Must be good news. Retirement ceremony plans? If the news will keep, why not surprise me? Are you coming?She rereads what she wrote and suddenly snorts. No, she can't help herself...
Well, you'd better not be... yet. Let me rephrase. I mean, are we meeting up?
Dr. Villa nods and leans on the bedframe. "Of course I want you to do your best work, and I always allow my staff appropriate autonomy. High-quality medical care requires it. But when all is said and done, Dr. Bennett, I am responsible for everything that happens in Sickbay. Starfleet expects it - demands it - of me. Just so it's clear, I am in charge here, not you. I will look over your shoulder and question your decisions - not every one, to be sure - as I see fit. If you have significant changes in mind as to how this department should be run, you will of course run them by me before implementing them. And, of course, I expect that you will treat your colleagues and patients with the courtesy and respect they deserve. Now... is there anything else on your mind, before we return to Mr. Rangin's prognosis?"
The Chief Engineer says he's available to meet Graham in half an hour, if that would suit him.
Dr. T'Var says to Kylah, "I understand. We want only the best for Mr. Rangin, too, and will do all we can for him. He's in good hands, but there might not be any developments in his case for some hours yet. May I suggest that you go get a snack? Perhaps rest in your quarters?"
Kylah moistens her dry lips and stares up at Dr. T'Var. Even with her empathic skills, Kylah can rarely read Vulcans' emotions--they are far too controlled. But there are other ways to sense feelings, tone of voice being extremely important among them.
And as kind and patient as Dr. T'Var has been, Kylah can tell from the pointed nature of her remarks that the doctor is not merely making a suggestion. Any argument and she suspects T'Var will make the recommendation into an order.
She calculates quickly. The nearest Mess is only one deck from Sickbay; she will be able to return in a matter of moments.
"You are right," she says carefully, glancing downwards. "I would rather not sleep, but I should eat something. Thank you, doctor." She hesitates and lifts her gaze again. "I know you must pay attention to your patients first, and I would have it no other way. But if you have time, will you please contact me if anything--if there is any change?" Kylah inhales in preparation. "And can you tell me... could this be dangerous?"
Please say no, please say no...
Graham flushes slightly and chuckles reading Nia's message.
He shakes his head. Been around the block, but she can do that to me...
He's still struggling with the idea of going up the ladder--again--and what it meant last time. But today is what it is...
He pauses, thinks, and texts back. On my way. But I gotta do something in 30 'cause of the news.
He heads toward Nia's quarters.
"Ordinarily I would say no," Dr. T'Var says, "but Mr. Rangin's case has already surprised me, unpleasantly so. There is apparently much we still have to learn about his physiological changes since exposure to the Sakathian virus. But I will let you know if there are any significant changes to his condition. Please excuse me, Ensign, and I hope you feel better after something to eat and some rest."
Nia pouts to herself in disappointment. Thirty minutes? She did say earlier that a lot can be done in a half-hour, but that doesn't mean it's optimal.
Especially not for their first time. She's not rushing through that.
Turning to her mirror, Nia examines herself. Still wet and shiny--her skin has a natural sheen, even without her scales--her nude body is, well, a satisfying sight as she eyes the light glinting off the curves of her long figure. Not to be too egotistical, but damn. I look good.
Too good for just a half-hour.
Nia reaches into her closet and without even looking yanks out a filmy, blue-green robe, styled like a kimono. A gift from a certain senior officer back on the Meikike, the gossamer-thin robe falls only to her mid-thigh, and the vivid color matches and emphasizes her emerald eyes. Embroidered along the sides of the robe are stylized peacocks, necks entwined like couples in love.
If it weren't for the peacocks, the robe would be almost useless as a cover-up. The material is as sheer as her usual stockings.
Nia's smile turns wicked when she ties the belt, then relaxes on her bed, lying on her side, elbow propping her head. The swell of her generous...hips... challenges the loose material of the belt, but everything is still relatively covered.
She toys with the damp, russet-brown curls falling over her shoulder and waits, still smiling, but also trying to guess what Booker's surprise might be. Since it's tearing him away from her, she should resent it, but if it's something that makes him happy... she can't complain.
Regardless, hopefully the sight of her will stick in his mind as he hastens off to whatever this mystery assignment is.
With no other choice, an exhausted Kylah manages to make her way to the Mess, hunger a dull ache in her stomach. But just as bad is the stone-cold knot of dread, which Dr. T'Var's opinion has only tightened.
She orders some beef stew and bread, a hearty meal that is really more than she expects to eat. Still, it reminds her of the food that, in her childhood, the family chef would provide for her when she was low. It provided comfort then. Of course, an important component of that was the company of her nurse, who would sit with little Kylah and make sure she ate every spoonful.
Wistful, Kylah turns toward the tables of the Mess. There is no one to provide such companionship now. She has no one. Velir was that for her, once. Now...
Turning back to the replicator one last time, she gets a mug of sweet cinnamon tea, which is really all she wants, and then finds the nearest empty table, sliding into the chair heavily. She wraps her cold, trembling fingers around the mug and lets the warmth seep into her skin before taking a few sips.
Her eyes close. Her belly is so empty that she can feel the heat of the tea travel down her throat and into her stomach. Too hot, really, she should have waited longer. After a while she sets the tea down and, taking hold of her fork, makes some effort to nourish herself with the larger pieces of beef in the stew. She cannot concentrate--she keeps seeing Velir's obvious discomfort as he lay among the twisted covers.
After a while, she rouses herself and stares down at her uneaten mess--an accurate description for the results of what she has done with her fork, prongs listlessly stabbing away at meat and vegetables until they are indistinguishable. She drops the utensil and covers her sore, tired eyes.
That is when she senses something.
An aura. It is close, and it is strong: Malice. Menace.
She has just lifted her head in wariness when a murmur insinuates its way into her ear. "What a sorry sight. Poor little princess, pining away for her pipsqueak pal."
Kylah's eyes widen and she cringes from the source--a man behind her whom she recognizes both from his voice and his very presence: Lt. JG Mark Ferguson.
Edited w/help from Elendil's Heir
Nathaniel hates being made to answer to anyone for any reason. It was why he never liked Starfleet to begin with and hasn't missed his time away one bit. It was why he'd hesitated coming aboard this ship. Back on Earth, he called the shots and did as he pleased. It had been the same for his time away. But now that he was here, he has no choice but to give in and play this damnedable game to the best of his ability. He has to be here, no matter how much he might hate it. There was a lot at stake, bigger than his own ego, he has to admit. He'd let the good doctor have her little victory over him. This time.
Still, Nathaniel's teeth were on edge as he forced the throat catching words out. "For the moment, no."
"Very well," says Dr. Villa, nodding. "Thank you." She picks up a datapad. "It looks like the neurological scan is complete." She stands beside Nathaniel and tabs through the results, showing him. "Hmm. Slightly elevated norepinephrine levels, an odd fluctuation in acetylcholine dispersal, and some anomalous neurotrophin-5 readings, too. Yet again, Mr. Rangin has surprised me. Have you treated any Coridanites before?"
Assuming Graham reaches Nia's quarters, he rings the chime.
Nia smiles. "If you're Ensign Graham, come on in. Otherwise... ID yourself first, please."
nm
Graham chuckles and lets himself in. "Not quite, actually, but I---"
It takes him a moment and a few steps into her quarters to find and register her recumbent form on the bed.
"Nia..." It's almost a whisper. He blinks and chokes up slightly. "Nia, you look...beautiful." He clears his throat and recovers his voice. "Not just sexy, that, I mean, yes, but really...really beautiful."
He swallows and shrugs. "Also, ah, it's Lt. J.G. Graham," he adds, smiling slightly.
Nia, not prone to flushing, still feels her skin tingling with the warmth of pleasure at Booker's effusive compliments and genuinely touching reaction. But then... then she has to sit up straight, ignoring her pose and the carefully draped robe entirely.
"What?" Her eyes widen and beam with surprise as she stares at him. The modest, almost embarrassed way he's revealing his accomplishment is undeniable--this isn't a joke, not that he'd joke about this anyway. After a few seconds of silence, Nia swiftly swings her legs off the bed and rises, sauntering over to Booker. "Well... now I'd say that calls for a proper salute."
With a smile, she raises her arms and, once she's in front of him, drapes them around his shoulders and draws her nearly naked body up to him. Her proud, delighted gaze doesn't flicker from his own. "Congratulations, Lieutenant," she murmurs, and then melts into Booker with a deep, tender kiss.
The noise of the Mess Hall surrounds Kylah and the man standing so unnecessarily close to her. She does not want to look at him, but she does, at least to show her defiance. "Step away from me, Lieutenant."
Lt. JG Mark Ferguson straightens and smiles, a vain attempt at the effortless charm that his friend Darren Zweller has always displayed far more naturally. "I'm just showing sympathy. Heard through the grapevine that you've been haunting Sickbay all day, making a big fuss over Ens. Rangin."
He pauses, perhaps waiting for Kylah to say something, but she just clenches her teeth and tries not to react. He goes on, lifting a palm. "At first I figured it was all part of an act, just your excuse to hang around our new doctor. According to my sources, this Dr. Bennett seems every bit as likeable as you." Sarcasm cuts through each word. "Seems like a natural choice, so I assumed you were making a play for him. But--"
"I do not make plays for anyone!" Kylah blurts. But her cheeks burn with the memory of undressing for Velir so boldly, so desperately, in her quarters. She quickly looks away to the accompaniment of Ferguson's chuckle.
"That's not what I've heard." He then leans over so he can keep talking quietly. "Incredibly, my sources insisted it was obvious you and Rangin have a... 'thing.' I didn't believe it. A girl like you, and... him? The scrubby guy who probably ran God-knows-what errands for smugglers back on his dirty planet? The obliging little weed who kept the good times going with party favors back at the Academy? Him, and Princess Holier-than-thou?"
Kylah does her best to keep her face from showing anything but scorn. It takes extraordinary effort: his description of Velir makes her ill. Regardless of what Velir has done to her, he was--is--so ethically moral, so rigid... he had a set of beliefs he held to, how could he have done such things--?
Stop! Stop listening to this man! She takes a deep breath, remembering that only a few months ago, Ferguson was willing to put on an act for the entire rec room loudly proclaiming that Kylah sexually harassed him. Knowledge of his penchant for lies keeps her silent.
But this just eggs him on. "Nope," he says, smiling again. "I didn't buy it. Still, like I said, people kept talking. And you know how things are by now, princess. Gossip fuels the ship almost as much as dilithium."
Kylah is mortified. Her thoughts race, trying to guess who might have said something, who even knows about her and Velir, and who might have seen her today...
The first person who flashes into her mind: Mr. Graham.
Graham's surprised by Nia's reaction--not unhappily, by any means--but as she kisses him he tenses.
Nia, it's not you, it's just that I haven't really been close to any woman, really cared about any woman, in...this way, since...since...
The words run through his mind, but he answers them himself.
He shudders slightly, his body relaxes, and he returns her kiss, enfolding her in his arms.
For the first second or two, Nia wonders if she's made some crazy mistake. Booker's not exactly resisting, but he's sure as hell not reciprocating, either. Just before she's about to pull away in astonishment at her miscalculation... everything changes.
Ohhh. There you are.
She's not a small woman, and he's not an especially large man. Still she feels deliciously vulnerable, cradled, enveloped, by his strong embrace. It's clear he doesn't want her going anywhere, thank heavens.
She breathes his name, "Book," and brushes her fingers along his temples, through his hair, though it's pulled back as usual. She wants to rip it loose, grasp it, and hold his head to hers with the ferocity of her savage ancestors. And there's way too much clothing between her bare body and his compact frame. Her free hand starts to slip underneath his uniform so her fingers lightly graze his stomach. Her nails could dispose of this shirt so easily.
But.
Thirty minutes. Less now.
Shit.
Catching her breath with some difficulty, she kisses a trail from his mouth to his cheek, then his ear. "That assignment," she whispers through burning lips during the rare milliseconds they're not pressed against him. "Any chance it can wait?"
"Nia..." Graham whispers--almost less a response than simply saying her name and listening to it himself.
He squeezes her gently and takes a deep breath, pulling his mouth away form her face just enough to speak cohgerently. "If there's anyone, anytime, anyplace who could cause me to go back on what I promised Vargas and Chverrez within 30 minutes from getting promoted, it's you, here, now."
He moves his hands over her back, and a bit lower, hoping they convey how serious he is. Although she's probably figured that out from...other parts...
"But my feelings won't change if yours won't, a---a little later when we have some more time...to be...uninterrupted...for more time..." He brushes his nose against her hair. "A long time, I hope."
Sighing, Nia nods, closes her eyes and lets herself lean against Booker for a lengthy, silent moment. "You know," she says, nuzzling his neck and kissing him after each word, "....Sometimes..." (kiss) "...Duty..." (longer kiss) "Sucks." Nia's teeth gently nibble at his earlobe, then she applies her tongue to taste the sensitive skin just beneath, doing her own sucking--not quite long enough to leave a mark.
Then, reluctantly, she reaches behind her and takes hold of his hands, removing them from her soft flesh before stepping backwards and, their hands now clasped, pulls him gently to the bed. Her eyes never leave his.
"Okay, 'L.T.,' she says hoarsely, delighted to call him by the nickname he's used before to others. "Astonishingly, somehow the mere mention of Vargas's name hasn't spoiled the mood entirely. You'd better kill it off by telling me what his Commandership said." Nia sits down and draws Booker nearer, hoping he'll take a seat beside her. "I hope he lavished you with the praise you deserve."
"Uh, yeah..." Booker says slowly and softly. "I believe he said something like 'if a broken down ugly ass old non-comm like you can get Nia Onn to give him the time of day, you must have something going on the Captain and I don't know about,'" he replies with mock seriousness, smiling slightly at the end.
He clears his throat. "Well, he did say something about exemplary service, record showing I could handle it--given the need to fill Collins' spot, and all."
Nathaniel shakes his head, as he grows a bit more frustrated with this case. It seemed so simple from the start. Now it proves to be anything but. And he hates being at a loss and not having the medical solution to any problem. But he is hardly going to let that get in the way of succeeding. He is determined to figure this out, not that he needs to impress his...... superior. He wants to help his patient. And if he shows everyone around here who is the best that is a wonderful side effect.
“No, I haven’t. One of the few species I haven’t come across, in fact.” Nathaniel admits. “But, that’s hardly going to get in the way of my solving this problem.”
Nia's smile turns crooked at Booker's sarcasm--as if Vargas would ever hold Nia out as some kind of treasure after the way he's dressed her down for a (somewhat) harmless prank! But Book almost certainly hasn't heard that story yet. She makes a mental note to share that black mark on her record with him some night when he's being particularly self-deprecating.
Then his final words sink in.
"Wait...filling Collins's... Are you saying they've made you Assistant Chief of Security?" Her hands squeeze his more tightly, and her grin widens. "You'd better get down on this bed, Mr. Graham. Twenty-five minutes and counting still gives us enough time for more congratulating."
"No," Kylah says weakly, more to herself than Ferguson beside her. "No one would have told you..."
She still cannot get rid of her unease. Her first thought was Mr. Graham, but she cannot fathom that. Yes, she has had difficulties with him before, is still angry with him now over his ignoring her wishes and ordering the takeover of her suit during the jump. She has been burned by his errors of prejudice, overprotection, even intimidation.
And he despises Velir.
Kylah closes her eyes. She remembers Mr. Graham's strong hands covering her own during numerous moments of fear. The warmth of his concern was real. No. He would not have gossiped about me. It feels wrong. Even the things she fears most about his personality do not make this man the sort likely to speak so loosely about her.
Then who? Dr. T'Var? Laughable. Collins... She is gone, Kylah thinks, a swell of sadness and loneliness shocking her. Only a short while without Jeremi Collins, and the ship feels so different. We had our problems but I do not think she would gossip... unless she said something innocently to Mr. Cooper, and he...
Kylah's nerve wavers. She knows little about Ben Cooper. Except that he is a Helm Officer... like Lt. Onn.
Her eyes blink quickly. Now Onn is a possibility. The woman has a far too casual attitude and flippant tongue, Kylah is sure of that. The very sort to gossip. And, too, the lieutenant is close with Andy Johnson. Who definitely knows, with all the cooking he did at Kylah's request for Velir.
But would he...? No, no, he is a friend! Kylah believed him when he said they were friends! Could she have been so wrong in judgment again?
Oh! This is just what this creature wants me to do. To doubt everyone, question everything!
Indignation bubbles up into her chest and she lifts her chin. "You tell me, Lieutenant. Who? Who spoke to you? Give me names, dates, places! There are none. No one said such things." She clutches the edges of her tray, fingers white with effort as she tries to contain her hysteria. She must not lose control in public, not again. "We both know you are a liar! Why should I believe anything you say?"
Ferguson smirks. "I won't give you names or dates, but I will give you the place: Sickbay. This isn't the first time you and Rangin were the focus of attention there. You two put on quite a performance after your little adventure on Anubis. And nurses and orderlies have ears."
As Kylah's spirits sink and she digests this, Ferguson chuckles again. "Y'know, Princess, it's embarrassing how bad you are at this. You're so busy insisting that no one could've told me about you two that you've forgotten to deny it."
Her gaze darts up and she parts her lips in shock. Then her mouth closes. Because he is right.
Nia's smile is so spontaneous, and so without affectation that what might have provoked bittersweet memories of promotions past is swept up in the moment.
"Well if you keep me from my duties, I just might have to take you into custody..." he replies, rolling over onto the bed. "Hmmm then again maybe one of us ought to be handcuffed or something anyway..."
"A commendable outlook, Doctor," Dr. Villa says. She hands him the datapad and says, "He's out of danger for now, it seems, but I'd like your recommendation in the next, say, two hours as to a course of treatment. Run any additional scans you think would be useful, and check the Coridanite medical database, please. Anything else?"
Nia laughs and lies on Booker's chest, arms resting on the bed at either side of his shoulders while she looks down at him. "You'll have to use something special to keep a hold on me, Lieutenant." Leaning to kiss him, she pauses just before their lips meet and whispers: "My scales get pretty slippery when wet."
“No.” Nathaniel says, realizing he’d just been put on notice by Dr. Villa.
He takes the pad from her. She is obviously testing him and his abilities. There is no other way to read her words. He resents being treated like some first year resident on rounds. He is past having to prove himself to anyone and that includes someone who thought she is his better. But he did need to find out what was wrong with his patient, that is true. The man’s life is at stake, no forgetting that. Besides, there isn’t a medical mystery he couldn’t solve and this isn’t going to be one of them.
“I better get to work.” Nathaniel says.
Kylah's flustered mind tries to think of a way to refute Ferguson's all-too-accurate conclusion about her and Velir.
When she remains silent, the red-clad officer claps his hands in triumphant delight. "Damn, I wish Darren was here. He'd be pretty amused to find out just who's been planting his flag pole on Elasian territory."
Face burning, Kylah wants to disappear, but Ferguson only continues: "Who else, I should say." He leans forward again and murmurs insidiously, "Out of curiosity... did that little Coridanite creep slip in there before Darren, or after?"
These words send the remnants of Kylah's tiny meal flooding back up into her throat. She swallows painfully and jerks to her feet. "Filthy human pig!" she spits out. Still holding her tray, she shoves herself through a forest of chairs, almost in a gallop to return her tray to the replicator slot.
At last she wipes a hand across her mouth on her way to the Mess Hall doors, which whoosh open just before she barrels into them.
Her instinct is to run somewhere, anywhere, to hide, when she hears the doors and the footsteps behind her, and senses that he is coming. Kylah takes a few random, haphazard turns and before long she is behaving like a rat in a maze.
Eventually she ends up alone in some engineering facility she does not recognize. Clanging machinery, foreign and imposing, dwarfs her. Overwhelmed, she spins around to face the doorway--blocked, by Mark Ferguson.
Memories of the incident in her quarters with Zweller are still mostly lost to her, but she does know how it started. Trapped in her room, the door barricaded by a man who hates her...
Not again, not again!
This time she does not hesitate. She grabs at her communicator. "Kylah to Graham!" she cries even as she flips open the device. "Mr. Graham, please answer!"
"Thank you, Doctor," the CMO says. "If you'll excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to. Carry on." She leaves.
Nathaniel has a few ideas, but he does not think any of them would bear fruit. Nevertheless, he has to do some thing. He was on a deadline and the next seizure could be the patient's last.
First, he knows a scan had been ordered on the jump suit, but he didn't know the results. That would be a place to look.
And then there was the attack on the man had suffered by the Sakathian's. That odd woman had babbled something about it earlier and Nathaniel admits he had dismissed her. But maybe that was connected? Nathaniel even wonders if, like she said, there was a virus laying dormant in his system.
Or maybe it has to do with the tri-ox he'd been given and that caused his seizures? He hadn't reacted well to the medicine, at least not like he should have. It couldn't be as simple as an allergic reaction of some sort, could it?
But first he needs to scan for any traces of this virus if only to see if there is such a thing.
Nathaniel wonders if perhaps he is grasping at straws, but it is a place to start. He adjusts the parameters on his medical tricorder and turns it on and hopes he is on to something.
Graham smiles at Nia, letting himself relax...Cheverez doesn't have a care in the world about where I am for the next 20 minutes..
When his communicator loses holy hell. He would have reacted by instinct to an obvious expression of alarm. But as ACO it's that much more instinctive that what happens to the crew is his responsibility.
He moves immediately automatically, just being careful not to buffet Nia as he moves. "This is Graham. What's wrong?"
Nia cannot believe her luck. Or someone else's bad timing. She's tempted to close her eyes and bite gently on Booker's lower lip when he moves to answer the communicator. --and then, when the device flips open and she hears the desperate little voice bleating for help before Booker answers, Nia's instinct changes to wanting to take a much nastier chomp out of a certain pain-in-the-ass Elasian.
But she says nothing, waiting with a face that's a virtual mask of neutrality. This is is job. He has to respond, even if it's to a perpetual hysteric prone to flinging herself into dangerous situations.
She'd better actually be hanging from a ledge somewhere, Nia thinks, enjoying the prospect a little more than her better nature normally allows. It's just that, dammit, Book is inches away, and he is so. Damn. Hot.
Grateful for the sound of Mr. Graham's terse voice, Kylah clutches the communicator with both hands. "I am being harassed," she blurts. "Followed. I have tried to escape but I do not know where I am..." She looks around wildly, perspiration stinging her eyes. "Some... engineering room, I think? He will not leave me alone, and I do not know what he wants, but he might hurt me--"
"Stop! I'm not even touching you!" Ferguson hisses, barely audible above the loud machines. His hands are raised, palms out, and his eyes are wide with alarm. Yet he still has a ferret-like cunning to him, and even from here Kylah senses his attempt to find just the right way to stop her.
Suddenly his eyes narrow in satisfaction and he exhales a rushed, whispered command: "Say one more word about me and you'll never find out what happened with you and Darren!"
The machines fill in the gap left by his all-too-effective words. Kylah just stares at him, starving for the truth but terrified to have Mark Ferguson feed his version of it to her. Her fingers clasp her precious communicator to her heart as she must decide between safety and knowledge.
At last she lifts the device again. "Forgive me, Mr. Graham," she says miserably, knowing how absurd and even unhinged she will seem, but unable to prevent it. "This was foolish. I have been so worried...I dozed off in Sickbay and I... I suppose I had a nightmare. I am all right."
Ferguson's smug, satisfied gaze makes her stomach tighten with mistrust. A backup plan occurs to her in a flash. "But... it seemed very real. Could you please meet me near Sickbay in ten minutes? And if I am not there," she adds, her voice soft and pleading, "I do wish you would come find me. Please, sir, will you do that for me?"
Graham's halfway out of bed as Kylah speaks, grateful he's still fully clothed--well, not grateful in the sense that he'd prefer the current situation to being naked and entwined with present company, preferably on a tropical island somewhere...
Then he freezes and frowns. "Of course," he replies to her request, but then adds, "are you...sure...you're all right, Mr. Kylah?" he asks slowly and quietly. "I can be right there." His brow furrows as he runs through how long it would take him to reach engineering (assuming that's where she is), the standard emergency response times on this class of starship--he reminds himself to run drills first-hand, ASAP, now that he's ACOS, and the risks of intra-ship beaming.
He' still slowly rising to his feet as he waits for her response.
Nathaniel remembers that Rangin's spacesuit - orbital jumpsuit, he reminds himself - was taken from Sickbay by the Chief Engineer for study. The doctor checks Rangin's medical history and sees that he was exposed to a genetically-engineered virus on a Sakathian space station almost four months ago. The virus initially rendered him feverish and unconscious, but he'd then seemed to make a full recovery. Interestingly, Rangin's psi scores showed marked improvement afterwards, for reasons no one on the ship, or at Starfleet Medical, seems to have been able to figure out. The Coridanite medical database has nothing to explain his atypical response to tri-ox compound, or to indicate that an allergy might be the reason. A more intensive scan of Rangin does show unusual antibodies, apparently not Coridanite, in Rangin's bloodstream.
Her companion moves out from under Nia so quickly that, to avoid being knocked aside, she instinctively performs a sort of sideways, scuttling jump. Her ancient reptilian ancestors would be proud.
Sitting up in astonishment, Nia leans on her hand and stares at Booker. His side of the conversation doesn't help matters any. Seriously? Two seconds of Ensign Damsel-in-Distress's latest prattle and he's ready to race to her beck and call?
Even with a healthy ego and an impressive track record with men, Nia doesn't think she's the be-all and end-all at holding on to someone's attention. This is hardly the first time a guy's preferred the company of another woman.
But she sure as hell has never been tossed aside so quickly--and so (almost) literally.
Silent, she continues to listen and watch Booker, who appears to preparing to spring into action, muscles coiled and ready to strike out at whoever dared to accidentally brush against Milady Kylah.
Though Nia's face remains stonelike, her fingers on the bed tap an impatient and ominous rhythm with increasing pressure while she waits for Book to tell her just what the ever-loving fuck is wrong with the royal pain this time.
Kylah's teeth gnaw at her lower lip. It would be so comforting to know that Mr. Graham was on his way. Would it prevent Ferguson from harming her? Almost certainly.
Will it keep her from knowing, at last, what these loathsome men did to her back in her quarters? She eyes Ferguson, whose jaw muscles visibly clench, and she knows the answer all too well.
"Yes, I am sure," she mutters. "I should not have bothered you. It is just... I am disoriented, after the nightmare, it was so lifelike. The monster seemed very real." Her tone hardens with this last word, glaring at Ferguson. "I ran so quickly and now I do not recognize where I am. Except I know it is on Deck 8. This is such a large ship and I do not know it very well... "
The ridiculous explanation is galling, and Ferguson's grin does not help. Her attention sinks to the floor, too ashamed and furious to look at the man anymore. "But you will meet me? In ten minutes? And if I am missing... I am sure I will be fine, it is just... I would feel safer if I know you will be expecting me." Her voice falls to a whisper again. "I am sorry to be such trouble, sir."
Graham has been sure weird--bad weird--things had been happening to Ens. Kylah for some time. Some of which he felt like he was puzzling out.
Also, too, responsible for failing to prevent, he reminded himself.
But this was all the more weird. He glanced at Nia, wondering what she must be thinking, then took a deep breath and returned his attention to the communicator.
"That's what Security's here for," he replied gently but with assurance. "So everyone feels--and is--safe. Ten minutes, sharp, Mr. Kylah," he concludes.
He shakes his head and calculates how that lines up against his appointment with Cheverez. Then (assuming there's no further word from Kylah) sighs and says "I'm sorry Nia...duty calls, as they say," the latter part is a bit rueful, but the apology is backed by real regret.
Nathaniel's brows rise in curiosity at the revelation of the antibodies the scanner had found in Rangin's blood. Where they known or something new? Reaching for his well worn medikit, Nathaniel pulls out a hyposyringe and draws some of his patient's blood, with the intent on running it against everything in the Starfleet database to see if there was a match -- or at least another lead.
He feels like he is onto something. At last. Perhaps the virus never left his system, but instead has been dormant for all this time. As for the psi scores, maybe that was a side effect of the virus --- or had something to do with the odd antibodies. First Nathaniel has to find out what the antibodies were. In addition to running a full workup on the antibodies he'd discovered, Nathaniel takes another sample to put under the microscope. Perhaps a closer look could prove revelatory.
And there is one last thing. Nathaniel taps the communicator on his chest. "Sickbay to Engineering."
Rangin's medical history does mention the earlier-noted and continued presence of the antibodies. Nathaniel draws the blood twice without difficulty.
"Engineering," comes the reply. "Lt. Dahlquist here. May I help you?"
"Yes, so I heard," Nia says, smiling. "That particular duty--protecting Ensign Kylah--seems to call on you quite often." She pulls her wrap more securely around her and kneels on the bed, resting her hands in her lap. Every instinct to be arch or annoyed is clamped down on, hard, when she continues in a joking tone.
"Makes me wonder if she thinks that Security personnel--or maybe just you in particular--exist to be part of her personal entourage." Nia chuckles and adds, "Heck, maybe she's right... maybe that was the deal that enabled a member of Elasian royalty to join Starfleet. I'm living proof they're willing to make unusual allowances for non-Federation races."
She tilts her head, more serious now. "Is something wrong? Where is she, still on the planet?" Then, after the slightest pause: "...And what are you supposed to do in ten minutes?"
Mr. Graham's voice invests Kylah with some small measure of strength. She thanks him for his promise and shuts her communicator, holding it in both hands over her heart. Her gaze aims at Ferguson, burning with accusation and warning.
But his manner has relaxed. His arms are folded across his chest, and he wears a thin smile. "Nicely played. You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Princess."
"And you are more of a swine."
Ferguson shakes his head. "I can't believe how you address him. 'Sir' this and 'Sir' that. He's old, but he's an ensign. You should be showing that level of respect to me."
"He has earned it. You have not--quite the opposite." Kylah lowers her arms, though she does not return the communicator to her belt. She cannot risk letting go of this lifeline. As her free hand forms a white-fingered fist, she pushes her voice to be heard over the machinery.
"From the first moment we saw each other, you have not hidden your contempt. Why? Why are you obsessed with me? Why are you following me now? And... what you mentioned, about Mr. Zweller." Her face flames and she finds it difficult to voice the question. "How did he--in my quarters, what... what did--"
"What did Darren do to you?"
Kylah sucks in her lips until they are just a line. She nods.
Ferguson's smile holds not an ounce of warmth. "Well... as far as why I'm 'obsessed,' as you call it... you've made me genuinely curious. Started even before you got on board. Your, uh, unique career path was a pretty big talking point. First this non-Federation Elasian girl zips through the Academy so fast it's clear someone bought her a ticket to the front of the line. Then she's posted to a Constitution-class ship? Her very first assignment? Ridiculous. Crazy. Everyone wondered about it."
He lifts a hand, gesturing vaguely toward her. "News spreads fast. And once Darren got wind that you were headed for the Yorktown, he contacted me. And told me enough for me to learn just what a little piece of work you are."
Kylah ignores the insult and leaps on his earlier words. "Why did he contact you? How do you know him? You were not at the Academy with us." She narrows her eyes. "I am sure I would remember you."
"Flattering. Actually, no, I graduated a few years before you even joined. But Darren and I are related. Distant cousins, yeah, but we grew up together."
Kylah's lips curl in disgust. "I should have guessed you were family. Toxic fruit of the same poisonous tree."
"And who's your family?" Ferguson takes a few steps nearer, and Kylah must force herself not to back away. "Look what that cousin of yours did to one of the finest captains Starfleet has ever produced! Plus she caused a murder plot and pushed a man to commit suicide!" A bark of harsh laughter escapes him. "And you judge us. Knowing all that, I wasn't surprised when Darren told me who you were. And what you'd done to him."
"What I had done--"
"Leading him on, making him chase you, then slamming your legs shut only to attack him with those knives of yours. You embarrassed him. Darren Zweller, the top graduate of his class!" Ferguson's outraged tone suddenly drops to a near whisper, audible only because he is now so close. "Bad move, Princess. You had no idea who you were messing with."
Graham rubs his chin. "Ah, she's on the ship, but...upset about something, for sure. I'm supposed to meet her in ten." After a brief pause he adds, "I don't think she was telling me the whole story, by any means...maybe talking face to face will help.."
He shakes his head. "Maybe we ought to be more, uh, careful...helpful...with non-Federation races. I mean...you know how to handle yourself here, Nia." He frowns. "I don't think Kylah does. Don't think...maybe she didn't know at the Academy, either."
He sighs and reaches out to take one of Nia's hands in his. "I'm sorry to mess up our time together today."
Graham rubs his chin. "Ah, she's on the ship, but...upset about something, for sure. I'm supposed to meet her in ten." After a brief pause he adds, "I don't think she was telling me the whole story, by any means...maybe talking face to face will help.."
He shakes his head. "Maybe we ought to be more, uh, careful...helpful...with non-Federation races. I mean...you know how to handle yourself here, Nia." He frowns. "I don't think Kylah does. Don't think...maybe she didn't know at the Academy, either."
He sighs and reaches out to take one of Nia's hands in his. "I'm sorry to mess up our time together today."