Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

Nia's jaw tightens while she listens to Singh. "I'd say it's a guarantee, ma'am. I'd expect even worse than property damage. People can lose all restraint, all control, if they believe their situation's dire enough. Rules vanish without consequences. Or when there's nothing left to lose."

She glances down at the floor for a second, ignoring the shame of what her own people have done in similar--albeit drawn-out--circumstances."Graham will have a security party ready, Captain. Has there been a decision about the..."

Voice dropping off when she catches a glimpse of someone moving behind her, Nia turns to find Rangin, of all people, standing within arm's reach. She frowns, nonplussed, and tilts her head in a silent question. "Um... about the logistics of..." Then she spots the datapad in Rangin's hands, obviously something he wants to show her.

A tight-lipped guy like Ensign Rangin doesn't speak up without something to say. And he looks like he does have something. Her scowl changes to widened, curious eyes, and she reaches her arm out, snapping and waving her hand to non-verbally instruct him to give her the pad. Meanwhile she tries to continue her side of the conversation.

"Sorry, Captain, I've just...been handed something..." At last she snatches the proffered datapad and flips it around to read, scanning what turns out to be a report as rapidly as possible. Once she gets the gist, her eyes open even wider.

"I was just about to ask about the logistics of the lottery," she says slowly while still frantically reading, every now and then looking up at Rangin with a sense of wonder and gratitude. "And now I'm reading a new report..."

Wait. There must be a reason Rangin isn't just sending this to Roble or Cheverez, or even going directly to Singh. Nia doesn't get it, but he must want her to relay this instead of him.

She peers again at the text and chart on the pad in an effort to understand and pass along the data he's come up with. "This'll just take a second, ma'am? I think--I know you'll want to hear this."

"So, Faisal, do you want to take charge of Sarafina? The other option I have in mind is St. Croix. She seems solid, I want to give her a chance to grow."

He rubs his forehead. "Let's head up to the bridge. I'm worried about the colony...not--I mean, duh. Worried about evac. How the hell doesn't all heal break loose when things get down to the wire. I know a--"

He shakes his head. "I need to find out what the plan is. If you ask me we have to take all the kids. I think assholes will get desperate if they're gonna get left behind. Taking the kids is the only way decent people don't get desperate."

Listening to the one-sided conversation between Lt. Onn and the captain, Kylah is startled by the young officer sent to relieve her. "Thank you, I was not expecting you so quickly. I have not had a chance to ask..."

She spies Velir as he stands, then heads over to Lt. Onn with his datapad. Now she is conflicted: torn between her desperation to fulfill her uncle's command, and the desire to see Velir succeed or console him if his plan is rejected.

His back is to her. His eyes are only for the Lieutenant, who just yanked the datapad from him. Their mutual hope surrounds and encases them, as electrified as a shield.

Kylah is suddenly struck with awareness. This is her opportunity to leave without waiting for Lt. Onn's permission, without having to tell an obvious lie in front of Velir. Neither will notice her if she goes.

It is an egregious breach of protocol. But so is everything she must do this day. What does it matter if they add a mere 'leaving her post' or 'insubordination' to the charges that are inevitable if she is caught? Her career, her entire life in the Federation, will be over.

The Ensign stands before her, polite and unassuming. When she recalls his words, another little piece of the puzzle falls into place. Fate seems determined to make it far too easy to betray her beliefs, to disregard her oath, to make a deal with the devil.

She rises from her chair very slowly, taking her own datapad. "Ensign... Patel, you said?" she murmurs. "I cannot disturb Lt. Onn now. Please, when she is available, could you pass along Lt. Thalen's message? Those exact words--that he sent you to relieve me, and so on? Thank you."

Clutching the datapad to her chest, Kylah avoids eye contact with anyone and sidles her way to the Bridge's exit. With each step she prays she can slip out of the Bridge successfully--and, simultaneously, hopes something, somehow, will prevent her from the repugnant task she must undertake.

Mahmoud says to Graham, "I'll take command if you want, Book, or if Onn or the Captain order it, but I'm pretty sure there are better-qualified people for it." You both reach the Sarafina's Bridge. St. Croix is still there, as are now Lt. Kendin, an Algolian in Command yellow, another redshirt and someone in Science blue, neither of whom Graham knows. They are familiarizing themselves with the controls. It already feels crowded in there.

Ens. Patel nods and says, "Certainly, Mr. Kylah. Take your time." He sits down at the Communications console and immediately begins reviewing its log.

As Kylah steps into the turbolift, a Galley steward is stepping out, a large tray of sandwiches, coffee and other drinks in his hands.

https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Algolian
https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Unnamed_Algolians

Nia reads the figures and tries to digest them, and since the Captain hasn't told her not to, she continues. "It’s a proposal for optimizing the evacuee count. Apparently if we play with the randomizer's algorithm... weighting it slightly for families with children... children," she repeats, looking up to stare straight at Rangin with comprehension. "Because obviously, smaller people mean less strain on the LS system and resources. Which means we can fit more. Save more."

Unable to help herself, she flashes a grin at the young science officer, which pretty clearly translates to Rangin, if you didn't hate me, and I wasn't falling for a guy who I kinda want to be monogamous with, I would be so on top of you right now...

* * *

At Lt Onn’s glance, Rangin nods assertively. It seems she has already picked up the main issue with his findings and if he can just get her to agree and by extension, the other main players, he will feel mightily relieved. However, he has seen that kind of semi-interested gaze before and while she is definitely striking, Graham would kill him if he even though about her in that way.

He decides that staying quiet is probably the best way forward, giving no hint that he is even noticing her smile. After all, she is the Captain on the bridge and this probably isn’t the place for that kind of conversation.

* * *

Nia hurries on, aware that both Singh and the governor are committed to absolute random selection. But they can't be so stubborn...can they?

"I know it makes the lottery slightly less random, gives families better odds. But the Governor's chosen to keep families together, and that's already putting a thumb on the scale in favor of two-parents-with-children units. This isn't much worse. Besides," she adds with an arched eyebrow at Rangin from her superior height. “Single adults can be small too.

"The point is to save as many as we can. And according to several tests we--” No, a strategy this clever deserves a name attached to it. "--According to tests [i]Ensign Rangin[i] ran, this formula means we can save an additional..." Nia’s gaze finally reaches the relevant figure.

She deflates, now searching Rangin's face. Forty-two?! The vibes she gets from him confirm that she's not misreading things. He's as disappointed as she is. Probably more.

* * *

Alongside Lt. Onn, Rangin nods again when she first mentions the number, only this time, acknowledging the meagre outcome of the program, which given the circumstances is still better than nothing, but still leaves him thinking that he should be able to find more.

* * *

Nia swallows. Well, she's not gonna make a junior officer feel like crap when he's actually managed to add to the vital survivor count. Straightening, she nods at him encouragingly as she rushes on.

"We can save approximately forty-two people. It sounds tiny given the population, but if I was one of those forty-two... I can't even fathom how grateful I'd feel, how miraculous it'd be."

She doesn't need to imagine, not with her history. But she doesn't blur the issue with personal appeals. "And it's not insignifigant. It's 20% of what the Sarafina can hold, and we've used our resources and time to retrieve it..."

Even as the words leave her, Nia frowns in a sudden thought. She scans the pad again, hunting for… No, she doesn't see it. She needs to ask Rangin, and stalls for time, talking a bit more about how important every life is, all the while peering intently at Rangin and, when she pauses for a breath, Nia gives a quick jerk of her head toward the viewscreen and mouths: Does this include the Sarafina?"

* * *

Still paying close attention to Lt Onn, Rangin catches what she is trying to say and then nods twice quickly. Even including the Sarafina the result was still low, but he could understand why she asked, just in case it had been missed.

* * *

Damn. Nia’s brain spews several more curses, but she keeps her expression relatively neutral as she nods back at Rangin. "Captain, do you think this is something the Governor might consider? I'll send you the report, and whatever Cmdr. Roble says, assuming he's seen..."

At the start of this sentence she expected the answer to be yes, of course, but the longer she looks at Rangin, the more she suspects the answer is um, no. "Er... assuming he sees the research and agrees. And Chief Cheverez, obviously."

* * *

Rangin shakes his head, leaving Lt Onn in no doubt that she is the first person seeing the results Rangin had come up with. And yet here she is talking to Captain Singh about them, and leaving Rangin to feel small for not being able to do better, even given Lt Onn’s unexpected support, and wondering if he made the right choice. Oh well, if it means saving even a few more people, even one as Kylah said, then it’s worth it.

* * *

Nia knows she can't keep filibustering the Captain's time. Any more persuasive arguments can wait if, or when, Singh shoots her down.

"Ma'am," she says, respectfully but resolutely. "Permission to have Ensign Rangin send this proposal to you and the other related department chiefs?"



Rangin by Rangin, Nia by me.

As the steward passes by, Kylah inhales the scent of bread, meat, coffee. She watches it longingly, only now acknowledging just how hungry she is. Maybe she can just reach out and grab a sandwich--

No. I cannot. She turns away and walks forward. Truth is, part of the gnawing hole in her stomach is anxiety. Dread, too. If she ate now she would only waste the food in the nearest bathroom.

At least this decision is her own. Over the past few months, maintaining control over her body has become paramount. The more discipline, the more power she exerts, the better.

She clasps the turbolift handle with cold, white-knuckled fingers, then recites the necessary deck number for her destination.

Singh says thoughtfully, "Well, that's not much of a difference, given the numbers we've discussed up to now, but you're right that it would certainly mean a lot to those it saved." She pauses. "Yes, send the proposal to me, the Science Officer and the Chief Engineer; tell them to use discretion but that they may share it with anyone else they see fit. I'll run it by the Governor. Keep it under your hat otherwise. Anything else, Mr. Onn?"

The steward makes his rounds of the Bridge, offering food and drink to anyone who might wish it.

Sooner than she might have wished, Kylah finds herself outside living quarters 7B41 - Deck 7, starboard bow, compartment 41.

Graham puts a hand on Mahmoud's shoulder. "There'll be 200 lives plus entrusted to this ship and her crew. Until Old Man Vargas decides otherwise, my opinion matters and there's no one I'd trust more for their care. Pick the Security team you need, the others can return to Yorktown," Graham says quietly to his old friend.

"Mr. Faisal will take charge of Security on the Sarafina," he says more loudly, for the benefit of everyone on the bridge.

Assuming he's not otherwise occupied, Graham text Onn. "Returning to ship. Would like to discuss Security prep for colony evac."

He then intends to hail Yorktown for transport.

"Got it, Book," Mahmoud murmurs. "And good luck."

Lt. Kendin says, "Thank you, Mr. Graham. I have been assigned to command the prize crew. Mr. Mahmoud will do a fine job leading the Security detail, I'm sure."

After a pause that lasted only two or three seconds--but felt like hours--Nia hears the Captain's words.

And then her intense gaze, which has been locked on Rangin's rather attractive eyes as they waited in mutual hope, melts into a radiant smile.

"Yes, Captain. I mean... no, Captain, there's nothing else. I'll have Rangin send the report immediately." She nods--probably unnecessary given her demeanor--and beams pride and respect at the junior officer. You did this, Rangin. You.

"Thank you, ma'am." Cool, collected. Ain't no big thing. "I hope to have a response soon about the status of the Sarafina. I'll keep you updated, of course."

The ship's name is barely spoken when her communicator buzzes in her hand. A text message is waiting for her. Nia wraps things up with Singh, and her tone sobers while turning away from Rangin, looking at the floor. "And... and Captain, if your status changes... regarding safety..." Nia's voice is too soft for anyone but Rangin to hear her. "Just say the word and the Yorktown will be back in ten minutes."

"Thank you, Mr. Onn," the Captain says. "But the sooner, the better, regardless of whether we're in any danger here. Singh out."

The words still resonating in her head, Nia turns to Rangin, who must know the response she's received. "All right, I did the hard work," she says with a sideways smile. "Now you get the easy part of triple-checking your algorithm and data and sending it to the Captain, Cheverez and Roble. Piece of cake."

She maintains her smile but lowers her voice. "In all seriousness. If they accept this and pull it off, you're a hero. In my eyes and the ship's. I know that's not why you did it," she adds quickly. "I just want you to know you have my respect and gratitude. In fact that's true even if they don't agree."

Nia pauses. "Um... but the Captain wants this kept quiet for now. I guess she doesn't want to get hopes up. Although that particular genie's out of the bottle." Her glance takes in the crew nearest to her, Leventhal, Bennett and Jones. They must've heard all this. To them all, she asks for their discretion, ending with:

"If word gets out before they approve... and especially if they eventually don't, for whatever reason... well, it's gonna be a disappointment and maybe anger. We don't need that from the crew when we're already facing it from the population themselves. Got it?"

Her communicator in her left hand, Nia extends her right to Rangin. "Good work, Ensign Rangin. Now let's get that report to the bigwigs. If you will, send me a copy, too?"

Nathaniel is disgusted by what he is seeing. The place stunk of God knows what, whatever medical supplies they had were either used or ruined and not properly disposed of. He’s seen better kept Sickbays in times of battle. Well, he had a job to do, such as it was. Best to get it done quickly and get the hell out of here.

“Take an inventory of what’s left.” Nathaniel orders his team. “If there is anything left.”

"Yes, sir," Dr. Bennett's two Medical assistants say as they get to work.

Onn notices another officer is now at the Communications console. "Ens. Patel, ma'am," he says, introducing himself. He passes along Kylah's message to her, as promised.

Rangin cannot help but follow along with Lt Onn's infectious smile and he can feel the muscles like piano wires across his shoulders slowly loosen as he relaxes. He is relieved that this is as far as he can take it, getting in front of the people who matter and giving them the option. If they choose not to accept, at least he can say that he tried. For a moment he wonders why her hand is extended, being the Captain and all, and when he figures it out a slow flush crosses his face as he shakes her hand firmly. Hopefully, between them, they can make if work.

Rangin releases her hand and stands back to attention. "Thank you ma'am. I couldn't have asked for more.", he says genuinely meaning the gratitude he feels towards her for giving him the opportunity. "I'll send those proposals out now." He nods again and then heads back to the Science console.

He goes back through the computations and data one last time, confirming to himself that the answer hasn't changed in some way. He checks the precis and summary to giving his overview and then sends the resulting proposal out to the Captain, Cmdr Cheverez and Cmdr Roble. Then, to the one he is sending to Lt Onn, he adds a brief note:

Lt. Onn. You asked for a crazy plan and out of the box thinking, so I hope this will suffice. Thank you for your support, it means a lot to me. Ens. Rangin.

before sending it off.

He sits back in his seat relieved he has done something, but wondering what he can do next; the Sarafina is secure, there is little more he can do about lottery and that's it.

He accepts some food and coffee as it goes round, relaxes slightly and looks round the bridge. Forty-two people if they agree to it, although there is no guarantee they would. Actually he should let Kylah know, after all she did come round to talk to him, but he had been too wrapped up in the results.

As she said, being able to save forty two more people is still a good thing and he no longer needs to hide it as he had earlier. Rangin stops. He had been shy of it earlier and the first person to know would have been Lt Onn, when he showed her the proposal, so how had Kylah found out? Easy enough to discover, she is only over the the Comms desk.

Rangin looks up across still feeling happy only to see it is not Kylah there, but someone else. He looks round the bridge, but cannot see any sight of her. He shakes his head at her absence, he is sure she had been there only a few minutes ago. Where has she gone?

In the process of reading Graham's message, Nia is struck by the new voice--and new face--at the Comms station. "Okaay," she says, trying not to look annoyed at Thalen's deciding to have Kylah relieved without telling Nia. And even more annoyed by Kylah not telling Nia herself. "Glad to have you up here, Ens. Patel."

She sits back down in the big chair and at last reads Booker's note. Wait, why is he leaving? Well, he's in charge of security, I guess he can shift the players around. But right on top of Thalen doing the same thing, Nia feels a tad disgruntled.

Whatever you think best, Book. You handled everything over there even better than expected. And I'm damn glad you're returning from a mission without wounds this time.

Nia returns her communicator to her side and goes back to using her trusty chair mic. "Yorktown to Sarafina Bridge. We have twenty-five minutes tops to get this ship back in shape for a long, fast journey. Engineers, the shields are first priority. As soon as we get them online, we're heading back. Let me know status and time estimates, please."

After a long breath, Nia realizes food's nearby. She looks around hungrily to find the tray (and/or steward, if he's still here).

The Captain and other senior officers' comm accounts automatically acknowledge receipt of Onn's report.

The Galley steward is still there on the Bridge. He sees Onn looking around and steps over with the tray and a smile. There are several different kinds of sandwiches and drinks on the tray, including flasks of hot coffee and tea. "I can get you something else, ma'am, if you don't see anything you'd like," the steward says.

While his team sorted through the mess and catalogued whatever is possible, Nathaniel finds the computer and hopes it might contain more information on what the ship Sickbay has.... or maybe what was once here. He doubts if they kept accurate or updated records. But, he thinks, as he turns on the computer he has to make the effort to find out and much as he possibly can.

Ens. Alvarez reports, "There's a civilian first-aid kit which looks mostly complete, sir, and a set of obsolete but still usable surgical tools, both edged and energy. They're in sterile holding cases and look like they've never been used. That's about it."

The Sickbay terminal is just for access to the Sarafina's ship's computer and not specifically for medical use. It does not have any medical-related records which Dr. Bennett can find.

Picking whichever sandwich has the most meat on it, Nia nods gratefully at the steward. "Thanks. Any chance of a canteen of icy water?"

While she chomps on the sandwich she glances through the acknowledgments, she winces. Shit. Why are they calling this my report? Ugh. So much for any detente she and Rangin achieved.

Well, hang on, she tells herself. Maybe they didn't copy him and he won't know. She tilts her head back to see Rangin's expression--if it's annoyed, he probably received the notification.

Of course even if he doesn't know that they've somehow mis-attributed the report to her, she does, and she'll make sure to correct the others when there's more time. Speaking of which...

She checks the time to see her deadline for leaving--30 minutes from now.

The steward, having made the rounds of the Bridge and provided food and drink to whoever wanted any, says eagerly, "I'll get you some ice-cold water and be back on the double, ma'am." He turns and heads for the turbolift.

Lt. Vielar, Assistant Chief Engineer of the Yorktown and the top Engineering officer now aboard the Sarafina, reports to Onn, "Good news, Lieutenant. The engines are in decent shape, although they could do with an overhaul. The primary deflectors took a pounding from our torpedoes and need at least 20 hours' work. The navigational deflectors are all right, though. We could return to Novy Rostov now, if you like."

While wondering where Kylah is, Rangin sees the notifications come back in for the proposal he sent out. All acknowledging Lt. Onn's report and his jaw drops. He shakes his head in total disbelief although he can see that Lt Onn has yet to reply. Chances are she has already let the others know and is going to take the credit.

Typical, just typical, although he would have expected a lot more from Roble at least. What was the point? Feeling frustrated that the work he is doing is now being credited to someone else. If he went back and checked the biosensor work he had done a little while ago, it was probably being lauded as that scientist's work, with himself as a footnote, with maybe a word of thanks for being part of the team.

Well, guess that's the last time he even considers trusting her. Even in saving people on the planet, looks like she is supporting Graham all the way. So much for that little chat from earlier. Looking up he notices Lt Onn looking in his general direction, well let her look as he can't help fuming at her before turning back to the Science console.

Rangin wonders what she will have him do for an encore, and wishes he is elsewhere. Perhaps the Science area would be a lot more welcoming than the Bridge. Actually, if he wants to get out of here, he may as well find out where Kylah went and give her the news about the proposal. He quietly asks the computer for her location, stretching one's legs may not be the worst idea after all.

Nia can see from Rangin's stiff spine, and his turning to her with hard-set jaw, that he's probably a bit irked. She sighs and, flipping open the cover to the keypad in her chair, starts a quick note to the departments recognizing Rangin for coming up with the proposal. Then she hears Vielar's report.

At once she closes the keypad--that message can certainly wait--and sits up with a smile. "Thank you, Lt. Vielar. That's better than I hoped for. Normally I'd be worried about those primaries, but in the unlikely event any hostiles show up to target the Sarafina, she's got a helluva bodyguard in the Yorktown. Stand by."

She looks at Bennett and Leventhal. "Bennett, plot a course back to the planet. Leventhal, we're gonna need to stick to a reasonable speed so the Sarafina can keep up. Remind me, how fast were they going when we were chasing them, again? If we maintain that speed, what's our ETA?"

While Horst works that out--probably will only take a couple of seconds--Nia returns to the mic.

"Onn to Lt. Kendin. You've probably already heard, but your Engineering chief says that as far as she's concerned, you're okay to go. How are things on the Bridge? Any reason you need more time?" Frowning a little, Nia taps her finger on the chair. Shouldn't Booker have arrived yet? "Also, has everyone who plans to beam back to the Yorktown made the trip?"

Again she checks the time, having been distracted earlier.



Hey for realsies, may I get a time check? I've lost track entirely of what time of day we're even in. IIRC Novy Rostov differs from ship time, as it was night time when the landing party arrived.

Graham beams back to the Yorktown and texts Onn when he has done so.

Rangin is able to locate Kylah's communicator on Deck 7, starboard bow. That section of the ship, he knows, is mostly officers' quarters.

"Course plotted and laid in, Mr. Onn," Bennett says crisply, her slim hands ready atop the Nav console.

Leventhal says, "They were doing Warp 5 before, when we were chasing them, ma'am."

Lt. Kendin reports from the Sarafina, "I concur with Lt. Vielar, ma'am. There is more work to be done to make this ship ready for evacuees, of course, but that can be done en route and once we've returned to NR orbit. At Warp 5.7, which she tells me we can make with an acceptable safety margin, we can be back there in just under 15 minutes." He speaks to someone off-mic. "No one is still aboard who wishes to return to the Yorktown at this time, as far as I know, ma'am."

It is now 1033 ship's time. The lethal radiation burst will be in four to six hours, according to the best estimates of Lt. Bancroft and the Yorktown's Science Department.

Graham heads to the Bridge. He's not clear on the final method arrived at to choose who to evacuate, and he needs to find out. Both because he's worried about the Security situation if it's something people will rebel against, and because of his promise to Marala.

Graham finds himself on a turbolift with a Mess steward carrying something. Onn hears the Bridge's turbolift doors whoosh open, and Graham and the steward step out. The steward goes straight to Onn and, with a smile, hands her a small Starfleet-issue thermos flask of very cold water.

The corridor seems both strange and familiar, since one Constitution-class hallway looks like all the others. Kylah stands at the door, looking back and forth to double-check no one can see her.

Of course, there would be less risk if she could just bolster her courage enough to place her hand on the door signal.

Fate is truly unfathomable. Unfathomable and cruel. Or perhaps it just has a sick sense of humor. Kylah suspects it is all three. How else to describe fate leading her here, forcing her here?

In the end it does not matter; she will accept how repugnant this scheme is, because she must. No, it is not even a scheme, merely a vague idea, born of both logic and desperation. She needs to get someone onto the ship. He can do it.

Closing her eyes and summoning her inner Elasian, she raises her hand and presses her palm on the pad.

"Come," she hears a voice--his voice, that voice she knows all too well--from inside, and the door opens.

She allows herself one last hesitation. Entering these quarters does not seem safe. But if she stays in the hall, she might be seen. A fleeting thought recalls her recommendation to Lt. Graham for security cameras, and the irony strikes her. This venture would not be possible if there were electronic eyes all over the ship.

Bracing herself just as she did before leaping out during orbital skydiving, Kylah walks into the cabin. She goes in only far enough for the door to whoosh shut behind her. When she spots him, he is sitting at his quarters' small desk, looking at the Library Computer terminal.

"Lieuten--" she croaks out, then clears her throat for another try. "Lieutenant."

Engineering Lt. JG Mark Ferguson looks up, and after an initial expression of what could only be described as astonishment, a sly, predatory smile spreads across his face. "Well, well - if it isn't my favorite alien princess! To what do I owe the honor of a royal visit?"

A swell of anger heats Kylah's face, but she must ignore his goading. She has no choice.

It takes several seconds for her to get the words out. "I... I need help. A favor. A significant favor. And you are the only person I can ask..." She swallows and manages to add, "... sir."

The transporter specialist looks at her speculatively for an uncomfortably long moment, then says, "Hang on a second, let me finish this." He taps on the terminal a few times, looks it over, and then turns back to her. He crosses his legs and folds his hands atop his knees. "All right, Mr. Kylah. Now you have my undivided attention. What sort of favor were you thinking of?"

Kylah's palms rub each other to warm up. "I am trusting you, Lt. Ferguson," she murmurs. "You know I would not be here if I could find anyone else. I--"

A sudden concern strikes her. His turning to "finish" something... sending some command... Kylah's gaze homes in on whatever she can see of his screen, which is not much. The terminal...

She edges closer to the door and whispers: "Are you recording this?"

He rolls his eyes. "Paranoid much? No, I'm not recording it."

"You must not, I--I will not stay--this must be confidential. It is a risk for both of us. You could arrange things so that there is no trace for anyone to follow. You are good at your job."

Flattering him makes her teeth itch, but the truth is, she believes he is skilled. Just as Darren Zweller possesses extraordinary skills, which is why he was Academy valedictorian. But Kylah learned as a child that talent and honor are two entirely different qualities. Many people, probably most, exhibit one but not both.

"Well, it's nice to be appreciated," he says. "But what, exactly, do you need from me? Get to the point, would you?"

Desperate to hold onto dwindling courage, Kylah takes deep breaths.



Kylah by me, Ferguson by Elendil's Heir

Nia hears the swoosh of the doors and glances with pleasure at the new arrivals. But after a I'll-be-right-with-you nod, she focuses on the Sarafina's new temporary master.

"Excellent, Kendin. About that speed, though... I know it's an excess of caution, and thus completely unlike me, but I'd like to keep the throttle down at warp 5.5. We know Bell was doing his damnedest to escape, so if he could only push her up to 5.7 it's a safe bet that's her limit. The slightly lower speed won't cause a significant delay."

She aims her next words at the pair at the Helm as well as the crew on the smaller ship. "Horst, bring her around. Kendin--we'll lead, so you can follow in our wake. Anything hitting us'll be disintegrated before the Sarafina gets to it. No sense in putting more strain on those shields. You all right with that, Kendin?"

Kendin says, "Capt. Bell never exceeded Warp 5 while we pursued him. But we will go at whatever speed you wish, ma'am." He adds wryly, as Algolians are wont to do, "And certainly we'd be glad to follow such a fine starship anywhere."

Leventhal works the helm. "Coming about, aye, ma'am." Onn can just feel the Yorktown deck turning beneath her feet, as the stars on the main viewscreen wheel about and the Sarafina passes out of sight.

"That's it? Nothing else? Great. The computer was useless as well." Nathaniel mutters. "Sounds like this trip was a big waste of time."

I just hope we can get back to the Yorktown, he thinks. I sure as hell don't want to have to stay aboard this pit on this trip back to disaster.

He goes to a communicator and taps it to speak to Nia aboard the other ship.

"Thanks, Leventhal," Nia says, glad to get a different view on her screen. She raises an eyebrow at Kendin's words. "And right you are, Kendin, so my thanks to you, too.

"Bearing that in mind, let's drop to 4.9, Lieutenant. Bell presumably knew his ship's capabilities, and if he wasn't willing to push 'em faster when he was in fear of losing his precious cargo, there must be a reason why. Horst, take note, and let's start this convoy."

Nia's palm feels the buzz of the communicator under her hand. Since everyone she absolutely needs to speak to is accounted for, she lets it wait for a second. At last she takes in both the steward and Booker--the latter looking and, to be honest, smelling a bit worse for wear. Good grief, what foul crap have they been transporting on that ship?

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Didn't realize how thirsty I was till just now." The words, of course, are aimed at both men along with her welcoming smile.

She thanks the steward and asks his name while accepting the thermos, ostensibly ignoring Booker. But during the exchange with the steward, her fingers take a languid journey absently up and down the metal tube. Then she unscrews the cap and takes a healthy swallow of deliciously cold water. "Hits the spot. Send my regards to the chef when you see him."

The steward, apparently pleased to be asked, introduces himself as Crewman/3 Bill Sawyer.

"Warp 4.9, acknowledged," Kendin says from the merchantman. "We're ready when you are, ma'am."

"Warp 4.9, aye," Leventhal says. "Engaging... now."

The USS Yorktown, followed by the SS Sarafina, leap into warp, heading back towards the beleaguered colony.

Onn's communicator shakes again.

Graham's clears his throat and shakes himself clear of staring at Onn and wondering if her, uh, savoring her thermos full of water was just his imagination of something directed at him ..

"Ah, have we had any good news at all about evacuating the colony...ma'am?" he asks the acting captain.

Rangin's position seems to go from bad to worse. No sooner has the senior officers started thanking Lt Onn for his proposal, Graham decides to enter the bridge. Any chance of him staying on the Sarafina obviously non-existent more's the pity. The last place he wants to be is on the Bridge with Graham and Onn lording it over all and sundry, talking a walk about now is a good idea, especially with things quiet at the moment. A five or ten minute break to freshen up is a good idea.

But short of a summons from some other part of the ship, it seems unlikely that he is going to have the opportunity for a slightly extended break.

The stars stream by on the Yorktown Bridge's main viewscreen. The Sarafina is keeping up astern, just off the port quarter.

Rangin's communicator beeps.

After thanking Mr. Sawyer again, Nia gladly turns to Booker while taking hold of her communicator. "No good news--no real news at all. They haven't performed the lottery yet. The best news is that we're headed in the right direction with the prize we came for." As she meets Booker's gaze, the weight of her pride, relief and gratitude are nearly tangible. "Well done, Lt. Graham," she says quietly. "Two hundred people will owe you their lives."

The vibrating communicator at last forces her attention. She apologizes to Booker as she flips it open to discover that the call is from Dr. Bennett. For a second she feels a lurch of concern about de la Paz's status before remembering that the new doc is on the Sarafina, not in Sickbay.

Still, if he's contacting her directly rather than Villa or--crap, she's already forgotten the name of Kylah's replacement--well, anyway, she figures if he's contacting the acting captain of the ship this must be something pretty important. "Yes, Doctor. Is there something wrong?"

Uncomfortable in Ferguson's quarters, Kylah twists her fingers until they are nearly knotted together. His asking for the details of this favor is natural. She has no choice but to trust him.

Still, it strikes her that he seems to be incredibly placid during a time when others are doing their best to make room for the evacuees. "Do you know what is happening back at the colony? That there will be a lottery to choose who may board the Yorktown?" His expression gives nothing away. "Do you--do you know if you will be on duty during the evacuation? Because if you are--"

"Yes, I'll be on duty," Ferguson says. "Transporter Room 6."

Kylah takes a ragged inward breath. You decided to do this. Show your spine. At last she blurts: "I have learned that a family friend is on the planet. A dear family friend and colleague. And while she might be picked to evacuate, she might not. I need a contingency plan if she is unfortunate in the lottery."

She takes a step closer. "That is why I thought of you. You will be the means of escape for dozens, hundreds. What is one more--" The callous omission of the woman's assistant nags at her. "Or two more people? I have no idea how you could arrange this, if you could beam up before, during, even in-between sanctioned transports. But... transporting is your area of expertise, not mine."

"I don't know," Ferguson says slowly. "I could get in a lot of trouble for bringing aboard an unauthorized civilian. Nobody's supposed to come aboard who doesn't make the cut in the lottery."

You could get in trouble for many reasons, Kylah thinks in resentment. But in the end, she cannot argue with him.

"I know. And I know what I am asking is wrong." She stops her hands from fidgeting by clasping them tightly together. "Of course you would be taking a big risk. But if we are caught out, I will accept all the blame. I swear this to you. You could say you were misled, that I lied to you... that I told you they were ordered on board by the Captain. They can put me in the Brig, they can court-martial me..."

Kylah takes another deep breath while stiffly shaking her head. "That does not matter. As long as my uncle's--my friends are onboard the Yorktown or Sarafina when we leave, I do not care what Starfleet does to me."

"'Friends'? Plural? I thought you just said one."

Kylah flushes and looks away. "At first, yes, but I did correct myself and said two. The other is her--her child." She hopes the assistant is younger. "But as far as getting caught: I think it could be kept secret. With so much occurring right now, certainly when we get back to the planet... it might be possible to use the transporter and obfuscate the activity among various tests and preparations."

She looks around his quarters, desperately thinking of ideas. "Is there a way to--to pretend you are just testing the transporter? Part of your preparation. Beam someone out, then beam them back again. If I volunteered, could Mrs.--my friends secretly beam back with me? Could their signal be hidden--or explained away as a glitch?"

"Maybe," he says. "Just maybe. But how can I trust you? How do I know this isn't just you trying to get back at me?"

She hesitates, because this is a good question. "I do not know," she admits candidly. "Except that despite everything you have said, all you have done to harass me since I first arrived... I have never reported you, or exacted revenge. Why would I do so now, in such dire circumstances? Using people who fear for their lives? Even you cannot think so little of me. Besides, my friend is connected to me and my family. She knows the truth. Revealing her identity will place the blame where it belongs."

Kylah finally meets his gaze again. "I am sincere, Mr. Ferguson. I will not tell anyone. I can keep a secret. As you know," she says steadily, trying not to glare. "I can hide them in my quarters, I will sleep three in my bed, I will--I will do whatever I have to."

She takes another step closer, drawn in by the sheer need to get her point across. "Please, sir... will you consider this? It is life or death. I must help them. You cannot understand how much this will mean to me."




Ferguson by Elendil's Heir, Kylah and her multitude of stupid decisions by choie

The sight of Graham makes Rangin realise one thing that he has done, this time by accidental design. When looking at the list of people who could be saved with his plan, he could not help by notice Marala's name in it, alongside that of a son. And the chances of Graham finding out that Rangin is responsible, let alone being grateful for the fact, are miniscule given that Lt Onn is taking credit. It's probably why she did it, she could probably get anything from Graham in favours if he thought she is fixing the lottery to save his friend.

The beeping of Rangin's communicator stirs him from his general grumbling about the unfairness of life, the universe and everything. He's not expecting anyone to be in contact with him and he looks down to see who it is.

Rangin sees it is a text: Ens. Rangin: We haven't met, but I hope you can help me get off Novy Rostov. It is vitally important that I return to Earth. Please contact me, by voice or text, and let's discuss how you can assist me. I will make it very worth your while. Thank you! WALTER HARRIS.

Graham almost smiles as Nia speaks with him--not because he actually feels like he ought to pound his chest over seizing a crappy freighter from a few scungy assholes, but because she seems obviously proud of him. But it fades fast.

Lottery? He's having a hard time swallowing randomly picking people. Not just because of Marala and her son--but in general. How the hell do we contemplate leaving kids behind? Who would go along with that?

Ferguson looks at Kylah speculatively. "Let's say I agree to this, just for the sake of argument. I'd be sticking my neck out pretty far. You're telling me how much it would mean to you - but how much would it be worth to you?"

Relief almost overwhelms her. If he is negotiating, he will at least consider it. "Of course I would not ask this of you without a reward," she says fervently, words pouring out in a rush. "You know who I am, you know my family. I promise we will compensate you most generously. Thousands and thousands of credits, or whatever currency you choose. And my friend is wealthy too. She would want to repay you, I am sure!"

Excited, Kylah reaches her arm out, lifting her communicator as if proving its existence. "In fact, I can transfer something to you now. A deposit, to show my gratitude and good faith. Let me give you part of whatever you want, and once they are safely onboard--"

He holds up his hands, halting her. "All right, princess, slow down," he says after a long pause. "I'll do it. But it's going to cost you. I'll take a million Federation credits now, and another million once I've beamed them aboard." He grins savagely. "Because, of course, I know who you are, and I know your family."

Kylah's heart sinks, and she hugs the communicator to her breast as if Ferguson is likely to steal it.

"But that is unreasonable," she says slowly, then hastens to add. "Not that their lives are not worth it. I mean... they are, and the risk you are taking is significant, but still... "

She purses her lips while calculating. "I suppose the total could be possible, I will have to contact my Guardian. But even as the chief Regency Councilor, he will have to exchange our currency. Elas is still in final negotiations with the Federation, and have not converted to their--your standards. It will take a few days at least..."

He is frowning. She looks down at the device in her hands, her thumb tracing the metal as if polishing it, and calculates what she has remaining in her account. "But if you need a deposit... I can give you what I have now. I am afraid it is not much. I lost thousands back on Anubis when I tried to--when I was kidnapped."

Kylah does not want to linger too long on that event, so she just blinks and shakes her head. "Would you take eight thousand credits now, and the rest in a few days?" she says, lifting her head to look hopefully at Ferguson. "Eight thousand is far short of a million, I know, but it is all I have to give you."

Ferguson looks her over, rubs his chin, and then smiles again, that same smug, wolfish smile she hates. "All right. I'll probably regret it later - hell, I regret it now! - but all right. Eight thousand now; two million after I do the job. And one more thing, princess..."

When he stops, Kylah urges him on. "What? What more could you possibly--"

"You have to share my bed for five hours, and do whatever I want, sometime in the next month. I'll swear by my Starfleet oath that I won't injure you, not physically at least, and you have to make the same promise - by whatever Elasians hold dearest. Do we have a deal?"

Rangin looks at the text message he has just received and a prickle slowly runs down his spine as he recognises someone wanting off planet. But why contact him, he isn't making any decisions, all he has done is submit the proposal for the lottery.

. . . The proposal which would have his name on it and have gone planetside to the Captain and the Governor, so it's more than likely that this Mr Harris is a government official and is expecting him to be able to rig the lottery in his favour.

And that is the rub of it, Rangin could easily rig the lottery, just by running simulations until the right people turned up and no-one would be the wiser. He could make out like an absolute bandit if enough people turned his way.

His throat begins to dry and he can feel sweat begin to trickle down his brow as certain baser instincts take hold. The possibilities of paying to avoid such a consequence is so very Coridan, in a way.

It happens all the time, a bribe here, a good word there, he could sneak it under Graham's nose and laugh at him behind his back, Rangin has enough ways and people he used to know to divert the money and goods so it would not easily be tracked back to him. That would show him who is cleverer, not to mention any consequence could wind up on Lt Onn's shoulders as she seems to be getting all the plaudits for the proposal.

And it is not as if his proposal doesn't already guarantee life for several families already, what would be a few more? It isn't like all the places would be filled by a few judicious selections?

It is also so much the wrong thing to do, but the temptation begins to gnaw at him and he knows the longer he thinks on it, the more likely he is to crack. He needs to get away if only for a few minutes, away from the list of colonists and the knowledge of how much they could pay, that feeling of power over people's lives. He doesn't want to be Graham.

He runs the lottery one last time and locks it into a datapad. There, done, a fixed list before mysterious children start appearing out of the mining face, he doesn't need to run it again. Setting his communicator to silent he goes across to Lt. Dahlquist at the other Science console and asks if he can take a breather for a while, clear his head that sort of thing, before they arrive back at the colony.

Dahlquist glances up from the Engineering console and says, "It's all right with me, but better clear it with Mr. Onn. And we'll be back in orbit very shortly anyway."

Rangin thanks Dahlquist and walks straight to the command chair where Lt Onn is, with her pet gorilla in close proximity.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. With your permission I would live to take a brief break before we arrive back at the colony." Short, simple and to the point as Rangin does his level best to stay absolutely calm despite the communicator message burning a small hole in his psyche, which is not helped by Graham's looming presence.

Onn's open communicator is held to her ear, but she lowers it when she notices Rangin. “Well, if it isn’t our other savior. Yes, Ensign, I don’t see why not, seems like everyone needs a bit of a break…”

She pauses and he watches as her gaze roams over to the Comm station. Then for an inexplicable second she looks almost warily at Graham--does she need his permission or something?

“Um… yes,” Onn repeats when refocusing on him. “We’ll be there in under twenty minutes, and you’ll be needed by then if your lottery plan gets the O.K. But sure.”

The woman seems uneasy and Rangin can’t help wondering at the warning stare she’s giving him. But it doesn’t matter. He’s got what he asked for.

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'll be ready by then." He turns quickly and leaves for the turbolift. He wonders where he should go, perhaps his quarters and freshen up. He may even catch up with Kylah and give her the news about his proposal that he had considered doing earlier before she had left. Perhaps he should thank Lt. Onn for reminding him.F

Nia keeps her expression even and relaxed as her gaze follows Rangin's back as he departs. It's unlikely that Graham'll notice that Kylah's been relieved. And probably Rangin's decision to take a break has nothing to do with her, anyway.

She looks at her silent communicator and--barely holding in a roll of her eyes--flips it closed. She doesn't have all day to wait at the new doc's beck and call. If he wants her, he'll get in touch again.

"You know," Nia says in an undertone to Booker, "I shouldn't have said there was no good news. Rangin's done some extremely clever calculations that might, just might, help us save more lives. It's not approved yet, and I can't give more details, but it leaves us a little room for optimism."

She smiles up at him. "Between your team's handiwork with the Sarafina and ideas like Rangin's, our luck's improving. Slightly. Although..." Her pleasant expression fades as she finishes in an even softer voice. "Not enough for seven thousand people."

The turbolift doors whisk shut, and after a few seconds the 'lift beeps to prompt Rangin to speak his destination aloud.

Now he is off the bridge, Rangin can breathe a little easier, relax a little more and start to put this thoughts back together.

"Deck seven", he calls out in a clipped tone, wanting to spend as little time talking, even to the turbolift. Deck Seven, a chance to freshen up briefly and then see if he can find Kylah. That, at least, is the honest part of his break.

Rangin flips open the datapad and looks for the sender of his unexpected communication in the list of people from the colony. Someone close to the Governor had to be responsible for this, otherwise he would be the last person to be contacted, just some random science ensign on a big, big ship. He also needs to check if certain other lines of communication were open; or rather that he could still remember his access codes to certain underworld, just like anyone else from Coridan. Rangin likes to think of himself as an honest man, but maybe, just maybe, there is a chance to pull off something untraceable right here and the thought of it is making his head spin.

So, who is this man, and is he already in Rangin's final run of the lottery? Rangin grins to himself as he finds out.

Kylah, who has been basking in relief--foolishly, especially given Ferguson's nature--freezes mid-breath.

Five hours with him, in his bed.

She stares at him for a few heartbeats, then takes a micro-step back, shaking her head. "You--you are not serious," she says, in such disbelief that a little gasp, almost a laugh, accompanies her words. "The two million alone is more than--no, you cannot mean it. This is a life-or-death situation, it is not a time for you to--to make such a filthy joke."

He laughs outright. "Princess, if you think it's a joke, you don't understand me as well as you think you do."

"Until the end of my days, I will not understand vile men like you." Kylah's eyes sting. She hopes she develops tears--then she could do as she promised him during their confrontation a few days ago: Turn this foul cretin into her slave.

Unfortunately, Kylah has never been able to force tears, not the way other Elasian women can. Her half-human side betrays her again.

Broken, she cannot meet his gaze, searching for an answer in his quarters. Then she glances at her body--thinner, not nearly as curved as she was when she boarded this ship--no longer the Elasian ideal. She is not even wearing makeup, aside from a colored lip balm. She feels and probably looks like wreckage.

"But why?" she croaks out, arms hugging herself as some sort of shield. "Why me? You do not even like me. There are hundreds of other women on this ship, much prettier. And they might wish to be with you. You are not... unattractive. On the outside," she adds viciously before her strength deserts her. At last she again looks at him, eyes beseeching. "Please, Lieutenant. You cannot truly ask this of me."

"If you want me to help you break the law and run a serious risk, a very serious risk, of getting us both court-martialed," Ferguson says sharply, "you ought to keep your insults to yourself." Then, abruptly, he smiles again. "And don't sell yourself short - you're a beautiful woman, and I've never slept with a princess before. But no, I'm not 'asking' it of you - it's part of the deal. Or do you just want to walk out that door, and we'll pretend this conversation never took place?"

Kylah cannot bear any more of this. She spins toward the door, which opens obediently. Temptingly.

But she remembers Aldaan's voice; his disappointment, his barely hidden threats. She remembers that two people will live or die because of her. The burden of responsibility ties her down like a tangible weight.

And one thing more. Ferguson claims he will 'forget' this conversation. Kylah may have been naïve enough to think he would help her for some reasonable fee, but her gullibility does not extend this far.

Mark Ferguson is a liar, a cheat. She has no doubt that he will use the illegality of her request to hold over her head. Throughout her time in Starfleet, no matter how long or short, he now has ammunition to use against her. And if not him, then his venal cousin Darren Zweller.

Worse, she delivered this weapon herself. The blame falls on her.

Kylah's shoulders sag. She can think of no alternative. She turns, not to face him but to stare at the floor, shaking her head over and over.

At last she lifts her gaze. "Not five hours," she says softly. "Please."

He looks at her, then shakes his head, almost in disgust. "OK, what the hell. Four hours. But I'm going to make good use of that time, believe me."

Kylah sways, a sudden sense of vertigo closing her eyes as she contemplates what she is agreeing to. The door closes behind her when she moves beyond its sensor range. When she sees his cruel expression, the heat of anger warms her face.

"Three hours," she counters, a new edge in her voice. "The two million is usurious enough. And this part of this deal... it is conditional. Only if you succeed. Those two must be safely aboard when we break orbit. Then you will get your money. And later, if you wish to--to collect...."

Her defiance fades at the tawdriness of what she has agreed to do. Still hugging herself, she falls silent. He knows what she means.

"'Usurious,' eh? Big word. Spoken like a princess." Ferguson laughs. "OK, three hours it is, on those terms. You wore me down, princess, with that pretty little pout of yours."

Kylah stares numbly past him, at the stars visible through his window.

She has never felt less like a princess in her life.

Nia looks calm and in control, but...tired. I think. Not gonna say it, but there's been a lot on her shoulders, strong as they are.

Graham glances at Rangin on his way out...at least slightly impressed he's done something useful and even kind for someone other than himself.

Then he turns his attention back to Nia, and...

Well fuck protocol.

He puts a hand on her arm. "Nia," he says quietly, "I'm not comfortable with a lottery. Personally, yeah--I can't believe we'd leave kids behind. But, besides that..." He shakes his head. "I don't think people are going to lie down and take it." He swallows, wondering how much to say. "I know someone down there, a good person, a...mother. She'll fight it." He shakes his head. "And any self-serving asshole is going to try and get around it, however they can..."

He picks his handup and looks at Comms. "Fuck." That's a little louder than he intended. "We need to lock down all ship-to-shore communications. We need Security in every transporter room. Anyone with money or connections or power...dammit..."

Yes, Marala is working her connections. But he's 100% certain anyone else on the planet would be working there's as well.


"N--lieutenant Onn. No disrespect to the Captain or Vargas, but I don't see this life or death lottery going smoothly, on planet or off. Permission to take Security to red alert, ma'am."

Nia, at first grateful for Booker's proximity, is taken aback when he touches her in front of the others. She's not ashamed or shy about letting others know about their relationship, but here on the Bridge? Now? When she's the effective captain?

But though she sends him a wary look, her concern about inappropriate arm-holding evaporates when she hears all Book has to say.

She tilts her head, trying to comprehend what he's telling her. What he seems to be suggesting.

"Lieutenant," she says, standing straighter. "I agree security has the chief role to play. That's your specialty and I've got no doubt Captain Singh and Cmdr. Vargas, when they get back up here, will coordinate all that with you. But as for--"

Nia stops herself. Her thoughts and emotions are tangled and pulling her in opposite directions. But she knows one thing: This conversation cannot happen on the Bridge.

Inhaling, she turns to the Helm station while disengaging her arm from Book's warm, strong fingers. "Bennett," she says evenly, trying to sound like herself. "Take the conn. But don't get too comfy--I'll be back in five." With a jerk of her head, she indicates Book should follow her, adding unnecessarily except for the sake of everyone listening, "Lt. Graham. A moment."

She strides toward the turbolift.

The turbolift smoothly accelerates. Rangin sees that Walter Harris is listed in the roster of Novy Rostov residents as a retiree, widowed, and formerly of Earth. Digging a little deeper into Federation public records, Rangin learns that he is a computer engineer and entrepreneur. He has substantial investments in several NR businesses, including the Novy Rostov Mining Co. His message came to Rangin from the colony's subspace transmitter, routed automatically through the Yorktown's communications system for offship messages addressed to particular individuals. He was not selected in Rangin's preliminary run of the lottery; the official lottery has of course not yet been conducted. The turbolift slows to a stop, and the doors whoosh open to reveal a main corridor on Deck 7.

Bennett says crisply, "Aye, ma'am. I have the Conn." She looks back for a moment but does not move from the Nav console.

Another turbolift capsule arrives for Onn, and the doors open.

Graham nods crisply and comes to an attentive stance before following Onn. She's in charge--he thinks this proudly, but is also aware he needs to support that impression not compromise it. Maybe I have.

He blinks as he looks at her walk. I love you, Nia. Why is that so hard to say?

You love Marala too, Booker. And you don't yet know how not to leave her son--or her--to die.

And you loved Jane, too, Booker. And you let her die.

He takes a deep breath and follows her into the turbolift.

The turbolift doors whisk shut, and they are alone together.

"Ma'am, I was done down here in Sickbay and pretty much found nothing but a lot of dirt, more dirt and used medical equipment. What in the hell should I do now?" Nathaniel asks.

"Deck twenty-two," Nia says as soon as the doors close. "That should give us some time," she murmurs in explanation.

Standing only inches away, Nia sees a worn man with plenty of stamina but something... something behind his eyes, a sadness, a fatalism..?

"First things first," she murmurs. Cutting the distance between them until their chests nearly meet, she reaches up behind Booker's neck and clasps his hair--damp from his exertion but still soft and thick--before lifting her face to his with a gentle but impassioned kiss. And then another.

"I am very glad you're back," she whispers when moving her kisses closer to his ear. "I hope you know--"

Nia feels and hears a buzz from her communicator. "Damn it. Sorry, I'd better take this." With a scowl she lifts the device from its velcro holder to discover that Dr. Bennett is just yammering on as if they were already in the middle of a discussion. Good grief the man is as arrogant as hell. Weirdly she likes him anyway.

But affable feelings don't mean she's not gonna lay into him a bit.

"Took you awhile to connect, Doctor. Given how little time we have, I hope you can move a bit faster." She sighs and continues in a less aggravated tone. "Sorry, we've really thrown you in the deep end on your first couple of days here. Anyway, we're already in transit so transporting you off the Sarafina isn't feasible. We'll be back in... about twenty minutes, now.

"If you haven't yet, write up exactly what's needed--and I'm talking bare minimum--to make that ship's Sickbay able to accommodate about 200 people for three to four days. I'm not sure which medical officers will be on the Sarafina during our journey; that's Dr. Villa's call, obviously. This is gonna be a challenge, so anyone who's up for some real frontier medicine should go for it."

She smiles briefly, looking at Graham but thinking of the tall, patrician-looking Adonis with narcissist tendencies. No, she doubts very much Bennett will volunteer to stay on the Sarafina.

"Oh--in addition to Villa, please copy your findings to Cmdr. Roble. And Ensign Rangin," she adds after a second's pause. "A xenobiologist might be helpful for non-humans... particularly those non-oxygen-breathing people. If they're chosen."

They should be, she thinks. Like me they won't make a dent on the oxygen requirement.

"If you have any questions, give me five minutes to deal with an issue, then get back to me. Thanks for all you've done so far, Bennett. Onn out"

Snapping the communicator shut, she steps away from Booker's arms. "You don't mind my speaking to you that way. I mean--like I did on the Bridge. You don't seem the type to object, although some men certainly do, and you never know who'll have some dregs of 'I can't take orders from a girl,' mentality. Singh is one thing, but me... especially given our.." Nia's hand flips in a sort of shrug. "Um, thing."

Nia's kiss is slightly unexpected--well, not really on reflection--but appreciated. It feels natural.

But it also reminds him of Marala's kiss, and...dammit. He's spared having to deal with those feelings while Nis is actually kissing or speaking to him by a timely buzz from her communicator.

"It's a...good thing" Graham says, smiling slightly. He rubs his jaw--reminder, you need to shave, Booker--and then smiles slightly again, although his undertone is more serious. "I--we--ah, I rasied a daughter...man who has trouble taking orders from a girl is going to have a problem with me."

He pauses. "How are you holding up, Nia?--lot of pressure in the big chair. Especially now."

Rangin smoothly exits onto Deck 7, half concentrating on where he is going and half thinking about the contact. Hmm, looks, like he is rich, intelligent and up to something. Rangin stops and frowns, something is up, there is no reason for him to contact Rangin directly other than having been dirtside, but even then, he doesn't remember meeting the gentleman. In fact, he would be more likely to have affinity to those he had met.

The fact the message went straight to him, makes Ranging nervous about going further. A rich mark who could be persuaded to follow would be fine, but he seems to be possibly more trouble than it's worth. Especially in the getting caught stakes. Rangin had learned from previous experience that gaining the attention of the rich and powerful is not a clever thing to do.

Would it hurt to open a dialogue?

Rangin clenches one fist, as the other tightens around the datapad as he considers the possibilities. No, check what he has access to first, then go back and talk. He stalks off down the corridor, lost in thought and planning.

Nia's smile is weary but warm. "I'm all right, Book. This situation is just about the biggest venture I've had temporary control of. Keeping track of every department, each of 'em doing vastly different tasks... commandeering another ship, although that one was just supervisory."

She lifts a hand and places it over his heart, just resting it there to feel the comforting rhythm of his heart. "But just knowing a boarding party--one including you--was undertaking something potentially dangerous under my command... that's never easy. And what's worse is that we're doing all this and are still gonna lose so much of the population."

With a sigh, she shakes her head as if she can wake herself from this nightmare. But she has to continue. Five minutes isn't much time.

"Book... what you were saying on the Bridge about the lottery... it wasn't incorrect. You know I feel the same way you do about this, right? We were in the same meeting. It sickens me. I hate it. I've lost a lottery like this on Sidonia before Starfleet came and gave me a second chance. These people won't have that luxury."

Her mouth tightens before she continues. "But I'll be damned if I can think of anything better, anything fairer. And in the end, the Captain and First Officer of this ship have made their orders clear. The Governor of the colony agrees with them. So... unless we're talking mutiny here and somehow manage to come up with a miracle solution in a couple hours, there's fuck-all we can do about it.

"The thing is... morale on the ship is gonna be low. Everyone knows the situation. Everyone can do math. They know we're saving less than a quarter of the population. So--I'm sorry, I know I'm not telling you anything you don't know, you've been in charge of more missions than me. But I have to get this out so I can remember it myself. "

Another deep inhale. "My point is that we can't--or shouldn't, anyway--dismiss the lottery. Not in front of the others. If at all possible, in the closing minutes of my time as Acting Captain, I want to turn around the... the narrative, for lack of a better word.

"Instead of mourning the loss of over 6,000 lives--we'll all be doing plenty of that once we leave--right now, we senior folks need to focus on hammering into the crew's heads that we're saving 1,700 lives that, without our hard work, would be doomed to extinction along with everyone else. That's a positive. This--this is not a mission doomed to fail. It's--"

Oh shit, is she about to cry? Nia's race do very, very little crying. But her throat is tight and her eyes prickle and she has to take a steadying breath.

"It's saving lives. End of story. Do you know what I mean?"

Dr. Bennett's communicator falls silent.

The turbolift reaches Deck 22 and the doors open. A distracted Onn thinks she might be catching just a whiff of the nearby Arboretum's flowers.

Rangin sees Lt. JG Geoffrey Park, a botanist and Science acquaintance of his - and former orbital skydiving companion - coming down the Deck 7 corridor towards him. He is looking at a data pad and does not seem to have noticed Rangin yet.

The Yorktown and the Sarafina draw ever closer to Novy Rostov.

While Kylah watches mutely, Ferguson takes out his communicator and texts her. "Now, to details. This is where you should send the money."

Opening her communicator, she sees the message he just sent her. The mere sight of his name in her inbox is nauseating; intrusive. Nevertheless, she taps on it, and sure enough, he has named a major bank on Deneva.

An uncomfortable sense of deja vu presses on her. The last time she transferred funds was during her previous instance of poor judgment on Anubis. At least now, she knows the recipient is a villain. There will be no surprise attack.

She nods stiffly to indicate that she has received his bank information. Next, Ferguson picks up a data pad. "What are the names, identifiers and locations of these two people I'm saving for you?"

Frowning, Kylah scrolls backward through her messages.

"Her name is Ruth Soeryadjaya. I will send you her--" She stops short, thinking twice before a message with her own name on it. There is already enough implicating her. She does not want to provide even more evidence.

"No, I will spell her name--S-o-e-r-y-a-d-i-a-y-a. She is human, if that helps. I... do not know her companion's name yet. Nor the precise coordinates of where she is currently staying. I do know it is a hotel." Kylah checks her tiny screen again. "The Apraksin," she says, spelling that as well. While waiting for him to note the information, she adds, "I will contact her to get more precise details." Another uneasy feeling churns in her stomach. Ferguson has given no hint of just what he plans to do.

He scowls. "Wait a minute. Her companion? I thought you said it was her child."

"Well, I thought--that is, she said he was a relative and I assumed it was a son, but I do not know for sure." Kylah pulls the cuffs of her uniform over her cold hands, worrying the material as she grows more fretful. "It does not matter, surely? For two million credits and the... the abuse of my body, you should care less about whom and more about how."

"I care more about doing a job that you don't seem to fully grasp. It makes me wonder what else you got wrong. So what else can you tell me? I'll contact her to make the--"

"No!" Kylah clasps her hands. "You must not contact her. I will be the contact for both of you. This way her name is only on my communicator history. I told you I will take responsibility. And further she trusts only me. Now please, tell me how you will be--"

"She trusts only you?" He sounds dubious. "Not sure I buy that. But you'll be paying me well - very well. So yes, I can do it, and I will. And you don't need to know the details. Doubt you'd understand them, anyway, princess. You just leave it to me."

His condescension renews her outrage. She stalks toward him, grabs the back of his chair and--with some effort--swivels him bodily around until they are face to face.

"Since you truly think I am a princess, you will treat me as one. Do not dismiss me!" Kylah leans over slightly, one hand on the chair arm, the other at her side, clenched in a fist around the communicator. "I am risking everything, giving everything for this. But I have no guarantee that you will do as I ask. I must rely on your honor." She spits the word out as if it is bile. "So give me at least this much. What should I tell her? What instructions? If you need time to plan, I understand that. But tell me the truth... if you have that capability!"




Ferguson by Elendil's Heir, Kylah by me.

Graham puts his own hand over the one Nia has placed on his chest as she speaks.

He gives it a squeeze as she finished.

"Yeah, well--for one you're right, there's no carping on a mission." He shakes his head. "You can refuse the mission, or resign, or find a better way...but senior officers, no, you're right, it's on us to keep the crew in it."

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. "Starfleet'll probably give us fucking commendations if we save ten percent more people than initial projections," he says in a low voice. "Success or failure...I'm not really sure what they mean in a situation like this."

A small part of Rangin's brain recognises the presence of Lt. JG Park, as they wind up getting closer and closer. Putting aside his thoughts of the best way to transfer funds and goods without being noticed, and the best marks on the planet, he reminds himself to be genial.

As they get closer, he gives a polite acknowledgement, "Sir." and waits a couple of moments to see if he responds or if Rangin is free to continue on his way.

The doors of Onn's and Graham's turbolift close again, and it beeps but does not move.

Park, distracted, looks up and smiles. "Hello, Velir. How are you doing?"

The feel of Booker's hand over hers closes Nia's eyes for a moment as she takes in his words. Then she opens them again, not wanting to pass their remaining few minutes without looking at his endearing--but still troubled--face.

"You're probably right about the commendations. But I have to think they'll have been earned, Book. Ten percent is... what, yet another two hundred people."

She presses the turbolift control to open the door again, and leads him gently inside the Botanical department. Not for its prettiness and unique curiosities, but really, she wants the warmer and more humid atmosphere.

"Those 200 extra lives are a precious gift. Each one means..." Nia pauses and tilts her head. "Wait... you gave me a lot of info down in the Bridge and I don't think I processed it till just now. Did you say you know a person on the planet?"

Her concerned expression intensifies. "A mother, I think. You mean..." She nods in understanding before she continues in a lowered voice. "You're talking about someone you met when you guys went dirtside, right? On the tour or party or whatever?"

Ferguson's mouth twists sideways, then he rolls his eyes as if bored. "Again with the insults," he says, "You really know how to win people over, don't you? Tell your friend I'll be in touch directly with instructions. If she doesn't hear from me - and she will - she can contact you directly to complain. When--"

"No!" Kylah insists, fear rising. "You must not send her anything. I will be the contact for both of you. This way her name is only on my communicator history."

She bites at her lower lip. "But you still have not told me--do you already have an idea how to accomplish this? Can you really beam them onto the ship without raising suspicion? I just... I need to know. And I wish to be involved. I ought to be involved--they are my responsibility."

"Fine," he says acidly, eyes taking her in, far too close for comfort. "Not that you're gonna understand this. When the time comes, I'm going to report a pattern-integration anomaly with the transporter and say that I'm taking it offline for a diagnostic for a few minutes. With me so far, princess?"

Kylah's teeth grind but she nods again. Ferguson again looks condescendingly doubtful.

"All right. Then I'll clear the transporter room, if there's anyone else there, and beam the two directly into your quarters, and you can take it from there. I'll do what I need to keep anyone on the Bridge or in Engineering from seeing what I've done."

Kylah feels her shoulder muscles relax their tension. If nothing else, he does seem capable of carrying this out.

"Thank you," she says, unable to keep the genuine gratitude from her voice despite the horrible person helping her. "If there is anything I can do in the meantime, please tell me."

She releases the chair and intends to leave. But, quick as a serpent, Ferguson grabs her wrists and drags her down, landing her hard on her knees in front of him. Stunned, she starts to protest when he kisses her full on the lips, smothering her words.

Mortified, Kylah tries desperately to remember everything Lt. Graham taught her during their first self-defense lesson. But it is no use. She cannot use her legs to fight, as they are beneath her now-throbbing knees, and her hands and arms are no help, crushed between them.

Just as she realizes her complete vulnerability, Ferguson abruptly lets go and shoves her away. Like something filthy; like garbage. The push is so sudden and powerful that Kylah falls to the floor, but at last her instincts kick in and she grabs the edge of his desk to pull herself upright.

Horrified, she backs away, arms reaching out to ward him off as she splutters, "What--how dare you--why did you--"

"You just asked if there was anything you can do. You're not really good for much else, are you?"

Kylah winces as if physically slapped. Ferguson adds in a soft, insinuating voice, "Anyway, consider it a deposit for the second half of our deal."

He rises from his chair, looming over her, and Kylah instantly backs farther away. This seems to amuse him, but he continues relentlessly:

"...And if you don't come through with the 8,000 credits in the next thirty minutes, maybe I'll take an advance on my three hours instead."

Ferguson's smile vanishes and he jerks his chin in the direction of the door. "Now get the hell out of my quarters."

Kylah turns swiftly and, without another word, flees.


Ferguson by Elendil's Heir, Kylah by me.

"Just taking a few minutes before we arrive back at Novy Rostov. Calm before the storm, sir."

Rangin nods to Park and starts to head off further down the corridor away from the distracted botanist, now lost back in his own thoughts.

He certainly is not going to do anything here about contacting people in the colony, as they had to him and, of course he had forgotten, to Kylah as well - the barrage of requests she had been dealing with. But how to get a message back without being noticed. He could hardly do it himself, he would need the help of someone in Comms, but there is no way Kylah would be up for it, would she? Not with everything she always has going on.

No, for something like this, better to hide in plain sight. He smiles as he considers the dual message he is going to send back.

The Yorktown's Arboretum is empty but for Onn and Graham. It is a pleasant, green and leafy refuge from the cares of the ship.

Park rolls his eyes a little and nods. "I hear you. Take it easy, and I'll see you around." He turns his attention back to his data pad and keeps walking.

Graham can't help but notice the unconscious tilt of the head he's come to expect from Nia at times. But after a brief moment he swallows hard and looks away.

It's truly lovely, but gawking won't change the situation he's in...

He clears his throat. "Not met there...I mean, yes, she's there, but we were close a long time ago. Marala, she and I...she's as special to me as anyone has ever been..."

Even Jane. But Nia too.

He clenches and unclenches his fists reflexively. "She has a son down there, Nia. If things had gone differently way back in the day, hell, he might be my own flesh and blood."

He shakes his head. "She would walk into the sun voluntarily to save him, and now my official duty is to prevent anything she could do to get him on board outside of dumb fucking luck."

He raises a fist, arm tense and trembling, wanting to lash out at something...every muscle in his body wants something to do, some way to fight what's coming in a way he knows how.

He turns away, takes a deep breath, and then turns back to Nia. First things first, Booker.

He swallows hard again, and reaches gently for Onn's right hand with both of his. Man up for God's sake, Booker.

Barely touching it on either side with his fingers, staring at all the scars on his hand, he almost whispers. "If it...ah...if something should prevent me from serving on Yorktown in the future, I want you to know...you're as special as anyone has ever been to me, too, Nia."

While Booker speaks, Nia's eyes widen, and her lips part in a deep breath. Once he's done--saying such humbling, loving things to her--she finally exhales.

"Oh no... oh, Book..." She stares at his deep eyes and, briefly wordless, lifts his hand up for a tender kiss before leaning her cheek upon it.

"First, thank you for that. I--I don't really know what to say. But--we have time to get to our feelings. What worries me is that you've had all this awful knowledge about your--your friend--on your mind since you found out. And you took charge in a dangerous mission... Oh, Book, I wish you'd told me."

After a second or two, she looks up at him again, letting her arm drop but keeping their hands clasped. "But you couldn't have. If I was in your shoes I wouldn't either."

The misty, exotic scent of the room fills her lungs as she tries to find the right words. "You aren't going anywhere," she says firmly. "Or at least--if you go, I'll be right beside you. Because if you have to do anything--" Nia pauses, licking her lips and automatically checking their privacy, but no one is around (and why not, why the hell aren't there crew members rearranging stuff to make space for the refugees?)

That flash of a thought gets tucked away for future use. She steps closer to Book. "Whatever you need to do, I'll help. I think you should ask Singh. I can't imagine, one or two more people, someone actually closely connected to a member of the senior crew... Surely Singh, or especially Vargas as your superior... they'd understand and let your--this woman and her son on, regardless of the lott--"

Nia cuts herself off, and suddenly releases his hand to clutch at his muscular arms. "The lottery," she whispers. "Book--okay, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but as long as I'm jumping into your boat, disobeying Singh isn't a big deal.

"I told you about Rangin's new lottery proposal. The whole theory behind it is that it adds weight to children, families with children. Kids are smaller, obviously, and we can save more individual lives. A single woman with a child has a better chance than using a completely random selection. It might be slight, but... "

Nia shrugs inarticulately. "The Captain didn't want me to say anything because she, Vargas and the Governor are still looking it over. I can't imagine why they wouldn't go for it, it saves more people." She searches Booker's face. "Does that help at all?"

Graham smiles a bit grimly. "Well shit, god's got one fucked up sense of humor if I wind up having Rangin to thank for one or both of their lives..." He sighs. "But I'd take it."

"I guess we'll see, Nia..." He smiles aa little for real. "What would really help is if we could call this whole situation off and go someplace like this but outdoors for real, just us, for awhile."

Onn's communicator beeps twice.

Nia wants very, very much to take this conversation further, but reality intrudes. "I'd better get back," she says softly, one hand reaching to her utility belt. Hoping the turbolift is still here, she presses the button.

"Book--I meant what I said. If this friend of yours isn't picked by the lottery, talk to Vargas or Singh. Or... or get in touch with me. We'll figure something out."

She kisses him quickly before flipping her communicator open. "Onn here."

Kylah barely hears Ferguson’s door closing behind her as she rushes away. She manages to reach halfway down the corridor before she lets out a sob and crashes against the wall between two cabins, leaning on it for strength.

Disgusted, she drags the backs of her hands across her mouth, as if Ferguson’s kiss were tangible and could be wiped away. When she looks at her hands she sees the remnants of her lip balm and a much redder color--blood. She can taste it, too. She must have bitten the inside of her lip when he slammed his mouth on hers.

Hot tears trail down her cheeks and she curses them, wondering where they were when she needed them. She would not wish Ferguson to be madly in love with her--the idea makes her ill--but if Elasian tears could force him to do whatever she asked, she would be willing to risk it.

But it is my fault, it is all my fault, she moans inwardly as her hands cover her face. What is she doing? Breaking the law, relying on an enemy for help, bribing him, and finally--finally agreeing to let him--

Her arms drop to cradle her abdomen, body shuddering but her mind numb. Apparently her every sexual experience is to be undesired, coerced, repellant or shameful.

The only time she enjoyed physical intimacy was with Velir. Not her desperate, misguided ploy to seduce him: just those brief weeks when they were friends--more than friends--and everything was warmth, sweetness, comfort and deep affection. Their kisses, his touch…

“Stop,” she orders herself, agonized. Why remember such things? There is no going back to innocence, and Velir will never again think so fondly of her. Nor should he.

Somehow she pushes herself from the wall and begins walking, grim-faced. And yet a small, persistent voice in her head pleads for Velir, the Velir she used to know, to save her from herself.

Rangin lets his feet guide while he is considering the next steps. A whole planet of people desperate to get out, wanting to change the odds, not just the one who contacted him.

Why pick one person, when they are all in trouble, not to mention that those left behind are hardly going to be in a position to complain if it goes wrong?

But that only works if any payment takes place before the lottery. That would have to be a criteria, anyone interested has to stump up front. No, no guarantees, but a down payment on possibly moving the odds in their favour.

Yes, that would more likely work. That way, he could easily get the people who paid the most into the lottery run. It not like he couldn't run it a multitude of times until the right people are in the mix, and no-one would be the wiser. After all running a simulation multiple times is perfectly normal, just for checking purposes. Especially if he had one with every combination, and pick the right result set. If they went with his method, he would have a chance to make sure the right people were selected...

...What is he thinking? Rangin pulls himself up sharply, is he seriously considering ripping off people in this situation, playing god for his own personal gain. Just how ghoulish is that?

He stops and looks around realising he is nowhere near his room, even though he should be there by now. He is sure he is going in the right direction and he stops momentarily to try and work out the best way. Shaking his head at the way his thoughts are going, he heads forward and turns the corner to see Kylah in front of him, a face of sad determination, tear-streaked with a blood red smear across one lip and looking like grim death.

Stunned, there is little more he can do but call out in surprise, "Kylah! Kylah are you alright?"

Given Nia’s bitchy tone, Nathaniel definitely felt she is none too subtly scolding him. And if he is honest, he isn’t exactly feeling this assignment and isn’t moving with the urgency he should. She had him there, not that he’d ever admit it.

He also has the feeling that Nia is issuing him a challenge by suggesting he stay abroad the Sarafina to get Sickbay ready to accommodate what is ahead. She is just the type of women who’d test him to see if could handle things under less than stellar conditions. That’s probably why he was sent here in the first place. Test the new guy. And the truth is Nathaniel has no particular desire to stay here on this fool’s mission. He hates he is going to be stuck here for the next 20 minutes or so. Usually he’d give someone an earful, but he had the feeling he should stick around and see what he could accomplish. As much as he hated the idea he had to get to know these people. He had to if he’d ever reach his goals. And the only way he could do that is to work with them.

He also is certain Nia is someone he should actually get to know. She knows a lot about the people on this ship... things that Nathaniel needs to know as well. So he’d surprise her and volunteer to stick around to be whatever help he could. Besides, she has no way of knowing he’d been in much worse conditions than this for longer periods of time. Nobody knew. Whatever he might deal with here could be chlld’s play compared to what he’s been through the last few years.

Nathaniel presses the communicator button. “Bridge.”

"Pardon the interruption, ma'am," Onn hears over her communicator. She recognizes Lt. Cecilia Bennett's voice, of course. "Bridge here. Please be advised that we're on final approach to Novy Rostov. You wish a synchronous orbit over the colony itself, I presume...?"

The turbolift doors whoosh open.

"Yorktown here, Dr. Bennett. This is Ens. Patel. May I help you?" comes the response to the doctor's call.

In the corridor, Kylah stares at Velir, standing before her as if invoked by her thoughts. Relief is quickly followed by embarrassment. Of course he can tell that she has been crying.

She wipes her eyes as her thoughts dash wildly to come up with an explanation. “I was in my quarters. I received some terrible news from my Guardian. Someone--someone very important to me--might be dying. I need to help. But there is no good option.”

* * *

Rangin sighs gently. Her words have a part ring of truth, but he realises she is caught up something more again.

"Kylah, you're a little far from your room, and..." He reaches up and taps his own lips indicating the smear on hers. He doesn't move, giving her the room she probably needs, but wondering what is going on this time. However, he may as well do part of what he came down to do.

"Look, thank you for helping out with the colony data. I have a proposal being looked at that might save a few more people, if it's accepted." Rangin rushes the words out before Kylah has a chance to respond. The look of concern is probably written large across his face, but all he can do is wait for her to let him know.

* * *

Kylah touches her fingers to her lips, mirroring Velir. When she lifts them she sees that a little blood remains. Flushing, she wipes it away. “Yes, I bit my lip. It is a bad habit. But… I was upset. And I went for a walk but I suppose I just…wandered...”

She lets the words fade. Velir is not near his quarters, either, but he does not feel the need to explain himself. Of course, he has reason to disbelieve her.

Gazing at him, needing something she cannot define, she steps closer.

“Velir,” she begins in a near whisper, “If there were someone in immediate danger…someone for whom you were responsible... would you ever consider doing something--something against your conscience?”

Desperation rises within her. Could she have gone to Velir, instead of debasing herself with Ferguson? It is too late to stop what she has set in motion--Ferguson has too much implicating her--but she presses on relentlessly, masochistically, just to see. “What if I asked you--begged you for help, but it was illegal, or immoral, but was still necessary to--”

She stops short and focuses on the floor. “No,” she murmurs. “Of course you would not. You are too principled. You would not do anything that compromised your beliefs.”

* * *

Rangin is taken aback both by Kylah's closeness and by the question itself. His jaw drops slightly and clamps tightly shut again as he thinks back to life as it used to be on Coridan. He can feel a nervous shudder, even while Kylah is turning from looking at him, obviously convinced he would not be in this situation.

Oh how little she knows.

"Yeah, yeah I remember my choice. It...it didn't end well," he stutters out. "I was lucky, I'm here talking to you. Never found out what happened, but I never saw my friend again."

He fixes his sad gaze at the woman straight in front of him. "Talk to me Kylah."

* * *

Velir's emotions--the sense Kylah has of them--are brittle, shaken. She looks up at once. “You have suffered. I am sorry. In truth, I know so little about you,” she says in soft wonder, “even though you are in my thoughts so often. I suppose I have put you on a pedestal I cannot possibly reach.”

She makes little shakes of her head while her fingers toy absently with the scratchy velcro holder on her belt. “I used to presume I was on a pedestal, one I built myself. Then when I fell…"

"I cannot return. In fact I keep finding new depths in which to sink." Kylah sighs. "We are too different, you and I. You have your moral compass to guide you from corruption. The people who guide me have imposed their own.”



Rangin by Rangin, Kylah by me

Nia reaches out to keep hold of Booker's hand while they walk into the turbolift. To Cece over the communicator, she nods even though the other woman can't see her. "Yes, a synchronous orbit--thanks, Lieutenant. I'm on my way."

When she can turn back to him, Nia looks intently at Book's strong, weathered face. She touches his cheek. "Promise me you won't do anything rash," she says softly before lifting an eyebrow. "Which I define as anything you'd do without telling me. I want to help, if I can. Don't shut me out."

"Acknowledged," Lt. Bennett says. "Bridge out."

The doors close and the turbolift awaits a command.

Two men in Science blue enter the corridor at the far end from Kylah and Rangin, talking quietly.

Her face so close to his, her vibrancy, beauty...what's she doing wasting her time with me? he wonders.

He feels old, but smiles slightly. "Touche, if that's an order." He shakes his head and closes his eyes a moment. "I don't know what I'll do, but...point taken, Nia...thank you." Graham gives Nia's hand a gentle squeeze.

He clears his throat. "But, in the meantime, while you're in command...permission to move Security to red alert. I want all hands on deck, ready for anything to go south dirtside. Or up here."

Nia backs slightly away just to hold onto the turbolift's handle. "Bridge," she says quickly before returning to Booker. "Crap, you asked me for that before, didn't you, before I dragged you off? Yes, of course, permission granted to prepare however you need. You and your team'll have one helluva big job to do, planetside or here and the Sarafina..."

She concentrates on him, more analytical than romantic. "Tricky. We'll need redshirts in each location, actually. But I suppose Vargas'll discuss that with you. And Singh," she adds belatedly, giving him a crooked smile. "Tough for me to relinquish all this power."

As the turbolift descends, Nia suddenly slips her arms around Booker in a quick embrace, her head against his shoulder. "I also didn't respond to you before--to what you said about us, and me, and..." She closes her eyes. "Well, I didn't reply the way I should've.

"You...you're extremely important to me, too. I haven't cared for anyone, haven't let myself care for anyone like this since... a lifetime ago. And back then it was childish, unrealistic. A girl's rescue fantasy. This is different. You move me, Book. I didn't think I was capable..."

Her face warms, and she steps back so the doors won't open to find them in such an intimate pose. "Um... anyway... Before we go--what names should I be looking out for?"

The turbolift swiftly carries them to the Bridge, and the doors whisk open. The big chair is still empty; Bennett has remained at Nav. Patel, at Communications, announces, "Lt. Onn on the Bridge."

Noticing the officers in the distance, Kylah inhales and gives Velir a tiny warning shake of her head. Instinctively, she wipes her eyes with her wrist and steps closer to the wall, less visible--so she hopes--if the others only pass by.

The two men pass by without a word, although one nods and smiles at Rangin, who doesn't recognize the man.

"Marala," Graham says quietly in response Onn. "Marala Gromov." His heart feels like its expansion has to lift a mountain. "Her son is Nikolai."

Nia returns Booker's expression with one of determination. "I'll remember, Book," she says, her voice low but firm. "We'll get this done."

She turns back to the Bridge. Game face on. Striding out of the turbolift, she smiles at the man at Communications. "Thank you, Mr. Patel." Another grateful look at Helm. "And to you too, Lt. Bennett."

As soon as she sits in her chair--well, it's hers for at least another ten minutes, depending on Singh's plans--Nia nods at Booker again.

"Lt. Graham, proceed with your recommended preparations. And Patel, I'd like to speak with Dr. Villa, Cmdrs. Roble and Cheverez, and Lt. Kendin on the Sarafina--simultaneously, that is--if you can make that happen. But first--"

She raises her voice to make the Bridge crew aware she's talking to them. "I know I've only been away a few minutes, but does anyone have anything new to report?"

Bennett reports, "No change in our status, Mr. Onn. The Sarafina has kept pace with us and we will reenter NR orbit shortly." The rocky world is growing large on the main viewscreen.

Patel says, "Certainly, ma'am. Visual or audio only?"

Nia thanks Bennett, then turns to Patel. "Audio is fine. No need for everyone to stop what they're doing just for a visual." She pauses. "If any of them want a visual for whatever reason, obviously let 'em onscreen."

After noticing the officers, Rangin moves slightly to shield Kylah from their view, while trying to make it appear as just two colleagues in a corridor. He nods at the two as they walk past, wondering who they are and making a mental note for later before forgetting it all when he turns back to Kylah.

“Kylah, look, I have no moral compass to guide me any more than anyone else on this ship. Some would say I would have less of one because of where I am from.” He shakes his head at the irony of the statement. “In some ways, they are right, I’m on no higher a pedestal than you are.”

He shuffles slightly, stepping from foot to foot as he considers what he had just been planning. “But what do you mean, what have other people planned for you to do? Who is forcing you to act, and why can’t I help?”

* * *

Kylah cannot fathom what Velir has done in his past to denigrate himself like this. If anything, his moral rectitude is sometimes too fixed, too hard to live up to.

Even if it were not, obviously she can not tell him about her plans, and regrets the instinct to seek his advice. “You know I have obligations to my family,” she says, although for the first time she realizes they have rarely spoken about her background either. Why did she think they were close? Their connection was based on the present, only the here-and-now. Somehow each of them knew not to speak about their lives before they met.

“I… I appreciate your offer to help, but there is nothing you can do. I should not even have asked. It is for a friend… someone I owe. As I said, it is a grave matter, but requires a solution that… you would not wish to help even if I explained it.”

Kylah tries to smile but fails. “If by some miracle everything works out, I might be able to explain, when there is more time--”

Her eyes widen and she jerks herself out of the wistful mood. “Time! I only have a half-hour… less now… I am sorry, Velir, I must--” She reaches for her communicator and--the velcro holder is empty.

Kylah freezes for a horrified second. How did she not notice this? She was just toying with the rough material a moment ago--she could not have done that if the communicator were in place.

Like a fool she whirls around, stares immediately behind her, then the corridor beyond that. All in vain. Then she realizes what happened and can almost feel the blood drain from her face.

She had been holding her communicator the whole time in Ferguson's quarters. Then Ferguson grabbed and pulled her close to his chest. With that vicious gesture he nearly twisted her wrists--and she must have dropped the device. After he flung her away she was in such disgusted shock she could think of nothing but fleeing. And so she left the communicator behind. With him.

“I must go back,” she says in numb horror, looking at the corridor again. “I left my communicator back in the cabin, and I am running out of time--" She starts backing away. "I am sorry!"




Rangin by Rangin, Kylah by me.

Rangin watches Kylah's attempt to withdraw. "Kylah, your cabin is behind me, not that way," he indicates the way she is looking. "Exactly whose cabin did you leave your communicator in, or do you want me to call it, and see who answers?"

She stares at him, though he doesn’t get the sense that she actually sees him. “I know where my cabin is,” she says, her voice possessing a shrill edge Rangin has rarely heard from her. “If you must know, I was…” Her eyes shift downward, then dart back up at him as she flushes. “I was with Ensign Alvarez. I met him at the Captain’s dinner, and we became friends.”

Kylah’s expression is almost triumphant. Rangin doesn’t know if she’s glad to have thought of a lie, or glad to reveal that there’s another man in her life. He’s annoyed either way. "You said you don't have much time, much time to do what? The only thing of importance is about the Colony. Is it that?"

“Yes, of course! I must go back on duty. I cannot take advantage of Lt. Thalen's generosity.” She seems to shrink at her own words.

"Right. Okay. Well, good luck with your problem. I hope Mr. Alvarez is able to help, assuming you’re more honest with him.”

Kylah’s lips part as if she wants to speak, but apparently she thinks better of it. With a brief distracted nod she spins and hurries back down the corridor.

Rangin shakes his head, unsettled. She is in trouble, and while he may like to consider what is going on at the Colony and how he could possibly benefit from it, Kylah looks even worse than usual, if not downright self-loathing. It would be easy enough for him to walk away, there are so many things going on, but dammit, it's Kylah. Rangin isn't sure who is putting her up to this, or why she would be talking to Alvarez instead of someone like Graham.

Graham.

Oh he wouldn't... Well yes. He would guilt-trip Kylah into helping out his friend on the planet. Chances are that the cabin Kylah is racing towards is empty to hide Graham's friend in.

But, Rangin realizes, if his own lottery proposal goes through, Kylah would be in deep trouble for nothing.

Mind made up, he decides to follow her.



Kylah by choie, Rangin by Rangin.

Patel has soon set up an audio-only subspace conference call with Dr. Villa, the Yorktown's Chief Medical Officer; Cmdrs. Roble and Cheverez, her Science Officer and Chief Engineer; and Lt. Kendin, commanding officer of the Sarafina's prize crew. "Ready when you are, Mr. Onn," he says.

The heavy cruiser and the merchantman are now less than three minutes from Novy Rostov orbit.

“Yes, just let Lt. Onn know I’m volunteering to stay on board as long as I’m needed.” Nathaniel reports.

"Acknowledged, sir," Patel says. He passes along Dr. Bennett's message at once to Lt. Onn.

Again Nia thanks Patel. It suddenly occurs to her how much she's been relying on him, and on Communications overall today. She thinks better of Lt. Thalen's decision to swap officers and give Kylah a break.

Meanwhile she's also impressed by Dr. Bennett's willingness to stay onboard the Sarafina. Obviously he's stuck there right now, but he could've come back for the main voyage later. Maybe he's chilling out a bit. An emergency like this has gotta make an impression even on a tightass like him.

All this flashes in her mind in the seconds it takes for her to automatically greet the other officers and apologize for interrupting them. Then she continues:

"We're less than five minutes from the planet now. Before handing things back over to the captain--she might not be returning immediately, but just in case--I'd like a final update as we approach. Figured we'd do this together so everyone knows the status across all teams. Knowing each other's current prep situation will also help in coordinating any requests--there's bound to be crossover. And that'll help us give the planetside team an informed estimate on how soon we can start the evac."

Nia hesitates. "Let me know if there's anything confidential you need to report. I can take this down in the Captain's office. Otherwise... Cmdr. Roble, can you start us off, please? Then Cmdr. Cheverez, Dr. Villa and Lt. Kendin--he's currently heading up the Sarafina," she adds for the benefit of those who haven't heard.

She settles back. "Okay, go ahead, Commander."

Blinded by a whirl of conflicting emotions, Kylah moves as fast as she can--her left knee still throbs after Ferguson yanked her to the floor. This same knee was already injured by a fall months ago on OCIII, and weeks ago by her kidnapper's brutish attack on Anubis. It will probably never completely heal. It is as damaged as she is.

Mr. Alvarez is a medical officer, she recalls abruptly. Is the pain in her knee the reason she thought of him when searching for an excuse to stop Velir's questions? Some instinct that being with a friend would sound benign? How relieved she was after the lie sprang to mind! Usually she freezes up when desperate.

She ignores the pain from her knee and increases her pace past innumerable identical doors, first in one corridor, then another. Finally she stops at Ferguson's door, hands clasped as if in prayer.

Dread chills her. He will not miss this opportunity to insult her. Worse, she fears being near him again. If only she had her knives. Or a phaser--that would scare him., she thinks in an electric flash of malice.

With no choice, Kylah places her trembling hand on the door pad.

The Yorktown's Science Officer says, "Continued scans of the star and ongoing, intensive, real-time interpretation of the results indicate we now have a little less than four to six hours before the rho radiation burst, Mr. Onn. It looks like it's going to be just as bad as originally projected. I've spoken to Mr. Dosmukhambetov," the ship's Chief Computer Officer and, Onn knows, a programming wiz, "and the lottery program is now complete, with full input of the colony's resident and visitor records. It's ready to run when ordered."

The Chief Engineer says, "Our inventory of emergency supplies is complete. Our shipwrights and artificers are about a third of the way done with preparing cots, mattress pads, blankets and other supplies for the evacuees. Public areas like rec rooms, the Gym, cargo holds, etc. are being prepped as living spaces. We'll be ready in time, ma'am."

Dr. Villa says, "We're ready here in Sickbay, ma'am, come what may."

Lt Kendin reports, "The Sarafina is running all right, but nowhere near up to Starfleet standards, Lieutenant. My crew is becoming increasingly familiar with ship's systems and I don't expect any problems either bringing aboard evacuees or leaving for, and proceeding to, Beta Antares IV." The lanky Algolian shudders expressively. "We're trying to do something about the smell, but obviously that won't be a major issue with evacuees who might otherwise be staying down on the planet."



"Come," Kylah hears Ferguson's voice from within.

I'm just going to list all of Nia's questions/reactions for this round, to save time. She'll have one last question once the others have responded, if that's okay.

Nia arches an eyebrow at Kendin's remark. "Have you identified the source of that stench? There's no problem with the air quality, right? And obviously you'll put together a list of whatever necessary inventory and resources the Sarafina''s missing that we might find dirtside. Normally you could cannibalize our stuff, but we'll need everything we've got."

To Roble, she asks: "About the lottery--have Ensign Rangin's suggestions been implemented? I know Dosmukhambetov's a wizard at what he does, but I think Rangin's a resource all on his own. You know his abilities." She shrugs to herself (and if Booker is still anywhere nearby, she'll do her best not to look at him) before adding, "I know my time in this chair is dwindling, but before I leave I'd recommend making him part of the lottery implementation team."

She nods while Cheverez speaks,. "Excellent, sir. Talk of the physical space reminds me... Cmdr. Roble, I was just near the Arboretum and no one was there--and everything looked status quo. Seems to me the specimens can survive being crammed closer, if only until we reach Beta Antares. The Botanists may not like it but we've got to prioritize living sentient beings over plants."

Going back to Cheverez: "Chief, how are things going with the L/S optimization and handling the food rations and water supply? Have you decided whether to lower the rations for crew? Won't hurt us to be a bit hungry for four days."

"All in all, given what Lt. Kendin's team's assessed from inside the Sarafina, and whatever final calculations you've made over here, do you have a definite number for both ships? Including we three non-oxygen breathers? I'll use my Bilitrum canister for the duration."

It'll deplete her supply significantly--and Bilitrium isn't exactly easy to find. But she'll just make do with less until she can get resupplied.

"Oh--and can the shuttles be of any use in transporting a few extra people in suboptimal but still habitable circumstances? Using the shuttles'll also free up some space in the bays."

To Villa: "I'm not sure if Dr, Bennett informed you--" Nia smiles. "--or maybe you're the one who informed him--that he's willing to be the medical supervisor on the Sarafina."

Nia suddenly remembers the quarantined patient. Someone with such medical requirements would be a strain on resources, and a difficult decision might need to be made. Will she even be in the lottery? About to ask, Nia quickly changes her mind. Whatever the answers, she doesn't really want to hear them, and she suspects neither the Bridge crew nor Villa herself want to think about them either.

Following Kylah is relatively easy through the empty corridors of Deck seven. With so many people on duty preparing for the evacuation, these are quiet with only a few around. It's not so much the odd person, it's the distinctive sound of Kylah's running that guides Rangin on. That laboured step, half-step gait she is forcing herself to run, allowing Rangin to pick out which direction she has taken and remain some distance back and two steps behind with only a few glimpses ahead as she goes round each corner.

When she stops, Rangin looks round carefully to see which door she is by. He doesn't hear anything, but can see her standing, sucking in deep breaths and obviously struggling to maintain some kind of composure, even though her stance is that of some wounded animal afraid of what lies ahead of her.

Rangin starts counting down the doors to work out which room she is in front of, and determine who is within.

Kendin replies to Onn, "The smell seems to permeate this ship, ma'am. Just about everyone has remarked upon it. We haven't figured out where it's coming from yet - might just be accumulated gunk in the life support system. Our scans show it's no actual health hazard, just an annoyance. And yes, we have a list of needed supplies from NR or the Yorktown."

Roble says, "Yes, Mr. Rangin's suggestions were incorporated into the program, I believe, Lieutenant. I suppose there's no reason he couldn't be part of the implementation team, if the Captain chooses to appoint one. The Arboretum plays a slight but still measurable role in oxygenating the decks around it, and its deckspace is comparatively limited, so the plan was to leave it untouched."

Cheverez says, "Per-person food and water will be reduced, yes, ma'am, where not medically inadvisable. That will be Dr. Villa and her staff's call. The last I heard from the Captain, the shuttles will be kept aboard. They might be needed, and if problems were to develop in the next four days while outside of the ship and stuffed with people, responding to them could be much more trouble than it's worth." He checks his notes. "The most up-to-date figures I have are 1,342 aboard the Yorktown, of whom 1,242 would be regular evacuees, conscious at all times, and 100 would be sedated long-term under Sickbay supervision. The Sarafina can carry another 200 regular evacuees."

Dr. Villa says wryly, "Thank you, Mr. Onn, for letting me know about Dr. Bennett. I'm sure he was going to get around to telling me sometime."



Rangin figures out that Kylah is standing in front of the door to Compartment 7B41. He does not know off the top of his head what that room is, although this section appears to be mostly living quarters.

Nia listens carefully to each response, nodding or frowning to herself depending on what she hears, and thanking the group. She smiles at the news about Rangin's suggestion, and plans to tell him herself. And she has to hide a smile at Dr. Villa's comment about her new surgeon. As generally good-natured as the current Navigator is, Cece still might not appreciate the dig against her cousin.

There's little time left and since they've all been so efficient, the only slight follow-up she has from their various reports is Roble's reluctance to disturb the Arboretum.

Nia loves greenery--there's so little of it back home--but the deference to their needs, especially when it's only for a few days, seems odd. Shoving a few plants closer together can't possibly cause harm to their oxygenation, whatever the amount.

She flexes her tact muscles. "I understand completely, Cmdr. Roble. I wasn't thinking of jettisoning the specimens," she says with a slight lilt of humor. "But surely we need every inch of space, even if it isn't much. If a half-dozen, or four, or even just two people can sleep in there, it'd be worth it.

"Maybe the botanists might volunteer so they can make sure nothing's harmed? I certainly will, for that matter. A couple of extra lives saved is everything. At the very least, freeing up cabin space'll add to the comfort level for a few more refugees. Anyway, that's my pitch, sir. Hope you'll consider it, but I understand that you know best."

She inhales deeply. "Just one more question, for everyone--the most important question. What are your timeframes for when we can start evac?"

Roble nods and says, "Very well. I'll have a word with the Arboretum officer, ma'am. The Captain may have an opinion on the subject, too - in fact, I'd be very surprised if she didn't."

Cheverez says, "We should able to begin beaming up people immediately, I'd say, Mr. Onn. We won't be 100% ready for them, not just yet, but we'll be ready enough, and time is of course of the essence." The others concur.

"Now approaching Novy Rostov, ma'am," Lt. Bennett says.

Graham takes his station at Security and draws a deep breath. Maybe I'm over-thinking this, but when we're down to life-or-death I don't see a lottery turning out well. How the hell are people--how are parents--supposed to stomach their kids dying because of a roll of the dice?

He sets as his recipients all shipboard Security personnel and thinks things through. After a moment, he writes, All Security personnel to emergency standby. Everyone is to be ready for deployment on five minutes' notice. Duty tactical team of six equipped for crowd control and riots to Transporter Room 1. Patrol officers on duty or on deck, take stations at each transporter room. We may have distraught people coming up. We may have

He pauses. Controlling transporter room controls is a lifeline, for Nikolai, Marala or anyone else. He deletes the last three words and writes,

Transporter room controls are life or death for people on the surface. Any anomalous beam-ups are to be reported directly to me on the double. GRAHAM.

He sends the text and then wonders, And now--what the hell do I do?

h/t good guidance from EH

Lt. JG Ryan Jones, whom Graham relieved, leaves the Bridge. A flood of acknowledgements begin coming in to Graham's communicator.

Back around one corner and out of sight, Rangin can hear the faint sounds of a door open and the sound of Kylah stepping in. Something seems wrong. If it is Alvarez, why did she look so nervous, well there is only one way to find out.

While pulling out his datapad, he can see that he has little time remaining and indeed should be heading back to the bridge. He stands for a moment frustrated, but unwilling to choose between the two options of staying or leaving, before realising there is little he could do here. If she is telling the truth, he will look an untrusting fool and if she is trying to cover for something, then it would be just as bad.

Rangin looks up details of compartment 7B41 to see who or what is contained within. It seems familiar somehow, something tells him he should know who is in that compartment, he just cannot place where he has seen that detail before.

Acknowledging Bennett's update with a nod, Nia feels a little ripple of anxiety before responding to the department chiefs. "That's excellent, Cmdr. Cheverez, just what we needed. And everyone: we're just heading into orbit. As I suggested earlier to Lt. Kendin, if you haven't yet, make your own suggestions or requests regarding whatever we might utilize from Novy Rostov."

The planet looms very large in the viewscreen. "I'm very sorry to hear it has even less time left than we thought," she says softly, a sudden sense of grief stabbing at her. Watching Novy Rostov evokes the painful memory of watching her own doomed planet recede from the viewscreen of the Starfleet ship that took Nia to her new life.

She clears her throat. "Thanks to all of you. Until the Captain relieves me I'll still be here, of course, but if I don't get to say it later... I'm very grateful for your guidance, and everything you and your crew teams have achieved."

If there aren't any other questions or comments, Nia will thank them again and ask Kendin to stay on the communication while Patel closes the channels to the others.

"Kendin, we're getting into a synchronous orbit; you can work with Leventhal and Bennett to coordinate velocity and altitude/distance."

While she speaks, she pulls out her communicator and types a quick note.

RANGIN, ENS. - Just heard your proposal has been approved and is in use by the lottery program. Wanted to send my congratulations and gratitude.

Also, I've recced you for inclusion in any team observing/implementing the lottery, w/captain's permission. You might be needed dirtside. Suggest you finish prepping your quarters for our extra guests so you'll be ready for transport ASAP. Many thanks. -- NIA

Sending it off, Nia sighs and relaxes her tightened muscles.

Even Ferguson's voice makes Kylah cringe. When the door whooshes open, she remains in the corridor, afraid to enter. Her gaze ignores him to scan anxiously around the deck near his desk. "Ex--excuse me." The words are forced. "I must... I dropped my communicator." She does not see it, but realizes that she can see only a small portion of his cabin from where she stands.

He stares at her, then breaks into a pleased grin. "Uh-huh. Or are you here to make an early start on our time in the sack together?"

Do not react to his vile words. It is what he expects. "I wish to retrieve my communicator," she mutters. "I cannot... perform the task we discussed... without it."

As anxious as she is, Kylah has a vague sensation that she is being watched--not just by Ferguson's insinuating stare. She glances back in the corridor, but... no. Her fear is making her paranoid, she realizes when returning to glare at Ferguson.

"You knew I would return. You must have seen me drop it when you...." She flushes but lifts her chin, girding herself. "Give it to me."

He says, "Don't they teach you Communications types how to hang onto your communicators better? Sorry, but I don't have it, princess."

If she had a defense against his insult, she would feel better. But he is right. By now she has lost track of how many of her communicators have been stolen or destroyed.

But his denial makes her angry. Though wary of being alone with him, Kylah pushes away her caution in favor of her need to retrieve her device. She hesitates only for a second before walking inside, letting the door shut behind her.



Ferguson by Elendil's Heir, Kylah by me.

Rangin sees that those particular quarters are assigned to two Engineering personnel: Lt. JG Mark Ferguson, a transporter specialist, and Lt. Hans Meyer, a shuttlecraft maintenance crew chief. Just then, his communicator vibrates.

Roble, Cheverez and Villa sign off with their thanks to Onn. Kendin decides, after speaking to Leventhal and Bennett, to have the Sarafina also assume a synchronous orbit, over the colony but 20 km aft of the Yorktown. Both ships settle into their orbits.

"Shall I notify the Captain that we've returned, ma'am?" Patel asks Onn.

"By all means, Mr. Patel," Nia says. Then a thought strikes her and she swiftly turns to the Security station. "Oh! Boo--Graham," she amends, "The captain told me she wanted a Security team to beam down once we arrived. I'm sorry, did I tell you? I don't recall." Her fingers rub her eyes for a second while she shrugs sheepishly. "Lotta balls in the air. Maybe you've already arranged it, but if you want to go dirtside to be with your--uh, your team--go right ahead."

Graham's momentarily surprised that it sounds like Nia was about to use Marala's old term of endearment, but recovers and clears this throat. He exhales a deep breath. "Damned hard to say whether its better to be dirtside in touch with things moment to moment or up here, just in case things go south."

What do I say--or do--if I run into Marala or Nikolai?

He scowls. "Better to try and stop that from happening on the front lines," he says half to himself and half to Nia. Graham types a careful order: I'll lead a team of 5 plus myself to the Colony. Phaser I's only. Uniforms spotless and creased--change on your way to meet me in Transporter Room 2 if you need to. We're going to give radiating calm, professionalism, and compassion as a good a go as we can under these circumstances. He cc's Nia and nods to take his leave from the Bridge after noting that someone will need to take his place.

Nia thinks back and winces when only now she remembers Singh's exact words. Damn, I shouldn't be this flaky yet. What time is it? She's not due for her regular infusion for hours. Must be stress.

"Graham--let's just have the team stand ready to beam down at once. She didn't say it directly, but I think the Captain doesn't want an armed force there right from the start. If she judges it necessary, though, you guys'll need to be there ASAP." She tries to catch his eye to send an apologetic smile.

Patel notifies the Captain, who immediately asks to be beamed up to the Yorktown with the landing party and one other person. "Senior officers and members of the original landing party to meet in Conference Room 1 in ten minutes, if you please, Mr. Onn," she says.

Now inside Ferguson's quarters, Kylah keeps her distance--getting only as close as is necessary to see the area where he grabbed her. "I had my communicator in here," she says in a low, steady voice. "But when I left, I did not. So search beneath your desk. Or chair. It is mine. And you cannot get what you wish without it."

Ferguson laughs, shakes his head, and then makes a show of looking around him, and standing up and looking at the chair in which he was just sitting. Then he peeks up each uniform shirt sleeve, lips pursed, mock-seriously. "Nope, no communicator here!"

Rage bubbles over. Kylah stalks closer to his desk, still warily remaining perhaps a meter away from him.

"Move back! I will look for it!" Her darting gaze takes in the deck beneath him, the tops of his desk, dresser and night table--and even those of his cabinmate, whoever that may be.

"Whatever you say, princess," he says.

At each location she chooses, she extends her psi sense towards his mind to see if he is lying, or if he reacts in any suspicious way when her attention moves to any particular direction.

The overwhelming impression she gets from Ferguson is contemptuous amusement. He crosses his arms and stands there, making no move towards her, faintly smiling.

Kylah jerks her head toward him. "Do you not wish your money? I do not understand--why are you doing this?" No longer caring about his privacy or her own quaint sense of propriety, she yanks open any drawer she can get her hands on to rummage inside. "It must be here, there is nowhere else!"

"Oh, for chrissakes," he says angrily. "Stay out of my stuff, would you?" He goes to his bedside table and pulls out a communicator. "Here, this is a spare. Just take it and get the hell out of here, would you?"

Kylah stares at the device in his hand. "But--I want my own." Even to herself, she sounds like a child deprived of a toy.

He may think what he likes of her--she certainly has no control over that. But this is no mere whim. Her device stores far too much incriminating data, including today's messages from Aldaan and Ruth. It is encrypted, but she knows any code other than a one-time pad can be cracked.

"Please, Lieutenant. Of what use is it to you?" She pauses, thinking, then steps closer with her hand out. "I will use yours now, if you cannot be reasoned with. But afterward I want my communicator."


Kylah by me, Ferguson by Elendil's Heir

Ferguson puts the communicator in her hand and says brusquely, "Now get out, would you?"

Kylah cradles the device in her palms, as if Lt. Ferguson just handed her a pearl. For the first time she believes she might have an advantage. She steps backwards again but does not follow his command to leave. Instead, she opens the communicator.

"I must make sure you have given me a working device." Her fingers tap away. "You are now in such a curious hurry. Do you not remember I was meant to send you a deposit?" Kylah glances up at him with a wry look. "I did not realize 8,000 credits meant so little to you, your highness."

With the last sarcastic words she presses the button to send the empty message she just composed to her own device--which may, she hopes, trigger its notification tone and reveal its location.

Rangin shakes his head in deep disappointment. So Kylah is lying about who she is currently visiting, and it seems she is in even deeper than he thought.

Ferguson? Well he had been someone Kylah had mentioned a long while ago and then chewed Rangin out about not that long ago at Fujishiro’s funeral. He remembered looking up details on the transport engineer after his and Kylah's first... outing.

At the funeral, it was a case of how much she hated Ferguson and Zweller, and now here she is walking into the former's quarters, a proverbial lion's den if ever there was one. What is she playing at? Is she being two-faced and in reality, she's been hooking up with him?

But she certainly isn't acting like it. Far more that he must have had some hold over her, for some reason. Is it something to do with what she had said earlier about bad news, someone important close to her maybe dying or perhaps some other matter?

Rangin wonders if Graham knows about this little sojourn of Kylah’s. Perhaps he could take two birds with one stone. Graham, being the over-protective, controlling idiot that he is, may not take kindly to Kylah in this situation, and there is little doubt that Ferguson would not be pleased if the ACOS is snooping around him. A pair of LTs fighting over a princess...

His thoughts are interrupted and then lightened somewhat by the second message from Lt. Onn. A massive sense of relief washes over him as the first piece of news filters in, that more than expected should be saved. The first bit of good news since this entire thing started.

The second part where he is being recommended forward to assist with the lottery is unexpected, although welcome indeed. If only to make sure they do it properly. But he has little time now, this diversion with Kylah has taken too long and he needs to get back to the bridge.

Looking at the message again as if to confirm to himself it is real, he notices that Lt Onn has signed it as Nia. There is a small disconnect in Rangin's thinking at the sudden informality. He shrugs, perhaps it's the privilege of rank, but perhaps she is sticking to her word, after all.

As for Kylah, Rangin wonders if he can decipher what is going on, because it is obvious she is unlikely to tell him. Perhaps he can nudge her somewhat and sends a brief message to her communicator:

“Kylah - I guess the communicator isn’t the only thing that is lost. When did Alvarez begin with an F? -- Velir”

Message sent, he heads back to the Bridge, to see where he is going to be needed first.

Nia unconsciously sits at the edge of the captain's chair, now ambivalent about whether she'll be glad to relinquish it or not. "Yes ma'am," she says briskly, curious about the addition to Singh's party.

"Patel, please contact all senior officers and tell them to convene in CR 1 in ten minutes. Also..." She totes up a mental list of the group who went planetside this morning. "Uh, Lt. Graham *, Lt. Coimbra, Ens. St. Croix, Dr. Bennett--" He'll have to take a break from the Sarafina, I'm sure he'll be crushed--"Ens. Rangin and Ens. Kylah."

She pauses. As a pro tem captain, Kendin should probably be in on this, but there's so much work to do on that little ship that it seems a waste to interrupt him for a meeting. She'll wait to ask Singh if she needs Kendin, but decides to be prepared. "Also, please open a channel to the Sarafina and let Lt. Kendin be aware that we might be patching him in for a meeting in ten."

Catching Patel's gaze, she nods her gratitude and adds a meaningful, "If I could only give out stripes, Mr. Patel, your uniform would be a little more flashy."

* If he's still on the Bridge.

Kylah's new communicator shows that her message was sent, but she does not hear any telltale beep in Ferguson's quarters.

Ferguson is clearly annoyed. He comes forward as if to grab her and force her from his quarters.

The young man from India smiles. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but it's no problem, really," he says, and begins sending the messages.

Graham gets on the turbolift, leaving the Bridge.

Rangin and the others from the original landing party, except Kylah, each get a text on their communicators: By order of the Captain, please report to Conference Room 1 in ten minutes. PATEL, Duty Communications Officer.

Nothing? Kylah's mind whirls with confusion and disbelief as she stares at the foreign device in her hands. How can this be? What can he have done with her communicator? And why?

She nearly attempts a second message, but Ferguson's aggressive advance releases her from her near-paralysis. "No!" she cries, moving away. "I--I will go, I will go." Even as she promises this and backs farther away, her eyes dart around the quarters in hopes of finding the elusive device.

Her backward steps pause before the door can open. "Just tell me." The words barely make it past her tightening throat. "Do you truly mean to help me? Not just me, but my friends? They have done nothing to you. Do not let your animus toward me prevent you from saving their lives." She swallows. "I must know. Please, sir, will you still follow through on our deal?"

"Of course I will, princess," Ferguson says, taking another step closer. "A deal's a deal, after all, and you're paying me very well. For all my many faults, I think you'll find that I never go back on my word." He grins crookedly. "But if you stick around another second, I'll just have to assume you want to make an early start on our time in bed...?"

On the Bridge, Onn is notified that the landing party has beamed up from Novy Rostov. The Captain calls from Transporter Room 1: "Mr. Onn, thank you, you are relieved. Please report to Conference Room 1. Mr. Bennett, you have the Bridge."

Rangin is just about to get into the turbolift when he gets the message to report to Conference Room One.

Ten minutes, that is more time than he is expecting, which leaves only one course of action to take. A quick diversion before he gets there to grab a coffee and then find a seat at the far end of the table from the important people.

Perhaps he will be able to find out if his name is mentioned with the lottery changes and in that case, if Lt Onn is there, thank her personally.

He thinks about the message he receives from the planet from someone desperate, but until he knows how the lottery is set up, he is not going to give anyone any false hope regardless of their actions.

"Aye aye, ma'am," Nia says automatically, rising from the chair.

She gives a general look of 'thanks and so long' to the crew that's helped corral and commandeer the Sarafina, provided the information and assessments needed, all while maintaining their regular tasks. And smiles at Cece for good luck.

Heading to the turbolift, Nia speculates on how lucky she was that Singh left her with these particular officers. Replace just about any one of them with certain of their peers might've made this whole watch a rockier journey.

Even Thalen helped get rid of the dead weight, Nia thinks, admittedly uncharitably.

She decides that in the few minutes before the meeting, she'll head to the nearest rec room to grab some lemon tea, then hasten to CR1. Normally she'd go straight there, but Nia prefers to procrastinate joining what is bound to be a pretty grim confab.

Ferguson is too close, but at first Kylah refuses to move until she has heard his promise to assist her. She exhales in relief--and not a little surprise--when he claims to be a man of his word.

But that is a double-edged sword, considering his revolting warning. Her lips had already parted to thank him just before Ferguson made his threat, but instead of replying she inhales sharply. Face aflame, Kylah turns and flees like a rabbit from a wolf.

She cannot even think of their deal. Only her missing communicator matters right now. He must have powered it down, or turned off notifications altogether: these are the only explanations she can imagine for its silence after pinging it.

But why? Why, what does he expect to find?

She turns a corner and stops in place, her mind churning so frantically she cannot even walk. Is it greed? Does he hope to find her the identity of her 'friend'? Perhaps to get additional money? Kylah is uneasy about that prospect, but her fear is far, far worse when she remembers exactly what Mark Ferguson now has in his possession.

Almost everything incriminating is on that device: her messages from her guardian, the interaction with Ruth Soeryadjaya, several encrypted messages that--even if they are unreadable--are certainly suspicious simply for being kept hidden.

A cold river of sweat runs down the small of her back. She cannot allow this. And right now she is so terrified she cannot even recall whether she has a prayer of retrieving that data. How else will she be able to contact her uncle's friend? She could go to the terminal in her room, but...

Kylah's heart rises to her throat when she remembers that this information no longer exists on the Yorktown's system: she bleached it specifically so it could not be retrieved.

She shuts her eyes, unable to bear the onslaught of despair. She keeps breathing deeply. Do not panic. Do not. There must be a way...

No: She needs her communicator, that is all. A device she cannot access. A device that Ferguson now has in his possession.

Her eyes open. Panic has shut her mind to any real solutions. She cannot remember if her communicator will be locatable even if it is off. She cannot even remember if she can retrieve information from a terminal--either alone, or with yet another person's help.

Kylah runs through the names of her Communications colleagues. Not Lt. Thalen. He is generous and patient, but surely her loss of yet another communicator, and causing more work during such a crisis will anger even the good-natured Andorian. Patel is on the Bridge, of course. Kylah knows nothing about Lt. JG Gallaya.

At last she alights on Garcia. An awkward choice. His mistake on OCIII contributed to her being left alone to face a potentially deadly enemy. Even if it was then-Lt. JG Kjaerstad's malicious decision.

Then again... aside from that, he is a good choice. He is a wonder at retrieving data. And indeed, his failure to protect her on OCIII might make him ideal; he might think he owes her. Kylah is reluctant to bring that up, but hopefully he will think of this on his own.

She lifts Ferguson's communicator.

GARCIA, LT. JG: Sir, I am afraid I cannot find my communicator. Unfortunately I believe it has been powered down. Can you locate it nevertheless?

And is there a way to lock and temporarily deny access to it for anyone but me? I am ashamed that I cannot recall the answers to these questions. Please, I need your help. -- KYLAH, ENS.

Once done, she limps--her gait is better now--to her quarters as fast as she can. Her terminal might be of use.

Lt. Cecilia Bennett rises from Nav, smiles and nods to Onn. "Thank you, ma'am. Good luck with the meeting." From the slight catch in her voice, I think you'll need it is clearly her unspoken afterthought. Patel also smiles encouragingly as Onn passes him. As the turbolift doors close, Onn sees Bennett take the big chair.

Graham receives a followup text: By order of the Captain, please report to Transporter Room 1, not Conference Room 1, immediately. PATEL.

Graham acknowledges the message and adjusts course to Transporter Room 1.

Garcia replies, Hi, Kylah. I'm in the Communications Center and just ran a search for your communicator. No sign of it, sorry. Without a link, I don't know of any way to lock it or temporarily deny access. Where and when did you last see it? Did you want to report the loss to Security? GARCIA.

Onn is able to get some lemon tea with a little time to spare.

Dr. Bennett gets another text: Please acknowledge earlier message as to Conference Room 1. Urgent. PATEL.

Graham arrives in Transporter Room 1. Chief Nguyen is behind the control console, and the First Officer is standing nearby, talking to Marala, who looks tense.

Several Elasian curses, and a few Klingon ones, rush through Kylah's mind as she slows down slightly to read Garcia's message. The curses are aimed at herself. She is the one who lost control of her device. She should never, ever have let it go.

Having now also lost her bearings, she looks up to see if she is in the correct corridor leading to her quarters--7C12, not very far from Ferguson's, 7B41, which is a discovery she really should have made by now.

Garcia's query about alerting Security makes Kylah shake her head vehemently. "No, no, he must not" she whispers, in horror at imagining Lt. Graham or, worse, Cmdr. Vargas, finding out. She is safe for today--surely Security has much more important things on its plate over the next few days. But soon someone must review security requests, and it is quite likely the ACoS.

Lt. Graham would not be fobbed off with a pathetic lie, such as the one she is about to write to Lt. Garcia.

GARCIA, LT. - Thank you, sir, I would not wish to waste Security's time with such a minor incident, not during a real crisis. I must have forgotten it somewhere. In fact, I was in the Mess earlier. It is probably there.

Kylah is not finished, but she starts walking with determined but slower pace. Is Lt. Garcia curious as to whose device she is using? If so, he would not have to wonder very long: Presumably it has been assigned to Ferguson.

Why does he have two? I should be the one with multiple spares, she thinks bitterly.

At least three times--four, now--she has been unable to use her communicator when she most needed it. In a luxury spa lying underneath a near-stranger, her purse with the device long since tossed to one side beneath her clothes. On Anubis, lying broken and bleeding and staring at the smashed communicator beside her.

And in her quarters, in Darren Zweller's arms, her second replacement melted by whatever weapon Zweller and Ferguson concocted to paralyze her.

She would have died, back on Anubis. A dangerously injured woman hidden in a warehouse in a large city on an unfamiliar planet, without a communicator to cry for help or--even more important--to assist the Yorktown in finding her? She was badly wounded and concussed. If Velir had not remembered to focus scans on her unique Elasian zither...

Before she had fallen unconscious, Kylah had believed herself utterly, hopelessly alone, her belongings and body physically searched and thrown away like garbage. Ferguson has now replicated this helpless situation. Sure enough, the same growing sense of vulnerability, of violation, squeezes her chest tight. She cannot breathe naturally without reminding herself.

Is this why Ferguson took her communicator? To leave her alone and untraceable? Or at least, unidentifiable?

If so, Kylah thinks in a desperate attempt at rationality, her vulnerability would be a mere side benefit for him. Why would he bother? He has already forced that repulsive agreement from her.

No, right now it is likely her data he wishes to plunder. Regardless, both possibilities must be rectified.

Would you do me another favor? One of the engineers lent me this spare device. Could you please reassign it to me temporarily? I must be able to be located and receive communications as soon as possible. I would do it myself but am not yet at my terminal, and will need to concentrate on the data. Please?

Once she sends her messages, her pace increases until she finds her quarters.

The reply soon comes, Done and done. These things happen. Let me know if you need any other help. GARCIA.

The warm tea soothes Nia, who sips while walking and makes sure she doesn't spill a drop. Normally her tastes are drawn to cold, even icy beverages--despite all these years from home, she has yet to take such treats for granted. But right now she wants the familiar, homey comfort of heat.

Heading out to the conference room, she suddenly wonders: why is she invited? Presumably for an update, but that's nothing Singh couldn't get from Roble, Cheverez and other department heads. Well, she's not gonna complain. As difficult a situation as this is, Nia wants to be involved, and is grateful for the chance to hear whatever's happening planetside.

With a sigh of relief, Kylah types out a quick message of gratitude and finds her quarters. She uses her palm on the scanner to identify herself before the door opens and she can finally rush to her terminal.

Logging into her Starfleet account and then the external network, she races to change her passwords anywhere she can. Her first destination is her message account, then the private storage account shared by her and Aldaan.

But, of course, Ferguson has had several minutes of unhindered access to her communicator. Kylah does not dare to believe he has not, at the very least, checked her personal message history. Her attempts to protect her most confidential data may be far too late.

She shakes her head and tries to push that fear from her mind. There are two jobs to accomplish. First, she needs to get the message Ferguson sent her with his bank information. She did not have time to bleach that, so it should be available to her via her regular inbox. If it is, she will make the transfer of 8,000 credits from her account to his. And will exhale in relief that this job, at least, is completed.

A thought crosses her, and at once she looks back into her sent-messages folder. Has Ferguson sent anything from her account yet? He might have tried to get in contact with Ms. Soeryadjaya himself.

Kylah no longer has the woman's contact information, since she was so careful to erase its history on her Starfleet account. Perhaps if Ferguson made contact, she can grab it from her synchronized sent-mail folder. That is one small gain.

Kylah is able to find the earlier message from Ferguson with his bank information. He has apparently sent nothing from her comm account.

"Marala--" Graham, surprised, can't help but blurt out.

He clears his throat. "Ah, sir," he nods to Vargas as quickly and professionally as he can thereafter.

Reaching Conference Room 1, Nia hesitates for a moment. She wonders if it's okay to enter a little early, or if others are in there speaking privately. Well, she decides, if they wanted privacy they probably wouldn't be hanging around in a semi-public space.

She enters* and takes a look around.


* Or, if it's better protocol, she'll hit the door panel to trigger the chime.

Cmdr. Vargas seems not to notice anything amiss. He says, "Ah, Mr. Graham! Good. I hope all went well with the Sarafina intercept? You remember Mrs. Gromov, I see. She's been appointed as our liaison by Gov. Voronko to see that the, er, lottery process goes smoothly and fairly. Please escort her to Lt. Dosmukhambetov, the Chief Computer Officer, on Deck 7 so that he can explain the programming. When you're both done with that, please bring her to Conference Room 1 to join the discussion there." Vargas gives a courtly nod to Marala, says, "If you'll excuse me, please, Mrs. Gromov," and leaves.

Onn sees that Yorktown's main conference room is already filling up. The Captain is in her accustomed chair, already talking quietly with the Chief Engineer and Science Officer. She nods pleasantly to Onn as the Sidonian officer enters. Dr. Villa, Lt. Thalen and others come in and take their seats.

Teeth pulling at her lower lip, Kylah exhales as mixed emotions battle each other in her mind. First, relief that Lt. Ferguson has not contacted Ms. Soeryadjaya.

...At least, not through her account. She blinks at her foolishness in forgetting a simple fact: He could have used the contact info on Kylah's communicator to send the woman a message via his own.

She can do nothing about that. Meanwhile she finishes transferring the credits to Ferguson's bank, assuming there are no problems in the process.

Distractedly she glances at her balance and sees she is actually running low. But unlike the mess on Anubis, she can easily tell her uncle about this. No, not can... she must, in order to get Lt. Ferguson his two million.

Now fear, more intense an emotion than her fleeting relief, floods her with adrenaline. She must find a way to get in touch with Ruth Soeryadjaya.

Nia returns the Captain's nod and moves behind the seat nearest Thalen, greeting him while letting her eyes scan the room again. No Booker? Weird; he had a few minutes' head start on her.

Probably he's grabbing a drink or a bite to eat, or needed to visit the head, or... any number of things, really. Nia shrugs it off. She wonders if she should go up to Singh, who's likely to want a report. If she wanted me there, she'd've made it clear, she reasons, and sits down.

"Thanks for your help," she murmurs to the Andorian beside her. "Your crew was really put through the wringer with all those distress calls. I appreciate your sending Patel in, too. Always knew he was talented but he anticipated my needs and reacted fast to my orders. Who could ask for anything more?"

Now why does that suddenly put a melody in her head? Ajay, she realizes with a smile, remembering the time Johnson tried to teach her to dance.

Then she sobers up, fast. Now isn't the time for sentiment or amusement. "The captain seems calm enough," she says, still low. "But that's her style. Wouldn't dare play against her in a poker game."

For the first time she notices Vargas isn't here.

Thoughts still in a whirl, Rangin stops just outside the Briefing Room and takes a couple of deep breaths unsure of what awaits him inside. He straightens his uniform to give the best impression and casually plasters a friendly, but weary smile across his face and heads through the doors.

Seeing all the officers in there makes him very glad indeed he is just slightly ahead of time. He finds a seat slightly off to one side, out of the way where all good ensigns should be.

If any of the officers did wish to speak to him, he would be open to discussion, but at this time, there is little more he can do other than let the officers in charge decide what is going to happen next.

He flicks his datapad open and looks over the report he sent out, from the bullet point points to the greater details on his suggestion, if only to answer any questions if he is to be asked again. Other than that, there is little to do but wait.

Kylah's subspace transfer to Ferguson's bank seems to go through without a hitch, and she gets an automatic receipt.

"That's true," Thalen says quietly to Onn, nodding. "And as to Mr. Patel, I was glad to help. He's one of my up-and-comers; there's nothing he can't handle."

Dr. Bennett, having beamed over from the Sarafina, enters the conference room and sits down, joining Ens. Rangin, Lt. Coimbra and Ens. St. Croix in chairs along the rear bulkhead. One chair in that row remains empty.

Cmdr. Vargas then enters and looks around. He crosses over to Thalen and asks in a voice low enough not to carry, "Where is Mr. Kylah? Other than Mr. Graham, who is escorting our NR liaison at the moment, she's the only member of the original landing party who's not here."

The Andorian frowns. "She asked for a break from Bridge duty some time ago, sir. I haven't seen her lately. Would you like me to find her, sir?"

The First Officer is clearly displeased. "Yes. Step outside and page her, if you would, please, Mr. Thalen. I don't want to keep the Captain waiting."

"Of course, sir." Thalen leaves.

The sight of the bank deposit receipt in her inbox releases only a tiny part of the anxiety gripping Kylah in its fist. She closes the notification window and returns to the bigger problem. The solution is both insecure and risky. She must access her regular comms. screen as if on duty, and open a channel to the planet to contact Ms. Soeryadjaya.

Of course, there is no duty-based reason for her to contact this woman, and anyone examining the incoming or outgoing transmissions will see this curiosity.

But there is no other option. She has no time to hop through several levels of private networks, false IPs and darknet paths she and her uncle have long set up for emergencies like this. Kylah taps her way into her official comms. screen and, fingers a blur, enters a command to open a channel to the Novy Rostov colony, specifically to Ruth Soeryadjaya.

While waiting for the confirmation that the colonist is able to receive, she composes a message. Of course she must warn Ms. Soeryadjaya not to accept any contacts from Ferguson.

Her draft reads:

RS:

Tentative arrangements are in place for you and your assistant. (Who must be included, and whom you should refer to as a relative. I will explain later.) Remain together and send the additional name. If there is any change in your location or status, tell me at once.

Second:

Out of necessity a crew member has been engaged to assist. Do not trust any communication that does not include a reference to my family's House as seen on our standard: House of the Silver Weeping Tree. If contacted by someone without that reference, do not accept. I have not permitted such contact.

Meanwhile, stand by. Do not contact me unless in emergency.

-- K, House of Silver Weeping Tree

She leans back in her chair, every muscle grateful for the opportunity to relax. Now all she can do is pray that she gets through to the colony, and that during the onslaught of activity right now, this open channel will pass by undetected. Later, when she has more time, Kylah will do her best to hide the transmission. If she has not already been caught. It is inevitable: eventually someone will read the communication log. Unless it is my assignment to do so, she thinks with a dark laugh. No, life is too hard for such good fortune.

Her mouth tightens into a grim line. It does not matter. She has resigned herself to being discovered. As long as Ruth Soeryadjaya is safe onboard, Kylah will have done her family duty.

Far better to suffer Starfleet's punishment--or even Ferguson's--than face the future her Guardian has in mind for her if she fails.

Graham takes a deep breath. "Good to see you, Chief," he says, nodding to Nguyen.

"Ma--"

"Mrs. Gromov," I'll escort you to deck 7."

Fuck it.

Graham offers his arm to Marala in as official-looking a manner as he can muster.

Nia's eyes widen slightly with pride when she hears that Booker's been assigned to greet the representative. Sweet, they think of him as more than just muscle. As well they should. And maybe this will help, at least for a little while, take his mind off the agony of knowing his old friend and her child are in danger. Gotta think of something to help them, she vows.

Wait, what did Vargas just say? Kylah's not here--and now Thalen says that Kylah was the one to initiate her departure from the Bridge?

Nia blinks again in surprise. Why did she assume Thalen made the personnel switch? Because she should've asked me.

It was puzzling that Patel had appeared out of nowhere. Kinda hard to notice where all the chess pieces are when they jump all over by themselves--and I'm busy running the Bridge.

So now the Captain, First Officer, department chiefs, Kylah's own direct superior and her fellow landing party members are waiting on the ensign. How many times is that girl gonna get herself lost?

Nia has plenty of sympathy for what Kylah's been through, especially since she opened up to Nia last night. But...

Sighing, Nia can't help it--her eyes shift toward Rangin with a questioning arched eyebrow. He went out not long after Kylah, as far as she can recall. Her expression is non-accusatory: Did you see where she went?

After a minute or so, Kylah has her reply from Soeryadjaya: I must admit I'm pleased by neither this change of plans nor these conditions, but I understand and will comply - unless it becomes obvious that you have failed me. Please advise ASAP when I will be evacuated..

"Mr. Graham," says Chief Nguyen gravely.

Marala takes Graham's arm with a bemused expression and they leave the transporter room together.

With a long sigh, Kylah leans back further. She has not realized until now just how exhausted she is. She takes a few seconds' rest during which she extends her gratitude for this one thing, one thing, that has gone well.

Again she must repeat the process from this morning: transfer the conversation to Ferguson's--no, her--communicator and her private text message account.

...Which means she has flouted Starfleet's regulations at least four times in a single day. Not since her attempt to run away from both her uncle and the Yorktown has she been so disobedient.

The brief job done, Kylah can now reply to the latest message from her communicator--and more specifically, her private, personal account.

My apologies for being curt, ma'am. I only restrict the terms to protect the venture. The crewmember assisting us is skillful and risking much. Accordingly I have offered him a significant reward at great expense to me

A sudden wave of nausea rolls over her. She presses her hand over her mouth and stands, the other hand clutching the edge of her desk in a white-knuckled grip. A few steadying breaths and, though her skin feels clammy, she is safe enough to sit down, editing the last few words.

...significant reward at great expense. But he is not above asking for more. I do not wish you to be exposed. As for timing, I believe the plan will proceed within the hour. It is best that I not share precise details yet, for they may change and there must be no miscommunication or confusion.

Please, madam, what is your associate's name, and can you ensure that you are together?

Kylah frowns, then adds:

Note that there must be two of you. Families have precedence and will be less suspicious than one single person. Please let me know immediately.

A lie, of course--at least, as she understands things from Velir's description. But Kylah does not trust Ms. Soeryadjaya to make an effort on her employee's behalf. The other woman's callous disregard for her assistant earlier has, paradoxically, made Kylah even more determined to save him. Or her.

After signing the note solely with the name of her family's House to prove her identity, Kylah is satisfied. She presses SEND.

Rangin greets the others as they arrive and sit near him and exchanges a few pleasantries even given the situation. He sees Cmdr Vargas talking to the other senior officers and wonders what the kerfuffle is between the senior officers. It's probably something important. After their little chat and the glance at the empty chair, Rangin beings to wonder who is missing. But then again, if it was the same people who attended the meeting earlier, then where the hell was Lt Graham? No wonder Vargas looks so annoyed, let down by his ACoS. Although if Lt Onn didn't know, there was no way he did.

When Lt Onn looks across at him as if he might know something, he nods to her in acknowledgement and then heads across as the other senior officers have moved on.

"Ma'am. I'm sorry, but I have no idea where Mr Graham is", Rangin says quietly lowering his voice for just her, "that is who we are waiting for, isn't it?"

At first, Nia is taken aback by the thought that anyone would think Booker capable of this kind of irresponsibility.

Then: Oh, right. The Rangin/Booker feud. Ugh, men.

She maintains her steady, meaningful gaze and slowly shakes her head. C'mon, Ensign, put aside that hate-fest between you and Graham. Why would I be asking you about Booker?

Of course, she could just say "No, dummy, it's Kylah, who else?" But atypically, Vargas didn't make his query to anyone but Thalen, displaying more tact than usual when pissed off at an officer. So discretion prohibits her from being specific.

Rangin's smart enough: Once his brain catches onto the fact that Thalen--Communications Officer, hello--left the room, he'll put two and two together. To help, she tilts her head slightly toward Thalen’s chair beside her.

Kylah soon has this text response: My assistant's name is Martin Yarrow. He's in another room at this hotel, and we can meet on a few minutes' notice. I'll tell him to pack and be ready to leave at any time, as I already am.

Her communicator beeps.

Rangin notices Lt Onn's nod towards Thalen's chair and lets out a low quiet whistle.

"It must be serious, if Cmdr Vargas is asking Lt. Thalen to find Lt. Graham. I guess if anyone can find him it would be our Comms chief. I'm surprised, I didn't think he would skip this meeting if he is going to be arranging any of the security. I know he didn't like my proposals at the last meeting, but I can't think why he wouldn't be here at this one. Everyone else from that meeting is present."

Confused, Rangin sits back slightly in the chair and glances round the room and then back to Lt Onn. He knows Kylah is capable of getting into plenty of trouble, but missing a Captain's meeting, well Graham is certainly one-upping her.

"Only thing I can think of is..." he tails off as he thinks of at least one reason for Graham's absence and Rangin had met her in the colony. Raising her presence now would really not be a good idea with Lt Onn, especially given the ...togetherness... between her and Graham.

Nia looks from side to side, wondering if anyone else is catching Rangin's words--he's speaking quietly (even more than usual). But if others are paying attention they'll probably wonder the same thing she is: is this guy still foggy from his oxygen deprivation during his skydiving accident?

She waits until no one seems to be watching her, then shakes her head yet again with an exasperated sideways twist of her mouth.

Hunting for a way to describe Kylah without naming her, she alights on one facet of the girl that most men would recognize.

Lifting her hands slightly, Nia uses them to outline an hourglass figure.

Kylah's stomach is still somewhat queasy and her heart is palpitating.She presses one hand flat against her chest, which helps ground her when she is in panic-attack mode; she senses one coming on now.

As she gets up for some water, she attempts to reassure herself: But it is all right, she gave me the name, she will not be fooled by that revolting man. Everything will all work--

The communicator startles her. Wary, she lifts the device and opens it.

"Ens. Kylah? This is Lt. Thalen. Didn't you receive the earlier message for the meeting in Conference Room 1?" He doesn't sound angry, but she has never heard him so... clipped. Urgent. "The Captain is meeting with senior officers and the members of the original NR landing party. Cmdr. Vargas just asked about you. Report to Conference Room 1 on the double."

Something within Kylah shrinks back at hearing Lt. Thalen. He has always been so sympathetic and friendly to her. But what does he mean, what meeting? What message?

Heat blooms on her cheeks. "I did not--"

She cuts herself off. Ferguson. The message must have come during the time she left her communicator behind at Ferguson's quarters, but before Kylah was able to ask Mr. Garcia to transfer her details to the new device.

Still, the unread message should have been waiting for her once she opened the newly reassigned communicator ten minutes ago, or the terminal for that matter. Why had it not shown up?

Again an answer springs to mind: Because Ferguson deleted it. And not just from her communicator, but her main account--something one could easily do remotely. Just out of maliciousness.

All this flies through her consciousness in a few seconds. She does not explain to Lt. Thalen. No point in excuses. Having lost yet another communicator is not better than not checking her messages.

"I-I am very sorry, sir. I will be there at once." Her voice is breathy and uneven as her heart races faster. Even as she speaks, she hurries to her sink to help counteract the rising panic.

"On the double," Thalen repeats, and switches off.

Onn and Rangin see Thalen come back into the room and speak briefly to Vargas, who nods. Vargas, in turn, says something to the Captain, who rolls her eyes ever so slightly but then nods. She looks tired and careworn. She clears her throat and says, "Let's begin. Thank you all for coming on such short notice. First of all, my thanks to Mr. Onn for taking command here and seeing to the prompt return of the Sarafina to Novy Rostov orbit. Well done." She smiles at the Sidonian, then turns to the Science Officer. "Mr. Roble, an update on the radiation burst, if you please."

He says, "Our latest readings indicate the burst is most likely to come three to five hours from now, Captain. And it's going to be just as bad as preliminary scans showed, if not worse."

"Will any other ships be here in time to help, Mr. Thalen?" Singh asks.

He shakes his head. "No, ma'am. Just those we knew about before, meeting us well after we've left the system."

"I see. Mr. Cheverez, how are preparations for the evacuees?"

The Chief Engineer looks even worse than Singh. Dr. Bennett, seated nearby, is even a little concerned for his health. He says, his voice quiet and slightly rasping, "Well underway, ma'am, as to temporary bunk space, toilet facilities, supplies, and so on. We'll be ready, here and aboard the Sarafina, by the time everyone's beamed up."

Dr. Villa says, "Likewise among my people, Captain."

Singh nods. She leans into the Theban marble tabletop and folds her hands. "Very well. Thank you all. As some of you may have heard, Gov. Voronko has appointed Mrs. Marala Gromov, head of the Miners' Guild, as his liaison with us. Mr. Graham has taken her to see the Chief Computer Officer to explain the lottery program and answer any questions she might have. While she meets with Mr. Dosmukhambetov, I wanted to raise with you several... complications that have developed, and have the benefit of your advice and good counsel - my senior officers as well as those who visited the colony and know more about it, firsthand, than others."

It takes Rangin only a moment for his brain to process the shape that Lt Onn is outlining. It takes a few moments longer to remember that although she had not been there for the discussion on what to do, she had been there for the initial debrief.

He cannot help but mouth his response silently. "Oh crap ma'am, not Mr Kylah again?" Whatever she had been up to with Lt. Ferguson is really going to get her into trouble.

"Thank you ma'am" he utters under his breath while rising and heading back to his own seat.

He slumps in the chair, shaking his head at the facts. It's likely that Lt. Onn knows exactly where Mr Graham is, and it is definitely not missing from this meeting. But there is no way Rangin is going to ask her to confirm, that would be just confirm that on occasion, he can be to stupid for words.

It is then that the meeting gets underway and the status updates come in, although there is little he can do about them. The fact of what Graham is up to only confirms to Rangin his poor choice of thought earlier. Then again, it could be interesting to see Graham's reaction when he finds out about Rangin's amendments to the lottery. Assuming Mr. Whizz kid actually mentions who came up with it in the first place.

However, he is not surprised by the Captain's comments of trouble on the planet and waits patiently to see how he can help.

Well, hallelujah, Rangin seems to have woken up at last. Of course, if he's so distant from Kylah not to even think of her until now, Nia supposes that her question has long since been answered: he doesn't know where she is.

It could be a bluff and he's trying to protect her, but that'd be a strange choice. Nia's curiosity won't harm the girl.

She doesn't miss Singh's reaction to Vargas's inaudible comment. Then the meeting starts and Nia's attention is fully focused on the captain, and after that, the others' reports. Nia accepts Singh's acknowledgement with a grateful nod. I should pass this along to the Bridge crew, she thinks after the first flush of pleasure recedes.

Bad news from Roble, some headway from Cheverez, and a huge disappointment from Thalen regarding the lack of back-up. Nia sighs. This is a very dark day, and the worst is far from over.

She's mulling this over when she hears a reference to Booker, as well as the person he's taking around. Since the woman's name is so new, Nia doesn't recognize it immediately. When she does, it comes with a sympathetic pang in her heart, like a plucked bow-and-arrow string. This should make Booker happy--having her onboard as a representative. Surely this increases her chances, right? Would they really let a virtual ambassador return to her planet, to her death?

I won't do it. If I have to bribe someone to get her and her kid smuggled onto the Sarafina... that's what I'll do.

At last, Singh gets to what appears to be the real purpose of the meeting. And... shit, it doesn't sound good. Nia leans forward, both physically and mentally bracing herself. What new nightmare's cropped up?

Mortified, Kylah drops her communicator, triggers the coldest water possible from the sink's tap and shoves her wrists under the flow, making sure the pulse points are getting the most water. It's an old trick to calm her anxiety and slow her heart rate

After just a few seconds of growing numbness, she finishes by splashing her face to cool it down. She straightens and catches a glimpse of her haggard, sloppy appearance in the mirror. Grimacing, all she can do is scoop up the communicator and hasten from her quarters while wiping the last traces of her smeared lip balm.

A balm she will not wear again. She's always liked its sweet berry scent and flavor, but no longer. Kylah knows it will only remind her of the man who just tasted it.

Fortunately her knee is no longer sore, and reaching the conference room does not take long. The edges of her hair nearest her face are damp from the quick splash of water, but she just tucks the curls behind her ears, inhales deeply, and enters--her goal to be as invisible and unobtrusive as possible.

But that proves difficult. The Captain is just finishing a sentence--something about visiting the colony--and the room suddenly falls so silent that the door's whooshing noise sounds like a gale slamming into the side of a building.

The combined tension, concern and a whole cocktail of various emotions of the group seated at the table impact Kylah's senses just as harshly.

Kylah sidles farther into the room, keeping her back to the wall. She sends an apologetic glance around the table at large, starting with the Captain, then Cmdr. Vargas and Lt. Thalen. "Forgive me, ma'am," she whispers.

Singh nods curtly to Kylah. Thalen, his gaze more sympathetic, gestures minutely to an empty chair next to him.

The Captain continues, "There are three people with a claim to an exemption from the lottery, despite the Governor's insistence that it be absolutely random by household. First, Lt. Patricia Camden of Starfleet Security, who's been on NR these past few months, looking for a fugitive from justice. She's a Starfleet colleague and would not be here at all, were she not under orders. Second, Mrs. Nina Kostoyev, who's been in medical isolation in our Sickbay, but whose husband Alexei, head of the mining party we brought here, and their children are already down on the colony. Should she be allowed to remain, in any event, since she never beamed down? And third, Walter Harris, a wealthy man who has already approached several of the Yorktown's officers offering bribes to be evacuated. Has he forfeited his participation in the lottery by this illegal conduct?" She looks around the room. "The First Officer and I have discussed their cases already, and I will make the final decisions, but I would be interested in your views. Please speak freely and candidly."

Doing her best not to pay attention to the young ensign tiptoeing behind her chair to sit on the other side of Thalen, Nia mulls over the conundrum.

"Ma'am... if I understand these three cases correctly... I'd say two should be exempt, one should not. Lt. Camden doesn't belong there. She's one of ours, and it may be wrong to say this, but we should take care of an officer who was just there doing her duty. I admit it's not logical, and her preference for leap-frogging over the lottery may not be the heroic, self-sacrificing choice we'd all ideally make. But... I'm not sure. I'm just talking this through. This might be the most difficult decision of the three."

She rests her palms on the table, staring down at her fingers as she concentrates. "As for Nina Kostoyev, I may be wrong, but didn't she become ill on the ship? Or at least, her symptoms appeared on the Yorktown?" Nia sighs. "I want to think of her a having sanctuary here. But if her family isn't chosen for the lottery, how will she feel when she wakes up? To find out that she survived while her husband and kids didn't?"

A deep frown lowers her brow. "I'd be curious to know Mr. Kostoyev's position. He does have... what's the phrase... power of attorney, right? Is he the one asking that his wife be sheltered here?

"As for this enterprising Mr. Harris who thinks he can buy safe passage... it's a crime, yes. But how many other criminals will we unknowingly beam up? The felon Lt. Camden is hunting, for example. We might very well be welcoming him as a guest in a couple of hours, without a clue...

"...Which is another reason to bring Camden on board," she blurts, flipping a hand over. "She'll be a useful asset in tracking this bastard--um, sorry--fugitive, who might be endangering all of us if he's on the ship.

"Back to Harris. He's committed a crime, yes. But not one that deserves a sentence of death." Her gaze switches to Vargas. "I mean, that's what removing his eligibility amounts to, right? A death penalty?" Nia turns back to Singh. "We can't, ma'am. I think being as terrified as everyone else should be his initial punishment. If he makes the lottery, he gets beamed into the Brig."

Nia leans back with a displeased expression. "Well... those are my two credits' worth. Overpriced, maybe."

Rangin listens to the Captain and beings to wonder why he bothers on occasion. In the space of a few hours, she appears to have forgotten Rangin's proposal. Then again, it appears that so has Cmdr Vargas, Cmdr Roble and Lt. Onn.

Or more likely, the Captain had done something even more stupid and not cleared it with the Governor. Then again, he is fighting to get them through and, until they leave the system, he will keep trying to save as many as possible.

Kylah's appearance isn't exactly helping matters, although judging by her chastened demeanour, he gets the feeling she doesn't know that he knows where she was when she was supposed to be here. He tries to put the doubt to one side to stop it clouding his judgement, concentrate on the here and now and what he might say. Deliberately looking away from her and towards the Captain, he decides to follow on from Lt Onn.

Rangin coughs to clear his throat, a useful attraction to prevent anyone else from starting if only from politeness and give himself a few precious extra seconds to think of the right words.

"Captain, if I may" he says clearly, "On the situation of Mr Harris, attempting to bribe a Federation officer is a serious offence, but I don't believe the sentence is as harsh as the proposal to leave him out of this particular lottery. He should be part of it and if he is chosen can then be charged in due course for his actions. I'm sure he is well aware that just making the offer is enough, indeed I'd like to report I have been contacted by him as well. I can certainly understand his situation, but that does not mean his actions are right."

He shrugs slightly, at least with it raised here, he won't be tempted further to try something.

"Of course, being a Federation officer means accepting our duty and doing our utmost to live up to it, regardless of the consequence. We put ourselves in danger constantly and prepare as best we can for whatever happens. But we don't hold ourselves above or outside the law, otherwise we keep privilege to ourselves that we would deny others. While it is not easy for me to sit here and say this, I believe Lt Camden should be part of the lottery."

"Finally, with reference to Mrs Kostoyev, and the fact she has children." Rangin takes a deep breath and tries his best to be clear and calm, and not as annoyed and frustrated as he might feel. "Ma'am, the proposal I submitted and shared to yourself and others in this room, showed that if we saved all families with children, which certainly covers this situation, then we would save more lives in total. Only a few, but certainly more. I was led to believe this proposal had been accepted and included into the lottery mechanism. If that is the case, then this situation is not an issue."

"Is the proposal a go? Captain?" Rangin waits for clarification to see what she ultimately decides.

"Thank you, Mr. Onn," the Captain says. "I appreciate your candor."

She hears out Rangin, too, and says, "Thank you, Mr. Rangin. I did approve your proposal, but," here she glances at Roble, "my understanding was that it would save only another 42 lives." She shakes her head. "Forgive me; I shouldn't say 'only.' Any additional life saved is laudable, of course. But it would still not guarantee saving the life of every person under the age of 18. Or is that not so?"

On the one hand, Rangin is relieved that the Captain has agreed to his proposal. On the other she obviously hasn't even read the bullet points and just went for the top line of 42 extra people saved. He is torn between just letting her sit in blissful ignorance of what she has agreed to with only herself to blame or actually trying to bring her up to speed.

No, the latter would be better if only because she would be dealing with the repercussions of her choices. Especially as the more detailed proposal will have been wired into the lottery. Perhaps he really should go along and confirm that it is correct.

"Captain, you are correct in one respect in that it does not guarantee saving the life of every person under the age of 18. It guarantees saving the life of everyone under 16. This is the line you can draw a clear delineation between the environmental impact of a child or juvenile as opposed to an adult allowing a baseline to be..."

He can almost feel their eyes glazing over and while Roble would know exactly what he is on about it, now is not the time to show how scientifically inferior they are.

"... in short, kids are given a free pass." he quickly rattles off, which should hopefully keep their attention. "The other factor that was insisted upon is that all families be kept together. So, the logical outcome is that any family with a child in it will be automatically saved."

"I believe Mrs Kostoyev has children on the planet. These children will be saved in the lottery. Because they will be saved, so will their immediate family, that is Mr and Mrs Kosteyev. The proposal is only for the immediate family, so cousins, aunts, uncles and so on will not be included. Also, the only reason we can do this is because there are so few children in the colony."

"Any questions?" he asks politely, while he looks round the table to see if anyone looks confused.

While listening to Rangin's not-so-patient explanation, Nia covers her mouth as she turns what's about to be a chuckle into a cough. The guy's tone is as dry as a Sidonian canyon. But she can't blame him for dumbing things down as he clarifies.

But everyone's tired and stressed, and he must know that the Captain's been dealing with--well, Nia can imagine what hellish desperation is consuming the population right now, and Singh was in the thick of it. The Captain can't possibly remember every granular detail; that's what she has people like Roble, Cheverez and Villa--and yeah, Rangin--for.

As she ducks her head slightly to 'cough,' Nia glances at the young woman now on Thalen's other side. She looks like she's about two minutes from collapse--her whole body seems deflated. Good grief, aren't Elasian women supposed to be warrior types?

When Rangin finishes, Nia's attention is drawn swiftly back to him. That's right: Everyone under 16. Did Booker mention how old his friend's kid is?

She gives the xenobiologist an encouraging smile and nod when his gaze roams the table and meets hers.

Vargas rubs his chin and says, "I thought saving even another 42 people wasn't going to cover all of the children of the colony, if some member of their household didn't 'win' the lottery, Mr. Rangin. Where did you come up with your everyone-under-16 figure?"




"Ah---hi," Graham says softly as soon as they've left the transporter room. "How are you--how are you holding up, Marala?"

She doesn't answer right away, but pulls him a little closer by the arm. "'Hi' yourself." She shrugs a little. "I've been better. This whole situation is... difficult, to put it mildly. Very difficult."

Graham doesn't resist the pressure. He shakes his head slightly, then does something halfway between clearing his throat and grunting. "I still can't believe the plan isn't to take all the kids, lottery be damned." After the briefest of pauses, he adds, softly, "I will get Nikolai on the ship. Ships--we commandeered a freighter, too. One of them, anyway, Marala."

"Yes, I heard, the Sarafina. Your Captain and the Governor decided they didn't want to break up families, or create a lot of orphans." She shakes her head. "It makes a certain amount of sense, but I can't help but be, well, troubled. Even scared. This is a terrible situation, no matter what decisions are made."

Graham takes a deep breath. "We'll do our best. And hope for a damn miracle."

She smiles faintly. "Sometimes it seems hope is all I've got. That, and you, and your promise." She stops and looks at him - looks right into his eyes. "It means a lot to me, Booker. It means everything."

Graham holds her gaze and swallows. He thinks, What if she'd never moved away, when we were teenagers? Water under the bridge. "I...owe you a lot, Marala," he says slowly. "Maybe too much to explain now. But...you never let me down. I'll keep up my end, even though it's decades later and light years away."

"Thank you, Booker. I know you will."

Soon they find themselves at the codelocked door to the Main Computer Core on Deck 7.

Graham's dialogue by g_u; Marala's by EH.

Rangin keeps his eyes focused on those around the room. He sees Lt Onn's nod and smile before Cmdr Vargas asks his question. At least it is a sensible question.

"I had the same thought as you, sir, when I first ran these scenarios," he addresses directly back to the Security chief. "How could all the children by saved for so little gain." Rangin flips open his datapad with all the details in front of him.

"I have a set of the colonists data," Rangin waves his datapad to the room, "that may not contain as much information as I would like. But it does include the age of each person, which can be used to give a good estimate of their resource consumption, with little variance."

"The main reason this works is because there are not that many who would count as children on the planet, a hundred or so at most. So even with their families, they don't occupy that many of the spaces. Yes, this does mean that any and every family with a child in it under 16, for want of a better word, `wins`. But the fact still remains that everyone possesses a chance to get off the planet."

Rangin still feels slightly downcast by the fact he cannot save more, but every extra life helps.

"In some ways, it's a good thing there are not several hundred children, because then they and their families would easily fill out all the places leaving everyone else behind."

Rangin takes a deep breath again and closes his datapad back over, hoping that the explanation is enough while closing the laptop over before settling back to wait for his description to be digested by those present.

Vargas looks at his data pad. "But there are more than several hundred children on the colony, the NR personnel records show, Ensign. Your plan, as I understand it, will save 42 more people than the original entirely-random draw would, but it still won't save every single child there."

Rangin looks up sharply at the comment from the commander.

"Sir. What?" A cold chill runs down his spine and he tries to put aside all thoughts that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"That can't be right", he mutters to himself as he rushes through opening the datapad and looking at his data.

"No, no, no-no-no that's..."he stutters out as he finds the right place, "I only have about a hundred children listed here."

"Sir, can I see your datapad, please?" His voice is almost begging, hoping that there is some way to explain this discrepancy.

Vargas passes it down the table. "By their count, Ensign, there are almost 800 children under age 16 in the colony."

"Eight..eight..eight hundred children," Rangin stutters out as the numbers catch in his throat every time he tries to utter them.

He frantically grabs the datapad passed to him and starts tearing at his own to get to the data he had so recently put away.

He can feel the gaze of the people around the room all looking at him, but his vision focuses to only encompass the two datapads. Everything else seems extraneous, the muted sounds from around the room, the taste on his lips, the touch of the pads under his fingers. All that matters is what is in front of him...

...and he is horrified by what he sees. How could the data be so different?

"Oh no, this..." This isn't good, the data's wrong, all that work for nothing. Rangin rubs a sleeve quickly across his eyes trying to get rid of some stray tear that threatens to blur his vision.

"What's, what's..." What's the impact going to be, what changes, just what have I done? Rangin starts to compare the figures and sees the differences, where the data is wrong and he frantically starts tapping away.

"I need a few minutes..." I've gotta sort this out, gotta fix it, gotta know what will happen. He archives the old data and feeds the set in from Vargas' datapad in, "C'mon, C'mon, stop taking so long." It may be only a few seconds, but he can't stop drumming his fingers on the table, if anyone is speaking to him, he can't hear them, his focus solely on the datapads in front of him.

The data loads and immediately Rangin runs the simulation on his datapad. He doesn't care about anything else except the numbers, how many live, how many die. But one look at the results, tells him everything he needs to know and his throat dries up at the news.

Rangin's head snaps up and he looks straight down the table, focusing on the Captain. "Ma'am. You can't run the lottery with those changes. Please. You can't," he urges desperately, "you will be signing the death warrant for thousands of the colonists with no hope of being picked."

Nia tries to keep her heart rate steady, but alarm is winning out over her inborn abilities. Damn it, Rangin was wrong? Shit. Her heart sinks. And I told Booker that his friend would have a better chance...

Booker's not the only one whose hopes she raised. Her blabbing spread to Singh and Vargas and Roble and Cheverez. She passed along faulty data without double-checking it. One of the stupidest, most rookie-level errors a senior officer can make.

Rangin's rambling makes it clear that his algorithm isn’t just ineffective--it worsens things. After her face burns from a fast wave of anger aimed at the xenobiologist's mistake, Nia forcibly dismisses the fury by remembering her position. She was his commanding officer at the time.

She can't rake him over the coals when she's the overeager moron who sent the invalid report along.

"This is my fault," she says abruptly, with a rising need to see the number for herself. She stands without permission and walking around the table toward Rangin as she speaks. "I'm sorry, Captain. I take responsibility for acting without proper deliberation. Ensign Rangin handed me the calculations while you and I were speaking, and I just ran with them. I don't think he meant the report to be passed through..."

By now she's looking over Rangin's shoulder at his datapad. Her eyes scan the new numbers and her words freeze.

"Wait. Ensign--why are you--what are you talking about?" Nia narrows her eyes as she scans the information on his screen. "If I'm reading this correctly, using this algorithm and taking the extra children into account, the total lives saved increases." Nia squints and points to his new calculation. "From forty-two to two hundred."

The tension in her neck and shoulders almost relaxes. But by now it's obvious she shouldn't be taking anything for granted. "Why are you in a panic?" she asks him softly. "You're saving more lives. Isn't that the purpose of--well, everything we're doing?"

The Captain looks puzzled. "Thank you, Mr. Onn," she says. "Mr. Rangin, would you like step outside, access the Ship's Computer elsewhere and try again? I warn you, though, that our time is extremely limited."

On Deck 7, Graham inputs the code and opens the armored door to the Main Computer Core. He and Marala step through and are greeted by Lt. Timur Dosmukhambetov, the Yorktown's Chief Computer Officer, a heavyset Kazakh man with a magnificent mustache. He leads you past bank after bank of pale grey, humming, blinking computers, looming from deck to overhead and supervised by several redshirted computer techs, to a small conference room.

"The Captain asked that I explain the program we will be using to randomly and fairly select Novy Rostov colonists for evacuation," Dosmukhambetov says to Marala in thickly-accented Standard after you have taken your seats. "We began with the official list of colonists and current visitors, of course, and then...." He talks on and on, but it is not long before Marala begins asking questions that reveal her knowledge of high-level computing. Soon they're discussing heuristic algorithms, Daystrom analytic ellipses and fractal RV9 differentials, and Graham finds he can only barely follow their conversation.

These are pretty much the worst possible circumstance Graham could imaging to be having this feeling, but he's immensely proud of Marala as he half-follows the conversation.

Jane, Marala, Nia--sometime I'm going to have to ask women smarter than me why women smarter than me even give me the time of day...

There's not a lot of space in his mind for idle thoughts, though. The space freed by giving up the ghost on tracking "Daystrom analytic ellipses" is filled by figuring out how to get Nikolai off-planet assuming he's not picked in the lottery.

Nothing too fancy comes to mind: take control of a transporter room, get him stowed, take the court marshal.

He frowns slightly, wrestling with the prospect of Marala being left behind: as a parent he gets trading a spot for your child. But he's not happy at that prospect.

That freighter might offer an environment where I could pull off one or both of them under the radar... There's not much damn time...

Too late. Too late to cover the datapad and Lt Onn is giving everyone the good news about how many more it will save if they follow his algorithm. With just the one overwhelming side effect. The Captain's response is not encouraging either. He had already spent hours trying all sorts of combinations with the corrupt set of data. With this latest batch he can almost picture what the outcomes would be, even without having to run them again.

He can tick them over in his brain and he catches himself because he knows what his options are.

"No Ma'am, it won't be necessary," he says sadly, "of the several other scenarios I put together I know what the outcomes will be." He draws in a deep breath and calms his heart rate, "but in effect there are really two choices." He ticks them off in his head.

He looks around the table knowing he has everyone's attention once again, but this time sitting back, not really concentrating on them, but fixing his gaze on a bit of the table in front of him, seeing the slight pattern and trying to lose his focus so he can speak clearly.

"The first option is just to run the lottery as is. Twelve hundred or so people will be saved, randomly from across the colony with no bearing made to who they are. Short, succinct, and brutally efficient in what it does. A few families will survive, many of them will die."

He takes a deep breath and then continues. "The second option is to use my algorithm. You will save more people. Maybe tens more, maybe hundreds more, it will fit the most people from the colony given the constraints we have. But, anyone who is not in a family with a child is dead. Plain and simple, they will not survive the lottery. They have no chance using the method I set up."

He shakes his head at the thought of it. "To remove all chance from them under the pretense of a lottery is not something..." Rangin tails off at the thought of what he is describing.

"Actually there is a third option," Rangin speaks up again, "which would save the most people and give everyone a chance in the lottery. Every child under sixteen can be saved, there is enough room and every space after that can be randomly allocated to someone. But there is a problem."

Rangin looks up from the table straight to the Captain to make sure she understands what he is talking about. "The Governor has decreed that whole families will be saved. So, effectively, this is not an option unless you can reverse that decree."

He begins to chuckle slightly in despair, "And Ma'am, what is truly, bleakly, amusing is that you can probably save one adult from each family alongside the children and still have room for others." Rangin can feel the tension slowly begin to clear as he realises that he was right all along. "The first option I threw on the table, it's probably been the best option all along." He shakes his head again, knowing that no-one will use that option, because when it comes right down to it, they would rely on a lottery to abdicate all responsibility.

Well, if they run his process, they will be directly responsible. He wonders if they will still take that option or decide to balk once again.

He shrugs knowing it's now out of his hands. "Ma'am, that's the best that I can do. I've gone over all the options I know, this is what they mean. There is nothing more to report. Ma'am."

He sits back from the table waiting for answers once again. Calm and at peace, that he has done what he can, what he said and promised himself that he would do. To give the options to those at the top for them to decide.

The Captain drums her fingers quietly on the table, thinking, and finally says, "Thank you, Mr. Rangin. I will consider this further." She looks around the table and says, "Any other opinions as to the particular cases I mentioned earlier, Lt. Camden and the others?" There is a desultory discussion and the other officers offer their opinions, but no particular consensus emerges.



Marala finally says, "Thank you, Lieutenant, for your explanation and for answering all my questions. I can tell you've given this a lot of thought, and I appreciate all you've done."

"Certainly, ma'am," Dosmukhambetov replies, nodding somberly. "Something this important deserved our best efforts."

Marala turns and says to Graham, "Now I'd like to see the Captain again, please."

Rangin's statistics and recommendations explain his desperation more clearly. Nia straightens while listening and the grim truth wipes away her brief moment of hope.

It's bizarre. The captain seems to care more about the three possible exemptions than 200 children. Hell, she barely reacted to the news that the process could save up to five times more lives than Rangin originally thought. Or to Rangin's subsequent suggestions. They were worth a bit of finger-tapping at most.

For Nia, the choice--though difficult--is obvious. Save the children. It's second nature to her. No Sidonian woman would feel different. The saying is carved on the door of every group creche, every temple: We are the past, the dead; only the young are our future.

Nia backs against the wall, silent, and unconsciously hugs her abdomen.

The discussion around Kylah ebbs and swells. She has spent the time with hands in her lap, shoulders slumped, while trying to pay attention--or at least, look as if she is paying attention.

Velir's agonized demeanor washes over her like ripples turning into waves. For protection, she pushes away the energy of his mounting dread. More stress will shatter her.

At first she did not dare enter the discussion about the three potential exemptions. Kylah would prefer to remain silent and invisible. Now, with everyone else having expressed their thoughts... and after what Velir just said about the implications of using different parameters for the decision... she cannot help herself.

"Captain, forgive me, I know I must seem insufficiently involved, but..." Kylah tightens her diaphragm and forces the words out. "But if my opinion means anything, I think it abhorrent to consider any exemption from the lottery that leaves that person behind. To do so is not punishment. It is murder."

She switches her focus to Velir, then Lt. Onn--who seems ashen and withdrawn--and back to the Captain.

"This man was doing what he could to survive. Inappropriate, but natural. People do not wish to die. This is a horrific situation and I think almost any attempt to survive should be expected--and excused. Every sentient creature has a survival instinct; those who are sapient will concoct a desperate plan and proceed accordingly."

Kylah's face burns and she can no longer meet anyone's eyes. "As for what Vel--Ensign Rangin just said... I must also say this. I do not understand the Governor's restriction, his insistence that families remain together no matter what. I find it unconscionable that he would favor a system that takes away the parents' right to decide for themselves. Surely many, if not most, would personally step aside if it meant their children would survive. I cannot fathom--"

A vision of the party cuts her off, and her eyes well up. "He himself is a father. Two sweet girls," she adds hoarsely. "Is the Governor truly prepared to force his children to stay back, to die with him? Even if he is, and his wife, too, what gives him the right to make such a life-or-death choice for parents? Whatever fate he chooses for his children is... that is between him and Mrs. Vorenko.

"But to rip that decision from the other parents--no, that is madness, it is cruel. How can he not see that? How can anyone not see it? Captain, these are your ships. Surely you can override this man's preferences and choose Ensign Rangin's option to save the children first. Because the Governor is not thinking clearly, he cannot be. If no one in his family is chosen, will he truly just look into his daughters' eyes and wait?"

Kylah shakes her head vehemently. "If so, he does not deserve them," she spits out, her hands now fists on her lap. "Parents protect their children, he should have their best interests at heart. He should never force them into behavior that ends their future, destroys whatever chance they have for happiness! What kind of a leader is he, what kind of uncle is he?!"

The words are out only for a second when Kylah realizes her mistake. "Father," she stutters weakly. "I meant father. Please... I am sorry. I should not have spoken so..." She shrinks back in her chair, aghast. If she could she would transport herself from the room.

The Captain looks kindly at Kylah. "I understand, Mr. Kylah, and I sympathize. The Governor has a difficult task and is, I believe, doing his best under the circumstances. The Governor's policy, as he announced in his speech, will break up no families, and will ensure that everyone in a household will be saved, even if only one person there is selected through the lottery. We could not save every single child on the colony without rendering a substantial number of them orphans. Although I agree that some parents would willingly choose to sacrifice themselves rather than die with their children, I believe it is morally untenable to put all the parents of the colony under pressure to choose that course, especially since, among some couples, perhaps many, there will almost certainly be a difference of opinion. But I thank you for sharing your views."

Several other people around the room, including the Chief Engineer and Chief Medical Officer, now speak up, and the discussion continues to ebb and flow.

Rangin feels calm, he has done what he can, and will continue to do what is asked of him.

With the Captain effectively dismissing them and little further discussion going on, Rangin knows where he is due to head to next. To meet Mr Dosmukhambetov and go through the lottery calculations as he had them set up. Of course, given what he is finding out now, what is currently programmed may not necessarily be what is finally used. Better to talk to him now and get an update on what might be occurring next, so they can at least prepare for it.

However, he is surprised by Kylah's sudden outburst and he looks around at the officers waiting to see how they may react.

But she has a point, he hadn't considered that perhaps the Governor had added his rider to the lottery in order to gain a slight advantage, if he did have children. It was, is and probably will be forever, woman and children first, even in these enlightened days.

Then he listens to the Captain and he wonders if she actually listened to a word he had said.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to correct you but orphan means both parents are dead. Even if we took one parent for each family of children, we should have enough space and resources."

He shrugs having once again pointing it out.

"But if we are going to do if the Governor's way, then we cannot select by person, but by family. Otherwise it would be extremely unfair to those who are single and heavily biased towards those with large families."

Yet more things to ensure the lottery can handle.

"Captain, if you wish, I will prepare further options with Mr. Dosmukhambetov awaiting your decision."

"Of course, Marala," Graham responds.

Graham texts the Security station on the Bridge to ask the Captain's location.

If he gets, he heads there with Marala.

The Captain nods. "The selection, through the lottery, of even one person in any household will mean saving everyone in that household. That is what the Governor has announced to his people, and that is how the lottery will proceed. But you may meet with Mr. Dosmukhambetov if you wish, Mr. Rangin. Please go now, if so."

Graham and Marala make their way to Conference Room 1. The Captain welcomes them, briefly recaps the discussion so far, and invites their opinions.

Kylah's head shakes in tiny, almost undetectable motions. She does not understand Captain Singh's abrogation of responsibility regarding the selection. These are her ships. She is entirely within her right to determine who gets on board.

But instead she pretends, perhaps even to herself, that the Governor has the last word. Even when it is the wrong word.

Velir's idea of keeping the selection to one "entry" per household makes a great deal of sense, levels the playing field somewhat, even if his additional algorithm would add some weight to improve childrens' chances a bit.

But the Captain has just effectively shut the door in Velir's face. The lottery will go on as original planned. Kylah keeps her expression, wide eyes and lips a thin line, but looks at Velir as if she could transfer her sympathy to him. He must be frustrated.

His clarifying the definition of 'orphan' reignites her anger at the situation--the implication by the Governor and now Capt. Singh that orphaning a child is worse than killing it. Kylah struggles to keep her mouth shut, to avoid screaming, I am an orphan! I watched my parents die! I grieved terribly, I still do. Should I have been on the shuttle with them when it exploded? Does the life I led, my siblings too, not matter?

But she seethes in silence. She knows her presence here is extraneous, and suspects the Captain was only making a pretense of asking for advice. Basically everyone else is just as extraneous, except Cmdr. Vargas and perhaps the engineers.

Kylah drags her attention back to focus on Lt. Ferguson and their scheme. How much time is left? Will he really be able to create this deception? How should she prepare her quarters for the two extra--

Then the door opens and Lt. Graham walks in, accompanied by the woman, his friend, from the planet. Kylah has no idea what she is doing here. Has Lt. Graham managed to secure the woman's escape? Oh, I hope so, Kylah wishes fervently. She will certainly feel less guilty if Lt. Graham has been allowed to bring this woman to safety.

Nia does her best to avoid lashing out by kicking the chair in front of her. No sense in taking her anger out on Rangin when he's probably just as pissed off as she is.

Why is Singh rolling over to this political nobody? The leader of a minor mining colony, and she's taking her orders from him? If this were Nia's ship she wouldn't kowtow to a guy who's making shitty plans. Frankly she's even more shocked that Vargas is taking this.

Kylah's mini-meltdown seems well-earned, for once. Only Nia's decades of control keeps her from yelling much louder than the younger woman did. The whole thing is disgusting.

As she curses inwardly, using invective both familiar and invented just for the occasion, Nia notices a ripple of prickling sensations throughout her skin. Her scales. They're pushing through her widening pores--and not settling for just the usual, somewhat visible border areas: her forehead, collarbone, shoulders, calves. These are always quick to react.

But she can feel them emerging beyond their usual locations. Her arms and hands, her throat and back, and most of her legs: they're now smooth and cold, ready to protect her or launch an offensive.

Nia glances down and sees that the hands clasped and cradling her belly are gleaming, nearly covered. Without making it obvious, she slowly pulls them apart and hides them behind her back. No sense in everyone seeing what's going on. Although she doubts she can hide it, if anyone looks. The edges of her face must be shining a silver-green.

She understands why her body's reacting this way. This is evolution, it's inborn. Perceiving and protecting against threats to living creatures' most precious, vulnerable resources are why Nia exists. It's what she and generations before her have been optimized to do. Doesn't matter that the vulnerable young ones are not her own, not even Sidonian. Her instincts have identified the danger and are preparing her for a battle that Nia can't actually fight.

She can't save these children from a star.

Or from Starfleet captains.

The door whooshes open and Nia, face lowered so as to hide her mini-transformation, turns to find Booker. At once adrenaline rushes through her, even though it's already surging--that's what helped create the biological armor that covers about 50% of her body. But at the sight of Book, her blood seems to spark with electricity in a single zap.

She keeps her delight and relief at seeing Book again to herself, however, for the sake of propriety. He was preceded into the conference room by someone else--a stranger, a woman. Oh. Right. The Novy Rostov representative.

Then the Captain greets them and says the woman's name, and of course, it's her, it's Marala. Booker's Marala. Nia knows she's not hiding her emotions very well, and redoubles her effort to act like an adult with a small, welcoming, sympathetic smile. But it's brief and she returns to lowering her head as if in deep thought.

But what she's really thinking is surprising her. She's not usually insecure, and she also doesn't usually let personal life overwhelm her during a mission. And yet, inside, a voice is telling her:

He looks good with her. With another human. Different skintones but at least she's still got skin, not scales. They seem to fit. They seem... right.

Nia knows the feelings are, like the scales, emerging due to her biology. Some part of her lizard brain thinks of Booker as hers. But since they haven't really... well... mated, he's still up for grabs. Ready for other females to poach.

The funny thing is that anyone who knows her would attest to her almost total lack of jealousy. But right now, with the long-developed Sidonian impulses roiling within her... if Nia were less civilized, she'd be fighting the desire to sink her teeth into Marala's jugular.

Rangin's thoughts are in a whirl with the Captain saying one thing one moment and another the next. It doesn't matter, he has permission to go and check on the lottery set up and despite his fears and worries he needs, he must go and ensure it is carried out fairly.

"Thank you Captain," he says quickly while gathering himself and his datapad. If the lottery is using his methods as the Captain agreed, then he needs to know and make sure that the data he initially received is not the data that the lottery will be using. But if it is using that data, he needs to stop the lottery somehow, because of the inherent biases it now contains and he won't know that until he gets there.

He sees Graham and Marala enter the room, but his concerns are only are making sure the lottery is correct and he slips out while the conversation continues heading straight for Mr. Dosmukhambetov.

Rangin doesn't know the passcode to get through the heavy door to the Main Computer Core, but is admitted by Lt. Dosmukhambetov after his identity is confirmed. They sit down in the same small conference room as Graham and Marala had earlier. "What can I do for you, Ensign?" the Kazakh officer asks.

Graham doesn't consider himself remotely in the running for membership of Empath of the Month Club, but the tension in the conference room is palpable.

Even Nia seems...off.

Then the Captain's recap gives him some sense of why.

His glance goes from the Captain to Nia to Marala, then back. His throat is tight. "If I have permission to speak freely, ma'am I don't like the idea of leaving children behind," he clips out. His body language and tone, despite his best efforts, probably conveys that "don't like" is a serious understatement. "From a Security standpoint...parents might try some desperate acts."

Rangin is surprised that he does not get immediate access to the main computer room as he had been told earlier that he was supposed to report there to oversee the lottery and double check the calculations.

But he us here now, although it is even more serious than it was just half an hour ago. With everything going on, there is no way that Rangin is saying anything further until he knows exactly what the lottery is set up to do. And knowing the way some programmers work, it will be a very predictable standard random lottery. Thoughts of OCIII and the trouble that was caused there by another programmer, Vice-Admiral or otherwise, has Rangin wondering if this really is the most sensible idea after all.

"Hello Mr Dosmukhambetov, thank you for having me here. I need to see the test results of the modifications made to the lottery by my proposal and check the outcomes. Thank you."

Watching Velir leave, Kylah sighs softly. He must feel so discouraged after the wasted work and ingenuity. At least he seems to believe there is a way he can be useful.

She turns back to Lt. Graham. He might make some difference. Kylah hopes the word of a Security Officer will sway Cmdr. Vargas, and then the Captain in turn. A very distant chance, but surely a better possibility than Kylah has, or Velir. And with Mrs. Gromov beside him, it might be harder for the Captain to deny an argument that is so clearly correct.

Damn, Book, that's a good angle to play. Nia almost smiles despite the sorrow, anger and fear choking in her throat. She still avoids looking at him, but straight ahead she can see that Ensign Kylah is doing enough of that for two. The girl's dark-eyed gaze flits from Booker to Marala and back again like a nervous hummingbird.

Nia does her best to force her scales back where they belong, but it's not easy. When calm, she can control her scales' appearance. Now, with dread and alarm buzzing through her, she's practically a slave to her body's defenses.

Anyway, all the relaxing breaths in the world won't change the fact that thousands of people are going to die and she can't help them--and in fact, if the scientists' calculations are off and the star chooses to perform its grand finale a few hours early, Nia and everyone on board the ship will die along with the colonists.

Yeah, she thinks with a ragged exhale. These scales aren't going anywhere.

Vargas says to Graham, "A fair point, Mr. Graham, and one we discussed with the NR leadership at some length while we were down there. So far things have been mostly calm, and nothing their own Security and auxiliary forces haven't been able to handle, but we'll have to be ready to respond if there's widespread unrest after the lottery results are announced."

Marala says soberly, "I agree with Mr. Graham. The people of Novy Rostov are overwhelmingly honest and law-abiding, but under the enormous stresses of this... situation, I'm afraid things could deteriorate in a hurry."

Dosmukhambetov shows Rangin the projected lottery outcomes from his proposal which result, as predicted, in an additional 42 lives saved.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh fucking hell. Fuckety, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Rangin smiles a rictus grin of knowing that something has gone horribly wrong and if he doesn't sort this out a lot of people are going to be denied any right to life from the lottery and why does he have to find out this kind of thing now, why couldn't his results be just fine and enough he tells himself. From the meeting only a few scant minutes ago, he can guess with a fair degree of certainty that there is more to this than just one set of bad data. Now we have two of them.

"Thank you Mr Dosmukhambetov, I can certainly say that you have successfully implemented my proposals as accurately as I would expect..."

He takes a deep breath and can feel himself rising slightly from his feet as he struggles to maintain calm control of his thoughts as he looks directly at the little winking numbers in front of him on the console. He opens his datapad and flicks to the updated lottery run and the new totals at odds with the results in front of him.

"Unnnnfortunately, your data is invalid. Not just invalid, but probably deliberately corrupted to impact the lottery in a way that is beneficial to a party or parties as yet unknown" he cheerily mentions through gritted teeth, not even bothering to look at him, but casually tossing his datapad down in front of the engineer showing the updated figures using Vargas' data.

"Dammit," Rangin swears under his breath again, "if you will excuse me, I think I had better inform the Captain that we have a small problem here." he says clearly.

Heading to the Comms panel, Rangin requests to be put through to the Captain. If he is lucky she will still be with the group in the room. For once, he hopes Graham's slow, petty minded tendencies will work in his favour.

The bosuns whistle sounds and Singh presses the tabletop comm switch. "Rangin to Captain Singh," all in the conference room hear.

"Singh here. Go ahead, Mr. Rangin."

Rangin draws in a deep breath and tries to put aside the thoughts of his current surroundings and concentrate on the matter at hand. So many things that could go wrong and now it seems that one of the very worst is happening.

"Captain, I have some bad news. The initial testing of the lottery shows it suffers the same issues as the proposal. Namely that the data it has been supplied with is invalid. I repeat, the data is invalid. Mr Dosmukhambetov's lottery is empirically showing the same result pattern as I generated, with only forty-two extra lives saved."

Rangin licks his lips as they dry out as he tries to continue speaking, "We cannot, morally or ethically, consider running this version of the lottery as it stands. Much as I would just like to accept Cmdr. Vargas' data, I believe we should go to source to retrieve it for ourselves instead of it being sent to us. There is also the consideration of if you want to use this proposal in the lottery or not, especially if the data is as we believe it to be."

Rangin rolls his eyes at the ceiling because he fears that he is not going to get an answer that leads to any action, other than the Captain just abdicating responsibility to someone else. Fortunately, she can't see him.

"Captain, what are your orders?"

There is a long pause. Singh says, "It's not Cmdr. Vargas's data, it's data the NR government itself provided to us. And, with some exceptions for people who've come here since the last updates were sent to Earth, it matches the Federation's own personnel data, doesn't it, Mr. Roble?"

The Science Officer says, "That's correct, ma'am."

The Captain turns to Marala. "You've seen the records, haven't you, Ms. Gromov?"

"Yes, Captain," she says. "It looked right to me. I noticed no errors, none at all, although I have to admit I don't personally know all eight thousand-some of the colony's people."

Singh drums her fingers on the Theban marble tabletop. "We're running out of time. Other opinions? Recommendations?"

The conversation between Velir and Capt. Singh causes Kylah to look down at the table with a little cringey shudder. She is embarrassed for him. Not over anything he has said or done, but rather, how the senior officers treat him. Yes, of course the captain must be frustrated and short-tempered, just as everyone is, and she has no time to be tactful. But Velir has tried so hard, and he never seems to receive the level of respect he deserves.

More opinions or suggestions? Kylah cannot think of any. She hopes they ignore Velir's recommendation and use his calculations after all. Forty-two lives is forty-two lives. If the families with children have a greater chance than those without... no one needs to know.

She peeks up again, noticing Lt. Onn, who-- Kylah gives a silent inward gasp. What is happening? The older woman looks shiny. Silvery. Her face, the collarbone visible in the V-neck of her uniform...

Of course--her race. Kylah knows little about Sidonians but this must be some skin reaction to stress. Like humans and hives. Not wanting to stare, Kylah blinks and lands her gaze on Marala Gromov.

How can anyone have such resolve and dignity in the face of the destruction of her home? In what could be her own death, her child's? Again Kylah tries to believe that her connection to Lt. Graham will be enough to ensure Mrs. Gromov's safety--but what if it is not?

She shudders again and looks regretfully at Lt. Graham, knowing of his grief of his wife. He does not deserve such pain twice.

Then an idea slaps her in the face, making her eyes widen, her cheeks burn.

Should she tell him how he can save Marala?

Should she tell him about her deal with Lt. Ferguson?

Rangin's somewhat tinny voice talks faster, and firmer, and Nia shakes her head slightly in confusion, even more so when Singh and Roble respond. Then Marala speaks up. Her quiet courage and extremely dark humor--regarding the number of people she knows on the planet--helps Nia see why she's so special to Booker.

She speaks up when the Captain asks for suggestions. "Ma'am... first, that 42 number can't be correct. With respect, Cmdr. Roble... Mr. Rangin's first calculations used incorrect data, remember? And that's what gave him the increased total of 42. But when he used the correct number from Cmdr. Vargas, the potential saved total was larger. We discussed this ten minutes ago, did I dream this?"

Frustrated, she takes a deep breath. Seriously, it's a horrible situation but is no one's memory working?

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flip. My point is that when Rangin re-ran the numbers that Cmdr. Vargas gave him, the result was a couple hundred extra. So the only way Mr.--"

She pauses, trying to remember the guy's crazy long name, couldn't he come up with a shorter version like she did?

"--The only way Mr. Dosmukhambetov could've come up with the total of 42 is if he's using the same incorrect data as Mr. Rangin. We'd better correct that, don't you think?"

She raises her voice slightly, trying to reach him. "And Mr. Rangin's algorithm results in so many more lives we should use it. I'm sorry, Rangin. I understand your feelings--you don't believe me but I do. And still I disagree. I know it's unfair and it's a horrible choice to make, but in the end whatever results in the largest number of lives saved must be picked."

She stares levelly at the Captain. "I would also recommend overriding the Governor, as Mr. Kylah suggested. Give two slots to each family with children. Yes, we'll be giving twice the chance of survival to families with kids versus single people or couples, but... we just have to favor children. Their lives... they're so young, it's... it's insane not to..."

Bereft of words for a rare second or two, Nia turns to face Booker and Marala, ignoring her wish to keep her scales unseen. "Ma--Mrs. Gromov," she says, her voice tense but back in control. "You seem like an extraordinary person, standing rationally, calmly, under what must be... what I know is a terrifying future for your home and family. But you're standing here, listening to us quibble about 42 versus 200 lives as if they're just numbers rather than people. You must have an opinion on this. What if anything are we missing?"

Marala thinks a long time before speaking. Her voice is almost anguished. "I don't know what you're missing, if anything. My mind is awhirl - I barely feel like I can think straight. Naturally I'd save every life if I could. But also, of course, I understand the limitations you're all under as to this ship's life support and evacuation capabilities. Selfishly, I want my son and I to live, and all of our friends, and everyone I know, but I... I know that can't happen. I just beg you all, you especially, Captain - please, please save as many as you can."

Singh is quiet even longer before she says, looking ancient and terribly tired, "Thank you, Mrs. Gromov. That has always been my intention." She pauses, then says, "Mr. Rangin, work with Mr. Dosmukhambetov with the data you have. If it means 200 more saved and not 42, so much the better. But it will otherwise be a random draw, saving everyone in a household, including children, if the name of anyone in that household is drawn, as the Governor and I agreed earlier. I will not otherwise favor children over adults. The lottery should proceed on a rolling basis until our maximum-capability number is reached."

"And as to the three special cases you mentioned earlier, ma'am?" Vargas asks quietly.

"Yes," Singh says, nodding. "Thank you for the reminder, Commander. As much as I'd like to give her special consideration, Lt. Camden of Starfleet Security will be included in the lottery. I won't authorize her immediate evacuation. I think that's only fair, given how long she's been here and her role, to all intents and purposes, as a colonist. To do otherwise would show favoritism to a fellow officer who swore the same oath we did, and who knows of the risks associated with Starfleet service. Mrs. Kostoyev, who's still in medical isolation in our Sickbay, will not be included in the lottery. She's never even been to the surface and should not be included with the others. She may remain here." She thinks. "And as to Mr. Harris, who's offered bribes to be saved... well, bribery is not a capital offense. He'll be included in the lottery as well. He can take his chances with the others. I won't exclude him."

"But, Captain...." the Chief Engineer starts to say. Dr. Villa also looks like she's about to speak.

"I have decided, Mr. Cheverez, Doctor," Singh says firmly. "That is all. Next, we must...."

The tabletop comm bosun's whistle sounds. "Bridge to Captain," you hear Lt. Bennett say.

Graham can't for the life of him figure out what's going on. He's inclined to assume Rangin doesn't know what the hell he is doing, but walks himself back: whatever his issues, he's a hundred times better at something like life support and lottery calculations than I would be.

It's clear to him Nia is upset--and, showing it with her display of scales. And Kylah...well, also upset. He tries to look at least supportive as he glances from one to the other.

Then the Captain asks Marala to speak, and each syllable feels worse than the disruptor shot he took previously. From behind her, protocol be damned, after she speaks, he places a hand on her shoulder.

She's here. On the ship. We need to get Nikolai off the surface, but is she going back? Am I going to put her on a transporter pad?

The signal from the Bridge gives him a break from sorting through that...

Rangin listens to the orders from the Captain and wonders if the stress is getting to her. Leaving the comms on mute he comments to Mr Dosmukhambetov, "Well Sir, it appears the Captain would like us to achieve two impossible things before breakfast and I think she has lost her marbles. She has literally asked for two mutually exclusive options to be progressed. We cannot save another 200 people unless we concentrate exclusively on saving as many children as possible, but we must not give any priority to children."

He sighs deeply and looks to the ceiling and utters a brief prayer to some deity because this is definitely a time for miracles.

"And we don't even know if the data is any good either." He shakes his head wondering how he is going to work his way out of this one, it feels like a three-shell game run by the Orion Syndicate with your life on the line if you don't find the ball hidden in their left pocket.

In other words, Rangin needs to cheat...which is going to be difficult with a Lt in the room who is probably as ramrod straight as they come.

"Sir, I believe we may need to use, oh what's the phrase you humans have..." Rangin thinks for a moment before it comes to mind, "ah, perhaps experience a little force majeure in our endeavours in carrying out our duty to the utmost."

Rangin waits to see how he reacts as well as listen for anything more from the Captain, but his mind starts planning how to put the new lottery together and how to get hold of the data, and having the ship's best computer expert right here to use in the endeavour is the best start he is going to get.

The captain's decision must weigh very heavily on her, because Nia feels like a ton of bricks have descended on her own shoulders--and she's not even the one who had to decide.

The bricks fell on her when Marala spoke. Her tight throat can hardly swallow, and, when Booker places a hand on the other woman's shoulder, Nia shifts her gaze slightly to meet his. We are getting her out. I don't care if I have to offer prayers to Ren'Sala'Seht herself.

Not that prayers have ever done her much good. She had faith when young, decades ago, but since she said goodbye to her last newborn Nia can't truly believe. Sid'Os Herself was a mother. If She existed She would not have allowed such things.

But in times like this, Nia wishes she had the comfort of belief. Are the doomed people on the planet on their knees now, praying alone in their house or together somewhere holy, with a priest or chaplain? Do any of them trust that they'll be saved, or that if they die, they'll go to some other realm?

No god holds their fate in its hands. Just a computer, one that'll randomly pick who lives and who dies.

While imagining what might be happening below, Nia keeps looking at Booker, even when he, understandably, has eyes only for Marala. Then as her mind works more, she looks past him, at nothing. Something is trying to take form in her brain. A nebulous image, like an illustration from a book... no, exactly an image from a book. She envisions crowds, priests, a cathedral...

Then the announcement from Cece, the buzz like an annoying fly, interrupts her. She shakes her head and turns back to the captain.

No, no! Kylah almost lets her face fall into her hands. It is a relief that Capt. Singh is not sentencing Mr. Harris to an illegal death, but the others...

She sees Lt. Graham's somewhat comforting look and gives him a tiny, helpless shrug. This is beyond her capacity of understanding. The misery in the room, on the entire ship, seems to have swollen into a living being, one with a psychic choke-hold on her.

Still struggling with the possibility of telling Lt. Graham about her secret, Kylah gives a start when the intercom buzzes. Lt. Bennett, from the Bridge. This cannot be good.

Dosmukhambetov has a slightly wry smile but says nothing.

"Carry on, Mr. Rangin," Singh says, switching over to the Bridge link. "Bridge, Singh here. Go ahead."

"Ma'am, you have two priority calls from the surface. I think you may wish to take them in private."

"Thank you, Mr. Bennett. I'll take them in my office." She switches off and says, "Thank you, everyone. Proceed with preparations for the evacuation. Dismissed."

With Singh and Vargas in the lead, the room begins to empty.

Graham spares a moment to glance at Nia, then takes a deep breath and waits for Marala to be ready to...go...or...get mad. Or cry, or...whatever.

But he's more certain: if I'm going to treat Nikolai as if he were Lizzy's brother, would I put his mother back on her way to the planet?

Marala looks stunned and dejected. She just sits there.