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

Bizhi still has the remnants of a grin plastered on his face, so he does not grimace or smirk very much at all at "Ginran". Like the Uwat, whom he likes the cut of their jib, the--- let's just assume they are who they seem to be--- Vulcan nuns are clearly no fools, but at the same time look like they could not care less about his party's many faux pas. This larger group, however--- if it has them on edge? Romulans? Klingons? Regional desperadoes? The only comment from the Uwat officer has been that they are "somewhat unpopular".

A smile briefly flickers on Nia's face when Book asks the questions that she'd been curious about herself, but hadn't thought to ask. He should lead more missions. Why doesn't he? she ponders. Of course, now he's got a family and will probably be less keen on risking his life. Understandable and responsible. But it's also hard to imagine him settling down in a domestic setting. Then again, he missed that with Jane and Lizzie. Might be glad of a second chance.

She tries to refocus on her surroundings and does her best to act alert--not so much for the Vulcans' or Uwat's sakes; none of them matter much. It's her crew who she wants to believe she's not totally gone.

"Do you know where we'll be stopping along the way? If anywhere? I mean... if you or the other passengers are disembarking before the Doregg reaches its destination."

Her brain's foggy and her arms and legs are still tired from the climb. She needs some help remaining vertical. Booker is nearest to her, but asking him for this favor--much as she wants to--isn't wise. Instead, Nia moves to Rawlings--making sure to stay on the side that leaves him more ready to act, if necessary--and slips her arm behind his to clutch onto the top of his sturdy coat collar.

"T," she says under her breath. "You mind if I just... lean on you a bit?" 'Hang on you' would be more accurate. Nia looks up at him with weary, abashed eyes. "Just until I can get horizontal."

It's a testament to how crappy she feels that she doesn't even consider turning that into a suggestive pun.

T'Ves tells Kylah, "We have been on this ship since it stopped at Aztlan, about two weeks ago, and we then booked passage. We were aboard another ship, the Persephone's Smile, before then, but its route was not convenient for us. We four are on a pilgrimage to the Vulcan shrine on Shiyy Val. Our two other sisters are resting now, but you will meet them later, I'm sure." As to form of address, she makes an offhand gesture and says, "Please feel free to call us by our names. It is not necessary to use our titles as Daughters of Surak."

To Graham she says with a thin smile, "Ah, the ambiguities of language. My answer perforce is, 'both.' They are larger both in numbers - there are nine of them - and as to size."

She tells Onn, "The Doregg is making several other stops before we leave. Jol has told me of your plans - you are to disembark by shuttle near Cavinre in three days' time, I believe? We will be aboard for another week after that. We will not be going as far as Uwat Prime, the ship's eventual destination."

Her gaze taking you all in, she asks politely, "But what of you? How came you to be aboard an Uwat starship? Are you shipmates yourselves? You are from the Federation, I perceive."

Rawlings murmurs to Onn, "You can lean on me anytime, Lieutenant. But wouldn't you rather at least sit down until we can find you a bed?"

Bizhi feels like he should curtail this conversation at least for Nia's sake, who (to his experienced eyes) is clearly about to conk out on one on the couches here if she does not get to bed soon. Yet, if he drags her out of here prematurely or otherwise derails things, she, and probably the rest, would miss out on all the intel T'Ves is cannily slipping them, which she and L—uh Graham certainly want to hear.

Inevitably the conversation turns to their identity, and he is reasonably sure T'Ves can easily detect a naked lie. "Indeed we are," he says (difficult to hide that accent, for starters, even if some of them did not grow up on Federation core worlds), "though we work all over the quadrant. In this case, my associates and I had business on Ollos— I'll spare you the details; let's just say it is a world of commerce and not so much philosophy— and are headed to Cavinre next, as you've heard. This transport happened to be going in the right direction at a convenient time, so here we are."

Nia's fingers release Rawlings's coat collar, then brush the material to smooth it. "Anything to get me in bed," she murmurs with a flicker of humor in her otherwise tired expression. "But seriously, I don't want to sit when everyone else is--"

She pauses to hear the doctor's response to T'Ves, which is relatively close to what she would have said, except for the Federation part; Two of them technically aren't, and that might've been a good cover. But it's a fast and simple story so why not run with it.

So there are nine of these apparently big strangers who seem to make even Vulcans somewhat uncomfortable. Her mind does a quick inventory of the races who fit this description that she'd least like to meet in these circumstances--and, really, there are just too many. That's not even including those she doesn't know about.

Unwilling to show too much weakness--adding to her party's vulnerability--Nia does her best to keep upright on her own for as long as possible. Still, she adds more generally, "Maybe we can head to our bunks now? I gather we'll be grouping together. We can take off all our coats and stow our belongings." (She's forgotten that the only thing she has left is the medical case.) "Unless... Is there anything else we ought to know?" She shrugs in an attempt to look unworried. "Y'know, ship culture or etiquette or whatever?"

Graham only nods appreciative acknowledgement of the Vulcan's clarification, but internally he's immediately on alert and feels a rush of adrenaline.

Great it would be just our luck to have boarded a ship with nine fucking Gorn or some such...

The presence of the Uwat children is some comfort: the ship's crew did not seem stupid, and they'd have as much or more interest in putting their confiscated weapons to use in their kids' defense if anything went south.

But if the mystery group tuend out to have hostility that was specifically Federation- or human-directed...

Before T'Ves can reply, Jol says, "Bunks? You hired this ship for transportation, no more. We did not discuss lodgings... or food." It is difficult for Kylah to read his tone.

Kylah turns in surprise and annoyance--not to mention a touch of her dormant sense of entitlement. "With respect, sir, we paid for a three-day journey on a transport ship, and at the time you acknowledged you had two parties on board. In fact, there are at least..." She adds the total quickly. "At least thirteen other passengers besides us. I should think you would have some sort of sleeping accommodations available. And prior to taking us on your shuttle, do you not think you might have mentioned that we would have to provide our own meals?"

Though Nia's own hopes took a nosedive at the Uwat's words, Kylah's reaction helps nothing. She starts to snap out "Ens--" before catching herself. "Insulting our hosts is completely out of line. We're lucky to have found the Doregg at all. We never expected our 'accommodations' to include private cabins with meals served to us on trays."

She faces the First Officer. "Sorry, Mr. Jol. We're tired and... it's been a very, very long couple of days. And she's our protocol expert," Nia adds dryly. Her eyes shift to take in the couches and seats around the Common Room. "Look, I don't care if we have to sleep here. Or find some storage area where we can toss our coats in a heap to make up pallets on the floor."

Raising one arm wearily in the direction of the replicator, Nia nods. "And we'll pay you for whatever resources we use for grub. Just... just please, let us know some place we can..."

There's a hesitation when Nia realizes she has no idea how to finish the sentence. Or even how she began it in the first place. Her mind searches and it's utterly blank. "Where we can..." She stares helplessly at Booker, then the doctor, before finishing with a weak and entirely inadequate, "Where we can be."

Bizhi admires what Jol is trying to do, even while the last thing they want to do now is deal with this nonsense, and of course Mr. Jol knows it.

He moves up next to Nia and Terrance, puts his arm around the former in a reassuring squeeze (and is ready to catch her should she faint again). He locks eyes with Mr. Jol, maintaining a thin smile, and takes over from Nia, "I recall you agreed you had room. Bunks, cargo hold, it's all the same to us. As long as it has gravity, life support, and environmental controls, which we never discussed explicitly but lack thereof would be an absurdity. Well... I suppose we could do without gravity; it wouldn't be the first time. Comestibles we will pay for in hard currency. Naturally."

None of you have ever seen a Vulcan grimace before, but T'Ves comes very close to doing so. "Unlike most other starfaring races which provide passage to others, the Uwat offer all shipboard services on - what is the Earth phrase? - an a la carte basis. And they do not tell you until you are already aboard."

Jol does not seem bothered by her expression, or this comment, in the least. The children, however, scurry behind him. He says, "We have cabins available, and food suitable for your kind, of course, but you must pay. I offered the same to the Vulcans for 5,000 Federation credits per person, which is more than generous." Rawlings cannot help but quietly scoff. Jol goes on, "I now make you the same offer."

A sigh of relief escapes Kylah. Five thousand per head? Thirty thousand credits hardly seems like a fortune to her--she could easily take care of it, if necessary. She nearly blurts "Oh is that all?" before she clamps her jaw shut to prevent such a remark. Aside from standing out too much (and possibly inviting another dark look from Lt. Onn), it strikes her that making this fee seem too reasonable might be counterproductive. It would be typical of such grifters to decide to raise the price yet again, if the party members appeared willing to have paid more.

Since she made the offer to Lt. Graham earlier, she directs her meaningful gaze to him. "Five thousand is a great deal, along with the 12,000 we already agreed upon. But I...I believe I would be able to come up with such a fare, myself, if it is what must be done. As I said before, sir. Er, Mr. Booker," she corrects herself.

Of course then she belatedly realizes that she still did not use the right form of address. Tense as the moment is, she gives him a sheepish little smile of apology. Going undercover is not her greatest strength.

"You may do as you like with your share," Bizhi says, eyeing Kylah.

"I'll share a cabin with whoever is game." He looks around the room. (Five thousand? he surreptitiously mouths at T'Ves.)

Though a little taken aback by Dr. Mäkeläinen's arm around her shoulder, Nia appreciates the support and, perhaps, the continuation of her playacting aboard the shuttle. Both to further that role--and, quite frankly, because she needs to--Nia rests her head against the Doc's shoulder, which isn't that comfortable since he's slightly shorter than she is. Still, it's warm, strong and keeps her head from lolling, so she's got nothing to complain about.

What she does wanna complain about is the added fee. This kinda bilking bugs the hell out of her, but at this point the Uwat have left them with no options.

Nia is bloody sick of no options. Unfortunately, she's too tired to argue.

Still, she stares as steadily at Jol as she can. "Out of curiosity, what do you do if a passenger doesn't pay your surprise add-on rate?" She nods toward the corridors. "Your big unpopular group, whoever they are. They take this charge bump in their stride?"

Her glance shifts to her party members. "As for who sleeps where... I'll bunk anywhere horizontal, at this point." But she can't help glancing at Booker.

Graham cocks and eyebrow...Kylah is on the ball, here, he thinks.

And Nia needs to god damned get some rest...


"Let's make it so Mist-- Miss Kylah," he says, nodding. His toward her is appreciative and approving, a reflection of what he feels about her - maybe - blossoming into the officer he believes she can become.

Less so toward the Uwat, but he forces himself to remain the picture of politeness. "While it's an unexpected expense," he says calmly, "we'll make good on it."

Kylah cannot miss Lt. Graham's encouragement, warm as a sunbeam and just as welcome. It might mean little to him, a standard "good job" look toward a junior officer, but if so... no, Kylah would know that. To her, at least, Lt. Graham has kept his emotions open, readable probably to almost anyone who sees them, much less an empath.

They have had troubles between them, mostly due to Kylah's own disingenuous nature and the secrets she must keep. A little from his misunderstanding her; more from her underestimating him. But otherwise, she is terribly grateful for him and vows to share just how much his approval means to her.

She nods at the Uwat to echo Lt. Graham's words, maintaining her poise. "As we are now decided," Kylah says in her best emulation of what a member of the royal House of the Silver Weeping Tree should behave, "May we see the accommodations we have agreed to pay for, sight unseen?"

It would undermine her demeanor to bounce on her toes, so Kylah does not. But she is oddly...happy? Is it terrible to be this way with Lt. Onn's illness and all the danger that they have encountered, and still might? If it is, Kylah can only try to hide it. She cannot command her heart not to beat like a quick, pleasant tattoo within her breast.

A man as strong and brave as Lt. Graham seems to think her actions laudable. And Velir is by her side, the memory of his kisses still tingling her skin whenever she imagines it. He is in trouble, but she is helping him. She is useful. Purposeful.

Turning to the Doctor, Kylah nods as well. "As for sharing, Doc, it should be easy to split into groups of three, keeping the--" She halts at how to describe "security officers" without sounding like "security officers." "Keeping the strongest pair distributed within both. T-terrence, could you be with me and...Ganrin?" She is not sure which name is harder to say with a straight face. "And obviously Doc and Booker ought to sleep with Nia."

Graham starts at Kylah's phrasing..."Booker ought to sleep with Nia..."

But her suggestion is sound, and after a moment he nods agreement.

Graham and Jol are able to work out payment details, with 3,000 credits for each paid now, and another 2,000 upon reaching the Cavinre system.

Jol answers Onn, unapologetically, "Different races have different negotiating customs. Had you not agreed to pay for living quarters, you could have stayed here in the Common Room. For food, you may have bargained with the other passengers, or paid for one meal at a time until you reach your destination."

You hear one of the doors just down the corridor ahead slide open, and then the thud of heavy boots on the deck plating, approaching you. The Uwat children quickly disappear down the corridor behind you, heading aft. One, two, then three aliens appear. Each is tall but stocky, with reddish-purplish skin, prominent brow ridges, coarse hair in spiky braids and four thin, sharp teeth protruding from their lower jaws. They are wearing what appears to be light armor of a leather-like substance and flexible metal plates. The biggest of them, who has a red, metallic, triangular insignia on his right shoulder, stops abruptly when he sees you, and the other two do likewise. "More passengers!" he shouts angrily. "You said nothing of bringing aboard more passengers. Damn you for a miserable cheat, Jol!"

"I am required neither to report to you before more passengers come aboard," Jol says calmly, "nor to get your permission, Teloqq. Their presence cheats you of nothing."

None of you recognize these large, mean-looking aliens.

A lot happens at once.

Kylah suggests that "Doc" and Booker should sleep with Nia, a straight line that demands a remark, but Nia's not sure yet about Dr. Mäkeläinen's sense of humor (though he seems to have an appreciation for irony). And Booker...

The girl was right: He ought to have slept with her. Why didn't they take that natural next step? Would things have turned out the same way, if he'd been happy with her? Her confidence as a pilot and engineer has taken a literal plunge over the past 48, but Nia was born and raised to be a sexual partner, and that doesn't go away. Especially not with as much practice as she's got.

Yeah but how much worse would I feel if we'd had sex, only for him to hop off the ride and bounce over to the warm-blooded girl-next-door of his dreams?

The reflective moment dies when she hears Jol's voice and pseudo-explanation for his method of doing business. And it positively crumbles into dust and ash once Nia's widened eyes take in the huge-ass strangers in bad need of braces.

She straightens up to stand on her own and appear alert, to the best of her ability. This is no time to be chatty, and she very much needs to understand just what the hell these men are arguing about. Still, she can't help murmuring under her breath, "Just once, couldn't someone be happy to see us?"

The aggressive strangers' arrival slaps Kylah's optimism in the face for being bold enough to reveal itself. Despite the irrationality, she cannot help fearing that her hubris evoked this situation.

Her hand, which had gently been brushing against Velir's fingers, reflexively grabs for him and tightens. Other than that, she does not move. The Uwat children had the right instincts, or at least the same ones Kylah feels now. She wishes she were either much bigger than she is--or so tiny as to be invisible.

She clamps her mouth shut and casts a quick look at the other crew members, as well as the Vulcans, to see how they react. The natural thing for Kylah would be to attempt to get some sense of this Teloqq person and his group. But their brutish demeanor and speech are doing the job all on their own. Kylah is, frankly, afraid to peek inside their emotions.

Fuck maybe we'd be better off with Gorn... is Graham's first thought.

Graham notes the kids ran aft, suggesting a path of where to retreat to if things go South.

Jol's calm - despite his borderline fraudster business tactics - is at least a bit comforting.

"We are...quite tired, Mr. Jol," Graham says, matching the Uwat's calm tone. "As soon you are at liberty to show us to our quarters."

With their little pantomime or without, Jol's type of trading should not be encouraged, Bizhi feels. They absolutely should have gone for at least a couple of rounds of haggling, all the more so since it supposedly from their credits that they are paying ludicrous amounts. And, considering the future when they make it back to Starfleet in one piece, he is not positive what resources these vast sums that his team is so quick to sign off on actually represent, even though they are little more than a rounding error from that point of view.

Bizhi was not bluffing in that, if it were up to him, he truly would be content to lie down right here or someplace below decks. It is warm enough even without any extra clothes or blankets. But, the way things are, they do need a place where they can have some privacy.

He is happy for Kylah who seems to be enjoying herself. He begins to reply something suitably clever, but then... this big guy. The problem is that he has no idea what approach, or lack thereof, might offend. Not quite no idea: it is not much to go on, but judging by Jol's attitude it is best to be cool. But just then Booker has the utterly brilliant idea of ignoring the strangers completely. So, instead of starting some sort of conversation with these new people, what he does is follow Booker's lead and allow himself to be led to the cabin he is supposedly sharing with him and Nia. Or, should the situation take a turn for the worse, follow Booker's lead in that sense. If the new fellows do force a confrontation, well, he will think of something to say; when all is said and done even fellow badasses may legitimately go for a kip.

Rawlings murmurs to Onn, "You said it. At least the Vulcans were welcoming."

Rangin squeezes Kylah's hand right back. She senses that he is trying not to appear scared of these new aliens.

The Vulcans stiffen ever so slightly, Graham observes, but do not move.

Jol says evenly, "Yes, I will take you to your cabins now."

"Wait!" says the big alien, Teloqq, brusquely holding up one large gloved hand. His eyes narrow and he looks at each of you in turn. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Graham spread his hands slowly and disarmingly to his sides. "We're here because we paid Mr. Jol for transport to our destination," he says, trying to match Jol's even tone as much as possible as he addressed the big alien. "Without any knowledge of who else might be on the ship."

He gestures toward the other Yorktown crew. "And we are indeed very tired. I can assure you that when our respective species are asleep, we don't move, or speak, or pose any threat to anyone. So I suggest that any, ah, getting to know each other, can safely wait until after we rest."

There is nothing Bizhi can really add to those words to smooth things any further. He continues to stand around attentively, coolly regarding this and that like he hasn't a care in the world and is bored with the whole exchange.

Teloqq's green eyes narrow and his heavy brow furrows. Then, abruptly, he says, "Yes. All right. Later, then. Why get off on the wrong claw, after all?" He steps back, and gestures for his henchmen to do the same.

Jol leads you all slightly down the corridor, towards the bow, and shows you two adjoining staterooms, both opening off the corridor. They are cramped and utilitarian, with three metal slabs or bunks sticking out of the aft bulkhead in each, one above the other, and a thin foam-looking "mattress" and a thick but somewhat threadbare blanket on each bunk. The bottom two bunks have a recessed step at each end to reach the upper bunks. Each room also has a small desk and a chair, a closet, a comm panel on the forward bulkhead and a single oval viewport about half a meter wide, opposite the door. Through it you can see the sunlit arc of Ollos just aft, and an unfamiliar alien starship, also in orbit, perhaps a kilometer or so away.

Kylah is impressed with herself--she did not realize how long she could hold her breath before. Clearly her lungs are quite capacious, because after inhaling upon the sight at those aliens, it is only once the Yorktown party members are finally walking away that she lets herself exhale in relief.

On their way, she gives Lt. Graham a soft "Thank you, sir; that was quite well done." She looks around at the others encouragingly. The rest also played their proper roles as mute nobodies, which was what the task required.

So she is feeling quite chuffed until Mr. Jol introduces them to their...quarters. Kylah's face falls and her ability to remain tactfully mute dries up. "This is what we paid for? My family dog would not wish to sleep here. And even if she did, I would not let her."

It would take more energy than Nia currently possesses to talk on their way to their bunks, so she saves that energy and doesn't.

She looks inside both staterooms and, while they're not particularly attractive, they have flat surfaces, upon which are some things that aren't entirely unlike mattresses. Good enough for her. Drawn to the viewport in the farther aft cabin, she peers out, is reassured that space still exists, and starts to thank Jol.

But, of course, Kylah.

If Sidonians still possessed their ancestors' acid-venom sacs, that girl would be screaming her melting face off. Instead, Nia snaps, "No one here cares what your planet's bitches would do. Mr. Jol, thanks. We're grateful. All of us," she adds with pointed emphasis and another quick acid-worthy glare at Kylah.

Weary, she grasps hold of the desk chair and eases herself into it. "Now can you tell us something about those passengers? Nothing detailed, I get discretion. We'll appreciate yours too, I'm sure." Nia tries to raise an eyebrow and is pretty sure her face muscles can't even accomplish that.

Leaning her elbow on the desk and propping up her head with her palm, she sighs. "I just... what do you know about their race and is there anything you suggest we do--or not do--to keep outta their hair?"

Graham grinds his teeth, wanting more than anything to tell Nia to let him handle this and get some rest...

But she's bang on asking the right questions, and pissed off by Kylah to boot, so he doesn't see that going well.

For the moment, he remains silent, scanning the room while listening with sincere interest for Jol's reply.

Jol says, "They are Chalnoth, an aggressive and disputatious race. I would advise you not to anger them. I was, frankly, surprised that Teloqq let you go to your quarters without further dispute." Kylah has the impression that the First Officer is almost preening. "Perhaps he did not wish to draw my ire. I have my ways for dealing with him and his brothers."

None of you have ever heard of the Chalnoth before. Rangin says quietly to Onn, "I believe this is a First Contact, Lieutenant. Not under the best of circumstances, but still...."

Jol does not hear this. He goes on to say, "Please select which room you would each like to occupy, and I will code the door locks accordingly."

"Well, Mr. Jol," Bizhi says easily, "I've met plenty of paranoid, angry types, but cannot say I am familiar with these fellows. Chalnoth, you say? You must instruct us in basic etiquette, as to what behaviours won't provoke them, as says my colleague. At your convenience."

"I'm happy with Kylah's suggestion for splitting the rooms," he says suppressing a yawn, "or whatever you prefer." Nia looks like she has amassed some inertia. "We can take this one," he addresses Kylah, "you and Ginran and Terrance the next one down?"

He wants to ask Jol about sanitary facilities, but does not feel like haggling with him just this minute over exactly how many credits a shower is worth. He will have a look around a little later, see if he can get past any coded door locks with or without the assistance of some of the other passengers. In any case, the fortune they are paying now includes water, according to his reckoning.

Mr. Jol's self-pleased implication about having some method to handle these alien brothers' behavior piques Kylah's interest, and not in a good way. She nearly asks for clarification, but she is already flustered and embarrassed by Lt. Onn's insult. She does not wish to trigger another.

"Yes, sir," she says in response to the doctor, before glancing over to Velir and Mr. Rawlings only to end with Mr. Jol. She gestures to the stateroom connected to this one. "We three will be in here, if that is all right."

Nia tries to decide whether her memory's failing her regarding these "Chalnoth" aliens, but once she learns they're new to Rangin--and a xenobiologist oughtta know--she relaxes. Slightly. First contact situation, great. Does she have the energy to deal with the protocols? Does she even remember them? Still, she is dimly curious enough to ask, "Brothers? Like they're literal brothers?"

She nods at Mäkeläinen gratefully. "Yeah. Here's great. Good choice, Doc." Right now she'd be happy to just rest her head on the desk and go unconscious. The bottom bunk, crappy mattress or not, will be positively heavenly. Unless Booker needs it for security considerations. Closest to the floor and door and other tactical... stuff.

Speaking of which, she lifts a heavy arm to the exit. "The guys with the hair. Are they bunking nearby, or do we have some kinda... buffer?" Her eyes take in Booker and Double-T. They'll handle that sort of thing without her. In fact, once Jol takes his increasingly irritating personality out of sight, she'll talk to Book about handling everything without her.

Graham moves up close to Rawlings and whispers in the big man's ear.

Then - waiting for any answer from Jol in response to Nia's question - he gestures for the team to take to their rooms.

Jol says to Dr. Mäkeläinen, "One should be polite with Chalnoth but not too deferential, I'd say. They respect strength and resolution. Don't say anything which in any way implies you're weak."

Rawlings and Rangin have no particular preference as to where to sleep. Rangin now looks almost as tired as Onn.

Jol indicates that the Chalnoth occupy four rooms just down the corridor from you, not far away.

Rawlings hears what Graham has to say and replies, "Understood." He almost says "sir" but, mindful that Jol is still there, catches himself.

You all feel a slight shift of the deck under your feet. Onn can see, through the viewport, things start to move outside. The ship is apparently breaking orbit.

Jol says, "I must go to the control center." He leaves.

After listening to Mr. Jol's suggestions, Kylah waits for him to leave before responding to Lt. Graham. "Aye sir," she says, then looks sympathetically at Velir. "Come, you should get some rest." She gestures toward the second stateroom and will wait for him to exit. Her quizzical gaze takes in Mr. Rawlings, who she assumes will be joining them as well, before following Velir inside.

Alone--at least for a few seconds--Kylah takes Velir's hand and leads him to sit down on the chair. She kneels so she is--nearly--at the same height, and brushes a hand through his hair soothingly. "I will take the top bunk. I cannot imagine Mr. Rawlings would be very comfortable up there, and I fear you would topple right off given your state."

The words are playful but she examines him searchingly while her fingertips massage his temple. "Are you hungry? I expect Lt. Onn will be staying behind to rest, and food will be brought back to her; I can do the same for you. Would you like that? And something hot to drink?"

Nia's head still rests in her left palm while she observes the various micro-interactions around her. Everything feels quite distant. Jol's answered one of her questions, the most pertinent one anyway. A few cabins over. Are the Vulcans in between them? She's already forgotten the other women's names.

Book's issuing secret orders to Double-T, which is fine, though her slowing mental processes can't guess what the two are planning. Meanwhile, Kylah's cajoling Rangin into the other room, either to ravish him or just to complain about the accommodations some more. So Nia's focus slides to Mäkeläinen as her limp right arm pats the medical case by her side. "Don't suppose it's time for a top-off yet?"

Simply shifting her gaze back to Booker feels like it requires more calories than she's currently got in supply. "What're you thinking now, Book? I'd like to hear everyone's impression, actually." She lifts her shoulder nearest the other stateroom in an extremely economical shrug. "If the two in the other room have anything to contribute, them too."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is definitely feeling the fatigue now, too. He knows well how to stay functional through sheer willpower from both medical training and Starfleet training, but a tempting bunk is right there!

"These short-but-not-too-short shuttle trips tend to banjax one's circadian rhythm, but you are right, it's more or less time," he says in response to Nia's question about her medicine. "That makes it doubly important to rest now. If we were, hypothetically, members of some sort of organization that had rules concerning medical opinions, I would say to consider that an order." He begins going through the familiar, almost automatic gestures of selecting and setting up the correct hypos from his medical gear--- the stuff in Nia's case is not so useful without correct parenteral administration--- remembering also the final titrated dose of Lexorin he calculated earlier.

"Later, I would like to show you how to use one of these hypospray injectors, just in case you ever have to do it yourself. It's quite easy and nearly automatic, mostly a matter of double-checking everything is set correctly. And making sure you have selected the right medicine vial; you'd be surprised what can happen even to distinguished physicians when they do not pay attention." Bizhi knows what he is doing, though, and goes through the procedure even while he and the others keep talking.

Back in the general discussion, when it is his turn he says, "I suppose we are going to be fielding more questions from our large and numerous neighbours. They can't quite place us, and are not the type to leave it at that. It's also something novel to occupy them after however many days without much to do besides join the Vulcans for lute sessions."

Rangin sighs contentedly as Kylah massages his temple. "Ah, that feels good. But no, thanks. I'm not really hungry. I just want to sleep. Maybe after that?"

"Of course." Kylah kisses the crown of Velir's head and murmurs, "Rest all you need. I doubt we will have anything to worry about until we reach Cavinre." Straightening, she hesitates. "We do not have communicators," she says slowly--repeating the concern that has plagued her since they prepared to board the shuttle. "But there is a comm unit in each of our rooms. If you need anything you should be able to contact us."

If Velir is of a mind to go to bed now, she will help him over to the bunk, whichever he chooses. After that, she hesitates. Lt. Graham told them to go into the cabin; did he not wish them to reconvene? Since she is uncertain, she remains where she is, but stands in sight of the other stateroom, door open.

Nia truly does her best to listen to Mäkeläinen--not just listen, but to comprehend--but she's distracted by the increasing distance between this ship and Ollos. As much as she wanted to leave that godforsaken planet, the stark truth is that as rotten a destination as it was, Nia's situation feels even more tenuous now that she's stuck here, on the hopefully-seen-better-days Doregg, with mercenary and possibly amoral strangers at the Helm and those massive be-fanged enemies... potential enemies... majorly outnumbering the allies. Assuming that's what they can call the Vulcans. "Neutrals" is probably a better word for them.

At least on Ollos there were dozens of ships, multiple methods to get in touch with someone, anyone, who might be of help. They had weapons and individual communicators. Most of all, the hospital was right there. Other non-Oxygen-breathing races were right there. Dr. Mäkeläinen could consult with others and had access to whatever resources existed.

What's on this ship? Some bandages? A wonky tricorder circa the 22nd century? Maybe a few oxygen tanks? Fat lot of good those will do her.

Swallowing, she turns her attention to Dr. M., her eyes wide with both a gnawing sense of alarm and a desperate attempt to keep awake/alert. Her ears seem to tune back in as soon as Mäkeläinen suggests she'll have to give the hypo to herself.

"Why?" she asks stupidly. "You're not going anywhere without me, or vice versa." If Nia could blush that's what she'd be doing, because yeah, it was a stupid remark. The doc's just doing what docs do--good docs, anyway--and keeping his patient informed and engaged in her own treatment.

She gets it. She really does. But with the planet turning into a dot and this ship feeling like an imploding tin can, the thought of being without the person most concerned about her welfare and certainly most capable of maintaining it is terrifying. Nia wants to latch her nails onto Mäkeläinen's arms and lock her scales in place, effectively clamping herself to the doctor's body: yet another predatory skill used by her Sidonian evolutionary ancestors.

Unlike the venom sacs, she does have the ability to use this method of attack. She never has, but she sure as hell feels inclined to test it now.

Her gaze shifts to Book and Double-T, if for no other reason than to prevent Mäkeläinen from seeing how ready she is to launch herself upon him and keep him trapped in her immobile limbs. "Maybe you boys oughtta listen to this tutorial too?" Her voice is way too tense to pull off the lighthearted tone she's attempting, but she keeps going nevertheless. "More the merrier, right?"

Lute lessons.

The doctor has a fine sense of humor, Graham thinks. Although any humans who underestimate the relative strength of Vulcan's of any gender are in for a rude surprise, he thinks, remembering a few training sessions from his Academy days...

Graham nods at Nia's comment. "Good for each of us to know, indeed," he says. "But at the moment I think rest is top priority." He shrugs. "Jol seems to feel like he's got those uh, surly guests under control. And--" he glances from person to person. "I think we're all dead on our feet."

Knowing how to use a hypo injector is useful knowledge that may come in handy down the line outwith whatever baleful scenarios Nia is imagining, thinks Dr. Mäkeläinen. Especially when it comes to one's personal medications. It was not that long ago, relatively speaking, that people used to jab themselves--- with needles!--- to manage old-time diseases like diabetes; it was impossible to run each time to the local physic. On that note, too early to tell anything, but did it not recently transpire that Nia, just possibly, may be facing early perimenopause? Is that one of the scenarios weighing on her mind right now?

Bizhi says, "Right, let's postpone the detailed tutorial until such time as we are not too tired to see straight."

He moves to check the lock he saw Jol programming earlier, to make sure it works.

Kylah listens to the conversation in the other stateroom and her brows furrow in surprise, confusion and just a little bit of disappointment. She herself is not hugely tired, not physically anyway, and in fact she is rather hungry.

Most of all, she wonders at the lack of urgency regarding what to her is just about the most important issue facing them: How very isolated they all are from anyone connected to them. Kylah has learned not to be complacent when it comes to having no way to reach out for help.

Edging over to the doorway, she looks around at the others. "Forgive my intrusion, ma'am; sirs," she says softly. "I know how exhausted everyone is. We should rest soon. Still, I cannot forget that we have no way to confirm whether Mr. Jol, or the messenger Dr. Mäkeläinen arranged for, successfully passed along our location to the Portmaster--and thus our colleagues back home."

She stops herself from saying too much, because another concern has risen its head. Her hand reaches automatically to her belt but, of course, there is nothing there to type out a message. Is there any writing implement nearby? Kylah looks in the desk and glances around the cabin while continuing in a casual tone.

"Anyway, I was hoping to get a bite to eat. Or perhaps to get to know the Sisters we met earlier--I think we should further our acquaintance with them. But naturally I will not go anywhere on this ship alone. I do not suppose I might have interested one of you in such a venture?"

Frustrated, she gives up the search for something to write with and turns directly to Lt. Graham and changes to mouth her next words in barely a whisper. "Am I overly cautious to fear there might be surveillance devices?"

Bizhi looks up from examining the door lock. Is there more to this, or is Kylah simply hungry? "I spied a food dispenser right back there, in the Common Room," he says.

Graham is at once impressed and exasperated by Kylah.

He shakes his head slightly at her mouthed comment.

It's not an unreasonable worry.

But getting Nia resting is job one...

OK, Booker, maybe that's your bias.

He rubs his jaw. "Look, I think it's timely to bunker down....and avoid the big claw-y weirdos down the hall for now." He looks from person to person. "If anybody desperately needs food, I am not going to force you to go without...I'd like to, ah, confer with N- Lt. Onn."

He glances at Nia. "Move in teams, always. If I have three willing to go on a grub mission, let's see hands..."

Rangin smiles a tired but winsome smile, then lies down and kicks off his boots. He pulls one of the ratty blankets up to his chin and drops off to sleep within seconds.

The door locks are coded to each of your thumbprints. The one for his room works fine for Dr. Mäkeläinen.

Rawlings yawns hugely behind his hand, but says he is willing to go get some food.

Kylah has distinct impressions of conflicting aims amongst the six of them, probably because the heavy cloak of weariness is dulling everyone's ability to dissemble.

At least Lt. Graham seems at ease with their safety--or at least their privacy, which of course are not the same things. She does not wish to second guess him. If they are all asleep and in the cabins together, it is unlikely anyone would have any reason to listen or watch. Until Kylah herself feels confident that it is not a danger to reveal who they truly are, she will not say anything incriminating.

She smiles up at Mr. Rawlings, who would certainly be her choice for an escort, but he likely needs rest as much if not more than anyone save Lt. Onn. Or Velir. "Thank you, Terrence. But I suppose the Vulcans can be met at some later time. And I would not force anyone to stay awake because I want a sandwich. I am not famished and am used to putting such things off anyway."

With a hopeful look--has she at last made a suggestion that does not annoy any of her colleagues?--Kylah heads back into the other stateroom. She can try to familiarize herself with the comm panel, and she is capable of making a basic visual sweep of the cabin for any surveillance devices. Hardly as comprehensive as a proper scan, but it is better than nothing.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is satisfied with the lock, not that this particularly increases or decreases his current sense of security. For now at least, he is satisfied that the Uwat are running things as they seem to be and therefore have an active interest in making sure that nothing untoward happens on their ship, fights breaking out or whatever Kylah was worried about [not sure if he caught what she whispered, but either way he does not care about surveillance devices at the moment.]

"I'll turn in for now," he says in response to Graham. "Later I will be up for a little exploration, including of the food and drink dispensers."

Rawlings yawns again and asks, "Does anyone really want something to eat? If not, I wouldn't mind getting some shut-eye myself."

Kylah finds no surveillance devices, but of course, given contemporary technology, they could be very, very small.

The comm panel she examines is a silvery-gray, and has a small screen about half a meter square, six buttons in a row beneath, and two small ovoid discs in the upper right corner.

Graham gratefully acknowledges Kylah and Mäkeläinen's comments.

At the moment, "rest and reset" tops his agenda...especially for Nia.

He heads in to the cabin to which he was assigned.

Rawlings, having no takers for food right now, says he's going to turn in.

Graham finds his cabin just as it was before.

Dr. Mäkeläinen is trying to rest for at least a couple of hours, but will get up at the sound of strange noises, blaring klaxons, and the like.

Still a lot to do on the Doregg.

He dreams that he is a malfunctioning robot, trapped in a one-dimensional maze in the dark.

Nia's lying on her side, atop the huge, soft winter coat Kylah bought for her--seems to help make the mattress less...nonexistent. Also puts a barrier between her and any critters that might inhabit the linens. Without the ability to get into her uniform, that means she's sleeping in the ridiculous green catsuit, also courtesy of the Elasian. Nia's still convinced Kylah picked it out for herself--or at least someone her size. It's stretched tight and uncomfortable to breathe in, particularly someone as panicky about the lack of breathable air she's inhaling. Plus she probably looks like a green sausage.

She'd take off her clothes altogether if it weren't for the possibility of minuscule bunkmates nibbling away. Her scales aren't capable of protecting her in their half-in, half-out status.

So her head's resting on her elbow, the other arm resting on her hip while she toys with the mattress's corner label. She nods to the Doc with a weak grateful smile, and when Book enters she offers him a somewhat weaker smile. Not because she's less pleased to see him. She's just not pleased at what she wants to say to him.

First she looks up at the bunk above her, then pats her cot. "Sorry for grabbing the bottom bunk. No way I'm climbing that ladder right now. You'd have to beam me onto one of the other beds. Ironic given my nickname."

Biting her lip, she pauses from just blurting out her own issues. "Are you getting hinky vibes about this? Kylah's acting like this is secretly a Romulan ship or something, but grubbiness aside, it's not striking me as hostile territory. Not speaking of the guests, mind you. But generally. 'Cause I'm not sure I trust my instincts anymore."

The sight of Mr. Rawlings getting into the not-overly generous bunk ignites a spark of sympathy--and amusement, Kylah guiltily admits. She walks around to the comms unit, treading quietly to make sure the men are not disturbed.

Her fingers brush the buttons without pressing anything--it is just a stray gesture while she thinks. She will not be comfortable until she can be reasonably convinced that the party's whereabouts are known by their colleagues and friends. But obviously, using the device will take her through to Mr. Jol, as he told her earlier he acts as a communications officer, among other duties. Kylah is convinced that he and likely the crew know they are Starfleet. [i]Either Starfleet or thieves with remarkable aptitude for stealing and apparently specializing in Starfleet devices and uniforms..

She smiles. Perhaps we could claim to be from Sigma Iota. Shaking her head--people did die on that mission, it is probably poor taste to laugh at it--she bites at a thumbnail in thought. She could try to contact her uncle, or anyone on Elas. No. While they are not officially in the Federation, and never will be if her uncle has his way, they are... well, Federation-curious. Kylah would most certainly not use her royal status; her identity is all too easily looked up on the net. There must be some contact who is not in Starfleet who might relay a message for her to the Yorktown.

I shall do the obvious. Her mouth purses at her own rococo ideas when simplicity is possible. Frowning slightly, she attempts to reach Mr. Jol, if possible; and if he responds, she will ask him if, once they are on their way and when he has time for such things, he might assist her in reaching out to the Port Authority on Ollos.

It is not long before Dr. Mäkeläinen has fallen fast asleep.

Rawlings is snoring within seconds of stretching out on his bunk.

Kylah hears a dozen different kinds of static on what are apparently the different channels or frequencies of the bulkhead-mounted comm unit. There are also at least eight different channels which are entirely silent, and one that plays a weird, atonal music which reminds her a little of traditional Chinese instrumental music. She is unable to reach Jol, or indeed any of the crew.

Kylah steps back, lower lip in a frustrated pout. This is not a communications device, it is little better than a subspace radio. Unless there is some way to reconfigue it and she has yet to figure it out.

If she had her own communicator, she would try reaching Jol that way. But, of course, that is not possible. Foolish rule.

She hugs herself, has a thought, goes to the door that links to the other stateroom. She presses her ear against the cold metal. It is exceedingly difficult to hear, not just because of the barrier, but because it is rattling in concert with the various thum of vibrations throughout the ship. What she does hear is Lt. Onn's soft voice. Something serious or private. When it comes to the CO's patience, Kylah understands she is walking a frayed tightrope. She chooses not to interrupt her.

Her pout is more pronounced. She feels grubby and has to relieve herself, and since they have not been shown a private head, Kylah assumes it is in a nearby door. She also wants to change into the nightgown she brought--oh, no. That when down with the Tesla, along with toothpaste, other toiletries and even the ribbons for her hair braids. Kylah had done without all those essential things (they are essential things to her) last night, but for a third night? Untenable.

Rolling her eyes at the poor hospitality of the Uwat--he really should have told them about the sleeping quarters situation, and the sanitary conditions--Kylah glances at her sleeping bunkmates and, after removing her coat, she'll see if she is able to unlock the door and find a restroom in the closest doors next to her--staying well far away from the Chalnoths' quarters that Jol did point out

And if she happens to run into a Vulcan, she will visit. Or if a crewmember, she will ask about contacting Jol.

After a moment's hesitation, Graham lays a hand on Nia's arm.

He takes a deep breath. "I've seen a lot of...shitty situations. This one ain't great, but..."

He pauses. "We've got a place to rest and, at the moment, live to fight another day..."

His voice catches at the realization that the stakes are truly, in the short term, Nia may not...

He clears his throat. "What's going to come our way will or won't, in the next eight or so standard hours. But it's may job, and Rawling's, to be the first line of defense if it's a threat. Let us...give us our due, it's what we signed up for, and...just rest for a bit..."

He removes his land and almost leaves, but finishes with a softly spoken "Nia."

Down the corridor and towards the bow, not too far away, Kylah is able to find a unlocked door to a bathroom with various humanoid-appropriate fittings, water and other fluid dispensers, and bodily-waste collectors. There is also a sonic shower of an unusual design. No one else is in there. After some trial and error, she's able to figure out how most things work.

When she emerges she sees, ten meters or so away down the same corridor, further towards the bow, not a Vulcan or any Uwat crew, but one of the Uwat children. It stares at her but does not move.

The warmth of Booker's hand makes Nia close her eyes for a second, drinking it in along with the similar warmth of his voice. She opens her eyes again and reaches out to clasp the fingers that just held her.

"Thanks. I know. I want to rest. I'm bone tired. Even with the meds. But I--I'm fighting them. I don't want to stop moving. If anything happens and these are my last days... I don't wanna waste them. I let everything slip me by." Everyone. Her haunted gaze sweeps over his face, then quickly departs.

"Anyway," she says hoarsely, "I do need to let you guys step in. I'm not..." Nia looks up at the Doctor to check if he's listening or even awake. Hopefully not, but if she can't tell, she'll continue either way. "I'm not acting like a command officer, not the kind we need. You are."

She squeezes his fingers and then lets her arm drop. "I'm not exactly relieving myself of duty...No pilot wants someone else a the helm; you know what control freaks we are." Nia's tilting smile is weary, a shadow of itself. "But the Doc'll know when I'm really far gone. I trust him. Until then I still have to step back. You're the only one suited to assessing things objectively. You'll make the right choice for the crew as a whole. Not just me."

She sighs, eyes closing. "I'm so distant," she murmurs. "My brain's awake but I can feel my body go to sleep. Like entering a dark nebula where you can see the stars wink out as you leave them behind..."

Kylah is momentarily nonplussed, having forgotten about the young Uwat they saw earlier. She glances around, sees no one nearby, and frowns briefly before looking back at the child. After a couple of slow steps. she stops a respectful distance.

"Hello there," she says with a smile and a raised right palm, which she then lowers. "Are you alone? Looking for someone?" Even as she finishes, she shakes her head slightly. "Oh, you might not understand me." Unfortunately, she speaks only a smattering of Uwat.* And none of whatever dialect Jol spoke to his comrades. But, as with most languages, she's learned how to speak and comprehend the most general greetings and emergency phrases. So she repeats her questions in (probably) stilted Uwat, adding a broken apology for not speaking very well.

If they are going to take young ones along, they should really keep a close watch on them. It could be dangerous for someone so vulnerable to wander about alone, with utter strangers onboard. She keeps her demeanor friendly and tries to determine, to the extent she can with these aliens, whether the child is in distress or simply exploring.



* Totally forgot that she has at least some familiarity with the language!

It has been a while since he has really been put to the test, but Dr. Mäkeläinen knows how to snatch a little sleep under stressful conditions. By now, he is in a dreamless slumber and does not hear anything Booker or Nia are saying. He can really use the rest, and will not get up at the sound of ordinary conversation. Barring any disturbance, he will be out for at least a couple of hours before he perhaps has the same urge as Kylah to find the facilities and finally take a shower and attend to necessities.

The Uwat child says something which Kylah does not understand. The child then repeats it, and adds another few words.

At that moment, she and all of her Yorktown crewmates who are still awake feel a wave of nausea wash over them, brief but very strong. A few moments later, Jol's voice can be heard in each room: "Attention. Attention. We have engaged the ship's drive and are now leaving Ollos space. That is all."

Behind her and around the corner, Kylah hears someone noisily retching, followed by a guttural phrase she cannot quite hear.

Releasing her grasp from her stomach, Kylah straightens warily and looks to see if the child Uwat is all right. She says an apologetic "Forgive me, I do not understand" in what little rudimentary Uwat she knows--and now checks behind her. Someone must be feeling even worse than she just did at the ship's lurch.

Finger pointing in the direction of the retching noise, Kylah makes a little humorously exaggerated yuck face at the child and tries to gesture to indicate that she must go to see what is wrong. She then turns back to walk warily toward the corner. She hesitates, not wishing to startle whoever it is. (And, frankly, because regurgitation is disgusting to her to the point of near phobia.)

"Excuse me," she says tentatively. "I could not help but hear... Are you ill? Is there anything I can do? I am only a passenger, but I can contact..." Kylah bites her lip and glances around the corridor. She was about to offer to reach out to the Doregg's medic, but she does not know if they have one; right now she is searching to see if there is any comm panel that might allow her to contact anyone on the Uwat vessel's crew.

"--I can fetch a Doctor," she concludes, eyeing the direction of the two staterooms occupied by her party. She hates to trouble Dr. Mäkeläinen's rest, but if something is genuinely wrong--worse than that temporary discomfort she felt herself--Kylah is sure the Doctor would be happy (or at least, willing) to help.

Of course, his potential patient might not understand Kylah any better than Kylah understood the Uwat child. With a sigh she realizes she will have to risk seeing something decidedly unpleasant, if only to make some more hopefully comprehensible gestures of assistance. Reaching the corner, she takes a tiny peek around the edge to get a look at the unfortunate person.

"My brain's awake but I can feel my body go to sleep. Like entering a dark nebula where you can see the stars wink out as you leave them behind..."


Graham touches Nia's arm gently. Softly, he says, "The stars...we...I...we'll be here when you wake up."

The sudden discomfort of the engine engaging is briefly surprising but not something Nia hasn't experienced before. Jol's announcement almost amuses her. Thanks, bub, but you're supposed to tell us before it happens.

But Booker's delicate touch and soothing words sweep her away from mundane issues, into a new, lovely vision where, yes, he's there when she wakes up. Not just in a few hours, but--if she lasts long enough--in a hypothetical future where she can indeed wake up to Booker every day, his endearing features opposite hers as he lies just inches away on their bed.

The smile at the dreamy thought fades as her heavy eyelids flutter shut. "Nice fantasy," she murmurs to herself. "But he was never playing for keeps." With a sigh, she finally gives in to the waves coaxing her to sleep.

The Uwat child turns and runs away.

Kylah can see, peeking around the corner, that a Chalnoth is there. It has dropped to one knee and there is a large, disgusting greenish-brown puddle in front of it. The alien seems not to have noticed Kylah.

It takes more than ordinary shipboard noises and soft conversation to awake Dr. Mäkeläinen. He is still getting what rest he can. Luckily for him, he is asleep for the non-smooth transition to warp or hyperdrive or whatever it was; if he were to wake up now, he would not be absolutely sure it really happened and not part of some nightmare, but he will not get up just from that.

After taking in the mess in the floor, Kylah swallows back nausea of her own and does her best to force her gaze away to focus wholly on the Chalnoth. She turns the corner and takes a hesitant step nearer.

"Pardon me..." The words are a little louder than before, but not much: she keeps her voice modulated to avoid exacerbating any headache or dizziness the alien might have. "Is there anything I can do? Do you need me to fetch anyone, or... or to help you up?"

The latter offer suddenly strikes her as farcical, considering the difference in size between her and the other Chalnoths they saw earlier, but she is uncertain just how tall this one is. Kylah tries to get a good look at its clothing and anything else that might identify this as one of the three Chalnoth passengers who confronted Jol.

The Chalnoth, startled, jumps to his feet. He snarls and instinctively reaches for a weapon that isn't there on his belt. He then rasps, "No! I need nothing from you. Just leave me alone." He stomps off, brushing by Kylah and leaving her alone in the corridor once more.

She is pretty sure that he is not one of the Chalnoth she saw earlier. When he touched her, she also had a fleeting psi sense of... fear? Embarrassment? Even... guilt? She finds the tangle of alien emotions hard to identify.

The Yorktown crew are able to get some rest, but none sleep especially deeply. The Uwat do not have a shipboard "day" or "night" aboard their ship, but as Rawlings says, stretching about seven hours later, "Might as well call it morning."

Graham yawns and stretches before slowly sitting up. He tries to move quietly, then gives a quick listen at the door before (assuming he hears nothing concerning) opening it.

Hearing no unexpected noises during the--- not night but watch? double watch?--- Bizhi was able to get some decent rest. He first looks over at Nia (still breathing... It's down to the highly experimental Bilitrium substitute now, and hoping for no further unexpected changes in the environment) before making his way to and efficiently using the sonic shower and other toilet facilities. Assuming Booker gives the all-clear to get into the corridor, and there is no long queue to get in there.

Graham can hear the murmurs of conversation down the corridor, but can't identify it. It does not sound like Federation Standard, however.

Onn is, indeed, still breathing.

During Nia's fitful rest, her temperature has decreased--typical for most humanoids--but her system's weak and she's been shivering off-and-on most of the 'night.' Now, semi-woken by the others' movements climbing down from their bunks, she draws her knees closer to her chest and hugs them to her.

With her body curled in this fetal position beneath the blanket and her fur coat, Nia cracks her eyes open just long enough to notice the men appear to be leaving. She sighs and lets her lids droop back down, feeling no need or desire to get out of bed.

Not surprisingly, Kylah's first action upon waking is to clamber down from the top bunk and look to see if Velir is still sleeping. If he is up she will smile a 'good morning' to him, whether it is accurate or not, before hopping the final step to check on Ens. Rawlings.

Though a little stiff from the inadequate mattress, she is otherwise feeling fine--frankly, starving. Kylah thinks she hears movement in the other stateroom and hopes the others are planning to find some breakfast; she is not keen to run into any of the Chalnoths--especially the one who barked at her last night, assuming he is recovered enough to be roaming the ship.

If both her roommates are awake, she will ask how they slept and whether they would like to seek out something to eat. Otherwise, she will scurry to take care of her ablutions--such as they are, with this shabby ship's meager facilities and a lack of her personal effects that now lie at the bottom of the frozen lake with the drowned Tesla.

Kylah is decidedly unhappy with how grungy she feels, wearing the same clothes for nearly 24 hours straight, even after a second sonic shower. And how awful she must look. No hair-braiding, no make-up... it is improper for a young woman of her status and age to present herself like this. Without them, her face and height make her seem ten years younger, and she frets that others will think her barely out of the schoolroom. (She forgets that the figure-revealing black catsuit gives away that she is no adolescent.)

She knows it is a minuscule complaint considering their situation. When she sees either Lt. Graham or Dr. Mäkeläinen, she greets them with a pleasant demeanor...while inside, she laments grumpily to her heart's content.

Onn is able to snooze a bit more.

In Kylah's and Rangin's cabin, Rawlings is still snoring quietly, his ratty blanket barely covering him.

Kylah notices again how cold the deck is. Rangin is drowsing but stirs when she looks at him. He smiles and quietly says, "Good morning." In response to Kylah's questions, he has a quizzical expression. "I slept all right... I think. I was so tired last night that now I'm kind of having a hard time distinguishing between my dreams and reality. Does that sound weird? Those Chalnoth... something happened last night, before we went to bed, didn't it? Their leader seemed like he was going to cause trouble, and then...." He stops, looking troubled.

Dr. Mäkeläinen does not disturb Onn.

But now what? They cannot spend the trip locked in their cabin. He ponders various things, and grows silent and distant for a long moment. Eventually, he addresses Graham: "I'd like to eat something. And see the ship. I think I've got a sense of the general layout, but it looks like it might be a bit of a maze, and all we know is the way up here from the airlock."

Seeing Velir in bed, still sleepy-eyed with touseled hair, makes Kylah smile. She has never seen him like this and cannot help thinking that he would be a pleasant sight to see, each morning. And of course she mentally curses her blood vessels for sending a hot blush to her cheeks.

She shakes her head. "Nothing really happened, after all. The Chalnoth--Mr. Teloqq, he seemed to be the leader--was upset that we were on board, for some reason. But Booke--that is, Lt. Graham--" She has been practicing using first names for the purpose of this voyage but does not plan to get used to it--"...kept things very calm and matter-of-fact. Even you would have been pleased," she adds with a cheeky little smile. "And to Mr. Teloqq's credit, he reacted reasonably once he saw we were just..." Kylah lifts a shoulder. "Well, passengers."

With a glance down at Mr. Rawlings, she notes the scant coverage of the blanket, and stands on her toes to reach the edge of blanket she can see on her own top bunk. Once she pulls it down, she gently covers the security officer wherever it will do the most good, all the while speaking to Velir.

"I am hoping to forage for something edible on this scow. Likely the Uwat will charge thousands should we merely wish to select a piece of unspoiled fruit. Assuming there is any." Her voice is light, teasing, trying to keep Velir from falling into the traumatic pit that is probably beckoning. "Would you like to come with us? I do think you should eat. We did not have much last night."

You told him you weren't giving up your command yet. But you're abandoning them to lie in bed. Some leader.

From the shallow depths of no dream at all, Nia moans at her inner voice and tells it to kindly fuck off.

Her arms still hug her knees to her chest against the chill. Still she opens her eyes, with a little difficulty as her lids have apparently been glued shut. Dr. M.'s still here but headed out. Book's... left already? Or just out in the corridor? She tries to listen to the other cabin but her ears seem clogged.

Okay, so it's not too late to act like a--well, if not a leader, at least a crewmate. Reluctantly she starts to remove the thin blanket but... nothing happens. She tries to unclamp her arms but can't. Stuck in this pose for a few terrifying seconds, Nia at last twigs that it's her scales. They've locked in place, a natural attempt to keep her body as warm and constricted as possible.

Closing her eyes again, she does her best to stay calm, to remind her stupid evolutionary biology that it's not time to go into hibernation; yeah, her breathing is labored due to these allegedly protective scales, but another shot of meds will take care of that. The Doc will find a way to warm her up, probably just a matter of doing something with his tricorder. She does not have to shut her systems down yet and it's bloody absurd that her brain's instinctive reaction has been to do just that.

After a few relaxing albeit shallow breaths, Nia's released from her scaly prison cell. Relieved that none of this was observed, now she can lift the blanket--her joints are stiff but they work--and she successfully sits up. Then she happily bounds smoothly out of bed, shrugging off the stiffness and offering a relieved smile to both herself and the cabin at large while her long legs take some brisk, confident strides to meet up with the doctor...

...Except that's not what happens at all. It's what she intended when she sat wearily up and started to rise off the cot. What actually occurs is that, a second after she puts her weight onto her feet to stand, she flops to the floor like a dead carp.

Nia winces in a little pain (she landed on her shoulder pretty hard) and a lot of embarrassment. She orders her muscles to get it together and push herself up, but they refuse. Can't even command my own body.

Helpless and detesting it, she gives up. "Um... help?"

Rawlings snuffles a little in his sleep, pulls the extra blanket tighter, and rolls over without waking.

Rangin has a faraway look in his eyes as he says quietly, urgently, "Yes. I remember that now. But it wasn't Mr. Graham... and I'm not saying this because of our problems in the past. I mentally told the Chalnoth leader... I ordered him... not to bother us last night. I could sense he was going to cause us some trouble, and I... I just... made him not do that." He rubs his face. "I don't know how I did it, but I think I did!"

Onn notices that the deck beneath her is noticeably cold, and not just because of the ambient room temperature and the deck being bare metal, either.

Last time Dr. Mäkeläinen saw Nia (a moment ago), she was asleep on the bottom bunk. Now she is on the floor. Lucky — a minute later and he and Booker would have been in the Common Room. Not that, as she is essentially under intensive care, they would have left her on her own for a long time without observation, but perhaps this is an omen that all of them would be wise to adhere more strictly to a buddy system and not move around the ship alone.

He moves to help her up and sit on the bunk. Her skin feels — scaly? — but, more importantly, noticeably cold to the touch, more so than he expected. “You're freezing. Dip in metabolic rate during sleep—” he helps her wrap the blanket around herself— “plus it's bloody cold in here.” If Lt. Graham has not left, Mäkeläinen asks him to look for a way to turn the heat up in here. Jol had better not have locked out the controls...

He gives Nia a moment. Then he asks her, “I was about to look for something hot to drink, and some food. Would you like me to bring you something?” He watches her while they talk, and, if she does not stop shivering, or shows signs of passing out again, he will move to prepare another shot of the same mild stimulant he used to wake her up during the ascent into orbit.

Kylah continues to smile teasingly when Velir mentions his well-known animus for Lt. Graham, and is absently brushing a lock of hair from his temple when he tells her... something that freezes both her expression and gesture.

"Made him? Ordered him? That--no, that cannot be right." She shakes her head with less certainty. "I expect you truly hoped the Chalnoth would stop, and then he listened to Mr. Graham and did stop, so it could certainly seem as if..." She swallows. "Perhaps you are not quite awake and not thinking clearly yet?"

But he does not seem half-asleep. Kylah unconsciously draws back, pulling her hand away from his skin to avoid touch telepathy. Racing, confusing thoughts collide in her mind. Is it possible? She recalls his standing beside her last night, and the Chalnoth's behavior, both before and after Lt. Graham spoke. It had been an abrupt change. And unexpected, despite Kylah's trying to gauge what was going on with the angry stranger.

"Surely I would have sensed--I mean--" She cuts off and clasps her cold hands together. "That is, we were holding hands, and you have communicated emotions to me that way. Would I not have felt..." After a quick glance at Mr. Rawlings, both to gather her thoughts and to see whether the security officer is still sleeping, Kylah shakes her head again.

"Velir, if this is true... remember, you do not know what your abilities are. You must not act without understanding them. To command someone... to compel them against their will..."

A rush of fight-or-flight adrenaline electrifies her nerves. "I--I am sorry to react like this, Velir. You have done nothing wrong, not intentionally; you were helping us." But she is barely listening to herself, distracted. "I am not helping you at all. Perhaps you need more recovery time. So much happened yesterday. Let me fetch Dr. Mäkeläinen. I will not tell the others about this, Lt. Graham would... he would be alarmed. "But the doctor can examine you and see if anything is not...normal."

A wan smile is Nia's only initial response to Mäkeläinen's capable ministrations. Once she's on the bunk she mutters a thanks and wishes she could sound as grateful as she ought to be. But she's just so mortified it's hard to face him. Besides that, her thoughts are drifting in different directions. Like an ice floe breaking apart.

"Yes please, s-something hot would be great. I j-just don't understand," she forces through her teeth, trying to keep her jaw tight to keep them from chattering. "The deck shouldn't be this c-cold. More like--like an external hull." The Doc's presence is comforting and secure, but she's still reluctant to meet his probing gaze.

"Feels like I've been freezing since... since the Tesla lost p-power. My core is frozen. If it k-keeps getting bigger, soon it'll fill me up and that'll be it. If I don't suffocate first," she adds with a dark, sideways smile that fades fast. "Thanks, Doc. Go have breakfast. And I'm sorry for all this. I just... wanted to be with my team."

“If the first officer is trying to gouge more money out of us by turning down the life support, he and I are going to have words,” Mäkeläinen says.

“Look, there is not much to do on this trip but rest. You could stay in here, ideally after we get the temperature sorted, or come with us and sit in the Common Room. As far as keeping the team together, after everything that's happened, and with no communicators, maybe it is better for none of us to wander around the ship alone. At least with six of us it shouldn't be a problem.”

Nia smiles--genuinely, this time--at Mäkeläinen's remark about the Uwat price gouging, and nods while taking in his suggestions. "Yeah, I doubt even trouble-prone ensigns are foolish enough to walk around by themselves. Meanwhile we'll have to watch out for Jol's adding extra surcharges. 'Oh, you wanted to breathe? Forgot to ask for breathable air before you boarded; that'll be 10,000 credits each.'"

She rubs her arms underneath the blanket and aims a stare at the floor while she calculates the odds of her making a trek to the Common Room, then tells the Doc about the likely reason for her fall just now: that her movements were hampered by her pain-in-the-ass--and protective--scales.

"They should be retreating, but they're kinda stuck in the middle. They're not covering me fully or retracting fully. But I think if I can get warm enough they'll chill out. So to speak," she adds with an apologetic smile. "Till then I'm not sure I'd even make it to the Common Room without being dragged. I'd need support, but..."

She looks past Mäkeläinen for a second or two, not seeing Booker. "Um... speaking of support. Not sure if you heard my talk with Graham last--" A cough interrupts her and she lifts a hand, mutely asking for the Doc's patience. "--Last night. I've asked him to make most of the harder decisions." Nia's cough is better controlled this time, even as she dreads what she's about to say. "I don't think I'm thinking quick enough and I need support there, too. So if something needs to be done fast, probably... probably go to him first, inform me later."

Dr. Mäkeläinen understands her dread. "If anything does happen so that things devolve fast," he says, "I trust Mr. Graham at the crucial moment, you have my word."

"That hot drink will help---" he, too, notices Graham has not come back. He should go fetch it for her, but he thinks about how she was nearly left alone in this icebox, and that decides him. "It's bound to be warmer in there than sitting here. We're all in this together, so I can help you down the corridor, if you're willing." In any case, he spies her warm coat next to her, and helps her get into that in lieu of the cheap blanket.

Not wanting to wake anyone still asleep, Graham takes a short walk up and down the corridor, listening for whatever he can hear. If uninterrupted, he returns to wait outside the group's rooms and does some standing stretches to get the kinks out after sleeping on the less than luxurious "beds."

Rangin tells Kylah, "I know what you mean, and I know it sounds crazy, but... that's really what it felt like was happening. I thought that the Chalnoth leader was going to bother us, and I was tired and I knew Onn had to rest, and I didn't want him to do that, and I... just told him not to, with my mind. It was a use of psi power I didn't even know I had." He shakes his head, troubled. "It happened just as I wanted it to, subconsciously. Maybe this is some latent power I've had, and the Chalnoth somehow are subject to it? Being around them, our having First Contact with them, brought it out in me somehow?" To Kylah's response he says, "Yes, let's keep this secret for now, from the others if not the Doctor, at least until we know more."

Graham sees two Vulcan women in the corridor, passing by with demure gazes. He also sees three Chalnoth going in and out of the restroom. One stares at him with an unreadable expression. An Uwat crewmember also passes by.

Nia takes a steadying breath and agrees with Mäkeläinen, and gratefully accepts the coat over her shoulders. Her arms are still stiff but with the doctor's help she manages to get them into the coat sleeves. "All right, Doc," she says, trying not to lean too much on him. "Let's catch up with Graham. Maybe he's found something edible that won't cost us all the credits we've got left and then some."

The ideas and possibilities that Velir puts forth seem plausible--as plausible as anything else Kylah can think of. She has had her own psi abilities affected by external stimuli. But... he would have had to have the impulse to order the Chalnoth, would he not?

"So you believe this is the first time you have done this?" she asks softly. "You might not know for sure. Perhaps it has happened--perhaps something you wanted from someone came true." Images flash through her mind and her mouth turns dry. "You must guard against such instincts. Much evil can be done..."

Mr. Palver, preventing them from moving on his ship. The spores that drove her behavior despite her will.

Kylah is suddenly afraid to be around another psi user. If he has no control, he could read her thoughts unintentionally. And given this new power, if he wishes her to act a certain way, he might influence her without meaning to. Would she know if he did? Has he already done so? Her lips part as, once again, images fly before her eyes--yesterday, in the club. Their behavior in the private room...

"I...I will fetch the doctor," she repeats weakly, and backs away until she exits through the exit to the corridor. (If he wishes to speak more, she will pause. Otherwise she will rush to the corridor looking for Dr. Mäkeläinen.)

Dr. Mäkeläinen is by no means particularly large or physically imposing, but he supports Onn's weight unfalteringly should she lean on him.

The two of them walk out of the room and turn into the corridor in the direction of the Common Room.

Rangin concentrates. "I don't remember having done it before. I'm pretty sure I haven't. There's just something about the Chalnoth... something that... well, somehow makes it, I don't know, almost inviting to use psi on them. Almost... seductive, in a way. No, that's not really it. It's hard to explain." He looks a little disappointed but makes no move to stop her as she backs away.

The good doctor and Onn enter the corridor, and see what Graham just did.

Booker's an unexpected sight, and Nia hesitates in uncertainty whether to continue relying on the doctor's (rather surprising) strength to maintain her balance, or to feed her pride by bluffing her way past Booker by standing on her own as if unaffected. Her body reminds her that right now, she hasn't got a choice. Her legs feel like tree trunks and are nearly as immobile.

The same can't be said for Booker. His stretches reveal limbs that are well-muscled yet fluid. Admiring him with a pang, Nia catches sight of the various strangers in the corridor and tries to get the attention of the Uwat. "Excuse me, uh--" (If she can tell rank she'll use that here; otherwise she'll just say "officer.") "--Sorry to bother you. But our cabin is very cold. Do you know if the ship's having issues with its l/s system, or are all the staterooms kept at temps that'd freeze a Klingon's blood?"

(Does she recognize the crewmember? She had trouble distinguishing them before. If this one's new to hert, she belatedly raises her hand. "Should've introduced myself. I'm Nia, by the way.")

Of course, Kylah pauses when Velir speaks to her, though her hand hovers over the door lock. "'Seductive,'" she repeats, doing her best to ignore the similarity in how Jan described her while she was helpless under the influence of both the spores and the man's own desire. She shakes her head free of the image. "As--as if they wish to be controlled?"

She cannot tell if he is blaming the Chalnoth for causing this impulse, or if his description of this curious sense is accurate. "Their demeanor was quite...assertive. It is hard to believe they would want to be, well, dominated." Her mood perks up. "Maybe you can speak to Mr. Jol, or anyone else, who might let you access the net. You can search for any descriptions of this race. This may be our first contact with them, but there are others who surely know of them. And the Vulcans know a little, too. I shall ask for you. It might be good for you to stay away from them, to avoid triggering your..."

Not certain how to describe Velir's new powers, she just waves a nervous hand. "Your impulses," she finishes. Guilt over how forlorn he looks sends her back to him--while casting up every mental barrier she possesses courtesy of Dr. T'var's lessons--so she can gently kiss his forehead. Her lips barely touch his cool skin before she backs away again. "You will be all right," she murmurs. "Psi effects are frightening when you first learn them. I imagine," she adds hastily. "You just need time."

Kylah smiles again and this time unlocks the door to enter the corridor. The others seem in a clump, for some reason. Lt. Onn is leaning heavily against the doctor, something unnatural about the way she is holding herself. Lt. Graham seems involved in some exercises but she suspects he is also observing everything, as a Security Officer of his caliber would.

She notices the trio of Chalnoths. It occurs to her that she can test Velir's claims on one of them. Her powers are not his; there are many permutations of psi abilities. But Kylah's mind is used to probing others', for good or ill, and perhaps her greater experience will yield some results.

"Good morning," she says to the other three Yorktown officers. "Mr.--Terrence is still sleeping, and Ganri--Ginran needs more rest." Kylah's gaze lands on Dr. Mäkeläinen, to whom she moves quickly. "If you please, Doc, he wishes an urgent word with you. Could you see him for a moment?" She shifts her focus from Lt. Onn to Lt. Graham and back again to the doctor. "Surely Lt.--Nia can lean on Booker if she needs to." Kylah's eyes beseech Dr. Mäkeläinen's, trying to impart the importance of her request. "Please, sir?"

Good thing that Booker is right there, because Mäkeläinen can simply come up to him with the still-stiff Nia where she can indeed switch and take his arm or lean on him without much fuss or spectacle. He tells them, "I shall see you two in the Common Room, then? I will be right back."

He is not sure what Kylah and Ginran want, though he remembers details like the latter caught a phaser blast a couple of days ago, which Kylah was worried about, and there was that fatal knife fight on Ollos. Why did he not come himself just now? He is prepared to follow Kylah and see what is up.

Graham tries to give Nia an encouraging smile. He raises an eyebrow at Kylah's insistence the doctor check on Rangin. "Is he all right?" he asks, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral, given that Kylah possibly seems agitated about the matter.

About to escort the doctor to their stateroom, Kylah pauses to answer Lt. Graham's question--although first, she must think of an answer. "He--he seems to be having unexpected symptoms of--of trauma. Or shock. I do not know," she says. "He did not confide all to me. I expect because he wishes to speak with the doctor privately."

She leads Dr. Mäkeläinen away; not exactly a long journey since it is only a meter or so. "I will wait out here," she says to him, glancing at Velir through the door to see if he does indeed wish privacy.

Nia frowns at this latest issue with Rangin, hoping he's not going through something serious. That's all they need: yet another medical catastrophe for Mäkeläinen to deal with.

When he leaves and makes a slight attempt to nudge and transfer her to Booker, Nia can't help noticing Book's body language, which lacks any indication that he's willing to take on an extra burden. Just a half-hearted smile. So, instead, she casually lets her left hand rest against the wall to prop herself up. "And then there were two," she says, watching Kylah leave. "Like Doc said, we should go to the Common Room. Might as well meet the other passengers."

She ambles forward slowly, using her left hand as a brace. She certainly didn't want Book to treat her like an invalid, but she wouldn't have minded some literal follow-through on that "you can lean on me" jazz he was spouting last night. It was probably easy to say such things when it seemed like she wasn't gonna wake up. But, anticlimactically, the morning's arrived with Nia still here, alive if not kicking, and as clingy as a barnacle.

"Try and keep up, Lieutenant," she says dryly, inching forward. "I'm pretty hungry." And don't worry, Mr. Gromov-Graham, I promise I won't defile you along the way.

Graham's momentarily startled by Nia's slowed movement, with a hand on the wall for support - although he's not sure why should be, other than a night's sleep there's no reason her condition should improve...or for that matter, 'not get worse' the longer they're away from Yorktown.

"Ah...I can get you something, if you'd prefer to, ah rest...that is, if it would be help..."

He's tempted to try to get the doctor's attention in order to get his opinion, but he holds his tongue because he can't kid himself: that would be a cop out because he's both worried about offending Nia and also that she'll push herself too hard on principle.

Bizhi allows the door to close behind him. How does Rangin look? Is he in good nick (are any of them, at the moment?) Kylah said he might be in shock, but he will judge such things for himself. He did just kill a guy in a duel to the death, and he is a Starfleet scientist, not a Klingon— well, anything, so Bizhi knows it should take more than a couple of days to process that. Then again, not for the first time, Bizhi is aware he knows nothing about Rangin's early life.

“You wanted a word? Your friend wanted us to talk in private—” he fleetingly glances at a snoring Terrance— “I am still getting to know her manner but she seemed genuinely worried. Could be about the breakfast menu, in which case I can't blame her. ”

The Uwat - Onn can't tell if it's one she's seen before; they really do all look alike to her - replies in halting Standard, "Rooms heated nice. But deck cold. Storage below. You be nice. Nice!" He begins to move away.

Rangin smiles at Kylah's kiss, takes her hand and kisses it in return. He says to her, "I'm not sure that the Chalnoth want to be controlled, that's certainly not their personality or, I guess, their culture. I think you're right about that. But I seem to have, I don't know, maybe... an affinity for controlling them. And it, well, it feels good to do it, in an odd way."

Dr. Mäkeläinen thinks Rangin looks almost normal; certainly better than he did back yesterday dirtside in the Black Sun, or immediately after coming aboard this ship. At Kylah's urging, Rangin reluctantly repeats for the good doctor what he already told her.

Rawlings mumbles something in his sleep and rolls over.

In the Common Room are the two Vulcan women Graham and Onn saw earlier in the corridor, just sitting down with food and drink at a table at which T'Ves, the Adept, is already seated.

A smaller Chalnoth is across the room, eating something unrecognizable with his hands. He looks suspiciously at you.

It feels good.

The remarks are worrying, Kylah cannot deny. Having such control might be a heady drug and can be used just as irresponsibly.

But this is Velir. She must trust him. She hovers just outside of the cabin door, her hands tugging restlessly at her sleeves, waiting for the doctor to learn more about Velir's latest symptoms. Lt. Graham hit him with a phaser; could that have triggered this new ability? Can it truly be these Chalnoths?

Some people are easier to read than others. Perhaps it is the same with compelling someone--that some are more susceptible to commands. Would that include her? She does not have a great record of fending off others' emotions, even when the others are not trying to broadcast them. And, again: would she know?

"All this can wait until we are back home," she says staunchly to herself, hugging her arms and leaning back against the wall while she waits for the doctor, and possibly Velir and Mr. Rawlings if those two are willing to go for breakfast.

A little taken aback by the Uwat's chastizement, Nia saves her response to Booker's offer, instead saying that she didn't expect to get etiquette lessons from their hosts.

Inside the Common Room, Nia looks around, dissatisfied. Nowhere for her to lean now, except against the sides of the room, and even Booker would notice if she suddenly started crawling along the periphery of the space.

"The Doc thought it was better for me to stick nearby. For all of us to stick together," she corrects quickly. But roaming the relatively large space is daunting and as soon as she can grab hold of a chair, she does. "But now we're here... I guess I'd appreciate it if you could pick something for me. I can sit and make overtures to the ladies over there. I doubt Mr. Underbite wants company."

She blinks and glances down at the floor, then back up at Booker, atypically abashed. "Unless... you think otherwise? Like I said last night--you better decide what tack to take."

Graham replies to Nia quietly, nodding slightly. "That's a good call. The Vulcans are our best bet for eyes, ears...allies." Then he shakes his head just slightly. "After all that's gone on who the hell knows what else might go off the damn rails..." He sighs. "I'll see what, uh, gourmet treats are in store."

Dr. Mäkeläinen carefully listens to Rangin's story about the Chalnoth and psi powers. "I was there last night. We were all pretty tired, the Chalnoth included, I recall. Not saying they seem like the last people about to start any trouble, but I'm more worried about our own side's nerves. So you are talking about some kind of extrasensory telepathy, like a remote mind meld? I grant such things are possible, yet, ignoring the possible mechanism, you say it was not a conscious effort?" Mäkeläinen would have assumed influencing even an unshielded mind in a specific way, especially without physical contact, would require extraordinary discipline and years of training--- the Vulcans probably have a thing or two to say about that--- otherwise a lot of people all over the Galaxy would be dropping dead after giving each other dirty looks. However, he does not know what, if anything, they are dealing with, or how much credence to give Rangin's tale. Last night, Jol, too, hinted at some means he had for keeping his passengers under control, which common sense suggests he and his crew must have (a couple of handy guards armed with disruptor rifles would do it, if it came to real trouble), but Mäkeläinen did not ascribe to such bluster any special importance.

"Look, if you perceived something, it should be reproducible. Some kind of radiation? Could be difficult or impossible to detect if we have no idea what kind, but we could scan for anything in the frequency range of humanoid brainwaves. At least, we could if they had not confiscated our tricorders for the voyage.

"Let's think scientifically: impossible to conclude anything with one data point. If you ever again get that feeling you described, of involuntary psi effects, you should tell me, then we can start to worry. I already have you down for a full physical when we get back home, you're not the only one, but how do you feel right now? About everything?"

Rangin says soberly, "We can talk about it now, or we can wait until we get back to the... uh, back home. But it's different from anything I've ever experienced before, and... well, it scares me a little." To the doctor he says, "I'll let you know if it happens again, Doc. For now, I feel pretty good. A lot better than I did last night. I am hungry, though."

Rawlings sneezes and wakes. He gets up, puts his feet down and says , "Man, it's cold off this deck, isn't it?"

There are several empty tables and chairs in the Common Room, if Onn wishes to sit.

Graham checks out the replicator station there. It isn't Federation equipment, but appears relatively easy to operate. The menu options also aren't as lengthy as aboard the Yorktown, but it's not just bread and water, either.

Kylah pays keen attention to Dr. Mäkeläinen's every word, drinking it all in like one of the unpleasant tinctures her parents' physician used while trying to "fix" her. The repellent liquids did not curb her psi powers then, and the doctor's words do not quell her concern now.

But Velir seems to feel better, and he is the one who had the experience. She should not be more concerned than he or Dr. Mäkeläinen. (Or at least, she acknowledges realistically, she should not be seen as being more concerned.) But she casts a hopeful look at the doctor. "Thank you for obliging me, sir. He seemed weaker before. You are right that we shall likely have to wait until we are back. Velir," she adds, turning an encouraging smile to him. "Are you willing to go to breakfast? Or might being in proximity with the Chalnoth cause problems?"

That last question is addressed to both Velir and Dr. Mäkeläinen. She interrupts herself to agree with Mr. Rawlings's observation; her feet are cold even her boots. She tells him they are likely headed for breakfast, and once he and Velir have a chance to wash, the four can join the senior officers.

Kylah vows to speak to Velir whenever they are truly alone later.

Nia waits for Booker to leave, then takes advantage of the chair backs to brace herself along to a table near the Vulcan group. Then, gratefully, she pulls a chair out and slowly takes a seat. Is this how aging feels? Or is it hypobilitria?

She rubs her arms to warm them--and hopefully get her scales to calm the hell down--and turns to the women close by. "Excuse my interruption," she says, bending a little closer. "Just wondering if you know the time? I was about to say 'Good Morning' to you all before I realized it could be nighttime for all I know." If they are receptive she'll introduce herself (as "Nia") and ask what they recommend on the 'menu'.

None of this matters, of course, but Nia's not gonna get into any diplomatic attempts when she's in this state of mind. She gave Booker the responsibility; she has to let him take it.

The Doctor says to Rangin, “If you were not just tired and there really is an anomalous effect in play, then it has a cause; work with me and we'll find it. No need to worry about that.”

After a beat, he continues, “I'm glad you asked to talk. We are still in the thick of it, and we need some time to... process recent events. We should continue our talk soon, but right now, judging purely by appearances, you look in better shape than I do. If you are up for it, I was just on my way to see whether I can get the knockoff Nutrimat they have in there to dispense something hot and palatable.”

To Rawlings he says, “Our room's the same. Haven't seen yet how this deck is laid out; we could be standing over vacuum.”

As for Kylah, [has she really been standing around and listening to what she herself acknowledged was meant to be a private conversation? :-D] he shrugs and says, “Too early in the day for mayhem, I put.”

Graham does his best to work the replicator to get as close as he can to a traditional Scottish breakfast.

Then he returns with his harvest - plus coffee, tea, and (hopefully) a close approximation to orange juice - to Nia.

Rangin says with a smile, "Well, I definitely don't want to have you wait on me. I'll come get some breakfast. I'll keep my distance from the Chalnoth - after what happened dirtside, I'm certainly not looking for trouble." He gets up and gets dressed. Rawlings, yawning, does the same.

Onn soon realizes that the deck of the Common Room isn't nearly as cold as it was in her quarters.

T'Ves, the Vulcan leader, says to her, "Good morning. It is indeed late morning, ship's time." She nods to her two younger colleagues. "Please pardon them; they are not permitted to speak to others, by the rules of our Order."

Graham is able, with some experimentation, to extract a bumpy, ham-like meat from the replicator, as well as hot foods more or less resembling toast, beans and eggs. No fresh vegetables or fruits are available, unfortunately, nor any haggis, although there are several Uwat dishes which are just about the stinkiest, most disgusting he has ever encountered. There is plentiful coffee (common throughout the galaxy, wherever Humans have been) and several kinds of tea, including aromatic Vulcan tea (T'Ves, he can smell, is having some) and what appear to be several varieties of darkly-colored, opaque fruit juices, tastes unknown.

Kylah, having stepped into the corridor to wait for the men, will rejoin them to head to the Common Room.







(The girl has a generous definition of 'private'--as is evident by the fact that she seems to have slept in a cabin w/two semi-nude men!) :)

"I'm sorry to hear they can't talk," Nia says with a sympathetic look at the younger Vulcans. Then she realizes that a condolence-like response might be insulting to them, assuming they voluntarily chose the order. "That must be a challenge with its own rewards. How long does this, uh, ritual take?"

That sounds a little judgy too, though she didn't mean it to be. Stick to safe talk. Booker'll be here. She looks up to see the very man approaching and in addition to the sight delivering a grateful rush of relief, the sight of something steaming in the air immediately makes Nia want to pounce on whatever hot food he's brought. Resisting, she turns back to T'ves and gestures to the women. "Sorry if you told me this last night. I've been under the weather and my memory's...patchy."

Her smile tilts slightly. "Last night's sleep didn't help. Does the frigidity bother you? --Of the deck," Nia blurts, eyes widening as soon as she hears her own question. "The--the floor ought to be better insulated if they're gonna cheap out and avoid heating the Doregg's belly."

While Rangin is getting dressed, Dr. Mäkeläinen takes the moment to slip back into his own cabin and pick up his medical stuff, sealing the door again after he leaves. He will accompany Ginran, Terrance [assuming he is coming too], and Kylah to the Common Room. He wordlessly, yet politely acknowledges any Vulcans, Uwat, and even Chalnoth there if they turn to eyeball the new arrivals. He uses his experience and knowledge of ingredients to do his best to coax the replicator-like device into outputting strong, spiced coffee and offers some to Ginran and his other companions before taking some for himself. Nia, he notices, already has a drink in front of her--- is she eating and drinking? A good sign, if so. For his own breakfast, he is fascinated by the Uwat dishes on the pre-programmed menu and extracts a decent-sized variety plate.

Graham nods in greeting to the Vulcans, but addresses Nia first. "I, ah, tried to get what we call a "Scottish Breakfast" traditionally, back on Earth. It's, um - well, this is in some cases relatively close. In some cases...not so much..."

After a brief pause, he adds "At least there's coffee."

He places the "feast" on the table and takes a seat himself.

T'Ves nods in greeting to Graham and explains to Onn, "The typical novitiate in our order maintains her vow of silence for at least three years. It will be quite some time before these sisters will be able to speak. Thank you for your understanding." She also says, with an expression that Onn cannot quite read, "Yes, the deck is quite cold, we have also noticed. I have no explanation for it."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is able to get spiced coffee from the replicator and finds it palatable but not particularly good; it has a slight but noticeable metallic aftertaste. Rangin thanks him, takes one sip from his mug but then grimaces and goes to get something for himself. Rawlings drinks more of his own coffee, stops, but then shrugs and stays put. The doctor finds the Uwat food on his plate only slightly less repulsive than Graham did.

Three more Chalnoth enter the Common Room and look around. One of them is their leader, Teloqq, whom you saw last night.

As soon as they enter the Common Room, Kylah takes a quick, curious glance around, noting Lt. Onn by herself but addressing the Vulcan party, and Lt. Graham fetching an admirably full tray of... something. And a Chalnoth dines (a generous term) alone, though aware of the others even if he is not among them. A little buzz of anxiety turns her head to Velir. Hopefully there is nothing that will trigger whatever power he displayed last night.

She heads to the replicator and, with more hope than expectation, tries to get anything resembling a hot, sweet drink. Hot chocolate is her favorite, of course, but perhaps the Uwat's technology does not have the capability to create something divine. Even the Yorktown's replicators cannot do so--not perfectly. Kylah can taste the difference. Although Andy Johnson has provided her with what had to be genuine cocoa. It nearly intoxicated her.

Whatever she receives, she will add something pastry-esque and whatever meat-like substance appears. After dining on gagh, Kylah figures she can manage this.

A frisson of unease runs through the air like the instant before lightning strikes. She stops examining her food and notices the source: more Chalnoths have arrived, including Teloqq himself. Now she is concerned, and without looking at Velir stands in his way, subconsciously trying to shield him from the leader--and to shield Teloqq from Velir, for that matter.

She herself avoids meeting Teloqq's gaze, assuming he will ignore her anyway as small and insignificant. But she does peek up to see if the unwell Chalnoth she encountered last night is among the group. If he is, she thinks fervently, please let him ignore me as well. Or at least do not be angry that I saw him in distress.

Tired, weak and slow-witted Nia might be, but her instincts are still somewhat intact. T'ves is implying something, just as she was last night. But she's being cryptic. Nia excuses herself when turning to Booker, inwardly irritated. Bloody Vulcans. Just spit it out, woman.

She accepts the coffee from Booker with a weary but genuine smile. Her hands curl around the mug to benefit from any residual heat, and then she takes an experimental sniff, then sips. From Book's expression, she expected worse. But she's in survival mode now, and back home she grew up drinking filtered mud water. Taste was not a priority. While her palate has thankfully been introduced to exquisite foods in the many years since she left Sidonia, she retains her race's inherent abilities. Filter out the crap and thrive on any good she can get, 'cause it won't last long.

"Thanks for the attempt at the breakfast," she says as he sits down. "Not sure I'm up to much. But I think Doc'll kill me if I don't have a bite. Sweet of you to help me out." She leans over to him and, since she's already got a rep among the Uwat for being demonstrative, gives Book a gentle embrace while she murmurs in his ear, "The girls don't speak. T'ves does more implying than speaking, which might mean we can't talk freely. Something's up. Or down. Lower deck's frozen for them too."

Nia doesn't need to do anything to further the pretense, but when she draws back and their cheeks touch, her gaze lingers on his, maybe a little too tenderly, before she gives him a hoarse thank you and sits back to occupy herself with a long sip of her hot sludge. The steam helps her hide her embarrassment. Fortunately, Book won't care anyway--it'll mean nothing to him and he'll focus on the Vulcans and whatever they're hiding.

Bizhi makes a show of delivering incomprehensible dark imprecations upon the food, adding, "These dishes must be absolutely sublime for that machine to malafuster them that badly," providing a knowing look to any Chalnoth eyeballing his group. He drinks his coffee, though, and he eats his meal, without saying much.

Kylah is able to get a passable mug of hot chocolate from the replicator, although it has an odd aftertaste. Not bad, exactly, just... odd. The pastry and breakfast meat dishes she selects are palatable but not exactly like anything she's had before. The meat, somewhat like long sausage links, is scaldingly hot, for some reason.

The Chalnoth she saw vomiting in the corridor last night is indeed one of those with Teloqq. The Chalnoth leader looks belligerently around the room, and his gaze alights on Rangin.

The Chalnoth sitting by himself smiles and nods a little in reaction to what Dr. Mäkeläinen says, but then looks furtively at Teloqq, hurriedly stuffs the rest of his food in his mouth, and gets up from his seat.

Holding her tray and still feeling the burn of the sausage-esque things, Kylah tries to avoid the sick Chalnoth and gets another zap of alarm when Teloqq focuses on Velir. She realizes her effort to hide him was doomed, because while he is not tall, Kylah is even smaller. Both hands clutch the tray, so she cannot attempt touch telepathy to ease Velir, if he needs it.

She takes an awkward step forward but stops. What exactly can she do? She must communicate with him, keep him calm. Leave him be, she thinks forcefully, staring at the Chalnoth leader but trying to aim her words at Velir. Please do not do anything to him. It is risky to attempt a link this way, since she does not recall if she has ever done so with Velir except without being in direct contact with him. He might realize he is not performing the communication.

Then again, neither of them understands what his abilities are. Kylah herself has no idea. Compelling someone, as he did last night, is beyond the scope of her understanding. As far as she knows, her tears are the only influence she has on others--and the influence is restricted to inducing attraction. Whatever gift Velir has is far greater than anything she has experienced herself. If she could command anyone with nothing but will, surely she would have done so by now.

She darts a swift glance at the Doctor and Ens. Rawlings before returning to the Chalnoth. She can only see Lts. Onn and Graham in the periphery. Are the others aware that Teloqq is here? Can she tell what this stranger is feeling?

"Come, we should join the others," she murmurs.

[Not certain who is sitting where, but] Doc is sitting/will try to take a seat with his group, ideally where he can see both Nia and Ginran.

Nia notices the entrance of the other group but is focused on her drink before setting it down again and turning to T'ves. "This floor here seems comfortable enough. Do you know if any of the other passengers have complaints? They don't seem the type to, uh, suffer in silence."

Kylah has no response from - and cannot sense the psi presence of - the Chalnoth. She is aware of Rangin's telepathic presence but cannot communicate with him.

Dr. Mäkeläinen sits down with his fellow shipmates. He can see them all clearly, and of course the Chalnoth as well.

T'Ves says, "I have heard no complaints from anyone about the cold deck. It is certainly noticeable."

The lone Chalnoth quickly leaves the room, Teloqq watching him as he goes. The leader of the Chalnoth then returns his gaze to your group. He comes closer and asks, almost sneering, "I hope you all slept well last night?"

Graham slightly raises his cup of coffee in acknowledgement of the Chalnoth. "Ah, it was...sufficient," he replies with equanimity. "There's an old Terran saying 'beggars can't be choosers' that comes to mind." Setting his cup down, he asks "I hope your rest was satisfactory as well."

Bizhi mutters something about, "At least the atmosphere wasn't accidentally vented into space or cross-linked to the VOC scrubber exhaust, so I can't complain," but he, too, is watching Teloqq closely now. Following Graham's neutral acknowledgement, he invites with a glance the looming Teloqq to take a seat in front of them if he is so inclined.

Still thinking about Rangin's account, he wonders how he would even detect any sort of mind-control field. If something were broadcasting into the room and he were caught in it too, without even a tricorder, would he be able to tell? Even if he did feel off, who is to say it is not just a result of this nasty breakfast? (Or maybe there [i]is[/u] a gas leak, even though he would still be willing to bet that, all passenger-directed shenanigans notwithstanding, the Uwat do know how to build them. The point being, how would he be able to tell one effect from another? Experienced Vulcan monials would presumably notice anything like that, though.)

A little lost, Kylah takes stilted steps toward the table with her crewmates. Having only a vague sense of Velir and nothing at all from the Chalnoths--and of course, nothing from the Vulcans--is unnerving. Her mind scans the room like a desperate ship searching for a homing beacon.

As she passes Teloqq she follows the others' lead and just murmurs a falsely calm, "We slept well, thank you, sir," looking at the large Chalnoth and regretting doing so, as he looks even bigger this close. She shifts her gaze to make sure she is followed by Velir and the significantly larger Ens. Rawlings, a sight that buoys her somewhat, before she reaches the table to sit down.

Nia gazes over the rim of her mug, letting the steam permeate her dehydrated pores and the scales of her forehead and temples. The subject matter of the floors seems expended until they can ask their Uwat hosts to boost the temperature--or at least get them a frickin' rug, which should be easy since the Chalnoth probably shed hair all over the place. But this leader's question seems oddly phrased--almost envious, or spiteful--and her exhausted mind is curious.

"Personally I froze my ass off," she says lightly, her eyes as pleasant and playful as she can muster. "Why? Were you not well pleased either, Mister Teloqq? ...I'm sorry, is it Mister? Captain?" Nia raises a speculative brow and looks with interest at his uniform, bearing and, well, size. "Admiral?"

Rangin glances from Teloqq to Kylah, then back to Teloqq. She can tell how tense he is.

Rawlings appears calm, but his eyes are slightly narrowed as they pass from Teloqq to the other Chalnoth. Kylah has a faint but definite psi sense of his focus and alertness.

Responding to Graham, Teloqq shrugs with apparent disdain. "This is a scow, a mere Uwat rustship. No, I will not rest comfortably until I am well away from it." He ignores the good doctor's gesture to sit but laughs explosively at Onn's query, foul-smelling spittle spraying from his lips. "HA! An admiral, me? No, no, nor would I want to be one. I am something far better: a Gorom, a squad-leader of the War-Brotherhood of Irkhuit."

Mäkeläinen endeavours to look secretly impressed while pretending to be cool, even though he has no idea what Teloqq is talking about. Maybe his current persona would be more in touch with circles in which such a group would be spoken of, though he is still waiting to hear the rest of Teloqq's story explaining why such badasses might be found booking passage on an Uwat rustbucket.

He does surreptitiously glance at the Vulcans to see if they are reacting oddly, say to invisible psi fields, to the extent trained Vulcans visibly react to anything.

Unable to communicate to Velir through telepathy, Kylah uses her eyes to express her support and protectiveness. But she does not wish to look away from the Chalnoth long, and turns quickly to face him again.

His introduction and mention of some sort of violent brotherhood do not come as a surprise, except for the fact that Kylah is almost completely certain she has never heard of such a group name before. Otherwise he seems much like the race she has spent years studying, pacifying and pleasing: those who will likely, one day, wrest Elas out from under the Federation.

No two civilizations and cultures are the same, but Kylah hopes a deferential response will help becalm the Chalnoth leader.

"No one could mistake you for a common soldier, Gorom Teloqq," she says respectfully--contradicting Lt. Onn's words while she prays she managed to pronounce Teloqq's title more accurately than she did the Uwat's ship name yesterday. "You have the bearing of a warrior. My people have great respect for those who do battle with pride. I am humbled to be in your presence."

That last is certainly sincere. She feels humbled and awed--not in a good way--by these aliens, whom she cannot read and about whom she knows nothing. So she just stands, ready to be spat upon by another dismissive scoff or greeted more tolerantly.

With just a nod at Teloqq's informative response--no sign of repulsion at his stench, because she's smelled worse (or if not worse, close) in the toxic mud farms back home--Nia tries to think of a way to engage this 'excitable' guy in a way that won't excite him.

Kylah's efforts at diplomacy--bizarre take on approving violence, especially for Kylah in particular--seem unlikely to work, unless Teloqq is even more egotistic than he seems. She glances at Booker, wondering how he'll take Teloqq's behavior.

Nia shifts to watch Rawlings and Rangin, the latter looking like a mouse in a cage. "Ra--Ginran, c'mon over here," she says softly, gently nudging the chair opposite her with her boot-clad foot. He needs to sit down before he faints. She murmurs to the men closer to her, "Pretty sure he was right about first contact. At least I've never heard of this group. Any of you?"

Her gaze flicks over to Kylah, then Booker again. "Your lead: Tell her to shut up, get ready to defend her, or what?" She sighs and mutters dryly to Mäkeläinen, "You won't know this yet, but this is the part where Kylah gets stabbed or otherwise injured for having the survival sense of a lemming. Our redshirts get quite the workout whenever she's around."

Though her words are snarky, she's back to staring warily at Teloqq. Kylah, whatever else she is, is still her crewmate and technically under her command. Bad enough the team's gonna end up back at the Yorktown minus its ship and, likely, its pilot. If we lose Kylah too, my memorial's really gonna suck.

Graham groans internally at the dynamics of a huge ass belligerent first-contact alien bragging about war, Kylah taking initiative Nia's clearly not happy with, and...

Well the whole fucking situation.

He clears his throat. "Indeed...I must confess my present ignorance of details about the 'War Brotherhood of Irkhuit,' but it has been true on our planet that the most effective military forces most often had the best squad leaders. A vital, even decisive role on the battlefield."

Kylah notices that the Vulcans are watching Teloqq and the other Chalnoth closely, but not moving a muscle.

Teloqq nods to Kylah after her compliment, then to Graham after his. "Just so," he says, almost smugly.

Rangin sits down and moves closer to Onn. Teloqq's eyes narrow as his gaze follows the Coridanite.

Rawlings murmurs, "News to me." Rangin matches his tone, as the Chalnoth are not far away, and says, "No, ma'am. I've never heard of them before."

"What are you all talking about?" Teloqq demands. "In our culture it is rude to whisper in the presence of others, for we are a direct and forthright people!"

A ripple of relief lets Kylah exhale and relax, but only until she notes Teloqq's unsettling stare at Velir, followed by the ruin of her and Lt. Graham's efforts at placating the Chalnoth leader by whatever the others were discussing. She flashes them a frustrated look, but does nothing except smoothly, slowly taking the seat beside Velir, and returning her admiring gaze to Teloqq.

Bizhi addresses Teloqq, “I shall not vouch for my companions' manners. Merely, they are curious about you. Intrigued. What can we do for you, Gorom Teloqq?”

Nausea hasn't been one of the primary symptoms of Nia's condition, but she's sure as hell feeling some roiling in her stomach as a result of the group fawning. Her ability to be deferential to anyone but a trusted colleague is at minimum, but if Book can rein himself in to stay on the good side of this low-budget Klingon, fine.

"Apologies. That was my fault. I didn't think it appropriate to address you directly, after learning your position. I simply wanted to learn more about your, uh, organization. We're ignorant in our backwater home." Uncertain as to any gender role issues these prickly bullies might have, Nia decides to err on the side of men good, women bad. If only because it's almost always the case.

"If it pleases you to answer my friend's question," she says, gesturing slightly toward Mäkeläinen, "I'm sure our party leader might also like to learn more." She nods to Booker, although her gaze passes Rangin's as she does. It'd take someone much less observant than Nia to miss the weird intensity in Teloqq's stare when focusing on the Coridanite. He's the smallest, slightest guy among them; what the heck could Rangin have done to engender such suspicion?

Buddy are you holding out on us? Does Coridan have some background with this race? Except it doesn't really seem likely he can recognize your origins. You all look human to me. She tries to convey all this with a pointed look, but otherwise she'll have to wait till it's safe to speak without poking Teloqq's ego.

Teloqq looks away from Rangin, who is determinedly avoiding eye contact with him, and scoffs, "You mean you have not heard before of the War-Brotherhood of Irkhuit? Your loss! We are a mercenary band, the most elite, cunning and deadly in the entire galaxy. None can withstand us on the battlefield; the mere news of our hiring has led to hurried treaties and even surrenders. We recently helped the King of Boroko win back his throne, didn't we, and before that overthrew the planetary government on Ulinn V. Now we return to Chalna, our homeworld, for resupply and recruiting."

He sniffs, peers at Kylah's plate, reaches down and takes a handful of her breakfast "sausages." He stuffs one in his mouth and chews meditatively, then asks, "But what of you? Where are you from, and where and why do you travel?"

When Teloqq reaches toward her, Kylah is surprised by how quickly her hand slams to her thigh. Especially because it has been months since she lost the second of her two knives--and her uncle has not fulfilled his promise to send another pair.

But the Chalnoth just grabs food, and Kylah covers her defensive reaction by pretending to adjust her black unitard and crossing her legs. Eating with one's hands is standard Elasian behavior, and she does not care about that. It is his brazen impudence that burns her face and turns it scarlet. She must force herself to resist slapping Teloqq's offending hand.

Somehow she manages a smile and maintains silence. The doctor and Lt. Graham seem to be Lt. Onn's choices for handling this beast, and as long as Velir is safe, she will not disturb their plans.

Avoiding any shifty glances around or whispering, Bizhi maintains eye contact with Teloqq and answers lightly, "Nothing so glorious, though you must know from your campaigns that details matter, and that for some jobs it is indispensable to hire the right people.

"Our last task was... a delivery, shall we say? Someone needed it done right, and so it was. Will it leave an indelible mark on Galactic history?" Bizhi shrugs dramatically. "Not our problem. Had to pick up a few supplies on Ollos. Now we are on our way to Cavinre. Something is brewing there, apparently, not sure what. Expect we'll find out soon enough."

Nia nods sagely while Dr. M. responds, as if she knows what he's talking about. The crew must've agreed on this story last night after she fell asleep. It's as good an answer as any: says almost nothing alarming, or even fictional, so it serves their purposes. But she curses herself for not thinking to ask earlier if they'd concocted a safe backstory.

She's reluctantly amused by Teloqq's piggishness with Kylah's breakfast, and the diminutive royal's resulting tomato impression. To emulate Chalnoth manners and hopefully earn some bonding points, Nia follows his lead and reaches over, grabbing another meat tube thingy from Kylah's plate.

It's a little slippery and a lot unappetizing, especially since she's really not up to eating, but Nia ignores these issues. Perhaps more suggestively than necessary, she lets her fingers glide the faux sausage to her lips, taking as large a mouthful as she can (and since her ancestors were capable of unhinging their jaws, that's actually pretty far). At last she takes the bite and without a blink chews and swallows it down.

Whatever its taste and texture, she hopes it's not as unpleasant or poisonous as the look the Elasian has just cast at her.

Graham notes Nia's deferral to him, and while he gets it, it is still a jarring reminder she's in dire need of a return to Yorktown.

He nods at the doctor's suave response. "Indeed, as my colleague says, our...errand...was quite humble in nature."

He raises his cup slightly. "But a reputation that prompts pre-emptive settlement or surrender without a fight...that is impressive, and the...ah, swift resolution must be greatly appreciated by your clients."

The "sausage" is unpleasant but edible, Onn finds. She would not order again herself, if the opportunity arose.

The Chalnoth chews for a few moments, nods, narrows his eyes and looks over Graham's plate. He reaches for some of the food there.

Rawlings, seeing what's about to happen, begins to stand up.

Graham catches a glimpse of Rawlings and holds one hand up as a sign to hold position.

With the other, he picks up his plate. "You said you were a 'direct and forthright' people. We are, perhaps...not as much that. But we are a kind and generous people." He proffers the plate. "If sharing some of this...ah, err, well - I'll generously call it 'bounty' at least in front of our hosts - pleases you, be my guest, Gorom Telloq."

Wih Kylah (and Onn!) it was dismissible as mere bad manners (or good Chalnoth manners, for all he knows), but now it looks like this Teloqq prefers to get the phatic aggressive posturing out of the way without wasting time. Mäkeläinen inwardly curses--- he really was hoping at least to make it through breakfast. Now, should he stay apparently cool and imperturbable, or follow Rawlings's lead?

If Teloqq should reach for his plate, Dr. Mäkeläinen will smoothly pull it away and stand up.

"Gorom," he says forcefully. "Not everyone is willing to let what is already theirs be so easily snatched away. As a mercenary, you appreciate this."

Having paused in the act of lifting her mug to sip more hot sludge, Nia watches Booker's gambit and can't help sending him an affectionate, amused glance. Her smile isn't washed away by the less-than-appetizing drink, although fortunately, the aftertaste from that sausage impersonator is. She gladly sips some more and starts to shift her focus to Teloqq.

Then Dr. M. jumps in with a surprisingly forceful defense. Nia swallows and lowers her mug. She's not joining in, but she wants her hands free. Not that she'd be able to help if things got physical, with her fading strength. She really misses her phaser right about now.

Rawlings stops at Graham's gesture, but is clearly seething.

Teloqq glances at Rawlings and says, "Ah, there is a temper in this one. Good!" He then looks back at Graham and sneers, "The strong take; the weak yield. It has ever been so." He scoops up about a third of Graham's breakfast with his hand and crams it into his mouth. Chewing, he adds, "And so it shall ever be." He drops the plate on the deck, then snaps a curt monosyllable at the other Chalnoth. They all leave the room.

Rangin exhales.

Kylah's flushed complexion deepens at the additional and far more blatant insult to Lt. Graham. "We should have reacted like Klingons," she spits out, glaring at the mess on the floor. "That is the only response this Ha'DIbaH would understand! I wish--"

She cuts herself off. Not only is the insult frustratingly useless, considering that the Chalnoth are gone, using tlhIngan Hol in front of her crewmates--while by far the most satisfying language for invective--is exceedingly unwise.

Her hand reaches for Velir's under the table, giving his fingers a squeeze both to support him and regain some steadiness herself. Kylah looks over at Lt. Graham, then at Lt. Onn. "I wish you had not chosen to emulate him, ma'am. With respect, perhaps showing such disregard towards me only encouraged such behavior."

Bizhi simply shakes his head and takes a few final bites of his "bounteous" meal. That went more or less precisely as Jol said; while his accurate monition was certainly appreciated, the ritual just now was openly transparent to everyone in the room, the Chalnoth included. He briefly mirrors a Vulcan-like inscrutable look at the Vulcans, who have apparently been staring at them the whole time. (And he still has not forgotten that he would like a little chat with one of them who is willing to talk to strangers, to ask whether they sensed anything unusual, following up on Rangin's case.)

He turns back to his friends: "Just don't follow up and ask him what the glorious War-Brothers are doing booking passage on an Uwat--- rustship, is what he said."

Nia casts a cool glance at Kylah, but otherwise doesn't waste her breath. Literally. She instead nods at Mäkeläinen's wise words. "Yeah, I don't think calling them out on their less-than-glorious mode of transport would work. Me, unless there's some reason to curry their favor that I'm missing, I'll personally hold off on any interactions."

Wondering if Booker might feel some...awkwardness...at the situation, she pushes herself up from her chair with some difficulty. No sense in his having to refill the tray, especially as some of her food was on it too. "I'll get us something else," she murmurs, edging slowly around and--when her hand is out of sight behind him--rubbing his back supportively. She's done so dozens of times and the gesture is automatic; instinctive.

When she brushes past the bulk of Rawlings, her shoulder nudges him and she says under her breath to him, "Looks like you were the only one to impress, T, even though Doc stood up too. Guess for Chalnoths, size matters." Her sideways grin at Rawlings is lightning-brief.

Since Lt. Onn has chosen not to respond, at least to Kylah, the younger woman uncrosses her legs and shifts slightly toward the others. "You both spoke eloquently," she directs at the doctor and Lt. Graham. "Even with opposing tactics." She smiles encouragingly at Mr. Rawlings for his own instincts, then finally brings her attention to the one person she most wishes to speak to.

Her intent eyes peer into Velir's face as she considers how to phrase her next words. "The Chalnoth left rather unexpectedly," she whispers. "Forgive me, but did you...?"

She lets her voice trail into silence, for he must know what she is asking.

Graham's puzzled by Kylah's question to Rangin.

Did he what, pass gas or something?

As far as he's concerned, Gorom Telloq's esteem is the least important thing in the galaxy at the moment. And if they've been emboldened to try something, if they "walk their talk" it will be a straight up confrontation, not subterfuge, so without surprise they'd be put right back at a confrontation moment they avoided...but with the slightest bit of luck, could they just avoid it until they were off this ship?

The two younger Vulcan women look at each other and seem to relax infinitesimally. T'Ves picks up and sips her tea, saying calmly, "And yet, oddly enough, the Chalnoth are not frequently invited to fancy dinner parties."

Rawlings returns Onn's grin and sits down again. He picks up a spoonlike utensil resumes eating.

Rangin squeezes Kylah's hand back, and shakes his head at her question. He pushes away his food. "For some reason, I'm not hungry anymore."

Responding to T'Ves's opening, Bizhi says to her, "Perhaps not, but, as we keep hearing, they are a direct and forthright people. Whereas, of the worst villains ever to have plagued this quadrant with misery and woe, how many have been charming manipulators with impeccable manners?"

He considers how to bring up the issue of Rangin's uncanny sensations. "Forgive me for being inquisitive, but you have been on board longer than we, and have had the opportunity to observe the other passengers. Was the drama just now about what you expected, or did you sense anything unusual, as it were? Or last night?" He looks over himself and his companions, mock-sheepishly. "Besides us, of course."

Nia, after slowly making her way to the replicator and trying her luck at ordering some basic bread and fruit--anything she can recall from Booker's choices--gets back to the table and gratefully sets the new tray down in front of him with a slight clatter. She grips his shoulder briefly for support (this time literally, as she gets her balance), then moves her hand to rest on the chair.

"Good question," she says to Dr. M., turning to the Vulcans. "Have they tried a display like that with you, or are they just this charming with us?"

Kylah misses the implication of Dr. Mäkeläinen's question to T'Ves. Instead, understanding Velir's lack of appetite, she pushes her own tray farther from her. "I cannot eat after so many hands messed with my tray. But regardless, I am hungry, and you should have something. Besides..." She eyes Lt. Graham, then the Vulcans, before resuming her steady examination of Velir's face. "Will you come with me?" she asks softly. "I have a question."

She gets up and tugs gently at Velir's hand, hoping he will follow her to the replicator now that Lt. Onn has finished with it. If he does, and if it is safe to speak privately, she will continue to speak softly. "Teloqq was looking straight at you. Almost as if he knew what you did last night. How could he? You did not say anything to him to identify yourself. Did you?"

(If he does not follow her, Kylah will go to the replicator by herself and repeat her order from earlier, albeit minus the sausage-like objects while adding an extra pastry for Velir. Then she will return and quietly insist that he eats, while they listen to the others.)

Graham perks up at Nia's question to the Vulcans.

Smart. Is their behavior species or gender conditioned?

"Also a good question," he says with a nod.

T'Ves smiles just a little and says to the good doctor, "A fair point. In any event, I sensed nothing amiss, last night or just now, other than the obvious." As to his other questions and Onn's she replies, "Yes, they were somewhat boorish with us soon after we came aboard, although not as much as they were with you just now. I believe that the Chalnoth are at least somewhat religious, or perhaps one might say superstitious, and are reluctant to go looking for trouble with those in holy orders."

Rangin goes along with Kylah, although with a somewhat embarrassed look back at Onn and the others. He says to her quietly, "I don't know if he was aware that I'd done anything. I didn't say anything to him; he just seems to have taken an odd interest in me, worst luck."

If the Vulcans did not sense anything--- maybe that rules a handful of things out regarding Rangin's experience, but approximately infinitely many possibilities remain. One episode is not data, anyway. Dr. Mäkeläinen may end up having to run Rangin through the full gamut of medical tests: full body scan, blood panel, CSF analysis--- to rule out any detectable abnormalities before dismissing his story as just the stress talking. The man has been through a lot, it is true, but (even if it was the stress) he does not want to believe he would just crack.

To T'Ves he says, "I cannot vouch for everyone's superstitions, but I promise my colleagues and I respect the holy orders as well, Madame Adept. At any rate, we are only booked for a short hop. In a couple of days we'll be out of both your hair and the Chalnoth's."

Although the empty mug is no longer warm, Nia curls her hands around it anyway. "A short hop," she echoes, as if in agreement with Dr. M. It doesn't feel that short to her right now, with the Yorktown and her Bilitrium so impossibly far away. She shrugs it off as her gaze sweeps to the floor and Booker's discarded food. "Funny how that slop only enhances the decor."

Then, looking up at T'Ves, she clears her throat. "Um, so... do you know anything about this 'War-Brotherhood' group?"

Her focus intent on Velir's eyes, Kylah listens carefully. "Yes, you have caught his attention," she says softly. "It cannot be a coincidence, after you made that...that 'suggestion' to him, last night. We have no idea what it felt like, from his perspective. If he heard you, or just sensed you. Or if he genuinely thinks it was his own spontaneous choice to leave."

She swallows, glances to see if anyone is near, and then takes the plunge, speaking in a rushed near-whisper. "Velir. Do it to me. Make me do something." Her throat is dry and tight at the thought. Losing control of her own actions, her own will, is one of her greatest nightmares, one she has faced too often. And she has the unsettling notion that Velir himself might have already unwittingly influenced her.

But she breathes and tries to keep the fear out of her voice and expression. "It can be something simple. Harmless. Something I would not usually do. Let us go back to the table and then you can--try to influence my actions when I am not fully expecting it. We will then know whether I hear your voice, or have any sense that I am doing anything I do not mean to. I give you my permission," she finishes, almost a vow.

T'Ves nods to Bizhi and says, "Yes, thank you, Doc. I am in no hurry for you to leave, however. There is strength in numbers, and as a counterweight to the Chalnoth, I confess I am grateful to have you here."

She tells Onn, "We know little more than you do, unfortunately. None of us had ever heard of this 'War-Brotherhood' before we came aboard. We have learned from Teloqq, however - for what little it may be worth - that the Irkhuit are one of the oldest and most honored Chalnoth mercenary groups, with a long and bloody history, but that they have never fought Vulcans." She smiles thinly. "Although I'm sure they would be happy to, if the opportunity ever presented itself."

Rangin looks closely at Kylah. "Really? Are you sure?" She convinces him and, a few moments later, as you both return to the table, Kylah feels the sudden impulse to clean up Graham's spilled tray of food. The thought did not come naturally to her; she senses but cannot be sure that Rangin has sent a psi command. She wonders if she should try to disobey it.

An Uwat comes aft, goes to the replicator and selects and fills a tray of food. He takes it a little way down the corridor to a door you haven't yet seen open. The door opens. He then passes the tray to the room's occupant, whom none of you can see from where you stand or sit.

Kylah's brows knit into a slight frown, an uncanny sense making her brain feel... not itself. Not entirely her own, even. She told Velir to practice on her, but she cannot tell if her current unease is a result of his effort, or her knowledge that he might try something. Perhaps it is psychosomatic? No, the other thing. Self-fulfilled prophecy? Maybe like every foolish person awed by a street fair charlatan with a pair of gloves and a crystal orb, she has convinced herself and fallen right into the trap every conjurer sets.

She looks distastefully at the puddle of goo on the deck. How uncivilized to treat someone else's home thus. Someone might walk through it, unseeing, and skid, injuring himself. Her fingers twitch toward a napkin, but she curls them around the table edge. She will not stoop to... to stooping. A mop will suffice. Anyway, the crew of the Doregg will take care of it. Kylah shifts her gaze toward Velir when he is not looking at her. Is he smiling? Curious? Perhaps afraid. He is usually quite respectful of her privacy... usually. There are lines he will not cross. Might he have decided against it? This whole thing could be her imagination.

If this is mere self-delusion, I can ignore it, can i not? What if she simply sits, in her usual graceful manner befitting her family? She has taught herself how to stop sneezing--a trick her nurse Reenie taught her--and if one can ignore a physical compulsion surely this should be easy.

Biting her lip, hard, she looks in the opposite direction from the mess, makes a tiny hmph sound, and sits more solidly in her chair. If she can.

"Sorry, my mind's a bit foggy. I'm...under the weather." Nia smiles briefly at the Vulcans. "But did you tell us last night whether you'll be at your destination before the Chalnoths? Or are they getting off before you?" Just like a man, she thinks with dull amusement. Amazing that she can feel lousy but her mind still retains its base humor.

She watches the Uwat idly, curious as to who gets special treatment, like breakfast in bed. Or maybe it's someone's office and they're eating at their desk. Then again the Uwat don't seem likely to be big on busywork. Still, mundane efforts must be made even in far more sophisticated ships than this one.

Her curiosity isn't enough to get her to her feet to follow the crew member. She's more interested in a) staying off her feet and b) learning more about T'Ves and the others on board. There's nothing else for her to do except sleep. And get in touch with Singh. Shit, I forgot all about that. Nice work, Lieutenant.

She glances at Kylah. The girl looks crabby, like she's sitting on the business end of a pine cone. Maybe she and Rangin, uh, Ginran, had a fight. With a one-shouldered shrug, Nia returns to the Vulcan to listen--having forgotten what she was going to ask her communications officer.

He does not know ships like she does, but Bizhi thinks Nia is being a bit unfair where the Uwat vessel is concerned. It is not Starfleet aesthetic, to be sure, but the utilitarian design makes it seem like one should be able to tell what does what and whether it is working correctly, an invaluable quality when something inevitably goes piriform and sleek curves, luxurious panels, and advanced automation no longer help you. In any case, he is as certain as certain can be that no officer anywhere will tolerate slop on the deck.

"It is literally their business to be happy, or at least seem to be happy, to fight against anyone, anytime," he says. "But stories have a way of circulating, and what is said amidst the tales and rhodomontade is, those who have had the opportunity to fight Vulcans speak of those adversaries with healthy respect, shall we say." The character that Bizhi is playing knows as well as he does that this is not necessarily a subject to bring up comfortably with a Vulcan, much less a disciple of Surak, so he is glad Nia is, if not exactly changing the subject, following a harmless tangent.

Graham raises an eyebrow at T'Ves' comment, and then the doctor's.

"Hm well, I've fought Vulcans--at the Academy, that is. In their sincere interest of providing high-quality instruction in hand-to-hand combat as instructors, I think I still may have a few of the bruises," he offers with a smile.

Rangin's expression is carefully neutral, Kylah sees, although she has a fleeting psi sense of disappointment from him. She is able to sit at the table again despite her earlier strong inclination to clean up the mess on the deck.

Rawlings chuckles at Bizhi's remarks. "Okay, Doc, I'm gonna have to ask you to define 'rhodomontade.' That's a new one on me."

"We will be debarking before the Chalnoth," T'Ves tells Onn. "And not a moment too soon, I'd say." At Graham's comment she raises an eyebrow and says, "Indeed. Which Academy, sir, if I may ask?"

The Uwat continues down the corridor, away from you.

Graham has a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes he may have just spilled the beans on the group being Starfleet.

"I was in, ah...law enforcement, on Earth, back in the day." He adds after a pause. "Before going, ah, independent."

"Well, Terrance," Bizhi says smiling, "it means the embellished bravado of those with something to prove. Don't get me wrong: I am willing to stipulate that our War Brothers are possessed of a certain doughtiness, why not? But truly dangerous people have no need nor use for big talk."

Nia's focus suddenly concentrates and whips to Booker. A slip like that is not like him. He recovers, sort of, but she wonders if the other day's emergency landing and subsequent exertion took a greater toll on him than she thought. Truth is, she hasn't given much thought to his well-being. Or anyone's, apart from Rangin. And that was only because he, y'know. Killed a guy.

"He's our token Terran," she says mildly, directing it to the Vulcans though she's measuring Booker carefully with her gaze--and it's a lie anyway since Double T is right there. "They've got these places where people have to get taught how to keep order. Nothing like that on my planet, that's for damn sure." Finally she returns to look at T'Ves. "Where are you from? Obviously I know your race, and I know you're on a journey for your, uh, order, but I mean... Vulcans aren't confined to Vulcan any more than humans on Earth."

As she sits, Kylah notices that Lt. Graham seems unnerved and Lt. Onn somewhat alarmed, though these emotions are not readily seen in their expressions. And Dr. Mäkeläinen, ever unflappable, is explaining something to Ens. Rawlings that Kylah did not catch.

Beneath the table, Kylah brushes Velir's shirt cuff to get his attention, wearing a slight smile of amusement as she murmurs, "You will have to be more forceful than that if you wish to see me clean like a drudge."

She does not let him see that the experiment is still unnerving, even if she was able to shake off his command. In truth, she is not entirely sure she would have noticed the unusual intrusion of such thoughts, had she not been expecting something.

Wondering if the inclination still exists, she turns back casually toward the mess. The impulse to clean up the food does indeed tug at her--as if she would be betraying Velir by not following his wishes--but it is more like a memory, not a compulsion. Indeed, that impulse is soon overtaken by curiosity. Her attention has slipped beyond to the Uwat walking down the corridor. This gets her thinking of his having delivered food to someone in person.

Why would these highly unaccommodating Uwat actually serve one of their guests a meal? The answer comes quickly: Perhaps he is not a guest. Maybe a superior officer, or whatever the hierarchy on such a ship would be. Maybe even the ship's owner? If this is someone of importance it might be worth gaining his or her favor somehow.

Since she really must contact the Yorktown anyway, Kylah decides she can always ask this owner or officer for directions to the Bridge. She says a quick excuse me to Velir and gets up, heading to the door. The mess on the floor will be a good excuse: she decides she can always ask if there is a mop nearby.

When she reaches the door, she looks around for a means of communication, or at least a door chime. If she finds one she will use it to request admittance. If she finds neither, she will simply knock. Even as she does, her mind suddenly sparks with the belated recollection of T'Ves having mentioned a lone traveler who has not left his cabin. Could this be he?

T'Ves says to Graham, "Ah, a police academy of some kind, then? Where on Earth, may I further inquire?"

To Kylah she says, "That is certainly true; not all Vulcans are from Vulcan. But, as it happens, we are."

Rawlings says to Bizhi with a rueful chuckle, "Absolutely right, Doc. I wish more people understood that. It'd probably make for a better Universe."

Rangin murmurs to Kylah, "Well, I'll try harder next time, if you insist." She remembers the feeling of really wanting to clean up the mess, but it is already swiftly ebbing into memory.

There is indeed a door chime button on the door to which the Uwat just delivered food. Kylah touches it, and after a long pause hears a voice from within say, "Yes?" It is muffled through the door, and does not come from a com speaker, of which there is apparently none installed.

Kylah hesitates, uncertain how to respond now that she has received a response. "Excuse me. I am a passenger, and I--I was trying to find a utility closet or some other place for cleaning supplies. There has been an...accident." She looks back at the distasteful mess, then returns to the door. "Do you know...I am sorry, I should ask, are you a crewmember? I did see someone bringing your meal, and I did not mean to interrupt your breakfast..."

Bizhi has been peripherally listening to what Graham has been telling T'Ves. Are there really Vulcan coppers on Earth? Enough of them to account for multiple martial-arts instructors wherever he is from, or going to say he is from?

"You are familiar with Terran cities, then?" he butts in. "I've actually been a few times. When I met this fellow and he mentioned something about law enforcement, I couldn't believe it either that there was still a police force, as in a visible deterrent to crime and disorder, like in the... er... twenty-first century, it is called? Nineteenth? Not something you could tell, or else I missed the most interesting places."

Nia sends a speculative look at the rest of her party. Her glance holds on Book--both because it always does, and because she's particularly invested in ensuring that he's doing okay. This is a big burden to place on his shoulders, capable and strong as they might be.

As Dr. M. breezily and with admirable skill flings some BS in the Vulcans' direction, Nia smiles slightly before being struck by a thought. She checks to see if the doctor's maintaining their attention, and at any opportune moment when she can be sure of confidentiality, reaches toward Booker as if merely pushing her untouched tray over to him. "Doubt this is the right place," she murmurs almost into his ear, "Much less the time. But what's the downside of sharing our IDs with our allies here?"

Graham softly grunts. Nia's made an incisive point. And also gotten very close.

He turns so she can hear his near whisper. "Huh. Yeah, it would be a bet...on having allies. Or not." He pauses a moment and closes his eyes, feeling her closeness and her smell. He physically tenses, then relaxes, resolved. He pats Nia's knee.

"Doc's right," he says to T'Ves. "Even in the present day, the need for law enforcement is still a sad fact on Earth. But, ah..." Graham lowers his voice. "Vulcans are famously honest, T'Ves, so I'll be honest with you." He glances at the doctor and Nia before proceeding. Leaning forward he says "The fact of the matter is we're Starfleet officers, and thanks to...exigent circumstances, here we are, and reaching our destination is...a matter of urgency. And not something we want to discuss with our hosts or the other, ah, guests. " He takes a breath. "I hope we can count on your discretion."

Rubicon crossed....

The person in the cabin replies from behind the closed door to Kylah, "No, I'm not a member of the crew. I suggest you ask them for help. Please don't bother me again." Although muffled, it appears to be a male voice in unaccented Federation Standard.

T'Ves raises an eyebrow, then turns and says something in an alien tongue to her two younger colleagues. Without a word, they rise and leave. She then says to Graham, "Thank you for confiding in me. I indeed thought you might be Starfleet personnel, but was not sure. You may certainly count on my discretion, and that of my sisters. I am not sure of the Uwats' probable response, but it would do none of us any good for the Chalnoth to know. Is that why you were trying to keep it secret?"

Biting her lip, Kylah nods unconsciously despite not being visible to the person inside, and tries to lighten the mood. "Of course. I suppose you paid extra for personal service of your meals? We did not think to do that--indeed, I am shocked that we were not offered the option to upgrade." She cannot help her curiosity, and reaches out empathically to see if this person is mollified or upset. "Anyway, please forgive my mistake. My name is Kylah--perhaps we will meet later?"

Mars is different, of course--- no policing in the Earth metropolitan sense, the habitats and facilities there supporting a smaller population in a much more controlled environment. Not that there is never any trouble....

Bizhi is not concerned about T'Ves's group knowing their identities. Fact is, if Graham had not said anything just now, she would have shortly confirmed her suspicions through implacable logic, all the quicker if they attempted outright deception. Someone truly devious, he muses, would have "Starfleet officers" as yet another cover identity to satisfy the curious, concealing deeper layers of intrigue. Are they devious? Kylah's knocking on random doors just down the corridor would have to be part of some brilliant ploy not to draw attention.

"Until we boarded," he says, "none of us had ever laid eyes on a Chalnoth. We are not worried about them specifically, but we learned the hard way that not everybody out here is fond of Starfleet, or the Federation; not on Ollos and not at Cavinre. We therefore decided amongst ourselves that our best chance for a peaceful, inconsequential journey was to keep our occupation vague."

Now that she's seated again, Nia's heart races, and she's unsure if it's due to Booker's risk paying off, or his confidence in her, or... likliest of all: with the thinness of the absurd green catsuit she's wearing, the warmth from his palm--an utterly unexpected gesture--radiated to her skin beneath, and the memory makes the sensation linger still. Anything that grants her some heat is a boon, but a touch from Book, is...very different.

Turning to T'Ves, she nods to confirm the Doc's version of events, which is both helpful and true. Not a combo they've been able to produce lately.

The Vulcan's having sussed out that they were Starfleet is concerning. "So much for our future in theater," Nia mutters. "What gave us away? If you let us know, maybe we can stop doing it. Or start doing whatever we're not."

Whoever is behind the door says firmly, "I don't want to talk anymore. Please go away, or I'll have to make a complaint to the Captain." Kylah can't quite tell from the voice, muffled as it is, but has the faintest psi sense that it is a Human male.

T'Ves nods at Dr. Mäkeläinen's comments, and says, "I understand. Thank you, Doc." To Onn she says, "Several of your early, if I may say, unguarded remarks made me suspect you were with Starfleet. Also, all of the men among you have pointed sideburns, which I have noticed is common among Starfleet personnel."

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheKirk

"Forgive me," Kylah repeats, backing up a step before turning away. She is curious about this human, but has no real reason to be concerned other than the oddness of his demeanor and apparent personality. Walking slowly toward the others, she avoids the congealing mess on the floor--she still has a vague desire to do something about it, which swiftly changes to annoyance that there are no crew members to clean their own deck.

The nearer she gets to the table, the greater the impression that some dynamic has changed among her party and the Vulcan, now alone. Her gaze flits from face to face, landing at last on Dr. Mäkeläinen before she intuits that the Tesla crew are more open and the tension buzzing around them has decreased.

T'Ves knows who we are, Kylah guesses; not really a guess as it seems so obvious. Did she figure it out on her own, or was her team honest with their fellow Federation passenger? Nodding at T'Ves in recognition of the change in status, she approaches to stand behind her chair, hands clasped in front of her.

"I met the solo traveler," she reports to the senior officers. "That is, I spoke to the solo traveler. He seems quite...adamant...that he should stay that way." Looking expectantly from Lt. Onn to Lt. Graham, she clears her throat. "I would like to find a way to send a message. It is past time that we did so. May someone accompany me?"

Reminded of Kylah's presence, Nia hides a frown of annoyance that the ensign sought out some stranger on her own. Fortunately, the rest of the crew are nearby. Even Kylah couldn't get in too much trouble with her fellow officers near her.

Yeah that's not entirely true, is it. Back on Sigma Iota, the girl had been only ten meters away across the nightclub floor from Nia--with Booker and Double-T even closer--when one of those mafia goons brutally stabbed her.

Recalling that gruesome sight sharpens Nia's voice. "Yes, you'll be accompanied, and it's not a 'may' but a 'will'. I don't want you prancing off and running into a Chalnoth by yourself."

Kylah's jaw juts out slightly as she holds her head a little higher. "They do not frighten me," she says, probably a bluff. "I suspect it is only men they find challenging. Note how Teloqq ignored me entirely just now, and you as well. And further, I ran into one last night alone, and nothing happened. While he was gruff, I think it was just shame due--"

"You what?" Nia leans forward and this time it's her glare that stabs Kylah. "I may have been nearly unconscious last night but I know Book warned you all not to go out unaccompanied."

"I--it was before we went to sleep. I had to wash my face and brush my teeth." The younger woman's face turns pink, but she's obnoxiously unapologetic. "There was significant turbulence, after which I heard someone being ill. I went to check on him, and it turned out to be a Chalnoth. He was here, actually, earlier." She gestures vaguely toward a table in the back. "I offered to get the doctor but he did not wish it. He was embarrassed at being seen so indisposed. He left, and I went about my business. That is all."

Nia's finger taps on the table as if it's a phaser cannon control. She looks over to the people who were, presumably, more conscious than Nia was. Frankly she's nearly as annoyed that someone either allowed this, or they didn't notice it at all. She's not sure which is worse. She remarks on this aloud to the others and adds, "Any words, boys?"



Nia by me, Kylah graciously provided by choie, who doesn't mind Kylah looking like a screw-up.

Rawlings looks embarrassed. "I guess I was asleep," he says. "My apologies."

Rangin nods, although he has a neutral expression. "Me, too. No excuses, ma'am."

Graham can't help but rub his forehead. "From here on in, no one moves about solo without explicit permission from N-- Lt. Onn or myself. Is that clear?" He glances at Nia, and the back to Ens. Kylah. "With that said, I assume this ship probably has the capacity to get a message to Yorktown, and Mr. Kylah is right that we have every reason to want to do that." He spread his hands. "And I'm as good an escort as any."

Dr. Mäkeläinen is, actually, sympathetic towards Kylah. It had been clear that no one was to wander off alone, but it was not his understanding that one needed to organize an escort for a trip to the cludgie one door down.

For now, he goes along: "Fast asleep, in a separate cabin. We never considered how well sound carries across these doors and bulkheads, whether we could hear a hypothetical disturbance out in the corridor or Common Room.

Medium-range subspace communications... I would not be surprised to find a sympathetic radio operator glad to help us with a short message for a mere token 500 credits or so."

Kylah keeps her chin high, but inwardly she cringes at Lt. Onn's dressing her down, especially in front of T'Ves, an Adept. Her hands drop to her sides, where she tightens them into fists in order to maintain her cool demeanor.

She casts an apologetic glance toward Velir and Ens. Rawlings, who should not be blamed for her 'crime,' such as it was. At Lt. Graham's commanding words, she swallows and nods. "Yes, sir. Booker," she adds hastily. The Vulcan may know who and what they are, but Kylah fears getting mixed up by returning to their usual ranks and forms of address.

When he volunteers to accompany her she fears he will lecture her the whole way. Perhaps she deserves it. In retrospect, it was foolish to walk about, even interacting with one of these aliens about whom they know so little. Nevertheless, Kylah dreads hearing Lt. Graham's disappointment--especially since it has been earned. Her gaze again flickers to Velir, wishing he would have volunteered to join her.

"We will need to seek out Mr. Jol," she says softly to Lt. Graham. "He told me he is in charge of communications. I fear that means going to the Bridge. Shall we go?"

Graham grunts, glancing at Kylah and then the doctor. "Yeah, another shakedown for credits, I fear...well, whatever it takes," he grumbles.

"Look..." he glances at his colleagues and the Vulcans. "Stay frosty, stay close, and stay near friends," he says. His gaze last lands on Nia. "And soon we'll put this whole thing well behind us."

He nods to Kylah. "All right, let's go."

"Very good," is all Nia says, and it's not spoken with much confidence, but only a grateful look to Dr. M., and a grateful-and-apologetic look to Booker. She notices what seems like a mute plea from Kylah to Rangin. Nice try, but Nia's not letting Rangin loose again, after he went walkabout at the nightclub and ended up nearly dead and a killer, to boot. He still seems...off. They probably all do, maybe especially Nia, but Rangin's giving her odd vibes.

Her mug is empty, and she'd like a refill. Licking her lips to no avail--her mouth's pretty dry, more than usual--Nia tries to stand but quickly discovers her legs are numb, as if asleep. Which is natural given slower circulation. So, masking the somewhat clumsy attempt as an effort to pull her chair closer to the table, she says mildly to Rawlings, "Sorry to ask, but you mind getting me another mug of...something, please? Not the coffee again, or whatever this was pretending to be. If they have something hot and spicy, like cider, that'd be great."

The odds of getting something so specific are less than 10%, Nia suspects, but it won't hurt to ask. If Double-T agrees, she'll pass her mug to him and, afterward, turn back to T'Ves.

"Um, sorry about all that. Discipline's a little...slack. Anyway, I'm realizing we've asked about the Chalnoths, but we don't know much more about the Uwat. Can you tell us anything? I mean, these guys in particular. All I know for sure so far is that they're slippery and money-hungry. They try to fleece you out of funds too?" She frowns. "Also, Jol said something about having control of people onboard. Any idea what that meant?"

Graham and Kylah leave the Common Room and head towards the bow and, presumably, the Bridge. A Chalnoth watches them as they pass, but says nothing. They have not gone far when they come to a heavy gastight door which, unlike others, doesn't open as they approach. A comm panel is set into the bulkhead beside it.

Rawlings says to Onn, "Sure, let me see what I can find for you." He goes over to the replicator.

T'Ves replies to her, "No apology is necessary. I think that's a fair description of the Uwat. They have not been very long as a starfaring race, frankly, and are not as technologically sophisticated in most things as Vulcan... or Earth." She sips from her mug. "I am not certain what Jol meant about controlling people, however. Perhaps some defensive or anti-hijacking system we have not yet seen? Or perhaps a bluff?"

Two of the roly-poly Uwat children enter the Common Room and look around.

At Lt. Graham's side, Kylah chews at her lower lip and takes little glances at him before she approaches the comm panel. "I hope they will allow us to speak confidentially." The wish is low and doubtful.

Her fingers hover near the panel control, and Kylah is surprised to see them trembling. She did not realize her anxiety was so acute. The reason why quickly zaps her brain in a shock of recognition. "Sir," she whispers. "Even if they let us talk outside their hearing, we will not remain anonymous once the destination of our message is known. Do you think if we request complete privacy--likely for an extra fee--that might be enough?"

An alternative possibility winks into existence, something not entire pleasant nor likely to keep their identities hidden...at least, not hers. Still, it is a valid solution. She keeps it in abeyance in case Lt. Graham prefers a different route.

Nia thanks Double-T with a nod and smile, watching his familiar figure walk away with an easy, smooth motion you rarely see from someone so large.

Book's like that too, she notes, though with him the surprise at his grace doesn't stem from his breadth. He just looks too tough, too grim. He is both. But also, sometimes, neither. She's often felt fortunate--honored, even--to be let in enough to know his tender side: his gentleness, in gait and touch--

She steers away from where her thoughts are headed, with an assist from the children's sudden arrival. They're cute. Well, almost, even if only in comparison to the adult Uwat. Don't be so judgy. You must look pretty damn creepy to them yourself.

Allowing children on board a working vessel--other than passengers--seems crazy to her. Crazy but kinda... endearing. The Uwat must be family-oriented if they keep their young with them during voyages. Envy tightens her throat at the idea of having such a privilege. Of having a reason to need the privilege. The medical circumstances that began this whole mission loom over her like persistent storm clouds. And again, damn it, she thinks of Booker and Marala and her son. Their son.

Oh fuck off, her mind barks, and she jerks her focus back to the Adept. "We saw them last night," she says with a slight, unobtrusive tilt of her head in the children's direction. "Or at least, kids like them. I was barely sentient, I'm not sure I'd recognize if they're the same ones."

She eyes Mäkeläinen quizzically to find out whether they look the same to him. "Gotta say," she continues to T'Ves, "it seems...I'm not sure how to put it...unexpected, I guess, for the crew to keep family on board. With their apparent values, I'd've thought they'd rather use all space for paying passengers. You know whose they are?"

Mäkeläinen sees Graham and Kylah head off. Is it really worth the exorbitant fee just to report (and broadcast their presence to anyone in the sector who might actually be looking for them) that, yes, they are still on the ship they reported boarding less than a day ago? Cannot hurt too much if they do it, though.

He looks over at Rangin. He and Kylah were exchanging some odd looks. Well, he asked him to report any further unusual episodes. For now, he looks fine.

He says, "I'll not be caught out discoursing at length on what I wot not, but the children's presence says something about Uwat social structure. The first officer mentioned that Uwat usually travel with their children. So, they keep them close. At the same time, he did not recognize whose descendants they were, even whether or not they were his own. Therefore the offspring are not completely fungible, but the effective parents seem to be the clan or community, in this case the ship, not individuals."

Graham sighs. "I suspect our hosts would focus on any opportunity to get paid that much more...whether to preserve our, ah, privacy...or as a result of learning, uh, more about us."

With a slow nod at Lt. Graham's concise but accurate suspicion, Kylah lowers her hand for a second. "I do not care so much what money it costs me," she murmurs. "But I do not trust that we can buy true privacy at any price."

She exhales, straightens her shoulders and speaks at her usual volume on the off chance their conversation can be overheard, her look toward Lt. Graham now arch. "Well, we wished to call home, and so I shall. My family will take it quite amiss if I do not confirm that we are safely on our way." Arm rising again to let her fingertips brush the comm pad control, she requests entry.

The two Uwat children bumble around the room, including brushing up against Rangin's leg several times. He looks a little annoyed but forces a smile.

Rawlings comes back from the replicator with a steaming mug of something purplish-brown for Onn. "I tasted it for you," he says. "It's definitely hot and spicy. If you hate it, don't worry, my feelings won't be hurt."

T'Ves says quietly, "I do not know whose children they are, specifically, but am inclined to agree with Doc. Some cultures, including some quite advanced ones, bring their children along with them even in places and situations that might not seem entirely safe to us. They tend to place a higher premium on togetherness, shared formative experiences and communal living, and group child-rearing, than on safety, as such."

Kylah has to press the comm button several times before someone answers: "Bridge. Who is this? What do you want?" She and Graham are not sure they recognize the voice, although it does sound like an Uwat.

After a quick questioning glance at Lt. Graham, Kylah responds to the voice. "Good morning, sir. It is two members of the Booker party. Mr. Booker and--" She calculates the use of being singled out due to her origins, and decides swiftly against it. "--And his daughter, Kylah."

Surely the Uwat will not be able to tell she and Lt. Graham are not of the same race, much less the same family. Their complexions are not starkly different, especially as she is quite fair-skinned for an Elasian. She smiles apologetically to her superior, hoping he does not mind the temporary change in his royal status, and continues. "We are sorry to bother you, but First Officer Jol told us we might use your comm system to contact our people?"

Nia accepts the drink and tilts her head at Rawlings in a semblance of her usual playfulness. "You know my tastes pretty well, T. Did I ever have a problem with hot and spicy?" She grins and takes an experimental sip while listening to the others' words about the children. Even if the drink's repulsive she'll keep her face even and pleasant. It'd take one helluva bad brew to cause a Sidonian to bat an eye at a potable liquid's flavor.

But as Mäkeläinen and T'Ves describe the Uwat community ideals, Nia stops drinking and looks over the rim of the mug to watch the charmingly clumsy children.

On the one hand, putting children in harm's way, not just through the dangers of constant space travel but among a constant flow of strangers of dubious character, is immeasurably more abhorrent to a Sidonian than bad coffee. Still...

"What privilege," she says softly--almost reverently. The grungy, ugly ship she's mocked might as well be a palace temple. "Imagine being able to share such gifts with one another. Instead of... hoarding them. Imagine never having to say goodbye."

Imagine hearing 'hello.' Just once.

Nia blinks when the familiar, fruitless itchy sensation stings her eyes. She refreshes her smile and greets the kids, making a beckoning gesture so they'll leave poor Rangin alone. "Hey. You guys speak Federation Standard?" Her gaze flickers for an instant to Mäkeläinen, then back to the children. "I don't remember asking you, Doc. Got any of your own?"

Dr. Mäkeläinen watches the children's antics benignly. Their playful innocence is a reminder to everyone that there is something beyond simply dealing with one crisis after another.

He comments, "Some human captains, at least on Earth, used to do much the same thing, bring their families along. I do not know whether they had the run of the ship, though if not I imagine travel could quickly become wearisome."

Nia's question nearly catches him off guard, but he answers honestly enough, "No, I do not. I would always be leaving them behind, or, were they somehow with me— not that we have that option— I would feel, if anything happened, that it was my fault for dragging them into it. Not because my ultimate premium is on safety as such, but if anyone is going to be taking on peril on my account, they should have a choice."

Graham cocks an eyebrow at Kylah's subterfuge. Surely he's old enough (at least by Terran standards and biology) to be her father.