"Well it appears our erstwhile mission commander has decided to leave," as Rangin turns to Delaney. "Do you have any ideas you might like to add, Sir? I would be interested, and others might be as well, even if Lieutenant Collins has gone to think", as he sees Graham trying to get a word with Kylah.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Kylah is dully grateful for Rangin's compliments, but she is so tired she finds it difficult to pay attention to the others, especially as they do not seem to add any new ideas into the mix--certainly not anything about potential assignments. And then Collins leaves again, startling her into looking at Delaney. Does Collins consider him a rival? Why would she dismiss his input a second time? Sure enough, Rangin catches this and asks for Delaney's ideas himself.
Kylah almost jumps when Graham requests a word. Adrenaline surges through her limbs like an animal confronted by a predator, and she shifts in her chair, bracing herself by clutching the edge of the table. "Yes," she says warily, unable to think of a reason to avoid him despite the fact she is desperate to. Her mind grasping for at least a reason to delay, she adds: "But--but I wish to hear what Lt. Delaney has to say."
"Of course," Graham replies. Noticing how tense she seems he tries to lean forward so only she can hear, while also not moving his whole body any closer. "You won't need your knife, I promise," he says very softly, trying to smile a little and stay physically and mentally relaxed himself.
Nodding, Kylah cannot smile back.
"I'd heard Elasian women were deadly, but I never realized... Do you mind?" Her knife, something that is almost a part of her body, is slipped from its sheath and tossed aside to clatter on the floor. She knows she would never have used it, not under these circumstances. Her skills with the blade are just as useless a defense against what is about to happen as her inarticulate words seem to be...
Kylah inhales deeply and stares down at her fingers, bloodless as they grab the table. "Thank you," she mutters, wishing Graham would leave, wishing she were back on the ship, or better yet, in one of the many empty rooms in her home where she used to hide from everyone to get away from the noise of their minds. Except now there is nowhere to run, because the noise is in her mind, and will never leave her.
Delaney smiles sardonically, looks again at the door and says, "Well, it's nice that someone wants to hear what I have to say, even if Mr. Collins apparently doesn't." He thinks a moment. "On the engineering side of things, the structure of the resort itself, its workmanship and construction, all look sound, from what I've seen and scanned. It really does seem to be a well-built, clean, well-run facility. I'd like to look more behind the scenes, at their power plant - a standard Type 3B civilian fusion reactor, if I remember right, much like the one here at the research station - and environmental controls, waste management, and of course the spore-containment equipment, as you suggested, Mr. Rangin. But so far, I like what I've seen, and if I were asked for my recommendation right now, it would be that Starfleet renew WR&R's contract."
Collins, in her quarters, checks her shipboard comm account and finds four messages: the two Wilson mentioned; Capt. Singh, asking for a brief update on the day's activities, and Ens. Ben Cooper, asking her to call him at her earliest convenience.
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 20 Jan 2014 at 02:37 PM.
"Concerning the resort, I'd agree with the recommendation as well. Of course, Mr Collins vanished so fast, neither myself nor Dr T'Var got to mention that we have been invited to go hiking tomorrow morning with some of the guests. Should be fun."
"You know, I'm not tired yet. I was going to go for a walk in the night, look up at the stars and unwind. Possibly wander back to the resort and check out the night-time entertainment just to see how WR&R handle it. Apparently the research station get to use the facilities as part of the agreement. I wonder if Mr Collins had been here, she would say no or go and do the research and report in the morning. As long as it doesn't affect anything, shouldn't be a problem." Rangin muses to the rest of the group without expecting an answer.
"If anyone wants to do likewise, the company would always be welcome."
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
As Delaney speaks, Kylah mentally pleads with him to take as long a time as possible--anything to delay her talk with Graham. But his thoughts are expressed quickly, and no matter how much Kylah prays, Rangin is now breaking up the meeting. And he is doing so by extending an invitation that only four hours ago Kylah would have been glad to accept.
She cannot now. Not only does she fear her reaction to being near any spore-treated guests, she is terrified of running into Jan.
"I must go to bed, or I would be happy to accompany you," she says to Rangin, or at least to Rangin's chest, because she cannot meet his gaze. "Thank you for suggesting this meeting. It was productive, and... I think you should run more of them," she finishes shyly.
She stands up and faces Graham, although again she can only look at his eyes briefly before her focus changes to an invisible line straight ahead of her. "I am going to the replicator for a hot drink to take with me to sleep. Perhaps we can talk on the way?"
Last edited by choie; 20 Jan 2014 at 03:45 PM.
Collins does a cursory review of the files Wilson has sent, deletes Cooper's message, and composes a response to the Captain. After the appropriate heading and greeting, she writes "We have found the resort to be an excellent vacation spot, although financially out of reach of most. The Admiral and his aide have settled in nicely and are enjoying themselves. Some of us have spent time with some of the guests, and we will speak with other guests tomorrow. Doctor T'Var is the only one who shares my sense of something bubbling under the surface. Graham will continue to work with Mr. Hsu on tracking down the source of the security breach, although Hsu and his staff are doing a very good job. Mr. Wilson has forwarded me the resorts financials and some guest communications which I will review with the team in the morning. Collins out." She hits send, stares at her screen a while, then composes a message to Cooper "I am well, but busy. We'll talk after the mission." Send.
She readies herself for bed, gets under the covers, and stares at the ceiling until sleep overtakes her.
Delaney yawns again. "I'm pretty tired, so thanks, Mr. Rangin, but I think I'll just turn in for the night." He finishes his coffee and leaves.
Graham walks with Kylah, takes a deep breath, and lowers his voice. "You asked to be treated as a professional. So here goes..."
A skimpy dress, red eyes, a strap askew...
Does Elizabeth wear dresses like that?
Looks upset, strap askew...
Graham ever so slightly shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Your paranoia and protectiveness issues are Not Kylah's Problem, Booker, he reminds himself.
"So to be honest, failing to prevent your side mission is one of those things I worry was a mistake. But here it is: you didn't agree, so end of story. I owe you respect for your judgment as an officer. As a peer."
He pauses a second. "To a point, uh, given the..ah, status...of the team. I sure as hell know you don't want to talk about what went down with me. Fair enough. But it looks like...well, you're not comfortable talking with anybody here. Maybe not anybody on the ship. You're not in a good place up here," he says, tapping on the side of his own head. "This is the same thing I'd tell the baddest-ass, veteran--male--commando-type who I could see was in a bad headspace. You can't deal with it alone."
"Look, as you might have guessed, I've gotten to know a few shrinks, er, psychologists in my career. I'm sure I could connect you to somebody discreet, on the Q-T, via subspace. Anyway..." he spreads his hands. "If I were your superior officer I'd make talking to somebody an order. But I'm not, so it's just...a suggestion. So you can tell me to shove it if you want. Probably that's what you're waiting to do as soon as I shut up. Or you can just politely ignore it. But if not...well, let me know." He nods and starts to back away.
ETA: Changed reference to "Counselors," as that's a ST:TNG term.
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 20 Jan 2014 at 06:46 PM. Reason: added "via subspace" - intended to be clear we're talking not-on-the-ship
While Graham speaks, Kylah stands and stares at the hot chocolate drink in its mug, watching the steam fog up the metal sides of the replicator. Once he is done and begins to move away, she says quietly: "Mr. Graham. I... I do not know what you think happened, what 'went down' during my interview. Nothing happened. Nothing for which I am not wholly responsible. Before I left for dinner I was spoken to by--by someone, and the things that were said tore me apart. So perhaps I was in a bad 'headspace', as you call it, and I should not have gone in that frame of mind. But I did, and the choices I made were mine alone." Except he would not let me leave, I asked him to release me, to help me, but he did not...
Kylah closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "I regret that I did not learn more that was useful, and I certainly regret making you worried for me, as you clearly were. And still are." She turns her head to glance at him before returning to face the replicator. "You are right that I have no one to talk to. My mission leader despises me, the doctor thinks I am a liability and can ruin my career if I make a wrong move, and the one person I consider a friend would be rightly disgusted with me if I told him--" She cuts herself off, angry that she has even said this much. "But it does not matter, for there is nothing to tell. Nothing I can tell, for many reasons. Not even to a counselor. Some secrets are too dangerous to share. You must know that." Kylah looks at Graham and this time holds the look. "I can tell you know that. Do you not?"
Graham flinches visibly as Kylah answers. "Nothing for which I am not wholly responsible," she said. He wants to grab her shoulders and shake her: that's the goddamned point, 'things for which I am wholly responsible' are why I crawled into a bottle and volunteered for suicide missions for years!, he thinks. Why I still plan to... He stops his line of thought short. Well, maybe some secrets are too dangerous to tell.
Graham's mouth has gone bone dry and his shoulders slump a little. He looks off into nowhere in particular. "Some secrets are very, very dangerous, Kylah," he rasps. "Whether they're more dangerous in being held told, or in kept--" he turns back to Kylah and shakes his head. "Well, that may not always be as obvious as it first seems."
He sighs and turns abruptly. "Hey Rangin, this is a test of your honesty. You said 'company would be welcome,' as if you were talking to everybody. True or false?"
When she hears Graham address Rangin, Kylah grabs the mug of hot chocolate and swivels around, taking the opportunity to escape from the mess hall before anyone else can stop her. The drink spills a bit onto her fingers, burning her, but she doesn't care. She has no idea if T'Var will take Rangin up on his invitation, although it seems unlikely, but Kylah dearly hopes she does.
In the room at last, Kylah sits on her bed for a while, holding her mug in both hands, and sips until the comforting heat and sweetness are gone. She gets into her yellow silk nightgown, brushes her teeth, and lies in bed, eyes wide open, no intention of sleeping. Her gaze is focused on the bathroom. The longer she lies there, the more agitated she gets. Finally she pushes herself out of bed and walks slowly into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.
Lifting her nightgown, she pulls out her knife and stares at it for a long while. She sits on the floor. She reaches into the wastebasket for the black dress. Finally, she slashes the gown with methodic stabs until it is in shreds and there is nothing recognizable, nothing identifiable, nothing that will remind her of its existence.
"Thank you Kylah, sleep well", Rangin says softly as she gets up from the table. He sighs as she wanders off to the replicator, talking to Graham on the way, wondering what has upset or subdued her so.
With the Doctor deep in thought alongside, Rangin waits to see what plays out between Kylah and Graham, watching them silently while finishing off his glass of water. He wishes he could hear what is being said, but it would be wrong to intrude.
As Graham asks about heading out, Rangin sees Kylah move quickly for the door as if finally released from something. His eyes follow her to the door before snapping back to Graham.
"True. Out of hours truce. No mission talk, couple of hours R&R to unwind and back before midnight. You're on." Rangin stands up and looks over at Graham who seems older and more furrowed than usual. Perhaps he is as worried about Kylah as Rangin.
Rangin turns to Doctor T'Var. "Sir, if you would like to join us, or more likely chaperone us, we'll be in the Starfire Nightclub. Being sensible and hoping that nothing exciting happens."
"Ready when you are." he addresses back to Graham as he heads for the door. Rangin is ready to unwind. Let the people know on the door where they will be and when they will return, walk across and spend a couple of hours relaxing.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
"I have never experienced a nightclub. If I would not be intruding, I would like to join you," T'Var replies.
Rangin looks back at the Doctor with a smile and replies. "Trust me Sir, this will not be experiencing a nightclub, more a gentle introduction and your company would be most welcome. Besides, you get to see how those on spore therapy respond to mass entertainment. Consider it a scientific expedition if you wish."
and to no-one in particular, Rangin wonders, "I hope there is still dancing going on there and not just a floorshow. That would take all the fun out of it."
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
"Yes, a scientific study," T'Var says with a smile. "The experience should be most interesting -- with or without dancing."
Graham sorely wants to put a fork in this day, but would also like a drink. And if Rangin's not going to hassle me about the mission, he thinks, T'Var isn't likely to to create any more melodrama. Unless I bring up Kylah, maybe... He's uncertain if that would be wise or, if it were, if he's up to it.
Graham follows along. "Heh. Off hours indeed - then first round's on me," he says addressing both of his colleagues.
"A round of what?" T'Var asks.
"Hm?" Graham replies, turning to T'Var. He smiles. "Of drinks, doc. Surely determining what sort of libations are available at a six-star resort is a worthy, ah, scientific inquiry too..."
Mentioning the fact that they are at a six-star resort makes Graham realize he's probably under-dressed for an OC3 nightclub. "Uh, I'd better throw something on over this t-shirt," he says. "I'll catch up with on the path in just a minute."
He hurries to his room to put on his uniform shirt (and then catch up with his colleagues).
"We will be walking slowly over, catch us up then. We'll also let the people at the main entrance know what we are up to, just so we don't get locked out." Rangin tells Graham before turning to Dr T'Var.
"Coming Doctor. Tell me, do you dance at all?"
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Dr. T'Var smiles and says nothing.
The three of you meet up in the lobby of the research station. There's no one at the reception desk, but an updated desktop display explains that members of the Yorktown landing party will be readmitted with thumbprints at that exterior door if they venture outside, just as station staff are. It is, of course, a short walk over the hill and back to the resort. Graham thinks he spots the gleam of the starship high above in its standard orbit, and he points it out to the others.
You pass through the main lobby again and find the Starfire nightclub a few hundred meters down another hallway. The club is gleaming and modern, dimly-lit and intimate. Most of the seats around the two dozen or so small, candle-lit tables are occupied, but the maitre'd's face lights up when he sees you in Starfleet uniform, and you're ushered to a table at once. There is a great variety to the attire of the guests, from formal to very casual, but you are the only ones in uniform.
A six-piece ensemble is playing to the right of the stage. The Spican juggling troupe about whom Rangin had earlier read, five zany guys in loudly polka-dotted costumes, are apparently just finishing their act, which is pretty funny. A minute or so after they leave the stage, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde Human woman in a slinky, gleaming silver dress comes out and, after bowing to the clientele's warm applause, begins to sing. None of you recognize the piece - a smoky ballad, by its tone - or the language, but she sings just as good as she looks.
Several couples take to the dance floor. A waiter comes up and asks for your orders.
Graham leans back in his chair and stretches his neck and shoulders while he takes in the...scenery. And on my way to Starbase 27 I was sure I was headed for a crap assignment, he thinks. Even with all the ups and downs of the past day, this does not suck.
"I meant it when I said the first drink was on me, friends--or, ah, whatevers," he adds, looking at Rangin. "As for me," he says to the waiter, "my kin have been drinking whisky for 800 years. I am sure you must have something to rival the best of what generations upon generations have consumed with gusto. Neat, of course." After a second's pause but before the waiter can turn to anyone else, Graham adds, "Uh, but, ah, if you could keep the cost to two-digits that would be appreciated."
He closes his eyes briefly to appreciate the music, and for a moment he remembers the feeling of Bennett taking his arm as if she were present now. He's a little surprised that the very first thing that comes to mind is that he'd like to ask her what she thinks about using (or not using) the spores. He hopes she'd be as skeptical as he is about them.
The waiter says, "We have about two dozen different whiskeys, sir. In that price range, may I suggest Jim Beam Premium Gold, New Laphroaig Islay Single Malt or Sotolosk Private Reserve?"
Graham can't help but smile. "Oh it has to be the Islay." He nudges T'Var with his elbow. "As a doctor, you ought to try it..to ah, assess it's medicinal properties."
As they wander into the Starfire, Rangin thinks to himself that this was definitely one of his better ideas, although he wished that Kylah had not been so tired as she would probably have enjoyed this.
As he sits down, Rangin soaks in the ambience feeling more relaxed already. The general hubbub of people speaking in low tones, the whispered conversations, the interactions, and the stresses of having to only deal with mission and the team start to wash away. Here he can put aside work for a couple of hours, relax, and enjoy life.
Rangin slowly lets his gaze wander round the club moving from table to table while the Spicans are finishing off. He wonders if he will see any of todays intake, especially the Vice-Admiral...no, he's not here to work. If the Vice-Admiral was here, he would be here to enjoy the show just as much as Rangin would. No work, he reminds himself again, just lean back and let the show flow over.
As the waiter comes over and asks for their drinks order Rangin lets Graham start.
Once Graham has chosen, Rangin chips in. "I'll pass on the whisky thanks, though I agree with the recommendation, but I tend to do terrible things to it, like add other liquids to disguise the taste. Dreadful habit." Addressing the waiter, Rangin continues, "I'll have a Cordas Pale Ale if you have any or the Terran equivalent if you don't."
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
"A Cordas Pale Ale, very good, sir," the waiter says, nodding. He takes Graham's and T'Var's orders, too, and moves off.
The singer is just beginning a slow love song in what Graham recognizes to be the Orion Common tongue when a tall, well-dressed young man comes over to the table. Rangin knows him at once. "I'm Jan Švehla," he says. "I had dinner with one of your colleagues, Ens. Kylah, earlier this evening. She... didn't seem happy when I last saw her. Is she all right?"
It's him goes the voice in Rangin's head. Better say something before Graham does something silly.
"Please take a seat Jan, you don't mind if I call you Jan do you. This is Dr T'Var, Ens. Booker Graham, I'm Ens. Velir Rangin. I actually saw you having dinner with Ens. Kylah earlier on while I was looking for a friend." Rangin puts on his charming, relaxed and inviting voice. "You seemed to be having a good time, although admittedly later on, she did seem a little subdued. Although part of that, I believe, was because she missed a communicator call. She did tell us about the evening though, did you enjoy it?"
Rangin clenches a fist under the table. It was half truth, Kylah had said nothing about her dinner, only that she had learned nothing new, But the answer to the question about what happened was right opposite him, if only he could unlock carefully without fuss.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
The Czech businessman pauses for just a moment and then takes a seat. "Thank you. Yes, I had a good time and enjoyed her company very much. She's a charming young woman. By the time she left me, I regret to say, she seemed upset. She didn't want to talk about it, though, and I just wanted to make sure she was all right. Will she be here tonight?"
"Yes she is indeed quite charming. Hmm, I wonder." Rangin pauses for a moment, "She mentioned your dinner, then a walk in the gardens, then your hotel room."
Rangin mentally ticks off the places he knows she has been, the dinner where he saw her, the video feed from the gardens, the last place where she didn't answer her communicator.
Rangin fixes Jan with a slightly stern look. "I hesitate to ask what could have occurred in your hotel room which could have upset her. Forgive me, that implies all sorts of things.", he follows with a shake of the head. "Then again as her friend, as we all are around this table, we only want to ensure she is happy at least. What do you think happened that might have caused it?" He looks across earnestly at Jan, nodding at him as if he is to start filling in the gaps.
Rangin looks back at him waiting to see his reaction. Those under spore effect have been open, friendly and truthful when it comes to being happy. What emotion would cross Jan's face. Rangin also avoids answering Jan's final questions because if he does, he is likely to leave when he learns she is not coming and only by keeping him talking might they get an answer.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
He looks uncomfortable. "We did go back to my room, and... well, I'd rather not say. I don't wish to say anything that might be misconstrued, or that might be seen as damaging to her reputation. Or mine, for that matter, as we are in mixed company." He nods politely to Dr. T'Var. "But I am a little worried about her, given her mood, her demeanor, when we parted. Did she seem all right when you last saw her? And will she be coming here tonight?"
Rangin freezes as the horrible possibility of what might have occurred, finally occurs to him. He tries to dismiss it, perhaps this Jan just made a very clumsy pass at Kylah, surely she wouldn't...no he didn't really want to think about the level of unprofessionalism that would entail. Surely Kylah was better than that.
But Jan was being evasive, worried about reputation, hers and his. He clenched his fist under the table again, trying to maintain some calm.
"I would not worry about the mixed company, Dr T'Var has probably seen and done more than Ens. Graham and I put together." Rangin smiles back at him.
Rangin pauses wondering if either of the other two had any way to continue the conversation.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Well I'll be damned, Graham thinks as Jan approaches their table. He glances at T'Var to see if she has any reaction, but it's Rangin who replies with alacrity to the guy. He probably thinks I have thumbscrews hidden in my boot and can't wait to use them.
Graham leans back and smiles amiably when Rangin introduces him. Let's see how well I can imitate somebody on spores, he thinks.
He listens to Rangin's fairly impressive line of inquiry and Jan's answer.
Despite the smile and relaxed posture, almost by instinct he looks carefully for any sign of scratches on the man's face or abrasions on his hands--although he considers both unlikely based on his interactions with Kylah.
Well, time for a little nudge.
"Who knows if she'll be here or not?," Graham says, shrugging expressively. "Young women can be so mercurial, unable to make up their minds..." He shakes his head as if sympathizing for all the put-upon men of the galaxy like himself and Jan. "Saying one thing while meaning another, it can be quite trying, don't you agree?"
Last edited by general_urko; 22 Jan 2014 at 10:37 AM. Reason: changed last line to be a little more negative in tone - coffee has kicked in...
Švehla looks at Graham, frowns and says, "I suppose, although in my experience men are just as likely as women to say one thing and mean another. Being mercurial, as you put it, doesn't depend on gender."
Graham sees no marks or signs of a struggle on him.
"Well," Graham says, smiling again. "I'm sure you're being too kind to our little ensign." He leans forward, glancing at Rangin and then Jan. "She does look good in a cocktail dress, though," he says letting a little ribaldry creep into his voice. "Let us buy you a drink," he adds to Jan.
"Thank you, but no," Švehla says, standing to go. "I've intruded long enough. Please give my best to Ens. Kylah. Perhaps I'll see her, and you, tomorrow."
T'Var takes a sip of her whiskey, then frowns. "Most distasteful," she says. "I think a glass of white wine might suit me better."
The doctor listens carefully to Graham and Rangin as they speak with Jan. If something of a sexual nature -- with or without Kylah's consent -- happened between them, did the spores influence Jan's actions? And could Kylah have possibly been influenced by them as well?
"Or perhaps the spores can cause someone to say -- or do -- things they would not normally do," T'Var says.
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 22 Jan 2014 at 11:49 AM. Reason: spelling of "wine"
Rangin nods "Just to re-affirm that yours and her reputation are perfectly safe, but just one thing, are there any precautions that Ens. Kylah should take as a result of nothing happening. If so, perhaps you would like to talk to the Doctor here in complete confidence while Mr Graham and I wander across to the bar."
Please say no, please just laugh, get up and walk from the table. Rangin thinks. Rangin slowly begins to rise from the table and begins to offer a hand across to Jan to bid him farewell.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Graham's disappointed he couldn't provoke a reaction--of one kind or another--from Jan, but almost bursts out laughing at Rangin's gambit.
There's something to be said for not bullshitting around, he thinks approvingly.
He stands, nods, and starts to move toward the bar, keeping an eye on Rangin, Jan, and T'Var out of the corner of his eye.
He wonders whether Rangin knows about T'Var and Kylah...if so, the guy has no grounds to be calling me the sadist, he muses.
Last edited by general_urko; 22 Jan 2014 at 12:25 PM. Reason: "the" instead of "a" in last line
Švehla looks appalled, and doesn't take Rangin's hand. He says stiffly, "Thank you for your concern; my apologies for bothering you. Good night." He turns on his heel and returns to his table.
Rangin crumples to the table suddenly aware of what he just asked, to Jan and more importantly about Kylah. His words about trusting her to be her own person earlier on and he had just walked all over it. He couldn't even say he had done it for the right reasons. The right reasons were to have never asked in the first place. How could he possibly look Kylah in the face again having just done something that stupid and untrusting of her. What had he been thinking?
The uniform he was wearing felt hot and uncomfortable, he felt unworthy of wearing it. He certainly hadn't held to any of its ideals, the ideals he was trying to live his life by. The ideals that were currently helping Coridan and he was trying to represent. Gone. All gone in a moments thoughtlessness.
Turning to Doctor T'Var, "Sir, when Graham returns, thank him for the drink, but I no longer feel thirsty."
He stands unsteadily, takes a deep breath and crosses to Jan's table. Regardless of the looks he is getting, he walks up and stands next to him. "Mr Švehla, I apologise for my words, they were uncalled for. I am deeply sorry to have offended you and I should not have inquired what passed between Ens. Kylah and yourself. It is your business and your business alone. Once again, I humbly apologise. Good Night."
He turns to leave knowing that no apology is really ever going to make up for what he just did and if no-one stops him he will leave the club for a very uncomfortable night's sleep.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Graham, by design, was lingering close enough to hear the exchange at the table. Well, the guy's not a sociopath, he thinks. He lingers a bit, intending to give Jan some time to move away before he returns to the table, when he notices Rangin looking positively ill all of a sudden.
He hangs back, watching Rangin stagger around, and then returns to the Doctor, avoiding getting in Rangin's way.
"Well, ah, sorry you didn't like the whiskey, Doc. Perhaps we should head back before we do any more damage?" He scratches his cheek and clears his throat. "Um, are you...are you OK with all of this?" Graham asks T'Var.
Švehla is clearly surprised to see Rangin again and seems about to say something, but instead simply nods. He watches the xenobiologist walk all the way out the door.
The singer launches into her next song, the nostalgic "That Time on Deneva."
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 22 Jan 2014 at 04:41 PM.
Kylah sits on the edge of the bed, absently running her fingers through her long, damp curls to untangle them.
A half-hour ago, after she lay in bed for some time, the memories of another bed grew too insistent, too intrusive. She almost leapt from the covers and went straight to the bathroom, where she took another shower. When she got out and T'Var still wasn't in the room, Kylah realized the Vulcan actually must have gone out with Rangin and Graham. Her relief at the time was palpable.
Now Kylah wishes T'Var were here after all. She would like to ask for something to help her sleep. It isn't likely she'll get any rest without some intervention, because every time she closes her eyes--or even when she doesn't--her mind, and her body, remembers all too well what she did.
So many years of protecting herself from Aldaan, so many years of avoiding other men's advances, all thrown away because she was weak and vulnerable and stupid enough to think she could open herself up to the happiness of the spores without any consequences.
Her stomach curdles with nausea and self-loathing. She stands up, holding her arms across her chest, and paces the room. Desperate for something to keep her occupied, she goes to the desk and sits down. She expects nothing but perhaps she can write someone. Perhaps her brother or sister--neither of them are close to her, but they are kin, of a sort. The sad truth is, the person closest to her was not kin at all.
Of course--I shall write Reena! Her family's former head housemistress--forcibly retired now, but she's still someone Kylah thinks of fondly. The woman, who was in charge of the running of the household and servants, spent more time with Kylah than Kylah's own parents. Even after Aldaan fired her from the household, Reena promised Kylah she'd always be there for her.
Yes, it's been too long; Kylah would very much like to hear from Reena. She cannot reveal much about her own life--it has become too shameful--but just hearing from Reena would be a comfort. Kylah taps the terminal panel to access her shipboard comm account.
"Computer, identify Kylah, Ensign, Communications, USS Yorktown," she says.
The research station's computer whirrs for a moment. "Identity confirmed."
"Access USS Yorktown ship's computer via secure subspace link. Encryption pattern Gamma Three, under my password." Can't be too careful, she thinks. Or can you? Wonderful. Now I can add paranoia to my other failings. She firmly tells herself to stop it.
"Working." More whirring, then a beep. "Link established. Encryption enabled." Its voice is female but different from that of the ship - younger, somehow. "Please state password."
She says it, and then, "Display messages."
There are three. Two are from Lt. Thalen, a routine departmental memo about watch changes for the next two weeks - hers is unaffected - and the other a personal message, hoping that the mission is going well. She winces a little, but knows it was nice of him to send. The last is also a personal message, this one sent through the resort's comm system half an hour earlier. It's from Jan. She takes a deep breath and opens it, reading:
My dear Kylah: I enjoyed our time together and was glad to get to know you a little better, but obviously you were upset when you left. I must have moved too fast for you - for us - and I apologize. Please let me know if you're all right now, and tell me if there's anything I can do to make it up to you. As I said earlier, I would hate to part on bad terms. Indeed, I think I would hate to part at all. I hope very much to hear back from you. With best wishes, JAN.
Last edited by Elendil's Heir; 22 Jan 2014 at 11:07 PM.
Kylah stares at the words on her screen long enough for the words to sink in. Then some animal instinct sends her up from her chair so quickly it tips backwards. She stabs wildly at the keyboard to turn off the terminal, then hugs herself and backs away.
Jan's message was perfectly polite, gentlemanly, even gallant; but Kylah feels as if he were in the room now, advancing on her. She glances at the door, almost expecting it to whoosh open to reveal him. Do not be foolish. He is not a predator. He will not come after me. It was my fault, not his.
Kylah slowly reaches down to lift the chair back to its normal position. She stares at the computer again, confirming that it's off. What will she do? Must she write him? If I do not, he will write again. Or seek me out. The thought of running into him at the resort, possibly with her crewmates, fills her with dread. Then again, it might be worse to see him alone.
She backs away again until she bumps into the bed, where she sits down, now cold. She will never sleep tonight. Kylah glances over at T'Var's neat overnight bag. Perhaps she has something I can... No, I would not know how. She suspects there's little likelihood of T'Var having left her hypospray here anyway. There might be someone in the laboratory downstairs. They must have some sort of sleep aid.
Kylah rises to her feet again and removes her nightgown to put her uniform back on. Biting her lip, she goes to the door and hesitates. She is actually afraid to leave the room. Coward, she thinks angrily, and walks through the opening door into the hallway.
Last edited by choie; 22 Jan 2014 at 11:31 PM.
The hallway is empty, the lights dimmed for the night. A small directory by the elevator indicates that the Infirmary is on the fourth floor.
Kylah takes the elevator to the fourth floor to find the infirmary. The thought runs through her mind, as she enters, that while she's here she could take care of the other matter weighing on her--ensuring that her terrible mistake has no lasting consequences. No. Not in a Starfleet infirmary. Who knows what records they keep?
She hopes to find someone on duty; whoever is there, she will ask for something to help her insomnia.
Rangin trudges his way back to the Research station, lost in thought of what he is going to tell Kylah.
When he arrives he thumbs for the lift to take him back to the sleeping quarters and leans back, guilt written large across his face.
As it turns up, he considers what he should do, take her aside first thing in the morning and apologise. It may lose him his friend, but under the circumstances what else can he do. The thought turns his stomach, and he places one hand over his mouth to prevent him from throwing up. His actions taking its toll on him.
Rangin decides to get something from the infirmary to settle his stomach.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
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