[USS Charon] SD241005.31 || Joint BackLog "The Trouble with . more than Tribbles" || Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax, Lt Waqas Jilani

[USS Charon, Transporter Room One]

Petty Officer Maria Bryzgalov gave the ship's newest counselor a comforting look and was rewarded by a swift, lopsided smile. The man seemed utterly unconcerned with the security team that had descended upon Transporter Room One upon his arrival. Even now several officers were going through Waqas Jilani's belongings, searching for the contraband that the sensors had picked up.  Jilani appeared so relaxed, however, that Maria could not help but conclude there had been some kind of mistake.

"I am really sorry about this, Lieutenant. I have already informed the bridge that you are being inconvenienced in this manner."

His dark eyes studied her casually, looking over her entire form. There was an easy laziness in the way he did so, like a sated panther watching potential prey. It was a little disconcerting but there was also….

"Not your fault. Actually, it is my fault."

She frowned at that. "Wait. You do have illegal substances with you?"

"Plenty. I'm frankly surprised it is taking these blokes so long to find the stuff."

One of the security officers standing nearby broke in. "What have you got, Sir?

"Lets see…some real cigars. A few bottles of really good Romulan Ale. A few…frowned upon hologram programs. The more adult versions of the Blazing Hearts of Qronos. The entire Vulcan Love Slave Uncut Collection…and the newest one….."

"The Great Tongue of Andor!" Maria broke in without thinking. She blushed furiously as everyone in the room turned to look at her. "I don't…I just know it isn't even out yet."

"I have friends in low places." Waqas told her with a wink. "I also a few books from Delta Vega that were banned a while back. Naussican Whiskey too. You never hear about it, but it is…divine, oddly enough. And I also have Kahless."

"Who?"

"My tribble. He sets off the biological filters. He had been thoroughly neutered though, so no worries. I also have…."

"I should inform you, Sir, that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the security officer who had first spoken interrupted.

"It is always is," Jiliani replied with a shrug, "But this stuff is all medicinal."

Maria blinked. "Medicinal."

"Sure. Allowing crewmembers to break the law under controlled environments is essential to their mental health. Or so I say. And none of you is qualified to disagree with me."

 

"Maybe." The young Ensign who had just succeeded in pulling a bottle with dangerous looking blue liquid out of an open trunk but was no closer to locating the origin of a strange chirp looked up and pointed at the door that had just swished open to admit a raven-haired woman sporting a red collar. "But she is."

 

The 'she' in question was the perfect image of a mildly puzzled Vulcan, taking in the scenery with a minutely quirked brow on exquisite, clean cut features. Well, this was certainly … new. Several security officers diving head first into an assortment of luggage that would have sufficed for a Betazoid ambassador on an official goodwill tour, an obviously flustered Petty Officer and … ah. How interesting.

 

There is little that escapes ears which evolved on a desert planet where not knowing the difference between a Valit stirring in its sleep or a Le-Matya tensing to jump will mean the end of any chance to contribute to the gene pool. Most certainly ears like that will hone in on a tiny chirping sound with great precision, evident by the nonchalant but nonetheless swift motion with which Sakarra plucked a furry little creature out of its nest of … male undergarments.

 

"Your message implied urgency, Petty Officer." There was nothing but serene calm in the low, melodious voice but it still managed to convey the inherent difference between one tribble and an emergency.

Rather than answer, a young Ensign proceeded to hold a bottle of Romulan Ale under the Vulcan's aristocratic nose.

"Cigars." Another male, obviously engaged in listing numerous offenses on a PADD turned towards Sakarra and huffed. "Illegal alcoholic beverages. And …"

The reddening of ears was a distinct physical clue.

"I see."

 

There was only one individual among the new arrivals whose file would match … this.

"Lieutenant Jilani, yes?"

Petting the tribble which by now was purring enthusiastically enough to give even a Sehlat a run for its money, Sakarra tilted her head inquisitively at the dark eyed human standing at perfect ease in the middle of a most unique collection of belongings.

 

Jilani took a moment to respond, apparently distracted by her ears. Then with a slight frown, followed by a shrug, the newest crewmember of the Charon replied, "Waqas, if you will.  Commander…."

"Sakarra," Petty Officer Bryzgalov provided helpfully, "The First Officer."

It was clear that the counselor had not bothered reading up on the crew, or even the command staff. He did not bother pretending he had done so. Instead, he jerked his head at the security squad hovering behind him.

"You don't really have to come down here, Commander. A slight misunderstanding. These fellows don't seem to appreciate the tools of my trade very much. I can assure you, Commander, that all of this is absolutely vital to the mental well being of myself and, by extension, the crew. So if you could have all this packed up again, I'll just take Kahless and the lovely Maria here can show me to my quarters…."

 

Tools of his trade?

Well, if he was exclusively catering to the welfare of fighter pilots and marines, the Ale in the mildly discomfited Ensign's hands should indeed suffice. A brief look at the Rihannsu inscription confirmed the vintage was adequate, though certainly not up to par with the beverages aforementioned personnel were producing in their own distilleries. Distilleries which had magically reappeared after a decisive intervention by the marine commander two weeks ago.

 

As for the rest … a PADD with a list of … unconventional holodeck programs appeared under the Vulcan's nose and this time the elegantly slanted brow climbed a full centimeter.

Uncut Collection. A potential health hazard, though a closer look confirmed this was the … adjusted version catering to what offworlders would find… pleasant.

 

"Hm."

Politely ignoring the security officer whose blush had spread all across his face after the lithe young woman with a cheerfully purring tribble in her hand had shown such overt interest in the contents of his PADD, Sakarra let her gaze settle on the new counselor again.

"You are correct in that this matter does not concern the command department, Lieutenant."

 

A dark smirk on the gold-collared male's features conveyed clearly he would be pleased to handle the situation, perhaps even see to atomizing the offensive items in person. To his chagrin, the Vulcan paused in petting the little ball of fur for a moment and held up her hand.

 

"Legal concerns aside – and I am certain the Lieutenant Commander here will brief you on proper procedures at his convenience – mental health concerns should not conflict with physical health."

The purr increased by another one point two decibel and took on a distinctly encouraging timbre, prompting the Vulcan to resume stroking soft fur in a manner that with any other species could have been called near absent-minded.

 

"I am inclined to respect personal property, counselor, and not interfere. However,…"

Well ,she could hardly begrudge the man his ale and whiskey on a ship where the Captain and ambassador favored aromatic Rihannsu beverages, the bar was well stocked enough to leave not even fighter jocks wanting and Klingons could be seen rolling barrels of bloodwine through the corridors. Nor did the tribble seem inclined to reproduce and one should hope the human with the aesthetically pleasing features would have sense enough to keep 'Kahless' at sufficient distance from Kulg'Rek and his men to avoid … incidents.

 

"… I shall require you to consult with a medical officer before 'prescribing' any of this."

If there was a glimmer of amusement in the implacable gaze out of black eyes, it was come and gone in the space of a Vulcan heartbeat. 

The message was as subtle as clear – you are given a lengthy leash, but pull too hard and a ton of bricks will seem a small inconvenience compared to what will happen.

 

"Don't worry, Commander. Discretion, in all its forms, is of course part of my job. Now…."  He paused to rub his hands together in a comically exaggerated fashion, "Tell me, where are you keeping your crazies?"

 

 

[End Log]

 

Lieutenant Commander Sakarra Tyrax

Executive Officer

Lieutenant Waqas Jilani

Chief Counselor

 

USS Charon

 

[USS Charon] SD241005.26 || Personal Back Log || Lieutenant Jilani

Syed <manydoubts@gmail.com> wrote to charon@ucip.org:

(OOC: Hi All. I haven't actually written in a long time and I
haven't written for a sim in nearly two years. Hopefully, it'll come
back to me. In the interim, you'll have to put up with me, I guess.
Just a simple one to get going. Good to be aboard. Please note that
I am very particularly about what my characters say and how they say
them, so unless it is a bit line, please make sure to contact me when
using Waqas. I'm always up for a JL. Thanks.)

Lieutenant Waqas Jilani
Counselor
USS Charon

"Father Figures"

= San Francisco, Earth =

"I need a drink."

A simple enough human phrase but one that Sarkal, Professor Emeritus
of the Behavioral Studies Department of the Vulcan Institute of
Sciences, was not quite comfortable with. It was rather imprecise to
state that one was in need of an alcoholic beverage, when often one
simply desired it. Granted a true need might exist should one be
suffering from an addiction. However, given that addiction was an
illogical state, Sarkal certainly saw no need to ever use the vile
phrase himself.

Since he had met Waqas Jilani, however, it was a phrase that Sarkal
had been using more often than was proper for any self-respecting
Vulcan, in his opinion. That was probably why, the aging scientist
concluded, why so few self-respecting Vulcans associated with
Lieutenant Jilani.

Jilani had come to Sarkal's attention many years ago, while the young
man had been a student on Vulcan. Actually, 'student' was a generous
term. 'Inmate' was more accurate. At any rate, the point was that a
Federation judicial officer had decided it would be wise for Jilani to
obtain an education and, at the same time, shed his less than legal
hobbies. Vulcan, it was apparently thought, was the ideal place for a
young man to simultaneously achieve both those goals.

Early in Jilani's first semester, Sarkal had seen why the judicial
officer had thought the boy could find his way in the world again.
Disguised by a quick smile, camouflaged by an unfortunate tendency
towards one-liners, somewhere in Waqas Jilani's obsidian eyes there
was a brilliant spark of intelligence. Unfortunately, the boy had
then, and still retained, a compact, handsome frame and a visage
Sarkal had overheard of his students describe as 'roguish.' Why a man
who looked like an outlaw on bandit, Sarkal could not say. He could
say, however, that such looks were a serious deterrent against the
full development of Jilani's potential when combined with the man's
stunning weaknesses for women, drink and gambling.

That is not say that Sarkal thought good looking individuals did not
make excellent academics. He considered himself a prime example that
this was a possible combination. However, he could not help but
wonder if Waqas would have been more successful in his career if he
had a little less luck satisfying the desires caused by his previously
noted flaws.

Certainly, tonight was doing nothing to disprove Sarkal's theory…. At
any rate, Sarkal had developed an interest in the conflicted young man
and had become something for a mentor to him...not a source of pride
for Sarkal when events like these unfolded.

"It really was not that bad," the young man replied with an easy
laugh, "The captain simply overreacted."

"Do I understand the facts correctly, Lieutenant?" Sarkal nearly
snapped, turning to face his former pupil, "Did the commanding officer
not discover you in a compromising position?"

"You should have seen this girl. Trust me, there were no compromises."

"You were engaged in sexual intercourse. While on duty. With the
captain's daughter. On his Ready Room desk. Let me assure you as an
individual who has daughters of his own, Mr. Jilani, you are fortunate
to have been thrown into an escape pod before being jettisoned from
the Defender. What were you thinking?"

Jilani rubbed the stubble that had grown over his sharp brown featured
wearily, "She wanted to celebrate getting into the Academy. I was
only helping. As a favor to the captain, if you will. And the ship
was supposed to be empty. How was I to know the captain was going to
stop by?"

"If those are your best attempts at justifying your behavior, you may
want to consider that you are not only disgracing yourself as an
individual, but also as a psychologist."

Waqas grimaced. "I have to admit it got a little weird when he walked
in and she was calling out for 'Daddy'."

"That is when it got 'weird'?"

The young lieutenant held up his hands in mock defeat. "Fine. I get
it. I made a mistake. I'll go back to the Defender and...."

"You are not going back to the Defender," Sarkal stated in a matter of
fact manner as he poured himself some syntheol. "You were reassigned.
It was in the alumni update. How is it possible that you would not
know?"

"I was busy orbiting the moon in an escape pod."

"Ah."

"What?"

Sarkal raised an eyebrow at his pupil. "The rare valid point."

Jilani sighed and got to his feet. "So…where am I going now?"

"The USS Charon."

"Charon? As in the guy who took the dead people across the thing in
this boat?" Upon a nod from Sarkal, Jilani grimaced. "Why do I get
all the ships with the gloomy names? Why can't I get sent to the USS
Pumpkin Pie or the Lemon Tart?"

"I suspect it is because Starfleet does not name its ships after
strippers. An error I am sure you will seek to rectify should the
duty of naming vessels fall to you."

"You know what…bite me, old man. I honestly don't care what the damn
ship is called. I bet it will be great. And you know why? Cause I
have a feeling there aren't going to be too many pointy eared
authority figures in sight when I get there. I'm really starting to
resent your lectures about how I should live my life."

"That," Surak replied with absolute calm, "Is only because you know I
would do a much, much better job of it. Do not worry though, Mr.
Jilani, I have come to expect small things."

"That is totally not what she said."

= End Log =

[USS Charon] SD241005.26 || Joint Duty Log || Dr David King, Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax

 

[USS Charon, Main sickbay]

 

It wasn't that Sakarra actively disliked sickbay. After all, it was a necessary and important part of every ship and the medical personnel was dedicated to the crew's well being. Not to mention that no Vulcan would do something as distasteful as harboring any kind of resentment.

Still, many healers had a tendency to be … overprotective which tended to clash with a species that prides itself on being self-sufficient and the ability to endure a great deal of unfortunate mishaps without blinking. To that end, there was a permanent tug-of-war between Sakarra and doctors; beginning with her dear friend Okalan who never failed to treat any small bruise as if she had been bitten in half by an angry mother-Sehlat up to Starfleet medical personnel who insisted upon unnecessary procedures every time the young Vulcan was unable to effect a timely escape.

 

What wonder then, that even when the raven haired young woman did have to bow to logic and come to the conclusion that seeking professional help was a prudent course of action, she did so with a mild air of … reluctance.

And this time there was sufficient cause to wish for a discreet healer. Although entirely unrelated to the reason for her visit to sickbay, even a precursory scan would reveal a multitude of minor sprains as well as a bruise or two, evidence of last night's … events. Usually these small matters would have resolved themselves long before now, courtesy of Vulcan metabolism and a trained mind capable of directing physical functions at will.

But said metabolism and mind had been occupied by something so unusual, so unthinkable … it had taken up nearly all her focus.

The Vulcan striding through the doors and into the brightly lit sickbay … had a headache.

 

Until now, David King had been content to leave the repairs of the medical bay to the engineers and medical technicians. He, of course, had many other responsibilities to contend with, at least for the near future. Today, however, he had decided that some of his own knowledge may help speed things along. Sure, the repairs to sickbay were nearly complete, but there was still much to do. And he would not hand over the department until it was pristine.

 

He was now bent over an analysis console, watching from above as one of the grunts from engineering laying underneath the piece of equipment worked to connect it to the ship's power source from behind. With his attention focused on the work at hand, the doctor never heard the doors open from the corridor.

 

Ah, unfortunate timing it seemed.

The only people with teal collars in the vicinity were obviously engaged in repair and maintenance tasks and even a quick glance towards the CMO's office confirmed only that no doctor was available.

It would have to wait then.

As random chance wills it, Sakarra saw a familiar pair of blue eyes glance up before she managed to turn on her heel and stride back out into the corridor. Since it would have been terribly rude to not at least greet the good doctor, she tipped her head politely and remained in place – if he was able to spare a moment, he would do so. If not, she could still leave. "Good afternoon, ohassu."

 

At first David's mind had not registered just who he had seen as he had quickly looked up and around, but then there was only one person on board who had ever used that title on him. As a doctor known for at least some semblance of a bedside manner he could hardly push her off on someone else; he was still the Chief Medical Officer after all.

 

Pushing himself up and away from the console he had been leaning over, he turned around and offered a restrained smile, "And to you, Commander. What brings you to sickbay?"

 

"A rather unusual occurrence as it were."

Hands loosely clasped behind her back, Sakarra was the very image of a Vulcan stoically dealing with an inconvenience. But anyone with just a little experience in reading the pointy eared race born under a blazing hot sun would have noticed a dark glint in unreadable eyes and a minute strain in the low, musical voice. "I am experiencing a most distracting pain, commonly referred to as a 'headache'."

She did not feel it necessary to mention that such a thing was all but unheard of on her home planet – unless in rare and dire cases – and it had in fact taken her several minutes to identify this odd discomfort for what it was. And it was getting worse.

 "A headache, eh?" replied the doctor as he reached down towards the tricorder on his hip. He, too, was aware of the rarity of such an occurrence, not to mention pain it would take to make a Vulcan admit discomfort. Opening up the device he held it out as he asked, "How long have you had it?"

 

To a Vulcan's sensitive ears, the low whir and chirp of a medical tricorder was rarely more than a lawnmower in the distance to a human – unless it came much closer, one could safely put it out of one's mind. In her current state however the lawnmower had turned into a shrieking banshee and Sakarra blinked with mild irritation.

"Fourteen point six three hours." At least that was when she had first noticed something … off. No pain yet, but a sensation akin to that tickle in your throat that you just know will turn into a full blown flu no matter what you do.

"The symptoms are progressing quite rapidly – I was able to contain any discomfort until two point two hours ago. Now they have become rather … debilitating."

The young woman's voice was as stoic as the circumstances demanded but there was a touch of reluctance to admitting such things vibrating in it all the same.

 

Understanding the Vulcan unease with such situations, David closed up the tricorder and moved over to a nearby medical cart and began sifting through small vials. "Don't worry, Commander, I think I have something here that will help you."

 

Finding the ampoule of metorapan he had been searching for, the doctor slid into a hypospray as he stepped back over towards his patient, "I'm increasing the dosage a little, given your heritage, but this should alleviate any cranial tensions. And, given the rarity of something like this, I'd like you to take it easy for a day or so. Make sure this goes away."

 

The young Vulcan nodded, already contemplating how she could possibly manage to take anything 'easy' while the entire ship was the exact opposite. Not to mention she found it exceedingly inconvenient that she should be experiencing this… issue ... precisely when they were about to observe a star going nova. Even for someone with a Vulcan's lifespan, such occurrences were rare indeed and to be in such close proximity when it happened – one could safely say the odds were astronomical.

Still, it would be terribly rude to not appreciate the healer's efforts and if there was one thing that had become as much part of Sakarra as breathing, it was that there was simply no excuse for bad manners.

"My gratitude, ohassu."

And she meant it, evident by every ounce of body language. After all, he could have insisted on prying or lengthy series of tests.

 

He offered another restrained smile and bowed his head slightly, "My pleasure, Commander. And I see no reason to mention this in my reports, it's just a headache after all, so long as you promise to return if the pain persists."

 

Already it felt as if the steel ring that had closed around her skull was beginning to ease its pressure – not going away, but losing substance and therefore its distracting power. But there was no question she would seek out the doctor again should this matter not resolve itself or at least become manageable – after all, he had just given her two excellent reasons to trust him. Apart from the obvious which was easing the symptoms considerably, he was as discreet as any Vulcan might hope for.

"You have my promise, doctor King."

Watched curiously by a few of the maintenance technicians who apparently wondered where the good doctor had run off to, Sakarra tipped her head politely and turned on her heel to stride back towards the doors. Perhaps she should follow the healer's advice and simply find the time to meditate rather than complete crew evaluation as she had planned. Logic suggested it would lead to more satisfactory results in the long run.

 

As King watched the Vulcan Commander retreat from sickbay, the doors parted before she arrived at them to admit Counselor Deela, one of the junior officers of the department and a native of Betazed. A hand was held at her temple as she stepped sideways out of Sakarra's path. Curious, he thought while his eyes moved between the two women. But headaches were common enough, were they not? It was merely a coincidence that two telepathic members of the crew happened to come to the medical bay with similar symptoms.

 

 

[End Log]

 

LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Executive Officer

 

Cmdr David King

Chief Medical Officer

(apb DK)

 

USS Charon

 

[USS Charon] SD241005.24 || Joint Log "After the storm" Part VI || Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax, Brevet 1st Lt Brent Warren, Ens M'Riarr, Lucia&Marcello

=/\= Eris Deck =/\=

 

It took every last shred of Vulcan composure not to yelp when the terrible cold hit her. To Brent's credit, he had once more made a spirited attempt to spare his little Vulcan from the dreaded cold shower, leaving him nearly as drenched as Sakarra.

Well, at least Lucia had been more accurate in finding her targets. Only a bit of smoldering table bore witness of the near catastrophic event. And the band hadn't even stopped playing.

 

The ice shower was not amusing and when Brent saw that more things were flying around he grabbed Sakarra tightly and leaped out of the way, pulling her up so that he could absorb the landing himself before he turned his head back, looking to see if everything was alright before he let her down to her feet again and stopped his death grip on her. "It would appear that we are both all wet my love," he said amused as he looked down at his soaked little Vulcan before turning back and looking towards the other party participants.

"You guys throw one helluva party here!" Brent said as he nodded with approval before throwing up the horns. He looked to Sakarra and chuckled seeing droplets of water fall off of her hair  "Shall we have one last drink before we depart my love," he said to her as he put one arm back around her and looked for a table that had not been destroyed in the most recent festivities seeking out a strong drink to help 'warm' the two of them up.

 

"Evidently, we are." It was difficult to keep her teeth from chattering in the temperatures that were already far below what any Vulcan would find comfortable. Even Marcello's heartfelt "Scusa, signorina, oh, scusa" while he proceeded to wrap just about every dry and unscorched tablecloth in the vicinity around her and the Marine was of little help.

 

"Eh? Is no good now, stupido. Is soaked Signorina Vulcan."

Shaking her head, Lucia returned from shooing flustered party guests out of the burn zone and gave her husband an amicable slap.

"Si, amore."

"You go. Get tea. Avanti. Heluva party,eh? Veramente. Does burn, too." A friendly poke to Brent's shoulder accompanied the latter statement and in a dash, Lucia was off again to see about getting the detritus removed and improvising new seating arrangements.

 

Whether it was due to the long stare out of twilight blue eyes or the fact that their commander would have been quite capable of bodily relocating the two marines had they not moved, the grinning young males hastily vacated the plush seats that Brent was steering towards. But if Sakarra had thought her would let her out of his firm grip, she was mistaken. Wrapped both in meters of table linens and muscular arms, the little Vulcan found herself balanced on her companion's lap while a still mightily apologetic Italian pressed a glass of – tea. With rum. Into her hand. Rum with tea. Goodness.

This time, Sakarra hiccupped.

Quietly enough for only Brent and Marcello to hear, but her eartips flushed emerald all the same.

"Is la mamma recipe, signore marine." Pretending he had not heard a thing, Marcello handed another glass to Brent that distinctly smelled of even stronger alcohol than the rum. "Made from herbs. Is healthy."

 

The hiccup drew a laugh from Brent as he flicked her nose gently. "Bless you,' he said and kissed her cheek, stopping as the Italian man brought over some booze of some kind for the two of them.  Brent nodded his head and took his offered drink. "Drink your medicine," Brent said and squeezed his arm around her waist. He took a long drink from his own. Letting out a controlled breath as he gave the drink an appraising eye of approval. "I need to get the recipe for this thing, I'm starting to feel better already," he said with a smirk.

'Well my love it would seem that we have just experienced a bit of a party now here haven't we?" he said with a smile. 'Once you finish drinking that up we should go back to your quarters.  You can tell me then what you were about to say before your assistant interrupted us.'

 

"A bit. I concur."

All in all, there had been no Klingons shattering tables nor large flightless birds trampling the buffet. On the scale of disastrous parties the little Vulcan had been involved in … this was perhaps a three. Point five if one counted the ice water. And no one had to come bail her out of jail or placate miffed diplomats with feathers and spilled drinks stuck to their robes. No harm done.

 

Freezing as she was, even a human's body temperature was a welcome reprieve and people appeared quite busy with other things now, so Sakarra decided to let decorum be damned for the moment. Draining the soothingly hot beverage, she allowed her body to mold against Brent's muscular frame and quirked an amused brow at his silent look of surprise.

"It would be illogical to not benefit from your body warmth." Just as it would be illogical to throw the empty glass at Mr Tisdale's smirking face – but that did not mean she did not have the urge to do so.

 

The band had switched to a decidedly Latin-American tune that had several of the crew – and not only the already rather intoxicated ones – dance on every flat surface which included several tables.

By the time M'Riarr had rid herself of the tattered remnants of a tablecloth and joined the dance again with an utterly enchanted scientist in her paws, Sakarra estimated they had about three point two seconds before their table was going to be utilized as well … ah, two point eight.

"Yes, my quarters might be advisable, ashal-veh."

Two furry paws kicked happily at an empty champagne bottle and the impromptu missile soared past a saxophonist who ducked just in time, adding a rather disconcerting noise to the music.

 

Brent winced as he saw the empty bottle tossed around. He helped Sakarra up to her feet before he took the tablecloths off of them and set them down on their couch. "Yeah. We might want to get out of here while we still can," he said and watched her for a moment. She still had a bit of the warm liquid left in her cup. He looked down at the liquid then looked back up at her and tilted his head slightly. He shook his own glass as if to tell her that he had finished his and that now it was her turn. He waited until she had given him a huff and consumed the last of her liquor and tea. He smiled at that and put his arm around her waist before leading Sakarra out, much to the dismay of the chef and a few others in the room but Brent insisted and eventually won the day.

After several minutes of saying goodbye the doors closed behind them as the couple left Eris Deck and Brent let out a large sigh. "Your friends are something else," he said with a smirk as the two of them walked towards Sakarra's quarters.

 

"Indeed."

Not that she had chosen any of them – somehow Mr Tisdale and his entourage had simply decided to attach themselves to the little Vulcan and make her their 'pet project'. And although she could not help but quietly appreciate the unasked for affection, it could be … overwhelming at times.

 

Grateful not only for the relative peace and quiet of the corridor – relative, seeing as some of the party was already beginning to spill out through the doors in the form of singing marines – but the warmth of the human next to her, the little Vulcan allowed Brent to lead her gently towards her quarters and nearly sighed with relief when the warm, clean air enveloped her.

A few more minutes and she might actually have been unable to suppress the little shivers already crawling up her spine.

 

The doors had barely swished shut and Sakarra had already rid herself of the dripping robe, standing on the soft carpet with silk clinging to her body and small droplets still falling from heavy sable curls. Standard Vulcan lighting had automatically bathed the rooms in warm copper tones upon their arrival, adding a luminous shimmer to the slender figure moving purposefully towards the bath.

It would have been the perfect image of a Vulcan having weathered a minor turbulence with no more ill effect than a little water. The hiccup unfortunately spoiled it somewhat.

 

"Poor thing," Brent said as he pouted a little bit, sticking his lower lip out as he took Sakarra's hand.  "I know of just the thing to help warm us up again," he said with a wicked grin on his face as he began to lead her back towards the bathroom nearby. "Come now. You can tell me what you were just about to say to me, before M'Riarr decided that it was in our best interests to interrupt us in the lounge."  He smiled as Brent pulled her into bathroom, and wrapped his arms around her. "You've had me in suspense from that time on out..."

 

"I did?"

And speaking of suspense …

There was definitely more than just the concern for a Vulcan who had a much too close encounter with ice water in the way Brent removed the silk from his beloved just as there was definitive mischief in the nonchalant way he flung his own clothes over the basin.

But at least for several blissful seconds any such thoughts dispersed as wonderfully warm water came streaming down, immediately causing a delightful shock.

Careful hands pulled gold pins out of already soaked curls until the mass of heavy tresses fell over Sakarra's back and she lifted her face to look into amused ocean blue eyes.

"I am assuming by 'helping us warm up' you were not merely referring to the shower, yes?"

=/\= End Log =/\=

 

Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander

 

LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Chief Helm

 

Ensign M'Riarr

Assistant Helmscat

 

Lucia & Marcello

 

USS Charon

 

 

[USS Charon] SD241005.24 || Joint Log "After the storm" Part V || Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax, Brevet 1st Lt Brent Warren, Ens M'Riarr, Lucia&Marcello

=/\= Eris Deck =/\=

 

Brent winced as he heard the band start playing a different kind of music. His blessing told him when the wrong notes were played, but overall they seemed to do just fine. He removed the icing from Sakarra's nose and popped it into his mouth before winking at her and watching the festivities as a dance floor begin to take shape and form. "Hmm. Looks like a dance party is trying to begin," he smirked slightly. "I don't think I've ever danced with you," he said with a grin leaning over and giving her a single kiss just below her ear. "You should finish your drink my love so that I can take you dancing. Besides I think that your friends will stop bothering you if we get up and do something," he said.

 

"They also would cease intruding if we left." Sakarra pointed out – quite reasonably, she thought. Especially considering the fact she was about one more sip away from a hiccup.

But it was rather obvious that her beloved had other plans. And perhaps he was right – if they left now, she would never hear the end of it.

There was only one minor flaw in his plan. "Brent…." The arm around her waist tightened its grip in a most delightful way and the cool human breath tickling her eartip did not help, either "… I do not know how to dance to … this."

 

He grinned, a rather evil looking grin as Brent realized that he was going to get his way. He took her hand in his under the table and scooted out, having Sakarra go out with him. "It's alright. Nothing should be too difficult, besides," Brent said as the music changed to something slower. "I don't know how to do many dances either, but this dance here," he said as he brought her hands up and around his neck as they came to the dance floor and his hands moved to the small of her back resting there lightly as he looked down at the little Vulcan. He smiled as they slowly began to move around the room in a soft almost hypnotic dance. 

 

The look in deep sapphire eyes was an all too familiar one – but Sakarra was too busy keeping her mind and body focused, not to mention her face calm and composed – to do anything about it.

Of course he had no intention of making this easy for her and insisted not only on close physical contact but let his fingertips teasingly travel over a narrow waist before guiding her in slow, stately movements with gentle pressure.

Observation of other dancers confirmed that it was apparently customary for the male – or at least the taller person – to propose the steps while the partner followed. Well, that certainly explained Brent's smirk.

 

"Indeed." Neither Mr Tisdale's surprised grin nor Miss Betty's approving nod were lost on the young woman and it was thanks to the inherent Vulcan stubbornness that Sakarra did not put an end to this display right then and there. They thought one like her could not learn how to move in random patterns to such an uncomplicated piece of music?

Right.

"It would appear to be an activity that is suited to your … preferences, yes?"

 

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Brent said in a quite amused voice. He let out a deep sigh, watching the other people as they danced about to the slow music. "Really this is the way that the human youth normally dance where I come from, and at times at Starfleet Academy. Very few humans at least know the old dance steps that were created in the ages past. At least I don't and I never met very many people who knew them," he said and shrugged his shoulders. "My mother scolded me on that once before a dance at school, saying that I'll have to learn it someday or else I will be a disappointment to my future wife. In a fit of teenage independence I told my mother that I never intended to get married and would be a bachelor till I die." He chuckled at the memory. "Of course that send mom off to my dad who came in and scolded me for even thinking of such things."

Brent noticed that a few other people were looking at them and for a while he didn't see any issue with it. After a few moments though he made a shooing motion towards those who could not seem to find anything better to do. "You'd think that we were the only people dancing here the way that some people insist on staring at us. Your chef friend especially," Brent drew one hand up before pointing at his eyes before pointing and a pack of marines that were either snickering at their CO or up to no good. Neither was good for their health.

 

"He'elef ka hij." An elegantly slanted brow climbed ever so slightly and naturally Sakarra found herself pulled just a little closer. Of course one could make the excuse that it was to avoid brushing against other dancers – only the little Vulcan knew better.

"Being able to participate in ancient terran dances is desirable in a mate on your homeworld?" Apparently, there was no end to the nuances one needed to know about humans. Though she had to admit Olixinna had found dancing with her long-time human … acquaintance very amusing and even insisted on teaching her cousin some … rather interesting steps. None of which however seemed to fit this particular style of music.

It was just as well. Seeing a Vulcan engage in a 'Tango Argentino' might cause myocardial infarctions in several people who already seemed on the verge of hyperventilation now.

 

Another half-turn brought them past the band where Mr Tisdale took a vivid interest in the tall marine's posture – apparently, it was not satisfactory. Waving arms illustrated plainly that the male's hands were to be placed eight point four centimeters lower than Brent's and … well, that certainly was not part of a ritual, was it?

Most puzzling.

"It is somewhat of an axiom that Vulcans do not dance. The ... interest we appear to elicit is therefore understandable." But mildly annoying all the same.

 

And it wasn't as if there were no other points of interest. The way Ensign M'Riarr managed to swing a young scientist around in her furry paws certainly deserved appreciative glances. 

 

"I suppose that's more of a traditional thing. On my world we just had dances were people danced like we are now," Brent said as he ignored her comment that he immediately knew what it was that she said. "Most of the other dances would be used in the court of royalty in Western European kingdoms," he said relaying the brief bit of history that he knew. He chuckled at her words until Brent looked down to where his hands were at now before looking over at the Mr Tisdale and shook his head no at him. This was as much of a public display of affection as Brent felt that he could get away with for now. At least he felt no need to outright grab Sakarra's ass at the insistence of the chef in Eris Deck.

Brent motioned at his dance partners subordinate and smirked, slowly swinging himself around so that she could see what he was looking at. "It would appear that your assistant is quite enthusiastic about that science ensign there," he said.

 

"I have never known the Ensign to be anything less than enthusiastic in matters of social interaction." As a matter of fact, the Caitian was positively restrained at the moment – possibly due to the circumstance she did not wish to cause undue distress for the smiling human in her paws.

 

She should have seen it coming. Actually, she had seen it and calculated perfectly the impact angle and probability of more than one candle going airborne (ninety-seven point four percent). But there was simply no way to catch either the poor Caitian or the tablecloth in time.

Encouraged by his dance partners happy purr, the young scientist had decided to give the furry lady what was commonly referred to as a 'twirl' and like many others underestimated the impact a Caitian's tail can have. Especially if said large lioness was spinning.

 

The white cloth wrapped itself around golden brown fur, sending dishes and a sputtering candle into the air. Amazingly enough, Brent picked a ballistic glass out of the air before even the little Vulcan's quick reflexes could come to bear and despite her small and slightly muffled sound of protest turned around so his broad back was shielding her from any more flying objects.

But even pressed against the marine's muscle armored frame Sakarra could clearly see that her projections had been correct – the impact of several plates had dislodged more candles and the sharp scent of spilled moonshine lasted only until a 'whoomph' sound dispersed it in favor of a blue flame.

Oh dear. This was distressingly familiar.

 

A wide eyed M'Riarr did her best to extinguish the flames before any more damage could occur – aided by ever practical Lucia who simply emptied an ice bucket complete with champagne bottle onto the burning table and the poor Caitian – but there was still a fair amount of fabric wrapped around her excitedly swishing tail, clearing another table and …

Sakarra snatched the glass from her Companion's hand and let it fly in one smooth motion.

Factoring in terran standard gravity and thick atmosphere it should …

The candleholder collided with a glass three point two meters before it could have impacted the bar and subsequently incinerated the wide array of liquors awaiting thirsty patrons there. Unfortunately it then proceeded to bounce of Marcello' head as the Italian emerged from behind the bar with more ice water.

Oh, no …

 

 

=/\= To be continued =/\=

 

Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander

 

LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Chief Helm

 

Ensign M'Riarr

Assistant Helmscat

 

Lucia & Marcello

 

USS Charon

 

 

He'elef ka hij –  "Oh yes you do."

 

 

 

 

[USS Charon] Stardate 241005.24 - Reintroduction - CWO3 Sierra and Savant

Colin Pinnell <pinnellcb@thehiddenkingdom.com> wrote to charon@ucip.org:

[ CW03 Sierra's Office ]

There was a lot of work to get done. The most recent message from the
Andropov was promising; they believed with almost certainty that they'd
located the rogue Romulans' last location - they were less than a few
days behind now. This meant that the Koragh was screaming at Oberic to
meet with them so they could get their asses into gear and catch up with
their quarry. After putting his pack together, and dressing in his
favorite black ops uniform, Oberic called for Savant.

"I could use some help here, Savant...hope you're not too busy."

He knew she wasn't - but it was polite to ask.

"Are you leaving, sir?" she asked pleasantly over the room's speakers,
not bothering to summon an avatar when none was yet needed. "I would
like to prepare a situation report for your destination if you are. It's
never a good idea to enter into an unknown situation without proper
briefing."

Oberic looked around, and not seeing Savant, simply answered into the
air, "Yes, I am leaving soon. I am sure it will delight the Captain to
have me away for a while. This is a bit premature, but I am eager to be
proactive. But we're looking at a window of about 96 hours. I would
prefer not to discuss this over an open comm channel, though. Can
you...sort of - appear in my quarters so we may speak without being
overheard?"

Savant appeared without further invitation, a brief hum and gleam of
light accompanying her. She appeared as proper as ever, uniform crisp
and starched, hair and complexion perfect, and ever so slightly off from
the deck. She was smiling. "I have secured the observational equipment
of this room and those surrounding, Sir. We now comply with Class III
Communication Security."

He smiled - almost too much. Something about the way Savant carried
herself amused him. "Quite adequate, Mister Savant. Well done.
Now...please access my most recent personal log. You'll see that the
Andropov is hot on the tail of the Zum Viig. The Koragh is on her way
toward the Charon, to meet with me in a suitably distant location. Has
that runabout arrived yet?"

"It is stationkeeping four light minutes behind Charon, Sir. Shall I
have it approach for boarding?"

He was impressed. Not only had she delivered, she kept the vessel at a
distance. Someone certainly knew her protocol. "Not yet. I need to
inform the Captain that I will be departing. Not that I need permission
- but might make her day to hear that I'll be taking off for a while.
Go ahead and contact the Koragh computer, and give them coordinates to
meet with me; I would say make it someplace where the runabout can get
there within 12 hours. Then program the runabout with the same
coordinates. I do not like having to go alone, but I doubt the Captain
would let me commandeer you."

Savant nodded agreeably, doing as he asked while he asked it. She
selected a system which she quite admired - it was a system with a
single mid-series star. A supermassive gas giant was in close orbit,
which had brought with it such massive tidal forces that other planets
int he system had been unable to form. It was an asteroid belt, but save
for the pocket near the gas giant itself. No one went to the system, as
navigating the fierce belt was treacherous save for at low sublight.
However, approaching form high upon the plane of the ecliptic made the
task much easier. Radiation from the planet would be sufficient to mask
the presence from interlopers as well - an excellent little system for
quiet arrangements.

"Yes, Sir." she replied as she relayed the information to the distant
ship. "I am capable of generating an independent process if you would
like me to accompany you, Sir. It's nothing at all out of the ordinary."

He stepped forward and looked at Savant intently. "You're going to have
to explain that to me. What do you mean by an 'independent process'?
Are you saying that you can create like...a clone of yourself - to come
along with me?"

The hologram smiled sympathetically; this was always the hardest concept
to explain. "You can consider it something like me making a copy of
myself and then linking the new instance to the old with relational
links. The copy is as much me as the original, with shared experiences
between." Not quite right, but it was close enough for her purposes at
the moment.

"Ok..." Oberic wasn't quite sure how this was going to work, but Savant
seemed confident. "Is this...other instance - going to look and speak
like you?"

"I have been constructing a remote agent, Sir, as I thought this
situation might come up. It is recognizably similar, but not the same."
Savant paused thoughtfully a moment. "I thought it best to blend in a
little better."

He was getting more confused, despite his questions. But he couldn't
help himself, "Will this other you look less like a holographic image,
then? I mean - no floating a few feet off the deck and all that? Not
that it matters to me at all, but I would rather not have to explain too
much to the Koragh's captains."

"Oh, no, Sir; I've built an android. It should be able to pass cursory
medical inspection."

Ok now he was both confused and intrigued. "Woah wait...I thought that
android replicant technology was - spotty at best? You've managed a
stable and totally functional unit? What does he look like? When can I
meet him??"

Savant smiled wider - building the android body wasn't the hard part, it
was the intelligence that directed it that was vexing engineers. Savant
had that bit cornered. She shrugged modestly, "I've got a little
practice at it. I've currently got it in storage, but it's ready for use
at any point."

This is something he had to see for himself. But first - one more
question, "Is the appearance set or can we alter it? I have an idea
about how to prevent people from being suspicious at all. If we can
make the android Vulcan in appearance, it would make sense for him not
to speak much, and any lack of emotion would be overlooked." Another
idea came to him suddenly, "If changing appearance is possible...can we
make it female, as well?" He hoped he wouldn't have to explain the
overly misogynistic reasons for asking that last question.

"I tend to make female avatars," Savant replied helpfully, "based on
sociology studies. As for the overall appearance, I opted for vulcanoid.
I've also embedded microfibers and chromatophores in the skin layer to
allow a few minor changes if needs be."

The entire idea was almost too perfect. Oberic nodded, "Very good,
Savant. I would love to see your creation. Please lead the way."

Savant turned to look at the door; he looked in that direction as well.
The doorchime rang. Savant smiled and disappeared.

And Savant walked in from the corridor. Though, it wasn't Savant - not
exactly. Her expression as still mild and confident; she was just as
tall and shaped almost the same - more muscular, more athletic, but
otherwise the same. She did not wear that Mona Lisa smile, however, and
the arch of her brows was far too severe. She was a Vulcan - or at least
a very clever facsimile of one. Her command-red uniform fitted well.

Oberic took a long look at the creation before him. He thought to
himself hot utterly convincing this Vulcan was - and that coming from
someone who had spent a century or so among Vulcans. "Impressive.
Quite nice. What are her defensive capabilities?"

She spoke in a similar voice to the Savant which Oberic had already met,
still rich with inflection and intention as ever. The tone was somewhat
more dispassionate, but it was still quite recognizable. "Colloquially,
Sir, it is constructed around a foamed carbon-corundumoid skeletal
framework and equipped with a full suite of sensing equipment. I have
focused primarily on speed and sensitivity in this instance, with a
range similar to that of modern intelligence scanning systems. Benchmark
tests indicate a dead lift capacity of 560 kilograms, reaction time of
25.2 nanoseconds, and manual acuity of 12 millipascals. I've also
hardcoded it for Ponn-ifla, Kareel-ifla, and appropriate skill in the
Lirpa as well as modern firearms. I've also included the Bat'leth, for
fun."

He walked around Savant's creation, trying to scrutinize every detail;
the way another Intel Operator would upon first meeting her. He could
see nothing that gave her away - and that was good. "For fun, you say.
On a ship like the Koragh, such skills may actually be handier than you
may have suspected. That would certainly be one way to earn the trust
of our Klingon allies; a wonderful display of limb-removal via
bat'leth. All right, this seems damn near perfect. What do we call her?"

The simulacrum arched its eyebrow in an utterly archetypal fashion.
There was mirth, but it was obviously a Vulcan sort of amusement -
easily deniable. "I am still Savant, Sir - as much so as any hologram.
Perhaps a cover name of T'Kau would be reasonable." It was close to a
direct translation of her English name, as well as being a not-uncommon
name in the Vulcan names registry. It would suit her purposes.

"That would be fine. Best not to call this...your other self by the
same name as some aboard the Koragh already know you. Might get
awkward. All right, I think this will work out rather well. In order
to avoid questions, it may be best for you, T'Kau, to accompany me to my
quarters until we depart. The fewer people who see you right now, the
better. Is that amenable?"

In the best deadpan a Vulcan could deliver, Savant replied, "Are you
propositioning me, Sir?"

Sweet Galileo, that was a joke. "Two things. First - I wouldn't. Second
- no jokes; Klingons don't like them, and Vulcans aren't known for their
sense of humor. Well played though...well played indeed. Shall we?" He
stretched out his arm and headed for the door.

She took his arm, exiting the quarters with him, though still wearing
the slightly confused, arch expression. "That was a joke?"

Oberic chuckled to himself, in spite of his desire to remain
professional. "Indeed it was. And a very nice one, at that. I will do
you the favor of answering the question, though. I can promise that if I
were propositioning you, there would be no reason to ask if I were. Even
you would know it. I'm not one to be coy."

He led her out and they walked together to his quarters, where Oberic
contacted the Koragh one last time. He now had but one thing left to
do...talk to the Captain and let her know he'd be - well, gone - for a
while. Hmm...should he do this face-to-face or just send her a little
note? Both. No no, give her the option. Yeah, that would work.

CW3 Oberic Sierra

and

Savant