S01E02 - Session Log
Summary
The crew spends their recovery period on Lyseria VII methodically establishing their position while their bodies restore to their original forms after the appearance-changing procedures. What begins as a quiet healing process transforms into active intelligence gathering when Bum and Narik conduct a professional infiltration of Grell's quarters, discovering a cache of 60 bars of latinum, an encrypted PADD, and a sophisticated laptop with intelligence-grade security protocols.
Klix's technical analysis reveals disturbing patterns: the PADD contains a pickup message scheduled for the following Thursday, while the laptop exposes a complex financial network moving 800,000 units through multiple accounts with no clear purpose beyond obfuscation. Recent activity shows a concerning consolidation into just three accounts.
The crew's return to Dr. Merik's clinic yields crucial intelligence: Bum learns his genetic connection links him to "the Overseer," a powerful figure who "finds you if he deems you worthy." Klix negotiates access to Trill joining research in exchange for future symbiotic findings, while Narik discovers the extensive equipment needed for memory restoration. Dr. Merik's pointed request for the return of exactly 60 bars of latinum confirms they've been under closer observation than realized.
The session climaxes at The Last Lode, where the crew navigates complex social dynamics while maintaining their cover. Bum participates in the traditional Nausicaan pain ritual of kroh'tal, earning cultural respect, while Klix and Narik face both domjot victories and calculated deception by Benzite twins. Androni's strategic conversation with Drak reveals growing tensions within the Syndicate hierarchy, as Tavik's lack of proper respect suggests deeper power struggles. The evening concludes with rumors of an available Andorian ship at Benzar Scrapyard, providing their first concrete lead toward independent transportation.
Through careful intelligence gathering, cultural integration, and strategic relationship building, the crew transitions from vulnerable refugees to active players in Lyseria VII's complex criminal ecosystem.
Detailed Log
The Restoration
In the dim artificial light of their quarters on Lyseria VII, the crew experienced the strange sensation of their bodies gradually returning to their original forms. Each passing hour brought visible "glitches" as facial features warped and shifted. When Andronis Andorian antennae fell to the floor, he disintegrated them with a phaser, ensuring no trace remained. The process was unsettling to witness but brought undeniable relief as familiar reflections slowly emerged in mirrors and polished surfaces.
During this recovery day, they remained sequestered in their quarters, not venturing out at all. Drak made a brief appearance to deliver food—his demeanor businesslike but not unfriendly.
The Investigation
With restored appearances but lingering caution, Bum and Narik embarked on a reconnaissance mission to Grell's quarters, using the keycard they had acquired during their clinic raid. The room was spartan and functional, reflecting its Tellarite occupant's practical nature. Their methodical search yielded unexpected bounty: a cache containing sixty bars of latinum, a PADD, and a laptop computer—all secured without detection and transported stealthily back to their quarters.
Klix's technical expertise proved invaluable as he decrypted the recovered devices. The PADD contained a single buried message amid seemingly random Federation personal communications: "We will collect you in 10 days." By extrapolating the original date, they determined the pickup was scheduled for the following Thursday.
The laptop presented a more substantial challenge, hiding its secrets behind layers of encryption. The first layer mimicked innocuous Tellarite engineering records, but beneath that facade lay another operating system containing meticulous accounting data—the kind of security typical of intelligence agencies, not common criminals.
For the remainder of the day, the crew huddled around the terminal, meticulously analyzing the complex financial web Grell had maintained. Hour after hour passed as they traced transaction paths, compared timestamps, and searched for patterns in the seemingly random transfers. The financial records revealed a steady flow of approximately 800,000 units circulating through numerous accounts, yet the total sum remained oddly constant throughout the recorded period—no significant deposits or withdrawals, only internal movements between accounts without any discernible pattern or regularity.
"This isn't normal commerce," Klix observed, rubbing his tired eyes after hours of scrutiny. "It's almost as if the money is being deliberately obscured rather than used."
What particularly caught their attention was the activity from the previous few weeks: a dramatic shift from the dispersed distribution pattern toward centralization into just three accounts. The sophisticated operations and recent consolidation suggested Grell may be far more than a simple enforcer.
Seeking Answers
The following morning marked their third day on Lyseria VII. With their appearances restored and armed with the information gleaned from Grell's quarters, the crew decided their next move should be a return visit to Dr. Merik's clinic. Questions had accumulated—about genetics, memory recovery, and the curious coincidence of the latinum amount.
The sterile atmosphere of the clinic contrasted sharply with the rest of the station's utilitarian grime. As they entered, the familiar scent of antiseptic chemicals filled their nostrils. Dr. Merik glanced up from his console, recognition flickering across his features as he straightened to greet them with the same clinical professionalism as before.
Bum approached the doctor with measured steps, his voice carefully controlled as he inquired about the genetic connection previously discovered. The doctor's eyes flickered briefly—a subtle tell—before he revealed the truth: "It's the Nausicaan Overseer." The words hung in the sterile air between them, weighted with implications Bum couldn't yet fully grasp.
"And where might I find this Overseer?" Bum pressed, his fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the examination table.
Dr. Merik's lips curved into what might have been a smile on a less clinical face. "The Overseer isn't found," he replied, his voice lowering to a near-whisper that carried surprising authority. "He finds you—if he deems you worthy of his attention." The statement was delivered with the quiet certainty of someone who had witnessed the truth of his words firsthand.
Having obtained the answers he sought, if not the ones he'd hoped for, Bum departed without further inquiry, leaving the doctor to his silent observations.
Meanwhile, Klix approached Lera, the doctor's Trill assistant. "I'm interested in the joining documentation," Klix stated directly. "May i copy it?"
Lera's fingers paused over her workstation. She studied Klix with analytical interest, clearly weighing options before responding. "I could provide access," she said carefully, "if you promise to share any symbiotic research findings you might encounter in the future."
Before committing, Lera's eyes flicked toward Dr. Merik across the room. The doctor responded with a subtle but unmistakable nod, his authorization silent but clear. The exchange was settled with an understanding between all parties, though what ulterior motives might be at play remained unclear.
Narik's inquiry about memory recovery prompted Dr. Merik to shift into full technical mode. He detailed three distinct technologies required: "You'll need a phase-shift neurofield modulator and ten liters of bio-mimetic gel—both available on any major starbase," the doctor explained clinically, his fingers tapping a display that showed complex neurological schematics. "But the neural vector amplification grid can only be found at specialized research facilities." The doctor's tone suggested these items would not be casually obtained by civilians, particularly those with their complicated status.
As they prepared to depart, Dr. Merik made one final, pointed request: "I need your assistance in the return of sixty bars of latinum." The amount precisely matched what they had recovered from Grell's quarters—a coincidence far too specific to be accidental.
The Overseer's Shadow
The central hub of Lyseria VII hummed with the constant activity of a working mining colony. There, two Nausicaans in uniforms matching the station's security personnel stood vigilant. When approached by Bum regarding the Overseer, their response was measured but revealing: "He knows everything happening here," one guard asserted with absolute confidence. "If he's interested, he will find you."
Bum's claim of familial connection was met with skepticism—"He would know," the guards insisted—but the exchange concluded with an invitation to a dart game at the local bar. The indirect approach had yielded a potential opening, if not immediate access.
At a nearby tech shop, Bum acquired components for his "switch-burner" and some magnesite for new blend grenades from a Vulcan merchant whose organizational system appeared chaotic yet precisely calculated. The merchant scanned Bum's requirements with practiced efficiency, seemingly retrieving items at random while actually following a pattern only she could discern. At the end, she goes to get some "good stuff" from the back.
Strategic Planning
Back in their quarters, the crew exchanged findings. Narik informed Androni about his consultation with the doctor but carefully avoided mentioning the memory restoration possibility to the others, instead vaguely referring to a potential "extraction mission." Bum, meanwhile, put his newly acquired materials to use, crafting five blend grenades—tools that might prove essential in their uncertain future.
The Last Lode
As artificial evening descended on Lyseria VII, the crew made their way to The Last Lode—the settlement's primary social establishment. The entrance to The Last Lode is marked by a sudden wave of warmth, sound, and smoke that envelops you as the door slides open. The tavern is carved directly into the moon's bedrock, its rough stone walls visible through the perpetual haze of smoke from substances of questionable legality. The lighting is kept deliberately low, creating intimate pools of illumination around tables and leaving much of the establishment in comfortable shadow.
The bar's layout revealed itself as their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. A modest stage occupied one end of the room, where a four-armed alien musician coaxed hauntingly beautiful melodies. Behind the performer, the dark, unfinished crater wall of the moon itself created a dramatic natural backdrop. To the left, three private booths offered secluded spaces for conversations requiring discretion, each separated by sound-dampening partitions. The right rear corner bustled with activity around domjot tables and dart boards, where patrons tested their skills. In the center, an arrangement of mismatched but sturdy tables accommodated the majority of patrons, creating an unexpectedly communal atmosphere in this remote outpost. Along the right wall stretched the bar itself.
The bartender—a towering half-Klingon woman standing well over six feet tall—commanded immediate respect as they approached. Her forehead displayed the natural ridges of her Klingon heritage, enhanced by elaborate ritual scars that spoke of a warrior's life. She wore modified leather armor as everyday attire, and her hair was intricately braided with metal rings that a discerning eye would recognize as commemorations of significant victories. Though what truly surprised was the grace with which she moved despite her powerful build.
She fixed them with a penetrating gaze that suggested she missed little and stated the establishment's unusual custom: "Story for your first drink, payment for your second, and on your third, I decide if I want you here." Bum responded with a vivid tale of triumph against overwhelming odds in a fistfight, earning genuine appreciation from the bartender. Androni followed with an account of losing only five under his command—a story initially met with skepticism but salvaged by his solemn honoring of their sacrifice. Klix and Narik approached the domjot table where a Tellarite and Nausicaan duo had established themselves as the evening's reigning champions, exchanging knowing glances before placing their entry stakes. The game unfolded with calculated moves and strategic placements of the holographic pieces, tension building with each successful maneuver until the Tellarite-Nausicaan team claimed the first victory with obvious satisfaction. Not to be outdone, Klix and Narik adjusted their approach for the second round, with Narik subtly reading their opponents' tells while Klix executed a flawless series of defensive counters that ultimately secured them a satisfying win. The Tellarite's expression shifted from smug confidence to grudging respect, and the Nausicaan's eyes narrowed in acknowledgment of their skill.
When they departed the domjot table, Klix and Narik found themselves intercepted by a pair of Benzite twins whose matching facial tendrils quivered with anticipation. The twins proposed to play a game, and directly started "Ferengi High Stakes," which none of the two has ever heard of. Credits were placed on the table as the twins dealt cards with practiced efficiency.
After several rounds of clockwise card deals and betting patterns, one twin suddenly swept all money from the table, declaring victory with a flourish. They offered another game with supposedly better odds—or at least, as they stated in perfect unison, the illusion of better odds—before breaking into synchronized laughter.
Though they had been thoroughly conned, Klix and Narik stayed calm for the moment, not wanting to draw to much attention. But inside them, the realization of being played by the twins simmered.
The Nausicaans Bum had met earlier arrived as promised, and what followed was a familiar ritual to him—no ordinary dart game, but the traditional Nausicaan test of pain tolerance and honor. The pair approached with predatory grins, pulling from their belts not standard pointed projectiles, but heavier, barbed darts with serrated edges that gleamed dangerously in the bar's low light.
They presented what Bum instantly recognized as "kroh'tal"—not merely a game but a cultural ritual he had participated in many times before. With minimal ceremony, they cleared a small area, drawing the attention of the scattered patrons who recognized the infamous practice. One Nausicaan positioned himself against the wall, arms outstretched, his scarred torso testifying to countless previous encounters.
No formal rules were announced—none needed to be, as Bum was intimately familiar with the unspoken understandings and cultural expectations. The genuine currency of this ritual was pain tolerance and the ability to remain stoic when wounded. The sparse crowd watched with a mixture of morbid fascination and reverent silence as the first Nausicaan launched a dart into his companion's chest, who neither flinched nor blinked despite the barb embedding itself a half-inch deep.
When his turn came, Bum faced the familiar challenge with practiced stoicism. The first dart struck his shoulder with a burning sting, drawing a trickle of blood but no reaction from him. His composure earned knowing nods from the other Nausicaans—they recognized not just his species, but his evident experience with their ritual. What followed was less a game and more a ceremonial exchange where each wound communicated volumes in the cultural language they all shared.
Meanwhile, Androni, ever the tactician, conducted a thorough inspection of the establishment, including its facilities, before engaging Drak in a private booth. The Tellarite appeared uncharacteristically agitated, confiding in Androni with visible frustration about the situation with Tavik.
"I don't understand what's happening," Drak muttered, leaning forward to avoid being overheard. "Grell is Tavik's enforcer. Tavik isn't Vesh Loqar's enemy—just a rival in the Syndicate. But they're not showing proper respect to me as Vesh's representative. That's... unusual."
His troubled expression suggested deeper concerns than mere protocol violations. "Something's not right. I need to discover what Tavik is planning," Drak concluded, the determination in his voice tempered by uncertainty.
After returning to their table, from a neighboring table, a Betazoid trader volunteered an intriguing rumor about an Andorian ship available at Benzar Scrapyard—the first concrete lead to a potencial vessel they may obtain. The Betazoid's casual mention of the ship's availability piqued their interest, but the details remained frustratingly vague.
As the evening wound down, the crew maintained their careful separation. Bum and Androni departed first, casually making their exit without acknowledging the others. Twenty minutes later, Klix and Narik followed suit, taking a different route back to their quarters.
The Pieces in Motion
As they returned to their quarters that night, the crew carried not just the physical items they had acquired but new connections and more pieces of a puzzle still taking shape.
Their physical identities had been restored, but their place in the complex web of the Syndicate's and Lyseria VII's power structures was just beginning to form. Whatever path they chose next would inevitably draw them deeper into the undercurrents, for better or worse. Do they stay or leave?