USS Surefoot-A, Deck 2 Fore, Command Quarters, 0720 Hours:
Esek and Kami Hrelle noticed the change in their cub Misha, as they sat together having breakfast in their quarters. The toddler was dressed in the khaki shorts, vest and boots favoured by his latest hero The Crooked Tailed Cub, but he was hardly touching his food, more focused on staring intensely, almost suspiciously, at his mother, his snout wrinkling.
The parents looked to each other, Esek asking in Old Caitian, “He knows, doesn’t he?”
“He knows something, but he doesn’t know what.”
“Guess it’s time to tell him.”
Misha frowned, shaking a finger at them. “Secret Talk! Rude!”
Kami smiled, rising up with Esek and walking around the table, dropping to one knee as she stroked the tufts of fur under the cub’s snout. “You’re right, Sweetheart, and we’re sorry, but sometimes grown-ups have to say things to each other that cubs are not meant to hear. You looked worried, and that worries us.”
On Misha’s other side, Esek rubbed his muzzle against his cub’s. “So tell us, my Warrior Prince, what’s bothering you?”
Misha stared again at Kami, his nostrils twitching excitedly now. “You smell funny! You sick! You see Doc Cowboy, he fix you!”
Kami smiled. “No, Sweetheart. I’m not sick. What you’re smelling is a change in my scent that happens when I begin carrying a cub in my belly.”
Misha frowned again in confusion, looking to Esek. “Papa?”
Esek smiled, too, and nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you to notice. We’re having another cub, a little sister for you. We’re going to call her Sreen. And you’re going to be her big brother! Well? Isn’t that great news?”
He looked at each of his parents again in turn.
And then shook his head. “No.”
Esek blinked. “No?”
“No. No cubs. Cubs are stinky. Send it back.”
Kami tightened her muzzle to keep from laughing, before responding with, “We can’t do that. Your Papa and I made love, he put his seed in me, it reached one of my eggs, and they began growing together. It can’t be stopped now.”
Misha scowled at Esek. “You bad man! You Horncat!”
“Wha- Where did you hear that word?”
“Cousin C’Rash say you Horncat! She say you put it in Mama too much and make her walk funny!”
“What? Son of a bitch-”
“Esek...” Kami looked to Misha again. “Let’s not say those things again, sweetheart. Now tell us, what’s wrong with having a sister? You have one already, remember? Sasha?”
“Sasha’s no little! Little cubs are stinky!”
Kami smiled now. “You don’t think we’re going to love you less, do you?”
“Because that’s not gonna happen,” Esek assured, wrapping an arm around him. “We have more than enough love for both of you. In fact, we’d have enough love for you all even if we had ten cubs.”
“Ten?” Misha echoed.
“Ten?” Kami repeated with equal dismay, eyeing her husband.
“You no have ten!” Misha scolded his father. “You give Mama Bad Belly!”
“Not just my belly,” Kami muttered, but followed it up with, “Fine, Cub of Mine, I won’t have ten. Would one be better than ten?”
Misha looked at her, seemingly gauging the notion… and then deciding with a thoughtful shake of his head, “No. No cubs. Cubs are stinky. You just have me.”
“Misha-”
Suddenly the conversation ended, as the Yellow Alert blared throughout the ship. Esek rose to his feet, grabbed his boots and jacket and raced out, as Kami swept her cub up into her arms and prepared to take him to their muster station in Main Sickbay.
He dropped his jacket and boots onto his chair on the Bridge as he took in the heightened tension among the mix of crew and cadets on duty now, and looked to the duty officer. “Lt Velkovsky?”
The tall blonde human looked up from her current place at the Tactical board. “We’ve detected an unauthorised vessel at the coordinates in the Gamma Lyrae system, where the USS Tycho was destroyed by that Klingon ship. They’re not responding to hails.”
Hrelle grunted in acknowledgement; the Surefoot had been there in the aftermath of the battle months ago, to collect the survivors of both vessels, including the Tycho’s last commanding officer, Admiral Jacobs. “Scavengers, probably.”
Beside Velkovsky, the Orion cadet Zir Dassene straightened up. “Sir, begging your pardon, but could it be Klingons sifting through the Tycho’s wreckage looking for secrets of our designs?”
Hrelle suppressed a smile, not wanting to put the young woman off of making suggestions in the future. “Interesting notion, Ms Dassene, except that the Tycho was a sixty-year-old Oberth; she hadn’t much left in the way of secrets. Still, she deserves better than to have carrion hovering around her, picking at her remains.” He faced forward. “Stand down from Yellow Alert. Helm, lay in a course for the Tycho’s last reported position, engage when ready, Warp Six.”
As he walked down to his chair and began slipping into his boots, Velkovsky asked, “Shall we hail them again, Sir?”
He reached for his jacket. “Don’t bother; if they haven’t responded by now, they never will. But send a message to the Fleet and update them as to our detour.” Then he sat down, slipping his tail through the hole in the back of the seat, beginning his shift a little earlier than usual… but preferring it to having to confront Misha again… he had hoped for a more enthusiastic response from his cub...
*
Once they popped back into normal space, the first thing Hrelle noticed was… “The debris. Where is it? For that matter, where’s our mystery vessel?”
He looked over at Lt C’Rash Shall, who had joined them before arriving at the system, and now ran scans from her Tactical station. “Some very small pieces of wreckage are still in orbit, but most of the remains of the Tycho and the Klingon vessel appear to have been tractored down to the planet’s surface… and the vessel we detected is down there, too.”
“Identification?”
After a pause, the coal-furred Caitian reported, “The SS Cavalier, an Escorial-class civilian multipurpose transport, Rigelian registry, owner is listed as a Terran, Felip Navarro… Starfleet Security reports its involvement in a number of… questionable activities.”
Hrelle made a sound; the Rigelian registry, used by many individuals and groups as a cover for ‘questionable activities’, confirmed it. “Mercenaries.”
“Sensors detecting fourteen lifeforms, a mix of human, Rigelian, Miradorn, Boslic… and Nekrosi.”
“Nekrosi? They’re far from their turf.” He paused as he saw his First Officer Commander T’Varik enter, and nodded as he continued, drawing up to Tactical and calling up the records on Navarro and the Cavalier. “No active warrants with anyone at the moment… they’ve been spotted at the Golin Memorial sites, along the Demilitarised Zone, the Tholian border-” Then it made sense.
“You think they’re looking for a job, Sir?”
“No, I think they already have one. Ready a Security Team, we’ll pop down and get it confirmed ourselves.” He looked over at Zir. “Are you up for an Away Mission, Cadet?”
“Me, Sir?” she squeaked, her olive skin darkening with embarrassment at the sound she’d produced.
“Yes, you, Sir,” he replied, imitating her squeak. “Standard Equipment, we beam down in five. Commander T’Varik, you have the centre seat.”
C’Rash drew up to him. “Sir, do you think it’s safe to bring a cadet down there? We don’t know why they’re here.”
“I have an idea about that.” He said nothing further, and as he started past T’Varik, he stopped and noted, “Oh, Commander, it might interest you to know that Kami and I have informed Misha that there’s a second cub on the way.”
“And was he enthusiastic about the arrival of Sreen Hrelle?”
“Let’s say… less than. Kami says he’ll come round to the idea before long, though. Of more immediate interest is the revelation that his cousin has been speaking, rather explicitly and critically, about the sex life of his parents to him.”
T’Varik raised an eyebrow and looked at the Chief of Security archly. “Indeed?”
C’Rash’s jaw dropped. “I was joking!”
“We will speak at length tonight about appropriate topics of conversation for my godson,” the Vulcan promised her.
“Fine,” Hrelle concluded. “Let’s go, people.”
As he moved to the doors with Zir, C’Rash muttered, “Thanks a lot, Uncle Esek. I had better plans for that tongue of hers tonight.”
He chuckled. “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”
*
It was a vast plain of flat, unforested grassland, one area now dominated by three large and distinct metallic structures of different design: two obvious wrecks, one intact vessel nearby. Hrelle could make out the general outline of what was left of the Oberth-class USS Tycho, and nearby, the more dilapidated emerald-green hull of the Klingon cruiser that had fallen with it.
In contrast, the SS Cavalier gleamed in the light from the tiny white star above, its silver spear-shaped hull pristine, its aft atmospheric wings and spoilers offering support for the landing gear and the open hatchway. It was a standard craft, built for speed and utility… but Hrelle noted the modifications, the additional phaser and microtorpedo tubes, in keeping with the ‘questionable activities’ mentioned on the Surefoot. And he saw a number of civilians in quasi-military uniforms milling about the perimeter, carrying weapons, their posture stiff, professional… and activating communicators on seeing the arrival of the Starfleet crew.
But Hrelle’s attention was drawn to the other civilians who swarmed around the wrecked ships, people of various races in expensive clothes, recording images and collecting souvenirs: Klingon and Starfleet emblems, blades, pieces of equipment, tatters of uniforms… and personal effects.
It confirmed his suspicions. “War tourism.”
“War… tourism, Sir?” Zir echoed, bemused.
He nodded. “Recreational travel to war zones for the purposes of sightseeing or study. Most people restrict their travel to historical sites, such as Cait’s Claw Keep, Earth’s Gettysburg and Khan’s Plains, and Andor’s Thrivia Valley. However, there are some who have been known to frequent active areas of combat, to witness armed conflict, as and when they happen.”
“That would explain the presence of Navarro and his people here,” C’Rash confirmed. “War tourists often hire mercenaries as guides, escorts...”
Hrelle growled, remembering when he was C’Rash’s age and a Security Chief himself, and having to deal with such idiots visiting the sites of the last Tholian incursions… with more than a few casualties resulting from collecting dangerous souvenirs, or crossing the wrong patrols. And yet, there was seemingly always more idiots around to take their place. “Cadet, run a scan of the wreckage for radiation.”
“Radiation, Sir?”
He nodded. “Set your tricorder sensors at Maximum. Any radiation at all, no matter how residual.” He looked to her. “Proceed.”
“Aye, Sir.” She departed, the whine of her tricorder making his ears twitch as he focused on the approach of a tall, middle-aged grey-haired human male in a sober black suit, smiling affably as he drew closer – with two guards behind him. “Hello there! Well, this is a surprise! I didn’t know there was still Starfleet in the area!”
“You would have, if you had answered our hails, Mister…?”
“Navarro. Friends call me Felip.” He held out his hand. As Hrelle eventually shook it, the man’s expression brightened with recognition. “Are you Captain Hrelle of the Surefoot?”
“Yes. Now, perhaps you could-”
The human beamed, and held out his arms as if to embrace the Caitian. “Well, this is wonderful! Our clients will be delighted to meet you! You have quite a reputation, Captain! I’m hoping you can give us some time for photos, questions-”
“Mr Navarro,” Hrelle interrupted sternly. “It is against Federation law to refuse to respond to a hail from a Starfleet vessel. We had to assume that there was something wrong, and divert from our normal course of operations to investigate.”
The man affected a contrite expression, one that was as false as his affability. “Of course, Captain, of course, it’s just… well, we are in a war zone, after all, we have VIPs with us, and I had received expert advice not to respond, in case it was a Klingon trap.” He shrugged, smiling. “We have a duty of care to our clients, you understand.”
“Yes.” You’re so full of shit I could smell it from orbit, Hrelle thought, looking at the civilians now posing on pieces of wreckage, the purple-skinned Nekrosi literally standing head and shoulders above the others. “Who are your VIPs?”
Navarro’s gaze followed Hrelle’s. “Prince Isole and Princess Odede, Firstborn Twins to Monarch Prime Nhlanha of the Nekros Commonwealth. With the help of the seemingly-inexhaustible purse of the Royal Family, they and a party of other rich cronies and sycophants wanted to visit the War Front. You know, witness a battle, get some mementos. The Nekrosi are rather military-minded.”
“Yes,” Hrelle agreed absently, remembering the Surefoot’s encounter with some of their subspace isolytic mines several years ago, sold on the Black Market during a period of political and economic instability for the non-aligned power. “Mr Navarro, why did you tractor down the debris of the Tycho and the Klingon ship?”
The man smiled again. “Isn’t it obvious? It makes for a better experience when our clients can actually touch the hulls, sit in the seats, imagine the thrill of going into battle with the enemy-”
“People died in that battle. It was a grave site.”
“Our intelligence indicated that no Starfleet personnel died in the battle that destroyed the Tycho, Captain. And the Klingons don’t care about what happens to their dead.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “My people searched the debris beforehand and made sure our customers wouldn’t stumble onto anything grisly.”
“Grisly?” C’Rash crossed her arms and sneered. “They’re visiting war zones! What do they expect?”
“They’re expecting only a controlled sample of war,” Hrelle informed her coldly, still glaring at Navarro. “A taster, like tidbits from a platter, taking what they like and leaving the rest. They come, pose for photos, collect some souvenirs, and be back in their luxury cabins in time for some Denobulan snails and Saurian brandy.”
Navarro smiled and shrugged. “It’s a living, Captain.”
“No, it’s a lunacy-” He stopped as he heard sounds from behind them, and turned to see Zir, who had been approaching, before being stopped and quickly surrounded by a dozen or more of Navarro’s clients.
The young cadet was being as polite as she could, but was overwhelmed by the excited tourists. “Excuse me, please-”
“You’re an Orion, aren’t you?”
“I never thought I’d see one in the flesh!”
“What are you doing in that uniform? Are you in Starfleet?”
“She can’t be in Starfleet, they wouldn’t let one of her kind in!”
Zir held up a hand. “Please- I’m trying to work- could you step aside-”
“Hirus! Take my photo with my arm around her!”
“Hey! Get away from her!” C’Rash barked at them.
But the warnings were ignored. “Can you dance? Dance for us!”
“N-No, please-”
Then one of the male Nekrosi, a tall, thin scarecrow of a figure, with a flat face, violet skin and hair, and clad in flowing black clothes with silver patterns, grabbed her arm. “Come here, Orion, you’ll dance for me-”
The Nekrosi’s hold on her lasted two seconds, before Hrelle was onto him, twisting the male’s other arm behind him until he cried out in pain, before flinging him six metres away.
He rolled over the flattened yellow-green grass and stopped, looking up with wide, outraged eyes, stammering breathlessly, “You… you filthy mongrel! How dare you put your hands on Isole the First? I can have you beheaded! Cut to a hundred pieces!”
The other Nekrosi, a female and obviously Princess Odede, stepped forward. “Navarro! Have your men execute these animals!”
Hrelle looked back, to see Navarro’s men – freeze in place, as C’Rash and her own people had their phasers drawn and ready.
Hrelle walked up to where the Prince lay sprawled, remaining silent as Isole continued to spit protests and threats. “I will see you put to death! Your filthy line will end with you! I swear it!”
Then Hrelle knelt down, leaned forward and began whispering into Isole’s ear.
And as the Caitian continued to whisper, teeth clenched and bared, the young man’s expression changed, the outrage and ire quickly melting away into a cold fear, even a panic, his eyes widening and darting between the Caitian and the others.
Finally Hrelle stopped and rose – grabbing Isole by the arm and hauling him back to his feet as well. The Prince pulled away, trembling, gasping, rubbing his arm where Hrelle had held onto him… before finally looking at Zir, swallowing and announcing, “I-I’m s-sorry for touching you. I’m sorry!” He looked to Hrelle, anger mixing with fear. “There! Satisfied?”
The Caitian glared at him for a moment longer than was necessary, before striding back to his cadet, the tourists quickly parting. “Are you hurt, Cadet?”
Zir quickly recovered, straightening up, her eyes filled with gratitude. “I’m sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to-”
“You did nothing to apologise for,” he assured her gently. “Now... are you hurt?”
She breathed out, controlling her breathing once more. “No, Sir. I’m fine. I can do my job.”
Hrelle smiled. “Report.”
The young Orion woman nodded and lifted up the tricorder in her hands. “Captain, there’s residual theta radiation waste in the Klingon vessel’s antimatter recyclers, and some radioactive samples in what’s left of the science labs on the Tycho. Nothing life threatening, at least not in the short term.”
Hrelle nodded. “But still present. Thank you, Cadet.” He signalled for C’Rash to draw closer before continuing. “Cadet, you’ve had basic unarmed combat training at the Academy, is that right?”
“Uh, yes, Sir. I’m sorry, should I have- should I have done something to-”
He held up a hand to interrupt her. “Would you like to learn more? Things you’ll never learn anywhere else?”
The cadet brightened as she realised she wasn’t being punished. “Yes. Yes, I would, Sir.”
“Good. Lt Shall here teaches a course in her spare time, she’ll be more than happy to include you, I’m sure. Oh, and for the record: if anyone – anyone – puts their hands on you without your leave, you have my express permission to kick their ass back to wherever they came from. Understood?”
She couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Then he turned back to Navarro and the others, declaring loudly, “In accordance with Starfleet Safety Regulation 3510, I’m declaring this site a Hazardous Radiation Area. All civilians will return to their vessel and depart the planet immediately, or face detention.”
Protests erupted through the group, some approaching Navarro, but he focused on Hrelle. “Hazardous? Are you kidding me? We scanned the wreckage ourselves! There’s no hazardous radiation here, Hrelle!”
“That’s ‘Captain Hrelle’ to you, Mr Navarro. And if there isn’t hazardous radiation here now, there will be, after I drop a quantum torpedo on the site.”
“WHAT? You can’t do that! We put a lot of effort bringing the wreckage down in one piece for our clients!”
“Not my problem. You’re welcome to lodge a formal complaint with Starfleet Command. I’m sure they’ll give it all the attention it deserves.”
Navarro pointed a finger at him. “I could have your job for this!”
“You wouldn’t like my job, you have to deal with all sorts of annoying little pricks who think their threats hold any weight... oh, and you if don’t drop that finger right now, Bubulah, I’ll snap it off, nail it to your forehead and turn you into a unicorn.”
As Navarro quickly complied, Hrelle continued. “You have twenty minutes to be away from the blast zone. If you’re still here, your clients will be getting a more intense war experience than they may have paid for.” He finally turned and rejoined Zir, C’Rash and the Security team. “Let’s go.”
As Navarro quickly complied, Hrelle continued. “You have twenty minutes to be away from the blast zone. If you’re still here, your clients will be getting a more intense war experience than they may have paid for.” He finally turned and rejoined Zir, C’Rash and the Security team. “Let’s go.”
*
Precisely twenty minutes later, Hrelle was back on the Bridge, watching the ascent of the Cavalier from the atmosphere of the planetoid, before ordering, “Fire.”
Seconds later, the apple-red flare of a single quantum torpedo erupted from the Surefoot’s forward launcher, soaring downward, its flare increasing as it cut through the thin atmosphere.
He rose to his feet, still staring at the screen, his voice solemn and carrying to the others present. “We commend the remains of our sister vessel, the USS Tycho, to Eternity. She served nobly and faithfully, protected her crew and fulfilled her mission to the end. We will remember her.”
Onscreen, there was a tiny flash on the planet surface, with a ripple up into the surrounding clouds.
“The Cavalier is leaving the system at high warp,” T’Varik reported.
Hrelle grunted. “Don’t worry, Mr Navarro, there’s a lot of war in the Galaxy, I’m sure you’ll find another place for your clients to get their photo opportunities.”
*
Hrelle and C’Rash circled each other on the exercise mats, claws extended, going through the swipes, spins and kicks that made up the Caitian martial art of K’Gressir. And Hrelle sensed that his niece was holding back, obviously still concerned about his physical state following his recovery from almost dying.
A concern he secretly shared. Part of his recovery involved a rewiring of his brain, losing much of his fighting experience and skills. He still had his Caitian strength, speed and reflexes, and he was losing the belly and building up his stamina. But there were times when he felt like he was a First Year Cadet again.
But it was more than that. He had also lost his Beast, the subpersonality he had kept within him to deal with moments of life-and-death struggle. The Beast could dispatch his foes as easily as shrugging water off his fur… and not have any emotional difficulties about it. Now, when he faced a real foe, he didn’t know how he would handle it-
C’Rash’s foot struck his left knee, sending him down and making him twist his tail. He cursed.
She was crouching at his side instantly. “Uncle Esek! Are you okay?”
He cursed again, but nodded, replying through clenched teeth. “Wasn’t paying attention- stupid Squab mistake-”
Anxiety creased her expression. “You need to take a break. You’re working out with me privately, taking those swordsmanship lessons with Tattok and Weynik- it’s too much, too soon-”
He shook off her touch and helped himself up, breathing hard through the pain. “We’re in the middle of a War. I don’t know when I might need to fight, tooth and claw, again. I have to be ready, for the ship, for Kami and Misha and Sreen-”
“Yeah, yeah.” She went for some water for herself and him. “Speaking of which, has Misha accepted his inevitable brotherhood yet?”
Hrelle paused to drink, glad she didn’t pursue the question of his current physical state any further. “No, but he’s suggested that we sell the new cub to the Ferengi.”
C’Rash chuckled. “He’ll change his mind. Especially when he realises he’ll have someone around who’s smaller than him, someone to boss. That’s how my big sister felt with me.”
“Yes, but I’m sure it helped that you were probably naturally annoying from the day you emerged from your Mama. I was trying to reach Sasha to see if she could come over and visit and talk with him, but she’s still finishing up her assignment on the Dragonheart. Hopefully he’ll warm up to the notion. Kami says she’s planning something to help him out-”
The Training Room intercom chirped, and T’Varik’s voice filled the air. “Captain, we have received a Priority Message from Admiral Tattok. You and Counselor Hrelle are to beam over to the Triton immediately.”
Hrelle frowned, glancing at an equally-bemused C’Rash. “Kami? Any reason why?”
“No, Sir. The ‘immediately’ part was stressed in the message, however.”
“Acknowledged. Have the Counselor meet me in Transport Room One. Hrelle out.” He walked over to the bench for his jacket and boots. “Wonder what’s up?”
C’Rash finished her water before suggesting, “Maybe he heard your next cub was up for sale, and wanted to get the first bid in?”
*
USS Triton, Deck 2 Fore, Captain’s Ready Room:
The female Klingon dominating the viewscreen was scarred, haggard, but retained a rude beauty to her – at least, to Captain Hrelle’s eyes. But that wasn’t as striking as her air of command; she would need it, he surmised, as female Klingon ship commanders seemed as rare as charitable Ferengi.
Then his attention returned as she began to speak. “We have 47 Starfleet Prisoners of War; I am including their details and medical conditions with this transmission. Their injuries are such that we cannot maintain long-term care for them. My understanding is that you might be willing to not let them die. If this is so, you may have them, and we will honour a temporary ceasefire to transfer them to you.
Respond within two Standard hours of receiving this message, to arrange for the exchange. But I have one condition: only one ship can be sent to collect them, and it must be the USS Surefoot. We will accept only the Fat Cat.”
As the transmission ended, replaced by the familiar Starfleet logo, Captain Weynik, sitting on Hrelle’s left, looked up at his old friend. “I think she means you, Squab.”
Hrelle glanced down at the Roylan. “Can you actually see over the table? Oh, and you’re the Squab.”
“No, you’re the Squab!”
“No, YOU’RE the Squab!”
“No-”
A rap on the table beside them drew their attention, as on Hrelle’s right, Kami noted, “Boys, keep this up and I’m going to make you sit separately.”
They went silent. Standing at the head of the table, Admiral Tattok grunted. “I might have to invite you to all my staff meetings, Counselor; your husband and my son never cease to act up when they get together.” He turned to the only other occupant in the room. “Mr Jacobs?”
Sitting opposite Hrelle at the table, the elderly human male who used to be known as Admiral Joseph ‘Tycho Joe’ Jacobs before he moved into a new phase in his life as civilian advisor to the Thirteenth Fleet on Klingons, reached out to the controls and restored the Klingon’s image, frowning in concentration as he read the Klingon sigils in the background. “Her name is Captain Julkrehl, of the House of Hustrern, from the Mastrah Central Province. Non-aristocratic, ordinary folk, will probably never make it into the Hall of Heroes.
And her vessel is the IKS Augr, designated as... an ambulance ship.” He made a sound. “The Klingon version of the Surefoot, it seems. This is something new for them, Admiral, devoting a vessel strictly to the collection and treatment of their wounded.”
“Maybe I’ve inspired them?” Hrelle quipped brightly.
Jacobs smiled at the man. “Of course, it won’t be one of their better ships. And certainly no Klingon male would be forced to take such a menial role in war time.”
Hrelle’s Happy Tail diminished, as Kami patted his hand teasingly. “There, there, Sweetie, don’t take it personally.”
“But is the offer genuine?” Weynik asked.
“The personnel records they sent correspond to crew on ships reported destroyed in battle,” Tattok informed his son. “And unaccounted for.”
“Then why Hrelle and the Surefoot? It has to be a trap.”
“Actually, I’m not surprised they chose Captain Hrelle,” Jacobs opined. “Given that he risked his ship and himself to save over 800 Klingon civilians on the IKS Borha’l. There’s a lot of debt owed there for them.”
“But he also destroyed three of their K’t’nga battle cruisers before that,” Weynik argued, leaning away from Hrelle as the Caitian reached out and playfully tried to tickle him under his chin. “There’s a lot of debt owed there for them, too. And maybe this Captain Julkrehl is doing this as a means of taking him out and gaining some glory she thinks she’s not getting collecting and treating their wounded?” He finally reached up and smacked Hrelle’s hand away.
“I don’t think so.” Kami glared at her husband until he stopped messing about, before continuing. “Her tone, body language, choice of words, all suggest that while she resents the lack of recognition for her work, and the sexist attitudes of her fellow Captains in their fleet, she is sincere. Now, whether or not that sincerity is being used by her superiors as part of a greater scheme...” She shrugged.
“Thank you, Counselor,” Tattok responded, looking back at Jacobs. “You’ve been studying their ship movements and transmissions, Joe. Are there any signs of an imminent attack? And that this is just a means of removing our ambulance ship before this occurs?”
The elderly human pursed his wrinkled lips. “Something’s coming up, Admiral, possibly a full assault on Sherman’s Planet. But not just yet. And I should point out that when – not if – that attack begins, they will not devote much if any resources towards treating their wounded POWs. If we can get our people back before then… we should, before it’s too late.”
Tattok nodded. “We have just under an hour before the deadline for a response passes. Captain Hrelle, I won’t order you to go, but-”
“He’ll go, Admiral,” Kami assured him.
Hrelle looked to her. “I can speak for myself, you know.”
She smiled back. “But they’d much rather hear my voice, darling.”
“She’s right, Chunky,” Weynik quipped. “She’s easier on all our senses. Hurry up and get those Command qualifications, Counselor, so you can take his place.”
“You’ll meet the Augr alone, as demanded,” Tattok continued, “But I’m assigning Weynik and the Ajax to stay just outside of their sensor range; with her own enhanced sensors, she can keep an eye on you without their knowing, and if things go wrong, she’ll fly in and rescue you.”
“As per usual,” Weynik quipped. “Only this time with a fast, sleek, kickass Defiant-class powerhouse, instead of my old spacewhale the Starsong.”
“Have they fitted your high chair onto the Bridge yet?” Hrelle joked.
“And now onto other business,” Tattok interrupted, still focused on Hrelle. “Captain, care to tell us about the events involving a civilian ship in the Gamma Lyrae system two days ago?”
Hrelle shrugged, not expecting this but recovering quickly. “Not much to tell, Sir: war tourists were visiting the site where the Tycho had fallen in battle.” He paused, sensing the reaction from Jacobs to the name of his former command. “They had tractored most of the wreckage of it and the Klingon ship it had destroyed down to the Class-M planetoid there, so their rich clients could climb around the debris like maggots and loot it for souvenirs.
I objected to the Tycho being treated like that, liberally invoked Starfleet Health and Safety Regulations, and gave her a more fitting send-off with a quantum torpedo. I did submit a report on the incident-”
“I read it. But there was nothing in it about your attempted assassination of a member of the Nekrosi Royal House.”
Hrelle chuckled – until he saw the expression on the Roylan’s face, and sobered up. “Sorry, Sir, but that wasn’t how I remember the events. If you’re referring to my interaction with Prince, uh, Asshole...”
“Isole,” Tattok corrected.
“Yes, Sir, Prince Isole, I can assure you, it wasn’t an attempted assassination.”
“Oh? What did you do to him?”
“I... just threw him across a field.”
Everyone stared at him.
“It was a small field,” Hrelle clarified.
Weynik laughed, ignoring his father’s stern expression as the Admiral continued. “And did you threaten him as well?”
Hrelle felt his skin flush under his fur. “There... may have been some implicit threats suggested when I spoke to him, Sir.”
“And what exactly did you say?”
“The… content is probably not important, Sir-”
“What did you say, Captain?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Hrelle told him.
Weynik’s eyestalks bulged. “Bloody Hemra, Wide Load! ‘May have been some implicit threats suggested’? What did he do to deserve all that, steal your lunch?”
Hrelle kept his gaze fixed on Tattok, his own face taut with anger at the memory of it – and at the notion of being publicly admonished. “No. He assaulted one of my cadets, Zir Dassene; you’ll remember her, Admiral, I introduced her to you at our staff meeting last week.”
Tattok’s expression shifted. “Assaulted? What did he do to her?”
“He grabbed her, something she didn’t want or ask for. That’s assault in my book; he was lucky I didn’t arrest him on the spot. I take it he came crying to you about it, Sir?”
“Yes – via his mother, the Monarch Prime of Nekros, through the Federation’s Chief of Staff, and then down through Starfleet’s Commander-in-Chief, and finally Fleet Admiral Sharlav. And all of these people – none of whom I ever want to hear from if I can ever help it, by the way – agree that the Federation needs the Nekrosi’s help at this time; they’re providing logistic support in their sector of space for us, allowing us to divert resources towards the Klingon Front.”
“I understand, Sir, but-”
“Did you know that Prince Isole and his sister are only sixteen years old?”
“Really? They seem as tall as any full-sized stroke-offs I’ve ever met-”
“Their height is due to Nekrosi being Lightworlders. Their planet’s lower gravity requires them to wear compensatory antigravity weaves in environments like ours. And your throwing the Prince around on that planet like a Zeroball could have damaged that life support equipment, seriously injuring him in the process.”
Hrelle started at that; the Prince did seem quite light at the time, though he had, perhaps foolishly in retrospect, put it down to his Caitian strength. “I... wasn’t aware of that. But with respect, Sir, he wouldn’t have been in any danger if he’d just kept his hands to himself-”
“Captain, I have managed to find a means of mollifying the Prince and his sister, and everyone else involved. They are very interested in seeing, meeting Klingons in the flesh, and you just happen to be visiting some, and in a safe, non-dangerous environment. So, you’ll be taking the Prince and Princess with you to meet with Captain Julkrehl. And you will also use the time to apologise to him for what you said and did-”
“Kiss my furry ass.”
The room went deathly quiet.
Tattok leaned forward. “I beg your pardon, Captain? What did you say?”
Hrelle was about to repeat himself – when Kami’s hand tightened over his, and she leaned forward instead. “He said he’ll do whatever it takes to settle this matter, Admiral. That his pride is not as great as his maturity and sense of duty to Starfleet and the Federation, and that he thanks you for the opportunity to make amends and smooth things over, not just with the Nekrosi, but with your superiors, because he’s aware of how much you have to deal with already, without this additional headache.”
The Roylan Admiral continued to stare, before finally replying, “You pack a lot of information into what sounded like just four words with a vastly different meaning, Captain. Quite a talent.” Then he made a sound before continuing. “The Prince and his party are on their way here now in the Cavalier. Contact them immediately and arrange for their transport over to the Surefoot; naturally you’ll treat them as the Very Important Persons that they are. Give them a tour of your ship, let them fire your phasers, give them ice cream and candy, whatever will make them happy. And of course, be ready for the rendezvous with the Augr. Dismissed.”
Everyone departed the room, congregating in the corridor outside. Jacobs moved up to Hrelle, offering his hand. “Thank you, Captain, for what you did for the Tycho. I owe you.” He wore a look of sympathy. “If it helps, I’ve had to swallow my pride as well more than once during my career as a Starfleet officer. The bad taste doesn’t last long in your mouth, I promise.”
“Thank you, Sir.” He watched the old man depart, before turning to Weynik, who had remained. “Well, Short Round? Come on, let’s hear it, do your worst, get it out of your system.”
But the Roylan just looked up at him and smiled with admiration. “If my daughter was a Starfleet cadet, I’d want her under Papa Cat’s protection.” He smacked Hrelle’s rear as he walked away. “Catch you in space, Wide Load. And remember what I said about getting those Command qualifications, Counselor.”
Hrelle turned, gave Kami a sour look, and started towards the nearest Transporter Room, saying nothing. Fortunately, his wife more than made up for his silence, carrying on a conversation between them, doing a remarkable approximation of his own voice for his dialogue. “‘I hope you didn’t mind me butting in like that, Esek.’ ‘What? Of course not, Kami! I trust you to know what’s best.’ ‘Thanks, Esek! It’s just that sometimes you get, well...’ ‘I know, Sugartail, I know, sometimes I can be a big, strong, growling male.’”
Then, when he continued to refuse to acknowledge her, she quickened her pace until she stopped him in his tracks, and then began marching around him, beating her chest with her fists and chanting, “‘I’m a big, strong, growling male! Big, strong, growling male! I can’t apologise because it might make my penis shrink!’”
He winced as Triton crewmembers walked by, unable to ignore the display, and glared at her. “I don’t sound like that.”
She stopped marching in front of him long enough to deny, “Yes you do.” Then she began strutting again. “BIG STRONG GROWLING MALE! BIG STRONG GROWLING MALE! PENIS! PENIS! PENIS-”
“Cut it out!” he snapped. “You’ve made your point!” He lowered his voice, but not the sharpness in his tone as she faced him again. “You know, you used to support me unconditionally.”
“Actually, I never have,” she corrected mildly, “It’s just that for the most part, you make the right decisions for the right reasons, so it’s rare that I’ve had to disagree with you. And if it matters, if the circumstances hadn’t required it, I wouldn’t have disagreed with you in public like that. But I had to intervene, to keep you from getting yourself into trouble with Tattok with your pride and your guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“Yes, guilt, for bringing Zir down there and inadvertently putting her in that situation. It wasn’t your fault, but since when has that ever stopped you from feeling guilty about something involving the cadets?” She reached up and stroked his muzzle. “It’s my fault, too; my body’s putting out pheromones making you over-protective, and I’m going to have to start taking suppressants again.
In the meantime, bear this in mind: you’re willing to sacrifice your life for the Federation. All that you’re being asked to do now is something a lot easier, to swallow your pride and apologise to someone you’ll never meet again and who ultimately doesn’t matter to any of us. Joe Jacobs is right; the aftertaste passes more quickly than a court martial for insubordination.”
He continued to glare at her, before finally conceding, “Fine! I’ll apologise and grovel and debase myself to Prince Asshole until even the Gnome is satisfied! But you’d better damn well know that I don’t regret one damn thing I did back there on that planet! And I’m gonna make sure that while he’s onboard, he doesn’t get another chance to get his grubby hands on Sasha! Got it?”
She blinked. “Got it.”
He nodded, stepping around her. “Good! Now let’s get back home.”
She watched him storm off, and murmured to herself, “‘Sasha’, huh? Your Freudian Slip is showing, Husband of Mine.”
*
“USS Surefoot-A, Captain’s Log, Stardate 50039.13, Captain Esek Hrelle, commanding: we have received the time and place for the rendezvous with the Augr, and are about to collect Prince Assh- Prince Isole and his sister along the way. Fortunately, the timetable for meeting with the Klingons means the Nekrosi won’t be with us for long, but hopefully long enough to smooth things over with them...”
*
Kami set the cup of tea down beside the cadet, before settling herself down on the couch beside her, leaning back and half-resting her own cup on the bulge at her abdomen. She smiled at it. “Give it a few months, and I’ll be able to balance a three-course dinner here.”
Zir smiled politely; her scent and posture remained tense, prompting the Counselor to assure her, “You’re here because of what happened on that planet – but you’re not in trouble because of it.”
Zir’s stance shifted; she wasn’t relaxed, but she no longer appeared on a knife edge. “I thought- because I didn’t react to- to what they were-”
“As I understand it, you did react,” Kami corrected her gently. “And in fact you reacted quite appropriately. You made it quite clear to those privileged jerks that you were performing your duties as a member of Starfleet, you were polite, insistent, but they refused to listen. And then someone put their hands on you without your permission, disregarded your rights to your own integrity. You’re not at fault. And, given what you had to endure to escape the Orion homeworld, the Captain and I want to make sure that you understood that.”
Zir’s olive-green skin darkened, her voice rose an octave and she tensed like a spring again. “The Captain- Gods, he knows what I did to- to-?”
Kami quickly set down her cup and took Zir’s hand in hers, holding it warmly. “Not the full details, but… we both know he’s familiar enough with your people’s society to guess the rest. And no, he doesn’t judge you… except to hold you in even higher esteem. You did what you had to do… something he understands more than maybe anyone else you’ll know.” She smiled. “You have people who care for you here. I promise.”
And as she spoke reassuringly, she purred under her breath, letting her trills run through her touch and into the Orion girl, she watched the girl react to the subliminal influence; it was a simple trick, usually employed for tiny mewling cubs and didn’t always work as well on adults or non-Caitians, but it seemed to do the trick here.
Finally Zir nodded and even offered a smile. “Thank you, Counselor. I mean it.”
Kami smiled back and let her go. “I know you do; I’m an excellent judge of character.” Then she sobered, slightly. “For instance, I also know that you’re stronger than even the Captain gives you credit for.”
“Stronger? I- I don’t understand-”
“Well, another reason you’re in here now is because that miscreant who touched you, and who got his ass rightly handed to him by my husband, is apparently a Prince Isole, a member of the Nekrosi Royal Family, whom the Federation needs to help with the War effort. And as a gesture of amity, it has been agreed that he be allowed to visit the Surefoot for a few hours and see the Klingons we’ll be meeting.”
Zir tensed, but otherwise controlled her reactions, better than Kami had hoped in fact, allowing the Counselor to continue. “Captain Hrelle wanted you to be given a task to keep you away from possibly running into Prince Charmless while he’s onboard, and not tell you that he was here. I agreed about the first part… but not the second. I want you to know beforehand… and I want you to also know that you’re not being punished for being a victim. But it is going to be tense enough already; Captain Hrelle doesn’t want the Prince here either, but duty does not always coincide with desire.”
Zir considered the words, before finally nodding. “I understand, Counselor.” She paused, and then noted, “Captain Hrelle was really angry with the Prince. He, uh, said something to him. I couldn’t hear it, but-”
“It’s probably for the best that you couldn’t.” Kami smiled. “Suffice it to say that he’s very devoted to protecting those under his command… a feeling I suspect you two have in common. Now, the senior officers will be kissing some Nekrosi tail and dealing with the Klingons for the next couple of hours, so I need someone to keep an eye on a certain energetic little cub who is determined that he will not have a little sister...”
*
Hrelle forced his arms to stay at his sides and not tug at his dress uniform: a long, wraparound tunic that emphasised his belly and made him look as pregnant as his wife, who currently stood beside him. In comparison, Commander T’Varik and the rest of his senior and junior officers present in Transporter Room One all looked handsome in their formal gear. Bastards. “Energise.”
“You’ll be fine,” Kami whispered to him reassuringly, as the whine of the transporter filled the room.
A sound from the transporter console made him look at Chief Grev, operating the controls. “Something wrong, Chief? Are you accidentally sending them into another universe?”
The Tellarite chuckled. “Nothing so fortunate, Captain. I’m just detecting neutrino-based energy weapons on their persons. Transporter Safety Protocols are depowering them now, while also disregarding the antigravity weave generators in their clothing.”
Twin columns of energy coalesced before them: the two Nekrosi, still looking resplendent in flowing black with elaborate silver patterns, their smooth purple skin reflecting the overhead light.
Hrelle stepped forward; time to get it over with… He bowed slightly. “Your Highnesses, Prince Isole, Princess Odede, welcome onboard the United Star Ship Surefoot. It is an honour to have you here.” He turned to Isole. “Your Highness, in the presence of my officers, I wish to offer my apologies for my reaction to the incident which occurred on the planet at our last meeting. I was merely driven by my concern for-”
But Isole stepped down from the Transporter pad, strode up to him and struck him across the snout with the back of his long, slender hand.
Hrelle stepped back, hearing rather than seeing the reaction from Kami and his fellow officers. The blow itself was… pitiful; he had felt stronger punches from Gorn fresh from the egg. But still he gave the reaction expected. “Well, Your Highness, that certainly... taught me something.”
Now Kami drew up to Hrelle, snaking an arm around his. “And so it should, Husband of Mine. It is fortunate that the Prince has clearly chosen not to express his displeasure any further.” She looked to Isole and bowed her head. “I am Kami Hrelle, the Captain’s wife and Counselor. Thank you for your mercy towards my husband, Your Highness. It is the sign of a truly wise and strong leader.”
The young Nekrosi rubbed the hand that had struck Hrelle, regarded her… and nodded graciously. “You are welcome, Counselor.” He stepped aside. “My consort-sister, Princess Odede.”
She stepped forward, her sneer matching Isole’s. “It is pleasing to see you’ve learned your place, Captain. Had you put your hands on my brother within the boundaries of the Commonwealth, your hide would by now be a rug on the floor of one of our summer palaces. Now, where are the Klingons we were promised?”
“We are on our way to meet them now, Your Highness; our ETA with them is one hour, in an area of open space currently identified as No Man’s Land, claimed by both the Federation and the Klingon Empire. I should also point out however that this is not an official, sanctioned visit, and that you will be there as observers only. There are 47 wounded members of Starfleet we are collecting-”
Isole waved off his continued explanation. “We are not interested in the fate of insignificants.”
Hrelle nodded after a moment. “Then perhaps we could amuse you with a tour? Our Chief of Security Lt Shall has arranged for a demonstration of her team’s abilities in armed and unarmed combat, as well as our hand weapons. We would love to hear how they compare with Nekrosi military technology and training-”
“There will be no comparison, Captain, I can assure you. The Nekrosi Commonwealth has no equal.”
“Of course. Allow me to introduce you to my senior officers-”
Odede frowned. “We are not interested in the names of your minions. Take us to your weapons.”
Hrelle blinked, before indicating Commander T’Varik. “My First Officer and Lt Shall here will escort you to Security, and the Counselor and I will follow. The rest of you: Dismissed.”
The junior officers and Chief Grev departed, and T’Varik and C’Rash guided the Nekrosi out. Hrelle watched the doors shut before saying anything. “Just think, someday those shitbiscuits will have absolute power over billions of innocent people.” He looked to Kami. “I mean the Prince and Princess, not our officers.”
“No kidding. My psych assessment based on the Starfleet Intelligence reports on them didn’t do justice to their level of arrogance and privilege. Are they really as advanced as they claim?”
“No, they’re just another set of barely-warp-capable thugs in their own patch of space who think they can piss with the big boys; their value lies in their being the only real power in their sector, and in our needing them. Unfortunately there’ll be plenty of other pricks like them whose tails we’ll need to kiss to get through the War...”
He started as her hand rested on his shoulder. “Just a couple more hours, we meet Julkrehl, collect our wounded, and be rid of those two pests forever.” She smiled. “And come home to what I hope will be an exhausted cub. One more amenable to a little sister, as well, if he pays attention to the program I had customised for him and Alpha Squad.”
He eyed her. “Will he be alright with them?”
Kami smiled. “Of course. They’ll keep him out of trouble.”
*
Cadet Stalac spun in place, faster and faster, the young Caitian cub on top of him holding on, squealing with delight, until Misha finally let go, tumbling into the collection of pillows and cushions in a corner of the room-
Just as the door to his quarters slid open, and Zir entered with the rest of Alpha Squad, the Squad Leader demanding, “What did I tell you about doing that?”
The Horta rotated until he faced Zir, the voder unit in the combadge bolted to the side of his rocky hide translating his vibrational frequencies as a deep, booming male voice. “Doing what? He was taking a nap over there waiting for you to return. Honestly.”
Misha jumped up from the pillows and cushions, bouncing up and down, his tail swishing about excitedly. “Again! Spin again!”
Zir rested her hands on her hips. “We have to have a discussion about your definition of the word ‘honestly’.”
Peter Boone smiled as he strode up, catching Misha when the cub started swaying dizzily. “Little ‘Uns can never keep a secret, Stal.”
“Or stand up straight, it seems. Thankfully my people have no problem with that, or we’d never manage to tunnel anywhere.”
Astrid Michel smiled mischievously. “That looked like fun. Are you up for giving me a ride now, Stalac?”
Beside her, Tori Emoto crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I’d say you’d go for anything in pants, but Stal isn’t even wearing any.”
“There’s no need to be envious, dear, I’ve offered to share your bed on more than one occasion for a Muff Snuffle-”
“Hi!” Zir said loudly and deliberately to them, indicating the Caitian cub. “Have you two met Misha here? The Captain and Counselor’s cub, who’s too young to hear such talk?”
Misha stopped swaying enough to see the new arrivals, and beam broadly. “Hungry Hungry Hippo!” Then he raced across, bypassing the girls for the large grey-hided Hroch Security cadet Urad Kaldron, leaping up and climbing up the hugely-muscular pachydermoid, using his claws without Urad even feeling them, until he was straddling his shoulders. “Made it!”
Urad looked up at the new arrival, chuckling. “Indeed, Little Comrade; well climbed, there! And as I have had my second dinner, I am ready for…” He glanced at Zir. “Whatever is scheduled for us, Comrade Squad Leader.”
“What is scheduled for us, Zir?” Peter asked.
Zir breathed in, grinning at Misha as the cub played the top of Urad’s broad head like it was a bongo drum. “Well, I’ve been told that Captain Misha here has been a very good cub, and has earned himself an evening on the Holodeck. And that he’ll need us to help him on his adventure.”
The use of the word make Misha sit up, eyes widening. “Venture?”
Astrid yawned. “Can we assume that, as a minor is involved, it will not be a tour of the finest nightclubs and fashion boutiques in Argelius and Casperia Prime?”
Tori snickered. “Believe it or not, the Universe does not revolve around what you want, Flygirl.”
The other girl smiled. “I’ve yet to see any contradictory proof to that, sweetie.”
“Come on,” Zir prompted. As she watched Stalac slither towards the door, she pointed to where he had been, where now smoke rose from burnt fibres. “Stal, you’ve squirted acid!”
“Uh oh,” Misha breathed. “Trouble Time!”
The Horta spun around. “Oh! Sorry, Zir. That doesn’t usually happen.”
Astrid smirked, winking. “Don’t berate him too much, darling, it happens to most boys around me.”
“Ugh, I threw up in my mouth a little,” Tori muttered.
Minutes later, they were outside the doors to Holodeck One, Zir ordering the computer, “Load Program Crooked Tailed Cub One.”
Still riding on top of Urad, Misha squealed. “Yay! Mama got it!” Then he leapt off of the Hroch, landing easily onto the floor.
“Crooked Tailed Cub?” Peter asked, bemused.
“The Crooked Tailed Cub is a hero in a set of classic Caitian children’s adventure stories,” Zir explained. “Misha told me he has all the books in paper form and his parents read them to him. The Cub lives alone in the jungle, but gets into all kinds of mischief, fights pirates, smugglers, monsters-”
“Yeah!” Misha agreed, bouncing up and down. “Go! Go!”
As if responding to the cub’s impatience, the computer announced, “Program installation complete. You may enter when ready.”
Misha almost ran into the doors before they fully slid apart; a hot, moist wall of air hit them, as did a burst of light from a lush, verdant tropical environment. Zir held out a hand. “Misha! Wait for us!”
Astrid grunted. “Quick, shut the doors on the little ankle biter and let him have fun, and we can pop into the Rec Lounge for a few rounds-”
“The Crooked Tailed Cub has a group of fantastic creatures to help him,” Zir informed her, smiling from a feeling of anticipation as much from being able to disappoint the human woman. “I think we qualify in that department. Even the daughter of a trillionaire industrialist.”
Astrid’s face darkened, but said nothing further.
As they entered, to an environment of lush trees and rocks, the scent of blossoms and the sound of birds thick in the warm air, Zir found to her amazement that the program was adjusting how their off-duty clothes appeared on them: now they seemed to be clad in loose-fitting but rugged shorts and vests of various designs, with colourful headbands and baldrics, and boots and gloves and belts, very much like what Misha was wearing already; only Stalac remained unclothed, of course, though his Starfleet combadge now appeared to be an elaborate round sigil with a feline logo in the centre, which Zir recognised from some of the covers of Misha’s books on his favourite character.
“Well,” Astrid concluded, looking at herself and smiling. “It is true: I can make anything look good. I must confess I only partly believed what everyone has told me over the years.” Her smile became a grin as she winked at Tori. “That’s not true, I totally believed them.”
“So, in the height of climax,” Tori quipped. “Do you call out your own name?”
“What did I say before about that talk?” Zir scolded, before being distracted by the sight of Peter. Oh my… she wasn’t certain if the Holodeck computer was accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular arms, that cornfield blonde hair and smile… oh my-
“Mmm,” Stalac noted, passing over a small rock that he dissolved and digested with his acids. “Basic, but not without some flavour. I was told one could not eat Holodeck food, but that appears to apply only to you Carbs.”
That brought her back to the here and now. “Be careful, we don’t want you eating your way through the deck and disrupting the Holodeck mechanisms!”
The Horta drew back. “Not to worry, Fearless Leader, I can detect what’s replicated rock and what’s bulkhead and circuitry.”
“You also peed acid on our carpet,” she reminded him, before turning around and looking out into the undergrowth, scanning it for- “Misha? Where are you?” Her heart raced a little. Where was he? “MISHA!” Oh no… he was in their care! If he goes missing, was hurt in here-
A warm, reassuring hand rested on her arm: Peter’s. “You’re not worried about him, are you, Zir? He’s only really…” He pointed to the greenery, chuckling. “About four metres away, behind all the holodeck twisting light and sound and perspective. And I reckon this children’s program has more safeties than we can count.”
Zir felt herself flush with how foolish she reacted just now… and with his touch.
Suddenly, all around them, a soft woman’s voice – which sounded remarkably to Zir like the Counselor’s – filled the air. “On the great island of Rtarra, at the edge of the Eastern Horizon, a cub lived alone in the jungle, apart from everyone else, but always in their service against those who would threaten their peace and happiness. No one knew his name, and had barely even seen him, only his crooked tail as he leapt back into the trees. And that is why they called him… the Crooked Tailed Cub.”
Astrid yawned. “Well, there’s a surprise...”
Then a large bird covered in bright blue feathers fluttered its way from the foliage, quickly pursued by Misha, his face delighted as he pointed to the bird. “Nini! Nini!”
Urad watched the bird circle lazily just circle over them. “Do you require me to kill it?”
As if in response, the Narrator’s voice returned. “The Crooked Tailed Cub was friends with most of the animals on the island, including Nini the Sunbird, who often warned him of dangers.”
Then the bird landed on a rock, crying, “Pirates! Pirates in the Northern Cove! They have taken her! Go! Go!”
“We go! We go!” Misha beckoned to Alpha Squad. “Come! Come!” Then he raced along a narrow, winding path that had suddenly appeared in the foliage.
Zir grinned, looking to the others. “Well? You heard the Crooked Tailed Cub! He wants all of us to come!” Then she pointed a finger at a smirking Astrid. “Don’t say a word...”
*
The Security Suite sported its own Holosuite for target shooting and tactical practice. It was currently active, offering a generic urban setting, complete with buildings, booths, light fixtures and parked land vehicles, along with various humanoid figures, some armed, some unarmed.
But all now burning beneath the sustained, indiscriminate phaser beams in the fervent hands of Isole and Odede, cackling with delight at the destruction they inflicted, competing with each other to see who could blow away the most heads. More holograms took their place, and they too, fell.
Hrelle stood at the rear with his shocked crew, tense, as if the Nekrosi might turn on them once they ran out of holographic targets, though the safeties here would of course prevent accidents like that. Then his combadge chirped, as Lt Neheru announced, “Sir, the IKS Augr has arrived, and requests permission to beam their party onboard.”
“Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Give them the coordinates of the Shuttlebay, and confirm a beam-in time of five minutes from now. Hrelle out.” Finally he had enough, and called out, “Computer: End Program.”
The phasers in the twins’ hands powered down, and the holographic sitting and corpses vanished. Isole turned back to him, his skin turning a darker shade of purple with anger. “How dare you? We were having fun! I order you to restore power!”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Your Highness. We have a schedule to keep with the Klingons.”
The Prince strode up to him, raising his open hand as if to strike Hrelle again.
Hrelle didn’t move a muscle, except to tell him in a low, dangerous growl, “Don’t.”
Isole froze, relaxing his arm, apprehension in his expression.
Now T’Varik stepped forward. “We do not wish Your Highnesses to miss the opportunity to meet Klingons in the flesh. That is why you boarded our vessel, is it not?”
Odede joined her brother, regarding the First Officer like something under her boots. “You have kept us waiting long enough, Vulcan. You are not as efficient as your people’s reputation claims, are you?”
T’Varik raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained composed as she replied, “I will accept your criticism with all its inherent worth.” She indicated the door. “If you’ll follow us, please?”
As they began filing out, C’Rash approached Hrelle. “Captain, are you sure we shouldn’t have a full Security detail with us down there? The Klingons-”
“-Are on an uncommon errand of mercy. And we agreed that neither party will meet with weapons.” He smiled. “Besides, if there’s trouble, we can use the Twins as shields.”
*
The Shuttlebay had been cleared of personnel, and the shuttlecraft stacked away, this being the best place for accepting the wounded Starfleet personnel from the Augr. Hrelle gently but firmly insisted that the two Nekrosi stand aside from everyone else, before tapping his combadge. “Hrelle to Bridge: we’re ready.”
“Acknowledged: four to beam in. No weapons detected on them, as per the agreement.”
Hrelle was silently grateful; despite himself, a part of him feared that this was indeed a trap, though Klingons were generally known for keeping their word. Still, he tensed as he saw the four crimson-red columns coalesce before them: a female he recognised from the transmission as Captain Julkrehl, two unidentified males, and one definitely identified male… Kline! Doctor Kline, who had been serving on the Surefoot as part of the Medical Exchange Program before the war started! But then he held back his reaction, unsure if the surgeon had made his current compatriots aware of his prior association here.
So he focused on Julkrehl, nodding curtly and respectfully to her. “NuqneH, Captain. Welcome onboard the Surefoot.”
She nodded back; her recorded image did not do justice to her air of command and authority. “Captain Hrelle. I commend your courage in agreeing to this meeting.”
“As I commend yours, for arranging for this in the first place.”
“I have been reliably informed that you would do the same for Klingon patients, under the circumstances.” She stuck out her chin. “We may not normally use our weapons in our work, but we are as fierce as our compatriots.”
“More,” Hrelle countered, smiling and indicating his officers. “My Counselor and wife, Kami, my First Officer Commander T’Varik, Chief of Security Lt Shall, and Chief Medical Officer Doctor Masterson.” After a pause he added, nodding to the twins. “These are... visitors from the Nekrosi Commonwealth. They were eager to see real life Klingons.”
Julkrehl grunted, barely acknowledging the Nekrosi, before making her own introductions. “My First Officer Commander Kalloq, my Second Officer Lieutenant Trebek… and I believe you are already familiar with my Chief Medical Officer Doctor Kline.”
The other Klingons nodded, but Kline stepped forward, as if ready to challenge Hrelle. “He does, Captain… and I note the Fat Cat is not as fat as when I last saw him. Have you finally seen sense and started to diet, Caitian?”
Hrelle chuckled. “I only eat Klingons now. You’re all tough.” They clasped hands, before Kami joined them. “You remember my Other Half?”
“Your Better Half, you mean?” Kline embraced Kami, before glancing down. “Another one?”
“Yes, Doctor, a girl.”
“Qapla! I didn’t think your husband had it in him! And Sasha and the Warrior Prince? They are well?”
“Sasha is a Lieutenant now, serving as an Operations Officer on various ships in the Fleet. And now that Misha is toilet trained, he’s ready to take on the Empire.”
Kline bellowed. “Good! Good! It will be a glorious battle!”
Behind Julkrehl, one of her senior officers, a younger, scowling male, sneered at the scene. “We did not come to exchange pleasantries, Starfleet-”
“BIjatlh 'e' yImev, Trebek!” Julkrehl snapped, barely glancing behind her. “They were shipmates! They have spilled blood together! You are a pup compared to them... and the rest of us!” But then she focused on Hrelle. “But our time is limited, Captain, and certain Klingons back in our fleet are eager to find any excuse for me to fail. So-”
Hrelle faced his counterpart again. “Of course. Doctor Masterson’s medical staff have the record you sent us, and have prepped our Sickbays, but we thought the wounded could be beamed directly here, where we-”
A sound from C’Rash caught his attention – and then he barely dodged a white beam of energy that cut just past his left forearm, singeing the sleeve of his dress uniform.
And struck Julkrehl squarely in the chest, sparks and flames erupting from her armour and flesh as she was propelled backwards to the bulkhead.
Hrelle spun towards the source of the energy beam… seeing Isole and Odede standing there, their Nekrosi weapons in hand. Isole’s eyes were wide with glee and his voice exultant. “I got her! I win!”
Odede cursed and raised her own weapon towards the Klingons.
Hrelle and C’Rash moved as one, each of them tackling the Nekrosi and disarming them. Hrelle crouched over Isole, his claws bared as he roared, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The Nekrosi prince stared up in terror and confusion at the response from the Caitian.
Noise from behind made Hrelle look behind him, where he saw the Klingon captain on the bulkhead, her body spasming, Kline and Masterson kneeling on either side, the CMO snapping, “Neuroleptic beam- cascade reaction- gotta get her to Sickbay-”
Then Julkrehl’s body stopped reacting.
Her First Officer Kalloq gasped… but her Second Officer stepped back, his face twisting with rage. “We came here under the terms of ceasefire! Unarmed! And this is how you repay us, Hrelle? With treachery?” He drew out his communicator. “Jol ylchu!”
“Trebek!” Kalloq barked at him. “No! They did not-”
But the Second Officer beamed away.
The doctors were lifting up Julkrehl’s body, Masterson noting, “We still have a chance to save her! But we have to move, now!” They raced out, Kalloq following them.
Kami was at Hrelle’s side, examining the burn on his sleeve. He shrugged off her concern, as T’Varik warned, “Captain, if the Klingons suspect treachery-”
She didn’t finish, as Hrelle smacked his combadge. “Bridge: Red Alert! Raise shields and open a channel to the Klingons, but do not power weapons! Even if fired upon!” As the Red Alert klaxon sounded, he continued. “T’Varik, help C’Rash get those two in the Brig, then both of you get to the Bridge!”
“I’ll go to Sickbay,” Kami volunteered.
“Be careful! If they can’t revive her, her First Officer might want revenge-”
“Kalloq won’t hurt me,” she assured her husband.
He didn’t have time to question her perceptions, racing to the Bridge. Seven Hells, what had happened? How did the Nekrosi power up one of their weapons? Why attack the Klingons? And if they didn’t revive Julkrehl, how would they manage to retrieve the wounded POWs?
Seven Hells...
He took in the tactical display immediately, but still barked, “Report!”
Neheru rose from the Captain’s Chair, joining Hrelle at the Tactical board behind them. “Sir, the Augr’s shields are raised and its weapons are powered, but they have not as yet moved or responded to our hails – but they did send a transmission back to the Klingon lines.” He indicated the profile of the Augr. “A Waqboch-class transport, eighty years old, Type-6 disruptors, no match for our shields or weapons, Sir.”
Hrelle growled. “I’m not worried about them, just our people over there… and the reinforcements they’ve called.”
The alert sounded, as Velkovsky at the Helm cried, “They’re firing!”
“Evasive Pattern Alpha!” Hrelle took his seat as he saw twin ruby-red disruptor bolts shot forth from the Augr, striking the Surefoot’s shields and making the vessel shudder, before they banked on a hard starboard. They wouldn’t easily pierce the Surefoot’s shields, but give them time...
From the Tactical station, one of the cadets on duty, a young Zakdorn female whose name escaped Hrelle, stammered with a growing panic, “S-Sir, we- we have to fire back!”
“Cadet-”
“They’ll kill us!”
“Cadet, stand down! Ensign Doyle, take over!” He let the exchange take place while he called up data on his chair panels, focusing on a lime-green ice giant planet at the edge of this system. “Irina! Take us in, 128-mark-312! That planet’s magnetic pole is feistier than Misha after he’s had too much sugar! Get us in there for sensor cover! Ignore the Klingons if they fire again!” As Velkovsky complied, he turned back to the anxious-looking Security cadet. “What’s your name again?”
The Zakdorn swallowed. “C-Cadet Taeni Marru, Sir.”
“Ms Marru, I decide when we fire. No one else. Is that understood?”
She nodded. “Y-Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
“If I let you return to your station, do you think you can remember that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Resume your duties.” He rose as he heard the Bridge doors slide open and he caught the scent of C’Rash and T’Varik, and faced them. “Well?”
The Vulcan responded first. “The Nekrosi have been disarmed and confined to the Brig.”
Hrelle felt his hands ball into fists. “I thought they had already been disarmed when we beamed them onboard!”
“The Transporter emptied the power cells in their hand weapons,” C’Rash confirmed sharply. “As expected.”
“But it ignored their antigravity harnesses,” T’Varik finished. “As the Transporter subroutines identified these as necessary life support equipment. However, both the weapons and the harnesses employ identical power cells, and the Nekrosi were able to employ some of the emergency cells on the harnesses.”
Hrelle cursed. “I want something done about that: a security algorithm warning us, or a subroutine removing the weapons altogether, or disabling them completely-”
“I will, Sir,” C’Rash promised.
“Did they at least give a reason for what they did? Were they hired, or was it revenge, or-”
“It was a game, Captain,” T’Varik informed him, unable or unwilling to hide her distaste at the notion. “Apparently they have not been satisfied with Mr Navarro delivering them to the wreckage of vessels to collect souvenirs. They wanted the opportunity to kill a Klingon, and competed to see which of them would be first once the opportunity arose.”
Hrelle stared, before simply turning back, pointing to the viewscreen, which showed the planet they were rapidly approaching. “Take over, rig us for Silent Running and drop us into its magnetic well, plot a course for maximum sensor obfuscation. It’ll buy us some time.”
“Until what?” C’Rash asked. “Until Klingon reinforcements arrive, or our own?”
“Until Captain Julkrehl is back on her feet and able to retake her command, and we can collect our wounded- shit.” He moved to a display and called up a status. “Good, the Holodeck is still running.”
T’Varik confirmed the readings. “Your command protocols keeping the Holodeck running during Red Alert when Misha is in there remain in force. You do not wish to end it now?”
He considered it, but then shook his head. The Holodeck was in the centre of the ship, the safest place, and its infrastructure possessed sensor and transporter blocks… as well as certain built-in subroutines for Misha’s protection. Besides, he had a whole squad watching out for him in there.
*
Misha and Alpha Squad stood at the edge of a deep, wide ravine, as the program’s narrator helpfully illustrated, “The Crooked Tailed Cub and his friends stood wondering how they could cross this dangerous gap safely, and reach the Pirates’ Lair in time.”
“Well,” Zir said, kneeling beside a pensive Misha, playing along. “What do you think?”
The cub’s ears twitched. “Jump!”
“Hmm, no, I don’t think so. It’s too wide, and Urad and Stalac aren’t very good jumpers.”
“Birds! The birds can carry us!”
“Hmm, we might be too heavy for birds.”
Astrid never bothered to stifle her yawn as she leaned against a nearby vine-strewn tree. “Just start walking, the program’s safeties won’t let us fall to our deaths, after all- oww!”
Beside her, Tori still held her hand up. “Play along, skank, or shut your piehole!”
“Or you could just promise to spank me again, I’m looking forward to that.”
“Come on, girls, quit your arguing!” Peter chided. “We have to work this out.”
“Thank you, Mr Boone,” Zir said… pausing to admire him once more, before noticing the thick, tall tree conspicuously close to the edge of the ravine, giving her an idea. She turned back to Misha. “I know: what if Stalac tunnelled just under that big tree, making it loose enough for Urad and the rest of us to push it over? Then we can use it as a bridge to cross the gap?”
Misha’s eyes brightened. “Yeah! Yeah! Do it!”
Zir grinned and looked to the Horta. “Okay, Stal, loosen that tree’s foundations. Mr Kaldron, are you ready to impress us with your strength?”
The Hroch Security cadet flexed his huge thick-hided arms. “Always, Comrade Squad Leader!”
Stalac moved to the foot of the tree in question, as acrid smoke rose from around his pancake-shaped perimeter, and he seemed to melt into the rock and dirt beneath him. The dirt and foliage around the tree’s larger roots began to shudder, as if the foliage was uprooting itself and becoming ambulatory.
Then Urad leaned into the other side of the tree, grunting as he pushed, and pushed. “Hmm… this is proving… formidable...”
Peter grinned and drew up. “Lemme give you a hand, pal.”
Urad grunted again. “All- Comrades- are welcome to assist-”
And Zir watched the human’s muscles flex in his arms and shoulders, the sweat glistening along the pale biceps and-
“He’s gay, you know.”
She started; Astrid had somehow snuck up beside her. “What?”
The coffee-skinned human female smiled and nodded towards Peter. “He’s gay.”
“What, happy?”
“Sorry, old-time Terran slang, doesn’t always get picked up by some UT units. He’s He-sided? A Ploughman? Homosexual?” After a pause at Zir’s lack of comprehension, she leaned in closer. “He loves men.”
Zir flushed dark green with embarrassment. “That’s not funny, Cadet.”
“It’s not meant to be. It’s just that everyone else but you seems to have picked up on this, and you’re making your love for him rather obvious.”
“Shh!” Zir scolded, indicating Misha, though the cub seemed more fixed by the struggles between the boys and the tree, and now Stalac was working on dissolving the larger, more stubborn roots. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I am not in love with Peter!”
“Infatuation, then?”
Zir ground her teeth, looking to Tori, who stood nearby. “Tell her she’s talking crap!”
Tori looked between the two girls – then joined the boys in pushing against the tree, though her actual efforts seemed token at best.
“See?” Astrid pointed out with amusement. “Look, I’m not saying you can’t admire the framework, I know I do, just don’t think you’re getting a ride out of it-”
“Enough!” She stepped forward, speaking loudly now. “Come on, everyone get in and start pushing! We can get this tree pushed over! I know it!”
And they all joined in, pushing against the bark or against Urad... and the tree began groaning in protest, louder, louder… and the tree began tilting forward, towards the ravine, leaves and twigs shaking from it.
Urad grunted and growled, clearly putting in most of the physical effort… “Comrades… forgive me, but...”
Zir wanted to argue with him, reassure him that no one would blame him if the tree proved too much for even his prodigious strength… when she understood, as the Hroch let out a long, ripping fart, immediately accompanied with the most horrifying smell that made the others back away in disgust and cover their mouths and noses… and Misha roll about on the ground, laughing uproariously.
But the tree did fall, its upper half reaching the other side of the ravine and making the birds on the neighbouring trees fly off; Zir suspected the tree had reacted to Urad’s flatulence.
“Urad, your ass must be listed as a Weapon of Mass Destruction!” Tori declared, coughing and covering her mouth and nose with her hand.
“Yeah,” Zir agreed. “That was- my eyes are watering-”
“Forgive me, Comrades,” he responded, looking at their reactions with some resignation. “Perhaps I should have visited the hygiene chamber before accompanying you on this adventure?”
“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it,” Peter coughed. “Hroch digestive processes take twice as long as most humanoids… the results speak for themselves.”
“Actually, I like the aroma,” Stalac informed them happily. “Like the sulfur biscuits my Egg Mother used to bake for our clutch after school.”
Misha was still rolling around on the ground, laughing and pointing at Urad. “YOU FARTED!”
Zir shook her head; her own brother would react in a similar fashion… still, she was glad for the distraction, if not the smell involved. “Right, let’s get across the ravine and see to those pirates.”
*
Kami stood beside Kalloq as they watched the swarm of doctors and nurses around the biobed where Julkrehl lay, the overhead readings remaining alarmingly flat as they tried measure after measure to revive her.
Kami split her attention between Julkrehl and her First Officer, before finally faking a pain in her abdomen, drawing Kalloq’s attention. “Counselor, do you require a doctor-”
She shook her head, pretending to grimace in pain. “No, let them work on Julkrehl… can you just help me to that chair over there, and stay with me, please?”
He grunted, the reluctance to draw away from his captain clear but overridden as he assisted her. She clung to his arm as he helped her to the seat, in case he decided to leave her… all the while feeling his pulse, checking his reaction to her words. “If anyone can save her, they can. They’re the best, and they have your own CMO to assist, who’s familiar with our equipment and techniques already, as well as Klingon physiology.”
“They have to save her,” he declared numbly. “They have to.”
“How long have you served with her?”
“Two years. Before this assignment, we were a fleet tender for our outposts along the Romulan border.” He ground his teeth. “Many, including young fools like Trebek, believe it a disgrace to serve under a female. They have no idea of the honour it is. She is courageous and tenacious, has earned her place, stood up to formidable opponents-”
“You’re in love with her,” she concluded.
He looked to her, quickly hiding his astonishment at her perception. “You- You are mistaken- I am not!”
“Liar. You love her, but you never told her.”
He snarled, pulling from her touch… but fixed on Julkrehl again, his voice low. “She must never find out. No one must. I am her First Officer, above all else. It would compromise her authority.”
Kami nodded… then started as the biobed readings flared to life… and Kalloq reacted exactly like she expected him to, before he recovered. “She probably knows already, you know.”
“What?”
She looked up at him, smiling. “She probably knows already. Or do you think she’s stupid?”
He snarled. “She is not stupid! She is..” Then his swarthy skin paled at the realisation. “Oh.”
The Sickbay doors slid open, and Hrelle walked in, taking in the activity around the biobed, before approaching Kami and Kalloq, noting his wife on the seat. “You okay?”
“She felt ill, and needed to sit down,” the Klingon informed him.
But then she rose without difficulty. “Actually, that’s what I wanted you to think, to get you over here to open up to me.”
“What? You deceived me?”
“Yeah, she does that to everyone,” Hrelle assured him. “So don’t feel special or anything. How’s Captain Julkrehl?”
Kami nodded to the medical staff. “They’ve just brought her back, but they’re still working on repairing her injuries.”
As if hearing the talk, Doc Masterson stepped away from the biobed towards them, focusing on Kalloq. “We’re gonna need you, Commander! Doc Kline tells me you got Type qH tissue! Care to donate part of your upper Halluqs Tract to replace the one that blaster burned away from your Captain?”
“You may have my heart, my arm, my life, if it will save her!” Kalloq declared loudly.
“A part of your Halluqs Tract will do, pardner. Now come here and hop up on that next table.”
The Klingon started – but Hrelle grabbed his arm. “Wait! I need you to contact the Augr, call off their pursuit and their reinforcements!”
Kalloq shook off the Caitian’s hand. “I must save Julkr- my Captain!”
“You must save her command as well,” Kami reminded him. “You are her First Officer, above all else.”
Kalloq bristled… but then drew out his communicator. “Augr! This is Kalloq! Call off the attack on the Surefoot! The Captain lives, they are saving her life now! I order you to cease the attack! Augr! Trebek!” With no response, he checked the readings on his communicator, and pocketed it again. “They are blocking transmissions. No doubt that little petaQ Trebek is using this as an opportunity to gain command. He has probably told them we are both dead at Starfleet’s hands.”
Hrelle nodded. “Go help your Captain, I’ll do what I can.” As the Klingon left, Hrelle rubbed his eye sockets. “Seven Hells… how did this go wrong so quickly?”
Kami drew in and embraced him.
Then his combadge chirped. “Captain, this is Ensign Gorman in the Brig, the prisoners are causing a ruckus, demanding to speak with you. I wouldn’t disturb you normally, Sir, but given their status-”
“Understood, Mr Gorman, I’m on my way. Hrelle out.”
Kami clung to him. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna do everything I can to avoid a firefight and cause more casualties. I’m gonna get those wounded POWs somehow. I’m gonna get Julkrehl and Kalloq back to their ship and back in command. Oh, and I might rip the head off of one of the Nekrosi and shove it up the ass of the other, though I haven’t decided which will lose their head and which will gain one.”
“Hmm… maybe just focus on the first three tasks.” She rubbed her muzzle against his. “Go, Husband of Mine. Do what you do best.”
He smirked. “What, in public? Dirty bitch.”
She smacked his rear as he departed.
*
The purple-hued Nekrosi stood behind the invisible force field in the doorway to their cell, looking imperious as always as Isole demanded, “Release us, Hrelle! You have no right to keep us confined like animals!”
“Actually, I have every right. You tried to murder Captain Julkrehl.”
Odede scowled. “Are they not your enemy? You should be thanking us.”
“We were under ceasefire with the Klingons! Here to obtain our wounded from them-”
She sneered. “We are not interested in the disposition of your peons.”
Hrelle’s face tightened. “This was your intention all along, wasn’t it? Your reason for coming onboard? To murder a Klingon in some game between the two of you?”
Isole smiled. “And I won!”
Then both of them stepped back instinctively as Hrelle slammed his fist against the force field, making it flare red in protest. “THIS IS NO GAME!” He bared his teeth. “This is WAR! Thousands, millions of lives are at stake! The fate of the whole Quadrant!”
The Princess stepped closer. “We are done here. We ordered Navarro to remain close at hand. Contact him and have him collect us.”
“What?”
“We are the Firstborn of the Monarch Prime of Nekros, Captain,” Isole reminded him. “Release us, and we may possibly forget your ill treatment of us now.”
“I have a better suggestion: why don’t you two go fuck yourselves?”
The Nekrosi looked to each other in shock, Isole growling, “How dare you! I’ll have you and your family executed! I’ll-”
“REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU ON THE PLANET!” Hrelle roared. “One more word from either of you, and I’ll drop the force field and make it a reality!”
The Nekrosi went silent. Afraid.
Hrelle turned away, stopping at the Security station to offer Ensign Gorman, “If they make any more noise, bring down the blast door on them. No reason why you should have to listen to their shit.”
*
“Hmph,” Astrid said for the fifth time since the group worked their way along the trail. “Well, this is at least the cleanest jungle I’ve ever encountered. No droppings. Or mosquitoes, for that matter.”
“So now you’re complaining because you’re not stepping in shit or getting bit by bugs?” Tori groused. “You’re as irritating as a pair of flea-infested panties.”
“I have to agree,” Peter added. “Didn’t you ever play games growing up in Michel Mansion?”
“Of course. On many occasions my siblings and I would make fortresses out of the spare bars of gold-pressed latinum from the vault where we kept the petty cash. You know, like every other family.”
The Squad stopped and looked at her.
“What?” she asked. Almost keeping a straight face through it all.
Then Misha made a sound. “Pirates!”
Zir stopped, hearing the sounds ahead now. There sounded like so many… and dangerous… she had to keep reminding herself that this was a children’s program. “Okay, Misha, what should we do? Maybe send some of us ahead as scouts, build a picture of the situation we’re facing-”
The cub rose and raced forward.
“Or maybe not.” Zir signalled to the rest. “Come on!”
The cadets drove forward, as the narrator announced overhead, “The Crooked Tailed Cub had often faced the dread pirate Captain Tabbi, and knew where his secret cove lay on the island, on the distant Northern side.”
“If he knew where the pirate’s base of operations was,” Astrid asked aloud. “Why not arrange to have the island’s authorities shut it down?”
“Don’t spoil it, Clotheshorse,” Tori warned.
The six of them emerged into a wide, open cove dominated by a huge sea cave, within which sat a large wooden sailing vessel, the red sails sporting a logo dominated by a pair of sabreteeth. There were dozens of wooden buildings built into the surrounding rocks, and docks, ropes and gangplanks running to and from the ship, and there were dozens of Caitians dressed much like Misha and Alpha Squad in leather breeches and vests and belts and boots milling about the ship and the rocks.
And all of them stood and stared at the lone cub who had emerged from the jungle. As Alpha Squad caught up with Misha, one of the pirates stepped forward: a Caitian with multicoloured fur and an eyepatch on his left side… and sporting two huge sabreteeth more reminiscent of Ferasans than Caitian, and Zir had to conclude that this was the dread Captain Tabbi.
And conveniently, the villain waited until Alpha Squad reached Misha before speaking. “At last you have arrived, Crooked Tailed Cub! It has been far too long since we last fought! But you won’t win this time! Not with what we have taken!”
Misha scowled. “Give it back, Mister! Or it’s Trouble Time for you!”
Zir leaned in to the cub. “What did he take?”
“Dunno! But he took it!”
Tabbi laughed, gnashing his huge teeth, his one red eye gleaming in the bright sunlight. “Oh, no, Cub! So long as I have her, you and your friends will do what I say for a change!”
Zir frowned, not sure where the scenario was going. “What do you mean, ‘her’? Who have you got?”
The pirate Caitian looked up at her, the program recognising the need to illustrate and motivate the narrative, then motioned to the pirates on the ship. “Bring her out, lads! Show them!”
On the deck of the ship, the crowd of pirates parted, drawing into view a small, brown-furred cub, dressed much like Misha, only sporting a thick female mane and bound wrists. “Big Brother! Help me!”
Tabbi cackled. “Yes, Cub! We have your little sister Sreen! And if you want to keep her alive, you will-”
Misha turned and stormed off back into the jungle.
Zir and the cadets watched in confusion, Zir noting how the pirates and their captive cub now froze in place, the program paused with the lack of further participation from the main player. Peter watched the cub disappear into the trees. “What’s up?
Zir sighed, recognising the action. “Let me go talk with him. The rest of you stay here.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Such fun. So much better than getting drinks in the Cadet’s Lounge, honestly.”
Zir ignored the sarcasm, winding her way back along the path they had taken, until she found Misha sitting on a rock in a clearing, his arms crossed, his back to the Universe. She drew around to face him, and then again when he turned away. “What’s wrong, Misha? Come on, tell me. Was it something I did? Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? I thought we were having fun! Weren’t we?”
“Yes. Then Mama made it stinky!”
“Your mother? How?”
Now he looked up at her, but pointed back to the cove. “Crooked Tailed Cub doesn’t have stinky cub sisters! Mama put that in! To teach me!”
He practically spat out the word ‘teach’, and Zir almost burst out laughing in response, but controlled herself enough to ask, “To teach you? What do you think she’s trying to teach you?”
“She has a cub in her belly now! Don’t want it! Cubs are stinky!”
Zir nodded, finally dropping to one knee before him and taking his hands in hers, making sure he couldn’t move away again. “Yes. Yes, they are. They’re stinky. They’re noisy. They’re always crying and pooping and crawling around and taking your toys and chewing on your things and wanting to tag along and taking all the attention your Mama and Papa used to give just to you.
I felt the same way when my Mama was having my baby brother Haikiv.” She smiled as he focused fully on her. “I didn’t want her to have him, either. I hated my Mama and Papa for wanting another child. I thought it was the worst thing ever, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
Then one day I was in my room, and I heard him crying. He cried all the time, but usually Mama would collect him quickly to feed or change him. But this time he kept crying, so I went in to investigate. Mama wasn’t anywhere to be found, but Haikiv was in his crib, and his bottle was sitting beside him. So, just to shut him up, I picked up the bottle and started feeding him. And he began drinking away, like a Seadragon gobbling up schools of tiny tailfins.” She smiled. “And when he was done, he looked up at me, and I saw all the love he had in him for me, for being there for him, when he needed me.
And Mama appeared behind us, having arranged for me to come in on my own and help feed him. And then she showed me other things to do: how to burp him, and change him, and dress him and play with him. You see, little brothers and sisters can be stinky, noisy, demanding, greedy. But they need us. And they love us. And we… love them, too. And we always will. No matter- no matter how far away they are.” She let go of his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Misha frowned. “Why you sad?”
She shook her head. “I’m- I’m missing Haikiv.”
“Go get him! Bring here! We play!”
“He… he can’t be here. He has to stay with Mama and Papa back home. But maybe someday… so, you think maybe you might give your little sister a chance?”
Misha frowned. “No.”
Zir smiled; Yes, just as stubborn as Haikiv... “Tell you what: why don’t we go finish the program? Everyone else is waiting to see how you deal with Captain Tabbi. Then we can talk about this later, okay?”
“Okay,” the cub responded grudgingly.
They returned to the cove, where the characters sprang back to life, Tabbi bellowing, “Hah! The Crooked Tailed Cub! At last we meet again! We have your little sister Sreen! Surrender… or you’ll never see her alive!”
Still on the deck of the pirate ship, the holographic female cub called out, “Big Brother! Help me! Rescue me!”
“No.”
“What?” Tabbi snarled. “What trickery is this? We’ll feed her to the dreaded Ferasan Monster in our ship’s hold! He loves gobbling up little cubs! You wouldn’t let her face such a fate, now would you?”
Misha crossed her arms. “Don’t care. Feed her to him.”
“Wow,” Peter muttered near Zir. “I did not expect that reaction.”
“Kid’s got brass balls,” Tori muttered.
“Shh,” Zir warned, wondering how the Counselor’s program would respond to this rebellion.
The Caitian pirate looked to his men, then laughed. “As you wish, Cub! Now watch! Watch your sister become a meal to a monster! Because of you! Open the hatchway, boys!”
The holographic Sreen screamed as she was lifted up over the heads of the pirates, passed towards the ship’s hatchway to whatever horror waited below. “Misha! Help me! Please!”
Zir started; despite accepting the unreality of it all, she couldn’t help but react to it. She turned to Misha, who stared, eyes wide.
Sreen was almost at the hatchway, her doom imminent. “MISHA! I NEED YOU!”
And Zir saw something take over within Misha.
And suddenly the male cub leapt up onto a rock and roared, “PUT MY SISTER DOWN, YOU POOPHEADS!”
Tabbi and the pirates stopped, their leader snarling, “You want her? Come and get her!”
Without any further hesitation, Misha roared and raced along the docks towards the ship, his little claws extended, as pirates and various ne'er-do-wells began swarming down from the surrounding rocks.
Zir turned to her Squad. “Come on, Alphas! The Cub needs us!”
The Squad moved, or slithered, along, except for Astrid, who sat down on a rock and offered, “I’ll stay here and make sure none of them sneak past.” She looked up and asked, “Computer: a bottle of Chateau Margaux, 2345, please.”
The Narrator’s voice returned. “There is no alcohol on the Island of Rtarra.”
Astrid breathed out. “Shit.”
Zir took the lead, wondering how dangerous the holographic opponents would be in a children’s program – then found out as she punched one in the nose, and he flew backwards, making a strange sound like a strike on a kettledrum, before just dropping like a stone. She turned to the others. “I don’t think we’ll get much of a workout.”
“Speak for yourself, Comrade Squad Leader!” Urad declared, as he threw a dozen pirates into the water, bellowing with delight.
Peter and Tori swung out as well, experiencing similar reactions to their own opponents, as Tori looked to Stalac and invited, “Go on! Dissolve some pirates!”
But the Horta turned in place, ignoring the pirates trying to pound their boots onto his rocky hide. “No, Tori, that is not something I will ever do, even to holographic foes.” Instead he began dissolving the area of the docks where a dozen or more pirates stood, making it collapse and sending them into the water.
Zir nodded with approval at her friend’s choice of tactic, and looked across at where Misha had boarded the pirate ship alone, still roaring and tossing pirates aside as if… well, as if he was the hero of the program. As for Captain Tabbi, the main villain grew scared and leapt off the ship and into the water.
Leaving Misha to race up and embrace his fake sister as if she was the realest thing imaginable.
*
Hrelle entered the Bridge. “Report.”
T’Varik rose from his seat. “The sensor interference from the ice giant’s poles has proved efficacious; the Augr is unable to lock weapons on us. However, we can confirm that they have summoned reinforcements, who presumably will have superior tactical capabilities.”
He nodded. “And Weynik will have started off for here the moment the Ajax detected the weapons fire. He’ll be chomping at the bit to try out those phaser cannons.” He shook his head. “This has to end before everyone gets here, and escalates matters.”
“We could always leave,” C’Rash suggested.
Hrelle gave her a sharp look. “We came here to bring back 47 Starfleet wounded, not two Klingon POWs who are only with us because Security screwed up, is that clear, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Sir,” the young Caitian replied meekly.
Beside her, T’Varik raised her chin and spoke softly. “Among other duties, Sir, it is the role of your Chief of Security to present to you all available tactical options to a situation. And I will remind you that the Nekrosi’s circumvention of the Transporter security protocols was unprecedented.”
He looked at her… and nodded. “Yes.” He turned to C’Rash. “Sorry, Lieutenant, I was out of line. Now someone go tell my wife that I can apologise without her assistance.”
C’Rash offered a smile. “I’ll tell her later.”
Then their attention turned to Ops, where Neheru reported, “Incoming transmission from the Augr, Sir!”
Hrelle straightened up. “Onscreen.” He breathed in, hoping that maybe the Klingons were finally seeing sense-
That hope was burned away as the starfield was replaced by the image of a cramped, red-hued Klingon bridge, dominated by Second Officer Trebek, standing there beside a kneeling, wounded Starfleet officer, a Bolian male with burns on one half of his bald, blue head… and a blade at his throat, as Trebek snapped, “Surefoot! Where’s your treacherous Captain Hrelle?”
Hrelle stepped forward, seeing trickles of dark-blue blood on the Bolian’s throat where the blade cut the skin. “I’m here, Trebek! And Captain Julkrehl and Commander Kalloq are here, too, alive! No one else has to be hurt!”
“Lies! Lies and treachery! And you must pay for your dishonour! Surrender your ship, Hrelle, or I will begin executing our prisoners, one by one!”
“NO!” Hrelle raised a hand, ensuring he had the Klingon’s full attention before continuing. “Trebek… I won’t surrender my ship, but I’ll surrender myself.”
Behind him, C’Rash hissed, “No!”
Hrelle ignored her. “Just allow the Surefoot to leave with the wounded Starfleet! It was what Captain Julkrehl and I came here for.”
Trebek sneered. “Julkrehl was a weak fool, like all women, and she paid the price for it! But I will accept your terms! You have one minute to beam over, unarmed! End Transmission!”
As the viewscreen returned to the starfield, Hrelle barked, “Helm! Take us within transporter range of the Augr, and hurry!” He smacked his combadge. “Sickbay! I need Julkrehl and Kalloq back on their feet, now!”
Masterson’s voice was anxious, impatient. “They’re only just coming out of surgery, Captain!”
Hrelle ground his teeth. “Anything you can do to speed their recovery would be appreciated, Doc. Once they can walk, they need to get back to the Augr. Hrelle out.” He looked to T’Varik and C’Rash. “Not a word from either of you. I’ll delay getting killed as long as I can; if either Klingon is ambulatory, send them over. Do not fire, under any circumstances. Keep the peace… such as it is.”
The Vulcan did not appear sanguine about his orders, but nodded. C’Rash merely hissed.
In the Transporter Room, Hrelle was met by Doctor Kline. “You will need me over there, Captain.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with your patients?”
Kline joined him on the Transporter pad. “They are in good hands, and Trebek may believe the news about Julkrehl and Kalloq from me.”
Hrelle accepted the offer, though he had doubts if Trebek was willing to believe him. “Beam us over.”
*
Armed guards met them in the Klingon Transporter Room. Kline stepped forward. “The Captain and First Officer live! They are being treated on the Surefoot-”
The guard nearest Kline struck the doctor’s face with the back of his hand. “Traitorous petaQ! Captain Trebek warned us that you would lie for your Federation masters!”
Kline wiped the blood from his mouth, snarling. “Captain Trebek, huh? DenIb Qatlh! I’ll rip the tongue from his lying mouth-”
The other guards aimed their disruptors at him. Hrelle raised a hand. “Doctor, no! Now’s not the time!” As the guards focused on the Caitian, he ordered, “Take us to Trebek.”
They were marched to the Bridge, which proved larger than what he had seen on the viewscreen of the Surefoot. The single Captain’s chair on a raised dais in the centre spun around, and Trebek reclined on it, acting like he had belonged there all along. “So, at last I have you, Hrelle.”
The Caitian crossed his arms. “Yeah. And all it took was for me to volunteer to come over. Now, fulfil your side of the deal: beam over your prisoners to my ship.”
Trebek grinned, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. “All in good time, Hrelle. There is a debt to be paid first. You killed our Captain and First Officer-”
“Lies!” Kline bellowed, as much to address those Klingons who surrounded them as to counter Trebek’s deception. “Two aliens attacked Julkrehl, but we saved her life, with Kalloq’s help! They will return-”
Trebek rose to his feet. “Traitor! I saw them fall at Hrelle’s perfidious hand! And with your aid, too! We all know how much you influenced Julkrehl’s foolish decision to meet with the Fat Cat.”
Kline snarled – until Hrelle put a hand on the doctor’s arm. “Don’t.” Then Hrelle stepped forward, regaining their attention. “If Julkrehl is dead like you say, then fulfil her final orders, and hand over the wounded prisoners. There is no honour in using them as bargaining chips-”
Trebek stepped down. “Don’t not speak of honour, Starfleet! Your actions have proven you lack any! You murder our officers-”
“They’re not dead! Scan my ship for Klingon lifesigns, and you’ll detect both of them-”
Trebek drew his mek’leth blade and brought the tip to the base of Hrelle’s furred throat. “Enough! Are you ready to die, Starfleet?”
Hrelle kept still, calm. He had to keep delaying the inevitable, until it turned out.. evitable? Is that even a word? “I do have one request to make before I die: could you contact your mother, please, and confirm something for me?”
That gave the Klingon pause. “Wha- What?”
“Your mother?” Hrelle responded calmly, casually. “I was shtupping her last night, and I ended up with the most terrible itching sensation around my nethers this morning. And it turns out I picked up a nasty case of Romulan Crabs, and knowing how often your mother bends over and spreads for Romulans, I figure I must have gotten dosed by her-”
Trebek roared and swung back to plunge the blade into Hrelle’s chest. But the Caitian captain was ready for him, dodging and driving his boot up between the Klingon’s legs, before shifting to find more space to manoeuvre – not an easy task, given the cramped conditions of the Klingon Bridge and the occupants present. He extended his claws, hoping that his niece had underestimated his level of skill, and that he could take on a younger, fitter, armed Klingon.
And Trebek was all that – though he was also almost clumsy with rage, as per Hrelle’s intention. “I’LL SPLIT YOU IN TWO!”
Hrelle chuckled. “That’s what I told your mother last night, Trebek.”
The Klingon charged forward again – and Hrelle surprised even himself with how quickly he reacted, using an Aikido move to disarm Trebek and flip him over his shoulder, before kicking away the knife. “You know, I’m only telling you these things as a courtesy, in case you go home and end up getting infected as well while she’s giving you your bath-”
Trebek howled and charged, but this time caught him off-guard, sending both of them torpedoing forward, Hrelle slamming his lower back into the sharp edge of a bridge station panel and sending shards of white-hot pain through his spine. But he ignored the pain, raking his claws deeply into the left side of Trebek’s face, drawing red-black blood as he wrapped a forearm around the Klingon’s throat, twisting his body down to one knee, immobilising him. That’s it… just a little tighter, and he could snap the neck-
He released Trebek, letting him drop, coughing and spluttering to the bulkhead, before the Caitian took in the others surrounding him, grimacing with lingering pain in his back, but determined to show them no weakness. “I didn’t come here to fight. I didn’t come to kill. I came here because of your Captain.” He paused to point at Trebek. “Not this usurper. Your real Captain. The one who was brave enough to arrange a flag of ceasefire, and do a decent, honourable thing.
And I swore to be just as brave, and honour it too. Captain Julkrehl was injured on my ship, not because of myself or my crew, but because of the actions of a pair or Nekrosi visitors following their own dishonourable agenda. But she lives, as does your First Officer. They are not our prisoners. They will return.”
“He speaks the truth,” Kline confirmed, pointing at the image of the Surefoot on their viewscreen. “Look at that ship! It can outfly us, outgun us!” He pointed to Hrelle now. “This man destroyed the Guvagh Task Force single-handedly! But he honours the ceasefire!”
“We may be enemies now,” Hrelle continued. “But we share history. We share honour-”
“Lies!” Trebek snarled, helping himself back to his feet, staggering as he faced Hrelle. “You know nothing of honour!”
“No? I wasn’t the one with a knife at the throat of a wounded, helpless man. I wasn’t the one who reneged on his promise to release his prisoners. I wasn’t the one who used this opportunity to steal command from someone more deserving-”
Trebek turned away from Hrelle and Kline and to the other Klingons. “Kill them! Kill them both! I command it!”
But none of the Klingons moved to comply.
Until an alert sounded from one of the bridge stations, and one young Klingon junior officer moved instinctively to respond to it. “Task Force Moshtirhk has arrived in response to our signal! As has a Starfleet vessel! It-” He gasped. “It is one of the Defiant-class vessels!”
Hrelle saw the reaction from the other Klingons – they had obviously heard about the Defiant-class warships – and he slapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Ajax! Weynik, stand down! Take no action against the Klingons! We’re still honouring the ceasefire here!”
The Roylan’s voice responded. “Captain Hrelle? How do I know you’re not acting under duress?”
“Because you’re the Squab.”
After a moment, Weynik replied, “Ajax standing down. Weynik out.”
Hrelle moved around now, looking at them all. “There, just as I said. And also just as I said, your Captain and First Officer are alive!”
“He lies!” Trebek declared. “I saw them die at his hands! I swear, on my honour!”
Then twin columns of transporter energy dominated the Bridge, quickly coalescing into Captain Julkrehl and Commander Kalloq.
All eyes turned back on Trebek, who gasped, swallowed, and tried to recover. “C-Captain! You live! I- I saw you die at the hands of this dishonourable petaQ!”
Julkrehl stepped up to him. “I see only one dishonourable petaQ here.”
Then she drew out her own blade and rammed it into his gut.
Trebek gurgled, eyes bulging, as she twisted the blade in him. Then she withdrew it again, letting the body fall to the bulkhead.
She sheathed her still-bloodied blade and took her place in her chair. “Flush that refuse into space. Tactical: power down weapons. Communications: signal Captain Moshtirhk, thank him for his timely arrival, but assure him that there is no need to destroy the enemy vessels; Starfleet is still keeping to the terms of the ceasefire, and so shall we.” After a moment, she barked, “Move!”
As her crew quickly followed orders, she became aware of Kalloq moving to her side, standing guard as always, and she focused on Hrelle fully. “My First Officer will oversee the transfer of our wounded prisoners of war over to you, once you return to your ship.”
“Thank you, Captain Julkrehl. For everything.”
“Captain… the weak and decadent Federation will fall before the unstoppable might of the Klingon Empire.” Then she offered a sly smile. “But not today. Probably tomorrow.
The day after, at the latest, I’m certain of it.”
Hrelle smiled. “Then I’d best get back to my ship and prepare.”
“I wouldn’t look so eager to get back if I were you, Captain. I was there with your wife when she learned you had beamed over here to play the hero.” She grunted. “I do not know what a ‘kussik’ is, but she is apparently prepared to claw you out a new one.” She spoke to her Bridge crew in Klingon, prompting laughter.
Hrelle’s smile dropped. “I, uh, don’t suppose I could fill in as a Second Officer for you, for a few days?”
*
“Captain’s Log, Supplemental: we have completed the transfer of the wounded Starfleet POWs to our ship, and the initial word from our medical staff is that all will make a full recovery. I am… very pleased. Not just for the wounded, but for the fact, despite the War, our former allies and I can still reach an understanding. It gives me hope for the future.
I have less hope for the Nekrosi. We sent word to Admiral Tattok, and he has responded with the news that the Cavalier is joining the Ajax and the Surefoot now at the rendezvous point in No Man’s Land, and I have been ordered to release Prince Isole and Princess Odede to them, regardless of their actions against the Klingons… and I have been ordered not to interfere in any way with their departure. Given the havoc they have caused, I should be bitter and resentful. But I am a mature and professional member of Starfleet, and I will have no problem with letting the Nekrosi go.”
*
Hrelle escorted Navarro and the Twins to the Main Transporter Room. Navarro was smiling. “Captain, I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s for the best-”
“Save it. I’m not interested in what you have to say.”
The human made an amused sound. “I guess I can’t blame you. If it’s any comfort, their mother has ordered me to take them straight back to Nekrosi territory. You won’t be seeing us in this sector of space again.”
“I know I won’t.” He looked to the Prince and Princess. “Are you sure Your Highnesses don’t want to stay onboard? I’m sure we can accommodate you both.”
“Are you addled, Caitian?” Odede sneered. “The sooner we leave this garbage scow, the better.”
“Really? We can escort you back-”
“You heard my clients, Captain,” Navarro confirmed, smiling again. “Now, if there’s nothing else-”
Hrelle indicated the raised Transporter pad. The three of them stepped up onto it, Isole turning and offering Hrelle a look of contempt. “This is not over between us, mongrel. When we return to our homeworld, and have the full resources of the Commonwealth at our disposal, then you will begin to regret treating us in this fashion. You’ll pay.”
Hrelle remained unfazed. “You have to get there first, Bubulah.” He turned to the Transporter Chief. “Energise.”
Once they vanished, Hrelle rushed back to the Bridge. “Mr Neheru, inform the Klingons that the Nekrosi who attempted to assassinate Captain Julkrehl have beamed back to the Cavalier. And tell them… Happy Hunting.”
As the Kelpien obeyed, T’Varik looked to him. “Captain-”
A Tactical Alert interrupted her, as C’Rash reported, “Two Klingon Birds of Prey and a Nagbach-class light cruiser from the Moshtirhk Task Force have broken off from the rest and are pursuing the Cavalier! She’s taking evasive action!”
“Captain,” Neheru spoke up now. “Message from the Ajax! Captain Weynik wants to know if we should intervene!”
Hrelle replied, still staring at T’Varik. “Remind Captain Weynik that we have received orders not to interfere in any way with the Cavalier’s departure. Oh, and that he’s still the Squab.” He paused and asked her, “What?”
“Captain, regardless of the Nekrosi’s appalling actions and attitudes, to allow a Federation civilian vessel to be attacked without rendering assistance-”
“Commander, my primary mission was to bring the wounded home safely… and yes, they do mean more to me than two spoiled murderous brats and a pack of mercenaries who knew what they were getting into by coming here. Besides, it’s recognised Interstellar Law that a civilian vessel willingly entering a war zone, as the Cavalier has done, is not guaranteed assistance by a Starfleet vessel, if said Starfleet vessel is engaged in a priority mission. And I did give them an opportunity to remain onboard.”
The Vulcan did not appear convinced. “It seems a question of semantics.”
He smiled and winked. “Well, everyone says I put the ‘Antics’ into ‘Semantics’.”
Her expression remained deadpan. “No one has said that to you, ever, have they, Sir?”
His smile dropped. “Maybe not. Still, Navarro’s an experienced mercenary, and his ship is fast. Maybe they’ll evade the Klingons?”
Then C’Rash announced, “The Klingons have destroyed the Cavalier.”
Hrelle shrugged. “Or maybe not.”
*
Hrelle and Kami were waiting outside the Holodeck as the doors opened, and Misha rushed out first, leaping up into his father’s arms, Hrelle adjusting his support of him as he asked, “And how is our own Crooked Tailed Cub? Have you had fun in there with Alpha Squad?”
“Yeah, yeah! Again! Again!”
“Another time, maybe.” Kami grinned, as Alpha Squad emerged, their uniforms appearing visible once more. “Thank you, all of you; you’ve earned your own extra Holodeck credits. I hope you had more fun than we did, and that Misha wasn’t too much trouble.”
Zir grinned. “It was a pleasure, Counselor. And Misha was wonderful. Quite a brave young cub, taking on all those pirates and rescuing his sister!”
“Glad to hear it,” Kami grinned, tickling under Misha’s muzzle. “And what did you learn in there tonight, Cub of Mine?”
Misha pointed to each of the cadets in turn as he replied. “Urad’s farts stink like Papa’s! Rocky pees on the carpet! Astrid wants Tori to spank her! And Zir loves Peter, but Peter loves boys!”
The Squad’s jaws dropped. Even those without jaws.
Hrelle looked to his wife. “How much did you pay for this program again?”
*
The Hrelle quarters was pitch black that evening, more so than most others, as they employed cancellers to block out the infrared spectrum that was part of their visual acuity... though for the cub who had awakened in his room, determined to settle matters once and for all, he didn’t need light to navigate his way out into his parent’s bedroom, his ears and nose telling him his Mama and Papa were there, asleep, Mama on her side, facing the door.
Misha drew closer, careful not to disturb them, until he could almost touch the bump on Mama’s belly. He smelled Mama’s fur there, listened carefully… and thought he could hear his sister’s heartbeat, quickening instinctively with his proximity.
“Shhh,” he hushed her, resting his fingertips on Mama’s skin. “Go back to sleep. I’m Misha, your big brother. You still stinky. But you stay. I take care of you.” He rubbed his muzzle against the belly.
At the head of the bed, Kami remained still, but asked in a low, sleepy voice, “Are you out of your bed, Misha?”
“No. You dream.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
He snuck back to his room, pleased at having fooled Mama.
His parents lay there, chuckling to themselves in the dark.
THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN… MOTHERS’ TALK
A very entertaining story. The Nekrosi are going to want revenge, you know. And Tattok is exactly how I would have written him in that situation. Great work!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jack! I'm so glad that I managed to capture the essence of your character. And yes, I'm sure we haven't seen the last of the Nekrosi. Poor Esek...
DeleteYou’ve also captured the essence of Weynik well. I might have to create some more characters for you to tool around with.
DeleteAt some point we need to settle once and for all which captain is a squab...
DeleteHi John! Thanks for reading and commenting!
DeleteAnd the Squab Paradox may never be adequately solved in our lifetimes...
Those Nekrosi fools got what they deserved, imho. But yeah, no doubt they won't be happy.
ReplyDeleteLovely story, as always.
Thanks, Christina! Poor Esek, he doesn't do well with young royalty. You'd think he'd get along with all cubs, though I suppose their being spoiled little psychopaths is a bit of a dealbreaker :-)
DeleteFinally! I've been waiting forever for more Surefoot! I greatly appreciate and enjoy your stories, to the point I named my Saber-Class on STO "Surefoot".
ReplyDeleteA request: Could you drop more short stories inbetween the bigger chapters? Short tales like "The Cat and the Khanari" are so much fun, and they really help flesh out characters...Plus, it helps ease the wait.
Again, thank you for your work, you've quickly become one of my favorite Trek writers.
Thanks, EJ! You honour me with your conpliments!
DeleteAnd yes, I know I have a tendency to lean towards the longer stories, and I'll definitely work towards shorter, more concise tales with smaller casts. In fact, I've got a few ideas already... watch this space! Literally!