Baptism of Fire

USS Ajax, Deck 1 Mid – Transporter Room 1:

Lt Sasha Hrelle stepped off the pad and strode up to the diminutive Roylan, straightening up as if to further accentuate her height advantage over him. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Captain Weynik craned his neck back in an exaggerated fashion until his head fins touched his shoulder blades, black eyestalks focusing critically on the young human female with the strawberry-blonde hair. “Lieutenant... when we last met, I believe I ordered you to stop getting taller.”

She remained deadpan. “I did, Sir. I think my father is using a subspace compression field to secretly shrink you.”

He grunted. “I... wish I could say he wouldn’t do something like that to me.” Then he smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard the Ajax, Second Officer Hrelle.”

She accepted it gratefully. “Thank you, Sir. I hope I can meet your high expectations of my abilities-”

He playfully knocked her hand away and shook a reproving finger at her instead. “Are you gonna start that again? We’ve had this conversation twice now; I hope you haven’t spent your time since I sent you your orders wallowing in self-doubt?”

She shook her head, collecting her bag from the adjacent pad that had beamed over with her from the Dragonheart. “To begin with, yes, Captain. But then I thought of all those Second Officers I’ve served under in the Fleet since I got here, and I figured, ‘Well, if these idiots can do it...’”

He chuckled. “Come on, Sash, let’s get your gear stowed, give you a tour and introduce you to our new crew. We have a bit of work ahead of us to catch up with the specs Captain Sisko distributed to the newer Defiant-class ships.” As they walked out into the narrow corridors, he noted, “A giant like you might find it cramped here at first, but you’ll get used to it. Have you spoken to your father lately?”

“Yes, Sir, he sends his best, as does Kami and Misha. Also, as you are my commanding officer I am obliged to warn you that Dad wanted me to ensure you secretly receive notifications on a daily basis that You’re The Squab.”

“Oh, did he now? I’m gonna die from lack of surprise over that. And do you intend to follow Papa Cat’s wishes?”

“Of course, Sir – unless of course you give up some dirt on him from your Academy days together. The more embarrassing, the better.”

Weynik laughed. He chose his Second Officer well.

*

His Ready Room, like every other place on the Ajax, was compact, with no space wasted. Which was fine by him; what this Defiant-class vessel lacked in amplitude in comparison with his old vessel the Starsong, it more than made up for with sheer power and strength, something the Fleet will need in general – and his old buddy Captain Hrelle’s ship will need in particular, as one of the Ajax’s primary missions was to provide military support for Surefoot while the ambulance vessel performed its duties during battle.

But now, the cramped feeling was exacerbated by his (very) temporary First Officer Lieutenant Commander Kit Kohanim, assigned to help familiarise Weynik and the crew with the new vessel. The Zakdorn’s physical presence in itself wasn’t imposing: though large like most of the Galaxy’s humanoids (at least, by Roylan standards), his oatmeal-coloured skin and hair, and round head flanked with three pouches of thick, fibrous tissue on each cheek, was modest and unassuming.

But his condescending, self-assured attitude, typical of his race, made up for it. Still, in the short time Weynik had known him, he proved himself valuable, and once he informed everyone of his unsurpassed experience and expertise with this design of ship, he proved to be professional and courteous to all of their crew.

At least, until he met Sasha, and then that patronising attitude of his went to Eleven, reminding Weynik of those times when he had to lecture his own daughter about interrupting him during important business. But at least Weynik had the excuse of Naida being an infant, not a young adult like Sasha.

And Weynik hoped that Sasha was too busy to notice, given her success so far in the role. As they had toured the ship and met most of the other officers and crew, Weynik saw now how much she had grown professionally since her graduation.

She had built up the considerable expertise she had collected from her years with her father, of course, but since her graduation and the advanced training she’d received on Vulcan in the previous year, she had spent her time rotated among various different vessels in the Thirteenth Fleet, observing different systems, functions, command styles – and, as he fully expected from her, taking the best from each and making it her own. Yes, he definitely made the right choice with her.

Not that Kohanim seemed to appreciate this, to judge from the simpering, patronising reactions he gave to every contribution Sasha made, the latest one no different. “No, no, no, Lieutenant. If you had bothered to read the specifications more carefully, you’ll find that a Defiant-class vessel’s targeting sensors are among the most advanced in Starfleet, on a level with a Nebula- or Galaxy-class.”

Sasha’s face tightened – and Weynik’s earlier hopes of her remaining ignorant of Kohanim’s attitude were dashed on the proverbial rocks. “I did read the specs, Lieutenant Commander, I can assure you.”

“And yet you still believe that a junior officer fresh out of the Academy can find improvements to an array designed and approved by teams of far more experienced and qualified engineers?” The Zakdorn chuckled at the very idea.

Sasha remained patient. “Not improvements, Sir, refinements, refinements based on recent battle data gathered by Starfleet vessels against the newer Klingon vessels with their improved cloaks.” She held up her PADD. “And I don’t claim to have come up with these; I’m not that bright. They’re from the Dragonheart: new algorithms tailored to focus the Ajax’s sensors on specific tetryon and chroniton particle wavelengths, with a projected 35% improvement in detection accuracy during close-quarter battle than the current configuration – and without any hardware upgrades required.”

Kohanim accepted the PADD with some visible reluctance, almost sighing as he perused the contents. “And who is this… Lieutenant Jonas Ostrow? I’ve not heard of him.”

“The Dragonheart’s Second Engineer, although he worked alongside their Chief Tactical Officer in developing and testing these-”

“A friend of yours?” he ventured.

Sasha paused. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

The Zakdorn smirked. “A boyfriend?”

Sasha’s face tightened. “No, Lieutenant Commander, not a boyfriend. He happens to be one of the most gifted Engineering minds of my class.” Now she looked at Weynik. “If you recall, Sir, he was instrumental in helping detect those cloaked Cardassian raiders you and my father went up against when you still commanded the Starsong.”

Weynik nodded. “I remember, Lieutenant. And I remember working with Mr Ostrow on other occasions. Mr Kohanim, we’ll implement the new algorithms as a battle configuration, effective immediately.”

Now his First Officer looked to him, still smiling, obviously trying to make light of the situation. “Captain, before we risk that, perhaps we should wait and maybe get this data checked over by a grown-up first?”

Sasha leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, but otherwise remained silent; Weynik appreciated her control, an improvement over when a previous First Officer of his crossed proverbial swords with the young human… and lost. “Lieutenant, take the Bridge and signal Admiral Tattok on the Triton that we’re on schedule to rendezvous with the Surefoot, following the recommended modifications. Dismissed.”

“Aye, Sir.” She rose and departed, without sparing a second glance at Kohanim.

Once the door slid shut, Weynik focused on his First Officer. “Explain yourself.”

The Zakdorn looked confused – then he chuckled. “Oh, come on, Captain, I was just having a little fun with the Squab.”

“I know a great deal about Squabs, Mr Kohanim. And I can assure you, she is not one. She’s been through more in her young lifetime than most senior officers will ever see in their entire careers. So perhaps you can cut her a little slack?”

Kohanim’s dimpled chin rose as he seemed to regard his new Captain. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Always,” he assured him, “Assuming you’re ready to take as good as you give.”

Kohanim leaned forward, folding his hands on Weynik’s desk. “Captain, I understand you’ve known Lieutenant Hrelle’s father for decades. In fact, he’s your best friend, yes?”

One of my only friends, Weynik told himself, a fat, furry friend I can always rely upon, settling for the curt reply, “Yes.”

Kohanim nodded. “It’s understandable that you’d want to please him by giving his daughter a cushy job. And if we weren’t in a state of war, commanding a state-of-the-art warship, I might not be as critical of your decision. But we are in a state of war, in a state-of-the-art warship. Now, I admit I don’t know that girl, and I’m sure she has some potential, but we shouldn’t be making such indulgences here and at this time.”

Weynik stared back for a moment, before finally responding. “She remains the youngest recipient of the Starfleet Medal of Commendation for Exceptional Valour – at age eleven, for saving her teacher and her class during an attack on her space station… and she’s earned more medals since. She has logged over 800 hours in command of both an Oberth- and a Sabre-class starship, as well as various shuttlecraft. She’s commanded Away Team missions. She’s participated in operations for Starfleet Intelligence. She’s been in hand-to-hand combat.

She’s saved lives. She’s killed. She’s died.

And she has a clan of Caitians for family. Very loyal, very ferocious Caitians.

You are absolutely right, Mr Kohanim.

You don’t know that girl.”

*

As she entered the Bridge for the first time and approached the Captain’s chair, Sasha put aside her annoyance at Kohanim’s attitude – he wasn’t the first schmuck she’s had to deal with, she could handle him easily enough – as she had a terrible thought: what if Weynik had had the chair adjusted for his size, and she tried sitting in it now and ending up breaking it like Goldilocks and the Baby Bear’s chair? But then she saw it was of normal configuration, though the ergonomics allowed it to adjust to whomever sat in it.

So she did, keying in her command codes to be recognised, before looking over at the young Vulcan male at the Ops station. “Excuse me, Ensign… Shanek, is it?”

He looked up at her with bright hazel eyes. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Signal Admiral Tattok on the Triton, inform him we’re on schedule to rendezvous with the Surefoot, following the recommended modifications. Are there any updates on the Sherman front?”

“The Puget Sound and the Trial have reported Klingon movement in the system’s Oort Belt, but otherwise no indications of an imminent attack.”

“Thank you.” After a moment she added, “Mr Shanek, pardon me for asking, but your accent is familiar. Are you from the Matallak Province on Vulcan? Near the Fire Plains?”

Something akin to Vulcan surprise furrowed the Ops officer’s brow. “I am, Lieutenant. I do not encounter many non-Vulcans who would recognise my accent.”

“I had the opportunity to spend some time there last year with a friend, where I had the privilege of witnessing a Sandfire Storm. I look forward to returning someday; your part of Vulcan possesses a stark beauty that you have to see with your own eyes to properly appreciate.”

Shanek regarded her, before finally nodding. “Thank you for saying so, Ma’am. I… will not disagree with your assessment.”

Sasha smiled and looked to her opposite side. “Ensign Bump, what’s our tactical status?”

The young human, who reminded her of – well, herself, a few years ago – glanced down at his board, his pale skin reddening and his voice almost cracking with anxiety at the attention suddenly on him. “Uh, the primary scanners are offline for the modifications, Ma’am, we’re relying on passive sensors only. Port Forward Torpedoes are also offline while the track to the Magazine Bay is under repair, but phasers and all other torpedoes are ready and waiting.”

She nodded. “We’re still well-armed, but that won’t mean a thing if we’re half-blind. Tie your tactical sensor array through the deflector dish.”

He blinked. “Uh, Ma’am, you can’t do that- the dish is designed to deflect space debris while a starship is in flight.”

“Really?” she asked dryly. “I never knew that.”

From behind her, Shanek spoke up. “Ensign, the Lieutenant is well aware of the purpose of a deflector dish… and its versatility under certain conditions for projecting various types of energy, including sensor beams. It is a sound contingency.”

“Thank you, Mr Shanek. Please assist Mr Bump with the task.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Now she faced forward, towards the Tellarite ensign at the Helm. “Mr… Grel, is it?”

The ensign turned in his seat, his porcine snout screwing up almost as much as his beady black eyes. “Yes, Lieutenant. I see the stories of your ugliness don’t do you justice.”

Sasha smirked. “How would you know? Your eyes were ruined long ago from the constant stink of your own pelt.” She smiled, as did he, over the customary Tellarite banter, before she continued, “What’s our ETA to the Surefoot at Warp Six from this location?”

“1.7 hours, Ma’am.”

“When we’re ready to go, be ready to lay in a course. Can you remember that, or shall we replace you with something more useful, like a tribble?”

Grel cackled. “I’ll remember, Ma’am.”

She returned to her panels, catching up with the Bridge logs as per procedure, glad to have made some rapport with some of the crew – though she still couldn’t believe people were addressing her as ‘Ma’am’. Always get to know those under your command, her father advised. You owe it to the people who may kill, or die, on your orders.

Her orders. Her command. Wow. She was actually doing this. And if trouble raised its ugly head, she couldn’t just hand it over to a real officer anymore. She was one of those real officers now. Allegedly.

Mother’s Cubs… what was she doing here, giving orders? She’d get them all blown up-

“Ahem.”

She snapped out of her thoughts with a jolt. “WHAT? I mean-”

The young pale-skinned human male in the gold-topped uniform stood at the side of the Captain’s chair, smirking. “Everything okay, Lieutenant?”

She blinked. “Who are you?”

“Madison, Lieutenant Jim Madison, Engineering Assistant.”

She swallowed; he was huge: broad-framed, broad-shouldered, broad-jawed, all muscles and bright blue eyes and short black hair, he looked like he was raised on a mountaintop wrestling nine-headed Hydras or performing other labours for the Gods. Then she recovered. “Yes, Mr Madison, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

He nodded down. “Because it looks like you’re about to rip the chair in half, and I was curious as to what it had done to tick you off.”

Sasha frowned, glanced down as well and saw her hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly her fingers had turned scarlet. She immediately released her hold, as if she had been doing it intentionally all along, and looked up again. “It knows what it did.”

He made a sound of mock gravity. “Every chair onboard will soon learn to fear you.”

She grinned. “You think I’m tough on chairs, you should see what I do to beds.” I did not just say that out loud, I did not just say that out loud… “So... what brings you up here, Mr Madison?”

To his credit, and her gratitude, he never remarked on her momentary bout of Foot-In-Mouth Disease, as he handed her a PADD. “Well, firstly I need a senior bridge officer to sign this off for Chief Maryk, or she’ll have me for dinner. She’s the Devil in Engineering Gold.”

She had a quick read through the contents – standard warp core safety authorisation, nothing too taxing – and pressed her thumb on the appropriate panel, letting the device take a microscopic sample from her skin as her genetic signature. She handed back the PADD. “I can’t believe a big strapping boy like you is scared of a little slip of a girl like the Chief.”

He shrugged. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Careful, or someone may ask you to prove it.” Real smooth talk, Lady Casanova. “Uh, is there anything else, Mr Madison?”

“Well, I also wanted to apologise for missing you when you visited Engineering earlier with Captain Weynik. I’ve spent most of the morning crawling through Jefferies Tubes on Deck 5.”

She smiled. “How do you manage to fit into the Tubes here? I can barely get my fat toches through the doorways.”

“Toches?”

“Never mind, Mr Madison.”

“Please, ‘Mr Madison’ is my father’s name. Call me Mrs Madison.”

Sasha laughed – until she snorted. Seven Hells, Sash, how do you ever manage to get laid? She recovered as best she could. “Was there anything else, Mrs Madison?”

“Yes: you can join me for dinner tonight.”

That caught her off-guard. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He grinned. “Why not?”

Damn, boy, you’ve got a smile that could melt the pants off of me… “Because there’s a question of rank.”

Madison raised his eyebrows, and made a show of sniffing near one of his armpits. “I shower once a month, whether I need it or not.”

“I mean-”

“I know what you mean. What’s the problem? We’re both officers.”

“But we only just met!”

He shrugged unapologetically. “It’s dinner, not a proposal. Besides, now that I’ve seen you in person, I know I’ll have to compete with all your other suitors.” He indicated behind him. “I’ll bet Shanek’s asked you two or three times already.”

The young Vulcan made a show of never looking up from his station. “I have not.”

Madison drew in, pretending to lower his voice to offer, “I hope you let my roommate down easily, he’s so emotionally fragile.”

“I must give you fair warning, Lieutenant Hrelle,” Shanek announced, “This is his default personality setting.”

Suddenly the Red Alert klaxon sounded, and seconds later, the ship rocked. Sasha recognised what had happened. “Shields up! Arm all available weapons! Mr Grel, Evasive Pattern Alpha Three, Full Impulse!”

Then she jumped to her feet as Weynik and Kohanim raced onto the Bridge, the Captain snapping, “Status!”

It took a second for Sasha to realise he was talking to her as she stepped aside, moving to the station next to Ensign Bump and assessing the readings. “Klingon Bird of Prey! Moderate damage to ablative armour on dorsal port side!”

Weynik took his chair. “Helm, take us about, face them down! Tactical, lock phasers on them!”

Sasha held onto the side of the station as the Ajax banked sharply to starboard, and the Bird of Prey appeared on the viewscreen, already moving back in, green disruptor energy washing over the Starfleet vessel, making it shake.

“Fire!” Weynik ordered.

Bump’s hands moved over the controls, and Sasha looked up in time to see the phaser pulse cannons in action: a volley of bolts of explosive energy, ripping across space in rapid, unrelenting succession, striking the Bird of Prey, which kept coming at them, until finally it ripped apart into a blossom of flame and debris.

Sasha saw the young man punch the air, before noticing her noticing him, and dropped it. Sasha smiled; she almost did the same herself. But then she returned to her duties, moving to an auxiliary station to assist in scanning the area for more Klingon ships, leaving Kohanim to make the major announcements. “Bird of Prey destroyed, no survivors detected. Lieutenant Hrelle, standard procedure now is for you to scan for other-”

“I know what standard procedure is, Sir!” she snapped, forcing herself to calm down enough to add, “No other vessels detected in the area. Adding the new algorithms to the tactical sensors to run a second check now.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, you can add an attitude adjustment to yourself.”

Sasha bit her lip before replying, “Aye, Sir.” Then she looked up, hoping Weynik wasn’t also ready to admonish her.

But the Roylan remained fixed on the situation. “Report, Number One.”

The Zakdorn’s reply was unusually… hesitant. “Captain, the system readings are constantly changing, I’m not getting-” He paused and worked his controls. “Bridge to Engineering, what’s happening down there?”

The annoyed voice of Chief Maryk filled the expectant air. “Narevl! Get down to Cargo Bay 2 and bring back those spare phase compensators! We’ll need them to get those force fields down!”

“Chief?” Kohanim prompted. “A report, if you would?”

The woman did nothing to hide her exasperation. “Warp Drive, Life Support, Communications, Security, Weapons, SIF… they’re all functioning, but our interfaces are being rerouted! We try to power up the warp core, it raises force fields and locks doors around Security and Sickbay! It’s like the computer is suffering from programming aphasia! Don’t do anything until we work out what’s happening!”

“Understood, Chief,” Weynik concluded distractedly. “Keep us apprised. Bridge out.” He grunted and rose to his feet, staring at the lingering energy and debris on the screen. “That was… too easy.”

“Captain?” Kohanim queried.

Weynik ignored him and turned to Sasha. “Get down to the Cockpit and see if the Auxiliary Controls function. Mr Madison, assist.”

“Aye, Sir.” She moved to the Bridge doors – only to find it nonfunctioning. She tried the manual override, and when that failed, she looked back at Weynik. “Sir?”

The Roylan glowered. “The Klingon attack must have hit something critical while we were vulnerable making our modifications. Your father won’t let me live this down if we have to call him for help.” He gestured to the adjacent maintenance hatch. “Hope you’re not claustrophobic, Giraffeski.”

She made an identical gesture to Madison, who knelt and removed the hatch. “This takes us straight to Shuttlebay 1 on Deck 3, but the Cockpit has a lower hatchway down there we can access via the Cargo Bays.”

She nodded. “You first, Mrs Madison.” As she followed him in, she took a last look at Weynik, who was frowning… but at something more than their current predicament. Had he been disappointed in her reaction to the Klingon attack? Did she do something wrong? Was he thinking he’d made a mistake taking her on as Second Officer?

Yes, Sasha, because the Universe and everything in it revolves around you.

She descended the ladder.

*

Deck 3 Fore – Cargo Bay 1:

Crewman Dujo Narevl knew he wouldn’t hear the end of this: getting himself somehow locked in an equipment closet. He had been sent here by the Chief to collect the phase compensators to manually override the Security forcefields and deadlocks on most of the ship sections, and then, to quote the woman, ‘Get your spotty Trill ass back here, pronto!’

But then when he was ready to get out of this stupid closet, the door wouldn’t open, not even the manual override – and ironically none of the phase compensators would work on the lock from the inside. And his combadge wouldn’t work either, now, another malfunction. Which meant at least that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t somehow got himself locked in here like a Squab.

Not that it was an excuse that would save Narevl from the Chief’s wrath. It wasn’t fair! The woman had the personality of his mother’s pet fenza bird: what it lacked in size, it more than compensated for with the shrill squawking it emitted-

Then he heard voices outside the door, which surprised him, not expecting anyone in this part of the ship at this time. But then he remembered he was near the lower hatchway of the cockpit to the Warhead, the component housed at the forward-most portion of the Ajax, containing the ship's deflector and forward torpedo launcher and magazine, which could be detached and launched to make a suicide run if the main vessel was totally disabled, but which otherwise served as the main ship's Auxiliary Control.

If there was a major malfunction, of course they would be trying to regain command there! Narevl grinned, worried he might have been stuck in here for who knew how long. He set down the phase compensators, made a fist and banged on the door repeatedly, calling out, “HEY! SOMEONE’S STUCK IN HERE! COME ON, I COULD USE SOME HELP-”

The door slid open, and he was ready to hug whomever was on the other side.

He wasn’t ready for the huge Klingon standing there. Or the blade he drove into Narevl’s gut.

The Trill dropped the equipment in his hand and… frowned. That… that wasn’t what he expected from a knife. It felt more like being punched in the stomach, an incident which occurred once on shore leave at a bar on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet, when he’d accidentally spilled a Starfleet Marine’s beer. They made up afterwards, though, and even spent the night together. He had such broad shoulders...

His last conscious thoughts were trying to remember that Marine’s name. It was so unlike him to forget details like that...

*

Deck 1 Fore – Bridge:

Kohanim drew up to Weynik. “Sir, internal and external communications are offline, along with the Shuttlebay doors, Escape Pods- Sir?”

The Roylan was still at the Tactical station, playing the data of the Bird of Prey’s attack pattern once more, before finally freezing it, pointing at it and declaring, “Perfect, textbook arcs.”

“Your point being, Sir?”

“My point being that the ship was not being helmed by a Klingon, eager for battle, it was on autopilot. That’s why it just came in and allowed itself to be destroyed.”

The Zakdorn frowned. “That makes no sense, Captain. Why would their crew just die like that?”

Weynik started with the realisation. Bloody Hemra… “Because... no one died… because no one was onboard their ship… they beamed over to us on the initial attack run!” He moved to the Security locker, opening it and distributing hand phasers. “Where’s the best place to take over the ship?”

Kohanim accepted and fitted his phaser onto his belt. “The Warhead Cockpit, Sir.”

The breath caught in Weynik’s throat. Sasha...he had to get to her-

Then the Ajax shuddered as it jumped to warp, its engines seeming to howl as it dilated the space around it.

“Captain,” Grel reported from the Helm. “We’re moving at Warp 9, heading 070-Mark-4… towards the last known coordinates of-”

“The Klingon fleet,” Weynik finished, fitting his own phaser onto his belt. “They’re taking the Ajax back as a prize. What’s our ETA to them?”

“At present speed, 2.7 hours, Sir.”

Assuming we aren’t met sooner by one of their ships, Weynik thought gravely.

“It makes sense now,” Kohanim declared, his hands moving swiftly over the controls. “The Klingons beamed over and made it appear that we were suffering from battle damage, while they slowly worked on gaining full control over the ship’s systems, one by one. I’m focusing on regaining control over the helm and communications.”

“What about the self-destruct system?” Weynik asked.

He felt the eyes on him. He ignored them. It was a possibility that they had to accept.

Kohanim checked his station again. “It’s... on a secure system, Captain. It was designed to not be easily co-opted.”

Weynik nodded. “Mr Kohanim, Mr Shanek, focus on disabling the warp drive, get a distress signal out-” He straightened up. “Wait, what about our weapons?”

Bump checked his station. “Aft torpedoes at the moment, Sir, but no targeting sensors-”

“And no enemy behind us to fire at, Captain,” Kohanim added.

The Cosmostrator… “We don’t need either. Launch a half-dozen torpedoes in succession in the same direction, each one programmed to detonate ten seconds after the other.”

As the Tactical Officer moved to comply, Kohanim asked, “May one ask the purpose of this action, Sir?”

Weynik pointed to the viewscreen. “The Surefoot should be in sensor range of us by now. And if I know a certain shuris-snacking Papa Cat, he’s keeping a watchful eye on his daughter’s ship. We might not be able to directly contact them, but they might see our little fireworks display and hopefully come investigate when we don’t respond.” He stopped at the hatchway and added, “This ship will not fall into Klingon hands. Is that understood, Lieutenant Commander?”

Kohanim nodded soberly. “Aye, Sir.”

Now Weynik moved to the maintenance hatch. If something happened to Sasha, blowing up this ship would be preferable to facing Esek...

*

Deck 3 Mid – Shuttlebay 1:

Sasha frowned to herself, distracted by… something. And it wasn’t Madison’s continued banter. “So… you’re not half-Caitian?”

“No.” She glanced behind them. She knew that while there were some crew’s quarters down here, Deck 3 was mostly utilitarian in function – Shuttlebay and Shuttlebay Support Rooms, Cargo Bays, Waste Recycling and Life Support – so she shouldn’t expect anyone in this part of the ship now. But her hackles had risen, and didn’t know why.

“And you didn’t save the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy Prime on Earth from a Dominion terrorist?”

“No.” They had to pass through the open area of Cargo Bay 2 to get to the main corridor leading to the Cockpit, but now she stopped and tapped her combadge. “Hrelle to Bridge. Bridge?”

“And you didn’t kill a bunch of snake assassins who invaded your-” But then he stopped, frowning at the lack of response she received, and tried his own. “Another malfunction?”

“No.”

Then she turned at the sounds of the rapid pounding of boots on bulkhead-

She stepped aside, dropping into a defensive posture as two figures raced from around the corner- armoured Klingons, blades drawn! And they-

They completely ignored her and tackled Madison.

She took a heartbeat to marvel at Klingon sexism, before jumping in. They had knocked the engineer down, though with his size and strength he managed to hold his own and prevent getting stabbed, while she pulled one Klingon up, focusing her blows on the unarmoured parts of his body, driving her boot into one of his knees, and then his groin, before delivering a final blow to the cluster of nerves at the base of his windpipe, sending him collapsing.

The second Klingon realised his error in not trying to take her out first, and rose – until Madison tripped him up. The Klingon stumbled and fell, cursing but rising quickly, reaching for the disruptor on his belt-

Too late, as a bolt from the disruptor Sasha had liberated from the first Klingon struck the second one in the chest, sparks flying as he fell backwards, and lay still. 

It had been set to Kill- she never had time to- never-

Keep moving, her training reminded her, it wasn’t over. She rose, set the disruptor in her hand to Stun and shot the first Klingon in the face to keep him down. Then she collected the second Klingon’s disruptor and handing it to Madison. “Keep up, do as I say.”

He looked pale. “Shouldn’t we- the Bridge-”

“We’ve been boarded, and taken over – they’ll be in Aux Control. We need more intelligence before we can proceed.”

He nodded, still in shock at the events of the last few seconds, as she led them along the corridor, keeping near one of the walls. She’d killed, again – not now, think about it later, she told herself – and focused on the next step: assess how many more Klingons remained.

She stopped at a corner, motioned for Madison to do the same and keep quiet, and she listened, using an old trick her Dad taught her. Admittedly, her hearing was nowhere near as acute as a Caitian’s, but… she guessed four. Four-

And something else.

She crouched down and peered cautiously around the corner. Seven Hells…

There was a corridor that led five metres down to the lower hatchway of the Warhead’s Cockpit, where Klingons moved in and out, while others were setting up a barricade, using crates and containers taken from the adjacent Cargo Bay.

But her attention was almost immediately drawn to the body on the floor: a young Starfleet crewman, a Trill male in Engineering gold, with a huge dark bloody stain centred around his abdomen, having spread out to soak the surrounding carpet. The fakakta Klingons just gutted him like a pig and tossed him aside-

He moved.

It was slight, but it was unmistakable. But it was obvious that he wasn’t long for this life.

She drew back, her breath quickening as she looked up at Madison, swallowed – and made her decision, her voice a whisper. “There’s a wounded crewman, on the floor, two metres just around the corner.”

He paled. “A crewman? Who?”

“I don’t know. But he’s critically injured, and needs our help – now. This is what we’re going to do.” She nodded to an alcove on the other side of the junction. “I’m heading over there, and I’m opening fire on them. While I’m doing that, you’re going in, low, and dragging the crewman back around the corner. And once you’re back here, pick him up and get him to the Shuttlebay, there’s an accessible medical kit. Stabilise him, then-”

He nodded. “Then come back here for you-”

“No.” She took the second disruptor from him, checked the settings and the power levels. “Secure him in the Shuttlebay, return to the Bridge and alert the Captain. I caught sight of at least four Klingons, not counting the two we stopped back near the Torpedo Magazine Bay.” She looked at him, aware of his hesitation, despite their similarity in age and experience. “You can do this, Jim.”

He swallowed. “Hope you’re right.”

Sasha offered a slight smile. “If you need some motivation: if we survive this, we’ll have dinner, okay?”

He looked up at her, smirking despite his anxiety. “Oh, now I’m gonna die. You’ve made it official.”

She made a sound, tightening her grip on the disruptors in each hand. I’m more likely to fall today than you, you big yummy slab. He was her responsibility as much as the wounded man. She  considered the Starfleet Rules of Engagement, thought of giving them a chance to surrender… then came to her senses a second later. She breathed in, and then, “Three… two… one...”

She stepped out, raised her weapons and fired, shouting, “KUSH MEYN FERI TOCHES, YOU KLINGON PISHERS!”

One Klingon she aimed at went down, another Klingon was struck in the arm but dodged behind the barricades, as the sounds alerted the others. Sasha kept part of her attention on the recycling times of the charge slides on the disruptors, firing each in sequence to keep from being caught for too long without a ready weapon. To her right, she saw Madison squat, pause as he saw the extent of the crewman’s injuries – don’t just stand there, Beefcake, get moving! - but quickly slipped his huge hands under the crewman’s arms and dragged him backwards.

One of the Klingons behind the barricades saw him, and started to raise his weapon towards him – until Sasha shot the edge of the crate nearest the Klingon’s head, sending splinters of heated plasteen into his eyes and face, making him cry out in pain and fall back.

Sasha stepped into the alcove on the other side of the junction, keeping an eye on the Klingons and on Madison, who had thankfully managed to get back around the corner with the crewman…. But still looked in shock over the situation.

“GO!” she barked at him, firing again at a Klingon who tried to emerge from behind the barricades.

She watched Madison lift up the crewman and race back the way they came, while she assessed the power levels on both pistols, and calculated how many more shots were in each.

Not many.

Seven Hells…

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 1 Fore – Bridge:

Captain Esek Hrelle was reclining in his chair, his First Officer Commander T’Varik beside him in her own, the pair of them focusing on scheduling drills for the cadets, when he heard the doors to his Ready Room slide open, followed by the soft patter of tiny shoes on the bulkhead. The familiar scent he picked up confirmed the visitor, so he didn’t look up as he murmured, “I believe I told you to stay in there and draw until I took you to lunch, Cub of Mine.”

Misha growled in protest, prompting Hrelle to finally look up at his son, who stood there, colouring PADD in one hand, an old worn T-shirt of Sasha’s in the other… and an expression of grim, stubborn determination on his stubby face.

Hrelle noted the T-shirt; Misha had been looking forward to seeing his big sister again when they rendezvoused with her on the Ajax later today, and Misha had been sleeping with the clothing she left behind to refamiliarise himself with her scent. “Did you finish the picture you were doing of all of us? Do you want it printed off?”

“No!”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Misha held up his PADD, showing an… interesting set of figures that were meant to be his family, including his Papa (with a belly even bigger than his pregnant Mama’s, and thanks for that, cub), Sasha, his cousin C’Rash Shall and his godmother T’Varik – the last pair holding hands. “It’s great, Sasha will love it-”

“Who took Sasha’s tail?” Misha demanded loudly.

Hrelle blinked again, aware of the snickers around the Bridge as he glanced at a bemused T’Varik, before asking, “Excuse me?”

The cub pointed to the drawing of his sister. “No tail! No fur! Who took?” Now he pointed at his father. “You fix!”

Then he understood, looking to T’Varik. “I think he was drawing, and it only occurred to him while using the stored photos of us as models that Sasha’s different from the rest of us.”

From the Tactical station behind them, C’Rash guffawed. “You’re only just noticing that now, Cub? Nice one, Tail Chaser! You got your brains from your father’s genes!”

Misha glared angrily at his cousin. “I no Tail Chaser! You stinky cub!”

C’Rash kept laughing. “Tail Chaser! Tail Chaser!”

“Lieutenant,” T’Varik warned.

Then Misha bared his teeth at C’Rash and hissed.

Now Hrelle snapped, “Misha! Bad cub!” He pointed to the step between the inner circle of the Bridge and the surrounding stations. “Naughty Step! Now!”

The cub stiffened, but reluctantly obeyed, clutching Sasha’s T-shirt tighter for comfort, refusing to look at anyone.

T’Varik rose and turned to face C’Rash. “You are meant to be a mature influence on your cousin, not a provocative one. It is natural for one his age to first perceive Sasha through familial connections rather than race. You disappoint me.”

Hrelle rose and dropped to one knee before his son, his voice softening his rebuke. “We do not bare our teeth to others, especially members of our family. You know this. And you know what to do about it.”

Misha still stared at nothing, but tilted his head in C’Rash’s direction to mutter, “Sorry, Cousin C’Rash.”

T’Varik looked to her lover. “I believe you have something to say in return, given your immature culpability towards his temporary loss of control.”

C’Rash smirked – until she realised her lover was serious. More contrite now, she looked over at Misha and admitted, “Sorry, Cub. You’re not a Tail Chaser.”

Hrelle held up the PADD and the drawing on it for Misha. “Sasha is human, like Doctor Masterson and Lieutenant Velkovsky and every other human you know onboard. She had a human Mama and Papa who made her and grew her. But her Papa died when she was your age. And then I married her Mama and became her new Papa, until her Mama died too.”

Misha looked at him directly, looking stunned now. “Sasha no family?”

Hrelle reached up and gently smoothed down the truculent tufts of fur on the top of his son’s head. “Of course she is! It doesn’t matter if I helped make her, or if I was married to her mother, or if she was adopted or just came to live with us. You don’t have to share blood or race or marriage to be family! All you need is Love. I’m her Papa, as I’m yours, and she’s your sister-”

An alert from Tactical caught his attention, and he looked over to see C’Rash frowning, her tone and speech changing. “Captain, we’re in sensor range of the Ajax now… but they’ve just jumped to high warp.”

“Are they coming here to meet us?”

“No, Sir- they’re heading- it looks like the direction of the Klingon Front...”

“What? Have we received an alert about an enemy offensive that I wasn’t told about?”

“No, Sir!”

He glanced at Lt Neheru at Ops. “Hail them.” He looked back at Misha. “Go to your Mama in Sickbay.”

Misha picked up the tension in his father’s voice and scent. “No, I stay, I help-”

“No, you go. Now.” He looked over at Ensign Yeager at the Auxiliary Engineering station. “Nancy, take him there, and hurry back.” He rose and approached Ops, waiting and listening for his son departing before barking, “Report.”

Neheru glanced up at him. “They’re not responding, Sir!”

“Captain!” C’Rash cut in. “The Ajax has launched a volley of torpedoes, aft! Six, detonating, one after the other- but I’m detecting no vessels in pursuit-”

The Cosmostrator… “Red Alert!” As the klaxon sounded, he continued. “Helm! Set a course to intercept, Maximum Warp! Tactical, arm all weapons!”

As the crew moved to obey, he faced forward, watching the space dilate around them as they cheated physics once again to cross the immense distances to reach his daughter. His heart felt like it was racing even faster out to her.

Beside him, T’Varik drew up. “Captain-”

He never looked away from the screen. “There was an incident, involving Weynik and myself, before I met Sasha’s mother… we fought the Cosmostrator-”

“I am unfamiliar with that vessel.”

“It wasn’t a vessel, it was… Classified. But those torpedoes, in that sequence, is a signal we developed at that time for each other.”

“And the signal, Sir?”

“‘We’re In Trouble. Help.’”

*

The fighting had paused, for which Sasha was grateful; the disruptors were getting hot in her hands.

“Starfleet!” one of them called out to her. “What are you called? We want to know the name of the one we are sending to Sto-Vo-Kor in a moment!”

She had managed to slide open the adjacent locker, looking for weapons – no, of course not. There’s everything else: antigrav units, fire suppression blankets, sealant kits, thruster packs for exosuits, degaussers, torches… “Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle, Second Officer, USS Ajax.” After a pause she added, “Daughter of Captain Esek Hrelle, USS Surefoot.”

That shut them up… and gave her a heartbeat to formulate a plan.

She drew out one of the thruster packs, confirmed it contained quaratum: powerful, but potentially highly flammable… under the right circumstances.

“Surefoot?” the Klingon echoed. “You are the daughter of the one who destroyed the Guvagh Task Force with one ship? You are the daughter of the Fat Cat?”

She grunted, checking which disruptor had more power remaining, before opening one of the blankets and unfurling it. “He’s not fat, he’s big-boned.”

The Klingon laughed. “I have seen you, Lieutenant. You don’t have his looks!”

She checked out the size of the blanket; it should work. Hopefully. “I don’t need his looks. I have his balls.”

The Klingon laughed again. “Well said, Lieutenant! It will be an honour to kill you! Today is a good day to die!”

She readied herself, holding one of the thruster packs in her hand. “Sorry, Bubulah. Dying’s the last thing I’ll ever do.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit, she was really going to do this, wasn’t she? She leaned out into the alcove and swung her arm out in a wide arc, sending the thruster pack in their direction, watching it strike the side of their barricade and bounce onto their side – staying in view.

Swiftly she raised the disruptor and fired repeatedly, striking the pack, cracking it open. The Klingons made sounds of alarm and began firing back at her. She kept still, kept firing, it had to work, it had to work-

It flared a blinding white, and she released her hold on the disruptor and dropped into a fetal ball, pulling the blanket up over her head. There was a deafening roar, swallowing the cries of the Klingons, and the overpressure and heat suffused the blanket. She took a last breath, closed her eyes and covered her nose and mouth with her hand, feeling like one of those meal packs that cooked in their own bags.

And she realised that this was how she was going to die...

*

Deck 3 Mid – Shuttlebay 1:

Weynik emerged from the bottom of the hatch, starting as he saw Lt Madison, crouching over the bloodied body of a crewman. He raced over, phaser in hand, identifying the wounded man as Crewman Narevl. “Report!”

Madison’s hands moved between an open medical kit and the wounded man. “We found him by the Cockpit, Sir!”

He looked around. Sasha… “Where’s Lt Hrelle?”

“Down there, holding them off! She needs help! Should I-”

“Stay here, keep working! I’ll go.” He raced outward and down the corridor. If they’ve hurt her, he’ll rip them all to pieces, all of them-

A wall of heated air struck him like a wave, sending him backwards to the floor, and he raised a hand to cover his face as the air was quickly followed by red-orange flames that ate the air and painted the walls, ceilings and floor, rushing towards him…

But then ebbing, and stopping about three metres away from him, and finally dying away, leaving thick, acrid smoke, and a corridor covered in a thin, black ash.

Bloody Hemra… He coughed, covering his mouth even as he heard the ship’s fire control systems drawing out the smoke and cooling the heated surfaces.

The silence was broken with a chirp from Weynik’s combadge, and Kohanim’s voice. “Sir, something’s happened, we’ve regained full control again-”

Weynik cut him off. “Red Alert! Bring us to a full stop! We need Medical, Security and Damage Control teams to Decks 2 and 3 Forward! And contact the Surefoot, tell them to get here, fast!” He helped himself back to his feet and raced forward. It had been a flashfire, and the smell reminded him of a quaratum burn he once experienced during an exosuit malfunction in a Shuttlebay on another vessel.

Then he turned the corner, and saw the heart of the flashfire.

“SASHA!”

*

She felt like she was swimming in blackness, lost, not knowing which way was up.

Then she moved towards the voice that announced, “She’s coming round.”

She felt a large, warm, furry, familiar hand around hers, and with a weak whisper and what she hoped was a smile she identified it. “Dad.”

“Got it right the first time, Runt of the Litter.”

She felt hands at her temples, removing something from her eyes, as a strange, sibilant voice informed her, “Lieutenant, we have repaired the damage to your retinas and eardrums and the burns to your skin. You can be released from here tomorrow, but you must take it easy for the next couple of days.”

She nodded, opening her eyes – and starting at the sight of the reptilian figure standing beside her Sickbay biobed. For a horrible, embarrassing second, her mind shot back to the Vlathi, before she reminded herself that this was Roke’naar, the Gorn civilian medic onboard the Ajax as part of a medical exchange program. She forced herself to relax, looking up and saying, “Thanks, Doctor. Wenss Sssiv.”

The Gorn hissed with what sounded like pleasure at what she hoped had been a good attempt at thanking him in his language, before departing the enclosed area, leaving behind her visitors: Dad, Captain Weynik and Lieutenant Commander Kohanim. Dad was smiling down at her and squeezing her hand. “That’s my darling! See, Short Round? I told you she’d recover!” He indicated the Roylan. “He was already lining up a replacement for you.”

“Your father is, of course, talking crap,” Weynik informed her. “But then you should be used to that after all these years.”

She swallowed, letting Dad feed her from a small cup of water before asking, “K-Klingons?”

Dad looked to Weynik, who looked to Kohanim. “Would you care to fill in our Second Officer on what we learned while she was being treated?”

Kohanim looked different from when Sasha last saw him – intimidated? – and for a moment she wondered if Weynik or her Dad or both had… talked with him about her. If that was the case, she would give either or both of them a piece of her mind… when she had recovered enough to spare it.

But then the Zakdorn was replying. “Of course, Captain.” Kohanim focused on Sasha. “The Klingons had obtained intelligence on the Defiant-class control systems, and our current maintenance status, from a civilian contractor from Cyberdyne Industries. They set their Bird of Prey on autopilot and distracted us with an attack, while beaming onboard and using the subsequent confusion to initiate a takeover of each system… at least, until you intervened.

Three of the Klingons survived the flashfire; they’re in Critical Condition on the Surefoot, but should make a full recovery by the time they reach the POW camp on Sherman’s Planet. The quaratum fire quickly burned out, leaving only superficial damage to the Cockpit systems, and we have already commenced repairs.”

She killed. She had killed. Again. Of course, she knew that this would be the likely outcome of her actions, that it was War, that it was either their lives or that of herself and her crew. And she would have done it all again if she had to. But still...

“Kami will be stopping by later to talk,” Dad informed her gently, obviously understanding her reaction as he squeezed her hand again.

She nodded gratefully, and looked back to Weynik. “The crewman we found, Sir?”

“Crewman Narevl will recover,” the Roylan informed her with satisfaction. Then he looked at Kohanim again. “Was that all you had to say to her, Mister?”

Sasha saw the look Weynik – and Dad – was giving the First Officer, but before she could intervene, Kohanim continued, his face reddening, “Lieutenant Hrelle, my initial impression of your suitability for a role of such responsibility had been grossly mistaken. You are… a very capable young officer. I have placed a note of commendation on your record. And I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander.”

Weynik looked around. “Can I have a minute alone with my Second Officer, please?”

Kohanim left. Hrelle paused to lean in and rub his muzzle against her face, whispering, “Don’t do that again if you can help it, Sasha. I have enough grey fur from your brother. He’ll be by later with his mother, with a picture he made for you.”

She smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

As he left her alone with Weynik, the Captain drew closer and lowered his voice. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?”

She swallowed. “Captain… you should get a new Second Officer.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “Oh? Don’t you think I should be the judge of that, Lieutenant?”

She swallowed, reaching for the water and drinking before continuing. “Captain, I took… extreme actions. Put myself and others in danger.”

“You and the rest of us were already in danger. We were working on recovering control of the systems from them, but had you not taken the extreme action you did, they might have done something like open the airlocks on us. Or, I might have had to trigger the self-destruct systems. Those seem like more extreme actions to me.”

She looked away, staring at a tray near an adjacent empty biobed. “I- I don’t know what I was doing down there.”

Weynik drew closer, pride in his voice. “Then allow me to enlighten you: you charged in without hesitation to stop a pack of Klingon invaders, so Mr Madison can rescue a critically-wounded crewmember. You then risked your life to save this ship. And you did all this on your first day onboard.” He smiled. “Mr Madison filled us in.”

“But- But it could have gone wrong. Wrong in so many ways.”

“Sasha, there’s something you need to understand: it can always go wrong. Some of the greatest victories of the likes of Captains such as Mackenzie, Archer, Kirk, Sulu, V’Lon, were as much down to sheer dumb luck as it was to their abilities and experience. Your Dad will back me up on this.”

She regarded him. Was she just being nice to her because of her injuries, because he was her Dad’s best friend and had appointed her? “I- I could have been wrong-”

“Sasha, I promise you: if I think you do something wrong, you’ll be the first to know. I won’t hold back because you’re my best friend’s cub. Got it?”

She smiled now. “Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled back. “You get some rest, I have to torment your father some more-”

Sasha held up a hand, feeling her face redden, and wondering what she was doing bringing this up now. “Wait, Sir… um, I, ah, wanted to ask you about shipboard regulations involving… relationships between officers. I know that it’s at the Captain’s discretion, so…” She raised her eyebrows expectantly at him.

“Relationships? Anyone in particular?” He smirked. “Mr Madison, perhaps?”

Now her face burned. “Forget I said anything, Sir.”

Weynik crossed his arms. “It’s probably for the best anyway, Lieutenant. I take a dim view of shipboard relationships. It’s bad for discipline and-”

From outside, Dad’s voice carried back into them, his Caitian hearing as acute as ever, based on his response. “STOP BEING SUCH A MEAN LITTLE BUTT PIMPLE, SHORT ROUND, AND LET HER HAVE A BOYFRIEND!”

Sasha winced, the heat in her face doubling or more. “Sorry, Sir.” Louder now, she shouted back, “STAY OUT OF THIS, DAD, OR I’LL TELL KAMI ON YOU!”

“I’M NOT AFRAID OF MY WIFE!” he declared defiantly.

“AND I’LL TELL GRANDMA MA’SALA, TOO!” she added.

Silence.

Weynik smiled at her. “I was kidding, by the way. You’re mature enough to  put your life on the line, you can manage your private affairs.” He glanced behind him at the doorway. “Lieutenant Madison, we were just talking about you.”

Sasha looked up; Madison stood there, his huge frame seeming lessened by the vulnerable expression on his face as he nodded to their Captain. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, Sir-”

“Not at all. I’ll leave you two youngsters alone.”

She looked up at the newcomer. “Hello again, Mrs Madison.”

“‘Mrs Madison’?” Weynik asked, shaking his head. “Kids...”

As he departed, Sasha focused on Madison. “I heard you kept Mr Narevl alive. My compliments.”

He grunted. “You’re giving me compliments? After everything you did?” Then he drew closer, his expression sobering. “Sasha, I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

He breathed in. “I- I should have done more down there to help-”

She waved off his words. “You followed my orders. You saved a life. You did everything you were supposed to do.”

“But I should have- should have come back to fight-”

“Why? Because you’re a man? If you say something like that to me, I’ll punch you in the nuts.”

He laughed, relaxing. “Then I’d better not say something like that. And I’m looking forward to learning more on that date you promised me.”

She smirked at him. “You still want a date? I must look like seven shades of shit.” She leaned back. “Well, I’m stuck in here until tomorrow, but I suppose I’ll keep my schedule free for tomorrow night.”

He grinned. “Great. We’ll split a pizza.”

From the other side of Sickbay, Dad boomed with laughter and announced loudly, “GOOD LUCK TRYING THAT, CUB! SASHA DON’T SHARE!”

“SHUT UP, DAD!” Her face turning scarlet as her father continued to laugh, and she looked up at Madison and admitted, “He’s right, though: Sasha Don’t Share...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE WITH… STRAY