Clandestine

USS Surefoot-A, Deck 2 Fore, Senior Officers’ Quarters

Stardate 50320.6:

Commander T’Varik knelt on the meditation mat in the centre of her quarters, focusing on the single candle in the stand before her, its steady illumination failing to assist her in achieving the desired level of serenity.

No. No, it was only logical to accept that, at this stage, there was only one means of attaining what she craved, short of medication. And that means of attainment was currently 4.895 minutes late-

The door to the quarters slid open, the rush of cool incoming air from the corridor blowing out the candle but the accompanying light revealing the lithe, muscular, tailed figure that entered, commanding, “Computer: lock the door.”

T’Varik felt more than heard the slight buzz on the door as it locked, as C’Rash slipped out of her jacket. With the candle out, there was only light from the nearby workstation, but it was more than enough for both of them, as the Caitian’s sibilant tones filled the silence. “Sorry for the delay, one of the cadets hurt himself making a tricky move in Suus Mahna, and I wanted to make sure he got to Sickbay-”

“I do not require apologies from you,” T’Varik announced hoarsely, giving up on seeking balance through fractal geometry calculation. It was inefficacious, and the presence of her lover, someone T’Varik admittedly would never have conceived of as a potential partner several years ago, remained exigent in her mind.

“Oh.” C’Rash stepped back to face the Vulcan, dropping into a close crouch that was second nature to her people, her coal-furred skin bristling, her muzzle and tail twitching with interest as she sniffed the air. “I take it your change of scent means you’re fully into your Ponn Farr? You timed our weekend leave with your usual precision-”

“I do not require the obvious from you either,” she informed her tersely, feeling unaccustomed beads of sweat running down the sides of her head, struggling to drop down onto the collar of her black meditation robes.

“Is that right?” C’Rash replied, sounding more amused than offended, as she leaned in closer, her own scent reaching T’Varik’s nostrils now, her breath a hot caress on the Vulcan’s face. “No apologies, no obvious statements. What do you require from me, lover?”

T’Varik reached up swiftly, grabbing C’Rash by her undershirt as she returned to her feet, flinging the Caitian onto their bed.

C’Rash bounced on the mattress, growling hungrily.

Barely a heartbeat later, the Red Alert klaxon sounded.

Both women stopped, but for once it was T’Varik who cursed, loudly and in an improvised mix of Klingon, Orion and Terran languages, her native tongue ill-equipped for graphic imprecation.

“We’re on leave, Pottymouth,” the Caitian reminded her. “We don’t have to-”

But already T’Varik was moving to the desk intercom, quickly recovering her faculties before speaking. “Bridge, what is happening?”

Her Captain’s voice came through loud and clear over the sirens. “Distress signal from the USS Oberon at the edge of the Sherman system, some sort of subspace rift has caused catastrophic systems failure, they’re abandoning ship and fleeing in shuttles and escape pods. We’re on our way to intercept.” After a moment he added, “We don’t need either of you for this.”

T’Varik’s face tightened, remembering that Captain Hrelle would no doubt be aware of the reasons behind her unaccustomed request for extended time off-duty, being the commanding officer. She knew she had been due for her next Pon Farr, of course – her many biological cycles were meticulous – but she had anticipated that C’Rash and she could… manage this… without having to leave the ship and interrupt their respective duties overmuch. 

This emergency, however, had proved that C’Rash’s earlier suggestion of taking their leave on Sherman’s Planet had been the more sound one, and a further example of T’Varik’s diminished capacities.

She raised her voice and declared, “What is our ETA?”

“Just over an hour, Commander. But like I said, we don’t need-”

“Lt Shall and I will be back on duty at that time.”

After a moment, at which time she calculated an approximate 98.75% probability that he was silently consulting Kami Hrelle, his wife and Counselor, he responded with, “Okay, but if you change your mind-”

“T’Varik out.”

As she turned back towards C’Rash, the Caitian looked to her with concern. “Are you sure?”

The Vulcan used her remaining rationality to compute required time to complete the task at hand, dress and walk- no, run – to the Bridge, and peruse the latest incident reports on their fellow Starfleet vessel. It was not ideal, but it would be sufficient.

She tore her robes as she pulled them over her head and leapt onto the bed.

*

T’Varik’s plans went as she expected – almost. It was only after reporting to the Bridge with C’Rash and recommencing their duties that she noticed the distracted looks she was receiving from Hrelle, and understood: she did not take time for a sonic shower, and his superior Caitian olfactory senses were reacting to the… scents of her recent carnal activity. 

But fortunately he quickly engaged a professional attitude as they relayed information on the Oberon situation, before he repaired to the Shuttlebay to personally oversee the rescue and medical operations.

His penchant for maintaining a physical presence at such times was, at first, baffling to T’Varik, who believed it served more a personal need of his to be ‘doing something’. But quickly she understood that his presence proved to be emotionally reassuring for the younger crewmembers and cadets, as well as a convenient authority figure who could respond to the unexpected there more quickly than by calling the Bridge. He could be quite logical... in his own roundabout way.

She sat in his chair and let her mind focus itself once more following her temporary hormonal realignment. She had been in Starfleet for 28.42 years, 92.54% of which had been spent at Starfleet Academy on Earth, as an instructor, administrator and Academy Liaison to the cadets. Until the Advanced Work Experience program was initiated, she had possessed no desire for commanding a starship and crew, but thought that she was sufficiently educated and informed enough to be able to adapt to the role very effectively.

She had been proven wrong. And, as trite as it might have sounded if spoken aloud, she had to admit that she was not too old to stop learning-

Hrelle’s hail from the Shuttlebay interrupted her from her thoughts. “Commander, what’s the status on the subspace instability in the area around the Oberon wreckage?”

“One moment, Sir.”

She looked over to the Science Station, where Kemra roi Grehk, the Science Cadet for Beta Squad, a young Tellarite female, glanced over her shoulder and reported, “The area around the wreckage of the Oberon remains at 400-495 millicochranes declension, Commander.”

T’Varik mentally replayed Hrelle’s voice, his tone and the content of his query, assessed the most probable reason for his asking, and enquired from Grehk, “Does that mean that transporter activity and all but minimal scans will still be non-functional in its immediate area?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Thanks,” Hrelle noted, having listened in on the exchange. “There’s a civilian, a child, that’s been left behind. I’m taking a shuttle over, so get C’Rash and a Security team down here to accompany- oh, hey, Kit! I need a Science Specialist! I know you’re not under my command anymore but-”

The sibilant Qarari tones of former cadet Kitirik, onboard visiting former shipmates, came through the communicator channel. “I would be honoured to assist, Most Respected Former Captain.”

“Captain,” T’Varik interjected, as she watched C’Rash silently depart the Bridge. “The Klingons have been detected in the immediate area, and we are still collecting-”

“I know, I know, call Captain Weynik on the Ajax and tell him to meet us there, we can’t wait! And as soon as you’ve finished here, follow along! And thank you for not trying to get me not to go! Hrelle out!” He closed the channel before she could reply, as if worried that she might still try to change his mind.

She noted the almost-imperceptible reaction from Grehk when Hrelle called on Kit to accompany him, and took 0.53 seconds to analyse the cause of it, while providing orders to others. “Helm, plot a course for the Oberon’s last known position, be prepared to divert there once we have collected all of the survivors. Ensign Gorman, report to Tactical, you may be required if the Klingons reach the site first. Ops, contact the Ajax and request Captain Weynik’s assistance immediately, and prepare Shuttlebay Operations for an emergency launch. Cadet Grehk?”

When the Tellarite turned in her chair to face the centre of the Bridge, T’Varik continued. “Regulations require the Captain to call upon the most experienced available Science Officer on hand for a critical mission such as this, and our Counselor and Chief Science Officer’s expectant condition precludes her direct involvement, given the probable involvement of tetryon radiation. His choice of the visiting ensign should not be seen as a reflection on you. Your academic record is exemplary… as opposed to your face, which appears the stuff of nightmares.”

Grehk grinned at the unexpected employment of Tellarite Banter from T’Varik, and replied, “Thank you, Commander. You are quite ugly yourself, if I might say.”

“Thank you.” As T’Varik faced forward again, she acknowledged that taking time to offer emotional support to a cadet would have been illogical before her assignment on the Surefoot. Granted, her duties on Earth involved hundreds of cadets per year, as opposed to the eighteen currently serving onboard this ship, but still-

“The shuttle Sureswift has launched, Commander,” Neheru reported from Ops. “And the Ajax has confirmed it will rendezvous with the Oberon upon their arrival-”

Suddenly a new voice cut in over the intercom, one she recognised as their Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Masterson. “Bridge! We need Commander T’Varik down here, right now!”

The Vulcan frowned, noting the anxiety in the man’s voice, and opened the channel from her seat. “This is T’Varik, Doctor, what is the matter?”

“One of the Oberon survivors is- well, he’s here, and he demands to see you!”

“Is it urgent, Doctor?”

There were noises in the background of Sickbay, voices denoting alarm, confusion, but before she could enquire further, a new voice cut in: male, sharp. “Commander T’Varik! You will report to your Sickbay immediately, or I will break this man’s neck!”

T’Varik rose to her feet, as Masterson spoke again, chokingly. “He- he means me, Ma’am-”

“I am on my way. Bridge out.” She looked to Ensign Gorman, now at the Tactical station. “Send a security team to Sickbay, but ensure they do not enter until I arrive. Lt Neheru, you are in command, continue retrieval operations and proceed to the Oberon when ready.”

*

The Security crewmen were waiting for her, as expected, allowing her to lead the way inside and find the majority of Medical staff who were not working on patients an audience of spectators looking towards the Isochamber in the rear of Sickbay, parting as T’Varik drew up.

Masterson was standing there, the tall, rugged-looking human looking pale and sweaty with a forearm wrapped around his throat, the forearm belonging to a taller, olive-skinned Vulcan male in a blue-topped uniform. The Vulcan tensed until she stopped where she was. “I am Commander T’Varik. Identify yourself.”

The Vulcan looked over Masterson’s shoulder at her, his eyes wide, darting around; pea-green blood was pouring down from a wound on the side of his head, onto his and the doctor’s uniforms. “Lieutenant Commander Lonok, on special assignment to the USS Oberon.”

Nearby, Chief Nurse Scarlo kept a wary eye on the scene as she reported, “Commander, he has a massive subdural haematoma. If we don’t operate on him soon, he’ll die-”

“NO!” the other Vulcan declared loudly, tightening his hold on the doctor. “No operation! It is not permitted!”

“Lieutenant Commander,” T’Varik interjected calmly, capturing the patient’s attention once more. “These people are not here to harm you. They are here to assist you. I am ordering you to release Doctor Masterson and submit to medical treatment.”

“No! I- I will not!”

“Then why did you summon me? To wait and witness you succumb to your injuries?”

“No! I- I require an officer of Level 10 Security or higher- you- you are in the Fleet Register as one such- you must- bear witness-”

Then T’Varik understood. “You are a Starfleet Intelligence operative.” She looked to the Security crewmen. “Stand outside, await further orders.” To the others, she added, “Return to your duties. I will deal with this.” Now she faced Masterson once more, explaining quietly, “Regulations prevent certain SI operatives to undergo any medical treatment except in the presence of others with equivalent security levels or higher.”

The doctor breathed out, though he remained frightened-looking. “Y’all could have just said that at the start, dude.”

T’Varik stepped forward. “I am here, as requested. It would be logical to release your hold on the man who will soon be attempting to save your life.”

Lonok seemed to listen, to waver- but in reality he was passing out. Masterson turned around in place to catch him. “Scarlo! Ready the cortical stimulator! Jika! Ambizine, 30ccs, stat!”

T’Varik moved in to assist, to help the stricken officer onto the nearest biobed-

-Stopping only when the other Vulcan suddenly reached up and placed his fingertips on the side of her he-

-as Scarlo passed a sensor wand over T’Varik’s head, noting, “Overload of the- hey!” The nurse dropped the wand, her face grimacing in pain for some reason. “Commander!”

T’Varik glanced down, acknowledging that her own hand was on Scarlo’s arm, squeezing. She released her hold. “F-Forgive me, Nurse-” 

She glanced around, seeing Masterson and other medical staff around a biobed where Lonok lay, being treated, while the overhead display indicated the other Vulcan was in a critical condition; a glance at a nearby wall chronometer confirmed T’Varik had been in a fugue state for approximately 52 seconds. “What happened to me?”

Scarlo drew back a step, as if worried T’Varik might grab her again. “He touched the side of your head, and then you froze, completely unresponsive.” She frowned. “Your paratemporal lobe overloaded- did he try to mind-meld with you?”

The Vulcan stiffened, but then shook his head. “He might have tried, in his delirium, but he was too weak to make any connection. I must leave.”

“Wait, Commander, the Doc says to keep you here until he or another doctor is free to check you out more thoroughly-”

T’Varik drew up straight. “That will not be necessary, Nurse. I suspect it was merely a side effect of a recent… hormonal imbalance I have been undergoing. Doctor Masterson will be aware of it already.”

Scarlo frowned. “I don’t know, Ma’am, I think maybe-”

Suddenly their attention was drawn to the biobed with Lonok, as his biosigns went into arrest, triggering alarms and a flurry of activity from the surrounding staff.

“Perhaps you should assist?” T’Varik suggested.

The nurse nodded and rushed over to join in the efforts. T’Varik took the opportunity to move towards the door, stopping as she heard Masterson finally stop and declare Lonok’s time of death.

T’Varik paused. She considered a moment of silent reflection on the passing of another Vulcan, another Starfleet officer – even one connected with Starfleet Intelligence, a division with whom she had interacted in the past, and not always amicably. Especially with regards to Sakuth, her former lover, who on at least two occasions had threatened people onboard this ship. Lonok proved to appear just as volatile and extreme, though perhaps in his case this was exacerbated by his injuries.

But then, as she considered it further, she accepted that it was not logical, that the man had been delusional. It was not likely that he was an operative. No, definitely not.

Suddenly the Red Alert klaxon sounded, as Neheru announced, “All hands, prepare for battle stations! Klingon vessels dead ahead!”

T’Varik raced back to the Bridge, momentarily at a loss to remember what she was just thinking about.

*

She took her place in the Captain’s chair once again, accessing the various logs updated in her absence, though a part of her thoughts remained with Lonok, and wondered how much of his delusion was caused by the subspace instability, and indeed, the cause of the instability itself.

The most likely cause would be some form of subspace isolytic device, a torpedo or directed energy beam, though such devices were banned under the Second Khitomer Accords, because of their instability and the potential for massive loss of life from the resulting release of tetryonic radiation when dealing with subspace layer instability.

“Commander?”

Of course, Starfleet would honour the Accords, but the same could not be said about the Klingons.  It would be logical, on a tactical if not a political level, to at least test the potential for such weapons, especially if the conflict with the Dominion escalated-

She blinked and looked over her shoulder at Neheru. “Lieutenant?”

The Kelpien was staring at her in confusion, indicating the viewscreen ahead of them. “I was trying to inform you that we are approaching the Oberon, and the Ajax has already engaged the Klingon vessels there! But you were lost in thought!”

“Vulcans do not get ‘lost in thought’,” she informed him archly. “Our mental maps are meticulous.” She examined the tactical display, noting the Sureswift docked to a port airlock on the Oberon…. and a Klingon shuttle on the starboard. “Red Alert, arm all weapons, target to destroy.”

She heard the reactions from the Bridge crew, waiting for the inevitable response from Gorman. “Commander? Don’t you mean-”

“I know what I meant, Ensign. The Captain and his party are rescuing a civilian child. They require all the protection we can provide. Now, target to destroy, or step aside and be relieved of duty.”

Fortunately – for Gorman anyway – he replied with, “Targeting to destroy, Ma’am.”

T’Varik stayed still, allowing her heart to race a little faster as the Surefoot banked hard to starboard, behind one Bird of Prey, her enhanced phasers pounding against the Klingon vessel’s shields. T’Varik watched them flare angrily.

Relishing the moment when they would overload, and the ship that threatened her lover and her Captain would be blown to smithereens.

She took 0.82 seconds to consider the etymology of the word 'smithereens', whose framework resembled Terran Gaelic, with the suffix 'een' demoting a diminutive-

The Bird of Prey in front of them exploded – but from a blast of phaser pulses from the Ajax, swooping down from above.

T’Varik indulged in an additional 1.13 seconds in… yes, the emotion was indeed frustration… interesting… before recovering quickly. “Ops, send our thanks to the Ajax for their assistance. Helm, draw us closer to the Oberon, scan… scan...”

“Yes, Commander?” Neheru prompted.

Standard procedure would have been to scan the immediate area and gather more evidence on the subspace phenomenon which had disabled the Oberon, and determine if it was of natural cause, or by design, and if the latter, was it of Klingon origin, or Starfleet-

No. No, it was obviously a natural phenomenon. No scanning of it was necessary.

“Commander?”

T’Varik looked over her shoulder. “Scan for any additional Klingon vessels.”

Minutes later, the Sureswift undocked from the Oberon, as Hrelle’s voice filled the Bridge. “Surefoot! We have the boy, and a Klingon prisoner! Withdraw, the Oberon is on Auto-Destruct, three minutes, maybe less!”

“Understood, Captain. Power down, we’ll tractor you away and guide you into the Shuttlebay once we clear the blast zone. Surefoot out.” She rose to her feet. “Lt Neheru, take command once more. I must return to Sickbay and speak with the Doctor regarding the earlier security incident.”

*

Masterson pointed at the internal scan of Lonok’s head – or rather, at the small, curved, opaque object beneath the upper rear of the dead Vulcan’s skull. “At first I thought this was a cybernetic neural regulator, helping manage a disorder; his medical records indicate he had LeCarre Syndrome.”

She nodded. “A medical implant would be required for such a disorder.”

“Yeah, except that this implant is shielded from scans, which made me figure it had something to do with him being in Starfleet Intelligence-”

“He was not,” she countered simply.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

She looked to him. “I have made a thorough examination of Starfleet records, and I can confirm that Lt Cmdr Lonok was not with SI. I suspect that his words were the result of a psychotic break induced by his injuries. Nurse Scarlo did indicate that he had suffered a subdural hematoma-”

The doctor looked at her. “Yeah… except that that wasn’t what killed him.” He pointed at the object again. “There was a power spike from that thing, and I think it was enough to trigger a fatal neural cascade! Like it was a cyanide tooth!”

“Excuse me?”

“A cyanide tooth! Spies in old novels had them all the time, poison hidden in a fake tooth that they’d break open and ingest when they were captured-”

“As I have already explained, Doctor, Mr Lonok was no spy. And even if he was, Starfleet Intelligence operatives are not in the habit of being equipped with suicide devices, nor would they consider being treated by Starfleet doctors as being ‘captured’.”

Masterson grunted. “Yeah, well, we’ll find out what that thing is when I perform the autopsy-”

“You will perform no autopsy.”

He frowned. “Excuse me, Ma’am?”

“Mr Lonok’s personnel records indicate that his body must remain sacrosanct, in order for it to be buried in his family crypt on Vulcan.”

“Hey, I’m as respectful about people’s religious beliefs as much as the next man, but I have a patient who died under very suspicious circumstances, and has a device in his head that I can’t identify-”

“I will not discount the possibility that his injuries caused a malfunction in the implant, but that will be for his family physicians to confirm, not you.”

“Yeah, but-”

T’Varik purposefully drew closer, adopting a conspiratorial tone and ambiguous choice of words that she calculated had a 96.3% efficacy rate in temporarily mollifying Masterson. “Doctor, there are circumstances of which I cannot go into detail at this time. I ask for your trust that all will be revealed in due course.”

Masterson frowned at her, before finally grunting. “Fine, I’ve got better things to worry about right now. But since you’re here, let’s just get you checked out- I haven’t forgotten that little episode you had with Lonok before he died-”

“There is no need, Doctor, I was merely experiencing the aftereffects of my interrupted Pon Farr period. They have since passed.”

“I’m not taking No for an answer this time, Commander-”

Just then, T’Varik’s combadge chirped, as Neheru announced, “We’re tractoring the Sureswift into the Shuttlebay now, Commander. Captain Hrelle wants you there.”

“Acknowledged; T’Varik out.” She looked to Masterson. “I promise I will accede to your request once my work is completed. Will that assuage your dedication, Doctor?”

He grunted again. “Yeah, well, don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Understood.”

*

She ran into C’Rash outside of the Shuttlebay, the Caitian carrying a stack of devices T’Varik recognised as Klingon scanners. “Lover! How are you doing?”

The Vulcan straightened up. “Such an appellation is inappropriate in public. Why do you have these?”

“They’re all that’s left of the Klingon boarding party on the Oberon. The Captain thinks they were testing an illegal weapon system, and with the Oberon blown to the Seven Hells, we need the evidence from them when he reports to Tattok.”

“Of course.” She held out her arms, accepting the stack. “I will perform the task. You report to Sickbay.”

C’Rash shook her head. “I’m fine, I can do it later-”

“There was a security incident in your absence. An injured survivor from the Oberon attacked Doctor Masterson.”

“The Doc? Is he okay? Why would  anyone attack him?”

“The patient was delirious; the doctor was physically uninjured, but given that the patient died of his injuries immediately afterwards, I would sooner you compile the Security report than one of your junior officers, to ensure there is no misinterpretation of the facts at hand.”

C’Rash nodded. “Okay, but if you need help-”

“I will manage.” Then she froze as C’Rash reached up and stroked her cheek, before departing.

Silently T’Varik made her way to one of the Surefoot’s Science Labs, normally employed only for teaching purposes or occasionally medical research with some of the more unusual cases that arise during a rescue operation. She set the devices down on a workstation and prepared her equipment.

What she had to do didn’t take long, and in fact she had been finishing up when Hrelle called her. “Commander, are you done?”

“Yes, Sir. I can report on the findings from the Klingon equipment.”

“Then please join us in my Ready Room.”

She met up with C’Rash along the way, the Caitian noting, “You didn’t tell me that you were involved in that incident with the late Lt Cmdr Lonok.”

“My involvement was peripheral.” She felt the fixed expression on the woman beside her. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“No. No, there isn’t.” But she didn’t sound very convincing.

They entered, T’Varik taking in the sight of Hrelle pacing near the windows, Captain Taaers of the Oberon sitting at the table… and the images of Admirals Tattok and Ian Trenagen of Starfleet Intelligence standing over holocommunicator pads on the carpet.

Hrelle faced Taaers, obviously annoyed as he continued arguing. “-Statements from the survivors of your ship, and your manifest, confirmed that there was a ‘secret project’ going on there! The readings we took confirmed the subspace interference was at its strongest within the Oberon! The ship was on an Autodestruct sequence you failed to mention before we left to rescue the cub! And the Klingons knew about the weapon, too, that’s why they risked tetryon radiation exposure to board it! The facts speak for themselves!”

“Captain,” came the cool, cultured British baritone voice of Trenagen, the snow-haired, broad-nosed human fixing upon him. “In my experience, facts do not speak, they simply lie there, subject to interpretation… or misinterpretation.”

Next to him, the shorter image of Tattok turned to him. “Some facts cannot possibly be misinterpreted. Captain Taaers, were you conducting a secret project onboard the Oberon without my knowledge?”

The Trill man never replied, instead looking to Trenagen, allowing the Admiral to continue. “As a matter of fact, Tattok, yes, under my orders. But nothing that involved subspace, or anything else that might contravene any Accords such as Captain Hrelle has suggested.”

“Then what was it?”

“I’m afraid the details are classified.”

The Roylan’s facial scales darkened. “You arranged for a secret project to be conducted on one of my ships, while we’re in the middle of a War? Who do you think you are?”

Trenagen smirked. “I think I’m the Head of Starfleet Intelligence. But I can assure you that the project was perfectly safe.”

“It crippled the Oberon!” Hrelle reminded him. “There were casualties! We barely escaped with a young boy left behind!”

“And you have my admiration for that heroic feat, Captain,” Trenagen replied to him. “But you are mistaken. Clearly the subspace rift that damaged the Oberon was a natural phenomenon. They do happen, unfortunately.”

“And the Autodestruct?”

“A malfunction, perhaps? Or perhaps one of Captain Taaers’ senior officers triggered it without his knowledge?” He looked to Taaers. “That is certainly possible, isn’t it, Captain?”

The Trill turned to the image, before focusing on Hrelle again with a smug look. “Very possible, Admiral.”

Hrelle stared back, his expression taut. “And the Klingons? Why did they board it? Why were they in one of your Science Labs, downloading data?”

“Sadly, with their passing, we shall never know.” Trenagen declared.

Now Hrelle looked to T’Varik and C’Rash. “Guess again, Admiral. Commander, inform them of what you discovered on the Klingon scanners Lt Shall obtained.”

T’Varik drew up, facing the holographic admirals. “Regrettably, tetryon radiation damaged the datacores of the Klingon devices. We have been unable to obtain any useful data from them.”

All eyes turned to her, C’Rash the nearest and the first to respond with, “Bullshit! There was nothing wrong with them!”

T’Varik kept facing forward, but replied to her anyway. “In your haste, you did not have the opportunity to examine them thoroughly. Admirals, I would surmise that the Klingons had indeed boarded for intelligence gathering, but for tactical data on Fleet movements, which they attempted to access via the computers in one of the Oberon’s Science Labs. That the Oberon might have been conducting experimental research would be purely a coincidence.”

The room was silent, until Trenagen said, “Thank you, Commander. It is fortunate that Captain Hrelle has you as an objective counterbalance to his more…. impulsive traits.”

Hrelle glared at him, before looking to Tattok. “Not all the Klingons are dead, Admiral. We have one prisoner. He might have a different story to tell.”

Tattok nodded. “The Minotaur is rendezvousing with you to collect the Oberon survivors; turn him over to them. Captain Taaers, you will report to me immediately.”

The Trill stood up and nodded. “Sir, I’ll be needing a new command, but I’m certain with your help that can be expedited and I can get back on the front lines-”

“I’m certain with my help it could be… but you won’t be getting any.”

“Sir?”

“And you certainly won’t be rejoining my fleet if you do. Maybe your real commander can help you out?” Now the Roylan looked to Trenagen. “I may have no hard evidence to support it, but I have no doubt something nasty occurred here. Nasty and illegal. And I won’t forget it.” Then he turned back to Hrelle. “Send me your report, Captain, and anything else you might discover along the way. Tattok out.”

The image of the Roylan admiral disappeared, as Trenagen looked to Hrelle. “Please give my best to your lovely wife, Captain. I understand you two are expecting another child Congratulations.” His image vanished too.

T’Varik studied the agitated stance on Hrelle, before the Caitian focused on her. “Lieutenant, escort Captain Taaers back to the other Oberon survivors in the Shuttlebay. Commander, I’d like a word with you, privately.”

As the younger Caitian left with Taaers, T’Varik watched Hrelle approach, studying her intently, prompting her to ask, “Is there a problem, Sir?”

“Yes.” He sniffed the air. “Why did you do it?”

“I do not understand.”

“Why did you lie? To the Admirals? To me?”

“I have not lied, Sir-”

“I looked at one of the Klingon scanners!” he barked, as he stood a metre away. “There was nothing wrong with it! It was filled with data! All of them were! Enough evidence to incriminate Trenagen and Taaers!”

“You were mistaken, Sir. The damage was more profound than your initial perusal might have led you to believe.”

Hrelle stared hard at her. “How long have we known each other?”

“Four years, seven months, nineteen days-”

“And in all that time,” he cut in, “I’ve trusted what you had to say. I might not have liked it, but I’ve always trusted it.

Until now. There’s something… wrong with you.”

T’Varik adjusted her stance. “Captain, I believe any… disquiet… you might be perceiving is in fact a residue of the hormonal ebb, following my interrupted Ponn Farr. I… apologise. It is, as you can imagine, a source of acute embarrassment for me-” 

She calculated the level of sentiment required to erode his doubts as she added, “Even given the level of familial relationship I have relished as the Lressha to your son, as well as my relationship with your niece, and my friendship with your wife… and, hopefully, with you.”

Hrelle took in her words, before nodding and relenting, “Okay. Report to Sickbay for an examination, and then see Kami.”

She blinked. “An examination will not be necessary-”

He touched his combadge. “Hrelle to Sickbay: Doctor, Commander T’Varik is proceeding to you. I want a thorough examination, make sure she’s okay.”

Masterson’s voice returned. “Will do, Captain.”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “It appears I have indeed lost your trust.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. You are family. And I know how stubborn you get… almost as stubborn as me. Now go.”

She nodded, gauging that there was nothing more to be gained from further discussion… and that she had work ahead of her still.

Her mind calculated the optimum amount of time she could delay arriving at Sickbay before Masterson summoned her, or Captain Hrelle, and maximised that time by speeding her pace to the Security Suite, tapping her combadge along the way. “Computer: where is Lt Shall?”

“Lieutenant Shall is on the Bridge.”

T’Varik increased her pace an additional 12%.

Ensign Orogg was alone on duty, the former cadet rising to his feet from his station. “Commander, is something amiss?”

T’Varik spared a glance on the sole occupied cell, and the glaring Klingon prisoner behind the force field. “No. I require a moment alone with the prisoner. Wait outside.”

The Saurian blinked his huge round bronze eyes. “Uh, that’s against regulations, Commander.”

“And under normal circumstances, I would not ask this. But these are not normal circumstances.” She drew closer, affecting a casual air that wouldn’t alarm the Ensign. “Lives are at stake. I cannot go into further detail.”

He rose to his feet – but then touched his combadge. “Ensign Orogg to Lieu-”

Her hand was on his neck before he could finish, pressing the correct nerve stops to send the Saurian into unconsciousness. She caught him, sitting him back into his seat, making a mental note to have C’Rash amend Security protocols to ensure prisoner watch was conducted by more than one crewman.

Then she deactivated the force field on the Klingon’s cell. He had risen to his feet, watching with suspicious interest the exchange, but now tensed on her approach. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

She drew closer, analysing his most probable reactions now: escape, attack, both. “What were you told about your mission to the Oberon?”

He sneered defiantly, though his body language suggested he was fighting the urge to draw back from her. “I will not talk.”

“No,” she agreed. “You won’t.” She prepared her mental disciplines, ready to erase his memories of the Oberon. After that-

“T’Varik!”

She stopped in her tracks, estimating the probability of her lover being armed as she entered Security. “The Klingon attacked Ensign Orogg, I was-”

“Step out of the cell, T’Varik. Slowly.”

The Vulcan complied, moving backwards until she was past the doorway; she felt the hairs on her skin rise as the force field was restored, before she turned around. C’Rash stood there, phaser in hand, tail still, as T’Varik stepped forward, calculating the speed, direction and force required to disarm the Chief of Security. “Captain Hrelle asked me to interrogate the prisoner for corroborative-”

“T’Varik,” C’Rash interrupted. “Don’t. Uncle Esek asked you to go to Sickbay for an examination. Then you asked the computer where I was; it has orders to let me know anytime someone asks about my location.”

The Vulcan nodded. “Very prudent.”

“Especially when there’s something wrong with our First Officer.”

She breathed in. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

“Yes, there is. There has been, ever since you were attacked by that SI officer, Lonok.”

T’Varik bristled. “As I explained, Lt Cmdr Lonok was delusional from his injuries, only believing himself to be an SI operative.”

“Oh? And did that delusion grant him the knowledge that you had a Level 10 Security rating? Doc Masterson heard him say it in his statement you had me take.”

The Vulcan froze. “It was an educated guess on his part, knowing I was First Officer on a starship.”

“A very educated guess, since most First Officers on a starship have Level 8 clearance. But you’re an unusual case, because of your additional duties as Academy Liaison, and your prior involvement in SI operations. Only a high-level SI operative would know that much about you.

Then there’s the implant in Lonok’s head-”

“A medical implant. His records-”

“-Are false; the doctor’s post-mortem confirmed no neurological condition requiring an implant. And medical implants aren’t typically designed to be shielded from scans, or to deliver lethal charges.”

“An overload caused by the local subspace phenomenon-”

“And then there are the Klingon scanners. You did a good job of using the multiphasic analyser in the Science Lab to erase the scanner datacores and make it look like damage from tetryon radiation. 

But you failed to account for the health and safety protocols we would have run on arriving in the Shuttlebay, scanning everyone and everything for radiation levels.” She tilted her head. “Somehow, their radiation levels increased after you got your hands on them.”

T’Varik trembled uncontrollably. C’Rash was right- No! NO! “You are delusional, Lieutenant-”

“‘Lieutenant’? Are we back on formal terms now? T’Varik… Lonok did something to you. Scarlo, Masterson, they saw him make contact with your face-”

“No- he attempted- he did not succeed-”

“I think he did, T’Varik. He died, but he left you some psychic legacy to clean up his mess-”

“No! I am in control of my actions!”

Without taking her eyes off of her lover, C’Rash indicated the still-unconscious Orogg. “Then who did that?”

T’Varik took a step back, her face burning, her limbs shaking now. “The- The Klingon-”

“No.” Her muzzle twitched. “You did. And you were getting ready to wipe the memory of the Klingon prisoner.”

T’Varik’s jaw clenched, and every iota of effort employed to keep in control was insufficient. “I… am… in control… of my actions!”

C’Rash regarded her. “Prove it.”

And she set her phaser down on the adjacent workstation.

T’Varik’s hand immediately shot up to the side of C’Rash’s head, applying pressure points and opening up a link with ease; a part of her gauged that her lengthy intimacy with the Caitian assisted in this… as did her lover’s willing openness, her total lack of resistance.

She sought the right neural pathways. Now she could alter her memories, convince her that the Klingon- that she- that they NO- that there was no conspiracy to NO a coincidence that will be easily NO explained and there was no secret project on the NO Oberon no conspiraNO NO NO NO NO NO NO

She stopped.

She felt.

She heard and tasted and smelled and saw and felt yes she felt she felt the hot furry skin against hers heard the purrs looked into the eyes of someone who loved her like no other had before or ever would again logic be damned this woman was her love her life she trusted her fully and completely and unquestioningly and she would rather die than harm her harm any of those here her family her family her godson Misha her sister Kami her brother Esek she needed she loved she loved she loved she loved she loved

She loved them all.

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

She looked into C’Rash’s own, her voice a whisper. “Help me.”

C’Rash took her in her arms.

*

“USS Surefoot-A, First Officer’s Log, Stardate 50328.1, Commander T’Varik, Recording: our Chief Medical Officer has confirmed that I was the victim of a forced mindmeld from Lt Cmdr Lonok, implanting instructions on the subconscious level to cover up his activities on the Oberon. I have undergone biochemical therapy to reduce the neurological effects of my… violation, and will attend sessions with Counselor Hrelle.

Not helping my recovery is the senior SI operative who has arrived to investigate the incident...”

*

Captain Sakuth set her PADD down on the conference room table. “Lt Cmdr Lonok was a Romulan agent.”

On the other side of the table, T’Varik sat on Hrelle’s right hand, with C’Rash on his left, the Captain responding first with a dubious, “Is that a fact?”

“It is, Captain. I have uncovered evidence linking Lonok with both Unificationists and Romulan sympathisers on Vulcan. Further, the cranial implant in his skull contains alloys found only on Remus.” She looked to T’Varik. “He used his position in Starfleet and his posting on the Oberon to conduct secret subspace experiments of his own, in violation of the Second Khitomer Accords. When he was injured, he used you to cover his tracks-”

“Romulans don’t possess telepathy,” C’Rash pointed out.

Sakuth gave the Caitian a look of minimal tolerance. “I stated that Lonok was a Romulan agent, not a Romulan. Vulcan operatives of the Romulans are highly valued for their telepathy. Do not erode what little regard I have for your minimal skills with obtuseness, Lieutenant.”

“And this all means that Commander T’Varik is cleared of any wrongdoing in this?” Hrelle asked, his gaze fixed on Sakuth.

“Yes, Captain. She is free to return to her duties… such as they are here on this parody of a vessel.” She rose to her feet.

“You’re full of shit,” T’Varik declared.

Sakuth froze in place, and Hrelle and C’Rash leaned forward in their seats to look at T’Varik.

“I beg your pardon, Commander?” Sakuth asked archly.

T’Varik leaned back in her chair, continuing to stare back at the other Vulcan. “I do not mean literally, though, given your constipated personality, it is not beyond the realm of possibility that your body would be in an equivalent costive state. I mean of course that all of this is a lie, a cover-up of a cover-up.

Lonok was no Romulan agent or sympathiser. He was a loyal operative of Starfleet Intelligence – or possibly Section 31.” She observed Sakuth’s attempts to not react to mention of the disputed secret organisation. “He had a suicide device in his head – and the ability to impart to me orders to complete his work preventing his project from being revealed. I certainly do not condone his extreme actions against me… but I do at least understand them.

You and Admiral Trenagen, however, will reward that diligence and dedication by posthumously declaring Lonok a traitor, bringing disgrace to his family on Vulcan. All to protect your own interests.”

Sakuth looked to Hrelle, who shrugged. “I agree with my esteemed First Officer. This whole disgusting episode stinks of Section 31. And I am quietly horrified that we can sit here casually discussing the idea of Starfleet operatives forcing mind melds on others, altering records and carrying suicide devices in their heads.”

Now C’Rash leaned in. “And you definitely do not want to hear my opinion on anything related to you, bitch.”

Sakuth shot her a look of undisguised disdain, before focusing on Hrelle again. “If that is the case, then Admiral Trenagen and I are guilty of numerous violations of both Federation Law and Starfleet Regulations, and it is your duty to see we are brought to justice.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly indicating what she thought of that notion.

“We all know that this will not happen,” T’Varik confirmed. “We have no hard evidence that anything other than your account occurred. You have had Lt Cmdr Lonok’s body shipped somewhere where you can remove the implant. There is of course the Klingon prisoner you took into custody, but no doubt another telepathic operative of yours will complete what I almost did with his memory… assuming the prisoner does not simply die in some ‘accident’.”

Sakuth stared at her. “Then our business here is concluded-”

“Not quite.” Hrelle rose to his feet and walked around, his tail twitching with what T’Varik recognised as barely-restrained anger. She almost intervened – almost – as he drew up to the other Vulcan. “I want you to deliver a message to Admiral Poophead.”

Sakuth’s brow furrowed. “Clearly parenthood has exacerbated your natural predilection for infantile invective-”

She flinched as his finger shot up with quicksilver speed to almost touch her chin, as he continued, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Shut your mouth. The first time you came onboard my ship, you tried to blow it and everyone on it to the Seven Hells. The second time, you pointed a phaser at my son. And now, this atrocity.

I think you have well overstayed your welcome with us.

So go back, go back and tell Trenagen that I don’t like him. Tell him I don’t like his shadowplay, his cloak and dagger crap, his murky morals, or his snooty accent.”

Without taking his stare from her, he pointed to T’Varik. “Tell him I don’t like that because of his spy games, one of my family has been used, has been hurt. Tell him I really, really don’t like that. Tell him to keep you and the rest of his tail-kissing minions the hell away from us.

And tell him if he disregards my warning, I’ll find him… and I’ll kill him.”

Sakuth glared back at him. “Are you aware you have just threatened the life of a superior officer?”

He leaned in closer, teeth bared. “Yeah, Bubulah. I am. And if you’re smart, you’ll not test me to see how serious I am.” He drew back. “Lt Shall, escort the Captain to the nearest Transporter Room. Or an airlock. I don’t care which right now.”

T’Varik watched the two women depart, as Hrelle muttered, “She remains as welcome as a dose of fleas in the crotch.”

“And regrettably not as treatable.” She rose, turning to stare out of the window. She tried to study the movements of the other Fleet ships in her view, tried to calculate their speed and vectors… but such mental acuity eluded her of late. “Can I presume that a repeated attempt on my part to submit a resignation letter to you will elicit the same response I received?”

“You presume correctly.”

She nodded. “And that image you sent me is presumably that of your own buttocks rather than anyone else’s?”

“I have a lovely ass, you must agree.”

“I will not comment.” As he joined her at the window, she added, “You should accept my resignation. I can no longer be trusted.”

“Bullshit.”

“I committed criminal acts, abused my authority, assaulted Ensign Orogg-”

“Bullshit.”

“Taurine faeces is not an effective argument.”

He turned to face her. “No one outside of the senior officers knows what really happened to you. We informed Mr Orogg that it was a Security test, for possible Changeling intruders disguising themselves as Starfleet personnel. C’Rash will be providing additional training to keep him and the others from ending up on the receiving end of a neck pinch.”

“More cover-ups.”

“But this time for the right reasons.”

“Are there ever any right reasons to conceal the truth?”

He raised his muzzle to her. “If this had happened to me, you would be pointing out that I was the victim, not the criminal, that I was not in control of my actions at the time, and that it would be illogical for me to resign and leave everything I have worked hard to achieve behind, because of a specious guilt. And then you’d shed a tear, and your lower lip would quiver, as you pleaded with me to stay-”

She raised an eyebrow. “I would not shed a tear, or quiver a lip.” Then she added, “But I would say how sorry I would be to see you leave. Thank you, by the way, for including me as part of your family when you threatened Sakuth.”

“I was only speaking the truth, though I was afraid of being presumptuous. I know you have a perfectly good family back on Vulcan.”

“You were presumptuous… but you were also accurate. As for my family on Vulcan, let us be content with my declaring that they… exist.”

“Ouch.” But he didn’t enquire further, noting instead, “Your first session with Kami is this afternoon, I understand. I would suggest that since you are on medical leave now, you return to your quarters and relax.”

“Yes.” She didn’t even try to sound convincing. “I’ll take my leave-”

“T’Varik, wait.” As she turned back, he faced her, his tone sober but warm and supportive. “Speaking as someone who has been a victim of similar… intrusions… I can tell you that in the days, weeks, even months to come, you will still be feeling the effects of what you have undergone. You will be angry, you will be weeping, you will be denying, you will be afraid; you may display it in your own way, or not at all, but it will happen. You will have sleepless nights. You will have loss of appetite, and libido, and concentration.

You will not be the same as you were before.

But you will survive.

And you will have family here who will continue to love and support you throughout.”

T’Varik regarded him, and his words, considered offering the rote response expected of her as a Vulcan, about the lack of necessity of such sentiment, the reaffirmation of her emotional control and self-reliance and discipline.

But it seemed pointless now. And dishonest. Because she needed what he said, and offered. “Thank you, Esek.”

*

She greeted people she passed in the corridor instinctively, as she returned to her quarters. The Captain had endured more prolonged, profound crimes against his body and mind, during his captivity among the Breen and Orions; he was, if nothing else, an expert on the subject. She should accept his wisdom that she would recover.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Perhaps not ever. She had been used, manipulated against her will. It was still too early for her to process how this had affected and would continue to affect her.

So much was uncertain. She did not like this feeling.

She entered her quarters, expecting to be alone… only to find someone waiting for her. “Who let you in here, young man?”

Misha Hrelle had been sitting on her couch, dressed in the khaki shorts and vest of his literary hero The Crooked Tailed Cub, but now he hopped onto his feet, his tail swishing happily behind him at the arrival of his godmother, his furry snout lifting with a smile. “Mama let me in. Mama say you play with me on Holodeck. We fight pirates!”

She hesitated; she had been avoiding her godson since this incident occurred, not being able to trust herself in his presence, fearful of the naked emotion he radiated like light from a star. “Perhaps another time-”

But he stood there and shook a finger at her. “No, Godmama! Mama says it’s her orders! She says she’s Big Boss over you now!” Then he held out his arms, stubby fingers beckoning to her. “She say you need hugs, too! Come!”

“Misha, please, tell your mother I would prefer to be alone.”

Then he looked up at her with his big eyes and began purring.

The trills reached her, suffusing her. “Your purrs may hold sway over your sister and the cadets who babysit you in order to obtain ice cream and stay up past your bedtime, but I am… I am a Vulcan. I will not be… they have no… no effect over me...”

She doubled her mental disciplines.

He doubled his purring.

She considered continuing to argue, or to contact his mother to collect him. Instead, she concluded that the most efficient response would be to relent, pick him up and return him to the Counselor. She knelt and embraced him, letting him hug back. She allowed him this, just for a few seconds.

Then a few seconds more.

She breathed in his scent, felt the soft fur against her skin, as his purrs continued to race through her.

“Mama says you’ve been sick,” he informed her.

She nodded against him. “Yes. I have.”

“But Mama says you’ll get better,” he assured her.

“That is not for cert-” she began to reply, before stopping herself.

And finishing with a whispered, “Yes. I will...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE WITH… MAMAGEDDON