Mamageddon Part 1 of 4 - Mother Nature

(WARNING: CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE)

USS Surefoot-A, Deck 2 Fore, Command Quarters:

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 50345.74, Captain Kami Hrelle Recording: after interminable years of chaos and mismanagement from the former Captain of this poor, benighted vessel, I have finally taken command. It will be a long, arduous struggle, to restore the crew’s morale after suffering under my predecessor’s inept and corrupt regime, but now the healing can finally begin-”

“Ahem.”

She had been standing at the full-length mirror in their quarters, admiring how much the Command Red in her new uniform complimented her sepia fur, as opposed to her normal Medical Blue. She rested her hand on her distended belly, feeling Sreen kick inside, Kami’s tail swishing playfully behind her as she turned to face her husband. “What?”

Esek Hrelle had been gathering his PADD and other materials from their desk, never looking up as he continued. “I’m still here. You couldn’t wait to do that after I left?”

“But where would the fun be in that?” she asked, grinning mischievously.

“Right.” He tucked his possessions under one arm and strode up to her, rubbing the side of his muzzle against hers, lingering to note, “I know you’re overcompensating because of your nerves, but you’ll be fine. It’s just six hours, a simple Solo Mission to break you in. We’ve all done them, and survived.”

She tried to affect an air of insouciance… but then relented and clung to his arm. “Are you sure I’m ready, Esek?”

He chuckled. “Of course you are. You passed the command tests, the Holodeck simulations – and it was T’Varik who graded them, not me, so you’ll know it was unbiased – and you’ll have C’Rash and our gifted cadets to support you.” He drew back. “Not to mention one of the most fearsome figures ever to put on a uniform.” He looked away, calling out, “Misha!”

The door to the adjacent bedroom slid open, and Misha Hrelle marched out, clad in a miniature version of a red-topped Starfleet uniform with Captain’s pips, which he pointed to. “Captain Misha, Mister!” He looked to Kami, pointing at his mother. “Captain!” Then his father. “Captain!” And then back at himself, laughing. “Captain!”

Kami pointed from father to son to herself. “Captain! Captain! Captain!”

Hrelle carried it along, pointing to the three of them in turn. “Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!” He threw up his hands and laughed. “There’s too many pips in this room!”

Then he dropped to one knee, facing Kami’s belly and resting one hand on her, his voice adopting a softer tone. “But you, My Little Supernova, will not be a Captain. You’ll be an Admiral, and command us all. You take care of your mother and brother while I’m away.” He rubbed the side of his muzzle against Kami’s belly, before rising again, looking to Misha. “And you too, Furball.”

“OK!” Misha agreed – and stuck his middle finger up at him in punctuation.

Kami frowned. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“Cousin C’Rash! She says it means ‘OK’!”

“Of course she did.” Hrelle reached out and curled the finger down. “But she lied, to trick you into doing a rude gesture, so don’t do it again.” He then raised his own hand, forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and lifting up the others. “This actually means ‘OK’. Okay?”

Misha nodded. “OK.”

Hrelle smiled. “OK.”

Misha frowned. “What’s ‘OK’ mean?”

“Perhaps we can discuss this at a later date?” Kami suggested, feeling her tail nervously smack the wall beside her. “I have a ship to command.” She tousled the fur on the top of Misha’s head, making him growl. “And this cub has lessons to complete in the Crèche.”

“No!” He shook a finger at her. “You new Captain! You need help!”

“Your Mama will have your cousin as her First Officer.” He looked up. “Unless you want to hold fire until Neheru gets back from leave, he’s had more experience as an XO-”

“No, I’m sure my niece will be fine in the role. Besides, it’s just a trip to a gas giant and back, right? Six hours, while you and T’Varik stuff your faces at Tattok’s Tactical Conference on the Triton.”

“We won’t be stuffing our faces,” he assured her. “T’Varik won’t, anyway; she’ll be busy nudging me to stay awake.”

“You’re such an inspiration.” She indicated the door. “Let’s go, you’re gonna be late.”

Father and son turned to go, but Kami lingered, checking her reflection one last time, focusing on the four temporary pips she was wearing. She had been in Starfleet for longer than she cared to consider, had risen naturally up the ranks to Commander, but until recently had been content to hone her skills as a Counselor, never thinking about becoming a Bridge Officer, let alone commanding.

But the War, and their current role as an ambulance ship, had made her consider the necessity of expanding her skills. Starfleet officers were expected to continue to further their education throughout their careers, anyway, and she thought that Command would be more useful than Art or Archaeology or Music or other more popular subjects.

Besides, she was curious how her job skills would shape her command style. Most Starfleet Captains rose through the ranks via Engineering, Security or Science, producing different viewpoints, tactics. Medical-oriented Captains were rarer, and as for Counselors-

“Ahem,” Hrelle said from the doorway. “You want to bring that mirror along with you?”

She stuck her tongue at him. “I’ll have you keelhauled, as soon as I find out what ‘keelhauling’ means.”

They walked around the corridor to the doors to Transport Room 1, where Commander T’Varik awaited them, noting the three uniformed figures. “We appear to have a surplusage of Captain Hrelles. It is perhaps fortunate that I am taking one of them away.”

Kami regarded the Vulcan; in the weeks since her incident with the forced mindmeld on her from that SI agent – or had he been with Section 31? No one knew, or probably would ever know following the cover-up – T’Varik had recovered enough to return to duty long ago… but not without changes to her personality.

That was to expected, Kami knew, and she knew such changes could take victims of such crimes as she had experienced in different directions. T’Varik’s direction seemed to be more… jocular. “Keep him awake over there, Commander, I don’t want him besmirching the good name of my ship by snoring in the middle of the briefing.”

“I will arrange for him to be seated next to Captain Weynik; he will not dare sleep for fear of his friend taking advantage and depantsing him.”

Hrelle tapped his foot impatiently. “Yes, please, keep talking about me like I’m not here, why don’t you?” He gave his wife another muzzle rub. “I’ll send you a message at lunchtime. Have fun.” He knelt and hugged his son. “You stay good today, Warrior Prince.” Then he turned to Kami’s belly, purring against it. “I know you’ll be more than good, Daughter of Mine. You’re destined for Greatness.” Then he rose, adjusted his PADDs.

Misha looked up at T’Varik and raised his fingers in a Vulcan salute, offering, “Sochya eh dif, Keos-Toth.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow at him. “Your Vulcan is continuing to improve. But the gesture is entirely inappropriate.” Now she dropped to one knee, arms opened. “Your Godmother insists on hugs from you.”

Misha smiled and launched himself into her arms, as she wrapped them around the cub.

“You’re lucky you got that hand gesture instead of another he’s learned,” Hrelle quipped.

Kami shot him a dirty look for interrupting the tender scene, before recovering as T’Varik rose and did the same, adopting her professional face and stance. “We should not tarry, Captain.” She looked to Hrelle. “I mean you, Sir.”

“I’m glad.” He reached out and squeezed Kami’s hand. “You’ll be fine. Follow your instincts; command is driven by instinct more than the rulebooks might admit.”

Kami smiled, looking to T’Varik. “Any last-minute advice from you, Commander?”

She nodded. “Do not consume food on the Bridge, or you will inevitably leave crumbs and stains on the arms and cushions of the Captain’s Chair. As some who sit there are wont to do.” T’Varik spared a glance at Hrelle as she entered the Transporter Room.

Hrelle looked to his wife and informed her, “She’s talking about Neheru. He’s a slob.”

She pointed to the door. “Get off my ship, Mister.”

He chuckled as he followed T’Varik inside.

Kami considered calling them back, to reschedule this Solo Mission. Then she took Misha’s hand and walked him towards Sickbay. “I’m very proud of you, Cub of Mine. Not only are your languages improving, but you’ve been helping your Godmother feel better. Now, let’s see how you do today with Numbers and Counting.”

He growled.

She chuckled. “I know, I know, you hate it because you’re not used to it. But while I know it’s a challenge for you, it’ll be worth it. I felt the same way when I started learning how to be a captain.”

“And now you’re the best!” Misha beamed. “The smartest! And you’re prettier than Papa!”

“Thank you for saying that, Sweetheart. But you’re still doing your lessons.”

He growled again.

*

Deck 3 Fore, Alpha Squad Cadet’s Quarters:

Zir Dassene tied her hair back, her olive Orion skin glistening with sweat again – Great, and she was just out of the sonic shower, she was gonna stink before their shift ends, she just knew it! - as she looked to the others in their common room. “Did I mention that I wanted us on the Bridge ten minutes early?”

Engineering Cadet Tori Emoto was adjusting her combadge for the third time, the young Asian woman frowning at it. “Only eleven times. Think you could make it an even dozen?”

“I want us on the Bridge ten minutes early.” She mopped her brow with her hand. This was crazy! This was far from being their first Bridge Duty – she’d even sat in the Captain’s Chair! – but it was the first under Counselor Hrelle, as Acting Captain. The Captain’s wife had been such tremendous help to them, both individually and as a Squad, and Zir wanted to return the favour, by being as helpful and problem-free to the Counselor as they could, and make her solo mission run as smoothly as possible. “Stal? Have you been to the toilet?”

Behind her, Science Cadet Stalac the lump of orange-brown fibrous rock with the Starfleet combadge and voder unit bolted to the side of his silicon hide, rumbled with mild annoyance. “Again, yes, Zir. Honestly, I have one minor accident, and I’m labelled Piddlepants. And I don’t even wear pants! Haven’t any of you had similar accidents?”

Medical Cadet Peter Boone drew up to Zir and offered her a washcloth for her sweat, his blonde hair and rugged smile once a source of acute attraction to Zir – at least until she accepted that he preferred other men. “Our pee doesn’t burn through the bulkheads, buddy.”

“I came close to doing so last night, Comrades.” The huge, grey-hided figure of Security Cadet Urad Kaldron shifted in place towards them. He was a heavyworlder, his massive pachydermoid frame hugging his modified sleeveless uniform, his long muzzle crinkling with amusement. “The Bolian curry I tried last night almost broke the toilet-”

“Too Much Information, Juggernaut,” Engineering Cadet Tori Emoto informed him, making unpleasant sounds. “Ugh. I can still taste that sealant in my mouth.”

“Don’t!” Zir ordered, feeling like gagging herself with just the memory. When Stalac had his accident in the Rec Lounge while watching that Terran horror movie, converted to Hologram, Commander T’Varik ordered Alpha Squad to repair the damage his acid caused – which included applying polythylomer sealant spray on the cracks and pockmarks in the bulkhead, until the plates could be replaced at the next Starbase stop. Her stomach protested with the smell of the sealant… and her ankle protested when she twisted it after stepping on a freshly-applied patch and her boot got stuck there. Quick drying, my green ass… “It was a stupid little 400-year-old horror movie, Stal!”

“It was Kingdom of the Spiders, Zir! It had spiders in it!”

“One would hope so, with that title. What’s so bad about spiders?”

“They have Too Many Legs! Bad enough seeing you bipedal Carbs gallumping about your spindly two legs, but eight? How can they move with such coordination? It’s just… creepy!”

Peter laughed. “The lead actor in it was good-looking, though.”

“What, the one that looked like those pictures of Admiral Kirk?” Zir asked. “You think he’s attractive?”

“Yeah! I mean, for an older guy.”

“Four hundred years older.” Tori muttered, turning to the bedroom door and raising her voice. “Hey, Your Ladyship! Let’s go before Zir Hulks out on you!”

“‘Hulks’?” Zir asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Peter said, chuckling with the recognition of the term. “From Terran mythology: an ordinary human who, when he gets angry or frightened, transforms into a gigantic, raging green-skinned monster that smashes everything around him, terrifying helpless people and- and-”

Zir glared at him.

“Which you definitely don’t do, of course,” he added hastily, his face reddening. “No resemblance to the Hulk whatsoever.”

“Absolutely not,” Tori agreed hurriedly.

“No resemblance whatsoever, Ma’am,” Urad echoed.

“Oh, I don’t know...” Stalac added.

Before Zir could respond to the quip, the door slid open, and Flight Ops Cadet Astrid Michel stepped out into the room like an actress entering the stage to applause. The tall, strikingly beautiful mahogany-hued human tossed back her sable hair, looked around and asked, “Well, what are we all waiting for? Our Fearless Squad Leader wants us on the Bridge early.” She winked at Zir. “You need to enforce discipline more. When you do, though, let me watch.”

*

Deck 3 Mid – Main Sickbay Suite:

Kami patted Misha on the rear as she shooed him into the Crèche. “Go on, and don’t cause trouble!” She looked over at Eydiir, the former Medical cadet who had now quickly grew into, as Doc Masterson put it, ‘One of the hardest working nurses a Sawbones could hope for’. “He has Numbers Lessons to finish before he’s allowed to play. Don’t let him purr his way out of that.”

The tall, dark-skinned Capellan woman allowed herself a smirk. “I am immune to his charms, Counselor.”

Kami raised an eyebrow.

“Mostly,” Eydiir amended. “Are you feeling well?”

“Some nerves because of this Solo Mission, but I’ll get over it. Though I did want to check in with the Doc, to see if those test results have come back from-”

“Counselor?”

She turned, smiling at the approach of the Chief Medical Officer. “Morning, Doc-” Then her smile dropped, as she read his expression and body language: slight anxiety, apprehension even. She kept her composure; the man had a great deal of responsibility, and had almost as much on his mind as the command officers. “Is there a problem? Something your new Acting Captain can-” Then she stopped, seeing more in his eyes than she liked. “What’s wrong?”

His lantern jaw dropped as if to say something, before stopping himself and settling with, “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait for Captain Hrelle to return and be with you-”

She drew forward, took him by the arm and guided him into his office, sliding the door shut. “What’s wrong with Sreen? I know you sent the latest tests to Cait for confirmation-”

“Take a seat, Kami. Please.”

She swallowed, feeling her stomach churn as she complied, watching him sit, not behind his desk, but in another chair on her side: not a good sign. It took all of her mental discipline to keep her breathing under control and her tail from smacking the legs of her chair. “Just tell me, Zeke. I’m a big girl, I can take it.” No I can’t, she corrected herself. I’m a wreck already. This is gonna kill me.

He nodded. “Okay, firstly, nothing has been confirmed at this time, understand? There are still variables at this stage in your daughter’s development-”

“Doctor...” she growled.

Masterson flushed. “There’s a possibility that Sreen will be born with Neurodystraxia.”

Great Mother… “How strong is this possibility?”

“The closer you get to the start of your third bimester, the more certain we’ll be of its likelihood… and what the probable severity will be.”

Kami’s hand rested protectively on her belly. Sreen… my sweet little cub, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I was so selfish… “It’s my fault.”

“Excuse me?”

“At my age, I should have known not to have another child-”

“What? No! No, Kami, this isn’t your fault! Age isn’t a factor in whether or not Neurodystraxia might emerge in a cub!”

“It’s not?” She blinked, confused now. “I remember- remember when I was young, before my first Season, there was a cub in my class who had a brother who was Neurodystraxic. Papa Mi’Tree said it was because his mother had him late in life.”

Masterson shook his head. “Well, I might not have been familiar with the condition before yesterday, but I’ve been catching up.” He rose and moved to his private replicator. “Two Betazoid spice teas, hot.” As a pair of identical white mugs with a red pawprint logo appeared in the replicator slot, he returned with them, setting both on the edge of his desk before sitting opposite her again. “There’s been quite a bit of research done in the last couple of decades. Age is not a factor, nor anything else in your control. It’s simply down to… bad luck at the genetic poker table.”

She nodded, unable to shake the wave of guilt running through her like a phaser beam. “I… must admit I don’t know as much about it as I might if I had specialised in Medicine rather than Psychology. I know it’s rare, and there’s probably more people who think they know about it than they actually do. Myself included, apparently.” She looked to him and admitted, “Maybe I should just let you tell me about it?” Unspoken after it was her plea: and how you intend to cure my cub?

He nodded, reaching for a PADD and drawing up images on it that she recognised as neural configurations and genetic helices. “Firstly, and most importantly, Neurodystraxia is not fatal. It won’t even cause her pain. It originates from genetic tampering to the Caitian genome during the period when your people were still on Ferasa Prime, and a portion of your population was Augmenting themselves. It’s a particularly insidious condition, not easily detected even with the best medical equipment on hand, until a certain level of development – such as now, in Sreen’s case.

It is typified by a failure of neurone development in the central nervous system, triggering imprecision in the brain to process information correctly, which results in messages not being properly or fully transmitted. The effects of this developmental difficulty can manifest across a wide spectrum of severity, ranging from an overall slowness to develop skills such as crawling, walking, grasping and such, to the requirement of mobility aids on a temporary or permanent basis.

There can also be a concurrent developmental delay with learning skills such as speech, reading, organisation, memory, concentration, as well as symptoms similar to what humans used to call autism and dyslexia... again with a wide spectrum of severity that Laggers will experience-”

“What did you say?” she cut in.

“What, Laggers? Yeah, I understand it’s a colloquial term for Caitians with Neurodystraxia-”

“No, Doctor, it’s not,” she corrected sharply, her hackles rising and her claws emerging to dig into the arm of her chair. “It’s a nasty, offensive term for Caitians with Neurodystraxia.”

His face turned scarlet, and his hand shot up to his mouth as he grasped the scope of what he had said to her. “Oh God, Kami, I’m sorry, I didn’t know- I swear to ya, I would never intentionally say anything bad like that-”

She drew in her claws again and calmed down. A little. “It’s okay, Zeke, I believe you. You couldn’t know. Caitians… have a reputation for loving all children unconditionally, something the Great Mother was said to instil in us.

But it’s not a universal trait. Some of us are less than sympathetic to those who are different from them, a holdover from our schism with the Ferasans. In fact, some Caitians can be downright bigoted about it. They might even intimate that the cubs who have this are better off… dead.”

She stopped and breathed in before continuing. “The word should have died out long ago, but it expanded into a general insult towards anyone perceived as slow, clumsy or stupid. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m still processing all this. Now… please tell me there’s a cure. Cloning, gene therapy- we can fix so many other problems that way.”

His reaction told her enough; his words elaborated. “Cloning is not an option for problems with the brain or the central nervous system. And the nature of how this particular genetic condition arises means that standard gene therapies will cause more problems than it’ll fix.

But there is a cytoleptic therapy now recommended by the Caitian Medical Authority.” He called up a new set of images on his PADD for her. “Basically it involves prompting Sreen’s body to rebuild her nervous system from the ground up, so to speak, but this time with stronger, surer connections and frameworks.”

Kami grasped the lifeline – but saw enough in the doctor’s eyes to prompt, “So what’s wrong?”

Masterson set down the PADD. “It’s a lengthy, protracted process, that will have to start when she’s still in utero and continue into childhood. And… because of the nature of the therapy, there will be an overstimulation of the nerves.

She’ll… experience pain. And we won’t be able to sedate or neutralise that pain, not without affecting the readings required to ensure the therapy was working.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, Kami. But, you know, there’s still the possibility that she doesn’t manifest the condition, and even if it does, the vast majority of cases are mild, even for those who forgo the treatment.”

She accepted his touch, still sorry she hadn’t waited for Esek to be here.

Then she rose to her feet. “Thank you. It wasn’t something I wanted to hear, but...”

He rose as well. “When the Captain returns, I can talk to him about this.”

“No need, thank you, I’ll do it.” She breathed in. “And I want you to prepare for that cytoleptic therapy.”

He frowned. “Did you want to speak to Esek about it first? To see if he would approve?”

“Asking you to prepare for it doesn’t mean I’m going to go through with it. I’m going to think about it, research it. I just want you to be ready.” Then she eyed him. “And just so we’re clear on this: the final decision about what happens to my daughter falls with me, so long as I’m of sound mind.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She reached for her hitherto-untouched spice tea, taking a sip. “That’s nice, I’ll have to remember that. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“I-” His pained expression told her clearly how reluctant he had been to give her this news. “I may have caused you a passel of fretting over nothing, if she turns out not to manifest it, so I’ll apologise in advance if that’s the case. Y’all can kick my ass later if you want.”

“Don’t be silly.” She hugged him, adding as she drew back, “I’m the Captain now. I can have you court-martialled and shot.”

As she stepped out of his office, she contemplated going into the Crèche and hugging the stuffing out of Misha… only the cub would immediately pick up on her anxious state, get fretful himself and demand answers that she wasn’t prepared to provide to anyone, having only just received the news herself.

She left Sickbay and found the nearest public hygiene chamber, entering and locking the door before staring blankly into the mirror over the sink… unable to look away from the bump in front of her, and the precious life she was carrying within it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, tears welling in her eyes despite her repeatedly wiping them away. She forgot. She forgot how fragile these bundles of life can be. To have their lives changed so profoundly by a simple genetic switch being switched on.

It wasn’t fair! Damn it, it just wasn’t fair! They lived in an age of medical miracles, undreamed of even a few generations ago! So many illnesses and conditions that Caitians, that many sentient races, once suffered from, were now consigned to the history books! Why should there still be anything that affected health nowadays?

But she knew that answer already: they weren’t Gods. And sometimes, viruses and genetic quirks can be stronger than any vaccines or other medical marvels.

Her eyes fixed on her belly. She wanted to believe Masterson, that there was still a chance that Sreen wouldn’t contract the condition… but her dread refused to let her see anything other than the worst case scenario: her daughter, trapped in her own body, requiring a hover chair or an exoskeleton to move around, and still falling behind her brother and her peers with even the most basic life skills.

Assuming Kami didn’t authorise the cytoleptic treatment, despite the pain Sreen would undergo. It went against everything she was, as a Caitian, as a mother, to intentionally cause pain to her cub. But it would be worth it, to avoid a lifetime of difficulty, of struggle and handicap.

Wouldn’t it?

And Esek… he was going to be devastated… he talked about how far Sreen would go in life…

She contemplated contacting him – but then shook her head. There was nothing overly urgent to be discussed now, nothing that couldn’t wait until his return later that day. They would be together again in six hours-

Her combadge chirped, and the voice of her niece and Acting First Officer filled the enclosure of the hygiene chamber. “Lt Shall to Captain Kami Hrelle: you’re late for Bridge duty, but we’re prepared to turn back the chronometers so it doesn’t go on your record.”

Suddenly hating C’Rash for sounding so chirpy, despite her ignorance about the news Kami had just received, Kami smacked her combadge so hard she made herself wince, but ignored the pain as she snarled, “I’m on my way! Kami out!” She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch the walls until bones broke, and bite and kick and-

Focus, Esek told her once during one Command training session. Focus on the job. There have been plenty of times when I wanted to run to you and Misha, to hold you, to protect you both myself, do anything but sit there in the centre of the Bridge and do my job. But I had to do my job, because… no one else could do it. Focus on the procedure, the minutiae, one task at a time, one report at a time, one order at a time.

She calmed herself, even allowing herself a smile at Esek giving her advice on emotional control. Then she emerged and proceeded to the Bridge, stopping at the doorway as she watched C’Rash, sitting in the seat beside the Captain’s chair, rise and face her, announcing loudly, “Captain on the Bridge!”

Alpha Squad was manning the various stations for this shift, and now all rose from their seats and faced her, at attention – except for the Horta Stalac, who manned the Science station via interfaces built into the floor to accommodate him, but now rotated in place to display the combadge bolted to his mineral hide.

Kami almost barked at them for this display of nonsense – before she saw their expressions, the looks of genuine respect and regard they were showing her. It wasn’t banter, it was honour.

It shook her from her shock and her morose thoughts. And she straightened up as well, looking to each of them with a smile. “Thank you, all of you. Resume your stations, please.” She descended to the inner circle, taking the Captain’s chair, snaking her tail through the hole in the back. Though she had sat in it plenty of times before, she remarked, “This is comfy.” She glanced up and behind her at Zir at the Ops station. “I expect to see you here in a few years’ time, Ms Dassene – and not as a cadet.”

The young Orion woman flushed a dark green and grinned. “So do I, Ma’am.”

As Kami faced forward again, C’Rash caught her eye, the younger, sable-furred Caitian sitting beside her and silently mouthing You okay?

Kami ensured her mask of affability was fixed as she smiled and nodded, before looking ahead and announcing, “So, Lieutenant, what is our mission today? Is the Great Whatsit threatening the Galaxy? Is there a planet about to fall into a black hole? Have the Klingons stolen my husband’s secret snack box?”

“None of the above, Captain: the Surefoot has been assigned to go to the fifth planet in the Sherman system, a gas giant, and obtain readings on its magnetosphere. The Sherman government is trying to mine the giant’s atmosphere for rare gases, but previous attempts have failed due to the unusually strong properties of the planet’s magnetic fields on the robot ships, and they’d like some baseline readings from us so they can provide sufficient shielding for their next attempt.”

Kami knew all that already, of course, and didn’t have to mention it for her crew to do their jobs, but she had made it official for the benefit of the others. As Esek once told her: An informed crew, kept in the loop about what’s going on, always functions better. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Mr Stalac, do you think you can devise a sensor analysis pattern that will dazzle the Shermans?”

The lump of orange-brown rock rumbled as he replied, “Dazzle? I intend to positively blind them, Captain.”

She smiled; there was nothing like the enthusiasm of youth to lift the spirits of an old cat like herself. “Well, who knows, if it’s that good, they might reward you with some tasty platinum or sapphire.”

Stalac rumbled happily. “Please, Captain, you’re making what passes for my mouth water.”

Kami chuckled and looked forward. “Helm-”

Alone at the Helm, Michel’s slender fingers danced over the controls and turned in her chair, her face a picture of puffed-up satisfaction. “Course for the fifth planet already plotted and laid in, Ma’am.”

“Really? Because I was going to order you to plot a course back to the Triton for additional sensor equipment.”

The young human’s face creased in confusion. “You were, Ma’am?”

“No. I was kidding.”

C’Rash leaned forward and fixed her gaze on Astrid. “Cadet, anticipating your Captain’s orders is an admirable trait… but give them a chance to speak. It props up their self-esteem.”

“Uh, yes, Lieutenant.”

Kami smiled. “Now… plot that course, Warp 2.”

*

USS Triton, Deck 2 Fore, Main Conference Hall:

T’Varik frowned at her commanding officer. “I must admit to my ignorance of the term ‘Hot Foot’.”

Hrelle chuckled, keeping his eyes focused on his old friend Weynik, the diminutive Roylan standing near the front of the Hall talking to his father, Admiral Tattok. He leaned in closer to her. “It’s when you stick a piece of flammable material under the boot of someone and light it while someone else distracts them, and wait until they start to feel the heat from it.”

“A practical joke,” she concluded, comprehending. “That is not in the least bit practical. Starfleet boots are safety rated to temperatures of 980 degrees Centigrade, the Triton’s fire control systems will immediately detect and extinguish the flame before it was detected by your victim… and you are far too voluminous to not be noticed crouching behind Captain Weynik to deliver him a Hot Foot.”

“Volum- are you saying I’m fat?”

“You have reduced your waistline in recent months” she admitted. “And gained upper body strength and muscle mass with your increased workouts. But regardless, you remain a... larger-than-life figure.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “So I’ll distract him, while you set his foot on fire.”

“I think not, Sir. Such a role would prove too flame-boyant for my tastes.”

Hrelle stared at her, blinking, before leaning in, murmuring with astonishment, “Commander… did you just make… a pun?”

T’Varik pretended to be distracted by something to her left. “Certainly not, Captain. I must have misspoke.”

“Of course you did-” He stopped and frowned, sniffed the air, his tail swishing happily behind him as he smiled and turned. “Sasha’s here!”

Both officers now faced the young human with strawberry blonde hair who strode up to them, stopping and bracing herself as her father rushed up and hugged her tightly. She made a noise. “Thanks, Dad! Way to embarrass me in front of all the command officers!”

“One would think you would be accustomed to your father’s effusiveness by now,” T’Varik quipped, watching as Hrelle released his daughter to let her catch her breath. “But I fear one can never get acclimatised to it. Good morning, Lieutenant Hrelle. It is a pleasure to see a member of your family without four pips on their uniforms.”

Sasha straightened herself up. “Good morning, Commander. I take it Kami’s still doing her Solo Mission today?”

“It seemed an efficient use of our resources,” the Vulcan noted. “And an opportunity to allow the Counselor to perform without...” She glanced at Hrelle, who was moving around behind his daughter. “Interference.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine-” Sasha frowned as she caught Hrelle sniffing around her. “Stop that, Dad! You’re not gonna smell any men on me!”

“Oh? Is that mean little butt pimple Captain of yours not letting you date? I’ll have words with him-”

She pointed a finger at him. “You know Captain Weynik lets me date… if I want.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re still seeing that beefy fellow, Lieutenant Madison?”

She snorted. “Kiss my ass if you think I’m telling you anything!”

“Such disrespect.” He looked at T’Varik. “I’ll bet Sreen will be far more polite to her father.”

“Yes,” the Vulcan agreed. “At least until she learns to speak.”

Before he could respond to the jibe, the Red Alert klaxon sounded, and the entire room turned towards the front, where Tattok slapped his combadge. “Bridge, what’s going on?”

“Admiral! A large swarm of objects is moving in at transwarp speeds towards the Fleet!”

“Transwarp? Are they Borg cubes?”

“No Borg energy signatures, Sir, and the objects are smaller than shuttlepods! There’s hundreds of them!”

The room had erupted into a cacophony of questions and confusion and aborted attempts by Captains and First Officers to contact their respective ships. But Hrelle’s Caitian hearing allowed him to focus on the continued conversation between Tattok and his Bridge, and he fought his way through to get to the Admiral, who was asking, “Where did they come from?”

“From the direction of the Klingon Fleet, Sir!”

Hrelle felt his heart jump into his throat. Seven Hells, did the Klingons take advantage of all the experienced commanding officers being here on the Triton to launch some devastating new weapon to take out their fleet at once? Why didn’t they think about something like this happening sooner?

He joined Weynik at the nearby workstations; the other Captain had tapped into the tactical sensors on the Triton, and now called up displays of the approaching wave and the Fleet ships. “They’re moving in swarms, like locusts-”

Hrelle agreed, watching it shift in ever-changing shapes, exactly like a swarm of insects or fish, swooping and diving as if to unseen cosmic currents. “Striking the shields with energy weapons on different frequencies-”

“Testing for weaknesses- the Cochise, Minotaur, Oregon, they’re losing shields-” Weynik looked up. “They need to modulate-”

Hrelle didn’t need to hear the rest, as Hrelle barked at Tattok, “Admiral! Send the word out, they need to continually modulate shield nutation!” He looked back to see the Fleet ships losing shields, and then having their power dampened. He called up scans on one of the objects in the Wave: black, teardrop-shaped, barely two metres in length, lacking any nacelles or visible external ports. “Automated drones-”

“Or very small pilots,” Weynik reminded him. “Size isn’t everything, Wide Load. In this case, it’s numbers; their collective power and tactics are too effective- they’re sweeping the unshielded ships with scanner beams-”

Hrelle nodded. “In the bioscanner range- wait, are those transporter-type beams, too, on the same frequencies?”

“You’re right-” Weynik raised his voice now. “Admiral, they’re taking people off the ships!”

Hrelle ground his teeth as he watched the Revere and the Thunderbolt fire phasers even as the Wave swept over and disabled them, too. “Idiots- they’re wasting energy-”

“Yes,” Tattok agreed, contacting the Bridge, “They’re coming this way! Get a coded Priority Signal to Starfleet Command! Arm the tri-cobalt warheads, maximum spread, avoid our ships but hit the Wave-”

The assembly watched as the warheads shot forth, detonating and taking out many of the vessels… but the others simply diverted around, like a river around a rock… and then they were on the Triton, striking the shields dozens of times a second, each at different frequencies-

Hrelle watched helplessly, seeing the inevitable: they identify the frequency, then the ones that follow modulate their energy weapons to compensate and-

“Our shields are collapsing!” Weynik cried.

A dampening field overloaded their main power systems, weapons and engines, as an emerald sheet of energy quickly raced through the ship and everything and everyone in it, reminding Hrelle uncomfortably of a lethal baryon particle sweep.

Everyone had stopped.

The power remained at a minimum, as Hrelle and Weynik struggled to tap back into the internal and external sensors, Weynik succeeding first with the former. “Beamed away- taken from the Triton’s classroom, private quarters- children! The eight children-” He looked up in horror. “NAIDA! Dad, Naida’s gone!”

Hrelle’s head shot up. Naida… Weynik’s daughter, Tattok’s granddaughter!

But even as he felt alarm for his friend, his attention was drawn to the screens confirming that the Wave fleet was headed in the direction of the Surefoot...

Part 2 of 4: Mothership