(Warning: Contains scenes of violence, sexual situations, and profanity)
USS Surefoot-A, Deck 1 Fore – Officers’ Mess
5.5 Hours Until Armageddon:
The room was eerily quiet despite the numbers present, readying for the morning shift.
Captain Esek Hrelle sat at his regular table with the rest of his family, eating without enjoying it. He expected such a reaction, but also knew enough to eat, regardless of the circumstances, not knowing when he’d get the chance to eat again.
To his right, his wife and Ship’s Counselor Kami Hrelle, ate as well, though she kept her breakfast small; though she had less direct combat experience than he, she understood the necessity of keeping her strength up in the coming hours.
Opposite her, their nanny Jhess Furore, a veteran of the Caitian Sabrecats in the last Ferasan War, ate more heartily, though Hrelle suspected it was as much to keep up a cheerful facade for the cubs in his charge as for practicality. The spotted Caitian would occasionally bend over the infant chair of Hrelle’s daughter Sreen, to coo and tickle her, having fed and burped her before partaking himself. Sreen gurgled happily, oblivious to the tension.
Her older brother Misha appeared less content. He sat in his own elevated chair, had finished his bowl of Claw Flakes, and now focused on observing the surrounding adults and twitching his muzzle suspiciously.
Hrelle watched, hiding his smirk behind a raised mug of tea before finally venturing, “You finished your breakfast, son. You want anything else?”
The four-year-old pushed away his bowl. “I want a Misha Meeting!”
Hrelle glanced at the flanking adults but otherwise controlled his reaction. “And how do we ask for things properly in our family, Cub of Mine?”
Misha growled… but made a show of folding his hands on the table, and with a theatrical flourish asked, “May I please have a Misha Meeting, ladies and gentlemen?”
Kami and Jhess snickered, Hrelle following, and they only got worse when Misha frowned at their reaction and rapped the table with his knuckles, in a manner very reminiscent of his father trying to capture the attention in a meeting. “Why you laugh?”
His mother recovered to reach out and scratch behind one of his furry ears. “Sorry, Hon. Now, what is this Misha Meeting about?”
Still trying to look stern, despite enjoying his mother’s attention, he pointed up at each of them, and then some of the others in the Mess Hall. “You all smell scared! What’s going on?”
Hrelle sighed and set down his mug; he had lost his taste for morning brews long ago anyway. “The Thirteenth Fleet is going to fight some Dominion and Cardassian ships today.”
Misha’s eyes widened. “We fight too?”
“No,” Kami explained. “But we will be there, to find and pick up anyone if their ships are damaged in the fight, and if they’re hurt, they’ll need help from our medical teams.”
The cub frowned. “We can fight! Papa not afraid to fight!”
Hrelle offered a slight smile. “Thank you for saying that, son. But our job is not to fight, unless we have to. I wish we didn’t have to fight. I wish we could all live together peacefully.”
“Why the Minions and the Cardigans fight with us?”
Hrelle looked to the other adults, letting Jhess jump in now. “Because sadly, some people will say they want to live in peace, but they only want to live in peace with themselves in charge. And if you don’t agree with them, they will fight you. Remember your history lessons on the Ferasans and the Caitians?”
Misha scowled, shaking a finger in Jhess’ direction. “I no like the Fearies! They hurt Sasha! I wanna kill them!”
Kami reached out and rested a hand on her son’s. “No, don’t say that. I understand that you’re angry, we all get angry when people we love get hurt by others. And there are times when we have to hurt, and even kill, others, to protect ourselves and our family and friends. But we shouldn’t want to do it. Understand?”
The cub looked dubious at that, even surrounded by adults who were telling him differently. But he nodded. “I protect you and Sreen.”
Kami smiled and patted his hand now. “That’s fine, you stick with Sreen and Jhess and me and protect us. There will be people we rescue who won’t be hurt, but they’ll be scared, and needing comfort and reassurance that they’re okay now, and that we’ll be getting them away safely from the fighting.”
Misha slipped his hand out from under his mother’s and shook a finger at her. “Okay, but I still protect you!”
Jhess grinned and looked to the other adults. “I don’t know about you two, but I feel safer already…”
“SON OF A BITCH!”
The curse came from a nearby table, Hrelle recognising it as Ensign Nancy Yeager, sitting with some others from Engineering; she had spilled her coffee cup, hence her reaction.
Misha looked over, declaring loudly, “Rude Word! Women aren’t-”
But then he stopped as Kami patted his hand, suggesting softly, “I think today we can let people swear. They’ll be angry and scared and they’ll need to get it out of their bellies or they won’t be able to do their jobs properly, okay?”
As Misha nodded at that, Hrelle rose and approached, where Nancy had kicked back her chair and stood up, trying to mop up the spillage with her napkin and those of the others, still cursing, until she snapped up at Hrelle’s presence. “Sir! Captain, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you and the family! I- I-”
He ignored her, lifting up two of the unused napkins. “Twenty-fourth Century replicator technology, and they still can’t produce properly absorbent material… use one to mop up the spill, let it thoroughly soak… use the second one to deal with the rest.” He looked up. “Mr Gentry, you’re in charge of this operation.” Then he moved over to Nancy, resting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her to one of the windows. “Look out there, Ensign.”
She was still discernibly flustered and embarrassed. “Sir, I’m sorry- I didn’t meant to lose control like that, honestly, I-I-”
His voice remained gentle, patiently insistent. “Look out there, Ensign. Pick a star and focus on it. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“Captain, I have to-”
“You have to follow orders. And talking isn’t required at this moment.”
Reluctantly, Yeager forced herself to comply, though her body remained tense.
“And relax your muscles,” he added quietly. “Not so much that you poop yourself, though.”
That broke her tension, and she chuckled, quickly stifling it again. More softly, she muttered, “Sorry, Sir-”
“So you’ve said already, more than once. You don’t have to, though. We’re all afraid.”
She looked up at him. “You too, Sir?”
He nodded. “Of course. It’s one thing to suddenly find yourself in a combat situation, where you have little or no time to ponder what could happen.” He indicated the rest of the ships in the Thirteenth Fleet, all moving together at warp speed to their destination. “Now, we have the time. I hate it. I hate knowing I’m taking my ship, my crew – my family – into battle. But I can’t change the circumstances that are taking us there. I can only focus on my job, on the things I can control.
And that’s all any of us can do. Focus on the things we have control over.”
Yeager seemed to take this in, finally nodding again. “I’ll do that, Sir. Thank you.”
He nodded back. “Dismissed.”
As she returned to her colleagues, he took a moment to find a point out there… not a star, but another ship. The Ajax was near, captained by his old buddy Weynik, with Hrelle’s daughter Sasha as second officer. Sasha had made remarkable progress towards recovering from her recent injuries and traumas, but Hrelle wondered if it was enough to sustain her in the upcoming battle.
Not to mention more immediate unpleasantness they were probably facing now…
*
USS Ajax, Deck 2 Fore – Captain’s Ready Room
5.2 Hours Until Armageddon:
Lieutenant Jim Madison stepped through the narrow archway as the door slid open, stepping up instinctively to the Captain’s desk, expecting to meet him alone.
But not expecting the First Officer, Lt Commander Kohanim on Weynik’s right hand… and Sasha on Weynik’s left. The Zakdorn Kohanim appeared recovered from his recent wounds following the Ferasan incident, and was his usual superior, judgmental self. And Sasha… she had changed considerably since he last saw her: she had grown back her blonde hair, removed her more recent scars… and strangely enough, stared at him now with a glare as cold as space, their former closeness seemingly forgotten.
Madison took his eyes off of her, focusing on their Commanding Officer. “You called for me, Sir?”
The Roylan Captain fixed his beady black eyestalks up at him. “Yes. We want to know who you work for.”
He blinked in confusion. “Sir? I-I don’t understand.”
Kohanim spoke up now. “The question is explicit, Lieutenant. Who do you report to? What is your mission on the Ajax?”
Madison glanced around the three of them in turn. “Sir, I’m a member of the Engineering team, I report to Chief Maryk-”
“You work for Starfleet Intelligence,” Weynik cut in sharply. “You report to Admiral Ian Trenagen.”
Madison’s heart raced in disbelief. Where the hell had they got that idea? “Sir? I’ve never met Admiral Trenagen-”
“That’s not what Captain Hrelle’s nose told him. When we ran into you on the Triton, his scent was on you. I might fault my best friend for a number of reasons, but I trust his sense of smell.”
Madison’s heart was racing. This was a nightmare! It had to be! “S-Sir, I went to visit some old friends from the Academy who were posted there! I swear to you on my life!”
“I wouldn’t be so bold to wager my life, Lieutenant,” Kohanim replied. “Following on from Captain Hrelle’s accusation, Captain Weynik spoke with Admiral Tattok, who had his security team on the Triton trace your movements during the time you were onboard his ship. You beamed onboard and proceeded directly to the guest quarters… where Admiral Trenagen was billeted.”
He shook his head. No, no, he did visit his old buddies in Engineering! “Sir, I’ve never met the Admiral, I don’t work for Starfleet Intelligence-”
“Section 31, then?” Sasha finally accused.
He looked to her, forcing himself to face the barely-controlled rage he saw behind her expression. “What? What the hell’s Section 31? I don’t know what that is!”
She stepped forward, raising the hand she kept at her side, curled up to hide something she now dropped onto Weynik’s desk: several small metallic devices, card- and pen-shaped. “Recorders, scanners, transponders, an energy weapon, and what looks like a personal subspace transporter device. All next-generation technology, undetectable by normal scanning devices… and all in your quarters.”
He looked down at the items, thoroughly lost. “I- I’ve never seen these before-”
“Funny, they had your DNA all over them.”
“We’ve run a deep-scan security check of transmissions made by yourself in the past six months,” Kohanim offered now, sneering. “Transmissions ostensibly to family members, but all carrying encrypted submessages we have yet to open.”
Sweat beaded down his broad face. “WHAT? No! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t have any family!” He looked to Sasha pleadingly. “I told you, my parents were killed at Wolf 359!”
She didn’t flinch.
“You’re still denying it?” Weynik snapped, rising to his feet. “What’s the point? The evidence is undeniable! Why were you sent here? To spy on me? Trenagen and my father have clashed more than once; for that matter, so have Trenagen and I.”
“So has Trenagen and my father,” Sasha added. “And from what I understand, Trenagen and my grandmother. The old bastard rubs everyone’s fur the wrong way.”
“Even those of us without fur,” Weynik returned.
Madison was near hyperventilating now with panic. “Sir, this is a mistake, a terrible mistake! I’m not a spy! I would never betray you!” He looked to Sasha; she knew him, she knew he wouldn’t do anything! “Sash! It’s me! I wouldn’t spy on you! You know that!”
But she just stared back, replying, “I don’t know anything anymore, Jim.”
“Under other circumstances,” Weynik continued. “I’d have had you off my ship to face my father’s wrath. But we’re all about to go into battle… and I think we’ll all feel more secure with you in the Brig for the time being.” He pressed a button on his desk intercom.
Madison looked around pleadingly. This wasn’t happening! It couldn’t be! “Sir-”
The door slid open, and two Security crewmen entered.
“Sir, you can’t just lock me up!”
“I think you’ll find you’re very much mistaken, Lieutenant. We have uncovered evidence which suggests that you are a potential security risk to this ship and crew. We’ll commence a formal investigation following the forthcoming battle… assuming we survive. Take him away.”
Madison paled, suffused with shock, numbly allowing the men, men he knew and who knew him, to guide him out of the room.
*
Sasha thought that, once they led Jim out of the room, that the tension filling her would lessen, if not abate entirely. It didn’t.
And it was obviously noticeable by the senior officers, Weynik responding with a sympathetic, “Sasha, I am aware of how this turn of events will have affected you on a personal level, and normally I would give you time off. But-”
She snapped back to a facade of professionalism. “But today is hardly normal, Sir, I understand. Request permission to report to the Bridge?”
He nodded appreciatively. “Granted. We’ll be up before the firing starts.”
“Don’t leave it too late, Sir,” she suggested dryly. “Or I might start without you.”
Sasha spared a final glance at the spy tools she had found in Madison’s possessions as she departed for the adjacent Bridge at her station beside Ops, her thoughts a storm. Jim had put on such a good show in there, she might have doubted him. Except for what her Dad had reported from onboard the Triton, and Weynik’s account from his last meeting with Trenagen, and the physical evidence of the tools and the communiques Kohanim found. Maybe he was so good at his job that he managed to convince himself?
“Lieutenant Hrelle?”
She looked up. “Yes, Ensign?”
The Operations Officer, Shanek, was standing there, the young Vulcan male’s forehead creasing, and his voice lowered. “Lieutenant Hrelle, my duties have… made me aware of the current situation involving Lt Madison.”
Sasha bristled. That made sense; despite the efforts of the senior officers to keep such a scandal quiet from the crew in the hours before going into battle, Shanek would obviously work out what had happened, both as an Ops Officer and as Jim’s roommate. “I can’t discuss the details with anyone.”
He nodded sagely. “Of course. I merely wish to offer my condolences to you. Having personally witnessed the relationship between yourself and Jim during our shared time onboard, I am cognisant about how this might be affecting you on an emotional level-”
“I’m fine, Ensign,” she declared quickly, sharply… and immediately following with a softer, more sympathetic, “But thank you for asking. For now, I want you to run Level 4 diagnostics on the weapons and damage control systems; we’re gonna need both in full working order before the day is out.”
Shanek nodded again. “Aye, Lieutenant.” He returned to his duties.
She pretended to return to hers.
*
USS Dragonheart, Deck 3 Mid – Officers’ Quarters:
4.8 Hours Until Armageddon:
“Lieutenant Ostrow, Ensign Ostrow, report to your duty stations.”
Jonas clung to his wife, the pair of them freezing in place at the sound of their Captain’s voice. He made a sound. “I don’t believe it. I really don’t believe it.”
Neraxis looked up at him with eyes as blue as her Bolian skin, smirking. “Told you we should have started this sooner.” She lifted her head up to kiss him, patting him on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have held back, Mr Marathon.”
“That’s Lieutenant Marathon, Ensign.” He grunted, withdrew and rose, the pair of them quickly and quietly dressing. They had been expecting this, of course – they’re weren’t Squabs anymore – and they had said all they had wanted to say to each other the night before.
Finally Neraxis muttered, “Can’t believe you got the Horn mere hours before we go into battle. You must have Klingon blood in you.”
He adjusted his jacket, ensuring his pips were straight on his collar, before combing back his silver hair with his fingers. “Well, you weren’t exactly resisting me either, True Blue.”
“Who can resist those Puppy Dog Eyes of yours?”
They stopped, fully dressed and ready to head out and face whatever was thrown at them.
But they rushed into each other’s arms one last time, gripping tightly.
“Starboard Pods 18-20,” he reminded her softly.
She nodded, fearing she might start crying; her husband knew every square centimetre of their starship, knew their own duty stations, and the quickest, safest routes to the escape pods where they could meet up in the event of an evacuation… if it became necessary. Which she prayed it wouldn’t. They hadn’t been married nearly as long as she wanted. Not nearly as long.
It took every effort to part and leave their quarters, before Captain Nguyen’s voice returned.
*
USS Iberia, Deck 5 Aft – Science Lab 4
4.6 Hours Until Armageddon:
Ensign Kitirik Abyss Zuinthinem Emijiz walked along the row of live animal containers, checking each of the occupants, ensuring the bioscanners, food dispensers and atmospheric tubes were functioning properly… and offering personal attention to all of the reptiles, marsupials, insects, avians, subterraneans and aquatic creatures he had helped care for over the last few months. “I am so pleased to see all of you alive and well, and not appearing overtly disturbed by your transplant from your native environments- ahh, Chester, good evening to you, Proud Bird!”
Within the clearsteel container before him, which enclosed a miniature desert environment, a melon-sized Delta sand peacock sat on a rock, screeching its little head off up at Kit, as it flashed its fan of tailfeathers, whose design mimicked the eyes and mouth of a larger predator.
The reptoid Science Officer flushed his wattles a pleasing purple. “Yes, indeed, consider me most intimidated.” He bowed and moved onto the next container, where a pair of Deltan black tortoises were mating. Slowly. Somehow. Kit watched only for a moment, before nodding at them. “Yes, enjoy yourselves while you can. I fear you may be disturbed later.” Now he moved onto another container, where a small swarm of Klingon globflies whirled around a miniature rek’lag bush, and Kit’s wattles darkened a hungry purple. “And you, my friends, remain as appetising to my eyes as always-”
“Don’t even think about it, Ensign. I’ve counted every one of those fellas in there.”
Kit stepped back, straightening up. “Respected Lieutenant! Forgive me, I was just-”
Lt Toby Hopkins chuckled. “-Just playing Doctor Dolittle again?”
The Qarari wheezed with amusement; the other members of the Iberia’s Science Division liked to refer to Kit with the appellation, which puzzled Kit at first, not certain why they might believe he had obtained a doctorate during his time at the Academy, until he researched the origins behind the name… and found the comparison most complimentary. “Would that I could talk to the animals, Respected Sir; I could write some noteworthy dissertations.” Then he approached. “I know I should be reporting to my duty station, but I wished to see to the animals. They will hardly be cognisant of the meaning behind our ship’s alerts.”
Hopkins, a young, swarthy human with a mass of tight black curly hair, let his normally jovial facade sober. “No. No, they won’t. And perhaps they’re the lucky ones.” Then he moved over to the central monitoring station and entered his authorisation codes, never looking up. “Are you- Are you scared, Kit?”
“Scared, Respected Sir? You mean, with regard to the upcoming engagement with the Dominion?”
“Yes. Hahn, Massey, Uehm, Galadot… they’re all talking about it. The whole ship is, really.”
Kit nodded. “Fear is understandable.”
Hopkins paused, staring at his display, and then continued keying in commands. “I know we were in battle before, with the Klingons over Sherman’s Planet. But we hardly saw any action, and we were primarily a science vessel before all this happened.” Now he looked up again. “You’re- You’re not afraid, are you?”
Kit glanced back at the animals, as if distracted by their muffled cacophony. “No, Respected Sir. It is an extravagance to worry about the inevitable. Others carry the burden of decision making, of taking responsibility. I am fortunate.”
Hopkins regarded him bemusedly. “Fortunate? But what if- what if you were forced to fight? Could you? Would you?”
Kit folded his hands behind him. “I have fought before, on my previous ship. And I have killed, in defence of others, and myself. I will not seek out repeated conflict in the future… but I will not shirk from it, either.” He paused and observed, “That surprises you?”
“Frankly, yes. You’re… no offence, but on my team, you’re the most quiet, studious, scientific-”
“No offence taken, Respected Sir. On the contrary, you flatter me.”
“-But I’ve never seen this… warrior side of you before.”
Kit felt his wattles darken. “It… exists. Preferably buried, but ready to be resurrected if necessary-” Then he drew closer to the monitoring station. “Excuse me, Respected Sir, but what are you doing?”
His superior officer stared at the display now, his expression grim. “I’m… following particular protocols for the… disposition of live animal specimens onboard starships entering hazardous situations.”
Kit studied the readings, blinking rapidly. “You are… adding concentrated theragen into the specimen containers? That is a lethal nerve agent!”
“I’m not adding it,” Hopkins corrected softly. “I’m just authorising the release of it into the containers in the event of our abandoning ship.”
The Qarari paled a sickly yellow-green. “But- But we’re not going to take them along?”
“Space in escape pods is limited to crew and civilians, and we can’t risk lives coming back here to collect them. The theragen would be much more quick and merciful than the possible alternatives.” He offered a look of sympathy and anxiety. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, Kit. I really do. I’ve never killed anything in my life!”
Kit had been prepared to protest further – ready to volunteer himself to come back here and arrange to have at least some of the lifeforms he had studied and cared for all these months moved into portable containers – but he acknowledged that, in their current situation, his superior was taking the necessary action here. “Forgive my reaction, Respected Sir, it must be an emotionally difficult action to have to take.”
Hopkin nodded appreciatively. “Thanks, Kit. Why don’t you go to your duty station? I’ll finish up here.”
“Yes, Respected Sir.” He glanced back at the row of containers, at the living creatures, oblivious to the precarious fates before them.
Perhaps Hopkins was right. Perhaps the animals were the lucky ones?
*
USS Samaritan, Deck 14 Aft – Shuttlebay 3
4.3 Hours Until Armageddon:
“Astrogation station operational… Structural Integrity Field generator operational… Inertial Dampening Field operational… Deflector panel operational… Fusion generator operational… Transporter panel operational… Communications panel operational… Life support systems operational...”
Ensign Meow Rrori rechecked the displays on the shuttle where he sat. He had already checked it twice. He checked it again. And then again. All fine, as expected. He didn’t have to keep doing it, except that he had nothing else to do, to keep the anxiety from overwhelming him. His white furred tail stuck out through the hole in the back of his chair, its swish quickening as the anxiety nipped at the borders of his mind.
This was it. Today the Thirteenth Fleet would finally engage the Dominion. And about time, too. Not that he would get involved much, except in the clean up afterwards: shuttling the wounded and the displaced from ship to ship, many from his former assignment on the Surefoot.
An acute uneasy mix of emotions tugged at him when he thought of his years there: working and studying under Captain Hrelle, living with his former friends in Alpha Squad. That was… a good part of his young life.
Where did it all go wrong?
But then he knew the answer to that already. He had been destined for greatness, but had let his ego and arrogance pull him out of the running for his rightful place as Valedictorian of his class, the honour going to his friend and Squad Leader Sasha. And, like a game of chess or Durotta, somehow, he could feel the Fates shifting the pieces around him, moving him into an inevitable corner. He was assigned to the Samaritan, to become just another anonymous pilot performing anonymous duties.
He would have a long, solid, unremarkable career ahead of him. He knew it. He just knew it. His future was sealed. And he was sure that his friends – his former friends – now looked on him and laughed, laughed at the proud, arrogant Caitian male, put in his place like some cowed animal.
He would have a long, solid, unremarkable career ahead of him. He knew it. He just knew it. His future was sealed. And he was sure that his friends – his former friends – now looked on him and laughed, laughed at the proud, arrogant Caitian male, put in his place like some cowed animal.
The only proverbial ray of light he had ever spotted since he was placed on this course had been months ago, during the wedding of Jonas and Neraxis, when he was visited by an unfamiliar Caitian female, who had offered him a position as some sort of agent, with some sort of shadowy organisation dedicated to protecting the Federation by any means necessary.
It had sound outlandish. It had sounded dangerous.
It had sounded intriguing.
And he had accepted the offer, sent the coded message to the destination as instructed, and waited. And waited. And still waited.
Nothing.
At first he thought he had imagined the musky-smelling Caitian female agent, some manifestation of his desire for something more than this necessary but boring position. Eventually, however, he concluded that it had simply been a trick on the part of the Fates, a feint to lull him into a false sense of hope. He was alone. Trapped among the Ordinary-
An alert from the companel snapped him from his self-pity. “Rrori here.”
The snide voice that replied made him sit up. “Excuse me, Ensign?”
“Uh, I mean- Shuttlecraft 23 here.”
Now he imagined the man behind the voice, his immediate superior, Shuttlecraft Operations Officer Lt Commander Miles Monroe, and how the corner of the thin dark lips on his monkey face was curling in contempt right now. “All this time, and you still seem unable to follow basic procedures? I might have to move your next performance review up sooner.”
Rrori resisted the urge to growl, and settled for baring his teeth, a reaction that he could keep to himself. “Sorry, Sir. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong, Ensign, is that we’ve detected something like a carrier wave from inside your shuttle. Are you using the transporter in there?”
Rrori frowned to himself. The transporter? He turned in his chair to see the large pad and instrumentation in the aft of the shuttle-
And nearly cursed as he saw the hazelnut-furred Caitian Female he had only been thinking of moments before! She smelled and looked just like he last saw her, but this time was dressed in a Starfleet uniform, and brought a silencing finger to the tip of her short snout, smiling at him.
“Well, Ensign?” Monroe’s voice nagged.
Recovering quickly, Rrori reached back to the panel. “No, Sir, I’ve run the standard checks on the transporter panel, but I haven’t activated it.”
Monroe sounded dubious, but finally replied with, “Hmph, now the Bridge can’t find any trace of ever detecting a carrier wave on their boards. Never mind. I’ll be inspecting the shuttles in 15 minutes, Mr Rrori. I’d advise you not to give me any more ammunition for your next review. Monroe out.”
He was staring at the Female once more, who looked amused as she commented, “That man needs a good hard rutting. Here you all are, ready to march to your deaths, and he’s trying to threaten you with bad reviews.”
Rrori rose to his feet, noting the shuttle door was closed, and the shuttle was pointing towards the hull, so no one was likely to look in and observe his visitor. “You! Where have you been? I did what you instructed months ago!”
She nodded, drawing closer. “I know. But I never said when we might be coming for you, did I? There are many checks we have to run on prospective agents first: security, medical, psychological.” When they were snout to snout, she reached up and tapped a furry finger onto the front of his muzzle. “And I’m here to tell you that you’ve passed! Welcome to Section 31!”
His heart raced. It was all real! And he was finally going to achieve his full potential! His tail wagging happily behind him, he grinned. “Terrific! Let’s go!”
She stepped back. “Hold on, Stud, not so fast! You can’t just ask for a transfer to join an organisation that doesn’t officially exist! And you can’t just disappear! Arrangements have to be made!”
Rrori frowned now, feeling like he was being blocked at every turn. “Arrangements?”
“Of course. No one in our organisation has any ties with their own lives! We can’t… for the security of those we know, as well as our own. The male that everyone knows as Ensign Meow Rrori is going to die today… and be reborn.”
He drew back. He had expected some level of secrecy, of subterfuge, of course; it wasn’t like those old Terran vivids where beefy, lascivious spies were well-known to other spies, not to mention hoteliers, barmen, sex workers...
But still- “My clan- my mother, my Matriarch- they’ll think I’m dead?”
The Female smirked. “We can hardly let them in on the secret, Stud, now can we? The stakes are ineffably high here! And it’s for their safety as well as ours! You wouldn’t want the enemies of the Federation to use them against us, now would you?” Then she drew back, frowning. “I thought your sentimental attachment to your family and friends might be your weak point-”
“No!” he snapped, raising a hand in her direction. Admittedly, he had been shocked at the harsh practical requirements of a life under cloak and dagger – but on reflection, he accepted the reasoning. He lowered his arm again, measuring his eventual response. “No. No, I understand. Sacrifices have to be made. So… how are you going to arrange my… death?”
The Female leaned back against the shuttle wall, crossing her arms. “We won’t have to do anything; the Dominion will take care of that for us in a few hours. You’ll be one of the many casualties of the Battle of Khavak, and your body will never be sought, let alone found.”
Rrori frowned at that. “A little pessimistic, aren’t you? We managed rather decently against the Klingons-”
Now she offered him a look that was almost piteous. “Oh, Stud… the Thirteenth Fleet is going to be overwhelmed today… it will be a massacre. Not even your hospital ship will escape being a target. Our tactical assessments predict a casualty rate exceeding 40%. At least.”
He gasped in horror. Forty percent? That meant hundreds… thousands of lives! “We- We have to warn Admiral Tattok-”
She shook her head. “It would do no good. What happens today at Khavak will be a harsh, but ultimately necessary evil, working towards the ultimate survival of the Federation. The ships, the lives that will be lost today, are all part of an ultimate victory in the years to come. You need to look at The Bigger Picture.”
He stared back in disbelief. What she said… made some sort of sense, as cold and unappealing as it did. His stomach twisted.
Now she drew up to him again, practically into his arms, letting him take in her scent fully. It was… Mother’s Cubs, she was in Season again? She was purring against his chest. “Meow… the age-old unanswerable question of whether the Ends Justify the Means actually has an answer: it does. I know it’s tough to take in, but I think you’re strong enough to do it.” She rose to her toes and gently nipped at his neck. “I’ll be back for you later.”
Then she vanished, just as the shuttle’s side door slid open, and Lt Commander Monroe entered, regarding him. “Well, you’re at attention, at least, Ensign.”
Rrori started, feeling his skin flush nova beneath his fur… until he realised the human was speaking about his general posture… and not just parts of him. “Uh, yes, Sir. Yes, Sir.”
As he stepped aside to let his superior officer begin his inspection, Rrori breathed in the lingering musk from the Female, still aroused at her scent… and appalled at her words.
A massacre?
Yes, he’d survive the day.
But who else would?
*
USS Triton, Deck 1 Fore – Admiral’s Ready Room
3.8 Hours Until Armageddon:
Tattok’s face remained implacable as he stared at the onscreen and holographic images of the other attendants of the final briefing. “And have all ship’s remodulated their shield to the recommended nutations?”
Captain Hrelle, acting as the Fleet’s Strategic Operations Officer, nodded from his screen. “All reports are affirmative, Admiral. I’ve also made recommendations towards short-burst phaser tactics. The Jem’Hadar favour strafing runs in their smaller Scarab vessels, overwhelming their larger targets with superior numbers and blitzkrieg assaults.”
Tattok nodded in agreement, the Roylan’s scaled face feeling cold and even more ossified than usual. Good, he thought, let them all think I’m more confident than I’m feeling. “And the Cardassian component of the forces?”
Now the holographic image of Admiral Trenagen spoke up, his theatrical baritone. “Intelligence reports indicate the Cardassian component of the Khavak invasion fleet consists of standard Galor-class vessels in the expected numbers. We do not anticipate any modifications or upgrades to their weapons or shields; the Dominion’s policy tends to lean towards a proprietorial attitude regarding their own weapons and technology.”
“In other words, they don’t like sharing. And the overall numbers expected?”
“As already reported, Admiral. My offices estimate a casualty rate of between 5 and 8%. Acceptable losses.”
Tattok’s eyestalks narrowed on his fellow Admiral. “I question your definition of ‘acceptable’, Admiral.”
“Admiral Tattok,” came a new voice from another screen: an older Vulcan female with swarthy skin and a gaunt face. “There will be a change to the assignment of the James Fenimore Cooper.”
The Roylan looked to her acidly: Captain Sakuth, one of Trenagen’s Intelligence cronies, who had somehow managed to secure herself a command of the Cooper, an old Oberth-class surveyor, despite what appeared to be a lack of relevant experience, at least as far as Tattok was aware. It was obvious that she was acting as a spy for Trenagen, probably coordinating all of his secret activities within the Thirteenth Fleet, and if her commission hadn’t come down from the C-in-C himself – with Trenagen’s influence, of course – then he would have sent her packing.
Certainly he had divined enough from Captain Hrelle, who was listening in on the conversation, but kept his reaction to a minimum once she spoke up. He focused on Sakuth now. “Really, Captain? I thought I was the one who managed the assignments for the ships in my Fleet.”
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “I was not intending to suggest otherwise, of course, Admiral. Merely to inform you that during the battle, I will be conducting long-range studies of the Dominion and Cardassian vessels, weapons and tactics. Given its limited performance and weapons profile, the Cooper would not provide a significant offensive posture in the battle, but the intelligence data it can gather could be of immense value to Starfleet in future operations.”
“I have no argument with that, Captain,” he informed her. “But it still sounds as if you’re making the assignments here.”
“She is not, Tattok,” Trenagen interrupted. “Merely confirming the change of orders you will by now have received for the Cooper, from Starfleet Command.”
Tattok scowled. He didn’t bother to check his incoming mission updates, as he looked back at Sakuth. “I was already well aware of the limitations of your vessel; I was intending to employ you in supporting the Surefoot in dealing with the wounded and evacuees.” Tattok studied her as he said this; he knew that there had been a number of contentious incidents between her and Hrelle and his ship and crew, and was curious to see her reaction.
As it happened, Sakuth offered something unexpected. “The performance record of the Surefoot in its ancillary duties with the Fleet has proven to be exemplary, Admiral, despite the limitations demonstrated by their Commanding Officer and senior crew.”
Silently, Hrelle made a face only Tattok could see. Tattok decided to wrap this up. “Very well, Captain Sakuth, do what you have to, just don’t get in the way of the other vessels. The rest of you will have your orders as well; Communications Blackout begins at the expected time, so make sure your crew has any messages loaded and ready for transmission before then. Dismissed.”
The screens went blank; Trenagen remained, standing there like some Shakespearean ghost. “Well, perhaps I should leave you to prepare-”
“I could die today, Ian,” Tattok cut in.
The image blinked, the hangdog expression tightening. “That is always the possibility, Tattok. It is a risk that comes with the uniform.”
“For some of us, yes. Those who don’t hide in the shadows.”
Trenagen straightened up. “‘They also serve who only stand and wait’: Milton.”
The Roylan grunted. “‘You’re full of shit’: Tattok. We caught your spy on the Ajax.”
Trenagen’s image barely reacted. “Spy?”
Tattok nodded. “He’s in custody, his equipment has been confiscated, the truth will out.”
Trenagen crossed his arms. “And what truth might that be, Tattok? You are already well aware that the scope of my responsibilities as head of Starfleet Intelligence; if I have undercover operatives on Starfleet vessels and installations, it will always be for the best of reasons.”
“And the worst. I will be holding an open investigation following the battle, and present my findings to the C-in-C. The Truth Will Out.”
Trenagen offered the hint of a smile. “In my experience, Truth is a skittish little creature, generally afraid of the light, and not as easily coaxed out into the open as you might think. Still, by all means, Tattok, do what you think is best.
Trenagen offered the hint of a smile. “In my experience, Truth is a skittish little creature, generally afraid of the light, and not as easily coaxed out into the open as you might think. Still, by all means, Tattok, do what you think is best.
Assuming you survive today.”
Trenagen’s image vanished.
Tattok stared at nothing now. “Asshole.”
*
USS Surefoot, Deck 1 Mid – Jhesse Furore’s Quarters
3.6 Hours Until Armageddon:
He finished fitting the first of the new sensor webs on Sreen, the infant cub growling in protest at the lattice she could feel on her, a different sensation to her normal clothes. Then he quickly dressed her, purring as he assured her gently, “There, there, My Lady, consider this your training apparati for your first exo-harness in a few weeks. You’ll soon get used to it, I promise.” After a moment though, he added, “Though perhaps I should keep you with me for a while...”
Kami drew up to them, resting a hand on Jhess’ forearm. “No. You don’t need her to do what you have to do. There will undoubtedly be some emotional intensity that she’ll pick up and not understand.”
The spotted Caitian male made an amused sound, but nodded in acquiescence, stepping aside to let the female lift up her cub and cradle her, as he looked on in slight envy. “I won’t be long.”
“No, you won’t; the window to get any outgoing messages is fast approaching. And you should have done this sooner.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He looked to a curious Misha. “Go next door with your Mama and sister.”
“I wanna stay!” the cub protested, frowning now.
“Misha,” Kami said, in a tone that was gentle… but incontestable. She drew up and rubbed the side of her muzzle against Jhess’. “Just say what’s on your mind, and in your heart.”
The three Caitians departed, leaving Jhess alone. He glanced around, seeking a distraction, something, anything to keep him from doing what he had to do.
But finally he sat down, opening the video message recorder. He breathed in, out, controlling his rising pulse as best he could. He could do this. He could do this.
He looked to the picture frame sitting next to the monitor, tilted it into direct view: three Caitians, one of them himself, the other an adult female and a five-year-old male. He remembered the day, of course: the camping trip in the forests outside of Sohevo Minor… before he was called away eleven years ago to fight off-world. He could still remember their scents… or at least, he imagined he could.
Then he started the recorder, looking into the camera, imagining the face of the female that he once knew, once loved with all his heart. “Hello, Mreia. Yeah, I know, it’s been… been too long. Or not long enough, depending on how you’re feeling about me today.
I… I know you told me not to contact you anymore, that you have a new life to live without being reminded of your ex-husband. But...” He paused, breathing in before continuing. “I have a job minding the cubs of a Caitian Starfleet captain and his family onboard his starship. Well, as you’ll no doubt know from the news, we’re at war. And this starship is going into battle. And while we’ll be avoiding actual conflict in favour of performing support duties, there’s no guarantee that we’ll… survive.
So I contacting you now, before what might happen… happens. To tell you a few things.
He glanced down at the desktop. “I’m sorry, Mreia. I am so sorry that our marriage couldn’t work out. I’m sorry that the decisions I had made, to join the Militia and fight in the last Ferasan War, compelled you to want a divorce, to cut me out of your life… and Shau’s life.” Something like a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, lifted the corners of his muzzle. “I’m still not sorry that I made those decisions, of course, and nor are you that you made your decisions; we’re both far too stubborn to ever back down, are we?”
The smile vanished. “But it still hurt both of us. And I am sorry for that. And I hope that, someday, you might at least forgive me. And that you’ll have found someone better than me. Someone you can be... proud to call Husband.” Jhess frowned, grinding his teeth. “Mother’s Cubs, Mreia, I am not going to use this opportunity to get into another one-sided argument with you! It’s pointless!”
He calmed himself down again. “I’ve updated my will with our lawyers; I’m leaving everything in a trust fund for Shea. And no, none of the money there was earned in the Militia, it was all from my post-military work, taking care of cubs. You can’t possibly object to that on ethical grounds.”
He stared at the screen for almost a minute before continuing.
“Mreia… I never contested the divorce. I didn’t even contest your desire to exclude me from our son’s life. I never wanted to cause either of you any pain. I never asked anything of you.
I’m asking something of you now.”
The tears welled up in his eyes. “Please… please make sure Shea doesn’t forget me.
And please make sure he knows why I’m not there for him. That it’s not because I don’t want to be. I’m not asking you to compromise your beliefs, or make yourself out to be the villain in this.
Just... please make sure he knows I love him. I love him so very, very much.
You too, still. But I know you and I will never be what we were again. I’m still Shea’s father.
Please...”
*
Deck 1 Fore – Bridge:
3 Hours Until Armageddon:
The cadets stood at attention besides the chairs at their assigned stations, all facing towards the centre of the circular Bridge, as Second Officer Lt Neheru, the commanding officer for their shift stood next to the Captain’s Chair, his full two metre height accentuated by his lanky Kelpien frame, his thin arms folded behind him as he looked at the young, nervous faces around him, reminding him of… himself. “Shortly, our shift will end; but your duties will continue. Grab something light to eat, get showered, change into fresh uniform, and report to your secondary stations for the duration of the battle. Don’t fill up on too much food, as the opportunities for toilet breaks may be few and far between, and the last thing you want distracting you during combat is a mess in your underpants.”
That made some of them snicker despite their attempts at remaining professional. At the Helm, Lt Irina Velkovsky, forgoing formality to lean against her station, crossed her arms and smirked, strands of her honey-blonde hair dropping over her pale Nordic forehead.
Neheru glanced at her, almost tempting to tease her by reminding her of protocol, despite the intimate facets of their relationship off of the Bridge. His noseless, salmon-pink face creased in amusement before he continued, more seriously. “Many of you will be afraid of what will happen in the hours to come. Of how, or even if, you survive, or if your friends and colleagues will survive. Of how you will perform under fire.
Well, speaking as someone who has lived with fear for most of his life, I can assure you that such feelings are completely natural. You should be afraid. Fear, properly applied, keeps you alert… so long as you don’t let it control you.
And with that fear, take this: my pride and confidence. My pride and confidence in each and every one of you. You are all a superlative group of young people, and it is an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to serve alongside you.” Then he glanced at the Tellarite female at the Science station. “Except for Cadet Grehk, whose pelt smells like something I stepped in once in a swamp.”
The cadets laughed, including Grehk, who snorted in satisfaction and replied, “Many thanks, Sir.”
Neheru smirked, glad he thought of giving them a pep talk before the end of shift. “You may all technically still be cadets, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re Starfleet, you deserve to be wearing those uniforms and being where you are now. Watch out for yourselves, and each other.” He nodded to them. “Okay, Heroic Speech over, complete your end of shift assignments.”
And they applauded. They actually applauded. Embarrassed, he waved them off and took the Captain’s seat once more, as they followed suit at their own stations… Velkovsky being the last, offering some quick Kelpien hand gestures that were amazingly filthy to those in the know, before she too took her place as if nothing was untoward.
Neheru felt himself blush more now than from the applause: when he first began working with Irina, he thought she was as cool and efficient as a Vulcan. Well, she remained efficient, but on deepening their relationship, he found her… a Supernova.
He stretched out his long legs, liking this seat the more he sat in it, and looking forward to having a permanent place on some other ship… preferably with Irina at the Helm.
*
Deck 3 Fore – Cadets’ Quarters
2.8 Hours Until Armageddon:
Zir Dassene clung onto the human male as if for dear life, until Niles Angstrom said breathlessly, “I’m- I’m already going to Sickbay to work. You want to send me as a patient?”
The Orion pulled back but still held onto him, her olive skin darkening. “Sorry! But I mean it, keep your head down, stay out of trouble, just do your job!”
The pale-skinned young man with curly blonde hair and a prominent nose grinned. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Minsevi. I’m an abject coward.”
She let her hands move down to his, squeezing. “Good. Stay that way, I’ll manage the courage in this relationship.” Still, she realised that she was the one who was lingering.
“I hope we’re interrupting something interesting,” teased a familiar voice, as Astrid Michele, Tori Emoto, Peter Boone and Stalac walked (or in the case of the last, slithered) up to them, Alpha Squad’s human Flight Ops Specialist wrapping an arm around Zir’s shoulder as if to help her escape her paramour’s clutches. “Come, let’s not keep our squadmate waiting.”
“Squadmate?” Niles echoed with bemusement. “Who’s missing?”
The rest of Alpha Squad looked to him, Tori smirking and crossing her arms. “Uh, Urad Kaldron, dipshit! Holy crap, how the frick can you not notice when he isn’t around?”
“Language, Tori,” Zir chided gently, explaining to Niles, “Urad asked us to meet him in the Arboretum before our shift starts. We’d best get going.” She leaned in and kissed Niles on the cheek.”Dinner tonight. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“No, Ma’am,” he replied, smiling.
Down around everyone’s boots, the Horta Science Specialist Stalac rumbled with amusement. “She has him well trained.”
Astrid smirked. “She does like to crack the whip.”
Peter chuckled. “Yeah, he’s smart not to cross swords with the Green Torpedo.”
Zir frowned. “‘Green Torpedo’?” She grunted, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Yes, Ma’am!” they all replied in unison.
She led the way, glad that the Arboretum wasn’t too far away, and hoping that it wouldn’t take too long. They were getting closer to the battle, both literally and metaphorically, and she was- well, not eager for it. Certainly not eager. Eager to get it over with, more like.
“Anyone figure out why Urad wants to meet up in the Arboretum?” Tori asked.
“To smell the roses?” Stalac suggested. “Well, for you Carbs to smell the roses. I might nibble on the meditation rocks.”
“He goes in there a lot,” Zir observed. “I never took him for the Nature Boy type.”
“He goes there for-” Peter started, but then stopped himself. “Come on...”
Before Zir could question him, they were entered the Arboretum, the air warm and thick with the scents of the varied flora within. The interior, redesigned over the past year, consisted of numerous square platforms three metres on each side, separated by walkways, each platform containing botanical displays, their specimens chosen not just for their aesthetic appeal and variety but their compatibility with the other plants in the room, and the different races of visitors here.
Zir looked around; it was almost empty, with just one or two crewmembers around. She ignored them, leading the way to the rear, a crescent of fire, flamingo and amethyst-coloured Bajoran orchids around a large patch of thick, soft chartreuse grass.
Urad Kaldron knelt on this grass, the huge, broad Hroch pachydermoid’s head averted, eyes closed, his massive hands clasped before him, his gold-topped Security uniform sleeveless to accommodate his massive arms.
Zir was about to ask what he was doing, when Peter rested a hand on her forearm to stop her, his expression knowing but not giving away anything.
Then Urad opened his eyes and lifted his large head, smiling. “Thank you for allowing me to finish my prayers, Comrades.” He held out his arms, his fingers open. “Please, sit. This will not take long.”
“Prayers?” Astrid echoed curiously, as they began to take places on the surrounding grass.
“I never met anyone who was religious,” Tori commented. “How come you never said anything before?”
Urad made a sound of amusement. “Among the Hroch, our relationship with our Numen is considered a private matter… and I am aware of the general attitude among the Federation towards the spiritual.”
Zir frowned, realising with some embarrassment that she, too, had reflected the attitudes of many she had met in the Federation, and wondered how her friend could believe in such… primitive notions. “Urad, I’m sorry if we made you feel like you couldn’t share a part of yourself with us.”
But he harrumphed. “No, Comrade Squad Leader. None of my friends have made me feel anything less than welcome, wanted… and happy.
And you are all my friends. And more. You are my family. And this is why I have called you here at this time.
My people’s Numen reminds us that our lives are fleeting, that they can extinguish in an eyeblink… and that we should take the time to open up to those who mean the most to us. And, on this day of days, such a reminder is unignorable.”
He looked around them, focusing first on Zir. “You, Zir, are more than my Squad Leader. You are my older sister: strong, authoritative, confident and protective of all of us. You are our Compass, keeping us on our proper course. You have overcome terrible adversity, and you inspire us. Thank you.”
Zir felt herself blush a dark pine colour at her friend’s gentle, unexpected words, as Urad looked to Peter. “You, Peter, are my older brother: mature, gentle, understanding. You are suffused with compassion, and have fully embraced your role as a Healer and a Counselor, aiding body, mind and soul. Our private talks have been ineffably enriching, and I look forward to the day when I meet your daughter, and tell her what a remarkable man she has for a father.”
Peter was blushing now. “Aww, hell, Urad, you don’t have to say anything like that, buddy...”
Urad chuckled, glancing down at Stalac, the Horta having half-rumbled up onto the platform, his asymmetrical, orange-brown fibrous shell gently pulsating. Urad reached down and rested a grey open hand onto his friend’s skin. “You, Stalac, are my younger brother: wise, studious, patient and funny. I could not have kept my continued place within the Academy without your tutelage. But more than that, you have enlightened me as to the reason behind so many of the customs and behaviours of the bizarre little creatures we are forced to live and work with.” He paused, winking at the rest of Alpha Squad. “You do your Egg Mother proud.”
Stalac rumbled. “Thank you, my Brobdingnagian brother. I would blush, if I could.”
Urad turned to Astrid, smiling. “You, sweet Astrid, are another older sister.”
She smirked. “Not that old, I hope.”
Urad laughed. “You are a font of endless optimism, of confidence and assurance. You find light in shadow, beauty in bleakness, hope in despair… and if you can’t find it, you bring it. You support all of us, endeavour to bring out the best in yourself… and should I ever lose 250 kilograms and grow bosoms, I can count on you to dress me in something most fashionable and complimentary.”
Astrid smiled warmly, patting him on the forearm. “Count on it, Darling. And… thank you.”
On his left, Tori grunted. “Typical, I’m fricking last, again.”
Urad looked to her. “I always save the best for last, my little sister: my strong, spirited, obdurate… very profane little sister.”
She grunted again, sounding satisfied with the description. “Fuck, yeah.”
As the others laughed, he continued, reaching up and resting a hand against her face, almost completely covering it. “Your die-hard devotion – to your friends, to your work, to everything you value – is as fierce as a star. You never surrender. I hope to have a tenth of your courage and fortitude in my work.”
Tori pursed her lips, aware of everyone looking at her, before she blew a raspberry. “You’re just a big soft bag of hippo crap. You know that?”
Urad nodded. “Perhaps, Pottymouth, perhaps. Nevertheless, I want to tell you...” He looked to the others. “All of you... that I love you. And, should this day turn out… less than optimal… I want this moment to be the one remembered for us. No pain, no sorrow, no anger. Just love.”
Zir regarded her squadmate and friend with a renewed appreciation. Her initial admiration of him for his immense physical strength and uniqueness, a boon to their status as a Squad, had grown immensely, and she began to value him as an individual: the gentleness of his spirit, his unquestioning, unwavering loyalty to his friends, his purity of heart.
She reached out and rested a hand on his. “No pain, no sorrow, no anger. Just love.”
Peter’s hand joined hers. “Just love.”
As did Astrid’s and Tori’s, each echoing the words.
And all resting on Stalac’s shell, his pulsing increasing. “Just love.”
*
Deck 4 Aft – Main Engineering
2.5 Hours Until Armageddon:
Chief Grev stood silently and stared up at the warp core column, taking in the red pulsating fields like warmth from a fire after a cold trek across the plains of Dveth Borthogm in winter. Thoughts of Tellar made his barrel chest rise and fall within his uniform. He missed it. He missed his family. He had been away for far too long. He should go home… permanently. He had been in Starfleet for 32 years, longer than anyone else onboard, even Captain Hrelle. His pelt was greying, and his stomachs felt like they were on a constant churn.
This War was for the young pups, not old swine like himself. Especially with the new technology coming in, like those bioneural gel packs hooked up to the support systems. Organic circuitry? Hideous idea-
His thoughts ended with some of the pups on the next shift entered early. Inwardly he was pleased by their diligence. Outwardly, of course, he snorted loudly. “Increase the air filtration process in here by 200%! The air has grown as thick and rancid as a pair of Squab’s socks!”
His Assistant Engineer, Ensign Nancy Yeager, strode up to him. “Come on, Chief, it can’t be any worse than the stink in your quarters.”
The Tellarite grunted, his blunt snout twitching with satisfaction at the Banter.
Okay, maybe he didn’t have to leave right away…
*
USS James Fenimore Cooper, Deck 1 – Bridge
2 Hours Until Armageddon:
Captain Sakuth emerged from her Ready Room, stopping at the doorway and waiting for her senior officers to take the hint and look her way before she announced, “Our mission during the battle has altered. This will not concern most of you, who no doubt will continue to perform your duties to the barely-adequate levels I have come to expect of you.” She looked to the junior officers awaiting at the Tactical Display at the back of the Bridge. “Lt Arrington, though I have eschewed the requirement for a First Officer, my supervision of our intelligence gathering mission during the battle will necessitate your temporary promotion to the role, to perform the minor but necessary duties.”
She watched the reaction to her news on the young human’s face, expecting a typical flush and rush of immature, undisciplined emotion. Instead, Giles Arrington took the orders professionally and proceeded to his work.
He remained the most noteworthy of the junior officers assigned to assist in data collation. She knew everything about him, of course: his family’s long history in Starfleet, specifically in Intelligence (a connection he has consistently refused to exploit, she noted with interest); his high scores at the Academy; and of course his association with Hrelle and the Surefoot.
After his graduation he spent some time performing minor, meaningless tasks with Logistics, before transferring into Intelligence, and volunteering for field operations, where his work and professional demeanour, both public and private, belied any contamination he might have received from his involvement with Hrelle and the Caitian’s ilk.
She took her place in the centre seat and accessed her private PADD. Despite her rank she had never commanded a starship before a month ago, but her subsequent experience confirmed her initial suspicions, that all of the talk she had heard from other about the alleged adversity behind such duties was grossly exaggerated.
Certainly if that slovenly, feral Hrelle could manage it, so could she.
*
Deck 4 Mid – Chief of Security’s Office
2 Hours Until Armageddon:
Commander T’Varik stood ramrod straight, hands behind her back, the pale, middle-aged Vulcan female’s face perfectly composed as her partner, Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, stood by the wall display, the coal-furred Caitian’s tail swishing behind her as she indicated various sections on the display, which currently depicted a cross-section of the Surefoot. “We’ll have guards at these junctures, ensuring smooth access for the wounded as they’re moved from Triage in the Shuttlebay to each of the three Sickbays, and to keep the non-wounded from getting in the way or wandering off into secure areas.” She paused, looking to the Vulcan expectantly.
T’Varik responded with, “Continue.”
C’Rash regarded her for a heartbeat, before complying. “Cargo Bays 1 to 3 are reconfigured for survivors, with a guard in each bay. I’ve asked Doc Cowboy to see if he can spare us one of his people to do a quick check for anyone who might be injured but slipped past Triage. I’m also recommending Aunt Kami, Spots and the Cubs stay in the Science Lab behind Sickbay 1; it’s small, but the most secure place within the body of the ship, with isolation forcefields and reinforced frameworks, and near us.” She paused again.
T’Varik responded with, “Continue.”
C’Rash’s snout twitched, and her tail swishing quickened, but she did so. “I’ve asked Uncle Esek to lend us Cadet Dassene to supplement the Security detail in Aft Engineering; Zir’s responded well to the additional training I’ve been giving her, and he’s planning on keeping the experienced Bridge officers on duty anyway. But she and the other cadets will be equipped with ablative vests.” She stopped again.
T’Varik responded with, “Continue.”
C’Rash’s bronze eyes narrowed. “There are reports of the Jem’Hadar employing an active camouflage capacity, though it hasn’t been determined whether this is a natural or artificial ability on their part. Should we encounter the use of this invisibility, I recommend defecating, picking up our faeces and flinging it to see if anything sticks.”
T’Varik nodded instinctively – and then frowned. “Facetiousness is not appropriate at this time.”
“Neither is inattention.”
“I am not inattentive.”
C’Rash crossed her arms. “Catshit. You’ve not made one suggestion. You’re being quiet and nice. It’s not like you.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Thank you. Perhaps I can find no fault with your security precautions?”
“Or maybe you’re just worried about the battle?”
“Worry is...” T’Varik paused, continuing with, sounding more honest now, “Quite logical under the circumstances. Our noncombat status as an ambulance vessel might not be honoured by the Dominion forces today.”
The Caitian lowered her arms and approached, offering a more sympathetic response. “Continue.”
T’Varik felt herself flush at the proximity of her partner; she had long since become accustomed to her scent… and reactive to it, though Vulcan olfactoral acuity was not as great as a Caitian’s. “I am profoundly aware of our cadet and civilian contingent onboard. Though we as full members of Starfleet have pledged our lives to our duty, the same cannot be said for- for-”
C’Rash was practically in her face, the hot breath from her snout against the Vulcan’s cheek. “Continue.”
T’Varik glanced around slightly; the door to C’Rash’s office was locked, the glass windows tinted, but she remained self-conscious of how close the rest of her partner’s Security personnel were just outside. “We have only just married. I- I must admit to an exigent anxiety that we-” She glanced down to see C’Rash’s hands at the waistband to the Vulcan’s trousers. “What are you doing?”
Her partner was purring as she replied, “Helping my First Officer. She’s tense. She needs some quick release.”
“I am not- I do not desire-”
“Your scent says differently.”
“This- This is highly inappropriate. Please cease and desist.”
C’Rash slipped her right hand down inside T’Varik’s trousers. “No.”
The Vulcan felt her temperature rise even more. Such unprofessional conduct was typical of her younger partner. She could physically remove the hand. Yes, yes, she could. “I am- I am ordering you to- to-”
C’Rash’s fingertips found what they sought.
T’Varik’s voice was a whisper. “We- We are on duty- your team is just beyond your door.”
C’Rash leaned in and murmured, “Then you’d better be quiet...”
*
Deck 3 Mid – Sickbay
1.8 Hours Until Armageddon:
Doctor Masterson pushed his Stetson hat up from his broad forehead, looking out at the collection of nurses and Medical and Science cadets he had helped train to provide support in the Surefoot’s three Sickbays during emergencies. He saw the mix of confidence and anxiety at the upcoming battle in all their faces.
Well, not all the faces: there was Dr Riadrea Belaxi, a Bolian Starfleet medical officer, whose team was temporarily assigned to the Surefoot to assist in the initial triage operations, freeing the Surefoot staff to manage the Sickbays. Belaxi stood in the back with his team, watching the proceedings with mild amusement on his dark blue bisected face.
Since boarding, he gave Masterson the impression of being a condescending little saddlesore, not letting a conversation pass without mentioning at least once the alleged flummery of having Medical and Science cadets performing support duties here (or maybe it was targeted more at Masterson himself?). Masterson let it slide, knowing that their guests would be both qualified and experienced, having served in the field in numerous locations during the brouhaha with the Klingons and the initial fights against the Jem’Hadar.
Then he smiled as he focused once more on his staff, and how they had divided themselves up into the three teams he had established to promote some healthy competition among them – and distract them from letting things get too onerous. “Alright, ya Yahoos, we’re gonna keep it straight as a bullet: the Broncos will be with me in Sickbay 1-”
Nearest him, the six nurses and cadets on his team whooped and hollared in Wild West fashion – except for his new senior nurse, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, who responded in typical Capellan taciturn fashion with a grunt. That girl could curdle milk in the teat with a glower… “The Targs will of course be hanging out with Doctor Kline in Sickbay 2-”
Now the tall, swarthy Klingon on Masterson’s left stepped forward, declaring in Klingon, “Hegh chargh maH!”
And now his own team roared, raising their fists into the air… even those cadets who started out looking and acting like they wouldn’t dare say Boo to a mouse.
To Masterson’s right, an Andorian woman in civilian medical clothes made a sound, prompting Masterson to take back the reins. “And last but not least, the Icehawks will man Sickbay 3 under our esteemed Doctor Shyrik.”
Then he started as Shyrik’s six-member team suddenly formed a diamond pattern, moving as one in some sort of choreographed posture dance of legs and arms, before chanting in Andorian, “SShvis Nodsath-Ha!”
Shyrik nodded with unabashed pride, her antennae rising as she glanced over challengingly at Kline, who sneered good-naturedly…. or at least as good-naturedly as a Klingon could be.
Masterson waved down the responses from the rest of them. “Alright, alright, Team Pride’s all well and good… but if any of us start heading up Bull Creek, I don’t want you being too high and mighty to call for help from Dr Belaxi and his people, or from the other teams… or from the EMH.” That suggestion raised some groans, before he clarified with, “Yeah, yeah, I know he’s about as welcome as a burr in your britches, but his program is available in all the Sickbays now, and he can free you to focus on others.
Hopefully, he won’t be needed.
Even more hopefully, none of us will be.”
That sobered the group, though he wasn’t sure if it was from how unlikely that hope was.
“Now,” he continued, “Y’all should have completed the supplementary training on treating wounds from polaron-based energy weapons like the Dominion varmints use, and we’ve already replicated extra batches of the standard coagulants and spray applicators y’all might need. Though with any luck those Horntoads will stay on their ships and not get anywhere near the Fleet personnel. Apart from that, expect the standard evacuation-related injuries, radiation burns and trauma.”
He looked out at all the faces.
“Keep your heads down,” he concluded. “Let others worry about getting us out, or watching our tailfeathers. Focus on doing your job… something y’all are the best at, no matter what team you’re playing on.”
That brought up a united cheer.
“Dismissed.”
As the group dispersed, talking excitedly and slapping each other on the backs, Masterson stepped up to Belaxi, who was conversing with his people, but now turned to the CMO. “A lovely little speech you gave to the children there, Doctor. Very inspiring.”
Masterson smirked. “No children onboard, Doc, except for the Captain’s and Counselor’s critters. Some may be wet behind the ears, but they’ve all proven themselves.”
Belaxi smirked back, though his was more sardonic. “Not against the Dominion. None of you have. But if it does get too much for any of you, just say the word, and we’ll step in.”
Masterson was about to reply, when Eydiir stepped up beside him, obviously having caught at least the tail end of the conversation, to judge from the scowl on her dark, gaunt face. “Your hauteur is not required, Doctor. We are more than capable of managing ourselves in a crisis.”
“Girl...” Masterson started.
But Belaxi butted in, chuckling, “Oh really, Nurse? Tell me, have you ever had to try an examine a patient while being fired upon by a Jem’Hadar soldier?”
“No,” she admitted, “But I was once attacked by a Ferasan warrior while attempting to stabilise my Captain when he had been administered an overdose of Hypocordrazine. I slit open the attacking Ferasan’s carotid artery with a kitchen knife and left him to bleed to death before I continued; the parathyroid muscles near the jugular proved slightly more resistant, though I blame that on the inferior quality of the blade I was forced to employ under the circumstances.”
Belaxi turned a lighter shade of blue at that.
Masteron indulged in some satisfaction at that, before tipping back his hat. “I’ll let y’all get onto the Shuttlebay now.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, of course.” As they filed out, Masterson chuckled. “That’s some tall tale you fed him-”
“It was no tall tale. It occurred on Stardate 36528.47. I neglected to mention the other two Ferasans I gutted at the time. I did not wish to sound boastful.”
He blanched. “Well… tall tale or not, you sure took the starch out of their sheets, quick as shine through a junebug.”
Eydiir crossed her arms. “As always, I understand perhaps 30% of what you say. I will be armed while on duty. I trust you will not object?”
“So long as you don’t start using your throwing blades as scalpels, we’ll be fine. Carry on, while I go have a talk with our Triage Supervisor.” He left her and moved to the other end of Sickbay, where Cadet Stalac sat, unnoticed because of his height. “Pardner, what are y’all doing hiding back here?”
The young Horta rumbled in confusion. “Sir?”
Masterson dropped to one knee to get closer, smiling. “You’re gonna be one of the most important folk today! I’m only sorry I didn’t mention that in that little pep talk!”
Stalac rumbled again. “I’m rather glad you didn’t, Doctor… I might have peed some acid in embarrassment at such attention. I much prefer to stay unobtrusive.”
The human doctor grinned now, at the thought of a hundred kilogram, acid-exuding, rock-eating silicon-based lifeform trying to be unobtrusive. “Yeah, well, I’ve been pleased as punch by your results in all the drills and exercises we’ve been running on the Holodecks. Y’all do fine.”
Stalac rotated in place, the Starfleet combadge and voder unit bolted to one side of his shell facing Masterson. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down.”
The doctor patted him on the side. “I know you won’t, Dude.”
*
Deck 1 Fore – Command Quarters
1.5 Hours Until Armageddon:
Hrelle hugged his wife fiercely, not wanting to alarm their cubs nearby, but still wanting to drink in her sweet musk before he departed to the Bridge. He purred, murmuring, “Stay safe down there.”
Kami hugged him back. “I will. You stay safe up there.”
“I will.” Reluctantly he drew back, before moving to their cubs, watching with varied degrees of interest. Hrelle dropped to one knee beside Misha. “You stay with Mama and Sreen, do what you’re told.”
“I protect them!” Misha declared.
“Of course you will.” He hugged his son, before moving onto Sreen, sitting in her chair, looking up and mewling slightly at the raised emotion in the air. “And you, my Warrior Princess, just… stay exactly as you are. No growing up while I’m away, understood?” He moved in and brushed his muzzle against hers, before rising again, tugging at his jacket in a vain attempt to close it over his belly. “Stupid fabricators keep shrinking my uniform.”
“Of course they do,” Kami agreed dryly.
Misha reached up and poked his father’s belly. “No shrinking, you just Fat Cat!”
Hrelle grunted, looking to Kami once more. “Your son has no manners.”
Kami shrugged, showing more insouciance than either adult was actually feeling. It was all he could do to not tell them to come up to the Bridge and stay there for the duration of the battle, instead of just nodding and leaving.
In the corridor, he slipped into his Command Face, nodding confidently to crewmembers he passed, before running into T’Varik and C’Rash. “Commander, Lieutenant.”
Both females nodded perfunctorily at him, looking flush as they followed him onto the Bridge.
He breathed the scents around them, and understood their reactions. Well, he was glad they managed to get some before the battle started.
He looked around, approving of the Bridge crew awaiting him: Neheru at Ops, Velkovsky at the Helm, Yeager at Engineering, Astrid beside her as Helm backup. He stopped and let his First Officer and Chief of Security take their places, as he stared ahead at the viewscreen, at the dilated starfield, the blackness and lightstreaks offering no clue as to what awaited them. No, that was the job of the warp probes the Fleet sent ahead.
All these lives… just the ones onboard his ship, including his family, were in his hands. Every decision he made, good or bad, wise or foolish, would affect them all.
Seven Hells, he should have stayed with his father and been a fisherman. It was a simple, honest, safe life, and he would have been responsible for his own life, not scores of others.
Then he remembered how much he hated the smell of gutted sleeks, and slapped his combadge. “Captain to Crew.”
The computer sounded the bosun’s whistle, and those on the Bridge not immediately engaged in their duties turned to face him. He saw their expectant eyes, imagined the same expressions on everyone else onboard. He breathed in deeply before proceeding. “In under 90 minutes, we will be engaging Dominion forces at the Khavak Sector. Intelligence reports suggest we will be victorious. But then the people who compiled those reports won’t be with us. Personal experience tells me that anything can happen in a battle.”
He folded his hands behind his back. “Now, before you sink into depression or anxiety over that thought, bear this in mind: though I’d rather be lounging on a beach on Pacifica eating shuris dogs, if I have to be in battle, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than on this ship, with this crew, performing the tasks assigned to us. Our fellow members of Starfleet will be counting on us, to rescue them, to keep them alive and safe, and get them home. They’re depending on us. Fortunately, we’re the best ship and crew in the Fleet, and don’t let anyone try and tell you differently.
Remember what I always say: ‘Focus on your work, on what’s immediately in front of you, what needs to be done now. Leave the bigger picture to the folk on the higher pay grades.’ With luck and sympathetic deities on our side, we’ll get out of this together. Captain out.”
He took his seat. Beside him, T’Varik glanced in his direction. “Deities, Sir? I was led to believe that you were not religious.”
He smiled. “I’m not. But for me, praying is like my first wife’s prescription for every childhood ailment Sasha ever had: chicken noodle soup.” He shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”
“Unless the ailment is an intolerance for poultry,” T’Varik pointed out. “Or noodles.”
Hrelle grunted. “Kiss my furry ass.”
*
USS Ajax
1.6 Hours Until Armageddon:
Weynik walked down a corridor of the Defiant-class starship, a PADD in his small hands. As part of his duties as commanding officer, he was conducting a visual inspection of every piece of his ship. He was accompanied by his executive officer who was less than enthused with the task.
“Another inspection like this is useless,” the Zakdorn complained, trying to keep up with the quick strides of his captain. “I should be in the Cockpit…”
“Part of command is making sure that all systems are operational before a battle, Mister Kohanim. Also your people need to see you. They need to know that you have their back and that they have yours.”
“Yes, sir, but…”
Weynik stood in mid-pace and turned around. His eyestalks looked up at Kit with an angry look in them. “You’re my First Officer, right?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And you should be privy to all and any information that I come into possession of, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then your duty is to make sure that your ship and crew are ready for battle,” Weynik told him, turning back around and walking again. “We may be small but this crew has become like a family to me. I know every face and every name aboard Ajax. I knew the same when I was an engineer and when I was a first officer myself.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine you as lowly as myself, once upon a time, sir.”
“Mister Kohamin, there are stories that could keep you up for days about my past. Now… should we examine the work on the aft torpedo assembly? Petty Officer Stulek said that they were making a couple of power modifications.”
*
The inspection took longer than he had expected but Weynik had gotten it done. “Computer,” the Roylan said, after the doors of his ready room closed behind him, “Open up a private channel to USS Triton. I’d like to speak with Naida.”
“Acknowledged,” the feminine voice of the ship’s computer informed him. “Connection made. Warning! All communications will be ended at 1800 hours per regulations in a combat zone.”
“Acknowledged,” Weynik repeated back to his computer display screen. He sat down in his chair and pressed a button on the desktop keypad. The logo of the United Federation of Planets appeared for a moment before it disappeared.
“Poppy!” Weynik’s five-year old daughter shouted, a smile on her face.
“Hiya, cupcake. How’s my girl?”
“Good, Poppy. Granny and I were making zoopla cookies for the victory celebration.”
“Hmmm… I hope you send some over to me.”
“But you don’t like zoopla!”
“I do too!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“I miss you, Poppy. When are you coming to visit?”
“I was just there, yesterday, Half-Pint. Didn’t you see me then?”
“Yeah, but you played with Fatso and Admiral Gee Pah most of the time,” she said, a little nugget of a complaint in her voice.
“I’ll come over tomorrow if I can, Naida. Save me some zoopla cookies.”
She smiled back at him. “I won’t let Fatso or Misha have any until you get here.”
“Good girl. I miss you, dearie.” A communications signal whistle blew and he quickly added,” I have to go, Naida. I’ll be there. I promise!”
“I love you, Poppy!”
Her image disappeared from the screen and it went black. A moment of disappointment in himself made him sad. He was fighting a war and he couldn’t even be with his child because he wanted to protect her from the horrors of war.
*
In another part of the ship, Sasha entered the Brig. It was tiny, the general claustrophobic nature of being onboard the Ajax accentuated here… and not helped by the hulking figure of the sole occupant in the cell. “Jim.”
Madison was lying on the stark bunk, but now bolted upright as if he just woke up. “Sasha! Thank God! You’ve got to get me out of here! I’m not a spy!”
She stood ramrod straight, before glancing at the Security crewman on guard. “Wait outside please, Bob.” As the crewman departed, Sasha waited until the door slid shut again before continuing, facing Madison once more. “Who’s Trenagen after?”
“What?”
“Is it Captain Weynik, or my father? Or my grandmother?”
Madison’s face screwed up in disbelief. “Sasha, I swear to God-” He was drawing closer to her, but stopped and stepped back as the force field flared into angry visibility. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, or where that equipment you found came from, or why your father would think I ever met Admiral Trenagen!” He pounded his fist against the wall beside the doorway in frustration.
She stared up at him. When her father and Weynik had first told her, she was as unconvinced as- as he seemed now. The incredulity quickly boiled into anger, as she thought of how intimate she’d become with him over the past several months, how trusting, how… happy she’d been. She wasn’t deluding herself into thinking it was True Love or anything, but- “What ship were your parents stationed on at Wolf 359?”
Madison blinked, not expecting the question. “The Bellerophon. I told you that already-”
“And who did you visit when my father met you on the Triton?”
“Sasha-”
“Just answer me.”
Madison’s face hardened. “Ensigns Lane Guerra and Andri Dannsen. They were an item back at the Academy, we called them Fire and Ice, Lane was always trying to get me fixed up with his sister back on Earth- Sasha, I shouldn’t be in here! Please! Get me out of here!”
She stared up at him. He was so convincing... “I have to go.”
Now he pounded on the forcefield, making it spark. “SASHA, NO! PLEASE, COME BACK!”
*
USS Cooper, Deck 1 Fore – Captain’s Ready Room
1 Hour Until Armageddon:
Sakuth deliberately let Arrington stand there while she pretended to examine her PADD. In fact, she had completed her perusal before she called him in here, but used the opportunity to continue to study his discipline.
Finally, without looking up, she noted, “Lieutenant, I trust you are aware of the rarity of an officer of your rank and experience to be placed in a position of such authority.”
“I am, Ma’am.”
She paused, expecting more, but now finally looked up. “Is that all you have to say?”
The slim, fair-haired human male kept his composure. “Were you looking for a Thank You, Ma’am? I didn’t think you made your decision as a favour to me, so I didn’t think you’d appreciate a show of gratitude. But if I erred in that thinking, I’m certain you’ll let me know. You’re not exactly reluctant to impart criticism, constructive or otherwise.”
“Don’t cross into insolence, Lieutenant. You are correct, however, in that I did not make my decision as an inducement for gratitude. As a cadet onboard the Surefoot, you logged 612 hours as a commanding officer, and your post-graduate assignments have required the implementation of a Level 8 Security clearance, allowing you access to the classified data you have been assisting in collating for me. In addition, your general demeanour while onboard has not been entirely unacceptable.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. Having worked under Vulcans previously, I consider that high praise.”
She regarded him more intently now; he was obviously referring to T’Varik, Hrelle’s First Officer… and Sakuth’s former lover, from their time in the Academy. She wondered for several microseconds if T’Varik had ever revealed her intimate connections with Sakuth to Arrington or anyone else on the Surefoot, then decided against it; regardless of her many notable flaws of character, even T’Varik would not proverbially stoop so low. “Did your father object to your decision to volunteer for field duty?”
“My father, Ma’am?”
“I am of course familiar with Admiral William Arrington; he is a capable officer, despite his numerous failures when dealing with the criminal activities of the Bel-Zon. He is at least more competent than your uncle, Commander Matthew Arrington, who is frankly a glib imbecile.” She focused on studying the reactions on his face to her deliberate insults… and saw none. “You agree with my assessment of your family members, Lieutenant?”
“With respect, Ma’am, I’d rather hear your opinion of my proposal. We don’t have much time.”
She nodded in concession, lifting up another PADD. “It is intriguing: operating the ship in Grey Mode, minimising our energy signature, and using our Bussard collector to trap dust from the Khavak system’s Oort Cloud to mask Dominion sensors. Is the idea your own?”
He paused briefly. “No, Ma’am. I based it on something I saw Captain Hrelle do against a gang of Orion raiders. It was when he still commanded the previous Surefoot, an Oberth-class vessel like our own, sharing our own offensive and defensive limitations-”
“What is your opinion of Captain Hrelle? I want an honest answer from you.”
He blinked – humans were so remarkably easy to read, she thought, and to provoke – as he responded, “He’s the best Captain in Starfleet, Ma’am.”
“He’s a corpulent, lazy, facetious, emasculated clown with a dubious past and connections. He chooses to squander his experience and expertise commanding an ambulance ship instead of applying whatever experience and abilities he possesses in Starfleet Command, Tactical or Intelligence. You are not entirely inept; I must conclude that your opinion of him is shaped by your prior relationship with his stepdaughter.”
Arrington reacted – more profoundly to insults against Hrelle than against his own family, she noted – though to his credit he quickly recovered. “With respect, Ma’am, my relationship with Lt Hrelle has no bearing on my respect for her father. I know he’s not to everyone’s tastes, but in his role as captain of both versions of the Surefoot, he has saved countless lives… including my own. And again with respect, none of us who have been saved by him think he’s ‘squandering his experience and expertise’ doing that. Is that all, Ma’am?”
The Vulcan woman raised an eyebrow; she had been secretly examining all of the correspondence he had transmitted since he boarded the Cooper weeks ago, including those letters to his family, and to Hrelle’s family and to his former friends, and already knew the depths of his feelings towards all of them. “You will supervise the normal operations of the vessel, while I focus on the mission. I have had designed and constructed a set of tactical probes in our bay disguised as quantum torpedoes.
They will be programmed to lock onto Jem’Hadar vessels and pursue without destroying them, instead compelling them to attempt to evade the apparent weapons, to push their engines and hull designs to the maximum. This will provide us with more data than can be obtained under normal circumstances.” At his frown, she asked, “You object to this approach?”
“Not… object, Ma’am. But using probes disguised as torpedoes might put us at risk of making ourselves a target.”
“Your fears are groundless. There will be other, more desirable targets. I have planned for every contingency; we will not be attacked. Dismissed.”
Arrington nodded, turned and departed without further ado.
She considered his responses, his obvious lingering loyalty to Hrelle.
He was still useful.
*
USS Triton, Deck 1 Fore – Bridge
30 Minutes Until Armageddon:
“Receiving Probe data now, Admiral,” reported the Ops Officer from her station.
Tattok stood in the rear of the spacious Bridge, near the Tactical Display boards, feeling like a child desperate for long-promised presents, but offering only a curt, professional, “Acknowledged.” Then he watched, along with his Tactical officers, as the images of the Dominion and Cardassian fleet they were intercepting appeared on the boards, alongside equally pertinent data on their sizes, strengths, numbers.
He felt the tension rise among the younger but still experienced officers as they began mentally assessing the opposing forces awaiting them: one Dominion battlecruiser, a large ship the size of a Galaxy-class vessel, leading a pack of a hundred smaller Scarab attack ships, and six Cardassian Galor-class vessels, surrounding the battlecruiser.
He felt the tension rise among the younger but still experienced officers as they began mentally assessing the opposing forces awaiting them: one Dominion battlecruiser, a large ship the size of a Galaxy-class vessel, leading a pack of a hundred smaller Scarab attack ships, and six Cardassian Galor-class vessels, surrounding the battlecruiser.
“Well,” one of his advisors, Lt Commander Aoyx, finally said, breaking the silence, “Looks like we will be home for Christmas.”
“I didn’t know Bolians celebrated Christmas,” quipped Commander Hagolin, standing beside him.
“We don’t usually, but who doesn’t like getting presents-”
“Enough,” Tattok snapped, his black eyestalks fixed. “I want the transmissions examined and verified for authenticity, and then transmitted to the rest of the Fleet.” He wasn’t sure why he was tense; the data supported the initial Intelligence reports, of a large but not insurmountable opposition expected at Khavak. “And hurry up about it.”
*
USS Ajax, Deck 3 Mid – Science Lab
25 Minutes Until Armageddon:
Weynik’s voice broke the intense silence in the room. “Bridge to Lt Hrelle: Sasha, we’re fast approaching Khavak. Is there a reason you’re not at your post?”
Sasha leaned back from the scanner she was studying and rubbed her eyes, before tapping her combadge. “Apologies, Sir, I’m investigating something relating to the… security incident we had earlier.”
“I thought it was agreed to leave that matter until after the battle?”
Her eyes fixed on the exographic readout before her, of one of the spy devices confiscated from Madison’s quarters. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, or why, but hardly felt that a sufficient answer to give to her commanding officer. “Yes, Sir, but there was something bothering me- I don’t think the matter can wait.”
There was a pause, and Sasha imagined the look on Weynik’s face, with him wondering if her refusal to let the matter rest was driven by whatever emotional attachment she might still have with Jim – something she had considered herself – but finally he responded with, “You have ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Sir. Hrelle out.” Kohanim had already contacted Jim’s alleged friends he said he had visited on the Triton, and they had denied meeting him, so she focused on the readings from these gadgets. All the evidence they had gathered to date pointed to Madison being a spy: Dad’s nose, the transmissions with the encrypted messages hidden with them, these sophisticated devices. He was caught dead to rights.
But the real question she was only asking now was: Why? Why would a professional spy be caught so easily, with such a flimsy alibi? Why keep up a pretence at innocence, and instead just remain silent and wait for his superiors to make the next move to get him freed? He would know that his protests of innocence would fall on proverbial deaf ears.
Ears…
Sasha moved to a communications station, using her authority as Second Officer to access the Security sensors in the Brig, and then focus on the sole occupant, running a remote medical check. The sensors were relatively basic, designed just to ensure that any prisoners being held were in good health and not requiring medical assistance.
The Lab door slid open, and she glanced behind her to see Ensign Shanek enter and approach. “Captain Weynik sent me down to expedite your return to the Bridge, Lieutenant.”
Shanek.
Jim’s roommate.
She glanced back at the readings, saw the elevated levels of psilosynine neurotransmitter in Jim’s brain, indicative of telepathic activity… or influence-
She quickly reached for her combadge.
Shanek was quicker, racing up and knocking her badge off her uniform, before reaching for her neck.
Sasha struck out, bringing her eclectic combat training to bear against the Vulcan male, but he countered it with skills he had never displayed before now, and Vulcan strength that dropped her to the floor, before pinning her down and grasping the right side of her neck, pinching nerves that immediately drained the strength from her limbs. Conscious but immobile, she was helpless to prevent him from touching fingertips to the side of her face. “Do not attempt to resist, Lieutenant, it will only cause you pain, and potential neurological damage…
My mind to yours...”
*
USS Surefoot, Deck 3 Mid – Science Lab
15 Minutes Until Armageddon:
Misha Hrelle, clad in his Starfleet uniform and with his Captain’s pips fixed to the collar, held the PADD in his hand as if born to it, moving around the room pretending to run an inventory on the cases stacked within, while his mother and Jhess stayed near the entrance, watching through the open doors as the crew hurried along the corridor outside, leading to Sickbay 1, Security and other places on the deck.
The spotted male nodded to himself. “Nice place. Especially if I want to examine some spores or lichen. It’s a hobby of mine, you see; I’m a fungi.” He grinned. “Get it? ‘Fun guy’?”
But his scent, dilated pupils and twitching tail betrayed his calm exterior, something Kami, cradling Sreen against her shoulder, couldn’t help but notice. “Jhess… I’m sorry. I had hoped that our sessions had been more effective-”
“They have been, Kami, I promise!” he assured her, smiling with more force than he obviously felt. “Ooh, I think My Lady might need changing...”
He was reaching for the infant, but Kami shook her head, patting Sreen’s diapered bottom and tickling the tiny curled tail sticking out. “I’m a little closer to the source, so I’ll know before you.”
Jhess grunted, his hands fidgeting… and Kami noticed now how his usually-garish civilian clothing had been replaced today with darker, more sober choices more reminiscent of the green-brown fatigues of a Caitian Militia member, including black boots. “Yes. I guess no amount of psychological conditioning can keep all of the fear away.”
“No,” she agreed sympathetically. “It can’t.”
“Afraid?” Misha echoed from the other side of the Lab, obviously listening in on the adults’ conversation. “Why you afraid? Papa take care of us! I take care of us too!”
Jhess shook off his anxiety completely now at the sub’s declaration. “Of course you will, Warrior Prince! I’m just-” He glanced around at the crates, shifted in here to make room for the rescued personnel in the Cargo Bays. He moved towards them and dragging them along the floor. “I’m just thinking that if some cubs from other ships get rescued and join us in here, we should have a fort ready for them! We’ll build a wall or two here facing the door!”
“Yeah!” Misha dropped his PADD and raced over to help.
Kami watched them, before smelling and hearing the approach of Assistant Security Chief Gorman approach, carrying a large, long black metal case in his arms. “Brian! What’s that?”
The ginger-haired human’s normally ruddy face was extra red now from whatever made the case heavy. “Weapons and equipment for Jhess, ordered by Captain Hrelle and Lt Shall.”
Jhess was dragging another crate to the centre of the room, but now stopped and approached warily, his anxiety back on his face. He stared at the case for a moment, before reluctantly accepting it and setting it down on the floor.
Misha watched curiously, approaching. “What you got, Jhessie-”
But the nanny held up an open paw to the cub, stopping him in his tracks with an unaccustomed curtness, Jhess’ focus intent on the case he now opened, just enough for him, and no one else, to see the contents. Then he closed the case and locked it, setting it against the nearest wall before rising again, trying to appear calm. “Thank you, Mr Gorman. I acknowledge receipt of said items. But I won’t sign for them; the last time I signed anything, I woke up the next morning married to a Ferengi. It was an ear-y experience.”
A bemused Gorman nodded back, offering a polite smile to Kami – and a grin at Sreen – before departing. Kami watched her nanny pick up the case and set it against a far wall. She knew him far better now than when he arrived months ago, trusted in his mental stability enough to leave her cubs in his unsupervised care. But still, that was under normal conditions. “Whatever is in there, Jhess, you’ll probably not need it-”
“Absolutely, Sweet Lady!” he declared suddenly – almost desperately – beaming as he looked to Misha. “Right, Captain Hrelle, let’s continue building this fortress!”
Against her mother’s shoulder, Sreen growled.
Kami purred against her daughter, assuring her, “I know, Princess, I know, but let’s not press him further, okay? He’s doing his best.”
*
Deck 1 Fore – Bridge
6 Minutes Until Armageddon:
“Entering Khavak system,” Velkovsky announced. “Fleet in attack formation.”
At the rear of the Bridge, Hrelle studied the tactical probe data the Triton had transmitted to the Surefoot and the rest of the Fleet, with T’Varik and C’Rash flanking him, the latter noting, “We can maximise the shield harmonics for the Scarabs’ weapons, we’re more likely to run into them while we’re darting about picking up survivors.” She paused and frowned at him. “Captain?”
“It’s wrong,” he declared, offering nothing further.
“Sir?” T’Varik prompted.
“Tattok’s suspicious about the data,” he explained.
“I… do not recall his saying anything like that in his last transmission.”
He looked to the Vulcan. “I read between the lines. He’s invited the Captains of the Fleet to examine it and make their own opinions. That’s what I’m doing now-” He reached out and worked the display controls, expanding the supplementary data. “Where did the Dominion forces come from?”
“The Argolis Cluster,” C’Rash reported. “SI reports indicate they have a facility-”
Hrelle looked to T’Varik. “Call up the Stellar Cartography data on the Cluster, check for ionisation frequency and particle density.”
“What?” his niece exclaimed. “What the Seven Hells-”
But T’Varik was already at the Science station, moving rapidly, obviously aware of the reason behind his queries. “Accessing, calculating decay rates and distance...”
Hrelle looked to C’Rash now. “The Cluster has long been known as a navigation hazard due to gravimetric shears and distortions... and ionising radiation. Ships stationed near there for long will collect ionised particles at a particular frequency-”
T’Varik looked over at them now with a tight expression, announcing, “The expected particle density and frequency doesn’t match-”
He looked to Neheru. “Raise the Triton!”
“Captain,” the Kelpien protested, “The communications blackout-”
“The probe data is fake! They know we’re coming! We don’t know what we’ll be facing! ALERT THE FLEET!”
*
Deck 1 Fore – Bridge
3 Minutes Until Armageddon:
“Lieutenant Hrelle!” Weynik snapped at the intercom, aware of everyone’s attention on him, and not caring. “Respond, Sasha!” He had been examining the probe data sent from the Triton, didn’t like what he saw, and now he couldn’t reach the Triton, or any other ship, because of some subspace interference- clearly no coincidence. “Ensign Shanek, respond!” He punched the side of the station.
Beside him, Kohanim looked even more ashen than usual. “Their combadges have them both in the Science Lab. Shall I send someone to find out what’s happened, Sir?”
“No, no time – we’re plunging into the Apocalypse, I need all hands at their stations. You’ll take over at Ops. Once we drop out of warp space, we can shift to normal space communication and coordinate with the rest of the Fleet, once we see exactly what we’re facing!” Layers of fear enshrouded him: fear for what they were likely to encounter in Khavak, fear for what’s happened to Sasha, fear for Naida and his father and Esek and his family and-
And he paused, forced down all the fears. Not today. There’s no time to indulge.
He returned to the centre seat, his voice raised but confident. “Battle Stations!”
The klaxon sounded, the Bridge lighting strips glowed a deep apple red, and the crew snapped into action.
*
USS Triton, Deck 1 Fore – Bridge
Armageddon:
“Dropping out of warp,” Tattok’s First Officer reported. “Scanning- Mother of God...”
The Roylan Admiral glanced at him, quickly feeling the desire to join him in religious invocation as he saw the forces awaiting them.
Bloody Sweet Hemra…
TO BE CONTINUED... ...This Means War - Part 2
WOW!!! Gripping and tense, parts gave me goosebumps and in some parts I had to remind myself to breath. A great start to what is promising to be a very long, dramatic arc.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for your wonderful words, David! Yes indeed, this is the start of a multi-story arc regarding the upcoming battle and its aftermath, both physically and emotionally. This Means War was meant to be one single story, but it was getting so big, I couldn't wait any longer to publish *something* LOL
DeleteHonestly, keep writing like this and you can take as long as you need. this felt more like one of the season finale episodes or the recap openings, I half expected on the reread to hear Majel Barrett's voice say "Previously, on Surefoot".
DeleteO.M.G.
ReplyDeleteI had a feeling, given the way you wrote the confrontation scene, that Madison would be proven innocent. I just got a strong feeling from his reactions that he was an unwitting pawn. I hope he doesn't die stuck in the brig. And I hope Sasha is somehow able to fight off Shanek -- cleverhow you revealed him as the spy, though it makes sense that if it wasn't Jim, it was his roomie.
Very well done of you to build up all the emotional tension. All the fear and anxiety, all the sweet moments. I loved everything and I want part 2 now!!
Thank you, Christina! Section 31, or at least Trenagen's little troop of a-holes involved in it, is coming to the fore during this arc, becoming as threatening as the Dominion.
DeletePart 2 is due before the end of February. It will be... eventful.