The Longest Day

 

USS Surefoot, the Front, Stardate 52892.56:

“Fifteen minutes to the Border, Sir,” T’Varik reminded him over the intercom.

Captain Esek Hrelle nodded to the figures on the desk viewscreen, as if they had spoken instead of his First Officer, and replied, “Thank you, Commander. I’ll be right out.” As the comlink ended, he focused back on the conversation, knowing their time was almost up. “And here we go, Runt of the Litter.”

“I guess so, Dad.” Sasha’s sober, resolute face filled the screen; she had lost some weight around her cheeks since they had last been together, he noticed, and seemed more balanced, more sober, quite literally in fact, despite their current circumstances. “You never did get a message back to Cait, did you?”

“No, but they’ll know what’s happening. Everyone will know. Something like this can’t be kept under wraps.” He noticed, barely visible from inside her jacket a non-regulation holster under her left arm, where a black ballistic pistol sat, and below it, at her hip, the pommel and grip of her Kaetini sword. Good, he thought, I’d wrap you in neutronium armour as well if I could. Screw that, I’d beam you back to Cait, to have a long, safe life.

He swallowed; there was so much he wanted to say to her. A lifetime’s worth, and more. Instead, all he could do was tell her, “I love you, Sasha. Stay safe.”

Her face tightened. “I love you too, Dad. And you’d better stay safe as well.”

“I’ll do my best. Now let me talk to that little butt pimple alone.”

Offscreen, a gruff voice announced, “Get to the Bridge, Lieutenant.”

Sasha nodded, holding up a hand to Hrelle as she departed, quickly replaced by Captain Weynik, his black eyestalks dipping down, the lights reflecting off of his ossified face ridges. “If you’re gonna tell me you love me, too, you fat bastard, I’m gonna vomit.” He grunted. “Not that I have anything left in my stomach.”

Hrelle made a noise. “Same here... believe it or not. I still can’t believe how many ships are out there. The battle logistics will be a nightmare.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s not enough. And how many will survive the day?”

“Don’t get caught in those thoughts, Little Brother. We focus on our corner of the battle... and keep our ships and crews safe and sound.”

“Agreed. I’d better get on the Bridge. You too, Hefty.” But he leaned forward and promised, “I’ll keep her safe. If it comes down to it, she’ll be shoved into an escape pod before me. And when this is all over, we’ll talk again about retiring from Starfleet and opening up a private detective agency on Royla.”

“Forget it; all you little garden gnomes look alike to me. Take care, Brother.”

“You too, Brother.”

He ended the communication, rose to his feet and adjusted the holster at his side. Everyone onboard the Surefoot was sporting a phaser now, even the Horta Ensign Stalac. It wasn’t certain that they might be boarded, like they had been during the Battle of Khavak, but it always paid to be careful. Let’s face it, Esek, it was more likely that they’d get blown out of the sky by some Dominion battlecruiser.

He pushed aside such morbid thoughts – however likely they were – as he strode out of his Ready Room and back onto the Bridge, looking at the viewscreen... with a starfield outnumbered by the swarm of starships racing as one to their destiny.

It seemed more prosaic, when one looked at the Tactical/Operations station screen shared by his Chief of Security C’Rash Shall, and his Second Officer Sextilis Bellator: just dots on a screen. Countless dots, tightly packed together and moving in the same direction.

Nevertheless, it still astounded him. Once when he was a cub, old enough to go out on the trawlers with his Papa, he bore witness to the largest school of sleekfish he had ever seen or heard of: thousands and thousands of scurrying things, swimming easily around the ship, their scales reflecting the sunlight, a living current stretching for seeming infinity in every direction. He was certain he would never see anything so grand again in his long-legged life.

Until today.

Surrounding them was the Alpha Quadrant Armada, the greatest collection of starships in the history of the Galaxy: Starfleet vessels of all sizes, shapes, ages and conditions, from tiny arrowhead-shaped starfighters, to the behemoth Sovereigns, Excelsiors and Galaxys; the more uniform raptor designs of the Klingon Imperial Fleet, from the small but swift Birds of Prey to the monstrous Vor’chas; and the regal warbirds of the Romulan Star Empire, late to the War but welcome nevertheless.

The Surefoot, and the rest of the Thirteenth Fleet, had joined the Armada as they left their initial collection point at Deep Space Nine to head for the Cardassian border, to engage with the Dominion forces that had withdrawn behind the lines to regroup and rebuild their troops and ships. It was inevitable that they would return to their former strength, given time.

But the word had been given: the Enemy would not have that time. They would be pursued. They would be fought. And they would be defeated.

At whatever the cost.

Sitting in her chair adjacent to his, Commander T’Varik checked her display for what seemed to Hrelle like the hundredth time. “Ten minutes to Cardassian Border, Sir.”

He breathed in, still staring ahead, as if mesmerised by the ships. And what a pity, that it always seemed to take a common threat to unite forces, instead of a common dream.

“Captain,” T’Varik prompted softly.

He nodded; the scent of fear was thick in the air, had been since word about the upcoming battle was announced. He opened a shipwide channel. “Captain to Crew: the Armada is about to engage the combined forces of the Dominion, the Breen Confederacy and the Cardassian Union…”

*

On every inhabited deck of the ship, everyone was awake, on duty, on alert and attentive to their Captain’s words.

In Sickbay 1, Ezekiel Masterson kept his arms crossed, appearing nonchalant, but really not wanting to lower his right arm and let it touch the phaser in the holster on his hip. He was a Sawbones, a doctor, a healer of flesh and mind. He was sick of this War, a seemingly senseless clash of ideologies that triggered a senseless clash of bodies. So much blood had been spilled already, and more was to come.

He looked across to his Chief Nurse, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, remembering the days when the muscular, coffee-skinned woman was still a cadet, her combative Capellan mentality making her a challenge for his usual easy-going nature… but never making him doubt her competency at the job, or her coolness under fire. Literal fire; she wielded a phaser and a throwing blade as easily as a tricorder or autosuture.

He hoped she’d make it through all this, and go on to be everything she could be.

*

“As you are already aware, we will not be performing our usual duties as an ambulance ship... not at first, anyway. We will be fighting, alongside everyone else, and no longer protected by the Articles of War as a noncombat vessel. Everyone has been given sidearms, in case we’re boarded…”

In Engineering, Chief Sakai stood alongside his entire Engineering crew, though they looked more like a firing squad with all those phasers. He regarded them: Arad Maf, Nalack, Tori Emoto, Logan Gentry, Loxx Noraha, Suran Kaurril… they all looked so young.

I have a shock for you, Davey Boy, he told himself. They are so young.

And yet, some of them have been through so much… and he didn’t mean his endless supply of practical jokes. He had heard about what had happened to them when the Cardassians and Jem’Hadar had last boarded, killing their Chief and Assistant Chief, threatening the others.

Sakai had served in Starfleet for thirty-two years before he emerged from retirement. And in all that time, he had never killed, never had to kill, never even drew his phaser except during mandatory marksmanship training. Keep a warp core from breaching? No problem. Hold together a Structural Integrity Field generator together with gaffer plastic and profanity? Easy Peasy.

But fighting? Killing? Could he handle it, if it came down to it? And how much of himself, the irrepressible nature that earned him the nickname of Monkey among those who knew him, would be left?

*

“Those of you who served during the Battle of Khavak will remember the Jem’Hadar and Cardassians who invaded us, and the death and destruction they caused.

I can’t tell you if the Enemy might board again.

But if they do... you will show no mercy. Those are my direct orders. Any one of you is worth a thousand of them. They’re willing to die for what they believe in. Let them. You live for what you believe in.”

In the Shuttlebay, Ensign Zir Dassene let her free hand rest on the armoured plating of her combat vest as she looked to the Security Team she was commanding. They looked back, nodding, trusting her. She had developed a reputation among them since the Battle of Khavak, where she had killed several of the Enemy in Engineering.

She wished she could be worthy of that reputation. Inside, however, she felt alone, fractured, held together with fraying string. The fear that came to her at Khavak had never really left her. There had been no one onbaord to speak with about it: her friend Peter was back on Earth with his daughter, training to be a Counselor, there was no regular Counselor onboard the Surefoot until most recently, and most of her friends were assigned elsewhere, or were too busy.

Perhaps she should have spoken to one of the senior officers... but they might have taken her off duty, and she was needed, now more than ever.

So Zir made herself ready. She was alone in the Universe, a self-imposed exile from the Orion Empire, unable to live in a place where slavery and piracy and crime were the norm. Starfleet, the Federation, had saved her, taken her in unhesitatingly, protected and educated her, showed her a better way of living, and gave her a chance to be the best she could be. 

And Captain Hrelle had shown absolute faith and trust in her, had become a second father to her, taught and guided her these last few years.

She would protect that man. Protect this ship and crew. Protect the Federation.

She would burn worlds for them.

*

“And feel free to invoke any divine forces you believe in, or even those you don’t; we’re not too proud to get a little extra help on our side. Good luck, to all of us. Captain out.”

At the Crossroads, the junction on Deck 3 linking the three Sickbays, Sre Gyver Timbrel stood tall, the black-maned equinoid tapping his hoof steadily, seeking a calming mantra as he looked to the rest of the Support Crew assigned to guard this section of the ship: the Gorn Kevin O’Reilly, raised among humans and embracing their friendly ways; the water-breathing Argoan female Hylore Waro, so eager to serve among the stars she was willing to wear an aquatic exosuit most of her time; the brave, feisty Malurian female Malala Jain, always positive in the face of the pain and suffering she had faced in the past; the Terran female Alison Pagan, her mask of cynicism unable to suppress her generosity of spirit; and her fellow Terran Valentin Dellaport, hiding his fear over the hostile unknown behind his anger.

They were good people, and he had learned from them, and served them as his faith had instructed. He could not help but feel guilt over what he had concealed from them… even as he hoped that circumstances would allow him to continue to do so.

*

“Captain out.” Hrelle closed the channel and leaned back in his chair, staring ahead, his voice low, confidential. “Not as inspirational as it could have been.”

The Vulcan’s tone was sober but sympathetic. “There is little to be gained with setting unrealistic expectations of our chances of survival. You have completed your messages?”

He nodded. All crewmembers were invited to prepare messages for their next of kin, for storage in the ship’s recorder marker, to be recovered in the event of the worst happening. He ground his teeth; it would be First Landing Day back on Cait today, the anniversary of their ancestors’ arrival on the Motherworld, a time of celebration with family and friends, even after the recent tragedy of the Occupation. He couldn’t recall when he had last made it home for First Landing, but he was especially feeling the absence of his family. “And you?”

“Kami. Misha. And my brother Pedalk and my nephew Srithik on Vulcan.” She looked to him meaningfully. “Anyone else I consider family is here with me.”

He nodded, smiling slightly. “What a coincidence-”

“It’s started!” C’Rash announced behind them, her scent changing and her tail twitching with anxiety. “A Klingon Vor’cha and a squadron of Birds of Prey have leapt ahead and drew First Blood! Galors and Jem’Hadar Scarabs are counter-attacking!”

Hrelle looked up at the viewscreen, seeing the nova flashes of starships at war, just ahead of them.

“Communications traffic increasing within the Armada,” Bellator reported sharply. “Sir, Admiral Tattok has transmitted your orders! Captain’s Eyes Only!”

He rose up quickly to join the junior officers at their stations, the pair of them stepping aside to let him read, before he forwarded the relevant technical details to Tactical and Helm.

He breathed in, delivering an order he hadn’t given since his days in the Salem Sector on the Furyk, against the likes of the Kzinti or the Orions, a lifetime ago:

“Battle Stations!”

*

Just beyond the battlefield, above and below the plane of the ecliptic, non-combat vessels of Starfleet and non-Starfleet origin observed, transmitting live subspace to an ineffable number of relays, stations, networks and agencies.

On a hundred worlds and more within the United Federation of Planets, and to other locations within the Klingon and Romulan Empires, the Ferengi Alliance, the First Federation and many more, those with varying levels of interest in the outcome of the battle – a hundred billion people at least – watched, listened, prayed, gambled, invested, debated, planned and waited.

*

Starfleet Academy Grounds, San Francisco, Planet Earth:

Ensign Peter Boone sat on one of the commons room couches with his daughter, and what seemed to be all the residents of the accommodations building, watching the viewscreen. They could have watched it in their quarters, but people drew together instinctively for support at crisis moments, even if they weren’t directly involved like those on the battlefield.

He smiled wryly to himself. In a couple of weeks, he would be fully qualified to Counsel everyone here. Then the smile dropped, as he realised how many patients he was likely to have when this was over.

On his lap, his seven-year-old Abby leaned back against him. “Is Zir fighting out there?”

He nodded. “And Astrid and Stalac and Tori and Urad.”

She giggled. “Tori says bad words.”

He hugged her. “Yes, she does. She doesn’t mean it, though, it’s just her way of expressing her anxiety. Like when you twirl your hair in your fingers, or when Stalac rumbles and Urad cracks his knuckles.”

She nodded at that, settling further against her father. “Miss them.”

Peter tightened his hold; the rest of Alpha Squad were his best, only friends in the Galaxy. They had gone through so much… together. “Me too, Buttercup. Me too. But we’ll be back with them before you know it.” If they live…

*

Capitol Building, First City, Planet Cait:

“First Minister?”

Ma’Sala Shall looked up instinctively; a month or so ago, she would have still noted to herself how new that title felt, after decades as Fleet Captain of the Planetary Navy of the Motherworld. No longer. Like her regenerated eye and arm, which still itched, she was too busy to care, and if anything it felt like she had been in politics for decades instead of mere months. “Yes, Anjeles?”

The stone-furred female leaned into the open office doorway. “The Crooked Tail has arrived at the Cardassian Border, and is transmitting a live feed on the transwarp channel.”

“Thank you.”

“And Fleet Captain Mrorr and Commissioner Nenjo are here, too.”

“Thank you.”

“As well as Minister K’Trierr and the rest of the Matriarchy Council.”

“Fuck you.”

The younger female remained unmoved by her boss’ profanity.

Ma’Sala rose to her feet and marched out into the Command Centre, wishing the tailors that made her civilian outfits at least tried to make them as comfortable as her old Navy uniform. The large enclosure was dominated by the main viewscreen overhead, illustrating a field of… Seven Hells, there were thousands of ships out there… Esek, Sasha, C’Rash… please be safe…

In various places, where obvious combat was taking place, there were smaller secondary screens popping up with closer views. The number of secondary screens was increasing, as both sides began pouring their respective forces into annihilating the other.

Among those in the room was Mrorr, former Captain of the Deep Keep, who was instrumental in the battle to free Cait from the Ferasans, and was now Fleet Captain of the burgeoning Planetary Navy, and as well as Commissioner Nenjo, formerly an agent of the Caitian Secret Service, and now its head. Ma’Sala once held both roles, but gave them up to become a politician.

But hopefully not a politician like Minister K’Trierr, a snooty, self-serving aristocrat who acted like her shit smelled of Bahari orchids, and was now badgering Mrorr with questions on the battle… as if she was interested in anything outside of her own ambitions to take Ma’Sala’s place. Approaching, she announced, “Ministers… I would have thought you’d be home with your families for First Landing Day.”

K’Trierr turned to her, the mocha-furred female slipping on her default unctuous mask. “First Minister, we could not possibly leave you with the burden of supervising such a momentous event alone… especially with the understandable temptation of drawing one of our few remaining ships into the conflict.”

Ma’Sala grunted; it had already been hotly debated within the Council about Cait’s potential involvement in the conflict, with many opposing it, some out of resentment for the Federation’s delayed response to the Occupation, some believing that her only reason for wanting to be involved was because of those family members of hers serving in Starfleet, others because they simply didn’t have the resources to spare.

She appreciated the last reason, at least. They were still recovering from the Occupation: cleaning up the environmental damage, dealing with the effects of the nuclear bombing of Shanos Minor, rebuilding their Militia and Planetary Navy, repairing their economy, healing their society, seeing to the reconciliation with the Ferasan survivors…

And unlike her former roles, she had to depend upon others, make concessions, in order to get what she wanted done. “I already agreed that the Crooked Tail would be there only as an observer, Minister, and not get involved. I may not be the sharpest claw on the paw, but my memory isn’t that bad.” She turned to Mrorr. “Speaking of which, where is our ship?”

Mrorr pointed to an image on the upper end of the viewscreen. “On the northern plane of the elliptic, one hundred thousand kilospans distant. Their Prowl is activated, they haven’t been detected.”

Ma’Sala nodded, seeing the small, black, arrowhead-shaped vessel, a surveillance ship that had been on a long-range spy mission observing the Kzinti near the Salem Sector when the Ferasans invaded the Caitian system, thus being spared destruction at their paws. “There, K’Trierr, just as promised: they’re not involved.”

The other female made a dubious sound. “It might strengthen the confidence of the rest of the Council if you confirmed that the Captain of the Crooked Tail is aware of the restrictions. In my experience, those in the military are not exactly geniuses.” She looked to Mrorr, who had bristled at the words. “Present company excluded, of course, Fleet Captain.”

Ma’Sala ground her teeth. “Hail Captain Nrari.”

Seconds later, a new screen popped up, and a snow-furred, middle-aged, uniformed male with a wicked-looking scar running down the left side of his head over his eye socket, both eyes in fact gleaming ruby cybernetic replacements following a previous engagement years ago. He turned to the viewscreen. “Morning, Ma’Sala Darling. Are you putting on weight in your civilian life? You look as fat as a shuris up for slaughter.”

She smirked, more amused by the reactions of those around her to Nol Nrari’s greeting, than with the familiar banter from the warrior, with whom she had fought alongside on more than one occasion. “It’s the civvies, they’re a nightmare on the figure. Are you and your crew safe?”

He nodded. “Safe as a cub on the teat. Everyone’s too busy with their dance partners to look for wallflowers like us.” He glanced once to his left, before adding, “It’s a hell of a sight, Ma’Sala. We’re keeping an eye out for the Surefoot and the Ajax, the ships with your family onboard.”

She raised her snout to the screen, feeling the reactions from her political opponents. “Captain, I didn’t order you to the Cardassian Border for personal reasons. You are there to observe the battle, gather intelligence and relay it to us. Nothing more. And if you’re spotted and attacked, you leave the area. We’ve lost enough ships already this year. Is that clear?”

Nrari tensed, his usual bombast suppressed for once, and Ma’Sala could see the unspoken conflict in his reaction to her orders. “If that’s what you want, Madame First Minister.”

We both know what I want, Old Friend. Mother Damn It, why did I give up the military for the labyrinthine ballache nightmare that is Politics? “It is. Observe. Nothing more.”

*

On the other side of Cait, on the Shall Clanlands, Kami Hrelle knew she shouldn’t have sat down to watch the news. As thorough as the Federation and Caitian Media Services were, there would be nothing of specific significance to her and the family about Esek and Sasha and C’Rash and T’Varik and all the others she knew and loved, out there at the battlefront, hundreds of light years away.

Besides, Mama was in a better position than anyone else on the planet to get relevant intelligence. And Kami had too much to do today, even beyond her morning appointments.

And her mood was affecting the cubs... at least her older one, who was trying to hide behind the open doorway to the main living room. “Happy Landing Day, Cub of Mine.”

Misha poked his head fully around the corner, the youngster staring at the viewscreen. “What’s going on? You, Grampa and Grumpy, all you smell scared. Is it Papa? Is he okay?”

Kami debated for a moment lying to him, giving him an opportunity to spend one more day without the spectre of a terrible end to what was supposed to be a celebration. But that was more for her selfish needs than for his sake.

She switched off the Cynet broadcast, rose to her feet and walked up to him, determined to tell him the truth, but in a controlled, measured fashion. “There’s a big battle in space. Starfleet, the Klingons and the Romulans are all working together, fighting the Dominion.”

Misha’s eyes lit up enthusiastically. “Papa and Sasha and Godmama and Cousin C’Rash and Uncle Weynik fight good! They protect us!”

Kami swallowed, kneeling down and straightening out his school uniform. “Yes. Yes, they do. But we still worry for them, and hope that they stay safe, don’t we?”

Misha nodded, letting his mother hug him tightly and breathe in his scent, until he started fidgeting. “Mama! Gotta go to school! Ms Praow needs my help! We go visit the First Day ‘Morial in Stonebay! I help keep the little cubs in line!”

Kami fought back her tears as she nodded and pulled back, smiling as she pinched his cheeks. “Aww, I’m so proud of my helpful little baby!”

He growled and rubbed either side of his muzzle. “Mama! I’m not a baby!”

“Misha? What’s wrong?” The large-framed, golden-furred figure of Kami’s father Mi’Tree appeared and drew up to them, dressed in a resplendent green tunic and kilt, his tail swishing behind him. Then he saw the scene and chuckled. “Oh, Dear Grandcub, I fear your mother will be doing that to you for the rest of your life. But we should get moving if you’re to get to school on time.”

Kami rose to her feet, rubbing her muzzle against Mi’Tree’s. “And if you’re to give his friends a sneak preview of the next Taleteller story, too?”

The elderly male harrumphed. “All Misha’s friends want these days is stories about his sister Sasha, the Tailless Cub Kaetini, who apparently saved the Motherworld single-pawedly.” He grunted, straightening out the lapels of his tunic and the gold bands on his furry forearms. “Nothing said about my contribution to our liberation.”

Kami smirked, despite her underlying anxieties for her absent loved ones. “You will pass on my invitation to Ms Praow and her cub to join us for First Landing celebrations, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Then he frowned. “But are you still sure we should go on with it? They’re still working on the house, and with all the terrible news from the Cardassian Front-”

“Terrible?” Misha echoed.

“No, Misha, not terrible, just unknown. Your grandfather is exaggerating.” Kami fixed a reproving stare on her father. “Esek and the others would expect us to continue to live as normally as possible… and we could all do with the distraction today, until we hear the outcome. Now, go take your grandcub to school, then get back here and help me with the party preparations. And I expect a First Landing speech from you tonight worthy of a S’Ralcha Award.”

Mi’Tree quickly warmed to the idea, his voice taking on the confident soothing tone she needed. “Rest assured, my sweet cub, I will deliver an inspirational piece worthy of the Giants… of which I am most assuredly one.”

“Grumpy!” Misha growled, tugging at his paw. “You take me to school now!”

“Be good!” Kami waved them off, as she turned away, her stomach beginning to protest at the lack of attention from her. But instead she walked past the kitchen – after stopping inside for a freshly-baked pastry – and proceeded to the deck in the rear of the house, overlooking what was once the Remembrance Gardens, and the path to the Clan’s beach, fishing dock, and various sailboats.

There was still work ongoing on the house… or rather, on the emergency shelter beneath the house, to judge from the technicians lifting and shifting equipment and optronic networks down through the open shelter doors. The builders and decorators had been successful in duplicating the look of the Clanhouse, but the shelter was a new addition demanded by Mama: a self-sufficient facility that could accommodate and protect the family, and even activate hidden weapons and security devices in and around the house.

Kami hated the idea of militarising her home… but then she remembered the terror, the vulnerability, of when that Ferasan Pride had invaded this same home, killed her aunt S’Graow and nearly killed Papa Mi’Tree, before blowing up the house itself. And had it really been only a few months ago?

But then her attention turned to the right, where her infant daughter Sreen sat up in her playpen, the exoframe compensating for her Neurodystraxia visible on the exposed furred parts of her body. She was looking out at the workers, babbling instructions to them in imitation of what she had seen their supervisor doing.

Nearby, her father Bneea leaned against the railing of the deck, watching the work while sipping from a steaming coffee mug in his paws. “Good morning, Daughter of Mine.” He frowned at the pastry in her paw. “That’s all you’re having for breakfast?”

“It’s all I think I can manage right now, Papa.” She nodded to the workmen. “Aren’t they done yet?”

“I’m told they’ll clean up and be gone by midday.” He indicated Sreen. “Or they’ll answer to our Warrior Princess.”

As if in illustration, Sreen poked her stubby paw out of her playpen at one of them. “Gabba Gaw Go! No mo!”

Kami chuckled, finished the pastry and lifted up her cub. “That’s quite enough, My Princess. I want you rested up today for the party tonight.”

Bneea followed them indoors. “And how are you doing? With the news from the Frontlines?”

“You mean, with the lack of it?” She stopped and side, adjusting her hold on Sreen in her arms. “I’m not used to being on this end; I’m usually out there with Esek and the others, not in the sidelines. Not that I’m not glad to be safe here with Misha and Sreen, but…” She shook her head, breathed out and looked to him. “I have a Cynet meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes with the new Commissioner on Ferasan Affairs, offering guidance on helping Valtiri and the other Refugees at the Hope Community. But if Mama calls from the Capitol with any news-”

“I’ll let you know.” He peered at her over his spectacles, before moving in and rubbing the side of his muzzle against hers. “They’ll be fine. Esek is a survivor. They all are. They always survive.”

“Yes.” She turned and moved towards the nursery, to settle Sreen down for her morning nap before Kami went to the office for her call. Yes, they always survive.

Until the day they don’t.

*

USS Ajax, the Front - Stardate Armageddon:

Captain Weynik gripped the arms of his chair a little more tightly than usual, not wanting to fly out of it at the next sharp bank and look like a rag doll in a tornado. It was bad enough trying to maintain respect in a Galaxy of giants… “Watch the Scarabs on our left!”

Behind him, Sasha was doubling as his Tactical Officer, having the most practical experience among the senior crew, apart from himself. “Quantum torpedo launched at lead Scarab!”

Beside her, Weynik’s First Officer, the Zakdorn Kohanim, looked to her, his flabby oatmeal-coloured face looking paler with stress. “One? Why only one-“

But his question was answered as the torpedo struck the lead Scarab ship, the Jem’Hadar vessel exploding in a blossom that fed debris backwards towards the following Scarabs, damaging or making them scatter. It’s gonna be a long day, Mr Kohanim, and we only have so many torpedoes. “Good work, Lieutenant, keep our aft covered, they’ll be following us in. Mr Los, get us to our target, we’re burning daylight.”

“Aye, Sir.” Sitting ahead of Weynik, his new Vulcan Flight Officer carried on as if the greatest battle in Galactic History wasn’t happening around them.

How about spreading some of that unflappability around to the rest of us? Weynik thought. “Where are our partners in crime?”

Kohanim glanced at his panel. “The December, Surefoot, and Grappler are converging on the target, ETA 30 seconds.”

“Nothing from Papa Cat yet?” His black Roylan eyestalks drooped; he thought he could see the target for the makeshift squadron up ahead: a Breen warship, a massive asymmetrical vessel that seemed to resemble nothing more than a collection of broken bat’leth blades welded back together in a random stack by some drunken demigod. How anyone can find their way around inside one of those, let alone operate it…

And the orders indicated Captain Hrelle would be in command of the impromptu task force. It was the only way a battle this size could be fought, by parcelling up the sections of it rather than awaiting orders from a central source. And Weynik had no problem with that; his Brother in Arms had a gift for this sort of thing, especially at short notice, and Weynik preferred to focus on bringing the noise.

But still, this was not the time for Hefty to leave them in the dark until the last second. “Contact the Surefoot-”

“Wait!” Sasha shouted over the din. “They’ve sent us our orders! Take us under the ventral side! To their belly!”

Weynik nodded, guessing their part in it. “You heard the lady, Los!” Meanwhile he took the moment to check out the other ships, seeing the Sabre-class Surefoot and Nova-class December dodge around the Breen warship’s disruptor fire to focus on the support struts holding the curved sections of the vessel together, while the Grappler, a Bulldog-class salvage tug – a tug? Really? It has clamps and phaser cutters, not real weapons! What good is that gonna be in a fight? Why not give us a garbage scow while we’re at it? – dove in closer.

Then the Ajax was underneath, Sasha letting loose a volley from the phaser pulse cannons, the bolts making the larger ship’s shields flare in protest, even as ventral disruptor cannons fired back, making the Ajax shudder and Weynik grip his seat more fiercely. “What next, Sash?”

“Up and around! We’re targeting their weapons pods! Buying time for the others!”

Buying time for what? Weynik wondered- then shook it aside, knowing he would have his answers soon enough. He watched as they arced sharply upwards, twisting and diving down from above in a stomach-churning manoeuvre.

And then he saw what good a salvage tug could be in battle, as the vessel – small and box-shaped, but with mechanical clamps, phaser cutters and engines as powerful as a Defiant-class ship like the Ajax – had secured itself onto the Bridge module of the Breen warship, too close for the Enemy’s own weapons, leaving the Grappler free to cut away efficiently, relentlessly-

And then rip the entire Bridge module from the rest of the enemy vessel, like a Roylan spider decapitating its prey, as Weynik saw Breen bodies and other debris haemorrhage into space from the warship’s fatal wound. Bloody Hemra… it was one thing to see ships blow each other from a distance with phasers and torpedoes…

The Breen warship, bereft of control, began drifting away from the momentum of its own beheading, towards some nearby Cardassian ships, who now had to separate from each other to avoid collision. Meanwhile the Grappler released its prize to the void.

“One down, a thousand more to go,” he muttered, more loudly ordering, “Who’s next?”

*

ShiKar City, Planet Vulcan:

It was winter, the overall temperature having dropped to a frosty thirty-six degrees Centigrade, but the season wasn’t what sent a chill through the twelve-year-old Vulcan boy standing before the viewscreen, watching the broadcast about the battle. It was not logical, he knew, to have such a reaction to events over which he was not directly involved in, had no control over, and no doubt he would receive a reprimand from his school masters for such unseemly displays.

But he continued to feel. To deny our emotions, his aunt had taught him, Is to deny reality. Emotions are as much a part of us as our blood. But, like our blood, it is best to not allow either to flow from oneself unchecked.

The Vulcan newscaster offered the probability of victory for the Alpha Quadrant Armada. The probability… was formidable.

“Srithik!”

The boy gathered his reserve, turned and left the room, knowing she awaited him in the study. He mentally calculated a 94% probability that the reason for her summons would be punitive in nature, with an equivalent likelihood of the cause. “Mother?”

Nivor stood, clad in the formal burgundy robes awarded to City Councillors, in preparation for her forthcoming interview to discuss her plans following her recent success in the elections. “You were watching the news again.”

He straightened up, folding his hands behind his back. “It is logical to remain knowledgeable about current events.”

“You are being deceptive. You are interested because she is undoubtedly involved in that disgraceful affair.”

Srithik noted the subtle shift in his mother’s tone as she made an obvious reference. “Aunt T’Varik did mention her participation in actions against the Dominion; it is logical to assume that she would be among those engaged in the current battle.”

Nivor faced him fully, as if the display of her robes of office might lend weight to her authority with him. “I know you have been secretly communicating with her, and with your uncle.”

The twelve-year-old boy raised a broad chin. “The communication has not been secret, Mother. You have simply displayed no interest in my activities until now.”

She glared at him. “I will not tolerate insolence!”

Then do not inspire it, he told himself, instead responding vocally with, “Forgive me, Mother, but as far as I was aware, you wished to cultivate a public image espousing traditional Vulcan values such as family. It is, after all, the only reason you produced me, as a figure to include in publicity as and when appropriate.”

“That much is true.”

“Then surely a further connection with Uncle Pedalk and Aunt T’Varik could only assist towards that?”

She crossed her arms. “You have no perspicacity regarding politics. Admittedly Pedalk has improved himself marginally by abandoning his ambitions to be a writer and focusing on being a menial. T’Varik, however, is a fascist lackey of the human-dominated Starfleet war machine. She is a war criminal, a disgrace to our race. I will not allow my reputation to be tarnished by your continued association with the likes of her, and the sooner she ends up a casualty of this War, the better.”

He stiffened, unable to disguise his shock at her words. “Mother… I accept your politics are irreconcilable with Aunt T’Varik’s, but do you truly wish her dead? She remains your sister.”

Nivor sneered. “And you remain a disappointment, a weak, pitiful, emotional source of embarrassment for me. You will cease further discussion on this subject, and further contact with her… and you will cease further enquiries about applying for Starfleet Academy; yes, I have been monitoring your computer activities. You will go to the Vulcan Civil Service Academy following graduation, and pursue a career in the Diplomatic Corps, as I have planned. And as long as you remain under my roof, you will obey me. Is that clear?”

Srithik stared at her mother, debating arguing further, before acceding to himself the pointlessness of it all. Formally he replied, “It is clear. May I go to my room?”

“You may go anywhere; it is of no concern to me, I have wasted more than enough of my valuable time managing you.”

He departed, returning to his bedroom, regarding the telescope set up on his balcony, the telescope given to him by Aunt T’Varik, to enlighten him, not just on the things outside of his normal vision, but the possibilities beyond the here and now.

He rechecked the news for any updates on the battle at Cardassia, finding none. Wishes are illogical things, he acknowledged to himself. But still, I wish that you survive today, Aunt T’Varik. You and your Caitian partner. And that we meet again.

Then, he put his contingency plan into action, and began packing a bag. His mother, after all, technically did confirm to him that he could go anywhere.

*

USS Triton, Holodeck 4, the Front:

Professor Tallus tried to stay focused on not staying focused, as the older Roylan female moved about the huge, wide pit around the ship’s children, supervising their digging. “That’s it! Let’s see how many gold coins you can find!”

The Holodeck had recreated an excavation site of an ancient Orion settlement she had worked on Nelsak III… but altered to fill the dirt with easily-found treasures, to keep her grandchildren, Naida and Jaxan, and the young children of the crew of the Triton, distracted and out of danger within the secured room, while the battle raged beyond.

“Granny Tallus!”

The archaeologist moved to her granddaughter, smiling as the girl held up a huge, shiny coin in the bright sunlight. “Very good, my dear! Very good!”

She showed it to her young brother Jaxan, who was more interested in flinging dirt around with his plastic shovel, before Naida dropped it into her own bucket to join the others already gathered. “I’m getting all the coins for Poppy! I buy him a dragon!”

“Yes, my dear. A great big dragon.” Tallus swallowed, unable to keep from thinking about what was going on beyond these walls, beyond this ship. Her grandchildren’s father Weynik was out there, somewhere, commanding his own ship, as his father Tattok commanded the Triton, several decks above them.

Weynik might be dead right now, and she wouldn’t know it.

She looked away, casting aside such thoughts as best she could, as her black eyestalks focused on the dirt, wishing she was back on a real site. It had been far too long since she had been engaged in a true archaeological mystery, the War, and the need to care for Weynik’s children, having taking precedence. It would be good to get back to that.

If they made it past today.

*

Hrelle let T’Varik manage the Surefoot, while he stayed at the Tactical Display Board at the rear of the Bridge, focusing on the next task Tattok sent them. He hadn’t been too enthusiastic at first; while he had every faith in the capabilities of his own ship and the Ajax, the December and Grappler were far less combat capable, though they had their own skills. And their initial success against the Breen was a confidence boost, at least among those within ear- and noseshot.

But the day wasn’t over yet. Over his shoulder he barked, “Helm! 113-Mark-089!” He pressed the transceiver embedded in his right ear and relayed the same message to the other three ships, his Caitian hearing allowing him to keep track of their statuses, and his own, even as he looked ahead to their next objective: a Dominion missile carrier, attempting to penetrate deep into the Armada’s lines and strike from within.

And as the studded brick-shaped vessel came into view, he delivered his orders. “Ajax! Keep their weapons pod focused on your attack! Grappler! Latch onto their main impulse drive and make a meal of it! December! Wide arc approach pattern! Open your aft plasma vents, flood local space to disrupt their sensors-“

He froze as his display indicated the December’s starboard nacelle was blown away by a stray disruptor bolt. The Nova-class ship spun, its formerly smooth dive towards the carrier now a painful corkscrew descent, even as Hrelle watched it struggle in vain to regain control… before it slammed into the carrier. “Giles! Pull back! Ajax, Grappler, join up!”

Hrelle pushed aside the thoughts about the lost ship and its crew – enough time for that later if they lived – as he monitored the damage to the carrier, seeing it wounded but still alive.

Until a final volley from him finished them off. But he had no time to enjoy the next victory before… Mother’s Cubs- “We have Scarabs on our tails now! Tighten formation, protect the Grappler if we can-”

They couldn’t. Twelve Jem’Hadar attack ships easily caught up with the slower tug, sending it soaring away, damaged but at least alive, while focusing on better targets.

They had temporarily lost contact with Command; Chaos Reigned, at least for now, with ships fighting ships all around them, a Free For All.

Survival was the standing order. But they wouldn’t survive against twelve Scarabs.

Not alone anyway. He turned to face the rest of the Bridge. “Evasive Pattern Nine-Alpha! Tighten our shields!” Then he tapped his transceiver again. “AJAX! BOLERO!”

*

On the Ajax Bridge, Sasha looked up from her board. “’Bolero’?”

Weynik leaned forward in instant comprehension. “Mr Los, get us up and under the Surefoot, ventral sides facing each other, lock tractor clamps and match their speed and shield frequencies! Let’s Dance!”

*

The Ajax spun down and over, her ventral hull mirroring the Surefoot’s, quickly drawing closer until the hulls touched and the tractor clamps from each ship held the other in an unbreakable embrace, spinning as they travelled together.

Their combined shield strength and their rotation withstood the attack from the Scarabs still pursuing them, still firing at them, even as aft torpedoes from both Starfleet vessels flew out- targeting not the Scarabs, but other enemy ships unprepared for the attack, their destruction catching the Scarabs by surprise, destroying or making them scatter.

*

On the Surefoot, C’Rash gripped her station for dear life as the conjoined ships swooped around the battlefield, barely avoiding other craft and debris. “Fuck this!“

Hrelle let her curse, focusing on keeping them alive. More and more Scarabs were swarming behind them, relentlessly increasing their assault, as if aware that he had been leading the task force. Where were they all coming from? “Helm! Evasive! I’m arming-“

But then he stopped as he saw pursuing Scarabs blow up, one after the other, struck by torpedoes and phaser beams from behind, before the source of the firepower – a Steamrunner-class starship, the USS Redemption – sent the rest scurrying away.

Then the voice of the Redemption’s Captain came through his transceiver. “Surefoot, we’re assigned to you now. What are your orders?”

Hrelle smiled to himself. “Follow us in, Lucille. Glad you’re with us.”

*

On the Bridge of the Redemption, Captain Lucille Arrington stared in naked astonishment at the Surefoot and Ajax, joined together at the belly, doubling their shield strength and firepower to make their escape. Who the Hell thinks up a stunt like that?

Someone with the skills to free his entire planet with just a handful of followers. Someone whose influence inspires cadets… including your own nephew… to be extraordinary.

Someone you once tormented, decades ago at the Academy, at the behest of your racist fool of a grandfather. Someone you continued to judge as a coward and a traitor, at the behest of your idiot brothers. Someone you directly threatened, at the behest of secret biochemical influence from a criminal organisation looking to have you replaced with one of their own.

Someone who, despite all you’ve done to him, still not only forgave you, but supported your return to Starfleet, and respectability.

You’re going home to your wife and cubs when this is over, Esek Hrelle.

*

Hrelle focused once more as new orders finally arrived. “Giles! 118-Mark-089! We have a new target!” Into his transceiver he ordered, “Ajax! Now! Release and focus on their shield generators!”

“On whose shield generators?” C’Rash demanded.

Then she got her answer on the viewscreen.

Ahead of them, dwarfing everything else around it, a Dominion Battleship quickly dominated: raptor-shaped, slate-grey with illuminated lavender nacelles, impulse engines and weapons pods, several times the size of a Galaxy-class – many many times the size of a Sabre- or Defiant-class – it swept its wings out wide as if to encompass the field of battle, it filled the sky around it with cascades of polaron pulses, as the Surefoot, the Ajax and the Redemption joined a dozen other Starfleet and Klingon vessels in the attack upon it, a swarm of angry wasps assaulting a leviathan.

“Ajax detached from us and flying free!” T’Varik reported.

“Helm,” Hrelle barked over the chaos, “Evasive Pattern Beta-One, but keep an eye out for other ships! Tactical, arm the quantum torpedoes!”

He blinked as he, and the rest of them, saw a polaron beam connect with a Starfleet vessel – some old Miranda-class ship, unidentified, and unidentifiable now – as it split in two.

He targeted one of the polaron beam emitters and fired back.

*

Weynik watched them bank towards the Battleship, running along a Klingon Bird of Prey spitting at the enemy. “Well, Lieutenant?”

Sasha responded with letting loose a volley of phaser pulses, taking out another beam emitter, before sending forth another quantum torpedo, to take advantage of the temporary shield loss, further damaging it.

There was still so much more of the damn ship, Weynik thought. Still, the bigger they are… “Helm! Evasive Pattern Gamma Three! How are we holding up, Mr Kohanim?”

The Zakdorn was holding onto his station for dear life, hunched close. “Chief Maryk’s inventing new profanity for what we’re doing to her engines, but otherwise better than-“

A stray bolt struck the Ajax, sending it spinning and feedback travelling through the infrastructure. The gravity failed temporarily, but experience taught Weynik to be ready for it, recovering quickly as light and heat flashed like ball lightning through the Bridge. “Los! Pull us back! Kohanim! Divert power to the shields!” With no response, he repeated, “Kohanim?”

“Sir…” It was Sasha who responded.

He rose and turned, finding Sasha and Lt Mori kneeling beside the body of Lt Cmdr Kit Kohanim. Even a cursory glance confirmed for Weynik that his First Officer was dead.

But there was no time for mourning. “Move him away from the console, you’ll be First Officer now as well as Tactical, Sash; Mr Mori, you’re Second. Let’s get back to work!”

*

“Keep hitting them!” Hrelle ordered into his transceiver. “Rotate the shields if you can-” He looked to one ship, the Intrepid-class Cherenkov, now spinning madly away. “Cherenkov, what’s happening over there?”

The response was screams, weapons fire, and one gravelly voice declaring, “Victory is Life-” And then an explosion from within.

On his monitor, he saw the Bridge of the Cherenkov erupt outwards, before the ship slammed blindly into a Romulan Valdore, both burning in hellfire.

“Multiple incoming transporter beams detected!” Bellator shouted. “Punching through our shields!”

“ALL HANDS!” Hrelle, opening a shipwide channel, roared to his own crew as he drew his phaser, setting it to Maximum. “INTRUDER ALERT! PREPARE FOR JEM’HADAR! SHOOT TO KILL!”

*

In Sickbay 1, Eydiir responded to the Captain’s warning by drawing out a phaser in one hand, and one of her Capellan kleegat crescent throwing blades. Beside her, their new Counselor Alexander Auger stood with his phaser drawn as well. “Is he serious? Giving us orders to kill?”

She tensed, raising the setting on her phaser to Level 7. Since his arrival onboard, Auger had been like some irritant rash on her skin that she couldn’t treat. She had heard that he had been dismissive and disrespectful to Captain Hrelle and Commander T’Varik, and though that was apparently subsequently resolved, her own interactions with him since confirmed that he was smug, insufferable, opinionated, unsympathetic. “He is.”

“And no one has a problem with that?”

“We don’t. If you do, holster your weapon and find someplace to hide while we protect you.”

“Excuse me, Nurse?”

“Dude,” said Masterson, standing near the Isochamber, his own phaser in hand, his face red with anxiety. “Shut your damn mouth and leave her be. We’ve all fought these Sidewinders before-”

Then Eydiir’s eyes flared, her Capellan vision seeing the ripple in the air preceding a Dominion transporter. “Centre of the room! Watch where you aim!”

A triad of energy columns quickly coalesced milliseconds later. Before the figures within fully formed, however, Eydiir drew back and flung her kleegat, the scalpel-sharp blade whistling as it cut through the air, striking the temple of the first Jem’Hadar, catching him off-guard and letting her kill him with her phaser.

Masterson and Nurse Scarlo brought down the third with two beams of their own, even as Eydiir was rushing up to the bodies, kneeling and checking to confirm they were dead, noting their typical firearms… and untypical padded harnesses, resembling Starfleet combat vests, something she wouldn’t have expected to see sported by the likes of them. “Tricorder!”

Scarlo rushed up, providing one as Eydiir examined the harness, trusting the medical priorities on the device would suffice for what she was seeking to know – they did – before tensing again, tapping her combadge. “Bridge! The Jem’Hadar who beamed into Sickbay 1 have explosive devices strapped to them! They may have timers, or even dead man triggers!” She moved to the Sickbay’s Remote Transporter Unit, used to coordinate emergency medical transport, and activated it.

Seconds later, the three fallen Jem’Hadar disappeared in the more familiar energy patterns of a Starfleet transporter.

“What’d you do?” Scarlo asked as the others approached Eydiir. “Send them to the Brig?”

“Into space.” She looked to them. “Take cover, they may return.”

Masterson looked to the others. “You heard her, move it!”

*

“All Hands: the Jem’Hadar are equipped with explosive vests! Set your phasers to Level 10, but be careful where you aim!”

“VICTORY IS-”

The Jem’Hadar uttering his declaration never had a chance to finish, as a beam from Zir’s phaser turned him into quantum mist, before she crouched and spun, aiming and taking out another, while keeping track of her team. The Vaporisation setting was one she had been taught was to be used only as a last result, because of the potential dangers of a stray striking a vulnerable section of one’s ship, or even a collateral target, and because it used much of the weapon’s power cell. But now, Needs Must.

Her team stayed low, in pairs, at key strategic points, alternating fire to give each time to change power cells, if necessary.

Zir, on the other hand, was alone, supervising her people. Watching out for them as much as she was watching out for the Enemy- “Vahn! Wilson! On your right!”

Jem’Hadar appeared, firing at the Security crewmen, catching the corner of the shuttle where they were shielded with disruptor fire. Shards of burning metal from the hull splattered onto the crewmen, into their faces and clothes, making them scream and stumble backwards.

NO! Zir rose and roared to get the Enemy’s attention, making them turn and take a set of phaser blasts, disintegrating them and exhausting her phaser.

She tossed it aside and rushed up to the wounded personnel, trying to keep them from hurting themselves further as she slapped her combadge.  “Sickbay, Medical Emergency in the Shuttlebay! Crewman Vahn and Wilson!” To the stricken crewmen, she added, “Stand still! You’ll be alright!”

They seemed to listen... leaving Zir to take their phasers as they were beamed away. I’m sorry. I should have protected you better.

She turned, brandishing a phaser in each hand. And I’ll make them all pay for it.

*

At the Deck 3 Junction, Gyver responded first to the announcement from the Captain, suddenly stepping forward. “In the centre! Quickly! Back to back!”

Valentin glanced at the others, confused. “Huh? Why-”

“DO IT!” the equinoid barked. “Face down each corridor! Hylore, Valentin, drop to one knee, offer different levels of arms fire! Remember, employ two-second bursts at Level Ten to conserve power, aim for the sternum first, but draw the beam upwards to the head!”

The Argoan female and the Terran male complied to his instructions to them, as Malala asked, her curiosity eclipsing her fear, “When did you get so knowledgeable about combat, Gyver?”

“Yeah,” Kevin hissed, “You alwayss ssseemed like you wouldn’t sssay Boo to a tribble.”

Gyver breathed in once, then twice, before replying, “I am a Knight of the Order of Paladel.”

Kevin turned slightly to minimise his profile, the Gorn keeping his weapon arm high. “Excusse me, mate? You’re a bloody knight?”

“A knight?” Alison echoed. “Seriously?”

“What’s a knight?” Hylore asked.

“A title held by a warrior, or by nobility,” Valentin replied.

“It is more than that, my friend, at least among my people,” Gyver clarified, sounding grateful to reveal the truth. “It is a calling, to go out into the Universe and serve others, by my heart, by my hands, and by my example.”

“Why didn’t you bloody well tell uss any of thiss before now?” Kevin demanded.

“Because I am much more than my ability to fight.”

Malala swallowed. “Well, maybe at the moment you could focus on the fighting part right now?”

Jem’Hadar appeared in the corridor before Gyver, who fired without hesitation, offering a prayer within him for the souls he had just released, and to ask forgiveness for doing so.

Around him, he heard more phaser fire from the rest.

*

On the Bridge, C’Rash reported, “Multiple beamings! Shuttlebay, Main Engineering, Sickbays 1 and 2, Cargo Bay 1, Deck 4, Deck 5-“

“Raise force fields in those areas without crew!” Hrelle turned to Crewman Dylan Lee at Engineering. “Dylan! Power up the warp core! Take it to 110%, and generate a static warp field!”

T’Varik turned to him incredulously. “We are leaving?”

“No!” Hrelle never took his eyes off the young human. “Generate the field, but also take the warp field phase adjusters offline!” Now he looked to his First Officer. “Without phase adjusters to compensate, warp fields-”

“-Generate subspace interference strong enough to affect transporter beams,” the Vulcan finished, nodding in comprehension as she looked to Bellator. “Subspace communications will also be affected.”

It was the Nova Roman’s turn to nod now. “I can deal with that, Commander.”

Hrelle grunted with satisfaction at how quickly his crew responded- then felt the fur on his neck rise.

He drew his phaser and turned as he heard and felt the transporter beams, near the space between the Auxiliary Engineering station and the main viewscreen. Without hesitation he fired, striking the Jem’Hadar before they could fully coalesce, atomising them… and part of the panelling beyond them.

Around him, the crew reacted. “Concenrate on your jobs! Helm, Attack Pattern Alpha-Five! Tactical, focus on the Battleship’s damaged sections! Ops, send a signal to the rest of the ships attacking the Battleship to do the same!”

*

In Engineering, as disruptor bolts flew about him, Chief Sakai crouched at the open doorway to his office and realised one important thing: he worked in a part of the ship very, very inappropriate to have energy flying about willy nilly.

The Jem’Hadar had beamed into a prime area of Main Engineering, adjacent to the warp core tower. And from where the rest of Sakai’s crew were positioned, in alcoves, doorways and behind workstations, they couldn’t shoot the Enemy without possibly hitting the tower, and doing the Jem’Hadar’s job for them.

And how long would it be before the Jem’Haar tired of this stand-off, and just blew themselves up?

He turned in place, looking inside his office, some of it damaged from stray weapons fire. Then he saw his collection of vintage practical jokes, which had annoyed and amused – well, annoyed mostly – his crew since his arrival. They knew them all by now.

Which would work in his favour, as he set down his phaser and reached for one of his favourites: Groucho, a robot duck with a bow tie, moustache and round-rimmed glasses in front of its huge cartoonish eyes, an obscure reference to a forgotten Terran game from four centuries ago, hosted by a revered comedian. He activated it, holding it in both hands as he crouched back to the doorway. “Hey, guys!”

Tori Emoto, Logan Gentry and Nalack, protected by the Main Status Table, looked over at him, Tori emitting the most foul-mouthed exclamation of confusion on seeing the duck.

Sakai smiled. “And the Secret Word for today is: ‘Distraction’.”

Then he aimed it towards the Jem’Hadar and let it fly.

Groucho took flight, the wings flapping comically but really lifted by antigrav units within its pudgy body, quacking away to itself, even as Sakai grabbed his phaser and rose, Tori and the others following suit.

The three Jem’Hadar stared up in total bewilderment at the object overhead, before rising and firing up as one, turning it to a cloud of fake feathers and mechanical parts.

As Sakai, Tori and the rest rose and fired as one, disintegrating the invaders.

Sakai offered a grim smile. You will be remembered, Groucho…

*

Vanun’vek had beamed into the corridor in the rear of Deck 2 of the Surefoot, standing before his two compatriots, Oganad’togag and Yadag’riget, the three Jem’Hadar clutching their disruptor guns, ready as always to serve their gods in Holy War.

They looked to each other, knowing what to do, and started towards the Bridge, to kill everyone they found for the glory of the Founders-

They struck a force field blocking their way.

They looked to each other, knowing what to do, and made a phase adjustment to their skinfields, to let them step through-

It didn’t work; the Enemy had obviously made adjustments since the last encounter.

They looked to each other, knowing what to do, and fired at the forcefield. The bolts deflected back towards them, one striking and killing Oganad’togag.

They looked to each other, knowing what to do, and reversed direction to find another way around. They met another forcefield, and no way out.

They looked to each other, knowing what to do, and without hesitation triggered their explosive harnesses, declaring, “Victory is Life!”

The combined explosion ripped into the Recycling systems, only slightly damaging Main Life Support adjacent to them, the blast carrying upwards through the dorsal hull of the ship.

*

On the Triton’s Bridge, one of Tattok’s senior officers looked up in astonishment. “Admiral!”

The Roylan braced himself. More bad news, no doubt. This was the day for it. “What is it?”

The human’s face was pale with shock. “It’s the Cardassians! They’ve turned! They’ve turned on the Dominion and the Breen! They’re firing on them!”

Tattok rose to his feet. “On screen!”

The viewscreen changed, and he saw Cardassian Galors and Keldars attacking their former allies, from the heart of their side of the battle. Sweet Bloody Hemra… he had heard that there was a growing rebellion among the Cardassians, that not all had agreed with their people joining the Dominion…

For the first time on this terrible day, hope blossomed.

But there was still plenty of fight here.

*

Shall Clanlands, Planet Cait:

Kami leaned forward in her chair. “Are you certain you can’t attend, Valtiri? If there is any problem with you leaving the Settlement, I do have some contacts high in the government.”

On her desktop screen, the blonde-furred, sabre-toothed Ferasan male made an amused sound. “I have not forgotten, Counselor. I thank you for the invitation, but we have had a small outbreak of Caitian Kasaba Fever – a minor cubhood ailment for your people, but one we were never inoculated against.”

Kami frowned. “Do you have enough medical resources?”

“Yes, thank you. And, let’s be honest, I believe my presence among Caitians, even ones as objective and understanding as you, will be too provocative to allow you to enjoy your festivities. Perhaps next year?”

She smiled in conciliation now. “I’ll hold you to that, Valtiri; none of the Ferasans at Hope are prisoners there, and reconciliation needs courage on both sides.”

“I must agree. Is there any word on Captain and Lieutenant Hrelle?”

“No, the battle is continuing. There’s a lot being said, but none of it is helpful.”

He regarded her, as if his telepathy could reach across the communications channel. “Your husband and kin-daughter have the bravest, most indomitable minds I have ever encountered. Have faith in their safe return.”

“Thank you. Take care, stay safe, we’ll talk again soon.” As the channel closed, she rose, changed into her evening dress and shoes, took a moment to let a calming mantra centre her, and then stepped out of her bedroom and down to the main room, where the rest of her guests, family and friends, had arrived: among the cousins, aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews, there was her firstborn son Mirow, his wife Ptera and their newborn infant Baby Jnill; her former nanny Jhess Furore, and his wife Mreia and their teenage son Shau; members of Papa Mi’Tree’s Taleteller crew; and others she had met and worked with during the Occupation. She had so many people to catch up with-

But a squeal of delight drew her attention, as she made her way to the adjacent playroom, where she found Misha, Sreen and a new, sepia-furred infant male about Sreen’s age were together on the padded mat, while Mi’Tree and Misha’s teacher Ms Praow conversed together. Kami drew up to the other female and hugged her. “I’m so glad you could make it, Eshlinn! And that you brought your son!”

Prow smiled back. “It was the least I could do, Kami, after getting so much help from Misha as a Class Assistant since he started back. You haven’t met Hansl yet, have you?”

“No!” She dropped and knelt before the male cub, smiling and purring against him… and aware of her own cubs watching the attention she lavished on the tiny guest. “What a lovely cub you are!”

Misha frowned. “I’m lovely too!”

Kami looked to him, winking, even as she continued to fuss over Hansl.

At least until Sreen made noises of protest at her mother’s attention on her new boyfriend, leaning in to pull Hansl closer to herself.

*

USS Ajax:

Considering they were dancing at the edge of the Abyss, with Death all around them, Sasha was feeling pretty good.

Except for the stomach turned inside out, and the blood of a dead Zakdorn on her hands and uniform, and her spine feeling like an overwound mechanical toy, and constantly aware that she was serving with a past as well as a present lover…

Though to their credit, Lieutenants Mori Mru and Jim Madison had behaved professionally since she had returned to the Ajax, letting her focus on recovering from her experiences during the Occupation on Cait.

And Weynik had been a wonderful mentor, as well as Kohanim, both of them noting to her that she appeared more tempered now, more capable and cool under fire than before. She wasn’t entirely sure if she agreed with them, but she was prepared to go with it.

And now they were all ass deep in the Apocalypse, and Kohanim was dead, and there were others injured onboard, and they were taking more damage- “Captain! The Surefoot’s being boarded! Jem’Hadar suicide bombers! I’m reading explosions, hull breaches!”

“Bloody Hemra… are they calling for help?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then we keep fighting, and be ready for boarders of our own. Mr Los, take us around! Ms Hrelle! I want that Battleship taken down, whatever the cost!”

Sasha forced down her concern for her Dad and everyone else on the Surefoot, and plotted an attack pattern with their weapons, conserving their remaining torpedoes as much as possible- “Scarabs on our tail! Mr Los, that Romulan wreckage on our port, take us through it! NOW!”

“You heard the lady,” Weynik confirmed.

The Ajax dove and banked sharply, passing towards the corpse of a massive D’deridex-class Romulan warbird, the forward section ripped open but much of the rest of the vessel still intact.

Sasha scanned it: no survivors onboard, but the artificial quantum singularity that powered it in place of a warp core was still intact. The Scarabs were closing on them again, as she programmed the aft torpedo tubes. “On my mark, bank hard to starboard… NOW!”

The Defiant-class ship dipped sharply to the right of the wreckage, as Sasha fired on the Romulan wreckage, releasing the energy from the singularity and catching the pursuing Scarabs.

Then they were back on course for the Battleship… in time to see a concentrated assault on the Redemption, which held her ground valiantly and fought back…

Until she couldn’t. She was blown to pieces.

*

On the Crooked Tail, Captain Nol Nrari leaned closer to the display, watching the explosions from the Surefoot. Yes, he knew that he wasn’t out there just to watch over the relations of the First Minister. He also didn’t give two balls of roasted snow if anyone complained that he did it anyway. “Mother’s Cubs…”

First Mate R’Mona looked to him, the young female checking her readings. “They’ve received damage, but are still fighting… but the other one, the Ajax! The one with Lt Hrelle on it! The Jem’Hadar are hitting it hard!”

“I know.” And he knew why she stated the obvious to him, and relaxed, letting his cybernetic eyes focus, offering a colder assessment of the situation. It didn’t help. “Our orders are to observe. Nothing more.”

“Captain,” R’Mona said more softly, almost pleadingly. “Nol… they saved the Motherworld.”

“I know.”

“Lt Hrelle saved my sister when they liberated the Ferasan camp at Navron.”

“I know!” He straightened up and turned away. Regardless of his reputation as a shameless scapegrace, he remained a professional. He never broke the rules.

Bending them, however… He faced his second in command again. “We could observe much better closer up, couldn’t we?”

*

“We’re dead in the water!” Mori reported. “Engines offline!”

“All Hands, Abandon Ship!” Weynik declared over the intercom, turning to the others. “All of you, get to the escape pods! I’m getting to the Warhead!”

Sasha looked to him, eyes wide, knowing exactly what that meant. “No, Sir! We can launch it remotely!”

“Remote systems are offline, Sasha, don’t you think I’d have checked that first? You’re in command now, Lieutenant, get the crew to safe-”

Something struck the Ajax hard, sent it spinning and debris and bodies flying.

Mori slammed into Sasha, the pair of them gripping each other and her station as they avoided pieces of the bulkhead, and almost all of the lights went out. She coughed as she ate smoke, before righting herself and calling out, “Madison! Mori! Rixx! Get to the escape pods! Captain! Where are you? Captain!”

“Sasha!” It was Madison, kneeling beside Weynik, who was unconscious, and pinned under a massive slab of the overhead bulkhead. Madison was trying to shift it, quickly joined by Mori, but even as Sasha followed, she knew that it was futile, and focused on examining their Captain.

The Roylan’s right leg was trapped, blood gushing from multiple wounds. The smoke was clearing quickly – but Sasha knew it wasn’t the fire control systems, but hull breaches overhead. Suffocation, stray enemy fire, collision with debris… something will finish them all off, very, very soon.

“We can’t free him!” Mori snarled. “The transporters are off-line! We need phasers to cut through the bulkhead!”

“No time,” Sasha responded, “And the bulkhead’s too precarious…” She reached up for the grip of her sword, drawing it out, and then holding her breath as she lowered the black blade down to a exposed spot on Weynik’s trapped right thigh.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this… Forgive me, Sir-

The nanosharp blade could cut through duranium like water; uniform, muscle and bone proved no challenge.

The Captain thankfully remained unconscious as she finished the amputation and pulled him free, spurts of blood from the stump spitting at the detached limb as if feeling betrayed by the separation, before she drew her phaser now and quickly cauterised the open wound. “Jim! Pick him up and get him into the escape pod! Mru, get the medikit when you’re in there, stabilise him until he gets to a Sickbay on the Surefoot!”

The two males obeyed, Sasha following from behind until they stepped out into the corridor and a remaining escape pod, Mori and Madison entering with their fallen Captain.

Sasha suddenly stepped back, closing the escape pod door and launching the pod manually, before anyone within could stop her. She spared a final heartbeat to watch it depart into space through the tiny porthole, before returning for her sword, sheathing it and entering the vertical hatchway, descending to the next deck, ready to complete what Weynik started.

Memories of her initial briefings on the Ajax and its capabilities came back to her: “With the addition of the Warhead component aboard the Defiant-class, yet another radical departure has been made from Starfleet's standard policy concerning tactical operations. Designed as a single-use last-ditch explosive component, usage of the Warhead weighs as heavily upon a ship's commanding officer as the possible order to initiate self-destruct.”

Yeah, no shit, Bubulah…

She slipped through the tiny airlock on Deck 2 Walkway, to a dedicated control room. Housed at the forward-most portion of the ship, the Warhead contained the ship's main navigational deflector, forward torpedo launcher and magazine, forward airlocks, and dedicated impulse engines for independent powered flight. She took a seat, strapped herself in and keyed in the command to detach from the parent spaceframe, feeling the four explosive bolts that served to provide the initial forward momentum for the pod to leave the ship before engaging its own engines.

Sasha brought the impulse engines online, hoping the Enemy will see the detached nose of the Ajax and disregard it as debris. “Once free from its parent, the Warhead is capable of achieving .8 c and automatically arms all remaining torpedoes present in the launcher storage area. Computer projections indicate that the entire Warhead vehicle will be destroyed in the resulting collision between it and its target. Due to space restrictions, no escape pods are present in the warhead section, meaning any crewmembers aboard piloting the vehicle will perish in the resulting explosion.”

She checked the remaining torpedoes: twenty photon, eight quantum. And the fusion packs from the impulse engines will add to it.

It’ll be a sweet explosion. And you get to see it from the inside, you lucky bitch.

*

“Captain!” Bellator shouted hoarsely. “We’re getting a distress signal from one of the Ajax’s escape pods! They have Captain Weynik, critically injured- and they report Lt Hrelle has detached the Warhead and is taking it to attack the Battleship!”

Hrelle’s heart stopped, knowing what that meant for his daughter. “Giles-”

Lt Arrington’s hands moved over his panel at warp speed. “Already on our way, Sir!”

But even as the young officer replied, Hrelle knew that with the distance and the damage they had suffered, they wouldn’t get there in time. My cub… My beautiful, brave cub…

*

Despite the circumstances, Sasha found herself in an eye of calm amidst the hurricane of emotion. As she drove the Warhead down into the exposed wound on the port side of the Battleship, ignoring the sporadic fire around her, her only regret was the pain her loss would inflict on her family and friends. Please understand, and forgive me. But we all knew that something like this was a possibility. As much as I had wanted a long, happy life, Sometimes the Universe Has Other Plans…

Warm red light filled her vision as she felt herself torn apart-

-And reconstituted on an unfamiliar Transporter pad, where an unfamiliar Caitian female in the uniform of the Planetary Navy and the rank insignia of First Mate stood, activating her communicator to report, “Bridge! I’ve got her!”

“Good work, R’Mona! Bring her up!”

“Aye, Sir.” Then the female looked to the stunned Sasha, declaring with a smile, “Welcome onboard the Crooked Tail, Lieutenant. Please follow me.”

*

Hrelle’s claws dug into the arms of his chair as he saw the Warhead slam deep into the damaged portion of the Dominion Battleship, detonating… and triggering more detonations from within, a rippling of energies that consumed the gargantuan vessel from within, eating away all but the most durable portions of the spaceframe, leaving a burning skeleton.

The Surefoot veered away to avoid being caught in the conflagration… but Hrelle barely noticed, his world, his Universe dilating into nothing, sounds and images and scents swept away as he stopped living. Sasha… there should have been more time... you had so much more life ahead of you…

“Captain,” C’Rash reported now, sounding astonished. “We’re getting a signal from a Caitian vessel, the Crooked Tail! It was near the flight path of the Warhead! if they were close enough-“

Hrelle began living again. “Onscreen!”

He rose to his feet, as the viewscreen switched to the image of the Bridge of a Caitian vessel, a white-furred, one-eyed male in the centre seat… and Sasha standing beside him! The male grinned. “Captain Nrari reporting, Surefoot! We found this tailless cub out here on her own causing all sorts of mischief! Do you know her?”

A thousand years of grief dropped from him like a heavy cloak shrugged off his shoulders. He nodded wearily. “Yes, Captain, I do indeed. Thank you. Thank you.” Then he focused on Sasha, pointing a finger at her, the tears of relief flowing from his eyes. “And you: when you get here, Missy, I’m… I’m hugging the stuffing out of you. They’ll be clearing bits of Sasha from the decks for weeks, you hear me?”

His daughter – looking bruised, bloodied, but very much alive, just nodded back, her eyes welling up as well. “Fair enough, Dad.”

*

In her office on Cait, Ma’Sala had been about to call home and inform them she would not be home for the party, when Anjeles caught her attention. “Madame First Minister! The Cardassians have joined the Alpha Quadrant Armada! The tide of battle has turned! And we’re getting a message from the Crooked Tail you’ll definitely want to see!”

She drew up to the screens, starting as she saw Nrari… and Sasha standing beside him on the Bridge of his ship. “What’s going on? What are you doing there, Granddaughter?”

Sasha leaned in, looking like she had been rolled down a hill in a barrel of rocks, but at least was alive. “I got into a little scrap, Grandma, and the Crooked Tail helped me out.”

Nrari snorted, indicating the human with a furred thumb. “‘A little scrap’? She blew up a Dominion Battleship, all on her own! And her Papa and the rest of your family have been kicking tail and are still alive to talk about it-”

Then Minister K’Trierr stepped forward, nearly pushing Ma’Sala aside to gain attention. “Captain! You received explicit orders to not get involved in the fighting! This is insubordination!”

Nrari frowned at the interruption. “Who the fuck are you? Ma’Sala’s tailor? Because I have to tell you, you’re not doing her any favours.”

K’Trierr bristled with tight fury. “You’re speaking to a respected Minister on the Matriarchy Council! I’ll have your job for this!”

But the Captain just shrugged. “You wouldn’t like my job, Kitten, you have to deal with all sorts of officious kussiks.” He turned back to the First Minister. “If you’ll excuse me, Ma’Sala Darling, it’s a little busy around here… not that soft-assed civilians like you would know about such things. Crooked Tail out.”

The screen went blank, as K’Trierr turned to Mrorr. “Fleet Captain, I demand that you instigate a court martial against that arrogant, disrespectful male!”

Mrorr drew up, raising her snout. “Madame Minister, civilian government officials, even the highest ones, have no authority over internal military matters. But I’ll give your suggestion all the consideration it deserves.”

K’Trierr faced Ma’Sala now. “Do you really expect me to believe that he wasn’t acting on secret orders from you to protect your family, despite your earlier public show?”

Ma’Sala bared her teeth now, making the Minister step back instinctively. “I don’t give a damn what you believe. But before you kick up too much of a fuss about this, remember: Sasha Hrelle is more than just my granddaughter. She is a decorated, popular Heroine of the Resistance, and a Kaetini Warrior. She has been named as an inspiration for many young people to enlist in the Militia and the Navy to rebuild our defences. There are even newborn cubs being named after her!

And Captain Nrari has done nothing more than save her life. Do you really want the public to start to wonder why you would be so opposed to such an action?”

The Minister drew back, glaring at those around her. “I have better things to do than waste my time here.”

Ma’Sala nodded back. “Yours, and ours. You know the way out.”

Then she turned and went back to her office, to make that call home and pass on the good news, and then prepare to make a speech to the rest of the world.

*

USS Surefoot:

The clean up began, in preparation for the collection of the wounded.

In Sickbay 1, the medical team prepared the biobeds and equipment, Doc Masterson pointing to the supply closet. “Vashik! Scarlo! Get the antigrav gurneys ready and waiting! I have a feeling we’re gonna be packed to the rafters before we’re done!” He bumped into Auger. “Do ya mind, Doc?”

Auger glanced around. “How can I help?”

“Get to the Shuttlebay, the survivors will be transported there first. Many will be traumatised, they might be more injured than they’re able to tell us.”

Auger nodded and headed for the doorway, but not before stopping by Eydiir, who was readying the tricorders and sensor wands. “Nurse, if you need to talk later about the trauma of having killed today, I’ll be available anytime-“

The Capellan looked to him incredulously… before recovering to reply with a more professional, “Thank you for your offer, Doctor, but your skills will be more valuable to others less accustomed to such trauma. And… I apologise for my earlier insolent tone with you.”

“Forget about it.”

“And for calling you a preening, smug, arrogant mountebank.”

He frowned. “I never heard you say any of that.”

“You were not present whenever I said it.”

He regarded her... before chuckling as he departed.

Masterson waited until the Counselor was gone before joking, “You getting soft in your old age, Pardner?”

Eydiir shot him a dirty look, but added a more dry, “No doubt the company I keep around here is dragging me down.”

*

In the Junction on Deck 3, the Support Crew finally lowered their weapons as the order was given to stand down.

Malala’s arm ached. Her heart ached. She kept staring at the spots down the corridor where living beings once stood, before she obliterated them.

She slumped to her knees, her mouth dry, a cold numbness suffusing her small body.

Behind her, Alison leaned against the nearest wall, exhausted. “Did that… Did that all just happen?”

Kevin dropped his phaser. “I think I’m gonna bloody chunder.”

“Me too,” Hylore added. “And I don’t want to know if my water suit can handle my vomit.”

Valentin’s breathing was quickening alarmingly, until Gyver approached, taking the phaser from him and helping him down to the floor, bending him forward. “Breathe through your nose, hold it for five seconds, and breathe out through your mouth.”

Alison looked to him. “Thanks, Gyve. For your guidance during the fight.”

The equinoid nodded to her. “As I stated before, I am here to serve.” Then he moved to Malala, kneeling beside her and putting an arm around her. “Taking a life, no matter how necessary, is never easy, Mal. It is not meant to be. But you will move on.”

She made a distant sound, still staring at nothing. “How long did it take you to move on, the first time you killed?”

He gently hugged her. “My first time was twenty minutes ago. I am still working on that. But perhaps we shall all work on that together.”

*

In Engineering, Sakai watched his crew put away their weapons and return to their duties, inspecting the major systems and heding to make repairs to the damaged parts of the ship, as if the invasion had been some sort of exercise. 

He was no Squab; he knew that it was not as simple as that, that they would all have to deal with this in the coming days and weeks – or longer – but that for now, they had to focus on their work. It was necessary, for their sakes; they were all much younger than him, they had decades of life in Starfleet ahead of them.

He didn’t. After years of retirement, he signed up again to help with the staff shortages brought on by the War. He could return to a safer, simpler life once this War was over, where he wasn’t seemingly constantly locked in a kill-or-be-killed situation..

And that was looking real good right now.

*

In the Shuttlebay, Zir didn’t hear the orders, or the voices of the Security crew. She stood, twin phasers still in hand, waiting for more of the Enemy to kill.

They would keep coming. They would always keep coming. An endless stream of murderous scum that would threaten the only things she had left in this life. And she would keep waiting, and keep fighting-

“COME ON!” she screamed, her voice rebounding in the open space, waving the phasers around. “I’M WAITING FOR YOU BASTARDS!”

*

With nearly all of the active, combat-ready Armada vessels departed in pursuit of the remaining Dominion vessels, the area around the Cardassian Union border became a dark, cold graveyard: spaceframes, debris, shuttles, escape pods, distress buoys calling out into the void.

The active ships that remained banded together, pooling their sensors, their shuttles, their personnel in an effort to find, rescue and treat those who had survived today, keeping them alive until the larger hospital ships arrived from the neighbouring sectors to take them to the nearest planets and starbases.

One runabout, from the USS Wasp, passed closely over the wreckage of a Steamrunner-class cruiser. Lt Cmdr Harold Dubek, the runabout pilot and mission commander, glanced at the name of the cruiser – the USS Redemption – and asked over his shoulder, “Anything?”

Silence, but for the beeps of multiple scanners from the sensor crew’s stations.

He nodded to himself. “Marking it as Dead, moving on-“

“Wait, Sir.”

Dubek rolled his eyes, knowing that voice. “Yes, Mr Ostrow?”

“I don’t think we should dismiss it too readily, Sir.”

Dubek swivelled in his seat to look at the junior officer, a pale, silver-haired male of Terran origin who grew up in some remote part of the Federation. Ever since Ostrow and his Bolian wife had been assigned to the Wasp, Dubek had heard many things about the Wonder Child, as he liked to call Ostrow: an alleged genius with engineering and sensor systems, who had fought Giant Snake Assassins, deflected killer asteroids, been to other dimensions...

In Dubek’s experience, however, such reputations were rarely justified, and half the stories he had heard about Ostrow and the rest of Hrelle’s Cubs were almost certainly bilge. “Oh? And why is that, Lieutenant?”

Ostrow kept focused on his station, his fingers moving over the keyboard. “There’s a lot of residual local subspace interference, as well as polaron radiation from the Dominion weapons. I’ve dealt with it before, it can affect sensor readings, especially in the biorange. It just needs a modification to the algorithms to compensate.”

Dubek crossed his arms and sighed, glancing at his co-pilot, who rolled her eyes, before he responded, “Really, Mr Ostrow? Well, I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re not a cadet any longer, and these attempts to impress us won’t earn you any gold stars with me-”

A sensor alert appeared on everyone’s board.

The rest of the crew turned as one, one of them reporting, “I’m picking up twenty-two lifesigns now! Deck 2, Conference Room! Minimal life support remaining!”

Dubek looked for himself, confirmed it. That was impossible; they weren’t there a moment ago… He opened a channel. “Wasp! We’ve detected twenty-two lifesigns within the Redemption! We need additional runabouts at our location!”

“They’re on their way. Good work, Dubek.”

Dubek didn’t answer, just closed the channel and rose to his feet, looking to Ostrow again, daring him to say something smug in reply.

Instead the younger man continued working, reporting, “I’ve added the algorithms to the transporters to strengthen the safety protocols as well, Sir.”

Dubek stared; Ostrow had just improved their sensor and transporter capabilities, on the spot, just like that, and saved lives. And he just kept on working, not even stopping to say I Told You So. “Then let’s get some of those people over here. It’ll get crowded, but we’ll manage.”

Seconds later, figures beamed onto the open transporter pad at the aft of the runabout: unconscious Starfleet officers. The runabout crew moved over them with medical tricorders, including Ostrow, who looked to one survivor, a middle-aged Terran female with blonde hair and Nordic features. “Captain Arrington?”

Dubek knelt beside him. “You know her?”

Ostrow nodded. “We’ve met before. Actually, I assaulted her once, in order to save Captain Hrelle from a pack of Ferasans.”

Dubek looked to the young man. And decided not to question the claim.

*

USS Surefoot, Sickbay 1:

Weynik lay on the biobed, looking even smaller and paler than usual to Sasha, as she stood in the rear out of the way, watching Masterson, Eydiir and others work on the sedated Captain… the stump where his leg was once attached now fixed with a stasis clamp, keeping it ready for a cybernetic or biosynthetic limb.

She still couldn’t believe she had cut off his real one, no matter how necessary it had been-

“Lieutenant.”

She turned, straightening up instinctively as she saw Admiral Tattok enter, followed closely behind by her Dad, both men looking over at Weynik on the biobed. “Sir… Sirs.”

Tattok regarded his son meaningfully, before looking back at Sasha again. “Lieutenant, would you step outside, please?”

She glanced at her father, who offered nothing back, looking as haggard as she felt, but complied. It was a rare moment of relative quiet out here, though she knew it would soon change, as more casualties were ferried here. “How may I be of assistance, Admiral?”

Tattok looked up at her. “I suppose I could order you to stop being so tall, but that might be beyond even your exceptional capabilities. Firstly I wanted to thank you: thank you for saving my son, thank you for your efforts to keep as much of your crew alive as you could, thank you for your success in finishing off the Dominion Battleship.”

She felt herself blush, and shifted in place. “I- I only did what I had to do, Sir.”

His eyestalks rose up higher. “Clearly you get your modesty from your father… along with his superior leadership and tactical skills.”

“Thank you, Sir, but perhaps Captain Weynik might have a different opinion about me, when he wakes up and sees what I did to him?”

The Roylan Admiral grunted. “Because of what you did to him, his children, and his parents, get to keep him around a little while longer. There’s been far too much death on this battlefield, in this War. Let’s grasp and cherish every life we manage to save.

But we all have too much ahead of us to waste time with florid speeches. Most of your surviving crew are now onboard the Surefoot; as senior ranking officer, you will be responsible for them until their disposition and the recovery of your commanding officer.”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll do my best.”

He nodded. “I have no doubt. But you’ll need some essentials tools for that task.” He took a step to the left, looking up at Hrelle. “Captain, would you care to do the honours?”

“Thank you, Admiral.” The Caitian stepped forward… looking to the confused Sasha strangely suffused with emotion as he straightened up formally. “Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle, for repeated acts of gallantry above and beyond the call of duty, it is my honour, pleasure and privilege to inform you that with immediate effect, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, with all the rights and privileges this carries.”

Sasha stared up, not quite sure she had heard correctly, even as she watched him open up a small black box hidden in his right paw, revealing a pair of black rank pips, before removing them and reaching up to attach them to either side of her collar, to sit beside each of the two gold pips representing her current rank of Lieutenant.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Hrelle,” Tattok announced, offering his hand.

Sasha turned to him in shock and accepted it, half-wondering if exhaustion had caught up with her and she was hallucinating. “Thank you, Sir. B-But… are you really sure about this? I know I saved Captain Weynik, but otherwise I don’t know how deserving I am-”

“Lieutenant Commander,” he interrupted. “For the record, this promotion isn’t part of my thanks to you for saving my son. It’s because you do deserve it. It’s because you’ve proven yourself repeatedly that you’re ready for it.

And because… we need you. We’ve lost so many good people today, and throughout this terrible War.” He glanced up enigmatically at Hrelle. “When this is over, most of us will be leaving our comfort zones and taking on new responsibilities, and the junior ranks will have to rise along with the rest of us. Now, I’ll leave you in Papa Cat’s capable paws while I return to the Triton.”

“You’re… You’re not staying, Sir?”

Tattok looked in the direction of Sickbay, as if he could see through the walls. “To do what? Stand helplessly as medical professionals help him? I’ll be back when he awakes. In the meantime, I’m better off keeping busy with some very necessary work. If you’ll excuse me…?”

“Thank you, Admiral.” Hrelle said, and Sasha and he watched him depart, before Hrelle turned back to his daughter, smiling. “They look good on you.”

She felt herself flushed. “You knew he was coming here to do that?”

“Not until he boarded ten minutes ago. Now he has to return to coordinate the efforts to collect and treat the survivors out here… and so do we. And you, too; we’re getting all available shuttles and runabouts together to search the wreckage for survivors. I’ll need you and anyone with pilot credentials from the Ajax.”

She nodded, glad to be given something to do. “I’ll get onto it now, Sir. If you’ll excuse me…?”

“Not yet.” Then he pulled her into a big embrace, rubbing the side of his muzzle against her face, as she hugged back, and he whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Daughter of Mine. I love you.”

Quietly she murmured back, “I love you too, Dad.”

“But,” he added, “If you pull another stunt like you did with the Warhead, I’m gonna kick your ass so hard my leg will go numb.”

She laughed against his shoulder. “Fair enough.”

*

Shall Clanlands, Planet Cait:

Bneea entered the darkened study. “Kami? Are you okay? Everyone’s asking about you downstairs.”

His daughter rose to her feet and stepped away from the desk. “Yes. I was just speaking with Mama. She just confirmed that Esek, Sasha, C’Rash and T’Varik are all alive and well.”

Bneea smiled and pulled her into an embrace. “Thank Mother for that! Everyone is alright!”

She tensed. “People have still died, and been hurt. Many people. Captain Weynik, one of Esek’s oldest friends, lost a leg. Sasha was nearly killed blowing up an enemy warship. The rest of the Armada is now at Cardassia, but the Surefoot has remained behind with other damaged ships to help with the wounded.”

He drew back a little, sober. “Do you think this might mean the end of the War?”

“It depends on the Dominion now. They could secure themselves on Cardassia, fight to the last man, make any victory for our side so costly...” She breathed out, her body tensing. “It can go on and on, and anyone who lives today might die tomorrow…”

Bneea stroked her mane, purring now as he spoke again. “I used to feel the same way, all those times your Mama was out there, defending the Motherworld… and then you, and Esek and the cubs. Hold fast to hope, Daughter of Mine.”

Kami steadied herself, accepting the wisdom of her father’s words. Then she wiped her muzzle. “Come on, let’s tell everyone at the party the good news. Then I have a greater struggle ahead of me: convincing my overtired cub to let go of her new boyfriend and put her to bed without a fight…”

*

There was no day or night in space, of course; time was a malleable, interpretive thing.

The crew had no idea of how long they had been working, collecting and treating the wounded, moving those who survived to other ships for disposition, moving those who didn’t to the Morgue… and then the refrigerated Cargo Bays when the Morgue filled.

Stopping at strange intervals for short naps and boosts of coffee. Few had any stomach to eat, even if the replicators weren’t concentrating on drugs, medical equipment, cybernetic limbs.

Few even bothered acknowledging the passage of time since the cessation of battle, except for brief regards towards beards and body odour.

Until Captain Hrelle made a shipwide announcement.

“Captain to Crew: I know our work continues, but I thought you might want to hear this.

Five minutes ago, an agreement was signed on Deep Space Nine by representatives of the United Federation of Planets, the Klingon Empire, the Bajoran Republic, the Romulan Star Empire, the Cardassian Union, the Breen Confederacy, and the Founders of the Dominion.

Effective Stardate 52902.0, all hostilities by all armed forces under the command of each of the Alpha Quadrant and Gamma Quadrant powers are to be permanently ended.

All military forces of the Dominion and their allies are to withdraw from the Alpha Quadrant following the general ceasefire order, and all Alpha Quadrant territories presently under Dominion control, whether seized by force or by treaty, are to be returned to the control of the Alpha Quadrant powers. All borders, sovereignty, and ownership of affected territories are to revert to their status as of Stardate 50564.0.

The War is Over.”

The crew, the wounded and evacuees, everyone on board, seemed to hold their collective breath.

Then they returned to their duties.

*

On the Bridge, Hrelle rubbed his eye sockets, fighting back the herd of shuris stampeding in his brain.

T’Varik, the only other person present, looked to him. “Get some sleep, Captain.”

He shook his head, reaching for the cold remains of his coffee from his mug on the floor. “No, you go, you’ve been up longer than me.”

“Yes, but I have superior stamina.”

He glanced at her. “I’m too tired to even make a dirty joke about that.”

“Given your natural predilection for ribaldry, that is an alarming illustration of your fatigue.”

He grunted, tried to finish off his drink, failed with a grimace, and set it on the floor again, rising uneasily, swaying a little. “If any messages come through from anyone, about anything-”

She rose as well, looking annoyingly steady in comparison. “Then I will judge whether or not to awaken you.”

He nodded, too tired to argue, before focusing on her. “We won.”

“Barely.”

“But we still won. And everyone we know survived. Yes, some of us, like Weynik, were injured. Others have wounds less visible, but no less traumatic. They’ll need our help, too.”

She turned to the viewscreen, to the fields of starships… or their remains. “And we will all be feeling the effects of this War for a long time to come, I fear, Esek.”

He nodded at that… noticing her use of his first name while on duty. “There’s an old Caitian saying: ‘Nothing ever ends, it merely becomes something else’. As to what we will become after this… time will tell.” He breathed out. “Oh, I’m definitely exhausted. Bed for me. And a shower later.”

“The shower first,” T’Varik suggested.

Hrelle showed her how many middle fingers he had on his right paw, before leaving it at that and departing.

*

First Minister Ma’Sala Shall’s speech was later in the evening than expected, but many across the planet still watched and listened:

“People of the Motherworld, I speak to you on the anniversary of our First Landing. Today, as always, we give thanks to the Great Mother for leading us to this green and pleasant world, to make this our Cait, our new Home.

This year’s First Landing has been especially poignant and significant, following the Occupation of Cait by the Ferasan Patriarchy, the descendents of those who drove our ancestors out into space. They were a cruel and determined foe, and their defeat came at great sacrifice to us.

Let us remember those who will not come back, their constancy and courage in battle, their sacrifice and endurance in the face of a merciless enemy. Let us remember the males and females in all the Services, in the Resistance, in every city and town and village, who have laid down their lives. We have come to the end of our tribulation, and they are not with us at the moment of our rejoicing.

And let us salute in proud gratitude the great host of the living who have brought us to victory. I cannot praise them to the measure of each one’s service, for in a total war such as we have fought, the efforts of all rise to the same noble height, and all are devoted to the common purpose. Armed or unarmed, young or old, you have fought, striven, and endured to your utmost.

And as your First Minister I thank with a full heart those who bore arms so valiantly on land and on sea, in the air and in space, and all civilians who, shouldering their many burdens, have carried them unflinchingly without complaint.

With those memories in our minds, let us think what it was that has upheld us through this time of suffering and peril. The knowledge that everything was at stake. Not just our freedom, our independence, but our identity, our very  existence as a people.

And we did not fail. We kept our faith with ourselves and with one another; we kept faith and unity. That faith and unity has carried us to Victory through dangers which often seemed overwhelming. And at this time, I call upon you to take those qualities that we fought to keep alive, and continue to apply them, to win the peace as we have won the war. To continue to help our world and our people heal. To let go of our hate, to forgive those who trespassed against us, and to assist those in need, regardless of how much they may resemble our enemies.

And to remember that we are not alone in the Universe. Caught up in our own trials, it is tempting to disregard what happens beyond our borders as having nothing to do with us. But we must not. 

We have been part of the United Federation of Planets for over a century, and the Federation has been threatened these last three years by the Dominion and its allies. And just as we have fought and sacrificed to protect our world, Starfleet has fought and sacrificed to protect not just our world, but every other world within our wider borders. Their struggle and sacrifice has been, not just for Earth or Vulcan or Andor, but for Cait, and every other world.

They are our brothers and sisters, our parents and cubs too.

To that, then, let us turn our thoughts on this day of just triumph and proud sorrow; and then take up our work again, resolved as a people to do nothing unworthy of those who died for us, and to make the Motherworld such a world as they would have desired, for their cubs, and for ours.

I know that together we shall all face the future with stern resolve, and prove that our reserves of strength and compassion are inexhaustible.

Thank you, and good night.”

 

 

 

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN… COMPILATION