Compilation - Side 2 of 2

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TRACK 09 – A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION

Sakai stood outside the Captain’s Ready Room, steeling himself. You’re doing the right thing, Davey Boy. It’s a new age. They don’t need dinosaurs like you anymore. He activated the chime; the door slid open a second later and he stepped in. “Commodore?”

Hrelle was standing in front of a large wall screen, displaying a schematic of a space station that Sakai recognised immediately as one of the older R-Class designs. The Caitian turned and looked at him, beaming. “Monkey! How fortuitous!” He beckoned to him.

Sakai approached warily. “Captain- sorry, I mean Commodore-”

“Don’t worry, I’m still getting used to it myself. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, I thought it would be more appropriate to meet you in person-”

“Bother? Actually I was about to call you for some help!”

“Help?”

“Yes!” Hrelle took a step back, indicating the schematics. “This is Salem One, my new posting. It was shut down a couple of years ago when the War commenced, but now I have to get it up and running again. The problem is the crew… or rather, the lack of crew. We’ll barely have a skeleton staff when we get there, so we need to get some bypasses set up to compensate.” He pointed to various sections. “At the last automated diagnostic inspection, there were reports about a power drain in the fusion batteries, which I thought might be due to faulty compensators-”

“No, Sir.” Sakai stared hard at the diagram, and the accompanying data scroll, his fingers reaching up to scroll down and read more. “I know these L-12s, the power drain comes from no one being around to regularly alternate the power flow channels.”

“Alternate them? I don’t remember reading about a need for that.”

Sakai shook his head absently. “It’s not something they ever put in the technical manuals, Sir, but I learned it when I was a Squab and I was posted at one of these R-Class outposts near the Sheliak border.” He moved to another part of the schematic. “The recyclers need an overhaul.”

Hrelle nodded. “I saw that, too. I’m trying to get replacement impellers to bring with us, but they’re too old to be ready-made, and I’ll have to wait for them to be fabricated.”

“No need, Commodore. You can still use the existing ones, it’s just a matter of setting up a degaussing field cage on the Shuttle Maintenance Deck.” He accessed the inventory, nodding. “Yes, you have the necessary tools waiting for you, it’s easily set up.”

Hrelle patted him appreciatively on the shoulder. “Good work, Chief; none of the young Engineering cubs around here spotted that. And we’re going to need to make some changes to the Crew Quarters on Deck 5 for the cadets who’ll be living and working there.” He pointed to particular points on the aforementioned deck schematics. “Will the infrastructure be able to accommodate the conversion of these Auxiliary Life Support rooms into training Holodecks?”

Sakai rubbed his chin, studying. “Yes. Yes, Sir, with redundant feeds from the equivalent sections in the above-deck, these older models are already rated to 125% capacity, given the remote nature that many of them serve. Your Station Chief can do it easily, if they know these systems well enough.”

Hrelle leaned in. “I don’t have a Station Chief… yet. Think you might be interested in a change of career? I know much of this won’t be state of the art, but-”

“I’ll do it,” Sakai declared distantly, his mind already busy conceiving of the potential problems and challenges to be overcome.

Hrelle patted him on the shoulder again. “Welcome aboard, Chief.”

Sakai nodded to that… never seeing the sly smile on Hrelle.

*

Srithik had tried to distract himself by observing the stark landscape of the Plains of Gol as the flyer soared overhead, towards one of the most remote parts of Vulcan. It didn’t help.

Nivor sat near him, not speaking. She had barely spoken to him since he first attempted to run away, and in the time since he had been intercepted by the authorities in Vulcana Regar, and she had been sent to collect him, his mother’s consequent intentions for him were relayed indirectly.

He had barely time to pack his belongings when she had practically dragged him to the flyer.

Debate would be pointless. He knew that. And yet, as the flyer finally descended, Srithik finally worked up the courage to turn to her and announce, “Mother, I regret the actions I took in leaving home. It was an impulsive, emotional act. I will not repeat it. This is not necessary.”

She never looked at him, never responded.

He saw the Monastery of T’Klaas just ahead: carved out of living rock to appear as natural as the landscape.

This would be his home for the next ten years. He would be made to cast aside his dreams, his desires, and embrace total logic, losing access to his emotional side. He couldn’t imagine how he would end up. He expected imagination would be taken away from him as well.

The flyer landed, the door opened. “Mother… I beg your forgiveness for my actions. Please do not hand me over to them.”

“You have brought this upon yourself. Come.”

The air was dryer than he expected, and a harsh hot wind whipped around their feet, conjuring swirls of dust from the ancient stone path that led to the half-dozen steps rising up to tall narrow stone doors, which were now sliding open slowly as Srithik and Nivor approached. Srithik considered delaying matters further by pretending to drop one of his possessions, but he believed his mother would simply have him leave it where it fell.

As they approached the steps, a dozen gaunt figures in immaculate white robes emerged and formed a line at the top of the steps, staring down at the visitors. The Vulcan male in the centre of the line spoke aloud, his voice without inflection, without emotion. “I am Master Sul. You are Councillor Nivor?”

She responded. “I am. This is Srithik. You have prepared for him?”

“We have. Make your farewells now; you will have no further contact with him for ten years.”

“I do not wish to be here,” Srithik declared. “I object to this.”

Sul ignored him, leaving Nivor to comment, “As he demonstrates, he has been acutely contaminated by exposure to my Starfleet-worshipping sister. He is wilful, obstinate. He thinks for himself.”

Sul nodded. “We will break him of that.”

Then all eyes turned to the sound and sight of a transporter beam, appearing on the steps between the Order and the visitors. The beam produced an older, broad-shouldered, broad-framed Vulcan male with a greying beard, dressed in a Starfleet uniform and holding a PADD under his arm. Srithik studied him, noting the red departmental colours of the uniform, and the three pips denoting the rank of Commander.

Sul stepped closer. “This is sacred ground. Members of Starfleet have no right to be here. We will contact Vulcan Security about this insult.”

“They are already aware,” the new arrival informed him. “As I am not just a Starfleet officer, I am also a senior operative of the V’Shar.”

Srithik reacted. The V’Shar? The Vulcan Intelligence Agency? Why was he here now?

As if detecting his curiosity, the officer faced him. “You are Srithik. I am Commander Haluk, an associate of your aunt T’Varik’s. She asked me to locate and speak with you.”

Srithik felt his pulse quicken, even as Nivor protested, “You have no business here! Leave!”

Haluk ignored her, taking a step down closer to Srithik. “Your uncle Pedalk contacted her about your mother’s plans for you here. T’Varik offers you an alternative to this. She has been promoted to Captain of her own ship, in a sector of space where I will also be serving as Superintendent of an Annex of Starfleet Academy. Your aunt offers you the opportunity to live with her and her partner.”

“What?” Nivor exclaimed, all emotional control dropped.

“T’Varik will act as your legal guardian,” Haluk continued, ignoring Nivor. “Until you reach adulthood, when you will be free to make your own decisions. Would you wish to accept this arrangement?”

“Yes,” Srithik replied without hesitation.

“No!” Nivor denied. “My sister has no right to do this! You have no right!”

Haluk glanced at her, before turning and looking up at Sul and his fellow disciples. “You will not be taking custody of this child today. Return inside.”

Sul raised his chain. “For over two thousand years this Order has existed here, Embodiments of the Vulcan Ideal. We do not take orders from such as you.”

“Return inside,” Haluk repeated calmly, “And the V’Shar will not reveal to the High Council the acts of collaboration that you Embodiments of the Vulcan Ideal conducted with Romulan agents, in order to obtain a forbidden, dangerous artefact known as the Lament Configuration-”

Sul and the others immediately turned and entered the Monastery, the doors making a resounding thunder as they were closed.

Haluk stepped down further, holding out the PADD to Nivor. “Sign this, and custody of Srithik will be transferred to Captain T’Varik.”

Nivor never accepted the PADD. “My sister has always been arrogant, but her actions today exceed even my basest expectations of her. I most certainly will not sign anything.”

“I see. Are you certain?”

“Yes. My son belongs to me, not T’Varik.”

Haluk nodded… but still held out the PADD to her. “The Order are not the only ones with secrets to protect. On Stardate 50277.32, while investigating cybercriminal activity, V’Shar agents inadvertently recorded a meeting between yourself and a senior executive of the Dytallix Mining Company. At this meeting, you promised to support their bid to construct an orbital particle fountain to strip mine the P’Lak Basin, in return for a share in the profits, deposited in an off-world account seemingly untraceable to you.”

Srithik almost gasped, his shock at the revelation almost making him lose emotional control. He looked to his mother… and saw the truth behind the accusation.

“You can choose not to relinquish custody of Srithik,” Haluk continued. “But then the recording of the meeting will be forwarded to the Committee on Ethical Affairs in ShriKar. Your political career will be finished, Dytallix will be disqualified from conducting business on Vulcan, and your clandestine arrangement will be cancelled. But at least Srithik will still belong to you. As much as any sentient being can belong to any other.”

Nivor glared at him venomously. Srithik was reminded of a Terran phrase: ‘If looks could kill…’

Then, abruptly, she took the PADD from him, signed it, and practically threw it back at him. “Let T’Varik enjoy her petty victory. Srithik has proven to be a consistent failure as an offspring: weak, unstable, impetuous, disloyal and disobedient. I will be well rid of him.”

“I see T’Varik’s account of you did not do you justice,” Haluk noted dryly. “I expect you to make significant strides in the political arena in the coming years.”

She frowned at him suspiciously. “You will not alert the Committee?”

“No. You will be of far more use to the V’Shar in the future in government circles, acting on our behalf as and when required, in exchange for allowing you to keep your secrets and maintain your lifestyle.”

Nivor took in his declaration, and for a moment, only a moment, Srithik saw something he had rarely seen in his mother: vulnerability. It was a disconcerting experience.

But then it vanished, and she turned to leave.

Until Srithik stepped forward. “Mother…” When she turned to face him, he offered, “Mother, I do not regret my desire to forge my own life path. But I do regret that this desire is incompatible with yours… and that it has caused you such consternation. I would not wish to lose contact with you, and I promise to send communications on a regular basis. You remain my mother… and I will always love you.”

Nivor stared back coldly. “Weak. So weak. You will regret this course of action. What will you hope to accomplish without my influence in your life?”

“Much, I expect,” Haluk replied, raising his hand in the Vulcan salute. “Peace and Long Life, Councillor.”

She turned away again and marched back to the flyer without a second glance at her son.

Srithik watched her depart in the machine, lifting up in the ruby-red sky, as he felt Haluk draw closer. Though they were alone now, the older male’s voice dropped to a confidential level. “You had hoped that she might have chosen you.”

Srithik looked up at him, startled by his perceptiveness, and admitted, “Yes. Despite my knowledge and experience of her and her nature, I still hoped. It was illogical of me, wasn’t it, Sir?”

“Yes. But hope does not depend on rationality or logic. Nor does sorrow, but you will still feel that as well in the coming days and weeks, as you begin your new life. Your aunt, and others – myself included – will support you, as and when required.

For now, gather your belongings, we have a starship awaiting us. We will rendezvous with Captain T’Varik, following a stop at Earth, where I am collecting a select group of Starfleet Academy cadets who will accompany us. I understand you have expressed an interest in Starfleet?”

Srithik retrieved his bags. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then we have much to discuss along the way…”

*

TRACK 10 – EYE OF THE TIGER

Hrelle was aware that he had been awake for nearly a day. He was also aware that if he wanted to get as much done as possible before the deadline, he had to keep moving. He could do this. He could. Just keep moving, keep ticking all the boxes…

*

“Ruth, thanks for taking my call.”

Onscreen, the image of Admiral Goldstein, the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy on Earth, looked as if she had aged a decade since he last saw her, just a couple of years ago at Sasha’s graduation. It didn’t stop her from noting, “Are you okay, Commodore? You look tired.”

He smirked. “It’s the cubs, we’ve had them in our bed and Misha likes to crawl around in his sleep.”

“Well, that’s one effective means of keeping from having another. A year or so ago I could never have gotten this idea of yours past the Board, even with the losses of Starfleet personnel we were suffering in the War… but then the Breen attacked Earth, proving that no one was safe, anywhere. And thank God the War is over.

But still… if it was anyone else but you asking for something like this, at short notice-”

“Have you had any problems with getting volunteers?”

“You mean among the cadets? Hell, no! They’re itching to get out there and earn some academic and real credits! They probably think it’s gonna be an extended shore leave!”

He smiled. “They’ll soon learn different under me. And the instructors? They understand the conditions under which they’ll be living?”

“The Annex Superintendent, Commander Haluk, will keep them apprised. You’ll find him quite useful, Commodore… and not just to keep the Squabs from stealing your shuttles for joyrides.” She leaned in closer, as if she was in the flesh, imparting a secret for his ears alone. “He also has open assignments with Starfleet Intelligence and the V’Shar… and he has a personal history with your family.”

Hrelle’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“He’s worked with First Minister Ma’Sala Shall. And I hear he’s assisted Lt Cmdr Sasha Hrelle in the past.” She leaned back. “Not that I’m telling you any of this. As far as anyone’s concerned, he’s just one of our best instructors and Liaisons… and now, your Superintendent.”

Hrelle nodded, understanding all too well how such games are played. And after all the trouble he’d had with the late Admiral Trenagen and Captain Sakuth of SI… and Section 31… he thought he had had his belly full of spy shenanigans.

Now, however, with his increased responsibilities, he could appreciate having someone with one foot in the shadows.

*

“Captain Arrington?”

He found Lucille Arrington on Deep Space Nine, in a long line of others waiting to beam onboard one of the transport ships taking personnel back to Starbase 355, or wherever else they might end up going. She turned, clutching her shoulder bag with one hand, appearing pale, fatigued, but still asking him, “Captain- I mean, Commodore – are you okay? You look exhausted.”

He smirked. “No argument there.” He glanced at the others in line, and then said, “Have you got a moment alone? I want to have a private word with you.”

She looked around as well, but then shrugged. “Well, I’d rather not lose my place in line, but as you outrank me...”

They didn’t have to go far for a quiet spot; the damn Cardassian architecture of this space station meant there were plenty of alcoves where plotting and scheming could take place. He regarded her. “I, ah, I didn’t have time to call you before, wish you condolences over the loss of the Redemption. I’m glad you survived.”

She made a sound, leaning against the observation window. “47 of my crew didn’t. I’d give my life for any of them.”

Hrelle nodded. “I know that feeling. I was like that with the Furyk, and those I’ve lost on the Surefoot. We’re members of a club no Captain wants to be a part of. Unfortunately, the War’s expanded our membership considerably. If you ever want to talk-”

“Thanks.”

He left it at that, having other things to focus on. “Where are you headed now?”

She set her bag down and worked the muscles in her neck. “Well, given the shortage of ships, and the fact that after losing the Impala and the Redemption, the chances of my getting a third command are less than zero, my brother has offered to take me on at his branch of Starfleet intelligence.” She grunted. “Working for my brother, like I’ll be sweeping the floors of his office or taking out the trash. Charity work, I know, but it’s that, or resign. And I won’t resign.”

He smiled. “How would you like that third command?”

She stopped rubbing her neck. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been assigned a sector to get under control, I’ve collected a half-dozen of the ambulance Sabres to help me out, but a couple of them need Captains and senior officers. The USS al-Razi, for one. She’s still undergoing some repairs on her warp drive from the battle, but she’ll be up and running by the end of the week.”

Astonishment – and hope – paled her Nordic features. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “I know it’s short notice, you haven’t even fully recovered from what happened to you, but I’m running against the clock, and this body is not made for running.”

She stared back at him, as if waiting for him to tell her it was all a cruel joke. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, after all the crap she and her brothers had put him through in the past. But he had washed all that away long ago. “Why?”

Hrelle shrugged. “You’re a good, experienced commanding officer, you can think fast on your feet and you can be fierce, especially when the odds are against you. Also, I need people out there I can trust…” He smiled. “And who’ll be grateful for the second chance being given.”

Arrington smirked. “No argument there. What about my crew?”

“I’ll submit the existing manifest for the al-Razi, along with all her system status, you can make your own choices, as long as you’re quick. She’ll definitely need a few key positions filled: Chief Engineer, Chief of Security, Science Officer-”

She nodded, and already he could see the depression lifting from her what the lifeline he had just given her. “I lost a lot of those… but can I be bold and ask for someone specific to be my Chief Engineer? He’s one of your Cubs.”

“Not one of my literal ones, I hope.”

Arrington smiled. “This one saved my life and my crew’s lives when everyone else had given us up as lost: Lt Jonas Ostrow.”

He grinned now. “You have excellent taste… but he’s a package deal with his wife, a Security officer as talented in her own field as he is in his. I’ll work my charms and see what I can do.”

*

The familiar human and Bolian faces filled the screen, the Bolian leaning in and asking, “Are you okay, Sir? The Cardassian viewscreens are making you look like one of the living dead in those old Terran horror videos we used to watch.”

He grunted, fighting back a yawn. “Yeah, that’ll be it... I’m glad to see my Cubs made it through the War with their bits intact.”

Jonas and Neraxis Ostrow smiled as one, Jonas responding now with, “Yes, Sir, and can we congratulate you on your promotion? It’ll be strange not to see you in command of the Surefoot anymore, though.”

Hrelle nodded. “Same here, but I know I’ll have left my mark on it. Mostly in the seats. What about the pair of you? I read that you’re both being assigned to the Venture? Nice.” He kept nodding. “Galaxy-class. Big. Real big. Over a thousand people onboard. It’ll be nice to be part of a much larger crew. Part of a crowd. Two voices, lost in a choir. You might spend weeks, even months before you’re noticed, before you’re given anything with real responsibility, real challenge. Nice, safe, anonymous work to carry you for the remaining decades of your career.”

The couple looked to each other, Neraxis noting to her husband, “Papa Cat’s really shovelling it today, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Now we get to hear the real reason for his call.”

He growled good naturedly. “Fine, you ungrateful whelps. The Sabre class al-Razi is going to be part of a squadron I’ll be commanding in the Salem Sector. It needs a Chief of Engineering and a Chief of Security. Interested? I need an answer now.”

Neraxis and Jonas gave each other another look, before both replied in unison, “Yes! Thanks, Sir!”

He smiled… but then let out a big yawn on front of them.

“That was pleasant to see,” Neraxis joked.

Hrelle eyed them. “I can still change my mind.”

*

He had hoped to grab a bite to eat, or a shower, or a catnap, but then the expected call came through. “Commander Neheru! A pleasure to see you up and about again! And with a rank commensurate with your talents!”

The salmon-pink Kelpien smiled at him from many light years away. “Thank you, Sir! And might I say the same to you?” Then he frowned. “Sir, if I may be bold to ask, are you getting enough sleep? You look positively bone-weary.”

“No, I’m fine-” He paused and yawned. “Sorry. And Irina? Are you two still together?”

His former Second Officer, injured and transferred out after the Battle of Khavak, beamed. “Yes, Sir! She’s been with me throughout my rehabilitation from my wounds. We’ve been working together in Logistics.”

Hrelle yawned again. “Sorry, Commander, it’s no reflection on you or the news, it’s been a long day… couple of days, actually. So, you’ve had short-term commands moving ships to new locations? With Irina piloting?”

“Yes, Sir. As you’ll already know, Starfleet has been refitting old and decommissioned starships for the War and getting them out there. It’s been very interesting, commanding different classes, getting them to their destinations in time.”

Hrelle nodded in understanding. “And now the War is over, and while we’ll still need replacement ships out there, the rush to get them to various locations is not as great.” He leaned forward. “Are you interested in a permanent command? And a promotion to Captain?”

The Kelpien leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers, looking a hundred times more confident than when Hrelle last saw him. “Tell me more, Commodore.”

*

Masterson looked up from his office desk in Sickbay, frowning. “Commodore! When did you last sleep, Pardner? You look like seven kilometres of bad road!”

Hrelle grunted, having no strength to respond. “Zeke, let me get straight to the point: how would you like to head the Medical Department on Salem One?”

The human scratched at his thick moustache, and then nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” And left it literally at that. He needed his bed, but still had at least one more visit to make before giving in to his fatigue.

*

When Hrelle heard the bellow as he entered Quark’s, he assumed it was from a group of rowdy Klingons, still celebrating the Quadrant’s victory in the War.

Instead, he found that while there were Klingons present, the howl had come from a human female… albeit the tallest, strongest, sturdiest-looking woman he had ever seen: she had chocolate skin, a spade jaw, gaunt cheeks, and a short, sharp-edged buzzcut of sable hair.

He watched with interest as the woman grappled with a Klingon, holding her own as he tried to force her off the raised dais where a table and chairs had once sat, while other Klingons cheered and jeered and saluted the fighters with tankards of bloodwine, and a Ferengi stood nearby, trying in vain to cease the combat and end further damage to his establishment.

He rubbed his eyes, the scents and sounds getting to him, but still watched as the human finally ended the struggle by headbutting the Klingons, sending him sprawling. Then she raised her arms in triumph and roared in triumph… before bending down and taking the Klingon Imperial insignia from his shoulder plate and pinning it to her Starfleet jacket, to join a collection of various others: Romulan, Bajoran, Starfleet and others he didn’t recognise.

Hrelle approached, watching as the Klingons gathered their fallen comrade and departed, as the human righted a chair and table, took a seat on the former and put her boots up on the latter, looking at Hrelle and snarling, in an accent reminiscent of Lt Bellator’s on the Surefoot, “You! Waiter! Get me a bottle of Bringloidi poteen! None of that pig piss you give these Klingon lowlifes!” She guffawed at her own insult… until she saw Hrelle wasn’t moving to fulfil her order. “By the Gods, Pussycat, you look like you crawled out of a cesspit!”

He took in her scent, looked and listened and gauged if the reality matched the record. When he judged in the affirmative, he stood his ground. “You’re Lieutenant Commander Arcanis Prima Salvo, born Stardate 19976.19, Nova Roma Colony. Officer, Starfleet Security. Recipient of the Starfleet Medal of Honour, Starfleet Medal of Valour, Starfleet Silver Palm, Karagite Order of Heroism, Grankite Order of Tactics... and five reprimands on your permanent record from various superior officers for insubordination and gross disrespect.”

Salvo stared back at him. “You want an autograph before you get me my bottle, Pussycat?”

He stepped forward, slowly, as if fighting the force field of arrogance around the woman. “Only family and friends get to call me Pussycat; everyone else addresses me as Commodore Hrelle, or Sir. I’m taking command of an outpost, and I need a Chief of Security with experience defending outposts. I think it should be you.”

She breathed out in exaggerated disgust. “The War’s over! I’m here to have some fun! Buy me a drink, Pussycat!

He drew closer, catching her scent better… and confirming she wasn’t as inebriated as she was pretending to be. “Three months ago, you were stationed on LV-426, an automated communications outpost. You were one of eight Starfleet crew assigned to protect the outpost at all costs, given its strategic importance in keeping the lines of communication open for us in that sector.

The Jem’Hadar launched an unrelenting assault on you that lasted for weeks. One by one, your crew were killed. But you survived, kept going, kept fighting, kept back the Jem’Hadar single-handedly until reinforcements arrived. And when they asked you what kept you going, you simply told them, ‘It was my duty’.”

And he watched as he recalled the events for Salvo, saw the change in her demeanour, the ebb of her boisterous exuberance and cheekiness, replaced by a more sober respect for that memory. “Nova Romans take duty very, very seriously, Pussycat.”

“So I’m aware. My Second Officer when I commanded the Surefoot is Nova Roman: Lt Bellator.”

Salvo snorted. “I know of that coward! Better that they had fallen on their sword than continue living with such disgrace!”

Hrelle’s jaw tightened. “That’s debatable. I’ll be working remotely, with limited resources, and potential enemies at our gates looking to exploit our weaknesses. I need someone who won’t give up. I want you.”

“No thanks, Pussycat.”

“This isn’t a book club, Lieutenant Commander. I didn’t get to pick my new assignment, neither will you.”

She dropped her feet to the floor and sat up, baring her pearly white teeth at him defiantly. “Oh, but I do have my choice of assignments, Pussycat! I can write my own ticket anywhere!”

He shook his head. “No, you can’t. I’ve checked the personnel activity on you already. No one wants you. Oh, you were valuable when we were in the midst of War. But the War’s over. Now you’re more trouble than you’re worth.

At least, to anyone but me.”

He leaned forward, seeing her attempt to hide her reaction to his words, as he rested his paws on the table and bared his teeth back at her. “Let’s make this interesting for you: we arm wrestle, Terran Style. If you win, you get these as a trophy.” He pointed to the Commodore’s pips on his collar. “Hardly used. If I win, you accept the assignment without argument… and you’ll swear on your honour that from now on you’ll behave in a manner that doesn’t disgrace that uniform you’re wearing.”

Salvo glared back… and then grinned. “I’m going to enjoy this, Pussycat.”

He grabbed a spare chair and sat opposite her, as Klingons and other patrons gathered around them, already starting the bets, Hrelle resting his right elbow on the table, paw out, while Salvo mirrored him, grasping his paw in her hand, the ferocity in her cocoa-coloured eyes making them saucer.

“Begin,” Hrelle announced simply.

Salvo gritted her teeth and began her attack, exerting what felt like some considerable force in her arm, proving she was as strong as she looked.

Hrelle put on an expression of effort, of struggle. “Well, well… you do have some muscle under that attitude, Lieutenant Commander.”

She grinned, as the surrounding crowd cheered both sides. “Better believe it, Pussycat. I’m not some dishonourable weakling like Bellator.”

He breathed out, puffing and swallowing. “This… This certainly… takes me back to my days as a Squab back… back at the Academy, when I used to make a lot of credits at this…”

Salvo laughed. “When you were a Squab? Did they even have starships as far back as that?”

He continued as if he didn’t hear her taunt. “There were hardly any Caitians in Starfleet at the time… most of us stayed home to join the Militia and fight in one of our wars with the Ferasans, you see… few realised that our physiology… our bone and muscle group structures, leverage… differed to most humanoids. We… We were built to run on all fours, long ago… We have our own style of arm wrestling.

Because this style is as easy to us as breathing.”

He dropped his feigned expression of struggle.

Then he brought down her arm with a loud rap on the table, making Salvo cry out in pain… and rage.

The sounds of the spectators abruptly ceased.

Hrelle rose to his feet, staring down at the astonished, angry woman. “Bellator is ten times the officer that you’ll ever be. But I can still use you, and maybe even temper you into something worthy of Starfleet. Report to Habitat Ring 4, Assembly Room 14 at 0900 Hours tomorrow morning to join the rest of my people for the initial briefing.

If you don’t show up, at 0901 Hours I’ll put a warrant out for your arrest and court martial, and then you can be sent back to Nova Roma as a demonstration of what dishonour really looks like.

And don’t ever call me Pussycat again.”

He turned and strode out… aching in places he had forgotten about, having only told half the truth about Caitian physiology.

He needed his bed.

*

Back in their quarters on the Surefoot, he entered to find Kami still up, sniffing and wrinkling her snout in disgust. “What in the Seven Hells, Esek? You smell like you look! What have you been doing?”

He shucked off his jacket. “My job.”

“Really? On your own? You realise that flag officers can’t micromanage; that’s why they have aides, leaving their superiors to focus on the bigger picture. You have to delegate. Speaking of which, did Zir accept the offer?”

He cursed.

“You forgot?”

He rubbed his eyes, too tired to argue further. “I’ll go to her first thing in the morning-”

“No.” Kami rose to her feet and blocked his way to the bedroom. “You’ll go to her now. Peter has reported that she’s feeling like she’s failed you, and by now her friends will have their orders waiting for them. You owe it to her.”

Hrelle breathed out. “You’re right.” Louder now, he asked, “Computer: where’s Ensign Zir Dassene?”

*

Back on the Surefoot, Zir put away her luggage, silent since her Counseling session with Peter. She had felt a little better, or at least a little more composed about herself and her place in Starfleet.

Then Astrid, sitting at the desk in their common room, checked the messages. “We have Priority messages.”

The others had spread out around the room – except for Stalac, who had been preparing to enter his sleeping box following his bout of overeating on Bajor, and Peter, who was putting his exhausted daughter to bed in the adjacent room – but now they turned, Zir asking, “Are we on alert?”

The young coffee-skinned human shook her head, opening hers. “No, Fearless Leader. It looks like… orders. New assignments.” She looked up. “I’m being promoted to Chief Helmsman of the Surefoot!”

“Really?” Tori exclaimed.

“Try not to sound too surprised by that, Sweetie.”

The petite Asian girl snorted. “What about Lt Arrington? Where’s he going?”

“It doesn’t say. Maybe off the ship entirely?”

Zir’s heart quickened, and she tried to control herself as Peter came up and hugged Astrid. “Congratulations! It’s well deserved!”

Astrid tried to remain nonchalant, failing miserably. “Well, I just do my best…”

“What about the rest of us?” Stalac asked.

“Indeed,” Urad agreed, his massive frame drawing closer. “Perhaps we all have promotions?”

“Get out of the way, Flygirl,” Tori snarled, practically dragging Astrid out of the chair to take her place and access her own mail. “Hmph. I’m staying here, but I’ve been recommended for Advanced Engineering Training, as well as Command Training. What the frick are they trying to do to me?”

“Groom you for becoming an Assistant Chief Engineer someday,” Peter informed her, smiling. “How about you, Stal? Shall we check?”

“If you would, please, Pete.”

Peter nodded to Tori, who called up Stalac’s message. “Congratulations! Science Officer, Station Salem One.”

The Horta rumbled. “Sounds nice. I hope it’s a planetside base.”

“I hope not for your sake, you’ll be too tempted to go out for snacks.”

Urad laughed, the pachydermoid nodding to Tori. “And how about me, Comrade Little Sister?”

She checked his message now. “Security Officer, also at Salem One.”

Urad crossed his huge arms, nodding his muzzle appreciatively. “As long as there’s sufficient space for me to pummel scoundrels, I will be happy, I’m sure.”

“Now let’s check Petey Boy,” Tori ventured. “Hey, you’re gonna be with Rocky and Urad on Salem One as well! Damn, that’s one popular place. You’re gonna leave me with Flygirl and Zir. That’s too much oestrogen for my tastes.”

Peter smiled, looking to Zir hopefully. “Are you ready?”

The Orion swallowed. In for a darak, in for a stralin, as they used to say back home… “Why not?”

Tori accessed her message frowning. “Huh? No orders for you, Boss.”

The others looked to each other, Astrid frowning as she asked, “Why would you be left out, Fearless Leader?”

Because, like I feared, there was no future for her in Starfleet, she told herself.

The door chimed, and Urad opened the door, everyone present rising to their feet as Hrelle stood in the corridor, stifling a yawn. “Sorry… and at ease. Zir, may I have a word with you in private please?”

She steeled herself. This was it… Well, she may have faltered before, but she would remain professional now… “Yes, Sir.”

“Should we leave, Sir?” Peter offered.

Hrelle waved him off. “No need, Mr Boone.” He beckoned to Zir.

The Orion nodded and stepped out into the corridor, following the Caitian to the nearby Officers’ Lounge, thankfully empty at this late hour. “Sir, before you begin, I would like to say something.”

Hrelle faced her. “Of course.”

She swallowed and straightened up. “Sir, it has been an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to serve under you, to have a chance at serving in Starfleet and giving back something to the Federation. You fully deserve your promotion, I understand your disappointment in my recent performance, and where I go, I will be taking away nothing but the happiest of memories-”

He frowned and raised a paw to cut her off. “Zir… did I give you the idea that you were being discharged from Starfleet?”

She blinked. “Well… yes, Sir.”

Then she saw the shock on his face, and the regret. “Zir… I am so sorry! I have handled this terribly! Kami was right, I shouldn’t have tried to manage so much on my own! Even with T’Varik’s help, it’s been overwhelming! I-”

He stopped himself, focused on her reassuringly. “Zir, I promise you that you have never disappointed me. On the contrary, I am so proud to have served with you. I should have arranged this from the start…

I’ll be based at Salem One, managing a sector of space, with the Surefoot and other ships reporting to me. And, as my oversight with you has proven, I need help.

Zir, when you were still a cadet and we employed you and all the others on the Command track as Captain’s Yeomen, you were the best. You fully grasped the intricacies of the work, weren’t afraid to speak with higher ranking colleagues to pass on my orders, or to take on any challenge thrown your way.

I want to recruit you as my Adjutant, assisting me in managing my schedule and carrying out my orders. You’ll be promoted to First Lieutenant, and you’ll carry my authority, while also learning the finer points of flag officer duties, which I have no doubt will be of use to you in your continued career in Starfleet.” He paused. “If you’re interested in the role, that is. If not, you tell me where you want to go and what you want to do, and I swear I’ll make it happen for you.”

Zir stared up at him in disbelief. Was it true? Really true? Had all of her fears and doubts and despairs just been products of her own insecurities? Delusions?

And she saw it in his eyes, his expression. He was genuine.

And if he was right, then her friends in Alpha Squad would still be nearby, and not scattered to the four corners of the Quadrant.

She fought back the tears of relief, finding wellsprings of strength rising up within her. Still, her voice choked as she replied, “It- it would be an honour to continue serving you, Commodore.”

He smiled, offering his paw, his smile broadening as she eagerly accepted it. “We’ll start hammering out the details before the general briefing tomorrow, so meet me in the Mess Hall at 0730 Hours; get some Lieutenant’s pips replicated before that, and I promise you there will be a celebration later. In the meantime, I need my bed…” He sniffed near his armpit. “After a long shower.”

*

On his return to his quarters, however, he decided he was too tired to wash, and instead stripped off and entered the bedroom. Just a few hours of sleep will help him catch up…

Seconds later, he was sent out, Kami ordered, “Shower!”

“Stinky Papa!” Misha called after him in punctuation.

Sreen laughed in her sleep at it all.

*

TRACK 11 – WE ARE FAMILY

In her quarters with her partner, C’Rash was curled up on the couch, trimming the claws on her feet, making noises to herself.

Nearby, still working, T’Varik never looked away as she invited, “What is it?”

The Caitian shrugged to herself, her tail curled around her thigh. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You wished to ask me something, without actually vocalising it.”

C’Rash looked up now. “Should I be more ambitious?”

The Vulcan stopped and turned in her chair to face her. “Elaborate.”

“All joking aside about my cousin Sasha getting promoted over me, I don’t want to move up. Sure, I’ll take on a command role temporarily if I have to. But I like being where I am, doing what I’m doing. Does that bother you?”

“Not in the least. You are still relatively young, and there is no guarantee that you will always feel this way, but as it stands now, you appear to be in a place of contentment. Not everyone needs to possess an upwardly mobile mindset. And, speaking selfishly, I would not want anyone else serving under me.”

C’Rash purred. “Sweet talker. Maybe you need a break?”

“Maybe-” Then there was a prompt on her screen, and she responded. “T’Varik here.”

Sasha’s voice responded. “Captain, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you at this late hour?”

T’Varik noted C’Rash growling, but assured her, “You are not, Lieutenant Commander. How may I assist you”?

“Well, I’m onboard ship visiting, and wanted to stop by and get some advice from a former First Officer.”

“I am available now. Please come. T’Varik out.”

A second later, the door chimed. T’Varik raised an eyebrow to her partner and rose to greet the visitor. “Were you waiting in the corridor?”

Sasha shrugged. “I thought I’d take a chance.” As T’Varik stepped aside and the human entered, she nodded to C’Rash. “Evening, Cousin.”

“Evening, Cousin.” The Caitian twisted in place, resting her furred feet on the arm of the couch. “Trim my claws, would you? I don’t want to scratch my missus in bed. Come on, you owe me.”

“Owe you? For what?”

C’Rash smiled, teasingly. “For that wonderful sexy summer we had on Cait when we first met.”

Sasha blushed, but recovered to reply, “You weren’t that good.”

“Lt Cmdr Hrelle is a guest in our quarters… and she outranks you,” T’Varik reminded her mildly, looking to Sasha again and indicating the small round breakfast table. “Would you care for tea? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“Tea, please. I’m staying sober for the duration.” She took a seat.

“The duration of what?” C’Rash asked.

Sasha shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

T’Varik returned with two freshly-replicated cups of Vulcan peppermint tea, taking the place opposite the human before looking to her partner. “Why don’t you go to bed? I am certain that our talk will not be of much interest to a junior officer such as yourself.”

C’Rash hissed as she rose to her feet and departed for the bedroom. “Bet you’ll be swapping stories about me all night…”

T’Varik waited until the bedroom door closed before asking, “And how have you been coping with the recent developments?”

Sasha cradled the tea, looking appreciative of the warmth and the scent from the contents of the ceramic cup. “I’ve been keeping busy, prepping the crew for the Katana, looking for replacements for those moving elsewhere or retiring, catching up on the security briefings from the Salem Sector. I wanted to thank you, by the way; many of the Academy exercises you set up while I was a cadet helped a lot.”

“You are welcome.” T’Varik leaned in, her expression sympathetic. “Sasha, I am not unmindful of the emotional repercussions of your return to your former home, with its tragic elements.”

Sasha paused to breathe in the scent of the tea as she seemed to consider the observation. “I… To be honest, I think I don’t know how I’ll feel until I actually get there. Maybe I’m avoiding thinking too much about it… or maybe I really will be okay. It seems a waste of time to worry about it.” She sipped at the tea for punctuation.

“Very sensible. And do not be reluctant to seek out any of us should you require emotional support. Now, you have come for advice from a former First Officer?”

Sasha nodded. “This is all confidential, yes?” When T’Varik nodded, she proceeded. “I’ve been trying to get Captain Weynik involved in the work of getting the ship and crew ready. I’ve been doing as well as I can, but… I’m not getting through to him. No one is, really. He’s so angry over what happened to him… and he’s taking it out on everyone, including me. I know my job as First Officer is to support my Captain above everything else-”

“I disagree.”

Sasha frowned. “Captain?”

T’Varik steepled her fingers. “Forgive my interruption, Lieutenant Commander, but I must respectfully disagree. A First Officer’s role is not to be a sycophant, a ‘Yes Man’ of the Commanding Officer, blindly following their orders.

A First Officer’s ultimate responsibility is to Starfleet, to their ship and to their crew. If your Commanding Officer is behaving in a way that is harmful, either to any of those things you are responsible for, or to themselves, then it is the First Officer’s duty to confront them, and take appropriate action. How this is done is up to the individual. I expect your approach will be… Singularly Sasha.”

“And if I get it wrong?”

“That is always a possibility, of course, for all of us, throughout life. All that is certain is that little is ever accomplished by inaction.”

The younger woman nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” Then he glanced in the direction of the bedroom door. “Do her snores still sound like a bulldog getting its nuts caught in a vice?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “I cannot confirm such a creative simile. But it can be clamorous…”

 *

The line outside the Surefoot’s Main Transporter Room was long, but gradually diminishing as personnel moved onto new assignments on the adjacent ships.

Six stood apart, three of them with their shoulder bags: Valentin and Alison in civilian clothes, Hylore in her exosuit minus her Starfleet insignia. Facing them, Malala, Kevin and Gyver regarded them, Malala taking the lead. “I can’t believe this is it. We’re never going to be together again.”

Valentin looked as emotional as the rest, but tried to conceal it. “Come on, Mal, Never Say Never. Maybe we can have a reunion down the line?”

“Anything’ss posssible,” Kevin hissed, the Gorn’s reptoid eyes glistening. “You managed to ssstop being a bloody wanker, for one.”

Alison chuckled. “When I write about our experiences together, Kev, I hope to capture your wit.”

“I’ll sssettle for you desscribing me ass a fantasstic lay.”

Malala elbowed him playfully. “Behave, Kev!” She swallowed, looking to Hylore. “I hope being among air breathers hasn’t been too difficult for you.”

The helmet visor on the Argoan’s water-filled exosuit was clear enough to show the melancholy in Hylore’s limpid black eyes. “I know I have often complained about the inconvenience of it all… and yet, now that I am returning to my homeworld, I must admit… all the inconvenience was worth it, for what we did… and for getting to know all of you.”

“We may never meet again,” Gyver informed them. “But what we have shared will never be taken away from any of us. And I will keep you all in my prayers.”

He drew in to hug each of them in turn, followed by Malala, and even Kevin, the Gorn lingering with Valentin. “You take care, you hear me?”

“Thanks, Pal,” Val replied, adding, “Um… are you gonna let go of my ass anytime soon?”

“Don’t ssspoil the moment, mate.”

*

Weynik was sick of seeing these walls, that ceiling.

Weynik was sick of lying here, getting bedsores.

Weynik was sick of being a complete bastard to his family, to Esek and Sasha and Kami, of driving them all away so they didn’t see how pathetic he was.

Weynik was sick of being angry.

Weynik was sick of being afraid.

Get up. You know you have to. Kami was right. Esek was right. Sasha was right. Mom was right. They’re all right, and you’re just being a nasty, stubborn, scared runt. Get up, and get busy living.

But then the door opened without a chime, and Sasha strode in… and all thoughts of rising and forcing himself to return to work and life fled like roaches in the light. “Get out, Lieutenant Commander.”

She continued forward, standing at his side. “We have a briefing from Commodore Hrelle to attend. You have a crew waiting to see you up and about.”

“Don’t you have a bottle somewhere that needs emptying?”

Sasha didn’t move. “Another time, maybe.”

“I’m tired.”

“What a coincidence. I’m tired of listening to you spout the same crap… Sir.”

He glared at her, eyestalks dipping. “GET OUT! THAT’S AN ORDER!”

Sasha glared back…before reaching out, grabbing his arm and pulling him off the biobed.

Weynik fell to the floor, hard. He cursed, flinching, feeling the pain through his new leg as well as much of the rest of his body, not having moved around in days.

Almost immediately she picked him back up to his feet. “See? That wasn’t too difficult-”

He swung out, trying to grab her by the wrist to put her in a restraining hold.

Sasha blocked him, countering with moves of her own – moves I taught her, he realised – that had him pinned against the nearest wall now. “That’s it, get the circulation going-”

“I’ll have you court martialed for this!” he threatened.

“You’ll have to start acting like you’re in Starfleet to do that-”

Just then the door opened again, and Admiral Tattok walked in, looking startled by the scene. “Lieutenant Commander Hrelle, just what in the blue blazes do you think you’re doing to my son?”

Weynik waited for Sasha to immediately release him.

She didn’t. Still keeping him pinned, she explained, “Sir, as Captain Weynik’s First Officer, it’s my duty to ensure he complies with the orders from his new superior officer Commodore Hrelle, and attend the briefing… whether he wants to go or not. And to make sure he lets his worried crew see that he is alive and well and prepared to lead us into whatever awaits us. And to start reading the reports on the ship that I’ve secured and that I’ve crewed and equipped for him, while he’s laid in here feeling sorry for himself.”

More softer now, and directed towards Weynik alone, she finished with, “And to remind him that he has family, and colleagues, and many other people who love him and need him. And once he’s done all that, then I’ll make sure he attends the group Counseling sessions, along with everyone else, including myself, who has suffered physically and mentally in the War.”

Tattok regarded her response, before nodding. “Carry on, Lieutenant Commander.”

Weynik looked to his father in disbelief, but then acknowledged to himself, You know your Dad was coming in here to more or less do the same to you. And he wouldn’t have been as easy on him as Sasha has been. Bloody Hemra… you had better get busy living... “You can let go now, Sash.”

She did, but stayed close, as he reached for his jacket, slipping into it. He was limping, but he could manage. He looked to Tattok. “Dinner tonight, Dad? With Mom and the kids?”

The Admiral nodded. “I look forward to it, Son.”

“We’re going to be late, Sir,” Sasha reminded him. “And I have a lot for you to catch up on before the briefing.”

Weynik nodded, summoning whatever dignity he could still muster as he moved with her to the door. “So, you’ve equipped the Katana, have you? You’ll probably have stocked the galley with nothing but deep fried shuris pieces.”

“Shut up, or I’ll chop your other leg off...”

*

The Conference Hall was the largest room on deep Space Nine, containing the hundred-plus Starfleet and civilian personnel involved, while Commodore Hrelle stood on the raised dais, with Lt Dassene nearby, the Orion woman operating the PADD in her hands to produce the holographic screen behind the Caitian as he proceeded with his briefing. “…and until Captain Neheru arrives to assume command of the Tangshan, I’ve asked Captain Arrington and her crew on the al-Razi to assist with completing the refit of their warp core.

I realise that we’ll be heading out to Salem Sector while still undergoing repairs and getting accustomed to our new ships and new roles and each other. And that even after arriving, our trials will continue. But then, when we signed up, none of us were promised an easy time of it… nor that the Universe would give us time for R&R before throwing crap at us again.

But if anything has taught me, it’s that in Starfleet, we are greater than the sum of our parts.

The Surefoot, under Captain T’Varik, will be departing ahead of schedule of the rest of the Squadron, to escort me to Scesity, a mining colony at the edge of Salem Sector, as we’ve picked up some signals that need investigating, and I’m hoping to find some more key personnel for the Station there. But I expect the rest of you to follow as soon as possible.

Well, I think I’ve covered everything-”

“Excuse me, Commodore,” Zir spoke up, catching his and everyone’s attention, and wearing an enigmatic smile on her olive-skinned face. “There’s one more item, Sir, added by Captain T’Varik.” She indicated behind him.

He turned to see his former First Officer approach, carrying a polished black flat rectangular box, and addressing him and the crowd. “Commodore Hrelle, for 7.124 years you have commanded two starships named Surefoot, and commanded most of us present here.

But you have done more than that. You have guided us, taught us, protected and cherished us. You have saved our lives more times than it is practicable to calculate, and together we have helped save even more lives. And though most of us will continue to work with you, directly or otherwise, we could not in all decency allow your achievements to date to go unacknowledged or unappreciated.

And so the crew of the Surefoot, past and present, have fashioned this gift, to commemorate your inestimable service, the end of one era, and the beginning of another.”

She opened the lid of the box, revealing what looked like a combadge, with the Starfleet arrowhead, but instead of the rectangular grid or oval backing, the arrowhead was mounted on a soft gold shape of a cat, one that seemed curled around the base of the silver arrowhead, its tail drawn up between the legs of the arrowhead.

“It is fully functional,” T’Varik noted, as he accepted the box, and Zir took the opportunity to ensure the holoscreen displayed a closeup image of the gift. “And its internal memory contains the names of those who have served under you... along with personal messages for you to read at your leisure. The accessory of course is not standard Standard issue.”

Moved to ineffable emotion by the gesture, he blindly reached up to his existing combadge, removed and pocketed it, and replaced it with the gift he had been given. His voice broke a little as he replied, “I will wear this with honour, and damn anyone who might question how standard it might be. Thank you. Thank you, all.”

In the front of the crowd, Misha looked up, frowning, and loudly declared, “I want one too!”

*

Afterwards he moved through the crowd, shaking hands, accepting thanks and congratulations… and then ran into Weynik and Sasha, his daughter smiling at him. “I like the combadge, Dad. Maybe we can get it adopted for general use?”

“We’ll see.” He regarded her. “And how are you doing?”

She smiled back, with genuine confidence. “Ready for anything, Sir.”

“I like that. I might use that for our motto.”

“Lieutenant Commander,” Weynik started gently. “Please have our crew assemble somewhere more quiet for our own briefing. I need to have a word alone with the Commodore.”

Sasha nodded, stepping away.

Weynik looked up at Hrelle. “The flag officer uniform looks good on you.”

The Caitian tugged at his waistline. “The belt buckle pinches. They always make them too small.”

“Yes, that’ll be the reason.” Weynik nodded, and then declared, “Esek… I said some horrible, hurtful things to you. I did worse to Sasha, and Kami, and my mother, and probably a few hapless nurses, and I will grovel to all of them in time. But you first: I’m sorry, so very sorry. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you-”

“There is, actually.”

“Name it.”

“Well, there’s some sort of awful fungal growth on the skin between the base of my tail and the top of my rectal cleft, I can’t reach it to apply cream-”

“I’m not that sorry. I will never be that sorry.”

*

TRACK 12 – ‘TILL I COLLAPSE

New Jericho Colony, Planet Scesity, Salem Sector:

The Alarm sounded, like a wailing wind over the community.

This time, however, Sternhagen was already outside on the field, along with the tribute she had prepared for the Wolf Pack’s return.

When she had informed the Colony’s Council of her plan, she had been met with vociferous protests – though she noted wryly the protests had been less concern for her willingness to sacrifice herself, and more about the consequences to the rest of them should she fail. But as the deadline grew closer, and the prospect of handing over their young people to the Wolf Pack grew more real, the protests melted away.

Sternhagen stuck her hands in her cardigan pockets as she watched the ships descended, as usual, creating the same delta formation as always. Thank you for being predictable, you murdering, thieving bastards. You make this so much easier.

She was alone, having convinced the colony to stay at home, to avoid any collateral damage should something go wrong. That was the only thing that she feared. Not death for herself. She had been living on time she didn’t deserve since Salem One, time she would have gladly given to others if she could.

She made a show of stepping forward as the grass whipped with the approach of the ships… hiding the line of explosive shape charges she had built and set, branching out from the main explosive she had placed in the crates that would have normally hid the food and other supplies they took away with them. She didn’t have much in the way of the remaining ultritium, but she managed to cobble together some supplementary explosives, along with hundreds of tiny leftover scraps of metal that will blow outwards, catching the Wolf Pack and the front of their ships.

And herself, too; someone had to be here, to lure them into the right places and not cause suspicion. And the Wolf Pack will hardly expect she’d be willing to die.

Clearly they didn’t know her.

The engines died on schedule, the doors and hatchways opened on schedule, the Wolf Pack emerged on schedule. And then, from the Galileo shuttle doors opened and the Ferengi Toady emerged, on schedule. “Greetings from the Invincible! The War Chief of the Wolf Pack! The…” His proclamation died away, as he noticed Sternhagen was on her own. He poked his head back into the shuttle.

Then the Invincible emerged, looking around slowly, deliberately, his wolf mask somehow displaying suspicion. “Madame… I expect my subjects to assemble when I arrive, as a gesture of respect for all that we do for them. Where are they?”

Sternhagen swallowed. “There’s a bout of Rigellian Kasaba Fever running through the colony since you were last here; everyone who hasn’t had it before is in quarantine for the next 72 hours, and since we don’t have any medical records on you and your comrades here, we thought we would err on the side of caution.”

The Invincible’s Wolf Pack had begun drawing closer, though their leader raised a cautious hand to them, his eyes fixed on the elderly woman. “When last we met, I was clear that we would take fresh meat for the Orion markets away with us. This deception will not save them.”

“It’s no deception,” she insisted. “But I’ve developed something else for you: new weapons for your ships.”

“Weapons?”

She nodded. “Magnetised, self-guided tactical microtorpedoes, that can be mounted on the outside of your hulls without any modifications, and controlled and fired with hardly any additional software to your systems.”

The Invincible studied her. “Indeed? And why would you be so helpful now, when just two weeks ago, you had tried to summon help?”

She looked up at him. “The colony doesn’t want to turn their young people over to you, and they asked me to come up with something. It cost a few parts from some of the mine diggers, probes and scrubbers, but hopefully you’ll find the offer acceptable.” She motioned to him and the Ferengi to draw closer to the stack of crates, even as she tightened her hold on the detonator in her pocket. “Come closer, let me show you-”

“HALT!”

All turned to see Thom appearing from nowhere, dressed in his Starfleet uniform, holding a toy phaser at the Wolf Pack… and standing in the path of death between the charges and their intended targets.

Sternhagen’s heart stopped. “Thom! Get out of here!”

But the boy ignored her, looking around, suddenly appearing fearful for what he had just done, but prepared to stand his ground, tapping his combadge repeatedly. “All Starfleet forces! I have them covered! Come and get them!”

“What is this?” the Invincible asked, more amused than alarmed.

“He’s just a boy,” Sternhagen assured him. “He doesn’t mean any harm!”

“He also appears free of fever.” He nodded to the Ferengi.

The Ferengi drew up to the boy, who aimed his phaser at him, until the Toady knocked it from his grip, and then reached out and ripped off the combadge. “Give me that, you little wretch!”

“That’s mine!”

The Ferengi smacked him across the face, sending him sprawling into the grass. “Be silent!” He examined the combadge, holding it up and declaring loudly, “A toy! A useless toy!” As the Wolf Pack laughed, the Ferengi was bolstered to continue to taunt Thom. “Were you really trying to call for help, you pathetic tadpole? Here, let me try for you!”

Then he moved around the field, bringing the combadge to his mouth as he called out, in a mocking, sing-song voice, “STAR-FLEET! THE BAD MEN ARE HURTING YOUR CHIL-DREN!”

That produced guffaws among the Wolf Pack, though the Invincible remained stoic and suspicious, looking to Sternhagen. She fixed on the boy, wondering how she could complete her mission and ensure he survived. Maybe she couldn’t. Oh, Thom, what the Hell…

The Ferengi, meanwhile, was practically dancing around as he continued. “STAR-FLEET! COME TEACH THE BAD MEN A LES-SON!”

A single transporter beam coalesced behind him.

He turned around in time to see the large-framed, brown-furred Caitian male in a Starfleet uniform swing out with a huge fist, catching him across the jaw and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The world seemed to stop and stare, as the Caitian noticed the dropped combadge, picked it up, looked at it, and then at Thom. “Yours, I believe.” Without waiting for an answer, he tossed it to the boy, who caught it instinctively, and stared at it in utter disbelief.

As did Sternhagen, who recognised the Caitian. Oh, no…

The new arrival looked around, noting Sternhagen, the Invincible, the Wolf Pack… and the colonists, who had obviously left their hiding place and ventured down. But the Caitian focused on the Invincible and the Wolf Pack, announcing loudly. “I’m Commodore Esek Hrelle, Starfleet’s new Commanding Officer at Salem One.

Around these parts, they used to call me The Lion of Salem Sector.”

He paused, and then added, “That’s the cue for the smarter among you to wet yourselves and run.”

Sternhagen let go of her detonator and moved to Thom, retrieving him and pulling him off and back with the rest of the colonists. Hrelle… my God, it is him. He was back!

Please don’t recognise me…

The Wolf Pack began making uneasy noises, led by the Ferengi, who was crawling away backwards to get behind his leader, who was now stepping forward, raising a muscular arm and pointing at Hrelle. “Starfleet has no business here any longer! This world, and all upon it, belong to me!”

“Oh?” Hrelle asked, drawing casually up to him. “And who are you, Bubulah?”

The leader beat a fist onto his chest, letting Hrelle approach unchallenged as he bellowed, “I AM THE INVINCIBLE! THE INVINCIBLE-”

He never finished his response; Hrelle had shot his left paw upward, fingers extended, expertly striking a single strategic blow into the Invincible’s unprotected throat beneath his mask.

The huge human staggered back a step, clutching his shattered windpipe as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath, before Hrelle drove a boot up hard into his groin, sending him doubled over onto the ground, desperately fighting to breathe.

“I don’t know,” Hrelle mused. “You seem pretty Vincible to me.” His attention turned to the rest of the Wolf Pack, raising his voice. “By the power invested in me by Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, you are all under arrest for murder, theft, piracy, assault, probably a dozen other crimes as we gather statements and evidence from the Federation citizens you have been terrorising here. I advise you to drop your weapons and surrender.”

But the Ferengi kept backing away as he returned to his feet. “I’m- I’m in charge of the Pack now! And you’re alone! Just some fat lunatic!”

Hrelle folded his arms. “Starfleet’s never alone. And I’m no lunatic… I’m a distraction.”

Suddenly from multiple points behind the Wolf Pack’s ships, more Starfleet personnel appeared, armed with phaser pistols and rifles, barking at the marauders to drop their weapons and lie on the ground, or physically subduing the ones who hesitated or resisted.

Hrelle nodded with satisfaction, motioning to one of his people and pointing to the still-fallen Pack leader. “Lt Cmdr Salvo, Vincible here needs medical attention before he gets locked up with his people.”

Then he looked to Sternahgen, Thom and the colonists, rubbing his paws together. “Cold today, isn’t it? Sorry we’re late. How can we help?”

*

BONUS TRACK - PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE

PRIORITY MESSAGE - STARDATE 52844.47

To all Federation citizens in range of this transmission:

I am Commodore Esek Hrelle, the new Starfleet Authority for Salem Sector. Some of you living here may remember me from my previous position as Captain of the USS Furyk, where I developed something of a reputation in these parts.

The War with the Dominion was the greatest conflict that Starfleet and the Federation had ever faced. It stretched our personnel and resources to their limits and beyond, cost us dearly, and required us to withdraw the presence and protection we provided in many sectors... such as your own. 

I deeply regret that the dire circumstances we faced forced us to deprive you of the services and protection entitled to you, as citizens of the Federation, leaving you to fend for yourselves. I assure you that if there had been any other option, we would have taken it.

But the War is over, and we have returned, victorious. With immediate effect I am reopening Station Salem One, where I will operate as Station Commander. And I have coming here a squadron of Sabre class multipurpose vessels that served with distinction in the War, crewed by the best and brightest of Starfleet. These are gifted and intrepid individuals who are here to assist with any security, engineering, medical and scientific problems that you might have.

We will be making personal contact with all the colonies and outposts in the sector, re-establishing trade routes and communications and security networks, re-igniting industrial and scientific endeavours, and improving the general quality of life for all citizens. Please contact Salem One at your earliest convenience with any needs we might be able to address.

And I swear to you all, here and now, that we will do everything in our power to serve you to the level that you deserve.

And now I have a special message for the other inhabitants of Salem Sector. The ones who are no doubt also in range of this transmission.

This is for the scavengers and parasites who have taken advantage of our temporary absence to move into this territory, thinking they can do what they want, take what they want, with impunity.

This is for the criminals. The smugglers. The pirates. The slavers.

Especially the slavers.

And my message is this: 

Leave.

Now.

Or you will be reminded, to your bitter sorrow, why they call me the Lion of Salem Sector.

-Commodore Esek Hrelle