Surefoot 10: Fast and the Furriest

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Captain Hrelle's savage past is brought to the present...
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Part 24 of the 103 part series

Updated 02/05/2024
Created 10/24/2016
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Surefoot
Surefoot
205 Followers

"USS Impala, Captain's Log, Stardate 36521.31, Captain Lucille Arrington recording: We are en route to the Ophelius Cluster to investigate subspace anomalies detected by a Starfleet communications station established in this sector. Intelligence reports indicate Ferasan vessels have passed through this region, and though they are on an authorised diplomatic mission, and we are not currently in a state of hostilities with them, we cannot dismiss this as a mere coincidence."

Lucille gritted her teeth as she entered her office. She had a headache. It was something that had been needling her behind her eyes for days now, waning and ebbing day and night, eroding her sleep, her appetite. And now her reflexes; she was usually a champion at Pareses Squares, but had just ended up landing on her tailbone.

Hard.

She should have gone straight to Sickbay, but she had already been there about the headache, had been given a look from the staff like she had come in complaining about gout or consumption, and had eventually lied about their treatments helping her to avoid further scrutiny. She poured herself a shot of Aldebaran whiskey and sat down in her chair - but then bolted up in pain and yelped.

"And I thought your chair on the bridge was the Hot Seat."

She spun in place at the unfamiliar voice, swearing.

A man was perched like a bird of prey on the top of her couch, smoking a cigar. "If I'd known I was gonna hear language like that, I'd have brought my mother along to wash your mouth out with soap. Assuming there was any left after dealing with me." He was humanoid, dark-haired, with a thick moustache and round-rimmed old-fashioned spectacles, and dressed in a dark vintage Terran outfit from centuries past. He also seemed strangely pale, devoid of colour, almost monochrome in appearance. "But then I've always said women should be obscene and not heard."

Lucille smacked the combadge on her uniform. "Security to my quarters! Intruder alert!" When no one responded, she tried again. "McMahon! Answer!"

"Save it, Captain, I slipped a Mickey to your communications so we wouldn't be disturbed," the intruder informed her.

She moved back towards her office door - but it refused to open. "Computer: Command Override! Open this door!"

"You're just wasting your breath, Captain, and that's no great loss either," the man added, waggling his thick eyebrows as he flicked ash from his cigar onto her couch.

She moved back to her desk, sliding open a drawer to retrieve... nothing.

"And your secret phaser," he concluded genially. "You know, Captain, I'm beginning to think I'm not welcome here."

Panicking, she moved to her chair, lifted it up and flung it in his direction.

It passed through the intruder, struck the wall behind him and tumbled to the floor. The intruder, meanwhile, hopped off the couch and stood before her, though he stooped a little, the tails of his black longcoat swishing behind him. "You keep this up, Captain, and I'll leave in a huff. Or maybe in a minute and a huff."

She kept her desk between them. "Who the hell are you? What are you?"

"For the purposes of advancing this meeting - and who wouldn't want to make advances with you, my little wildflower?" He paused to waggle his eyebrows again and leer at her. "You can call me Captain Jeffrey Spaulding, the Alpha Quadrant Explorer. And I am what the eggheads in my organisation call an isomorphic projection." He stepped forward, made a show of tapping the lit end of his cigar on her desktop - and only succeeded in passing it through the surface. "I'm not all here. But then people have been telling me that for years."

She studied him more closely; the moustache and eyebrows weren't real, but more painted than anything else, but now she could almost see through him. "You're a... projection? That's not possible! We're light years from any ship or planet that could send something like that!"

Spaulding shrugged. "Well, it's either that or you've been nipping at a particularly nasty batch of bathtub gin at your local speakeasy." He began pacing around the room, hands folded behind him, occasionally stopping to puff on his cigar. "Speaking of speaking easy... has Matthew ever spoken to you about things best not spoken of?"

"Matthew? You know my brother?"

"We've kept a keen watch on his work in Starfleet Intelligence. Starfleet Intelligence: now there's a contradiction in terms." Spaulding stopped and peered into a large glass globe with a golden model of the USS Columbia, Lucille's first posting, suspended in the centre. "Did Matthew ever tell you about a covert organisation watching over the Federation? All cloak and dagger, eyeholes in the newspapers, secret decoder rings and lemon juice invisible ink?"

Her eyes widened. Mention of her brother did bring back a memory of a clandestine talk about- "Section 31?" Her voice was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid to say it aloud and possibly conjure them into being. No one ever admitted to knowing anything about that cabal of agents working outside of Federation rules in order to protect its interests. "Is that the answer?"

Spaulding puffed on his cigar before replying. "That depends on the question. But the game isn't The $64 Question, it's You Bet Your Life, and on tonight's show, the Secret Word is... Hrelle."

Her hackles rose. "Captain Esek Hrelle?"

He pointed his cigar at her. "And the young lady says the Secret Word and wins a hundred dollars. Of course, she said Three Secret Words, but I'm allowing for inflation."

She scowled, having learned to ignore his distracting patter and glean the essence of his communication. The Caitian Hrelle had been a thorn in her side since their Academy days, when he refused to see sense and resign despite her efforts to convince him otherwise, thus earning her the ire of her father, the then-Superintendent of the Academy.

Since then Hrelle has proven to be a malcontent, a maverick, and though his story of escaping alleged slavery after so many years have made the Galaxy proclaim him a hero, she knew the truth: he was a coward at best, a traitor and threat to the Federation at worst. And in her last encounter with Hrelle, the man had managed to turn her nephew Giles away from the rest of the family, and even physically threatened her life - and got away with both. "What about him?"

Now Spaulding's cigar smoke seemed to coalesce between them, taking shape, solidity, until the image of Hrelle's scarred Caitian head took form. "Quite a mug on him, huh? I never forget a face, but in his case I'll make an exception. You know, for a man who says he wants to live an ordinary life and do ordinary work, he gets into some extraordinary scrapes: escaping from captivity, uncovering Malurian child trafficking, surviving the destruction of the Tyche Station in the Malbruk system, encountering the Rising Star. He must have rabbit's feet instead of cat's."

Lucille swallowed; some of those incidents were highly classified, but this... individual... knew about them, further evidence of his connections with Section 31. "I'm not a fan. I don't trust him."

He nodded. "Trust is earned, and if anyone should be trussed up and hit with an urn, it's him. And to top it all off, there he is, influencing the Best and the Brightest from the Academy; like my psychiatrist always says, get 'em when they're Jung. Don't look now, Captain, but there's one too many threats in this room, and I think it's him."

Lucille stared at him, her shock at his appearance and manner overcome by his warnings about Hrelle. "What can I do?"

Spaulding smiled, and blew the smoky image of Hrelle out of existence. "You'll have to put the Cat in the Bag, for good. And there's no time like the present. So here's your present: he's about to have an unauthorised meeting with the Ferasans currently in this sector."

"What?"

"Secretly contacting his racial cousins, members of a militant power who has threatened Earth in the past?" Spaulding rolled his eyes. "I was never good at math, but even that has to add up to treason in anyone's book."

She paled. "I have to stop him."

"You Bet your Life."

Then he vanished.

Lucille stood there for a moment, stunned, before something made her try her badge again. "Captain to Bridge. McMahon, get in here!"

Seconds later the door slid open, and the figure of her First Officer Commander Edward McMahon stepped inside; he was a short, unassuming man with a round face and receding hair, and a presence so bland that more than once Lucille wondered if, like Spaulding, he was all here. Even his voice was bland. "Yes, Captain?"

Still, she couldn't really complain; she chose him precisely because he was one to stay in the background and not try to steal her thunder. "McMahon, have a Security team come in here and do a sweep of my office."

"Ma'am?"

"Just do it. And then locate the Surefoot and plot a course for its location."

"Uh, Captain, inspection of the communications station at Ophelius is outstanding-"

Her relief at his presence vanished once more. "Did I ask for an argument?"

"Uh, no, Ma'am."

"Then follow your orders." Idiot.

"Yes, Ma'am." He departed.

She sat down. And bolted back up, her tailbone still hurting.

*

"USS Surefoot, Captain's Log, Stardate 36521.31, Captain Esek Hrelle recording: We are still on course for Starbase 154, and given the number of delays we've had in the last few weeks, I'm starting to wonder if it actually exists, or if the Surefoot has become some Ship of the Damned, forever sailing towards a destination it will never reach.

And as a result of the recent crises we've faced on Malbruk II and Sigma Lambda, our resources have been stretched to the point where I've been forced to instigate emergency rations for two out of every three days - thus securing my place among the cadets as Most Unpopular Captain since Drydock Styles. Well, screw you guys, I don't like eating cardboard either."

*

Deck 1, Captain's/Counselor's Quarters, 0730 Hours:

Hrelle noticed the change in demeanour of his wife as she emerged from their bathroom. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Kami lied, as she moved to the wardrobe and selected her uniform, guiding her tail through the slit in the rear.

He stared at her a moment longer, and then continued dressing. He knew better at this point in their relationship than to press the matter before she was ready, knowing she was more than able to address it when-

"I think my Seasons have finally stopped," she announced.

He finished tugging his boots up over his furred feet and caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, watching him for his reaction. "Glad to hear it. You always hated taking those hormonal suppressants. Anyway, you never needed your Seasons to make me attracted to you."

She offered a slight smile. "Good reply, my Captain. At least you didn't say how sorry you were for me."

He rose, adjusting his belly over his belt. "Are you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

Kami looked away, pretending to adjust her breasts in her bra. "A little. I know that it was inevitable, I know I'm at the age when it typically stops, I know that I'll stay fertile for a while longer, and yes, I know that I hated those suppressants."

Hrelle nodded and drew closer, putting his arms around her and using his nuzzle to shift aside her honey-brown mane and get at her neck before she could finish dressing. He purred against her skin.

"Do you want to have children with me, Esek?" she whispered.

He stopped purring, but still held her close, only tighter now. He couldn't lie and say that the thought hadn't crossed his mind before now. Not long ago, the thought of being whole again, of being married and happy again, would have been inconceivable. But to be a father again, even at this late stage in his life, while daunting, was also enticing.

"If that's what you-" he started.

Until she cut him off. "No. Don't leave it all on me. Your answer, one way or another, will not be the final say, I promise you that. Just tell me."

He felt his skin blush under his fur. She was right; she deserved honesty from him. "Yes. Yes, I do. I wanted it so much when I was with Ha- Sasha's mother-"

"You can say Hannah's name, you know," she assured him dryly. "I won't break down into tears knowing another woman had your heart before me. I was married too."

He made a sound. "Hannah and I had been planning on a child when I was..." He stopped himself. Of course, Kami already knew the rest, knew his full story, of his capture by the criminal Bel-Zon organisation, of being tortured and sold into slavery, finding himself working in a Breen mine, fighting in the Orion pits, working with theta waste in a Corvallan freighter, and escaping after six years - only to find his beloved Hannah had been killed not long after his capture. "I know that Sasha has been as much my daughter as if we shared blood. But..."

"But it's not quite the same, is it?" she noted, leaning back into his shoulder. "Don't think I haven't thought about it either. It's been almost twenty years since I gave my own cub life; now he's all grown up and getting married in a few weeks. It was beautiful raising him - but also demanding. Am I really ready to go through all that again at my age?"

His stomach suddenly growled loudly in reply.

She laughed, the tension broken. "Seven Hells, Esek, are you carrying a cub of your own in there?"

He drew back and slapped her rear, making her tail wag. "A whole litter, and they're all hungry, so finish dressing and let's get to the mess hall before Morning Shift starts."

*

Deck 1, Bridge:


Sasha Eismann Hrelle smiled as she leaned back in the Captain's chair in the centre. "French toast, slathered in fresh whipped cream, blueberries, and dusted with cinnamon."

This elicited groans of gastronomic delight from some, though not all of Alpha Squad, manning the various stations. It was the last half hour of the late shift, and today was the day when they could use their replicator credits.

At the Ops station behind Sasha, completing a Medical essay in between her other duties, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas never looked up. "I can prescribe any number of substances that will clog your arteries far more efficiently."

Sasha harrumphed. "They can't be as tasty."

To her left at the Engineering Station, Jonas Ostrow turned in his chair and looked at the others. "Chicken fried steak, creamy mashed potatoes, sweetcorn and Altairian gravy."

That brought out more groans of appreciation, and from his place at the helm, the Caitian Meow Rrori offered, "I have developed a fondness of late for Terran oysters."

"You know those are famously aphrodisiacs?" Sasha informed him, smirking.

From the Tactical Station beside Ostrow, the Bolian Neraxis Nemm guffawed. "Like he needs those! Now me, there is a Klingon gagh curry begging to be devoured."

"Please, God, no," Jonas begged.

Neraxis' bright blue bald head turned to him. "What's up with you, O Mighty Second in Command?"

"I sleep under you. The last Klingon curry you had, I almost declared a Biohazard in the bedroom. Eydiir, isn't there something you can give her for the horrible flatulence?"

The Capellan shrugged. "Nasal suppressants for the rest of us. I fear her Bolian biochemistry could overcome anything I prescribe her."

At the Science Station, Kitirik turned, his lime-green scaled face bright. "Friend Neraxis, perhaps I could interest you in my diet? I produce very little in the way of flatulence."

"What, me, munching on beetles and locusts? Hell, no!"

"You eat rotted meat," Sasha reminded her. "And you turn your nose up at bugs?"

"A girl's gotta have standards-" But then her attention turned to the Proximity Alarm at her station. "We have a vessel on an intercept course at high warp! It'll be here in sixty seconds!"

Sasha sat up, the banter forgotten. "We're not scheduled to rendezvous with anyone. Eydiir, hail them. Neraxis, get an ID on them."

"Already on it. They're big, armed- Holy Hraxor, it's a Ferasan Attack Escort!"

Sasha's heart leapt into her throat as she hit the alarm. "Red Alert! All hands, Red Alert! This is not a drill!"

Around them, the apple-red lighting strip circling the ceiling of the bridge brightened, flashing, as the shields snapped on, and phasers and photon torpedoes came on-line, while inside, she kept saying to herself: Come on, Dad, get up here, take them on, not me, I'll get us blown to pieces! You can stop them, you can stop anything-

She kept still as she heard the bridge doors slide open, and only turned when she heard the familiar voice. "What's happening, Sasha?"

She turned and rose to face him, seeing that he had been accompanied by Ship's Counselor Kami Hrelle, and their Vulcan First Officer T'Varik. "Sir! There's a Ferasan ship on an intercept course, shields raised and weapons primed! Intercept time-" She looked to Neraxis.

The Bolian glanced over at her display. "Twenty seconds now!"

Sasha looked back at her father, expecting him to leap into action, stride forward and say-

"Computer, cancel Red Alert," he ordered, and as the klaxon died away, he continued, "Helm, full stop. Tactical, drop shields and take the weapons off-line." He stared at the viewscreen.

And left Sasha thoroughly confused. The Ferasans first made their presence known before the birth of the Federation with a number of attacks on Earth, all repulsed. Then they became allies of the Klingons, who were technically allies of the Federation, but that always seemed tenuous at best. But attempts at forging a more recent relationship directly with the Ferasans was hampered by their hatred for their cousins, the Caitians. "Sir?"

Her stepfather ignored her, as the Surefoot came to a complete stop, and Sasha turned to see a wicked-looking brick-red vessel with a three-nacelle propulsion design and numerous projections, obvious weapons, here and there.

They were going to die. They were going to be eaten. And her father had seemingly left them vulnerable.

Eydiir had stepped aside to allow T'Varik to manage the Ops station, the Vulcan announcing, "There is an incoming transmission, Sir."

"Onscreen."

Sasha looked back to see the starship replaced by a darkened bridge interior, dominated by a huge sabretoothed felinoid at least two metres in height: vaguely resembling Caitians, but with more flattened muzzles, thinner chocolate-orange fur and taller, more pointed ears. It was dressed in armour and leather in a style very reminiscent of Klingons, and leaned in close to fill up the screen. "Across the Trackless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you! I challenge you, Esek Hrelle! In the name of the Patriarch, I challenge you to-"

"Go fuck yourself," Hrelle finished simply, reaching out and cutting off the transmission, before turning to T'Varik. "Resume our course to Starbase 154, send a report on that vessel to Starfleet Command. I'm going back to finish my pancakes." He stepped out of Kami's touch as he departed from the bridge, stopping only to add over his shoulder, more loudly and sharply, "And while you're at it, Commander, have all cadets brought up to speed on what justifies bringing us to Red Alert!"

"Yes, Sir."

As she started away again, Sasha asked, "Da- I mean, Sir, did I- did I do wrong?"

He didn't stop. Kami offered a sympathetic look and, "It wasn't your fault." Then she followed Hrelle out.

T'Varik approached the Captain's chair. "Helm, take us around the vessel, resume our original course."

Rrori, looking bemused, nodded and faced his console again. "Aye, aye, Ma'am."

Sasha looked to her now, appearing thoroughly lost. "Commander, what's going on? Did I make a mistake?"

Surefoot
Surefoot
205 Followers