Surefoot 10: Fast and the Furriest

"Do you know how easily one of our cadets could have been killed?"

"Yes, Ma'am. But none were."

"But they could have been."

T'Varik straightened up. "Squad Leader Hrelle was quite correct in her reply at the hearing; mortal danger is not exclusive to those who have graduated from the Academy. During this year I believe four cadets on Earth died from various accidents and illnesses. It is of course a tragedy but it is not an entirely unavoidable situation-"

"You are correct, Commander. At least, the 'entirely unavoidable' part. That does not mean we should be reckless with those in our charge."

"Superintendent, I did not mean-"

"There are three other vessels involved in the AWE Program: the Shrysia, the Revere and the Gavvl. None of them have reported incidents involving Nausicaan slavers, disintegrating space stations, suicide attempts, militant Twenty-Second Century humans or lethal Ferasans."

"Ma'am, it hardly seems fair to make comparison. Under slightly different circumstances, these incidents could have occurred to any of the other vessels-"

"Commander, I have the utmost respect for Captain Hrelle's history, ability and personality, and sympathy for what he has undergone. But I ask you, honestly: would the Ferasans have approached your vessel and eventually put the lives of your cadets as risk if it had been commanded by anyone other than him?"

T'Varik stared at the screen. "It... seems unlikely."

"Don't get me wrong, Commander. I'm not questioning the AWE Program. It's Captain Hrelle I'm concerned about. I have to seriously consider whether he should continue to be a part of it next year. I will of course inform you if any changes are to be made."

"Superintendent... please do not make any rash judgements. I admit to having developed a... personal bias in favour of Captain Hrelle-"

"I recognise that, Commander, and it speaks well of the man that you would develop such a... personal bias. I promise you, my judgement will not be rash."

The viewscreen faded to black.

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 4, Sickbay:

Dr Ling set down the control unit. "There you go: your implants are deactivated, you can now conceive. And thanks you for giving me something non-critical to do for a change. Happy Conceiving."

"Thanks, Juliet." Kami slipped an arm around Hrelle's and led him out into the corridor. "So, shall we head back to our quarters and get going?"

"Going? There's too much work ahead of us. We'll be reaching Starbase 154 in 3 days, there'll be extended refittings and leave for the cadets and crew, we have a transport to get to Cait for your son's wedding, clothes and gifts to replicate, orders to authorise... we might not have sex for weeks."

"You're kidding."

"Yes." He quickened their pace to their quarters.

*

USS Impala, Captains Quarters:

Edward McMahon completed the last of the orders as quickly and efficiently as ever, doing the work of First Officer as well as Captain. Not that there was much difference, from an administrative viewpoint, but if he was eventually permanently promoted to Captain - as he expected he would, given his influence with Starfleet Command - he would inevitably have to appoint someone to take his current place.

But unlike his former Captain, he'd be keeping a better eye on his Number One. "Well? Are you satisfied?"

Across from him, the Ferasan Telepath stared with amazement at the figures on the PADD given him. "More than satisfied. Astonished. I did not realise my talents would be valued so highly."

"And that's only the beginning, my fine furred friend,"promised the monochrome isomorphic projection perched on a nearby chair, puffing cigar smoke into the air. "Stick with us, and you'll dine on the finest fish heads and have a gold plated litter box to call your own."

The Ferasan looked up in consternation. "Excuse me?"

McMahon glanced up, wishing 'Captain Spaulding', his contact with the Inner Circle was more straightforward. It had been enough of a task to recruit the Telepath into their ranks, and having him react uneasily to the projection, whose mind was unreadable, without responding to the anachronistic jokes and references. "Never mind him. You had ample opportunity to probe Hrelle's mind."

"Yes, the orders from my former employer were to be most thorough."

"And you can definitely confirm he knows nothing of the Bel- Zon's activity in this sector?"

"If there was, it certainly wasn;t at the forefront. His main concerns were my people, his guilt over his violent past, his marriage and the prospects of imminent fatherhood."

"Marriage and fatherhood is a fine institution," Spaulding quipped, But who wants to be put in an institution? I was married once. Actually it was twice. It was bigamy. It was big of my wives as well."

The Telepath glanced at McMahon bemusedly. "Are all your organisation's leaders like this?"

"He's an avatar of a 400-year-old Terran humourist. You'll learn that our leaders are magnanimous to those who are loyal, merciless to those who are treacherous... but they rarely display a sense of humour." He leaned forward. "You are certain he's not heard of Damocles?"

"I did not see that reference in his mind." The Ferasan scrutinised his PADD again. "So much wealth at my disposal now. I could buy my own Name from the Council."

"You will not be returning to your people," McMahon informed him, rising to help himself to some Aldeberan whiskey from Arrington's drinks cabinet. Too much effort had been spent recruiting him, manipulating Arrington into more and more irrational acts - as well as subtly altering her biochemistry through Nanites to induce again - to the point where he could legally assume command and be ready for Operation: Damocles. "The Bel-Zon will be keeping you busy. You don't need that cul-de-sac of feckless kittens that think they're lions, anyway, and you can call yourself whatever you like." He grunted. "As for Captain Hrelle, he is fortunate, though he doesn't know it. His ignorance has saved his life. Let him putter about on that barge. He's a broken man."

Suddenly Captain Spaulding stopped his posturing and quipping to look seriously at him. "Do not discount Captain Hrelle so readily. A broken blade can still cut."

McMahon was settling back into the chair, but now straightened up, recognising the voice and body language of the new operator of the projection. "Sir... why aren't we just killing him? It can be easily done in any number of ways."

The projection shook his head. "No. We have an open-ended contract to make him suffer. Killing him would be merciful, compared with what we could do to him. Through his family..."

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN...

PATTERNS, REPEATED