Surefoot 26: Who We Are

The tears flowed down Kit's face unabashed as he watched his brother and the other depart, leaning on Sasha and Jonas for support. Hrelle reached out and patted him on the shoulder, before moving to his wife and holding out his hands for Misha. "Let me take the Warrior Prince for his supper while you help Kit."

Kami nodded and passed him the cub, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion following his epic battle against the man who had threatened his big sister, as Kami noted proudly, "Did you hear that little roar he gave? That was the cutest thing!"

"I know! I wish we'd recorded it for his grandparents." He cradled Misha as he drew up to T'Varik. "Commander, I believe we're done. Unless you intend to file charges of mutiny and insubordination against anyone here?"

"As such an act would ultimately reflect upon my position as First Officer and Academy Liaison, I will not. This time."

*

"USS Surefoot-A, Captain's Log, Stardate 54985.39, Captain Esek Hrelle, Commanding: The USS Coventry has departed, and Kit's legal status has been reinstated. And, with numerous sponsors onboard, he has applied for full Federation citizenship, to prevent a repeat of what happened.

Our problems with communications and accessing the subspace relay network have vanished as quickly and mysteriously as they appeared. I am arranging for bottles of Caitian whiskey to be sent to the captains of the local Fleet who assisted us -- except for Captain Weynik, to whom I'm sending melted cheese and spicy shuris mince, with instructions to cover himself with them the next time we talk.

I still worry about Kit. Regardless of what he said, it will still be devastating to be formally and permanently excluded from his people. But then, I thought my own disgraced status on the Caitian Clan Registry, an act of petty vengeance from my late birth-father, would be with me for the rest of my life. Who knows what tomorrow brings us?"

*

From the bathtub, Kami raised a furry leg and watched the water drip down the length of it. "Hey, Sexytail, stop the poetry, come on in and play Pirates with me."

Hrelle grinned and shut off his logbook, listening and confirming that Misha was still snoring in his crib as he began undressing-

The intercom chirped. "Captain, am I disturbing you?"

From the bathroom, Kami listened to the interruption and laughed. Hrelle ground his teeth. "What is it, Commander?"

"There is an incoming transmission, Code 47: For Captain's Eyes Only."

Hrelle stopped, returning to the desk and ignoring his twitching tail behind him. "Source?"

There was an uncharacteristic uncertainty in the Vulcan's voice. "The source is... not available. This should not be possible, Captain. All transmissions are-"

"Never mind, Commander. Pipe it through."

His desktop screen went from black to the image of Admiral Trenagen. "Captain Hrelle. Are you alone?"

He looked up; Kami had emerged from the bath and had a towel wrapped around her, watching and listening from the doorway. "My cub is here, and I regret that he doesn't have proper security clearance; shall I wake him and have him placed in the Brig for the duration of this call?"

The Admiral smiled. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Captain."

"So, what's up? Are you arranging for my court martial?"

"No, Captain. As a matter of fact, I wanted to congratulate you on your success with saving Cadet Kitirik. You have proved to be both tenacious and resourceful."

Hrelle grunted, surprised at that but determined not to show it. "My people did most of the work. I just stand around and act rude to Admirals and Commissioners. I hear it's considered refreshingly charming."

Now Trenagen offered a polite laugh. "I understand the young cadet is applying for citizenship. I will do anything I can do to assist in that endeavour."

"That's generous of you, Sir. Not 24 hours ago, you will willing to hand him over to the Qarari to achieve your ends."

"Captain," Trenagen assured Hrelle. "You have no idea what my ends are." He steepled his hands before him. "The Qarari will eventually ally themselves with the Federation; they're savvy enough to know an alliance will benefit them more than it will us. And exposure to our principles will benefit their people in the long run, continuing the valiant work of Cadet Kitirik. Whether he was handed over to them or not was ultimately irrelevant to me.

But I didn't call about the Qarari. I've called about you. About offering you a unique opportunity, to do what you do best, but on a galactic scale, helping save untold billions-"

Hrelle held up a hand to stop him. "Thank you, Admiral, but as I told you before, I'm not interested in joining Starfleet Intelligence."

"I never said it would be Starfleet Intelligence."

Hrelle blinked, lowering his hand again, his hackles rising. "What... exactly would I be joining?"

Trenagen leaned in closer to the screen, as if he might whisper. "What if I told you that there was an organisation that has existed since the dawn of the Federation, dedicated to its protection at all costs, without being officially recognised?"

Hrelle forced himself to remain calm, measured in his stance, his voice. "I... would say that it sounded very much like a legend I once heard. A legend about something called Section 31."

"Indeed? I've heard such legends myself."

Hrelle grunted. Trenagen was right, the stories of Section 31, a cabal of operatives not sanctioned or even acknowledged by either Starfleet or the Federation, had been around since the days of Warp 1 vessels. Hrelle assumed that they were apocryphal, like the stories of subspace gremlins or the Douwd. He wanted to dismiss them.

And he recognised why he wanted to dismiss them: because he wanted to cling onto the belief that the Federation was different from other powers. The Romulans had their Tal Shiar, the Klingons Imperial Intelligence, the Cardassians the Obsidian Order: agencies that operated above their respective governments, agencies that were feared by their people.

But he wanted to believe that the Federation had higher principles, than to allow such an agency to exist. "And what else have you heard about them, Admiral?"

Trenagen smiled knowingly. "I have heard that they have access to technology far in advance of even the most cutting-edge Starfleet vessels. That they have operatives in many places, in seemingly ordinary jobs. And, like you, they believe in doing what's right, by any means necessary."

Hrelle's stomach twisted as he listened, before finally speaking up. "No. I don't believe in that, Admiral. By Any Means Necessary is a dangerous quartet of words to live by. I prefer the rule of law. I might bend it, but-"

"Come, come, Captain. This is just two of us speaking privately -- well, the two of us, and your charming wife listening nearby."

Hrelle tried to control his reaction, failed, and finally looked up at a startled-looking Kami, but asking Trenagen. "Are you monitoring us, Admiral?"

"How could I possibly do that, Captain? That would require technology far in advance of even the most cutting-edge Starfleet vessels. No, I just assumed that she was there, being your wife and this conversation being held from your end in your quarters.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes: you. Today you were willing to bend, even break the rules, in order to help one of your cadets. I respect that. As a member of Section 31 -- if such an organisation existed of course -- you could do far greater good, and with a minimum of accountability."

"And why would I value a minimum of accountability, Admiral? Why would I wish that for anyone? Had you chosen to court-martial, I would have faced it. Accountability keeps us in check -- and if it doesn't, it ensures we're dealt with properly for our actions."

Trenagen smiled. "Oh, please, Captain, there's no need to take the moral high ground with me, for the sake of your wife's presence. I know your record. I know what you've done. You've burned men alive. You've ripped into their flesh.

And in your ordinary capacity as a starship Captain, you've sent hundreds of crew of enemy vessels to their deaths -- and sent members of your own crew to their deaths. And everything you've done, you've done to help the Federation and its citizens-"

Hrelle felt sick to his stomach with the course of this conversation. "Admiral, if I took the moral high ground just because my wife was in the room listening, I'd be on very shaky foundations. And yes, I did all those things -- but, as you pointed out, everything I've done is on record. I'm answerable to people, who are answerable to other people. And it's all out in the open, which is more than Section 31 can say -- if they exist, of course.

Tell me, Admiral: did Section 31 sabotage the Surefoot's communications to try and prevent us from lodging an appeal for Kit? What if something had happened that could have cost lives because of that sabotage? Would those responsible face punishment? Or would it all be swept under the carpet for the sake of maintaining all the precious little secrets that organisations like that hoard?"

"Captain-"

Hrelle leaned forward. "For that matter: how did the Qarari government learn Kit was the one posting accounts of his experiences? They're mostly isolationist, they wouldn't have the contacts or the resources to trace it back to a Starfleet vessel. Were they told it by someone in Section 31, perhaps as a show of good faith, or as a spur to get them to try and extradite him? Was Kit nothing more than a pawn? Was I?"

"Captain," Trenagen repeated, more forcefully.

But Hrelle refused to give him a chance. "I'm glad that Section 31 doesn't exist, Admiral, and that this is all just hypothetical. Because if it existed, and I was being recruited, I'd tell their recruiter to kiss my furry ass. I don't like secrets; they give me a belly ache, and I'd rather get one of those from a hot stack of fried chicken and waffles. Still, thanks for the conversation, be sure to call back sometime when you can't talk so long."

He switched off the display. Seconds later, a chirp returned, and for a fearful moment, he thought that it was Trenagen, somehow co-opting their systems. But instead it was T'Varik. "Sir, we were running a diagnostic on that transmission... when the recording, and all data concerning it, erased itself from our computers."

Hrelle looked up at Kami, who was approaching him, as he replied to his XO, "Yes. Disregard it."

"Sir?"

"Forget there ever was a transmission. We'll talk more about it tomorrow. Hrelle out." He reached out and took his wife's hand. "Seven Hells..."

"He couldn't have been serious," Kami asked. "A secret organisation within Starfleet, the Federation?"

He shrugged, welcoming her touch, her scent. "Nothing's ever been confirmed, of course. That's part of its power, its mystique. And its threat."

"But is it possible? For something like that to exist, without word getting out about it?"

"Sure it can -- just the idea of its existence gives power. And maybe there's even a justification to having it, working outside of law and convention to protect us. Maybe I shouldn't be so self-righteous about joining them? If Tattok's right, we could be facing some dark times ahead of us with the Dominion. I've done some... questionable things... to save myself and others... is the line between what I'm willing to do and what they're willing to do really that distinct?"

"Yes. Because at least you're clear about what you're willing to do. Section 31 doesn't even have the balls to come out and admit that they exist, much less what they're willing to do."

Kami moved around and straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and her tail around one of his legs. "I don't want a husband who can't tell me about his day when I see him. I don't want him to lie and hide and obfuscate. I don't want him to do that to my cub when he's old enough to ask his father about the work he does. I don't want you to be ashamed of your job. Or worse, I don't want you to grow inured to the shame behind your job."

As she spoke, Hrelle moved his arms around her, tugging open the towel wrapped around her, stroking her furred back, moving down to her rear and the base of her tail. "That's a lot of things you don't want," he purred against her ear. "Is there anything you do want?"

She smiled and purred back against him as she felt his growing interest. "As a matter of fact..."

*

Deck 3 Fore -- Alpha Squad Quarters:

Neraxis slipped into her best jacket and ran her hand over her bald blue head. "Right, I'm ready to party!"

Jonas lifted up all the PADDs from the table, as no one else was retrieving them. "Seriously, I keep telling you it's not going to be that kind of party! It's a Study Party! No entertainment, no alcohol, no sex."

"We'll see about that, Scrappy; I like a challenge."

Beside them, Sasha grunted. "T'Varik will be chaperoning, so good luck. Come on, Kit, you too."

He sat at the desk, pensive. "I will be along directly, Best Friends."

"You had better, or Rrori might make a move on Hafsa." Sasha motioned for the others to follow her out.

Alone, Kit breathed in once, twice, and then started the recorder. "This may be my last message to you all. The authorities on our world are aware of my identity and location, and while they have no power to silence me, they are making efforts to cut off my avenues of communication to you. And I fear they will succeed.

If it happens, I will be sad, because the responses I have received to my words, not just from people like me but those who thought they knew and understood people like me, has been heartening, encouraging.

But if it does happen, do not feel sorrow for me. I am very, very fortunate. I have a good, fulfilling life, and friends who have become a family, a family that supports and cherishes me unconditionally. And I have control over my own body, and how the Universe sees me.

And if this is my last message, that is acceptable. I started this to be heard. And you heard. I started this to let you know that You Are Not Alone. And you know. And you can be heard too, and let others know that They Are Not Alone either. They cannot silence us all.

All of you, all of us, deserve to be heard. We deserve to be listened to. We deserve to be valued. We deserved to be respected, and loved, and treated as equals, not Aberrants. The Gods were not imperfect or irrational in creating us. They were inspired. How bland and lacklustre the Universe would be if we all looked the same, thought and felt and acted the same!

And I speak, not just to those of us branded as Aberrant, but those who see us suffering under this hate, who know it's wrong, and know that they should do something.

I say Do Something. All of you.

No matter how old you are, the real first day of your life will be the day you decide that your life is your own, belonging to no one else. This decision is a precious gift you can give yourself at any time.

You do not have to follow my path. Make your own. You can do anything: write, speak, shout, preach, protest, run, stand, fight, love, support. Just Do Something. I cannot guarantee you success, but I can guarantee that it will be the first step of an amazing journey, and you alone will be responsible for the direction and quality it takes.

Hold your head up high and be proud of who you are. There is nothing wrong with you; it is the world which is wrong. But it is not beyond healing, or improvement. It can get better, and it will get better.

In fact, it has already started. With you, reading these words..."

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE...