Surefoot 30: Class of 2372

"He's right, Giles," Uncle Matthew affirmed dutifully.

Giles forced down his frustration, wondering if the calamari would get here before he lost his temper. "Dad... I know our family has a history of making their mark in Starfleet."

Bill smiled, as if his son had somehow made some concession towards the truth.

Until his son continued. "But don't you see that can't be the case anymore for us? We're not making a mark, we're reinforcing it." He leaned forward. "It's not an achievement if people think you got there on your name rather than on your merits."

Bill grunted. "You sound like him."

He didn't have to elaborate.

"Dad, I'm needed out there! Especially with what's coming up! I've been out there!"

"You're being stubborn, Giles!"

"Your father's right, Giles," Uncle Matthew added.

"HI GILES!"

His head turned, as did the others, to see Misha, sitting in a high chair beside the Hrelle's table, looking over at him, beaming and waving and ignoring his mother's entreaties for him to quiet down and not disturb the other patrons. Despite the tension at his own table, Giles couldn't help but grin and wave back. He had helped mind Misha Hrelle on more than one occasions, and found the cub a charming, wonderful little thing, making him feel like a big brother.

An attitude apparently not shared by the rest of his family. Bill sighed as if facing some onerous trial. "Them again..."

Uncle Matthew looked at the toddler and smirked. "I didn't know they let pets in here."

Giles stared at him in sheer disbelief -- and something snapped in him. "You PRICK!"

The man's jaw dropped. "Excuse me, young man-"

Giles rose to his feet, gripping the sides of the table. "There's no excuse for you! You're a prick! And a stupid prick, too, because I'm pretty sure they can hear everything we're saying over here! You should stick to just kissing my father's ass, it's all your good for!"

"Now that's enough, Giles!" Bill scolded.

Giles glared at his father. "I'm fed up with this! It's like trying to debate with the Borg!"

"Giles-"

But the young man stormed away, noting Hrelle and Kami rising from their tables as he passed, offering a, "Sorry about that."

Misha did his best to turn in his chair. "Hi Giles!"

"Hi Sport." Giles looked ready to cry.

Misha pointed in the cadet's direction but looked to his mother, appearing concerned. "Mama! Giles sad!"

Kami patted her son's arm as she rose. "I know, sweetheart, I know-"

Now Misha pointed a commanding finger at her. "Help Giles! You help!"

"Settle down, Misha," Hrelle breathed.

Bill was following his son's departure -- until Kami stepped in front of him. "Wait, Admiral!" To Sasha she asked, "Go get him, keep him outside." As the girl rose and departed, she returned to Bill. "Admiral, if you want to have any chance of salvaging something with your son, you need to listen to me."

Bill bristled. "Excuse me, Counselor, but I don't see how any of this is your business-"

"Admiral, I've been your son's Counselor for two years, he's spent more time with me than you... and I know what you're hiding from him. He's old enough to hear the truth."

Matthew and Lucille Arrington had arisen and approached, too, Matthew sneering, "You people never know when to quit, do you? Bill, just get him transferred anyway-"

"Shut up, Matt!" Lucille snapped suddenly. She ignored her brother's reaction, and the reactions of the others around them. "Just shut up! Giles is right about you!" She looked at Kami. "And you're right about Giles. Bill, listen to her. Do what she says. She knows what's she's talking about. More than any of us."

*

The restaurant was built overlooking South Bay marina; gulls circled lazily overhead, as if waiting for the sails on the boats below to stop chasing them away. Giles' boots pounded on the wooden slats of the quay as he stormed off in the direction of the public trams.

"Giles, wait up!"

He stopped and turned, not expecting who was calling him. "Sash?"

She rushed up to him, thumbing back towards the restaurant. "Hold on- Kami wants you to come back-"

"No! Forget it! I'm finished with them!"

He turned to go, but she reached out and took his forearm, drawing closer. "Don't walk away from them like this... please, Giles, trust me, I don't know what Kami has planned, but I trust her to know what she's doing." She squeezed his forearm and looked longingly at him. "You don't know if you'll ever get to see your family alive again. Don't walk away."

"Giles?"

He turned away from Sasha, to see his father there, and Kami close at hand, patting the man on the shoulder encouragingly to draw closer. He looked into his father's eyes, saw the hesitation, the struggle... it was a vulnerability that Giles had not seen before had not expected, and it stopped the snarky response he was prepared to deliver. "Dad?"

The man approached, hands held out. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I haven't been honest with you. About why I want you here... it's not because of tradition, or family loyalty or because you're better than anyone else..." He stopped, reached out and almost tentatively clasped Giles by the shoulders. "It's because I'm afraid. I see what's coming, what's coming for all of us. And... And I can't lose you. I know you're all grown up, I know it..." Tears welled up in his eyes. "But you'll always be my son. I'm sorry... I should've been honest with you from the start..."

Giles felt a slight nudge forward in his back, as Sasha walked around the two men to join Kami and finally give them the opportunity to hug.

*

In the restaurant, Hrelle stood there with Matthew and Lucille, while Ma'Sala and Mi'Tree pretended not to be involved -- and Misha looked up and around at the newcomers, smiling and waving. "Hi Mister! Hi Lady!"

Lucille smiled at the toddler. Matthew swallowed and blushed, before giving a half-hearted wave back. "Hi." To Hrelle he noted, "Um, you have, ah, a handsome son, Captain."

"Thank you. We're lucky the restaurant allows pets."

Just then Giles, Bill, Sasha and Kami returned, the last smiling. "It's okay, everything's been sorted... well, it's not getting any worse, anyway. And I'd suggested it'd be a great idea if we all ate together."

"You did?" Hrelle asked, quickly stifling any further protest with a look from her. He shrugged and signalled to the waiter. "Four more chairs over here, please."

In moments the table had its additions, drinks were transferred over, and people stared at each other, or in the case of Misha, focused on picking his nose.

"So..." Hrelle ventured, hoping someone else would pick up the conversation.

Sasha looked across at Matthew. "Good afternoon, Commander." When she caught his attention, she smiled. "I haven't seen you since my first week at the Academy."

Matthew blanched, Hrelle rolled his eyes, and then Ma'Sala looked across at Matthew too, pointing a finger at him. "Are you the kussik who tried to bully Sasha into quitting?"

"Mama!" Kami scolded.

Beside her, Mi'Tree set down his drink and bellowed, "You did WHAT? "

Misha looked back at Matthew now, pointed and helpfully offered, "Uh oh, Trouble Time!"

*

Campus Security Headquarters:

Neraxis sat with her back to the stark cell wall and smirked. "You know what I love about you, Scrappy? All the wonderful prisons you get us in."

He sat opposite her, leaning forward, his head in his hands, never moving as he reminded her, "I've only got us into one holding cell before this one. A holding cell, not a prison." Now he looked up. "And I'm sorry. I said I was sorry about twenty times already. How many more will it take?"

"One more will do."

"I'm sorry."

She waited for a handful of heartbeats before replying, "Sorries won't cut it, mister."

He looked up again, not mollified by her humorous, forgiving expression. "I should have just walked away."

"Damn right you should have walked away. Maybe you should remember that, from tomorrow, you're not a cadet, you're a full-fledged member of Starfleet, and you'll be judged that way the next time you're provoked into fighting someone."

"Maybe." He hung his head again.

"And if it helps, Jonas," she added with a soft, gentle voice that grabbed his attention again. "Bear in mind... I can't marry a man if he's gonna keep me worried that he'll end up on assault charges."

He stared at her.

But before he could respond, the force field around their cell dropped, and two familiar female figures walked into view, the coal-furred Caitian snapping, "Alright, prisoners! On your feet! Time for your strip search!"

Beside C'Rash, T'Varik's expression was hardened. "You speak with jocularity. However, you may proceed if you believe it will help curb Mr Ostrow from future appearance in facilities such as this."

The cadets rose, Jonas stepping forward. "Commander, I'm fully responsible for what happened, Neraxis was doing her best to get me out before things escalated-"

"I believe you, Mr Ostrow, and I believe in your contrition. This does not alter the general question of the ease to which you resort to physical violence."

Neraxis stepped forward. "Commander, I promise you that I will be kicking his ass about this for the rest of the summer, but he did get some bad news just before this prick Finnemore stepped in and started hassling him-"

"Bad news?"

"Yeah," Jonas confirmed half-heartedly. "My Mom's transport's broke down just past Barnard's. She won't be here tomorrow for the graduation. I know it's no excuse-"

"You are correct. But it is an explanation. I have spoken with Campus Security. They are prepared to drop the charges for all concerned if you are prepared to apologise for starting the fight."

"Of course," Jonas agreed immediately.

"Wait!" Neraxis looked between them. "That stroke-off had been bullying Jonas for years! I don't give a shit if he's some big man in some top-secret project now at HQ, you can't expect Jonas to kiss his ass after that-"

"Yes!" he denied. "Yes, they can! I've caused enough trouble to you, to my superior officers, and to our friends! I'm supposed to be the mature professional here! Now let me have a chance to show it!"

*

Moments later, they entered a nearby holding room in the Security offices, where Finnemore was sitting on a bench with his friends, a PADD in one hand and his bruised lip in the other, rising when the Surefoot officers and cadets entered, T'Varik announcing, "Gentlemen, Mr Ostrow has something to say."

Jonas swallowed, breathed out and finally contributed, "I'm sorry I lost my temper and hit you. It was wrong of me."

Finnemore grunted in reply, a look of victimhood plastered on his face as he glared at Jonas.

T'Varik continued. "Under the terms agreed upon with Campus Security, this matter is now settled. Good day."

But as the Surefoot quartet began to depart the room, Finnemore returned to rubbing his mouth and muttering to his friends, "Little pussy..."

T'Varik stopped at the doorway.

She spun around in place and returned, until she was centimetres from his face, her expression cold steel as she ordered, "State your name, rank and serial number."

Finnemore started. "Huh? Wh- Why do you want-"

"Is that how you respond to a superior officer, Ensign?" C'Rash barked from the doorway.

The ensign straightened up, years of discipline snapping back in place. "Finnemore, Chris; Ensign; Serial Number JS-844-078, Ma'am!"

T'Varik's expression remained unblinking, unwavering. "Who was the target of that utterance, Ensign?"

"Uh- Commander, I didn't- it wasn't-"

"Answer the question, Ensign!" C'Rash growled.

"Uh-Ostrich- I mean, Ostrow! Ostrow!"

"From this point on you will refer to him as 'Mr Ostrow'," the Vulcan informed him coldly. "He deserves nothing less. I am aware of three definitions for the word 'pussy', of varying degrees of offensiveness. Knowing the mindset of certain young male humans, I believe your most likely chosen definition would be that of an alleged weak, inferior man. Did you mean it in that sense against Mr Ostrow, Ensign?"

Finnemore was turning scarlet from the relentless scrutiny. "C-Commander, you don't- you don't understand-"

She drew in a little closer. "Ensign, a word of advice: do not even begin to attempt to educate me on what you think I do or do not understand. I will ask you one more time: did you mean to imply that you believe yourself superior to Mr Ostrow?"

He was visibly shaking now, managing a weak nod.

"I have been informed that you are a 'big man' with some 'Top Secret project' at Starfleet Headquarters. Is this true?"

"I- I can't- I can't say-"

"No, but you can apparently boast about it in a public venue, and get yourself arrested in the process. I will contact Admiral Trenagen and inform him that you are a security risk in whatever project this is that you are undertaking for Starfleet Intelligence-"

He looked ready to faint. "NO! P-Please, Commander, I'm- I'm not-"

"You are not a 'big man' with a classified project," she prompted. "So I already surmised; you are not the first male I have encountered with a propensity to exaggerate size."

"L-Look, we were just having some fun-"

"Your definition of 'fun' leaves everything to be desired." She held out her hand. "Your duty PADD. Give it to me."

He looked down at it. "W-Why- Why do you want-"

C'Rash took a step forward, teeth bared. "If I have to take it from you, Ensign, fingers will be taken as well!"

Finnemore handed it to T'Varik. The Vulcan activated it, quickly swiping through the pages of data she found. "This appears to contain your duty logs at Starfleet Headquarters for the last two years since your graduation. And they mostly consist of assignments to repair and maintain... door sensors." She looked up at him again. "Are they Top Secret door sensors, Ensign?"

He swallowed. "Uh- Ma'am-"

"Door sensors- oh, and occasionally, corridor lighting strips and floor cleaners. And according to these performance reports from your superior officer, despite this limited responsibility given you, you have still managed to receive reprimands for substandard work, lateness and rudeness."

Without giving the Ensign a break from her returned gaze, she pointed in Jonas' direction. "Look at that man. Look at that man and do not look away from him." As Finnemore complied, she continued. "In the past two years, while you have been at Starfleet Headquarters maintaining door sensors and lighting strips, that man -- and do not err, he is a man, as opposed to the parody that stands before me now -- has been commanding Engineering Teams and Away Missions while holding the provisional rank of Lieutenant.

He had an article published in the March 2372 issue of Starfleet Engineering Maintenance Procedures on suggested improvements to warp core refits, improvements I am told are being considered for approval in future technical manuals.

He devised a method of tracking pirate ships hiding in dark matter nebulae.

He helped uncover a Cardassian plot to invade Federation space across the Arkady Cluster.

He discovered a means of defusing Nekrosi subspace mines, thus saving his Squad Leader's life.

He helped -- I did not give you permission to look away, Ensign, keep looking at him -- he helped deflect an asteroid from striking a populated planet.

He has participated in hand-to-hand combat with hostile forces who invaded our vessel.

He has been wounded in battle.

He is the recipient of numerous citations, including the Starfleet Medal of Commendation for Exceptional Valour.

He has helped save many lives. Including my godson's.

And he has accomplished all of this before he has even graduated.

Any commanding officer would consider themselves exceedingly fortunate to have him as a member of their team. Myself included. Look at me now."

As he did, she finished with, "Do you still consider yourself superior to him?"

He didn't give an answer.

She didn't require one. "I will be monitoring you. If I hear of you harassing anyone else, I will place on your record a reprimand of such potency that it will follow you for the rest of your career in Starfleet." She handed him back his PADD. "Such as it is."

*

Once in the open, Jonas turned to T'Varik, visibly relieved. "Thank you for that, Commander, really! I don't know what to say-"

She gave the Vulcan equivalent of a sigh. "I would prefer you demonstrate your gratitude by remembering that your next commander might not be as appreciative of your many talents, and consequently may not be as willing to defend you."

"He will, Commander," Neraxis promised. "Um, we have to hurry to get to the spaceport, before my family arrive and demolish it."

T'Varik raised an eyebrow. "Having previously encountered your siblings, that is not beyond the realm of possibility. Dismissed."

As the cadets ran off, C'Rash slipped an arm around T'Varik's. "You delightful bitch!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The way you devoured that thick slab of beef!"

"I did no such thing. I am a vegetarian."

"Oh hah hah... Seriously, though, let's get back to our guest quarters! My nethers have gone nova over you!"

"Don't be vulgar. I need to make an urgent call to the Starfleet Transport Authority."

C'Rash leaned in closer and purred against her. "Can't you make the call in our quarters? On your back? It'd be more efficient: you do the call, I do you."

After a moment, T'Varik conceded, "It would be more efficient..."

*

Academy Guest Quarters:

"It's not right!" Mi'Tree groused, sitting sulking on the balcony, pretending to watch the sun descend behind the hills across the bay. "My daughter should not have invited those swine to join us at the table, after all the trouble they have caused! My kin-son should have turned them away!"

Just inside, Ma'Sala sat nude at the side of the bed, grunting as she twisted to trim some more excess fur from her tail. "Our daughter believed it best to mend relations, for the sake of their mutual cubs, and each other. And our kin-son respected his wife's decision, though it was obvious it would not have been his first choice. But he is of a forgiving nature. They both are."

"Some things cannot be forgiven! That scoundrel's remarks about Misha-"

"Were spoken without thought, and regretted. It was obvious on his face. Get in here and help me."

Mi'Tree rose, stretching his limbs and tail as he returned to the interior, accepting the trimmer from her as she stretched out one leg. "And now that you're back inside, tell me what's really bothering you."

He dropped to one knee before her, taking her leg under one arm while he activated the trimmer, never looking at her as he muttered, "Nothing."

"Liar. You've not been yourself since-" She frowned as she watched him trim the fur around her calves. "Did something happen when you were minding Misha?"

Mi'Tree paused, before switching off the trimmer again, his voice low and fragile. "I lost him. He ran off, I tried to find him, catch up with him... but I couldn't. I couldn't because I'm old. Old and decrepit."

"Of course you are." When he looked up in response, she elaborated, "We all are. Very few could keep up with that little sleekfish."

"His parents -- his young parents -- cope with him!"

She leaned in. "They live on a starship, a safe, enclosed environment with internal sensors that can track a cub with wanderlust in seconds. This is probably his first time on a planet with open spaces since he started walking. He'll rush out into it, unthinking of the mild heart attacks he's giving his carers." She reached out and stroked his muzzle tenderly. "Stop pulling your fur out over it. I love you, you old cat."