Surefoot 29: Daughter of Kaas

Hrelle was floating in the Void again, the sights and sounds of his encounter with the Bajoran Orb of Tomorrows racing past him, impossible memories of things to come briefly touching his senses, like signposts barely glimpsed at the side of a road while he drove at top speed. He wanted to stop and study them, gain insight, clues, spoilers- how he and his son were meant to die-

"Captain?"

He bolted upright in his chair, making his Vulcan First Officer T'Varik snap back, withdrawing the fingertips which had been lightly touching certain pressure areas on his head, as part of her mindmeld with him.

Sitting between them, his wife Kami looked at each of them with concern, focusing on Hrelle. "Esek? Are you okay?"

He nodded silently, gravely, his eyes focused on T'Varik. "Well?"

The woman leaned back in her own chair, hands together in a contemplative steeple. "This is... not precedented with me, Captain, or any other Vulcans I am aware of. I made contact with the surface level of your consciousness, could access other areas if desired -- though of course I did not do so, Sir -- but the area of your mind involving your experience with the Orb was... shielded. I perceived it as a moment in your recent memories, but nothing more."

"Could this have been generated by a... resistance on his part?" Kami asked. "His prior traumatic experiences years ago with the telepath employed by the Bel-Zon?"

"I would say not. Captain Hrelle's trust in me was strong." She looked to him, regard clear in her otherwise serene demeanour. "And appreciated, by the way, Sir. Had there been even a subconscious resistance to telepathic contact, I would not have gotten as far as I had. No, I suspect that my lack of success in accessing the Orb visions is a by-product of the visions themselves, that they were designed to be for Captain's Eyes Only, as it were." She paused and concluded with, "I regret not being of more assistance to you, Sir."

Hrelle adjusted his rear end, giving more swishing room to his tail as it poked through the hole in the back of his chair, and tried to hide his disappointment. He had hoped that T'Varik's clarity might lend some clues to what he saw... and how to avoid what was to come. "No worries, Commander, it was worth a shot, anyway. And fortunately you didn't probe too deeply to see some of the really filthy thoughts I have about Kami."

His wife smirked. "I don't think she needs to mindmeld with you to guess at some of them."

The Vulcan offered the hint of amusement at the banter between husband and wife. "Indeed not. But this... shielded area... at least confirms that you did not imagine what had happened to you."

His expression sobered. "I don't know if that's comforting or not. Have we heard anything back from Bajor? Or Deep Space Nine?"

"Neither yet, Sir, beyond the initial message of gratitude for returning the Orb to them. The Bajoran religious bureaucracy is... extensive and challenging. And Captain Sisko is no doubt extremely busy following the Klingon attack on his station and the withdrawl of the Empire from the Accords."

Hrelle grunted, not wanting to have been reminded that the Galaxy was moving along despite his personal crises -- and moving in a direction that he didn't like. "Well, I was hoping he might spare me a few minutes at least, since he's the Bajorans' Messiah and all-"

"'Emissary'," T'Varik corrected dryly.

"Whatever."

"Captain, you have described visions of both the imminent death of yourself and Misha, and your later attainment of the position of Academy Superintendent; neither can occur together in the same timeline. I should remind you of the Multiverse View: that we exist in a near-infinite number of quantum realities that can be either similar or radically different to our own, and that the futures you glimpsed are probabilities, not certainties."

He smiled. "Of course. Who knows? There might even be a reality where I'm a thin, serious, mature vegetarian who loves exercise."

She raised an eyebrow in response. "Perhaps... albeit somewhere very distant to our own reality, of course."

He rose to his feet. "Well, we've got a party to join, and you have a godson to spoil."

T'Varik rose as well. "I can assure you, Sir, that I will not spoil Misha. His evening activities will be as carefully balanced as his evening meal."

"I have no doubt," Kami quipped, hugging the Vulcan. "Thanks again for trying, T'Varik."

She nodded to each of them in turn. "Enjoy your party. And try not to overindulge on the bloodwine, its deleterious effects are not exaggerated."

Hrelle smirked. "Speaking from experience, Commander? What's a drunk Vulcan like anyway?"

"Unpleasant. Good evening, Sir, Captain."

As T'Varik left, Kami looked to Hrelle with anxiety. "Are you okay, Esek?"

"Sure." He shrugged and walked away, pretending to be distracted by a silent flashing alert on a PADD on the desk in their quarters. He lifted it up and read it: it was merely an update on their progress to Capella IV in the Alpha Aurigae system, as well as a news alert informing the public about the various pre-arranged meeting points for any Klingons in Federation space who were heading back to Klingon territory. Which Hrelle assumed meant all the Klingons; since Chancellor Gowron withdrew the Empire from the Accords, Klingons were ordered to return to their space, or face Discommendation for themselves and their houses.

Sadly, this included their civilian surgeon Dr Kline. Hrelle would be eternally grateful to the man for his help and support during the Vlathi crisis, and it twisted the Caitian's stomach to think that their relationship was being sundered because of the idiocy of their respective governments. Especially when, in the face of the growing threat from the Dominion and the Cardassian Union, the last thing the Federation and the Empire should be doing is becoming hostile to each other.

Kami walked to him, took the PADD he wasn't reading from his hands and set it aside, replacing it with her own hands. "I've been doing my own research on the Orbs, and other means of apparent prophecy, with the help of our Science cadets, and we've learned that visions are not necessarily meant to be taken literally. Often they are a symbolic reflection of your own subconscious feelings."

He looked to her. The thought wasn't alien to him either, though he feared he was avoiding the truth by entertaining it further. But hearing it from the woman he loved and trusted bolstered him.

His reaction prompted her to continue. "You know we both face fear and guilt over Misha's injuries, at being made to face the reality of his, and our, mortality. It's something no parents wants to face, or should have to."

His tail twitched in consternation. "But... this life we lead... if I took Misha back with me to Cait-"

"Then you could be doing the very thing that fulfils the vision you had of both of you dying. And even if you did make it safely home, that's no guarantee of continued safety. Have you talked with my firstborn Mirow about his job on Cait? He's a rescue pilot for the Emergency Services. It keeps him busy, because despite being far away from the Bel-Zon and the Dominion and the Ferasans, and despite all the safety features built into our modern Twenty-Fourth Century lives and all our medical advances... bad things still happen. Accidents, disasters. People still suffer, and die.

Be careful? Yes, of course, but then we always are. But I'm not prepared to let fear rule our lives. And neither should you, Esek." She paused, and then asked, "Have you changed your mind about telling Sasha about your visions?"

"No," he replied decisively. "She doesn't need to know, to get upset."

She nodded. "No, because your daughter has never faced the possibility of the death of a parent, right?"

He looked at her sharply. "I don't need sarcasm from my wife."

She shrugged. "I'm also your Counselor; sarcasm is part of my arsenal in both roles. She's stronger than you're giving her credit for. Do you think that after Hannah, after you were reported missing and presumed dead, that she hasn't thought about it?"

"Of course she has. But contemplating it is one thing. Hearing that such thoughts were given life from an alien artefact, with a mysterious reputation, is something else." He smirked. "Besides, if our Valedictorian hears about 'Captain Sasha Hrelle', her head'll get even bigger than it already is." He glanced at the clock. "Come on, we're gonna be late. We can talk about this later."

She grunted. "We can, but we won't, not if you have your way. But you're right, we should go before the cadets drink all the bloodwine; the poor little cubs won't be able to handle it."

He smiled back. "Let's show them how it's done, then, shall we?"

*

Twelve hours later, as he threw up for the third time that morning, and quickly washed his snout and rinsed his mouth before racing out of the toilet, Hrelle contented himself with the knowledge that he was probably the best-recovered survivor of the party.

At least, that's how it seemed to those who had made it to the Transporter Room to see the Klingon off to the waiting Klingon transport ship: Doc Masterson was as green as an Orion, despite what was no doubt a shipload of detoxicants in his system from Sickbay. Hrelle's wife Kami was also present, although the Counselor was leaning back against the bulkhead as if the ship's artificial gravity was failing. Lt. C'Rash made an effort to be at attention and presentable, but she gave the impression to Hrelle that she would collapse from the slightest touch. And Chief Nurse Anna-Victoria Scarlo's normal Mediterranean swarthiness had vanished, and now she made a Borg drone look like a Risan sun-worshipper.

It hadn't been Hrelle's first encounter with Klingon bloodwine. But it definitely would be his last. Again.

He was somewhat mollified by Kline's own hungover appearance, wincing as he loudly dropped his shoulder bag onto the adjacent transporter pad, before facing the Surefoot crew seeing him off, his voice sounding like it was strained through a Horta's excretory passage. "Well... that was a party they will sing about in the Halls of Sto-Vo-Kor."

"As long as they sing quietly," C'Rash growled.

Kline laughed -- then regretted it. Or perhaps he was just feeling regretful. "I loathe long goodbyes..."

Hrelle nodded, taking that as his cue to approach and offer a clasp of the surgeon's forearm. "It has been an honour to have you serve onboard my ship, Doctor."

Kline clasped it back. "Yes, I imagine it to be so."

Masterson managed a weak smile and a handshake. "Y'all don't be a stranger round these parts, Pardner. Y'all be missed. Maybe like a nest of fleas in my britches, but y'all still be missed."

Kline harrumphed. "Someday I hope to understand at least half of the things you say, Cowpat."

"Uh, I think you mean 'Cowpoke'."

"I know what I mean." The Klingon moved to C'Rash. "Die well, Lieutenant. And not too soon."

The coal-furred Caitian growled as she shook his hand. "I died after that third bottle. Death holds no fear for me now."

Kline chuckled, looking to Scarlo, regarding her. "You have served with distinction." But then he indicated Masterson. "But do not be swooned by this songbird's mating calls. I would not see you wedded to him, wasting your life raising his brood and cooking his meals."

The Italian woman smirked. "Fat chance of that happening... but, thanks anyway."

Now Kami drew up to Kline... and embraced him, rubbing the left side of her muzzle against the side of his face. "This is for your wife." Then she moved to the other side. "And this is for your children." Finally she touched her snout to his mouth. "And this is for you." She stepped back, noticed her husband's jealous expression and ignored it, focusing still on the Klingon. "You have helped save the lives of members of my family and myself. My Clan will never be enemies with your House, no matter what our respective governments say or do."

Kline looked as moved to emotion by the declaration as any Klingon could be. Then he puffed up his chest and affirmed, "The House of Kline will raise neither blade nor disruptor to the Shall Clan."

Just then the Transporter Room doors parted, and Sasha and Eydiir rushed in, the cadets fully dressed and neither looking any the worse for wear for participating in the party the night before, and imbibing more than their fair share of blood wine. Sasha looked at the officers, and then at Kline. "There you are, skulking off and leaving us in the hands of these ghu who can't hold their liquor!"

Kline laughed, clasping Sasha's forearm. "Be merciful to them, they are old and decrepit. Qapla', Young Hrelle."

"Qapla', Doctor Kline."

Now the Klingon regarded Eydiir, who stood formally. "If I had my druthers, Capellan, I would slay these others and press-gang you into my service."

Eydiir nodded. "Thank you; that is high praise indeed. I have learned much from you. May you continue to slay Death."

"Well said!" He clasped hands with her, before stepping up onto one of the Transporter pads. "Now, get me off this ship of petaQs before I choke on the stench of sentimentality."

Hrelle nodded and stepped behind the console. "We will meet again, Doctor."

Kline nodded back. "If Destiny wills it, Captain."

The doctor and his belongings slipped away in a column of quantum impossibility.

C'Rash glared at the cadets. "Okay, how in the Seven Hells are you two still standing up after last night? I need an antigrav harness to stay on my feet!"

Sasha looked to Eydiir before responding with a shrug. "I guess the Next Generation is made of hardier stuff."

"Kiss my furry ass! I'm only six years older than you two tailless, furless kussiks!"

"It is impressive," Kami admitted, leaning against the wall again. "I wish I had some of what they've obviously had."

"They have Nanites," Masterson opined, rubbing his eye sockets. "Breaking down the alcohol as it reached their bloodstreams. Eydiir checked a set of them out yesterday morning, despite there being no medical cases or Academy projects requiring them." At the cadets' reactions, he explained, "Y'all think you can just requisition medical nanotechnology without the Chief Medical Officer knowing about it?"

Eydiir flinched. "Doctor, I realise it was an unauthorised use of the equipment, I will accept full responsibility-"

"No!" Sasha protested. "I ordered her, if you're going to blame anyone, blame me!"

But Masterson held a shushing finger to his lips. "I'm not in any fit state to be blaming anyone. Or doing anything, except going back to bed, and I prescribe the same for the rest of you."

Hrelle grunted with approval at that. "Fine, fine. T'Varik has the morning off with Misha, and I was supposed to be taking over from Neheru on the Bridge at 0800 Hours. But now..." He looked to Sasha. "Now you can do it."

Sasha blinked. "Me?"

He tapped his combadge. "Hrelle to Bridge: Neheru, Doctor Kline has been beamed onboard the Klingon transport, resume our course to Capella IV. And Ensign Hrelle and Alpha Squad will be taking over the morning shift while the rest of us old folks sleep off the effects of Klingon bloodwine."

"Understood, Sir." The Kelpien Ops Officer didn't even try to hide the amusement from his response. "Bridge out."

Hrelle smiled, looking at his daughter. "Why the long face? I remember when you used to jump at the chance to sit in the Captain's chair. Now go, get your hardy Next Generation ass up there."

Sasha frowned, muttering under her breath, but Eydiir looked uncharacteristically hesitant. "Captain... may I have a private word with you, please?"

Hrelle blinked, fighting down his urge to go off to the nearest head for another pointless worship at the toilet to appease his already-emptied stomach, but looked at the others. "Dismissed." They filed out, except for a bemused-looking Sasha, until he clarified with, "That means you, too, Runt of the Litter."

She stuck her tongue out at him before she left. Alone now with the cadet, he asked, "What's up?"

The tall, muscular, coffee-skinned girl steeled herself before replying, "Sir... while I appreciate you diverting the Surefoot to my homeworld on our way to Earth for the graduation, you didn't have to do this just for my benefit."

Hrelle let a hint of amusement bring warmth to his nauseated faced. "I didn't, Cadet. We had to come here to drop off Kline, Capella IV is the only Class-M planet in the sector, and we need to regain our planetlegs before reaching Earth, where we'll be far too busy to compensate after so many months in space. Besides, it seems like an interesting world: one of the few pre-Warp civilisations aware of and interacting with the rest of the Galaxy, albeit on a very limited level."

"Yes," she agreed curtly, "But it remains a dangerous world. The Ten Tribes have customs and laws all their own, and outsiders can risk injury or worse by offending them, even inadvertently."

He nodded. "Which is why visitors to Capella are strongly advised to remain in and around the Federation Liaison Office and Visitors' Centre. You, of course, being a native, are free to visit your own tribe." He saw her react to that, and added, "Unless of course, all this talk is because you don't want to do that."

Somehow the cadet managed to get even more straight-backed. "I do not wish to cause any difficulty, Captain."

Now he smiled. "You never have. And even if you did, you've more than earned it in my eyes." He knew her backstory, of course: born and raised on Capella IV, a Federation protectorate for the past century after the Klingons made First Contact with them. Eydiir, Daughter of Kaas, grew up among the Ten Tribes, a primitive, nomadic, warrior race.

She had an older brother, Straad, who caught a fever when she was twelve. It was an illness that would have been easily treatable anywhere else -- but among the Capellans, it was believed that the sick were weak, and they had no medicines or medical skills. Eydiir alone struggled to help him, to no avail, and her guilt had driven her to attempt suicide.

Later, the girl earned a sponsorship to Starfleet Academy. She wasn't the first Capellan to do so -- but she was the first to forgo Security in favour of Medicine. For this, her father, the Teer of the Satiiri tribe, had removed her right of kinship and her tribal sash.

When Hrelle had heard of this, and knew how much this banishment had affected the cadet, he had made a personal appeal to the High Teer of all the Tribes, extolling the girl's bravery and honour in service to Starfleet. Not long after, Eydiir received her sash again.

And that had been the end of it, as far as he knew. "Has something happened? Has your father, or someone else, contacted you?"

"No, Sir. I have only ever received one message since I departed five years ago." Something like sardonic amusement lifted her features. "Capellans have never been known to be... chatty." Then she grew sombre again. "Captain, I must confess to being... hesitant... to go back. What sort of reception will I receive? Regardless of my father's rescission of my expulsion, he might still not want to see me again."

Hrelle considered her words, before finally responding, "Something similar happened to me when I left Cait at your age. My birth-clan wanted me to continue in their fishing business, and my decision to go my own way got me excluded. After several unanswered messages home, I decided to give it a cooling off period and wait for them to make the next move.

The cooling off extended from months, to years... and then decades. With nothing from them. Over thirty years later, when I finally returned to the Motherworld, I hesitated visiting my old Clanlands. Kami convinced me that the response I would get from my Papa, even a negative response, would still be better than living the rest of my life with ambiguity. And she was right.