Surefoot 31: Redpaw

"USS Surefoot-A, Captain's Log, Stardate 49589.99, Captain Esek Hrelle, Commanding: we are rejoining the Fleet near the Sherman Sector, to provide ambulance and rescue support in the war against the Klingons. Along the way we stopped off at Starbase 154 to make a few cosmetic and engineering modifications, stock up on supplies, and most importantly, to collect officers and crew to fill the vacancies normally taken up by our cadets and those officers who remained on Earth for shore leave or other duties.

This includes a temporary First Officer, Commander Emil Bellamy, who has an impressive record performing similar duties on a wide variety of different assignments... as he never fails to remind everyone. He's... He...

(Sigh) He annoys the hell out of me. I'm trying to be patient and professional, reminding myself that I shouldn't compare him to Commander T'Varik, that I'm distracted from missing my wife and son and Sasha. But just when I think that maybe he's not all bad, he does something to make me long for the day when he moves on to annoy someone else..."

*

Deck 2 Fore, Captain's Ready Room:

Hrelle had his feet up on his desk, admiring the image on his viewscreen when his door buzzed. "Enter."

His back was to the door, his tail swishing lazily through the hole in the back of his chair, but his ears and nose immediately identified the visitor. "Commander Bellamy, thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Captain. I am here to serve."

"Yes." He nodded up to the screen: a view from the outside of the dorsal hull of the Aft Engineering section of the ship, a stubby flat surface where the Starbase Support team had painted a bright apple-red symmetrical symbol of a paw print, a main pad topped with five smaller digital pads and claw marks. "What do you think of our new markings?"

He heard Bellamy made a non-committal sound, before responding with, "The station team performed an adequate job, but I observed areas of improvement which I submitted to their Department before our departure-"

"Which I'm sure will be as well-received as the ones you've submitted to me. But I was referring to how awesome it looks."

"Ah. Ah, yes. Awesome, indeed." He displayed all the enthusiasm of a man rearranging his bookcase.

Hrelle set down his feet and turned his chair to the face the man: a middle-aged, pale-skinned human with a moon face, receding blonde hair and gimlet eyes. "You have a problem with the Red Paw, Commander?"

"Problem? Not per se, Captain, but in my experience the human-designed Red Cross would be a more recognised symbol of this vessel's current mission parameters, than something this..." He waved towards the viewscreen. "Obscure."

"The Red Paw is a widely-recognised symbol of a vessel providing medical aid," Hrelle informed him indignantly. "By Caitians and other felinoids, as well as canoids, ursinoids, vulpoids, musteloids... it's as valid as the Red Cross, Crystal, Helix, Star and the rest of the accepted symbols on the Interstellar Aid Registry. And... I like it."

Bellamy made an appraising sound. "It is very pretty, Captain. But do not be deceived into thinking it will protect your ship from attack by the Klingons. In my experience, they have no respect for the beliefs of others."

Hrelle nodded at that. "Speaking of respect for the beliefs of others... I didn't ask you here to talk about the Red Paw. I understand you reprimanded Nurse Jika Showri today for wearing her D'ja pagh while in uniform."

Bellamy allowed a smirk to crease his face. "Ah. I suspected she might have come crying to you-"

"Ms Jika said nothing; it was Doctor Masterson who alerted me. And with good reason: Ship's Policy allows for the reasonable display of religious and cultural accessories with the uniform; the Bajoran earpiece certainly qualifies as 'reasonable'."

The Commander straightened up slightly. "Yes, I wished to speak with you about changing that policy, Captain. In my experience, encouraging such displays among the more primitive cultures-"

"Primitive? Bajorans were exploring interstellar space in lightships when your people were burning witches at the stake!"

"Nevertheless, Captain, eliminating such superstitious trappings promotes a more unified mindset-"

"Well, you must have been confident that I would agree with you, since you presumed to go ahead and humiliate my crewman and force her to remove the symbol of her beliefs in front of her supervisor and colleagues, before getting such an agreement confirmed."

The man hesitated, as if sensing Hrelle's mood. "Sir?"

"You were wrong," the Caitian declared sharply. "I don't agree with you. I'm not a religious person. But I do respect the rights of people to believe what they want, so long as those beliefs don't interfere with the rights of others, or how this ship is run. We are a Galaxy rich in diversity, and we should be able to reflect that. I won't change my policy. And I think you should apologise to Ms Jika for your chutzpah."

Bellamy frowned. "Chutzpah, Sir?"

"Effrontery. Nerve. Gall."

"Ah. I see." The man stuck out his chin indignantly, as if he was the aggrieved party. "Is that an order, Captain?"

Hrelle stared back hard. "It shouldn't have to be." He rose to his feet. "Mr Bellamy, it's only fair to inform you that when we rendezvous with the Fleet, I'll be asking for a replacement XO."

The man never reacted.

"You have redoubtable organisational skills," Hrelle continued, wanting to soften the blow despite his annoyance at the man, "Which have made you instrumental in implementing the changes and additions to my ship and crew in record time, and I will make a note of that in my report to Admiral Savari.

But you're also arrogant, opinionated, Terracentric, presumptive, dismissive... I've had complaints from every Department Head since your arrival. I was willing to overlook them at first, because you were new and needed and you had some big shoes to fill. But hearing your attitude today-"

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" he interrupted.

Hrelle nodded.

"Sir, with respect, this isn't the first time a CO has complained about me. I've been labelled all those things you said, and much more. But I didn't take this assignment to be liked while I'm here or missed when I'm gone. I'm here to do a job, a job I do very well, as my record will attest. I will of course appreciate any positive feedback you might have for me, and take it onboard for future."

Hrelle considered the response he had received, before replying, "Dismissed, Commander."

As he watched the man depart, Hrelle rubbed his eyes, reaching into a desk drawer and retrieving a carefully-folded plush purple cloth: one of Misha's old blankets, which the cub still carried around at times when he began walking. He held it up to his snout and breathed in deeply, taking in his son's scent - and his mother's as well.

Seven Hells, it had only been two weeks since he'd been on Earth with them, but it felt like eternity. He was fretful, agitated; his sleep was going haywire without their presence, and though their scent lingered in his quarters, he missed hearing them breathe, snore, laugh and play around him. He hated being alone. He needed to hear from them more often, but it wasn't always possible given the current security situation-

He started as the door buzzed again, and he put down the blanket. "Enter."

Doc Masterson stepped in, carrying a box under one arm and a tricorder in his other hand. "Howdy, Captain! Busy?"

"Never too busy for you, Doc! Come on in and sit yourself down, Tenderhead!"

"'Tenderfoot'," Masterson corrected, setting the box and tricorder down on the desk, before taking a chair opposite him - straddling it, of course. The square-jawed man broke into a toothy grin. "You know, I might have grown up in a colony of cowboys, but you don't have to indulge me every time."

"I like cowboys; it's those hats you all wear. Oh, and the food, too. Okay, mostly the food. How are the new medical staff?"

"Doctor Shyrik's sharp as a tack, but she looks like she'd just as soon kill me as give me the time of day; Andorians must have burrs under their antennae. Glad I've got Eydiir down there to watch my back." More seriously, he asked, "You talked to Commander Bellamy about Jika?"

Hrelle nodded. "I set him straight."

"Good." Masterson regarded him, before lifting up his tricorder and scanning his Captain. "Heightened levels of acetylcholine indicative of Caitian Pheromone Withdrawal, producing irregular sleep patterns, irritability... you've not been using your Personal Relaxation Light, have you?"

"Caitians prefer the darkness. Not that we get much of it with our night vision."

The CMO reached out and pushed the box closer to the Captain. "Then this might help."

He peeled off the lid - his tail swishing excitedly as the mouth-watering scent of freshly-replicated Southern-fried shuris pieces within reached his nostrils. "Is it my birthday?"

Masterson smiled. "Better: it's a prescription from your ship's doctor, supported by your missus. After keeping you on rabbit food all this time, you need a break." He watched as Hrelle tore into one large piece, noting, "Don't inhale it all in one go, Pardner. It's not just for you."

His mouth full, Hrelle motioned for Masterson to tuck in.

"I don't mean me, Captain. Someone else suffering from CPW..."

As if on cue, the door slid open without warning, and the coal-furred Caitian female in her gold-topped uniform enter, her tail swishing friskily behind her as she rushed around to behind Hrelle's desk to help herself to shuris. "What, you left me some, Uncle Esek? Slowing down in your old age?"

He grunted. "Cheeky bitch."

"Sorry, I'm in Season."

He waved the air between them. "No kidding; your musk is as thick as a Gorn's hide. Well, take a suppressant, because you're not getting any action from your Uncle and Commanding Officer."

She leaned in and peered at his muzzle. "You're getting lots of grey there. Misha's gonna think he has a new Grandpa."

"I hate you." He looked to Masterson, who was grinning. "Enjoying yourself?"

"When I can." He nodded to Misha's blanket. "Yours?"

"My son's."

The doctor smiled. "That little critter of yours gonna be a heartbreaker when he's older."

Hrelle chuckled. "He already is. I hear he's receiving messages now from Neraxis' little sister Alazia, as well as Weynik's daughter Naida." He grinned, purposefully showing off the shuris bits stuck in his teeth. "He gets his sex appeal from me."

C'Rash spat out the food in her mouth from laughing, quickly collecting it from the carpet and swallowing it again, before asking, "So, when's Commander Baloney leaving?"

Masterson looked to her. "You have a problem with the dude too, Lieutenant?"

She scowled at him challengingly. "Doesn't everyone? He's tried to rearrange my team's duty schedules without even telling me! And I heard what he did to your nurse! If he tried that with any of my people, you'd still be extracting his balls from his belly!"

Hrelle focused on picking his teeth clean with one of his claws. "Keep it to yourselves, but I told him I'll be looking for a replacement for him as soon as we join the Fleet."

C'Rash made a pleasing sound. "Best news all day."

"Is it?" He looked up. "I don't like people leaving us believing that no one wants them around."

"But it's true in his case." She grabbed another piece.

"He moves around a lot, from assignment to assignment, never in any place long enough to put down any roots, make friends." He looked to Masterson for support. "Maybe this attitude of his is a defence mechanism?"

The CMO leaned back, impressed. "That's very astute, Captain."

C'Rash grunted. "If you're looking to take your wife's place as Counselor, forget it; your boobs aren't as nice as Aunt Kami's."

"I'd be insulted if that wasn't true. Well, regardless, I'll be glad to have T'Varik back."

"Not as much as me." She licked her fingers, making sensual sounds. "I've had her things moved from her quarters into mine while Bellamy is camped in there, so her scent's all over my place. Mother's Cubs, Uncle Esek, that woman drives me into a frenzy! When we mindmeld while we make love, it's like another layer of intimacy altogether! Like we're seeing and feeling through each other's bodies! And her nethers taste like hot tart tava pudding-"

He held up a silencing hand, glancing at a flushed Masterson before swallowing the shuris in his mouth and explaining, "T'Varik and I have an arrangement: in order to maintain our working relationship, we agreed to keep our respective lovers from revealing too much about us to each other. Now I won't be able to look at her without thinking about hot tava tart pudding, so thanks for that, Horncat-"

The Red Alert made Hrelle, Masterson and C'Rash bolt to their feet and race out the door to the adjacent Bridge, the doctor heading back to Sickbay and Hrelle pausing to feel his ship kick into high warp before barking, "Report!"

Bellamy rose from the Captain's Chair and faced him. "A distress signal from the Tsukuba! They're being attacked by Klingons, 1.4 light years in the neighbouring system! They've taken critical damage, and are abandoning ship!"

"ETA to their location?"

"At current speed, 47 minutes, Sir."

Hrelle nodded and moved to the Tactical Display Board in the aft of the Bridge alongside C'Rash, quickly taking in the images and accompanying data: Three Klingon K't'inga-class battle cruisers ambushed the USS Tsukuba as it was passing through System L-554, a protostar in the early stages of development with no planetary bodies.

He called up the details of the Tsukuba: NCC-65843, Nebula-class, Captain Sami Boutella commanding, crew complement-

Mother's Cubs... crew complement is 750... "Send a coded signal to Starfleet Command, apprise them of the situation. Tell them we'll need backup."

Bellamy nodded. "Tactical, ready phasers and photon torpedoes- Helm, send a signal, warn the Klingons off-"

"Belay that," Hrelle cut in. "No signal, no weapons."

The First Officer started, confused. "Sir?"

To Neheru he ordered, "Initiate Emergency Aid Protocols: have Medical and Support teams prepare both Sickbays, Auxiliary Barracks, Lounges, Holodecks and the Shuttlebay to take on wounded, reconfigure cargo transporters for living matter, and begin mass-replicating medical supplies and rations."

As the Ops Officer complied, Bellamy caught Hrelle's attention again. "No weapons, Sir? No warning to the Klingons?"

"We'll need all available power to prepare for a Search and Rescue operation, not a military one. And if we send a signal ahead, the Klingons may just stick around to take us on."

The man stepped forward, all gung-ho. "Good!"

"No," Hrelle replied simply. "Not 'Good'. Have you seen a K'i'tinga-class battle cruiser in action, Commander? That design has been around since Kirk's day, but then so has the Excelsior-class, and they're no pushovers either. And there's three K'i'tingas out there, making a meal of a Nebula-class ship. We'd just be dessert."

Bellamy glanced at the viewscreen, as if his eyes could reach out across the void and see the Klingons, before looking back at Hrelle, demanding, "We- We can't just stand here and do nothing!"

The Captain regarded the man, aware of how much his Bridge crew were listening in on the argument without wanting to be seen to be doing so. "Mr Bellamy, once we use weapons, any protection we might have under the Rules of Engagement is lost... and a waste of time anyway against them.

We're not doing 'nothing'. We're going in to save those we can, rather than adding to the casualties; this is an ambulance ship now, and that's where our duties lie, here and for the duration of the War.

I'm not looking for a fight."

Bellamy glared with open contempt. "No. That would require courage... Sir."

Heads on the Bridge turned at that.

Hrelle drew even closer to him, his hackles raised and his patience eroded, and his subsequent words escaped riding on the back of a growl. "Stow the attitude, Commander, or I'll find a place for it, a place you won't like. In the meantime, take all this anger you have and focus it on working out how we'll be able to accommodate potentially 750 evacuees, when our maximum rated evacuation limit is 500."

The human's face paled at the realisation of the task ahead of them, nodded curtly and returned to his station.

Hrelle faced forward, staring at the tightly-dilated starfield as seen from a ship at high warp, and resisted the urge to get up and pace nervously, having exhausted what he needed to do to prepare. He wanted to call Kami, talk to her, hear her voice and see the love and support in her eyes. But they couldn't risk any unnecessary transmissions now. Seven Hells...

*

"Scanning," Neheru reported, looking eternally uncomfortable hunched over the Ops station in the seat beside Velkovsky at the Helm in front of the viewscreen. "No sign of Klingon vessels."

Behind Hrelle's left shoulder, C'Rash piped up. "I'm keeping an eye on tachyon and tetryon variance for possible cloaks."

Hrelle nodded, never taking his eyes away from the devastation on the viewscreen as they continued their approach.

The Tsukuba had been a large ship, looking like a Galaxy-class vessel that had been compacted. It had one of those triangular mission pods mounted on the dorsal superstructure, but that was floating free now among the twisted, weapons-scoured debris. "Mr Bellamy, what was the Tsukuba doing out here?"

The man stood at his station, having been more or less silent since his earlier confrontation with Hrelle. "According to Starfleet records, they left Starbase 209 en route to supplement the patrols in the Elasian system. They were equipped with a weapons pod, with 200 torpedoes, eight launchers and 3 Type-X phaser emitters-"

"None of which did them any good here," C'Rash pointed out. "They look like they'd been caught completely off-guard. Not surprising; we're pretty deep into Federation territory to expect an attack."

"Tactical assessment later," Hrelle decided, rising. "Begin scanning for escape pods and shuttles, signal our arrival and coordinate transport to Shuttlebay Triage: injured first, then civilians, then the rest. Lt Shall: you're watching our backs."

And it began, Hrelle listening to the activity around him, taking in the information he needed without having to ask, his pointed Caitian ears twitching occasionally: the numbers of survivors reported out there mounted up, higher and higher - 50... 100.. 150... 200... and he continued wondering if the life support systems of the Surefoot could handle more than the maximum rated number.

350... 450... Mother's Cubs, they were going to be packed in like Gideonites-

"477, Sir," Neheru reported.

Hrelle blinked. "Lieutenant?"

The Kelpien turned to look at him. "477 survivors of the Tsukuba, Sir."

Hrelle nodded, appalled at the loss of nearly three hundred lives out here, glad that it was still a manageable number... and appalled once more at feeling glad for that. "Commence rescue protocols, watch for any signs of pods in distress-"

"Captain..." C'Rash said softly. Anxiously.

It was enough to make him turn and approach her station. "Lieutenant?"

The Caitian female never looked away from her readings, but pointed to them. "The variances here... and here... do they look to you like-"

He saw enough. "Arm phasers and torpedoes." Louder now, he announced, "RED ALERT! The Klingons are returning! ETA 2 minutes and counting!" As the klaxon sounded again, he continued over it. "I want everyone beamed onboard NOW! Ignore Triage, we'll sort them out later! Bellamy! Send a signal to the Klingons, inform them we are a non-hostile vessel on a rescue mission for the survivors of the Tsukuba!"