Surefoot 38: The War Watchers

USS Surefoot-A, Deck 2 Fore, Command Quarters, 0720 Hours:

Esek and Kami Hrelle noticed the change in their cub Misha, as they sat together having breakfast in their quarters. The toddler was dressed in the khaki shorts, vest and boots favoured by his latest hero The Crooked Tailed Cub, but he was hardly touching his food, more focused on staring intensely, almost suspiciously, at his mother, his snout wrinkling.

The parents looked to each other, Esek asking in Old Caitian, "He knows, doesn't he?"

"He knows something, but he doesn't know what."

"Guess it's time to tell him."

Misha frowned, shaking a finger at them. "Secret Talk! Rude!"

Kami smiled, rising up with Esek and walking around the table, dropping to one knee as she stroked the tufts of fur under the cub's snout. "You're right, Sweetheart, and we're sorry, but sometimes grown-ups have to say things to each other that cubs are not meant to hear. You looked worried, and that worries us."

On Misha's other side, Esek rubbed his muzzle against his cub's. "So tell us, my Warrior Prince, what's bothering you?"

Misha stared again at Kami, his nostrils twitching excitedly now. "You smell funny! You sick! You see Doc Cowboy, he fix you!"

Kami smiled. "No, Sweetheart. I'm not sick. What you're smelling is a change in my scent that happens when I begin carrying a cub in my belly."

Misha frowned again in confusion, looking to Esek. "Papa?"

Esek smiled, too, and nodded. "We've been waiting for you to notice. We're having another cub, a little sister for you. We're going to call her Sreen. And you're going to be her big brother! Well? Isn't that great news?"

He looked at each of his parents again in turn.

And then shook his head. "No."

Esek blinked. "No?"

"No. No cubs. Cubs are stinky. Send it back."

Kami tightened her muzzle to keep from laughing, before responding with, "We can't do that. Your Papa and I made love, he put his seed in me, it reached one of my eggs, and they began growing together. It can't be stopped now."

Misha scowled at Esek. "You bad man! You Horncat!"

"Wha- Where did you hear that word?"

"Cousin C'Rash say you Horncat! She say you put it in Mama too much and make her walk funny!"

"What? Son of a bitch-"

"Esek..." Kami looked to Misha again. "Let's not say those things again, sweetheart. Now tell us, what's wrong with having a sister? You have one already, remember? Sasha?"

"Sasha's no little! Little cubs are stinky!"

Kami smiled now. "You don't think we're going to love you less, do you?"

"Because that's not gonna happen," Esek assured, wrapping an arm around him. "We have more than enough love for both of you. In fact, we'd have enough love for you all even if we had ten cubs."

"Ten?" Misha echoed.

"Ten?" Kami repeated with equal dismay, eyeing her husband.

"You no have ten!" Misha scolded his father. "You give Mama Bad Belly!"

"Not just my belly," Kami muttered, but followed it up with, "Fine, Cub of Mine, I won't have ten. Would one be better than ten?"

Misha looked at her, seemingly gauging the notion... and then deciding with a thoughtful shake of his head, "No. No cubs. Cubs are stinky. You just have me."

"Misha-"

Suddenly the conversation ended, as the Yellow Alert blared throughout the ship. Esek rose to his feet, grabbed his boots and jacket and raced out, as Kami swept her cub up into her arms and prepared to take him to their muster station in Main Sickbay.

He dropped his jacket and boots onto his chair on the Bridge as he took in the heightened tension among the mix of crew and cadets on duty now, and looked to the duty officer. "Lt Velkovsky?"

The tall blonde human looked up from her current place at the Tactical board. "We've detected an unauthorised vessel at the coordinates in the Gamma Lyrae system, where the USS Tycho was destroyed by that Klingon ship. They're not responding to hails."

Hrelle grunted in acknowledgement; the Surefoot had been there in the aftermath of the battle months ago, to collect the survivors of both vessels, including the Tycho's last commanding officer, Admiral Jacobs. "Scavengers, probably."

Beside Velkovsky, the Orion cadet Zir Dassene straightened up. "Sir, begging your pardon, but could it be Klingons sifting through the Tycho's wreckage looking for secrets of our designs?"

Hrelle suppressed a smile, not wanting to put the young woman off of making suggestions in the future. "Interesting notion, Ms Dassene, except that the Tycho was a sixty-year-old Oberth; she hadn't much left in the way of secrets. Still, she deserves better than to have carrion hovering around her, picking at her remains." He faced forward. "Stand down from Yellow Alert. Helm, lay in a course for the Tycho's last reported position, engage when ready, Warp Six."

As he walked down to his chair and began slipping into his boots, Velkovsky asked, "Shall we hail them again, Sir?"

He reached for his jacket. "Don't bother; if they haven't responded by now, they never will. But send a message to the Fleet and update them as to our detour." Then he sat down, slipping his tail through the hole in the back of the seat, beginning his shift a little earlier than usual... but preferring it to having to confront Misha again... he had hoped for a more enthusiastic response from his cub...

*

Once they popped back into normal space, the first thing Hrelle noticed was... "The debris. Where is it? For that matter, where's our mystery vessel?"

He looked over at Lt C'Rash Shall, who had joined them before arriving at the system, and now ran scans from her Tactical station. "Some very small pieces of wreckage are still in orbit, but most of the remains of the Tycho and the Klingon vessel appear to have been tractored down to the planet's surface... and the vessel we detected is down there, too."

"Identification?"

After a pause, the coal-furred Caitian reported, "The SS Cavalier, an Escorial-class civilian multipurpose transport, Rigelian registry, owner is listed as a Terran, Felip Navarro... Starfleet Security reports its involvement in a number of... questionable activities."

Hrelle made a sound; the Rigelian registry, used by many individuals and groups as a cover for 'questionable activities', confirmed it. "Mercenaries."

"Sensors detecting fourteen lifeforms, a mix of human, Rigelian, Miradorn, Boslic... and Nekrosi."

"Nekrosi? They're far from their turf." He paused as he saw his First Officer Commander T'Varik enter, and nodded as he continued, drawing up to Tactical and calling up the records on Navarro and the Cavalier. "No active warrants with anyone at the moment... they've been spotted at the Golin Memorial sites, along the Demilitarised Zone, the Tholian border-" Then it made sense.

"You think they're looking for a job, Sir?"

"No, I think they already have one. Ready a Security Team, we'll pop down and get it confirmed ourselves." He looked over at Zir. "Are you up for an Away Mission, Cadet?"

"Me, Sir?" she squeaked, her olive skin darkening with embarrassment at the sound she'd produced.

"Yes, you, Sir," he replied, imitating her squeak. "Standard Equipment, we beam down in five. Commander T'Varik, you have the centre seat."

C'Rash drew up to him. "Sir, do you think it's safe to bring a cadet down there? We don't know why they're here."

"I have an idea about that." He said nothing further, and as he started past T'Varik, he stopped and noted, "Oh, Commander, it might interest you to know that Kami and I have informed Misha that there's a second cub on the way."

"And was he enthusiastic about the arrival of Sreen Hrelle?"

"Let's say... less than. Kami says he'll come round to the idea before long, though. Of more immediate interest is the revelation that his cousin has been speaking, rather explicitly and critically, about the sex life of his parents to him."

T'Varik raised an eyebrow and looked at the Chief of Security archly. "Indeed?"

C'Rash's jaw dropped. "I was joking!"

"We will speak at length tonight about appropriate topics of conversation for my godson," the Vulcan promised her.

"Fine," Hrelle concluded. "Let's go, people."

As he moved to the doors with Zir, C'Rash muttered, "Thanks a lot, Uncle Esek. I had better plans for that tongue of hers tonight."

He chuckled. "If you can't do the time, don't do the crime."

*

It was a vast plain of flat, unforested grassland, one area now dominated by three large and distinct metallic structures of different design: two obvious wrecks, one intact vessel nearby. Hrelle could make out the general outline of what was left of the Oberth-class USS Tycho, and nearby, the more dilapidated emerald-green hull of the Klingon cruiser that had fallen with it.

In contrast, the SS Cavalier gleamed in the light from the tiny white star above, its silver spear-shaped hull pristine, its aft atmospheric wings and spoilers offering support for the landing gear and the open hatchway. It was a standard craft, built for speed and utility... but Hrelle noted the modifications, the additional phaser and microtorpedo tubes, in keeping with the 'questionable activities' mentioned on the Surefoot. And he saw a number of civilians in quasi-military uniforms milling about the perimeter, carrying weapons, their posture stiff, professional... and activating communicators on seeing the arrival of the Starfleet crew.

But Hrelle's attention was drawn to the other civilians who swarmed around the wrecked ships, people of various races in expensive clothes, recording images and collecting souvenirs: Klingon and Starfleet emblems, blades, pieces of equipment, tatters of uniforms... and personal effects.

It confirmed his suspicions. "War tourism."

"War... tourism, Sir?" Zir echoed, bemused.

He nodded. "Recreational travel to war zones for the purposes of sightseeing or study. Most people restrict their travel to historical sites, such as Cait's Claw Keep, Earth's Gettysburg and Khan's Plains, and Andor's Thrivia Valley. However, there are some who have been known to frequent active areas of combat, to witness armed conflict, as and when they happen."

"That would explain the presence of Navarro and his people here," C'Rash confirmed. "War tourists often hire mercenaries as guides, escorts..."

Hrelle growled, remembering when he was C'Rash's age and a Security Chief himself, and having to deal with such idiots visiting the sites of the last Tholian incursions... with more than a few casualties resulting from collecting dangerous souvenirs, or crossing the wrong patrols. And yet, there was seemingly always more idiots around to take their place. "Cadet, run a scan of the wreckage for radiation."

"Radiation, Sir?"

He nodded. "Set your tricorder sensors at Maximum. Any radiation at all, no matter how residual." He looked to her. "Proceed."

"Aye, Sir." She departed, the whine of her tricorder making his ears twitch as he focused on the approach of a tall, middle-aged grey-haired human male in a sober black suit, smiling affably as he drew closer -- with two guards behind him. "Hello there! Well, this is a surprise! I didn't know there was still Starfleet in the area!"

"You would have, if you had answered our hails, Mister...?"

"Navarro. Friends call me Felip." He held out his hand. As Hrelle eventually shook it, the man's expression brightened with recognition. "Are you Captain Hrelle of the Surefoot?"

"Yes. Now, perhaps you could-"

The human beamed, and held out his arms as if to embrace the Caitian. "Well, this is wonderful! Our clients will be delighted to meet you! You have quite a reputation, Captain! I'm hoping you can give us some time for photos, questions-"

"Mr Navarro," Hrelle interrupted sternly. "It is against Federation law to refuse to respond to a hail from a Starfleet vessel. We had to assume that there was something wrong, and divert from our normal course of operations to investigate."

The man affected a contrite expression, one that was as false as his affability. "Of course, Captain, of course, it's just... well, we are in a war zone, after all, we have VIPs with us, and I had received expert advice not to respond, in case it was a Klingon trap." He shrugged, smiling. "We have a duty of care to our clients, you understand."

"Yes." You're so full of shit I could smell it from orbit, Hrelle thought, looking at the civilians now posing on pieces of wreckage, the purple-skinned Nekrosi literally standing head and shoulders above the others. "Who are your VIPs?"

Navarro's gaze followed Hrelle's. "Prince Isole and Princess Odede, Firstborn Twins to Monarch Prime Nhlanha of the Nekros Commonwealth. With the help of the seemingly-inexhaustible purse of the Royal Family, they and a party of other rich cronies and sycophants wanted to visit the War Front. You know, witness a battle, get some mementos. The Nekrosi are rather military-minded."

"Yes," Hrelle agreed absently, remembering the Surefoot's encounter with some of their subspace isolytic mines several years ago, sold on the Black Market during a period of political and economic instability for the non-aligned power. "Mr Navarro, why did you tractor down the debris of the Tycho and the Klingon ship?"

The man smiled again. "Isn't it obvious? It makes for a better experience when our clients can actually touch the hulls, sit in the seats, imagine the thrill of going into battle with the enemy-"

"People died in that battle. It was a grave site."

"Our intelligence indicated that no Starfleet personnel died in the battle that destroyed the Tycho, Captain. And the Klingons don't care about what happens to their dead." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "My people searched the debris beforehand and made sure our customers wouldn't stumble onto anything grisly."

"Grisly?" C'Rash crossed her arms and sneered. "They're visiting war zones! What do they expect?"

"They're expecting only a controlled sample of war," Hrelle informed her coldly, still glaring at Navarro. "A taster, like tidbits from a platter, taking what they like and leaving the rest. They come, pose for photos, collect some souvenirs, and be back in their luxury cabins in time for some Denobulan snails and Saurian brandy."

Navarro smiled and shrugged. "It's a living, Captain."

"No, it's a lunacy-" He stopped as he heard sounds from behind them, and turned to see Zir, who had been approaching, before being stopped and quickly surrounded by a dozen or more of Navarro's clients.

The young cadet was being as polite as she could, but was overwhelmed by the excited tourists. "Excuse me, please-"

"You're an Orion, aren't you?"

"I never thought I'd see one in the flesh!"

"What are you doing in that uniform? Are you in Starfleet?"

"She can't be in Starfleet, they wouldn't let one of her kind in!"

Zir held up a hand. "Please- I'm trying to work- could you step aside-"

"Hirus! Take my photo with my arm around her!"

"Hey! Get away from her!" C'Rash barked at them.

But the warnings were ignored. "Can you dance? Dance for us!"

"N-No, please-"

Then one of the male Nekrosi, a tall, thin scarecrow of a figure, with a flat face, violet skin and hair, and clad in flowing black clothes with silver patterns, grabbed her arm. "Come here, Orion, you'll dance for me-"

The Nekrosi's hold on her lasted two seconds, before Hrelle was onto him, twisting the male's other arm behind him until he cried out in pain, before flinging him six metres away.

He rolled over the flattened yellow-green grass and stopped, looking up with wide, outraged eyes, stammering breathlessly, "You... you filthy mongrel! How dare you put your hands on Isole the First? I can have you beheaded! Cut to a hundred pieces!"

The other Nekrosi, a female and obviously Princess Odede, stepped forward. "Navarro! Have your men execute these animals!"

Hrelle looked back, to see Navarro's men -- freeze in place, as C'Rash and her own people had their phasers drawn and ready.

Hrelle walked up to where the Prince lay sprawled, remaining silent as Isole continued to spit protests and threats. "I will see you put to death! Your filthy line will end with you! I swear it!"

Then Hrelle knelt down, leaned forward and began whispering into Isole's ear.

And as the Caitian continued to whisper, teeth clenched and bared, the young man's expression changed, the outrage and ire quickly melting away into a cold fear, even a panic, his eyes widening and darting between the Caitian and the others.

Finally Hrelle stopped and rose -- grabbing Isole by the arm and hauling him back to his feet as well. The Prince pulled away, trembling, gasping, rubbing his arm where Hrelle had held onto him... before finally looking at Zir, swallowing and announcing, "I-I'm s-sorry for touching you. I'm sorry!" He looked to Hrelle, anger mixing with fear. "There! Satisfied?"

The Caitian glared at him for a moment longer than was necessary, before striding back to his cadet, the tourists quickly parting. "Are you hurt, Cadet?"

Zir quickly recovered, straightening up, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to-"

"You did nothing to apologise for," he assured her gently. "Now... are you hurt?"

She breathed out, controlling her breathing once more. "No, Sir. I'm fine. I can do my job."

Hrelle smiled. "Report."

The young Orion woman nodded and lifted up the tricorder in her hands. "Captain, there's residual theta radiation waste in the Klingon vessel's antimatter recyclers, and some radioactive samples in what's left of the science labs on the Tycho. Nothing life threatening, at least not in the short term."

Hrelle nodded. "But still present. Thank you, Cadet." He signalled for C'Rash to draw closer before continuing. "Cadet, you've had basic unarmed combat training at the Academy, is that right?"

"Uh, yes, Sir. I'm sorry, should I have- should I have done something to-"

He held up a hand to interrupt her. "Would you like to learn more? Things you'll never learn anywhere else?"

The cadet brightened as she realised she wasn't being punished. "Yes. Yes, I would, Sir."

"Good. Lt Shall here teaches a course in her spare time, she'll be more than happy to include you, I'm sure. Oh, and for the record: if anyone -- anyone -- puts their hands on you without your leave, you have my express permission to kick their ass back to wherever they came from. Understood?"

She couldn't help but grin. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Then he turned back to Navarro and the others, declaring loudly, "In accordance with Starfleet Safety Regulation 3510, I'm declaring this site a Hazardous Radiation Area. All civilians will return to their vessel and depart the planet immediately, or face detention."

Protests erupted through the group, some approaching Navarro, but he focused on Hrelle. "Hazardous? Are you kidding me? We scanned the wreckage ourselves! There's no hazardous radiation here, Hrelle!"

"That's 'Captain Hrelle' to you, Mr Navarro. And if there isn't hazardous radiation here now, there will be, after I drop a quantum torpedo on the site."

"WHAT? You can't do that! We put a lot of effort bringing the wreckage down in one piece for our clients!"

"Not my problem. You're welcome to lodge a formal complaint with Starfleet Command. I'm sure they'll give it all the attention it deserves."

Navarro pointed a finger at him. "I could have your job for this!"

"You wouldn't like my job, you have to deal with all sorts of annoying little pricks who think their threats hold any weight... oh, and you if don't drop that finger right now, Bubulah, I'll snap it off, nail it to your forehead and turn you into a unicorn."