Surefoot 38: The War Watchers

As Navarro quickly complied, Hrelle continued. "You have twenty minutes to be away from the blast zone. If you're still here, your clients will be getting a more intense war experience than they may have paid for." He finally turned and rejoined Zir, C'Rash and the Security team. "Let's go."

*

Precisely twenty minutes later, Hrelle was back on the Bridge, watching the ascent of the Cavalier from the atmosphere of the planetoid, before ordering, "Fire."

Seconds later, the apple-red flare of a single quantum torpedo erupted from the Surefoot's forward launcher, soaring downward, its flare increasing as it cut through the thin atmosphere.

He rose to his feet, still staring at the screen, his voice solemn and carrying to the others present. "We commend the remains of our sister vessel, the USS Tycho, to Eternity. She served nobly and faithfully, protected her crew and fulfilled her mission to the end. We will remember her."

Onscreen, there was a tiny flash on the planet surface, with a ripple up into the surrounding clouds.

"The Cavalier is leaving the system at high warp," T'Varik reported.

Hrelle grunted. "Don't worry, Mr Navarro, there's a lot of war in the Galaxy, I'm sure you'll find another place for your clients to get their photo opportunities."

*

Hrelle and C'Rash circled each other on the exercise mats, claws extended, going through the swipes, spins and kicks that made up the Caitian martial art of K'Gressir. And Hrelle sensed that his niece was holding back, obviously still concerned about his physical state following his recovery from almost dying.

A concern he secretly shared. Part of his recovery involved a rewiring of his brain, losing much of his fighting experience and skills. He still had his Caitian strength, speed and reflexes, and he was losing the belly and building up his stamina. But there were times when he felt like he was a First Year Cadet again.

But it was more than that. He had also lost his Beast, the subpersonality he had kept within him to deal with moments of life-and-death struggle. The Beast could dispatch his foes as easily as shrugging water off his fur... and not have any emotional difficulties about it. Now, when he faced a real foe, he didn't know how he would handle it-

C'Rash's foot struck his left knee, sending him down and making him twist his tail. He cursed.

She was crouching at his side instantly. "Uncle Esek! Are you okay?"

He cursed again, but nodded, replying through clenched teeth. "Wasn't paying attention- stupid Squab mistake-"

Anxiety creased her expression. "You need to take a break. You're working out with me privately, taking those swordsmanship lessons with Tattok and Weynik- it's too much, too soon-"

He shook off her touch and helped himself up, breathing hard through the pain. "We're in the middle of a War. I don't know when I might need to fight, tooth and claw, again. I have to be ready, for the ship, for Kami and Misha and Sreen-"

"Yeah, yeah." She went for some water for herself and him. "Speaking of which, has Misha accepted his inevitable brotherhood yet?"

Hrelle paused to drink, glad she didn't pursue the question of his current physical state any further. "No, but he's suggested that we sell the new cub to the Ferengi."

C'Rash chuckled. "He'll change his mind. Especially when he realises he'll have someone around who's smaller than him, someone to boss. That's how my big sister felt with me."

"Yes, but I'm sure it helped that you were probably naturally annoying from the day you emerged from your Mama. I was trying to reach Sasha to see if she could come over and visit and talk with him, but she's still finishing up her assignment on the Dragonheart. Hopefully he'll warm up to the notion. Kami says she's planning something to help him out-"

The Training Room intercom chirped, and T'Varik's voice filled the air. "Captain, we have received a Priority Message from Admiral Tattok. You and Counselor Hrelle are to beam over to the Triton immediately."

Hrelle frowned, glancing at an equally-bemused C'Rash. "Kami? Any reason why?"

"No, Sir. The 'immediately' part was stressed in the message, however."

"Acknowledged. Have the Counselor meet me in Transport Room One. Hrelle out." He walked over to the bench for his jacket and boots. "Wonder what's up?"

C'Rash finished her water before suggesting, "Maybe he heard your next cub was up for sale, and wanted to get the first bid in?"

*

USS Triton, Deck 2 Fore, Captain's Ready Room:

The female Klingon dominating the viewscreen was scarred, haggard, but retained a rude beauty to her -- at least, to Captain Hrelle's eyes. But that wasn't as striking as her air of command; she would need it, he surmised, as female Klingon ship commanders seemed as rare as charitable Ferengi.

Then his attention returned as she began to speak. "We have 47 Starfleet Prisoners of War; I am including their details and medical conditions with this transmission. Their injuries are such that we cannot maintain long-term care for them. My understanding is that you might be willing to not let them die. If this is so, you may have them, and we will honour a temporary ceasefire to transfer them to you.

Respond within two Standard hours of receiving this message, to arrange for the exchange. But I have one condition: only one ship can be sent to collect them, and it must be the USS Surefoot. We will accept only the Fat Cat."

As the transmission ended, replaced by the familiar Starfleet logo, Captain Weynik, sitting on Hrelle's left, looked up at his old friend. "I think she means you, Squab."

Hrelle glanced down at the Roylan. "Can you actually see over the table? Oh, and you're the Squab."

"No, you're the Squab!"

"No, YOU'RE the Squab!"

"No-"

A rap on the table beside them drew their attention, as on Hrelle's right, Kami noted, "Boys, keep this up and I'm going to make you sit separately."

They went silent. Standing at the head of the table, Admiral Tattok grunted. "I might have to invite you to all my staff meetings, Counselor; your husband and my son never cease to act up when they get together." He turned to the only other occupant in the room. "Mr Jacobs?"

Sitting opposite Hrelle at the table, the elderly human male who used to be known as Admiral Joseph 'Tycho Joe' Jacobs before he moved into a new phase in his life as civilian advisor to the Thirteenth Fleet on Klingons, reached out to the controls and restored the Klingon's image, frowning in concentration as he read the Klingon sigils in the background. "Her name is Captain Julkrehl, of the House of Hustrern, from the Mastrah Central Province. Non-aristocratic, ordinary folk, will probably never make it into the Hall of Heroes.

And her vessel is the IKS Augr, designated as... an ambulance ship." He made a sound. "The Klingon version of the Surefoot, it seems. This is something new for them, Admiral, devoting a vessel strictly to the collection and treatment of their wounded."

"Maybe I've inspired them?" Hrelle quipped brightly.

Jacobs smiled at the man. "Of course, it won't be one of their better ships. And certainly no Klingon male would be forced to take such a menial role in war time."

Hrelle's Happy Tail diminished, as Kami patted his hand teasingly. "There, there, Sweetie, don't take it personally."

"But is the offer genuine?" Weynik asked.

"The personnel records they sent correspond to crew on ships reported destroyed in battle," Tattok informed his son. "And unaccounted for."

"Then why Hrelle and the Surefoot? It has to be a trap."

"Actually, I'm not surprised they chose Captain Hrelle," Jacobs opined. "Given that he risked his ship and himself to save over 800 Klingon civilians on the IKS Borha'l. There's a lot of debt owed there for them."

"But he also destroyed three of their K't'nga battle cruisers before that," Weynik argued, leaning away from Hrelle as the Caitian reached out and playfully tried to tickle him under his chin. "There's a lot of debt owed there for them, too. And maybe this Captain Julkrehl is doing this as a means of taking him out and gaining some glory she thinks she's not getting collecting and treating their wounded?" He finally reached up and smacked Hrelle's hand away.

"I don't think so." Kami glared at her husband until he stopped messing about, before continuing. "Her tone, body language, choice of words, all suggest that while she resents the lack of recognition for her work, and the sexist attitudes of her fellow Captains in their fleet, she is sincere. Now, whether or not that sincerity is being used by her superiors as part of a greater scheme..." She shrugged.

"Thank you, Counselor," Tattok responded, looking back at Jacobs. "You've been studying their ship movements and transmissions, Joe. Are there any signs of an imminent attack? And that this is just a means of removing our ambulance ship before this occurs?"

The elderly human pursed his wrinkled lips. "Something's coming up, Admiral, possibly a full assault on Sherman's Planet. But not just yet. And I should point out that when -- not if -- that attack begins, they will not devote much if any resources towards treating their wounded POWs. If we can get our people back before then... we should, before it's too late."

Tattok nodded. "We have just under an hour before the deadline for a response passes. Captain Hrelle, I won't order you to go, but-"

"He'll go, Admiral," Kami assured him.

Hrelle looked to her. "I can speak for myself, you know."

She smiled back. "But they'd much rather hear my voice, darling."

"She's right, Chunky," Weynik quipped. "She's easier on all our senses. Hurry up and get those Command qualifications, Counselor, so you can take his place."

"You'll meet the Augr alone, as demanded," Tattok continued, "But I'm assigning Weynik and the Ajax to stay just outside of their sensor range; with her own enhanced sensors, she can keep an eye on you without their knowing, and if things go wrong, she'll fly in and rescue you."

"As per usual," Weynik quipped. "Only this time with a fast, sleek, kickass Defiant-class powerhouse, instead of my old spacewhale the Starsong."

"Have they fit your high chair onto the Bridge yet?" Hrelle joked.

"And now onto other business," Tattok interrupted, still focused on Hrelle. "Captain, care to tell us about the events involving a civilian ship in the Gamma Lyrae system two days ago?"

Hrelle shrugged, not expecting this but recovering quickly. "Not much to tell, Sir: war tourists were visiting the site where the Tycho had fallen in battle." He paused, sensing the reaction from Jacobs to the name of his former command. "They had tractored most of the wreckage of it and the Klingon ship it had destroyed down to the Class-M planetoid there, so their rich clients could climb around the debris like maggots and loot it for souvenirs.

I objected to the Tycho being treated like that, liberally invoked Starfleet Health and Safety Regulations, and gave her a more fitting send-off with a quantum torpedo. I did submit a report on the incident-"

"I read it. But there was nothing in it about your attempted assassination of a member of the Nekrosi Royal House."

Hrelle chuckled -- until he saw the expression on the Roylan's face, and sobered up. "Sorry, Sir, but that wasn't how I remember the events. If you're referring to my interaction with Prince, uh, Asshole..."

"Isole," Tattok corrected.

"Yes, Sir, Prince Isole, I can assure you, it wasn't an attempted assassination."

"Oh? What did you do to him?"

"I... just threw him across a field."

Everyone stared at him.

"It was a small field," Hrelle clarified.

Weynik chuckled, ignoring his father's stern expression as the Admiral continued. "And did you threaten him as well?"

Hrelle felt his skin flush under his fur. "There... may have been some implicit threats suggested when I spoke to him, Sir."

"And what exactly did you say?"

"The... content is probably not important, Sir-"

"What did you say, Captain?"

After a moment's hesitation, Hrelle told him.

Weynik's eyestalks bulged. "Bloody Hemra, Wide Load! 'May have been some implicit threats suggested'? What did he do to deserve all that, steal your lunch?"

Hrelle kept his gaze fixed on Tattok, his own face taut with anger at the memory of it -- and at the notion of being publicly admonished. "No. He assaulted one of my cadets, Zir Dassene; you'll remember her, Admiral, I introduced her to you at our staff meeting last week."

Tattok's expression shifted. "Assaulted? What did he do to her?"

"He grabbed her, something she didn't want or ask for. That's assault in my book; he was lucky I didn't arrest him on the spot. I take it he came crying to you about it, Sir?"

"Yes -- via his mother, the Monarch Prime of Nekros, through the Federation's Chief of Staff, and then down through Starfleet's Commander-in-Chief, and finally Fleet Admiral Sharlav. And all of these people -- none of whom I ever want to hear from if I can ever help it, by the way -- agree that the Federation needs the Nekrosi's help at this time; they're providing logistic support in their sector of space for us, allowing us to divert resources towards the Klingon Front."

"I understand, Sir, but-"

"Did you know that Prince Isole and his sister are only sixteen years old?"

"Really? They seem as tall as any full-sized stroke-offs I've ever met-"

"Their height is due to Nekrosi being Lightworlders. Their planet's lower gravity requires them to wear compensatory antigravity weaves in environments like ours. And your throwing the Prince around on that planet like a Zeroball could have damaged that life support equipment, seriously injuring him in the process."

Hrelle started at that; the Prince did seem quite light at the time, though he had, perhaps foolishly in retrospect, put it down to his Caitian strength. "I... wasn't aware of that. But with respect, Sir, he wouldn't have been in any danger if he'd just kept his hands to himself-"

"Captain, I have managed to find a means of mollifying the Prince and his sister, and everyone else involved. They are very interested in seeing, meeting Klingons in the flesh, and you just happen to be visiting some, and in a safe, non-dangerous environment. So, you'll be taking the Prince and Princess with you to meet with Captain Julkrehl. And you will also use the time to apologise to him for what you said and did-"

"Kiss my furry ass."

The room went deathly quiet.

Tattok leaned forward. "I beg your pardon, Captain? What did you say?"

Hrelle was about to repeat himself -- when Kami's hand tightened over his, and she leaned forward instead. "He said he'll do whatever it takes to settle this matter, Admiral. That his pride is not as great as his maturity and sense of duty to Starfleet and the Federation, and that he thanks you for the opportunity to make amends and smooth things over, not just with the Nekrosi, but with your superiors, because he's aware of how much you have to deal with already, without this additional headache."

The Roylan Admiral continued to stare, before finally replying, "You pack a lot of information into what sounded like just four words with a vastly different meaning, Captain. Quite a talent." Then he made a sound before continuing. "The Prince and his party are on their way here now in the Cavalier. Contact them immediately and arrange for their transport over to the Surefoot; naturally you'll treat them as the Very Important Persons that they are. Give them a tour of your ship, let them fire your phasers, give them ice cream and candy, whatever will make them happy. And of course, be ready for the rendezvous with the Augr. Dismissed."

Everyone departed the room, congregating in the corridor outside. Jacobs moved up to Hrelle, offering his hand. "Thank you, Captain, for what you did for the Tycho. I owe you." He wore a look of sympathy. "If it helps, I've had to swallow my pride as well more than once during my career as a Starfleet officer. The bad taste doesn't last long in your mouth, I promise."

"Thank you, Sir." He watched the old man depart, before turning to Weynik, who had remained. "Well, Short Round? Come on, let's hear it, do your worst, get it out of your system."

But the Roylan just looked up at him and smiled with admiration. "If my daughter was a Starfleet cadet, I'd want her under Papa Cat's protection." He smacked Hrelle's rear as he walked away. "Catch you in space, Wide Load. And remember what I said about getting those Command qualifications, Counselor."

Hrelle turned, gave Kami a sour look, and started towards the nearest Transporter Room, saying nothing. Fortunately, his wife more than made up for his silence, carrying on a conversation between them, doing a remarkable approximation of his own voice for his dialogue. "'I hope you didn't mind me butting in like that, Esek.' 'What? Of course not, Kami! I trust you to know what's best.' 'Thanks, Esek! It's just that sometimes you get, well...' 'I know, Sugartail, I know, sometimes I can be a big, strong, growling male.'"

Then, when he continued to refuse to acknowledge her, she quickened her pace until she stopped him in his tracks, and then began marching around him, beating her chest with her fists and chanting, "'I'm a big, strong, growling male! Big, strong, growling male! I can't apologise because it might make my penis shrink!'"

He winced as Triton crewmembers walked by, unable to ignore the display, and glared at her. "I don't sound like that."

She stopped marching in front of him long enough to deny, "Yes you do." Then she began strutting again. "BIG STRONG GROWLING MALE! BIG STRONG GROWLING MALE! PENIS! PENIS! PENIS-"

"Cut it out!" he snapped. "You've made your point!" He lowered his voice, but not the sharpness in his tone as she faced him again. "You know, you used to support me unconditionally."

"Actually, I never have," she corrected mildly, "It's just that for the most part, you make the right decisions for the right reasons, so it's rare that I've had to disagree with you. And if it matters, if the circumstances hadn't required it, I wouldn't have disagreed with you in public like that. But I had to intervene, to keep you from getting yourself into trouble with Tattok with your pride and your guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Yes, guilt, for bringing Zir down there and inadvertently putting her in that situation. It wasn't your fault, but since when has that ever stopped you from feeling guilty about something involving the cadets?" She reached up and stroked his muzzle. "It's my fault, too; my body's putting out pheromones making you over-protective, and I'm going to have to start taking suppressants again.

In the meantime, bear this in mind: you're willing to sacrifice your life for the Federation. All that you're being asked to do now is something a lot easier, to swallow your pride and apologise to someone you'll never meet again and who ultimately doesn't matter to any of us. Joe Jacobs is right; the aftertaste passes more quickly than a court martial for insubordination."

He continued to glare at her, before finally conceding, "Fine! I'll apologise and grovel and debase myself to Prince Asshole until even the Gnome is satisfied! But you'd better damn well know that I don't regret one damn thing I did back there on that planet! And I'm gonna make sure that while he's onboard, he doesn't get another chance to get his grubby hands on Sasha! Got it?"

She blinked. "Got it."

He nodded, stepping around her. "Good! Now let's get back home."