Surefoot 40: Baptism of Fire

"I know what standard procedure is, Sir!" she snapped, forcing herself to calm down enough to add, "No other vessels detected in the area. Adding the new algorithms to the tactical sensors to run a second check now."

"Good. And while you're at it, you can add an attitude adjustment to yourself."

Sasha bit her lip before replying, "Aye, Sir." Then she looked up, hoping Weynik wasn't also ready to admonish her.

But the Roylan remained fixed on the situation. "Report, Number One."

The Zakdorn's reply was unusually... hesitant. "Captain, the system readings are constantly changing, I'm not getting-" He paused and worked his controls. "Bridge to Engineering, what's happening down there?"

The annoyed voice of Chief Mayrik filled the expectant air. "Narevl! Get down to Cargo Bay 2 and bring back those spare phase compensators! We'll need them to get those force fields down!"

"Chief?" Kohanim prompted. "A report, if you would?"

The woman did nothing to hide her exasperation. "Warp Drive, Life Support, Communications, Security, Weapons, SIF... they're all functioning, but our interfaces are being rerouted! We try to power up the warp core, it raises force fields and locks doors around Security and Sickbay! It's like the computer is suffering from programming aphasia! Don't do anything until we work out what's happening!"

"Understood, Chief," Weynik concluded distractedly. "Keep us apprised. Bridge out." He grunted and rose to his feet, staring at the lingering energy and debris on the screen. "That was... too easy."

"Captain?" Kohanim queried.

Weynik ignored him and turned to Sasha. "Get down to the Cockpit and see if the Auxiliary Controls function. Mr Madison, assist."

"Aye, Sir." She moved to the Bridge doors -- only to find it nonfunctioning. She tried the manual override, and when that failed, she looked back at Weynik. "Sir?"

The Roylan glowered. "The Klingon attack must have hit something critical while we were vulnerable making our modifications. Your father won't let me live this down if we have to call him for help." He gestured to the adjacent maintenance hatch. "Hope you're not claustrophobic, Giraffeski."

She made an identical gesture to Madison, who knelt and removed the hatch. "This takes us straight to Shuttlebay 1 on Deck 3, but the Cockpit has a lower hatchway down there we can access via the Cargo Bays."

She nodded. "You first, Mrs Madison." As she followed him in, she took a last look at Weynik, who was frowning... but at something more than their current predicament. Had he been disappointed in her reaction to the Klingon attack? Did she do something wrong? Was he thinking he'd made a mistake taking her on as Second Officer?

Yes, Sasha, because the Universe and everything in it revolves around you.

She descended the ladder.

*

Deck 3 Fore -- Cargo Bay 1:

Crewman Dujo Narevl knew he wouldn't hear the end of this: getting himself somehow locked in an equipment closet. He had been sent here by the Chief to collect the phase compensators to manually override the Security forcefields and deadlocks on most of the ship sections, and then, to quote the woman, 'Get your spotty Trill ass back here, pronto!'

But then when he was ready to get out of this stupid closet, the door wouldn't open, not even the manual override -- and ironically none of the phase compensators would work on the lock from the inside. And his combadge wouldn't work either, now, another malfunction. Which meant at least that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't somehow got himself locked in here like a Squab.

Not that it was an excuse that would save Narevl from the Chief's wrath. It wasn't fair! The woman had the personality of his mother's pet fenza bird: what it lacked in size, it more than compensated for with the shrill squawking it emitted-

Then he heard voices outside the door, which surprised him, not expecting anyone in this part of the ship at this time. But then he remembered he was near the lower hatchway of the cockpit to the Warhead, the component housed at the forward-most portion of the Ajax, containing the ship's deflector and forward torpedo launcher and magazine, which could be detached and launched to make a suicide run if the main vessel was totally disabled, but which otherwise served as the main ship's Auxiliary Control.

If there was a major malfunction, of course they would be trying to regain command there! Narevl grinned, worried he might have been stuck in here for who knew how long. He set down the phase compensators, made a fist and banged on the door repeatedly, calling out, "HEY! SOMEONE'S STUCK IN HERE! COME ON, I COULD USE SOME HELP-"

The door slid open, and he was ready to hug whomever was on the other side.

He wasn't ready for the huge Klingon standing there. Or the blade he drove into Narevl's gut.

The Trill dropped the equipment in his hand and... frowned. That... that wasn't what he expected from a knife. It felt more like being punched in the stomach, an incident which occurred once on shore leave at a bar on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, when he'd accidentally spilled a Starfleet Marine's beer. They made up afterwards, though, and even spent the night together. He had such broad shoulders...

His last conscious thoughts were trying to remember that Marine's name. It was so unlike him to forget details like that...

*

Deck 1 Fore -- Bridge:

Kohanim drew up to Weynik. "Sir, internal and external communications are offline, along with the Shuttlebay doors, Escape Pods- Sir?"

The Roylan was still at the Tactical station, playing the data of the Bird of Prey's attack pattern once more, before finally freezing it, pointing at it and declaring, "Perfect, textbook arcs."

"Your point being, Sir?"

"My point being that the ship was not being helmed by a Klingon, eager for battle, it was on autopilot. That's why it just came in and allowed itself to be destroyed."

The Zakdorn frowned. "That makes no sense, Captain. Why would their crew just die like that?"

Weynik started with the realisation. Bloody Hemra... "Because... no one died... because no one was onboard their ship... they beamed over to us on the initial attack run!" He moved to the Security locker, opening it and distributing hand phasers. "Where's the best place to take over the ship?"

Kohanim accepted and fitted his phaser onto his belt. "The Warhead Cockpit, Sir."

The breath caught in Weynik's throat. Sasha...he had to get to her-

Then the Ajax shuddered as it jumped to warp, its engines seeming to howl as it dilated the space around it.

"Captain," Grel reported from the Helm. "We're moving at Warp 9, heading 070-Mark-4... towards the last known coordinates of-"

"The Klingon fleet," Weynik finished, fitting his own phaser onto his belt. "They're taking the Ajax back as a prize. What's our ETA to them?"

"At present speed, 2.7 hours, Sir."

Assuming we aren't met sooner by one of their ships, Weynik thought gravely.

"It makes sense now," Kohanim declared, his hands moving swiftly over the controls. "The Klingons beamed over and made it appear that we were suffering from battle damage, while they slowly worked on gaining full control over the ship's systems, one by one. I'm focusing on regaining control over the helm and communications."

"What about the self-destruct system?" Weynik asked.

He felt the eyes on him. He ignored them. It was a possibility that they had to accept.

Kohanim checked his station again. "It's... on a secure system, Captain. It was designed to not be easily co-opted."

Weynik nodded. "Mr Kohanim, Mr Shanek, focus on disabling the warp drive, get a distress signal out-" He straightened up. "Wait, what about our weapons?"

Bump checked his station. "Aft torpedoes at the moment, Sir, but no targeting sensors-"

"And no enemy behind us to fire at, Captain," Kohanim added.

The Cosmostrator... "We don't need either. Launch a half-dozen torpedoes in succession in the same direction, each one programmed to detonate ten seconds after the other."

As the Tactical Officer moved to comply, Kohanim asked, "May one ask the purpose of this action, Sir?"

Weynik pointed to the viewscreen. "The Surefoot should be in sensor range of us by now. And if I know a certain shuris-snacking Papa Cat, he's keeping a watchful eye on his daughter's ship. We might not be able to directly contact them, but they might see our little fireworks display and hopefully come investigate when we don't respond." He stopped at the hatchway and added, "This ship will not fall into Klingon hands. Is that understood, Lieutenant Commander?"

Kohanim nodded soberly. "Aye, Sir."

Now Weynik moved to the maintenance hatch. If something happened to Sasha, blowing up this ship would be preferable to facing Esek...

*

Deck 3 Mid -- Shuttlebay 1:

Sasha frowned to herself, distracted by... something. And it wasn't Madison's continued banter. "So... you're not half-Caitian?"

"No." She glanced behind them. She knew that while there were some crew's quarters down here, Deck 3 was mostly utilitarian in function -- Shuttlebay and Shuttlebay Support Rooms, Cargo Bays, Waste Recycling and Life Support -- so she shouldn't expect anyone in this part of the ship now. But her hackles had risen, and didn't know why.

"And you didn't save the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy Prime on Earth from a Dominion terrorist?"

"No." They had to pass through the open area of Cargo Bay 2 to get to the main corridor leading to the Cockpit, but now she stopped and tapped her combadge. "Hrelle to Bridge. Bridge?"

"And you didn't kill a bunch of snake assassins who invaded your-" But then he stopped, frowning at the lack of response she received, and tried his own. "Another malfunction?"

"No."

Then she turned at the sounds of the rapid pounding of boots on bulkhead-

She stepped aside, dropping into a defensive posture as two figures raced from around the corner- armoured Klingons, blades drawn! And they-

They completely ignored her and tackled Madison.

She took a heartbeat to marvel at Klingon sexism, before jumping in. They had knocked the engineer down, though with his size and strength he managed to hold his own and prevent getting stabbed, while she pulled one Klingon up, focusing her blows on the unarmoured parts of his body, driving her boot into one of his knees, and then his groin, before delivering a final blow to the cluster of nerves at the base of his windpipe, sending him collapsing.

The second Klingon realised his error in not trying to take her out first, and rose -- until Madison tripped him up. The Klingon stumbled and fell, cursing but rising quickly, reaching for the disruptor on his belt-

Too late, as a bolt from the disruptor Sasha had liberated from the first Klingon struck the second one in the chest, sparks flying as he fell backwards, and lay still.

It had been set to Kill- she never had time to- never-

Keep moving, her training reminded her, it wasn't over. She rose, set the disruptor in her hand to Stun and shot the first Klingon in the face to keep him down. Then she collected the second Klingon's disruptor and handing it to Madison. "Keep up, do as I say."

He looked pale. "Shouldn't we- the Bridge-"

"We've been boarded, and taken over -- they'll be in Aux Control. We need more intelligence before we can proceed."

He nodded, still in shock at the events of the last few seconds, as she led them along the corridor, keeping near one of the walls. She'd killed, again -- not now, think about it later, she told herself -- and focused on the next step: assess how many more Klingons remained.

She stopped at a corner, motioned for Madison to do the same and keep quiet, and she listened, using an old trick her Dad taught her. Admittedly, her hearing was nowhere near as acute as a Caitian's, but... she guessed four. Four-

And something else.

She crouched down and peered cautiously around the corner. Seven Hells...

There was a corridor that led five metres down to the lower hatchway of the Warhead's Cockpit, where Klingons moved in and out, while others were setting up a barricade, using crates and containers taken from the adjacent Cargo Bay.

But her attention was almost immediately drawn to the body on the floor: a young Starfleet crewman, a Trill male in Engineering gold, with a huge dark bloody stain centred around his abdomen, having spread out to soak the surrounding carpet. The fakakta Klingons just gutted him like a pig and tossed him aside-

He moved.

It was slight, but it was unmistakable. But it was obvious that he wasn't long for this life.

She drew back, her breath quickening as she looked up at Madison, swallowed -- and made her decision, her voice a whisper. "There's a wounded crewman, on the floor, two metres just around the corner."

He paled. "A crewman? Who?"

"I don't know. But he's critically injured, and needs our help -- now. This is what we're going to do." She nodded to an alcove on the other side of the junction. "I'm heading over there, and I'm opening fire on them. While I'm doing that, you're going in, low, and dragging the crewman back around the corner. And once you're back here, pick him up and get him to the Shuttlebay, there's an accessible medical kit. Stabilise him, then-"

He nodded. "Then come back here for you-"

"No." She took the second disruptor from him, checked the settings and the power levels. "Secure him in the Shuttlebay, return to the Bridge and alert the Captain. I caught sight of at least four Klingons, not counting the two we stopped back near the Torpedo Magazine Bay." She looked at him, aware of his hesitation, despite their similarity in age and experience. "You can do this, Jim."

He swallowed. "Hope you're right."

Sasha offered a slight smile. "If you need some motivation: if we survive this, we'll have dinner, okay?"

He looked up at her, smirking despite his anxiety. "Oh, now I'm gonna die. You've made it official."

She made a sound, tightening her grip on the disruptors in each hand. I'm more likely to fall today than you, you big yummy slab. He was her responsibility as much as the wounded man. She considered the Starfleet Rules of Engagement, thought of giving them a chance to surrender... then came to her senses a second later. She breathed in, and then, "Three... two... one..."

She stepped out, raised her weapons and fired, shouting, "KUSH MEYN FERI TOCHES, YOU KLINGON PISHERS!"

One Klingon she aimed at went down, another Klingon was struck in the arm but dodged behind the barricades, as the sounds alerted the others. Sasha kept part of her attention on the recycling times of the charge slides on the disruptors, firing each in sequence to keep from being caught for too long without a ready weapon. To her right, she saw Madison squat, pause as he saw the extent of the crewman's injuries -- don't just stand there, Beefcake, get moving! - but quickly slipped his huge hands under the crewman's arms and dragged him backwards.

One of the Klingons behind the barricades saw him, and started to raise his weapon towards him -- until Sasha shot the edge of the crate nearest the Klingon's head, sending splinters of heated plasteen into his eyes and face, making him cry out in pain and fall back.

Sasha stepped into the alcove on the other side of the junction, keeping an eye on the Klingons and on Madison, who had thankfully managed to get back around the corner with the crewman.... But still looked in shock over the situation.

"GO!" she barked at him, firing again at a Klingon who tried to emerge from behind the barricades.

She watched Madison lift up the crewman and race back the way they came, while she assessed the power levels on both pistols, and calculated how many more shots were in each.

Not many.

Seven Hells...

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 1 Fore -- Bridge:

Captain Esek Hrelle was reclining in his chair, his First Officer Commander T'Varik beside him in her own, the pair of them focusing on scheduling drills for the cadets, when he heard the doors to his Ready Room slide open, followed by the soft patter of tiny shoes on the bulkhead. The familiar scent he picked up confirmed the visitor, so he didn't look up as he murmured, "I believe I told you to stay in there and draw until I took you to lunch, Cub of Mine."

Misha growled in protest, prompting Hrelle to finally look up at his son, who stood there, colouring PADD in one hand, an old worn T-shirt of Sasha's in the other... and an expression of grim, stubborn determination on his stubby face.

Hrelle noted the T-shirt; Misha had been looking forward to seeing his big sister again when they rendezvoused with her on the Ajax later today, and Misha had been sleeping with the clothing she left behind to refamiliariser himself with her scent. "Did you finish the picture you were doing of all of us? Do you want it printed off?"

"No!"

"Then what's wrong?"

Misha held up his PADD, showing an... interesting set of figures that were meant to be his family, including his Papa (with a belly even bigger than his pregnant Mama's, and thanks for that, cub), Sasha, his cousin C'Rash Shall and his godmother T'Varik -- the last pair holding hands. "It's great, Sasha will love it-"

"Who took Sasha's tail?" Misha demanded loudly.

Hrelle blinked again, aware of the snickers around the Bridge as he glanced at a bemused T'Varik, before asking, "Excuse me?"

The cub pointed to the drawing of his sister. "No tail! No fur! Who took?" Now he pointed at his father. "You fix!"

Then he understood, looking to T'Varik. "I think he was drawing, and it only occurred to him while using the stored photos of us as models that Sasha's different from the rest of us."

From the Tactical station behind them, C'Rash guffawed. "You're only just noticing that now, Cub? Nice one, Tail Chaser! You got your brains from your father's genes!"

Misha glared angrily at his cousin. "I no Tail Chaser! You stinky cub!"

C'Rash kept laughing. "Tail Chaser! Tail Chaser!"

"Lieutenant," T'Varik warned.

Then Misha bared his teeth at C'Rash and hissed.

Now Hrelle snapped, "Misha! Bad cub!" He pointed to the step between the inner circle of the Bridge and the surrounding stations. "Naughty Step! Now!"

The cub stiffened, but reluctantly obeyed, clutching Sasha's T-shirt tighter for comfort, refusing to look at anyone.

T'Varik rose and turned to face C'Rash. "You are meant to be a mature influence on your cousin, not a provocative one. It is natural for one his age to first perceive Sasha through familial connections rather than race. You disappoint me."

Hrelle rose and dropped to one knee before his son, his voice softening his rebuke. "We do not bare our teeth to others, especially members of our family. You know this. And you know what to do about it."

Misha still stared at nothing, but tilted his head in C'Rash's direction to mutter, "Sorry, Cousin C'Rash."

T'Varik looked to her lover. "I believe you have something to say in return, given your immature culpability towards his temporary loss of control."

C'Rash smirked -- until she realised her lover was serious. Soften now, she looked over at Misha and admitted, "Sorry, Cub. You're not a Tail Chaser."

Hrelle held up the PADD and the drawing on it for Misha. "Sasha is human, like Doctor Masterson and Lieutenant Velkovsky and every other human you know onboard. She had a human Mama and Papa who made her and grew her. But her Papa died when she was your age. And then I married her Mama and became her new Papa, until her Mama died too."