Surefoot 52: ...This Means War Pt. 01

"Scared, Respected Sir? You mean, with regard to the upcoming engagement with the Dominion?"

"Yes. Hahn, Massey, Uehm, Galadot... they're all talking about it. The whole ship is, really."

Kit nodded. "Fear is understandable."

Hopkins paused, staring at his display, and then continued keying in commands. "I know we were in battle before, with the Klingons over Sherman's Planet. But we hardly saw any action, and we were primarily a science vessel before all this happened." Now he looked up again. "You're- You're not afraid, are you?"

Kit glanced back at the animals, as if distracted by their muffled cacophony. "No, Respected Sir. It is an extravagance to worry about the inevitable. Others carry the burden of decision making, of taking responsibility. I am fortunate."

Hopkins regarded him bemusedly. "Fortunate? But what if- what if you were forced to fight? Could you? Would you?"

Kit folded his hands behind him. "I have fought before, on my previous ship. And I have killed, in defence of others, and myself. I will not seek out repeated conflict in the future... but I will not shirk from it, either." He paused and observed, "That surprises you?"

"Frankly, yes. You're... no offence, but on my team, you're the most quiet, studious, scientific-"

"No offence taken, Respected Sir. On the contrary, you flatter me."

"-But I've never seen this... warrior side of you before."

Kit felt his wattles darken. "It... exists. Preferably buried, but ready to be resurrected if necessary-" Then he drew closer to the monitoring station. "Excuse me, Respected Sir, but what are you doing?"

His superior officer stared at the display now, his expression grim. "I'm... following particular protocols for the... disposition of live animal specimens onboard starships entering hazardous situations."

Kit studied the readings, blinking rapidly. "You are... adding concentrated theragen into the specimen containers? That is a lethal nerve agent!"

"I'm not adding it," Hopkins corrected softly. "I'm just authorising the release of it into the containers in the event of our abandoning ship."

The Qarari paled a sickly yellow-green. "But- But we're not going to take them along?"

"Space in escape pods is limited to crew and civilians, and we can't risk lives coming back here to collect them. The theragen would be much more quick and merciful than the possible alternatives." He offered a look of sympathy and anxiety. "I wish I didn't have to do this, Kit. I really do. I've never killed anything in my life!"

Kit had been prepared to protest further – ready to volunteer himself to come back here and arrange to have at least some of the lifeforms he had studied and cared for all these months moved into portable containers – but he acknowledged that, in their current situation, his superior was taking the necessary action here. "Forgive my reaction, Respected Sir, it must be an emotionally difficult action to have to take."

Hopkin nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Kit. Why don't you go to your duty station? I'll finish up here."

"Yes, Respected Sir." He glanced back at the row of containers, at the living creatures, oblivious to the precarious fates before them.

Perhaps Hopkins was right. Perhaps the animals were the lucky ones?

*

USS Samaritan, Deck 14 Aft – Shuttlebay 3

4.3 Hours Until Armageddon:

"Astrogation station operational... Structural Integrity Field generator operational... Inertial Dampening Field operational... Deflector panel operational... Fusion generator operational... Transporter panel operational... Communications panel operational... Life support systems operational..."

Ensign Meow Rrori rechecked the displays on the shuttle where he sat. He had already checked it twice. He checked it again. And then again. All fine, as expected. He didn't have to keep doing it, except that he had nothing else to do, to keep the anxiety from overwhelming him. His white furred tail stuck out through the hole in the back of his chair, its swish quickening as the anxiety nipped at the borders of his mind.

This was it. Today the Thirteenth Fleet would finally engage the Dominion. And about time, too. Not that he would get involved much, except in the clean up afterwards: shuttling the wounded and the displaced from ship to ship, many from his former assignment on the Surefoot.

An acute uneasy mix of emotions tugged at him when he thought of his years there: working and studying under Captain Hrelle, living with his former friends in Alpha Squad. That was... a good part of his young life.

Where did it all go wrong?

But then he knew the answer to that already. He had been destined for greatness, but had let his ego and arrogance pull him out of the running for his rightful place as Valedictorian of his class, the honour going to his friend and Squad Leader Sasha. And, like a game of chess or Durotta, somehow, he could feel the Fates shifting the pieces around him, moving him into an inevitable corner. He was assigned to the Samaritan, to become just another anonymous pilot performing anonymous duties.

He would have a long, solid, unremarkable career ahead of him. He knew it. He just knew it. His future was sealed. And he was sure that his friends – his former friends – now looked on him and laughed, laughed at the proud, arrogant Caitian male, put in his place like some cowed animal.

The only proverbial ray of light he had ever spotted since he was placed on this course had been months ago, during the wedding of Jonas and Neraxis, when he was visited by an unfamiliar Caitian female, who had offered him a position as some sort of agent, with some sort of shadowy organisation dedicated to protecting the Federation by any means necessary.

It had sound outlandish. It had sounded dangerous.

It had sounded intriguing.

And he had accepted the offer, sent the coded message to the destination as instructed, and waited. And waited. And still waited.

Nothing.

At first he thought he had imagined the musky-smelling Caitian female agent, some manifestation of his desire for something more than this necessary but boring position. Eventually, however, he concluded that it had simply been a trick on the part of the Fates, a feint to lull him into a false sense of hope. He was alone. Trapped among the Ordinary-

An alert from the companel snapped him from his self-pity. "Rrori here."

The snide voice that replied made him sit up. "Excuse me, Ensign?"

"Uh, I mean- Shuttlecraft 23 here."

Now he imagined the man behind the voice, his immediate superior, Shuttlecraft Operations Officer Lt Commander Miles Monroe, and how the corner of the thin dark lips on his monkey face was curling in contempt right now. "All this time, and you still seem unable to follow basic procedures? I might have to move your next performance review up sooner."

Rrori resisted the urge to growl, and settled for baring his teeth, a reaction that he could keep to himself. "Sorry, Sir. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong, Ensign, is that we've detected something like a carrier wave from inside your shuttle. Are you using the transporter in there?"

Rrori frowned to himself. The transporter? He turned in his chair to see the large pad and instrumentation in the aft of the shuttle-

And nearly cursed as he saw the hazelnut-furred Caitian Female he had only been thinking of moments before! She smelled and looked just like he last saw her, but this time was dressed in a Starfleet uniform, and brought a silencing finger to the tip of her short snout, smiling at him.

"Well, Ensign?" Monroe's voice nagged.

Recovering quickly, Rrori reached back to the panel. "No, Sir, I've run the standard checks on the transporter panel, but I haven't activated it."

Monroe sounded dubious, but finally replied with, "Hmph, now the Bridge can't find any trace of ever detecting a carrier wave on their boards. Never mind. I'll be inspecting the shuttles in 15 minutes, Mr Rrori. I'd advise you not to give me any more ammunition for your next review. Monroe out."

He was staring at the Female once more, who looked amused as she commented, "That man needs a good hard rutting. Here you all are, ready to march to your deaths, and he's trying to threaten you with bad reviews."

Rrori rose to his feet, noting the shuttle door was closed, and the shuttle was pointing towards the hull, so no one was likely to look in and observe his visitor. "You! Where have you been? I did what you instructed months ago!"

She nodded, drawing closer. "I know. But I never said when we might be coming for you, did I? There are many checks we have to run on prospective agents first: security, medical, psychological." When they were snout to snout, she reached up and tapped a furry finger onto the front of his muzzle. "And I'm here to tell you that you've passed! Welcome to Section 31!"

His heart raced. It was all real! And he was finally going to achieve his full potential! His tail wagging happily behind him, he grinned. "Terrific! Let's go!"

She stepped back. "Hold on, Stud, not so fast! You can't just ask for a transfer to join an organisation that doesn't officially exist! And you can't just disappear! Arrangements have to be made!"

Rrori frowned now, feeling like he was being blocked at every turn. "Arrangements?"

"Of course. No one in our organisation has any ties with their own lives! We can't... for the security of those we know, as well as our own. The male that everyone knows as Ensign Meow Rrori is going to die today... and be reborn."

He drew back. He had expected some level of secrecy, of subterfuge, of course; it wasn't like those old Terran vivids where beefy, lascivious spies were well-known to other spies, not to mention hoteliers, barmen, sex workers...

But still- "My clan- my mother, my Matriarch- they'll think I'm dead?"

The Female smirked. "We can hardly let them in on the secret, Stud, now can we? The stakes are ineffably high here! And it's for their safety as well as ours! You wouldn't want the enemies of the Federation to use them against us, now would you?" Then she drew back, frowning. "I thought your sentimental attachment to your family and friends might be your weak point-"

"No!" he snapped, raising a hand in her direction. Admittedly, he had been shocked at the harsh practical requirements of a life under cloak and dagger – but on reflection, he accepted the reasoning. He lowered his arm again, measuring his eventual response. "No. No, I understand. Sacrifices have to be made. So... how are you going to arrange my... death?"

The Female leaned back against the shuttle wall, crossing her arms. "We won't have to do anything; the Dominion will take care of that for us in a few hours. You'll be one of the many casualties of the Battle of Khavak, and your body will never be sought, let alone found."

Rrori frowned at that. "A little pessimistic, aren't you? We managed rather decently against the Klingons-"

Now she offered him a look that was almost piteous. "Oh, Stud... the Thirteenth Fleet is going to be overwhelmed today... it will be a massacre. Not even your hospital ship will escape being a target. Our tactical assessments predict a casualty rate exceeding 40%. At least."

He gasped in horror. Forty percent? That meant hundreds... thousands of lives! "We- We have to warn Admiral Tattok-"

She shook her head. "It would do no good. What happens today at Khavak will be a harsh, but ultimately necessary evil, working towards the ultimate survival of the Federation. The ships, the lives that will be lost today, are all part of an ultimate victory in the years to come. You need to look at The Bigger Picture."

He stared back in disbelief. What she said... made some sort of sense, as cold and unappealing as it did. His stomach twisted.

Now she drew up to him again, practically into his arms, letting him take in her scent fully. It was... Mother's Cubs, she was in Season again? She was purring against his chest. "Meow... the age-old unanswerable question of whether the Ends Justify the Means actually has an answer: it does. I know it's tough to take in, but I think you're strong enough to do it." She rose to her toes and gently nipped at his neck. "I'll be back for you later."

Then she vanished, just as the shuttle's side door slid open, and Lt Commander Monroe entered, regarding him. "Well, you're at attention, at least, Ensign."

Rrori started, feeling his skin flush nova beneath his fur... until he realised the human was speaking about his general posture... and not just parts of him. "Uh, yes, Sir. Yes, Sir."

As he stepped aside to let his superior officer begin his inspection, Rrori breathed in the lingering musk from the Female, still aroused at her scent... and appalled at her words.

A massacre?

Yes, he'd survive the day.

But who else would?

*

USS Triton, Deck 1 Fore – Admiral's Ready Room

3.8 Hours Until Armageddon:

Tattok's face remained implacable as he stared at the onscreen and holographic images of the other attendants of the final briefing. "And have all ship's remodulated their shield to the recommended nutations?"

Captain Hrelle, acting as the Fleet's Strategic Operations Officer, nodded from his screen. "All reports are affirmative, Admiral. I've also made recommendations towards short-burst phaser tactics. The Jem'Hadar favour strafing runs in their smaller Scarab vessels, overwhelming their larger targets with superior numbers and blitzkrieg assaults."

Tattok nodded in agreement, the Roylan's scaled face feeling cold and even more ossified than usual. Good, he thought, let them all think I'm more confident than I'm feeling. "And the Cardassian component of the forces?"

Now the holographic image of Admiral Trenagen spoke up, his theatrical baritone. "Intelligence reports indicate the Cardassian component of the Khavak invasion fleet consists of standard Galor-class vessels in the expected numbers. We do not anticipate any modifications or upgrades to their weapons or shields; the Dominion's policy tends to lean towards a proprietorial attitude regarding their own weapons and technology."

"In other words, they don't like sharing. And the overall numbers expected?"

"As already reported, Admiral. My offices estimate a casualty rate of between 5 and 8%. Acceptable losses."

Tattok's eyestalks narrowed on his fellow Admiral. "I question your definition of 'acceptable', Admiral."

"Admiral Tattok," came a new voice from another screen: an older Vulcan female with swarthy skin and a gaunt face. "There will be a change to the assignment of the James Fenimore Cooper."

The Roylan looked to her acidly: Captain Sakuth, one of Trenagen's Intelligence cronies, who had somehow managed to secure herself a command of the Cooper, an old Oberth-class surveyor, despite what appeared to be a lack of relevant experience, at least as far as Tattok was aware. It was obvious that she was acting as a spy for Trenagen, probably coordinating all of his secret activities within the Thirteenth Fleet, and if her commission hadn't come down from the C-in-C himself – with Trenagen's influence, of course – then he would have sent her packing.

Certainly he had divined enough from Captain Hrelle, who was listening in on the conversation, but kept his reaction to a minimum once she spoke up. He focused on Sakuth now. "Really, Captain? I thought I was the one who managed the assignments for the ships in my Fleet."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I was not intending to suggest otherwise, of course, Admiral. Merely to inform you that during the battle, I will be conducting long-range studies of the Dominion and Cardassian vessels, weapons and tactics. Given its limited performance and weapons profile, the Cooper would not provide a significant offensive posture in the battle, but the intelligence data it can gather could be of immense value to Starfleet in future operations."

"I have no argument with that, Captain," he informed her. "But it still sounds as if you're making the assignments here."

"She is not, Tattok," Trenagen interrupted. "Merely confirming the change of orders you will by now have received for the Cooper, from Starfleet Command."

Tattok scowled. He didn't bother to check his incoming mission updates, as he looked back at Sakuth. "I was already well aware of the limitations of your vessel; I was intending to employ you in supporting the Surefoot in dealing with the wounded and evacuees." Tattok studied her as he said this; he knew that there had been a number of contentious incidents between her and Hrelle and his ship and crew, and was curious to see her reaction.

As it happened, Sakuth offered something unexpected. "The performance record of the Surefoot in its ancillary duties with the Fleet has proven to be exemplary, Admiral, despite the limitations demonstrated by their Commanding Officer and senior crew."

Silently, Hrelle made a face only Tattok could see. Tattok decided to wrap this up. "Very well, Captain Sakuth, do what you have to, just don't get in the way of the other vessels. The rest of you will have your orders as well; Communications Blackout begins at the expected time, so make sure your crew has any messages loaded and ready for transmission before then. Dismissed."

The screens went blank; Trenagen remained, standing there like some Shakespearean ghost. "Well, perhaps I should leave you to prepare-"

"I could die today, Ian," Tattok cut in.

The image blinked, the hangdog expression tightening. "That is always the possibility, Tattok. It is a risk that comes with the uniform."

"For some of us, yes. Those who don't hide in the shadows."

Trenagen straightened up. "'They also serve who only stand and wait': Milton."

The Roylan grunted. "'You're full of shit': Tattok. We caught your spy on the Ajax."

Trenagen's image barely reacted. "Spy?"

Tattok nodded. "He's in custody, his equipment has been confiscated, the truth will out."

Trenagen crossed his arms. "And what truth might that be, Tattok? You are already well aware that the scope of my responsibilities as head of Starfleet Intelligence; if I have undercover operatives on Starfleet vessels and installations, it will always be for the best of reasons."

"And the worst. I will be holding an open investigation following the battle, and present my findings to the C-in-C. The Truth Will Out."

Trenagen offered the hint of a smile. "In my experience, Truth is a skittish little creature, generally afraid of the light, and not as easily coaxed out into the open as you might think. Still, by all means, Tattok, do what you think is best.

Assuming you survive today."

Trenagen's image vanished.

Tattok stared at nothing now. "Asshole."

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 1 Mid – Jhesse Furore's Quarters

3.6 Hours Until Armageddon:

He finished fitting the first of the new sensor webs on Sreen, the infant cub growling in protest at the lattice she could feel on her, a different sensation to her normal clothes. Then he quickly dressed her, purring as he assured her gently, "There, there, My Lady, consider this your training apparati for your first exo-harness in a few weeks. You'll soon get used to it, I promise." After a moment though, he added, "Though perhaps I should keep you with me for a while..."