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

She took her place in the centre seat and accessed her private PADD. Despite her rank she had never commanded a starship before a month ago, but her subsequent experience confirmed her initial suspicions, that all of the talk she had heard from other about the alleged adversity behind such duties was grossly exaggerated.

Certainly if that slovenly, feral Hrelle could manage it, so could she.

*

Deck 4 Mid – Chief of Security's Office

2 Hours Until Armageddon:

Commander T'Varik stood ramrod straight, hands behind her back, the pale, middle-aged Vulcan female's face perfectly composed as her partner, Lieutenant C'Rash Shall, stood by the wall display, the coal-furred Caitian's tail swishing behind her as she indicated various sections on the display, which currently depicted a cross-section of the Surefoot. "We'll have guards at these junctures, ensuring smooth access for the wounded as they're moved from Triage in the Shuttlebay to each of the three Sickbays, and to keep the non-wounded from getting in the way or wandering off into secure areas." She paused, looking to the Vulcan expectantly.

T'Varik responded with, "Continue."

C'Rash regarded her for a heartbeat, before complying. "Cargo Bays 1 to 3 are reconfigured for survivors, with a guard in each bay. I've asked Doc Cowboy to see if he can spare us one of his people to do a quick check for anyone who might be injured but slipped past Triage. I'm also recommending Aunt Kami, Spots and the Cubs stay in the Science Lab behind Sickbay 1; it's small, but the most secure place within the body of the ship, with isolation forcefields and reinforced frameworks, and near us." She paused again.

T'Varik responded with, "Continue."

C'Rash's snout twitched, and her tail swishing quickened, but she did so. "I've asked Uncle Esek to lend us Cadet Dassene to supplement the Security detail in Aft Engineering; Zir's responded well to the additional training I've been giving her, and he's planning on keeping the experienced Bridge officers on duty anyway. But she and the other cadets will be equipped with ablative vests." She stopped again.

T'Varik responded with, "Continue."

C'Rash's bronze eyes narrowed. "There are reports of the Jem'Hadar employing an active camouflage capacity, though it hasn't been determined whether this is a natural or artificial ability on their part. Should we encounter the use of this invisibility, I recommend defecating, picking up our faeces and flinging it to see if anything sticks."

T'Varik nodded instinctively – and then frowned. "Facetiousness is not appropriate at this time."

"Neither is inattention."

"I am not inattentive."

C'Rash crossed her arms. "Catshit. You've not made one suggestion. You're being quiet and nice. It's not like you."

She raised one eyebrow. "Thank you. Perhaps I can find no fault with your security precautions?"

"Or maybe you're just worried about the battle?"

"Worry is..." T'Varik paused, continuing with, sounding more honest now, "Quite logical under the circumstances. Our noncombat status as an ambulance vessel might not be honoured by the Dominion forces today."

The Caitian lowered her arms and approached, offering a more sympathetic response. "Continue."

T'Varik felt herself flush at the proximity of her partner; she had long since become accustomed to her scent... and reactive to it, though Vulcan olfactoral acuity was not as great as a Caitian's. "I am profoundly aware of our cadet and civilian contingent onboard. Though we as full members of Starfleet have pledged our lives to our duty, the same cannot be said for- for-"

C'Rash was practically in her face, the hot breath from her snout against the Vulcan's cheek. "Continue."

T'Varik glanced around slightly; the door to C'Rash's office was locked, the glass windows tinted, but she remained self-conscious of how close the rest of her partner's Security personnel were just outside. "We have only just married. I- I must admit to an exigent anxiety that we-" She glanced down to see C'Rash's hands at the waistband to the Vulcan's trousers. "What are you doing?"

Her partner was purring as she replied, "Helping my First Officer. She's tense. She needs some quick release."

"I am not- I do not desire-"

"Your scent says differently."

"This- This is highly inappropriate. Please cease and desist."

C'Rash slipped her right hand down inside T'Varik's trousers. "No."

The Vulcan felt her temperature rise even more. Such unprofessional conduct was typical of her younger partner. She could physically remove the hand. Yes, yes, she could. "I am- I am ordering you to- to-"

C'Rash's fingertips found what they sought.

T'Varik's voice was a whisper. "We- We are on duty- your team is just beyond your door."

C'Rash leaned in and murmured, "Then you'd better be quiet..."

*

Deck 3 Mid – Sickbay

1.8 Hours Until Armageddon:

Doctor Masterson pushed his Stetson hat up from his broad forehead, looking out at the collection of nurses and Medical and Science cadets he had helped train to provide support in the Surefoot's three Sickbays during emergencies. He saw the mix of confidence and anxiety at the upcoming battle in all their faces.

Well, not all the faces: there was Dr Riadrea Belaxi, a Bolian Starfleet medical officer, whose team was temporarily assigned to the Surefoot to assist in the initial triage operations, freeing the Surefoot staff to manage the Sickbays. Belaxi stood in the back with his team, watching the proceedings with mild amusement on his dark blue bisected face.

Since boarding, he gave Masterson the impression of being a condescending little saddlesore, not letting a conversation pass without mentioning at least once the alleged flummery of having Medical and Science cadets performing support duties here (or maybe it was targeted more at Masterson himself?). Masterson let it slide, knowing that their guests would be both qualified and experienced, having served in the field in numerous locations during the brouhaha with the Klingons and the initial fights against the Jem'Hadar.

Then he smiled as he focused once more on his staff, and how they had divided themselves up into the three teams he had established to promote some healthy competition among them – and distract them from letting things get too onerous. "Alright, ya Yahoos, we're gonna keep it straight as a bullet: the Broncos will be with me in Sickbay 1-"

Nearest him, the six nurses and cadets on his team whooped and hollared in Wild West fashion – except for his new senior nurse, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, who responded in typical Capellan taciturn fashion with a grunt. That girl could curdle milk in the teat with a glower... "The Targs will of course be hanging out with Doctor Kline in Sickbay 2-"

Now the tall, swarthy Klingon on Masterson's left stepped forward, declaring in Klingon, "Hegh chargh maH!"

And now his own team roared, raising their fists into the air... even those cadets who started out looking and acting like they wouldn't dare say Boo to a mouse.

To Masterson's right, an Andorian woman in civilian medical clothes made a sound, prompting Masterson to take back the reins. "And last but not least, the Icehawks will man Sickbay 3 under our esteemed Doctor Shyrik."

Then he started as Shyrik's six-member team suddenly formed a diamond pattern, moving as one in some sort of choreographed posture dance of legs and arms, before chanting in Andorian, "SShvis Nodsath-Ha!"

Shyrik nodded with unabashed pride, her antennae rising as she glanced over challengingly at Kline, who sneered good-naturedly... or at least as good-naturedly as a Klingon could be.

Masterson waved down the responses from the rest of them. "Alright, alright, Team Pride's all well and good... but if any of us start heading up Bull Creek, I don't want you being too high and mighty to call for help from Dr Belaxi and his people, or from the other teams... or from the EMH." That suggestion raised some groans, before he clarified with, "Yeah, yeah, I know he's about as welcome as a burr in your britches, but his program is available in all the Sickbays now, and he can free you to focus on others.

Hopefully, he won't be needed.

Even more hopefully, none of us will be."

That sobered the group, though he wasn't sure if it was from how unlikely that hope was.

"Now," he continued, "Y'all should have completed the supplementary training on treating wounds from polaron-based energy weapons like the Dominion varmints use, and we've already replicated extra batches of the standard coagulants and spray applicators y'all might need. Though with any luck those Horntoads will stay on their ships and not get anywhere near the Fleet personnel. Apart from that, expect the standard evacuation-related injuries, radiation burns and trauma."

He looked out at all the faces.

"Keep your heads down," he concluded. "Let others worry about getting us out, or watching our tailfeathers. Focus on doing your job... something y'all are the best at, no matter what team you're playing on."

That brought up a united cheer.

"Dismissed."

As the group dispersed, talking excitedly and slapping each other on the backs, Masterson stepped up to Belaxi, who was conversing with his people, but now turned to the CMO. "A lovely little speech you gave to the children there, Doctor. Very inspiring."

Masterson smirked. "No children onboard, Doc, except for the Captain's and Counselor's critters. Some may be wet behind the ears, but they've all proven themselves."

Belaxi smirked back, though his was more sardonic. "Not against the Dominion. None of you have. But if it does get too much for any of you, just say the word, and we'll step in."

Masterson was about to reply, when Eydiir stepped up beside him, obviously having caught at least the tail end of the conversation, to judge from the scowl on her dark, gaunt face. "Your hauteur is not required, Doctor. We are more than capable of managing ourselves in a crisis."

"Girl..." Masterson started.

But Belaxi butted in, chuckling, "Oh really, Nurse? Tell me, have you ever had to try an examine a patient while being fired upon by a Jem'Hadar soldier?"

"No," she admitted, "But I was once attacked by a Ferasan warrior while attempting to stabilise my Captain when he had been administered an overdose of Hypocordrazine. I slit open the attacking Ferasan's carotid artery with a kitchen knife and left him to bleed to death before I continued; the parathyroid muscles near the jugular proved slightly more resistant, though I blame that on the inferior quality of the blade I was forced to employ under the circumstances."

Belaxi turned a lighter shade of blue at that.

Masteron indulged in some satisfaction at that, before tipping back his hat. "I'll let y'all get onto the Shuttlebay now."

"Uh, yes. Yes, of course." As they filed out, Masterson chuckled. "That's some tall tale you fed him-"

"It was no tall tale. It occurred on Stardate 36528.47. I neglected to mention the other two Ferasans I gutted at the time. I did not wish to sound boastful."

He blanched. "Well... tall tale or not, you sure took the starch out of their sheets, quick as shine through a junebug."

Eydiir crossed her arms. "As always, I understand perhaps 30% of what you say. I will be armed while on duty. I trust you will not object?"

"So long as you don't start using your throwing blades as scalpels, we'll be fine. Carry on, while I go have a talk with our Triage Supervisor." He left her and moved to the other end of Sickbay, where Cadet Stalac sat, unnoticed because of his height. "Pardner, what are y'all doing hiding back here?"

The young Horta rumbled in confusion. "Sir?"

Masterson dropped to one knee to get closer, smiling. "You're gonna be one of the most important folk today! I'm only sorry I didn't mention that in that little pep talk!"

Stalac rumbled again. "I'm rather glad you didn't, Doctor... I might have peed some acid in embarrassment at such attention. I much prefer to stay unobtrusive."

The human doctor grinned now, at the thought of a hundred kilogram, acid-exuding, rock-eating silicon-based lifeform trying to be unobtrusive. "Yeah, well, I've been pleased as punch by your results in all the drills and exercises we've been running on the Holodecks. Y'all do fine."

Stalac rotated in place, the Starfleet combadge and voder unit bolted to one side of his shell facing Masterson. "Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down."

The doctor patted him on the side. "I know you won't, Dude."

*

Deck 1 Fore – Command Quarters

1.5 Hours Until Armageddon:

Hrelle hugged his wife fiercely, not wanting to alarm their cubs nearby, but still wanting to drink in her sweet musk before he departed to the Bridge. He purred, murmuring, "Stay safe down there."

Kami hugged him back. "I will. You stay safe up there."

"I will." Reluctantly he drew back, before moving to their cubs, watching with varied degrees of interest. Hrelle dropped to one knee beside Misha. "You stay with Mama and Sreen, do what you're told."

"I protect them!" Misha declared.

"Of course you will." He hugged his son, before moving onto Sreen, sitting in her chair, looking up and mewling slightly at the raised emotion in the air. "And you, my Warrior Princess, just... stay exactly as you are. No growing up while I'm away, understood?" He moved in and brushed his muzzle against hers, before rising again, tugging at his jacket in a vain attempt to close it over his belly. "Stupid fabricators keep shrinking my uniform."

"Of course they do," Kami agreed dryly.

Misha reached up and poked his father's belly. "No shrinking, you just Fat Cat!"

Hrelle grunted, looking to Kami once more. "Your son has no manners."

Kami shrugged, showing more insouciance than either adult was actually feeling. It was all he could do to not tell them to come up to the Bridge and stay there for the duration of the battle, instead of just nodding and leaving.

In the corridor, he slipped into his Command Face, nodding confidently to crewmembers he passed, before running into T'Varik and C'Rash. "Commander, Lieutenant."

Both females nodded perfunctorily at him, looking flush as they followed him onto the Bridge.

He breathed the scents around them, and understood their reactions. Well, he was glad they managed to get some before the battle started.

He looked around, approving of the Bridge crew awaiting him: Neheru at Ops, Velkovsky at the Helm, Yeager at Engineering, Astrid beside her as Helm backup. He stopped and let his First Officer and Chief of Security take their places, as he stared ahead at the viewscreen, at the dilated starfield, the blackness and lightstreaks offering no clue as to what awaited them. No, that was the job of the warp probes the Fleet sent ahead.

All these lives... just the ones onboard his ship, including his family, were in his hands. Every decision he made, good or bad, wise or foolish, would affect them all.

Seven Hells, he should have stayed with his father and been a fisherman. It was a simple, honest, safe life, and he would have been responsible for his own life, not scores of others.

Then he remembered how much he hated the smell of gutted sleeks, and slapped his combadge. "Captain to Crew."

The computer sounded the bosun's whistle, and those on the Bridge not immediately engaged in their duties turned to face him. He saw their expectant eyes, imagined the same expressions on everyone else onboard. He breathed in deeply before proceeding. "In under 90 minutes, we will be engaging Dominion forces at the Khavak Sector. Intelligence reports suggest we will be victorious. But then the people who compiled those reports won't be with us. Personal experience tells me that anything can happen in a battle."

He folded his hands behind his back. "Now, before you sink into depression or anxiety over that thought, bear this in mind: though I'd rather be lounging on a beach on Pacifica eating shuris dogs, if I have to be in battle, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than on this ship, with this crew, performing the tasks assigned to us. Our fellow members of Starfleet will be counting on us, to rescue them, to keep them alive and safe, and get them home. They're depending on us. Fortunately, we're the best ship and crew in the Fleet, and don't let anyone try and tell you differently.

Remember what I always say: 'Focus on your work, on what's immediately in front of you, what needs to be done now. Leave the bigger picture to the folk on the higher pay grades.' With luck and sympathetic deities on our side, we'll get out of this together. Captain out."

He took his seat. Beside him, T'Varik glanced in his direction. "Deities, Sir? I was led to believe that you were not religious."

He smiled. "I'm not. But for me, praying is like my first wife's prescription for every childhood ailment Sasha ever had: chicken noodle soup." He shrugged. "It couldn't hurt."

"Unless the ailment is an intolerance for poultry," T'Varik pointed out. "Or noodles."

Hrelle grunted. "Kiss my furry ass."

*

USS Ajax

1.6 Hours Until Armageddon:

Weynik walked down a corridor of the Defiant-class starship, a PADD in his small hands. As part of his duties as commanding officer, he was conducting a visual inspection of every piece of his ship. He was accompanied by his executive officer who was less than enthused with the task.

"Another inspection like this is useless," the Zakdorn complained, trying to keep up with the quick strides of his captain. "I should be in the Cockpit..."

"Part of command is making sure that all systems are operational before a battle, Mister Kohanim. Also your people need to see you. They need to know that you have their back and that they have yours."

"Yes, sir, but..."

Weynik stood in mid-pace and turned around. His eyestalks looked up at Kit with an angry look in them. "You're my First Officer, right?"

"Yes, Captain."

"And you should be privy to all and any information that I come into possession of, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then your duty is to make sure that your ship and crew are ready for battle," Weynik told him, turning back around and walking again. "We may be small but this crew has become like a family to me. I know every face and every name aboard Ajax. I knew the same when I was an engineer and when I was a first officer myself."

"It's hard for me to imagine you as lowly as myself, once upon a time, sir."

"Mister Kohamin, there are stories that could keep you up for days about my past. Now... should we examine the work on the aft torpedo assembly? Petty Officer Stulek said that they were making a couple of power modifications."

*

The inspection took longer than he had expected but Weynik had gotten it done. "Computer," the Roylan said, after the doors of his ready room closed behind him, "Open up a private channel to USS Triton. I'd like to speak with Naida."

"Acknowledged," the feminine voice of the ship's computer informed him. "Connection made. Warning! All communications will be ended at 1800 hours per regulations in a combat zone."

"Acknowledged," Weynik repeated back to his computer display screen. He sat down in his chair and pressed a button on the desktop keypad. The logo of the United Federation of Planets appeared for a moment before it disappeared.

"Poppy!" Weynik's five-year old daughter shouted, a smile on her face.

"Hiya, cupcake. How's my girl?"

"Good, Poppy. Granny and I were making zoopla cookies for the victory celebration."