Surefoot 53: Deep Six

USS Triton, Undisclosed Location

Deck 1 Fore -- Admiral's Ready Room:

Tattok sat motionless, staring at the scrolling lists of names. The names of everyone he killed.

Hundreds of them. He could never possibly remember them all.

The voice of the Commander-in-Chief, coming from the viewscreen beside him, was a distant thing. But it was unignorable. "Tattok... shut that off. Please. It will not serve you. Or them. Or any of us."

The Roylan remained motionless, before accepting the logic behind the entreaty. He replaced the names with a visual of the remains of the Thirteenth Fleet, assembled around a newly-arrived mobile repair spacedock and tugs delivering huge containers of supplies, spare parts, and temporary facilities for hospital and billeting needs. In the outskirts of this assembly, the Triton and other ships stood guard, watching for the enemy... and for those other members of their Fleet not here yet. "You're right, Sir. Please excuse me."

"There is nothing to excuse; what you suffered in Khavak was terrible-"

Tattok set aside his urge to wallow in self-recrimination, letting his anger surface. "What we suffered in Khavak wasn't just terrible, it was avoidable! That is, it would have been, if we had received useful intelligence from Trenagen and his spies!"

The Commander-in-Chief, an older Vulcan male with ash-grey hair that only hinted in flecks at the original colour, raised an eyebrow. "As I understand it from the reports, the Dominion forces had altered the data your tactical probes were transmitting back to you, obfuscating their true numbers and strength."

"Yes," Tattok admitted. "They did. But their false data supported the advance data supplied by Starfleet Intelligence! Had discrepancies not been spotted by Captain Hrelle minutes before we arrived, we would have been completely unprepared! I want to speak with Trenagen!"

The C-in-C's image shifted. "I will be speaking with Admiral Trenagen personally later today, to receive a full explanation as to the failings of his department. I suggest you focus on recovery. Logistics are looking to reassign equivalent vessels to replace those lost or irreparably damaged in battle. The Klingons have a squadron in the neighbouring Perigord system, currently mobilising to strike at the Dominion forces in Khavak."

Tattok sat up, eyestalks focusing intently on the screen. "The Klingons can't handle them, Sir, believe me!"

"Perhaps, Tattok, but historically it has always been an exercise in futility to attempt to dissuade Klingons from engaging in battle. However, we are arming them with your battle data, which might provide them with an advantage."

"I wish them well."

The Vulcan regarded him. "The Fleet ships reported Missing In Action-"

"They're not MIA," he corrected quickly, just as quickly annexing with, "The Ajax and the Surefoot remained behind to collect the last of the battle survivors and wounded. My son and Captain Hrelle are both highly experienced commanding officers. They know what they're doing, and where we are."

The C-in-C nodded; even a Vulcan could tell he had struck a proverbial nerve. "Of course, Admiral, of course; I should leave you to see to your Fleet." The Vulcan paused, and then noted, "Starfleet has been suffering heavy losses on many fronts in this War; the Dominion may prove to be more of a threat than the Borg. You have no cause for self-recrimination. Nor do you have the luxury. None of us who shoulder our burdens of responsibility do. Peace and Long Life, Tattok."

Tattok nodded. "Live Long and Prosper, Sir."

The screen went blank.

Tattok picked up his PADD, determined to immerse himself fully in his work... and not think about the losses they had suffered, the mistakes he had made... and those still out there, still-

His intercom chimed; aware that his people knew not to disturb him now unless it was critical, he responded swiftly with, "Yes?"

"Sir, the Ajax is on extreme sensor range, and is hailing us!"

Tattok straightened up fully, his pulse racing. His son was alive! "What about the Surefoot?"

"No sign of them yet, Sir. I'll put Captain Weynik's transmission through to you."

Then the nearest viewscreen came to life with the image of his son, looking haggard and taut as a wire, but at least he was still breathing. "Weynik... seeing you is the best thing that has happened today."

"Same here, Dad. What's the status of the Fleet?"

Tattok stiffened, knowing the answers already, but hardly wanting to express them. "Ten vessels lost. 1,452 confirmed dead. Where's Hrelle and the Surefoot?"

"They were experiencing engine problems, so we had to divert the enemy away to give them a chance to escape. I take it your question means you haven't heard from them?"

"Nothing yet."

Weynik nodded. "As soon as we get there, we'll need priority to get refuelled, rearmed and recrewed, and then head out again to find them and bring them home. I know their most probable alternate route."

"Of course. Get here safe and soon, son." The screen blackened again, leaving Tattok with just a faint reflection of his head on the screen. He had almost belayed his son's plans; there was every possibility that the Dominion would still track them down here to finish off what they had started in Khavak. On the other hand, the Surefoot was alone, ferrying home perhaps hundreds of survivors, the Fleet needed some small victory today...

And Tattok needed Hrelle and his tactical expertise reassigned to him directly, permanently, instead of being wasted on an ambulance ship, no matter how much he might protest.

*

USS Surefoot-A,

Deck 2 Fore, Captain's Ready Room:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 51180.4, Captain Esek Hrelle, Recording: We have regained control of my ship from the Dominion boarders during the Battle of Khavak, and have Jem'Hadar and Cardassian POWs in our Brig.

But our victory has come at a terrible cost: crewmembers are dead, including my Chief Engineer and Assistant Chief Engineer, my Assistant Security Chief and three Security crewmen, and a Medical crewmen, and twenty more have been wounded, physically and psychologically... and I'm not even counting those evacuees we rescued but who have subsequently been killed or wounded in the attack on my ship.

We are alone behind enemy lines, keeping as low a profile as possible as we make our way to rendezvous with the remains of the Thirteenth Fleet. Our current ETA is five days, and with the additional numbers onboard, we'll be struggling to maintain life support, rations, medical and hygiene facilities for that time.

I have appointed my daughter Lt Sasha Hrelle as Second Officer until Lt Neheru recovers, and our former cadets Lt Jonas Ostrow and Ensign Neraxis Ostrow will fill in as Engineering and Security Chiefs, respectively. Sasha has also recommended people from the Ajax, Lt Jim Madison and Chief Helga Maryk, to assist, and I will be meeting shortly with representatives from the evacuees to update them on the situation.

My First Officer Commander T'Varik, who had been instrumental in stopping a Jem'Hadar attack on the Bridge, is now checking on the status of the Sickbays and Sickbay Teams, my Chief Helm Officer Lt Velkovsky has taken on the unenviable task of clearing away the bodies... and the residue... and my wife and Ship's Counselor is in the Shuttlebay coordinating the evacuees... alongside her new Protector, my son.

[Sigh] My stomach has twisted into a wormhole over how close my family came to being hurt, or worse. I would prefer that they all remain in our quarters for the duration of this crisis, after all that has happened today. But my wife and my older daughter are as much Starfleet as I am, with duties and responsibilities. We need them. As for my son... Misha is embracing his self-appointed task, having stood up to half a dozen Jem'Hadar to save his mother... and oblivious to how easily he could have been added to the casualty list.

Kami is keeping Misha with her, until our nanny Jhess is back on his feet. She says Misha's using his role as a cloak, a source of strength and security to help deal with the trauma of today.

He won't be the only one in that position. Many will continue to suffer for a long time to come-

[Wince] And I need to get myself to Sickbay to deal with my own injuries. Just as soon as we're out of this mess... assuming my wife doesn't catch me out first... [Wince]-"

A soft musical sound caught his attention, and he glanced to his right. "Hmm?"

Sreen sat in her carrier pouch strapped securely to his shoulder, the infant gazing at her father with big bronze eyes, and serenading him with a lullaby of her own creation, made of trills and babbles and notes.

Her father's heart melted for the thousandth time since his Princess was born, and his voice cracked a little as he murmured, "Are you singing to me? Trying to make me feel better?" He set aside his PADD, reached up and stroked the side of her furred, stubby muzzle, making her purr now. "Thank you, Sweetheart, it's working wonderfully. And I look forward to being in the front row of your first concert on Cait."

*

Deck 4 Mid -- Post-Operative Recovery Suite:

Lt Giles Arrington guided the antigrav gurney along, having quickly picked up the best way to keep control of it when turning the corners without disturbing the patient onboard.

Ahead of him, Assistant Chief Nurse Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas led the way. "Over here, Bed 19 has been allocated."

Giles followed her, glancing around at the rows of biobeds, filled with wounded too serious to be left unattended, but not too serious to require immediate or continued attention in the Sickbays. He remembered when he was a cadet onboard, and this was set aside as billeting for relief crews being transported out to the Cardassian border, when the Surefoot served as a tender vessel before taking on ambulance duties... a thousand years ago, it felt like.

"Giles," Eydiir prompted, standing there waiting for him to help her shift the patient onto the biobed.

"Oh, sorry." He brought his mind back to the here and now, nodding and guiding the gurney out to collect the next one, glad for the distraction from his thoughts-

"Wait." The dark-skinned Capellan woman drew up to him. "Since we're here, and there's the appropriate equipment, we can do a better scan of your brain."

He stiffened. Since waking up, it had felt like his head had been scrambled in a transporter. Eydiir claimed that Sakuth had mindmelded with him in response to his panicking on the Bridge of the Cooper before they evacuated. He... He could neither confirm nor deny it. It was all a melange of memories. And he wasn't prepared to dwell on it, not now. "It's okay, Eydiir. It can wait-"

But she had a firm grip on his forearm, leading him over to an alcove offering partial privacy for specific diagnostic procedures, where a stern-looking Andorian female in Medical Blue glanced up. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Giles assured her. "I was just going-"

"-To stay and be scanned," Eydiir finished, nodding to the Andorian. "This is Doctor Shyrik. Doctor, this is Lt Arrington, he's the victim of a telepathic assault from a Vulcan."

He felt himself flush, shaking his head. "You- You don't know that-"

"She admitted as much to us, Giles. Tried to claim you panicked while in battle."

"What?" No. No, he couldn't believe that he would- he would-

The Capellan raised her chin. "A lie, of course. The woman is suffused with deception."

"A Vulcan?" Shyrik's antenna bent down and pointed in Eydiir's direction. "That's a serious accusation, Nurse. I can't believe a Vulcan would commit such an unethical act."

"You haven't met Captain Sakuth yet." She pushed Giles towards her. "We'll need proof for her court martial."

He tried to shake off his friend's grip, feeling overwhelmed by it all. "Look, I'll deal with this in my own way-"

But now Shyrik manoeuvred him to a cranial scanner. "And your way will be to follow medical orders, Lieutenant-"

"NO!" He stepped back, facing the two women but focusing on Eydiir. "This isn't the old days when we were in Alpha Squad! You can't bully and intimidate me into doing what you want anymore!" Then he looked at Shyrik. "Doctor, under Starfleet Security Directive 137.1, as an operative for Starfleet Intelligence, I'm refusing any invasive mnemonic or neurological scans! So, both of you: back off!"

Eydiir regarded him, and then drew closer, her body language and tone softer now. "Giles... you're right, and I'm sorry. If I am brusque with you, it comes from anger. Anger that a mountebank like Sakuth has harmed a good friend of mine. I care for few in this life... but you are one of those few." When she rested a hand on him again, it was gentle, reassuring. "Please, let us help you."

He looked to each of them in turn... and recognised the anger, and the fear, that his own condition left him. What did Sakuth do? Why? She had been avoiding him since he awoke from unconsciousness... and he had to admit, he had no desire to seek her out.

He nodded, drawing closer again. "Don't suppose I can keep fighting you two."

Shyrik grunted. "That's the first sensible thing I've heard from you, Lieutenant."

*

At the far end of the Suite, Commander T'Varik took note of their conversation for future reference, but stood by one particular bedside, arms folded behind her, her face a calm, serene mask, obfuscating the Vulcan's inner desire to embrace the black-furred Caitian female lying there, settling for the observation, "It is not displeasing to find you alive, Lieutenant."

C'Rash was on her side, her breath sounded clouded from having her lungs repaired following explosive decompression, her tail slipping out from under her sheet and her pointed ears twitching. "Will you calm down already? There's no need to go into hysterics." But she reached out with her paw, taking her partner's hand.

In the biobed next to her, a spotted male Caitian, also on his side to accommodate his tail, looked at them and smiled, his own voice croaky. "I am grief-stricken at this display of affection, considering what we once shared, Darling."

T'Varik became self-conscious, not as much with the expected banter from the Hrelles' nanny, but with the activity within the Sickbay, as medical staff moved briskly about. She released her hold on C'Rash and turned to him. "Dr Furore, I thank you for your efforts in saving the life of my partner. I am in your debt; let me know if there is anything I can do for you."

Jhess Furore smiled, appearing moved by her words, but still managed to maintain an air of jocularity, "I don't suppose you'd consider divorcing Jinx here and finally marrying me? You know what the humans used to say about black cats and bad luck?"

C'Rash hissed, but T'Varik merely raised an eyebrow. "I am aware of the superstition. However, my interaction with this particular black cat has proved only highly fortuitous. As for any partnership with you, it is perhaps for the best that it not be considered. Given my personal sexual preferences, you would be required to sacrifice more than you are most likely prepared to do."

Jhess' ears twitched and his eyes widened... then he peeked under his sheet, looking across at C'Rash and quipping, "You can have her."

*

Deck 4 Aft -- Main Engineering:

Jonas had to make an effort to not look in the direction of the remains of the Chief Engineer's Office... without looking like he was making an effort.

Velkovsky's bioremediation team, and the Surefoot's little sanitation drones, were quick and efficient, cleaning up the biological remains of the Jem'Hadar and Cardassian invaders. But the broken walls and furniture, the disruptor burns on the walls and floors... the haunted looks on the faces of the crew around him... those lingered, and he knew it would, for a long time to come.

He immersed himself in his work, in the minutiae of duties endemic to Sabre-class vessels, and tried not to think of all the fun times he'd had here with Grev and Nancy-

He stopped to regard the young human female standing staring at a blank screen. He remembered the briefing from when he arrived back here to take on responsibility here: Tori Emoto, one of the latest cadets, a member of the current Alpha Squad... and the one who had been grabbed by those filthy Cardassians, before being rescued by that massive Security cadet who looks too much like a Terran hippo walking on his hind legs. He approached, slowly, seeing something familiar in her expression, and not wanting to startle or intimidate her. "Excuse me? Ms Emoto, isn't it?"

She looked up, blinking, looking lost and anxious. "What do you want?"

He lowered his hands, opened his palms, recalling the studies he had with Kami on body language and dealing with post-traumatic stress. "Call me Jonas. It's Tori, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Why?"

He smiled, knowing that defensive reaction all too well. "Because I hate getting people's names wrong. I had an Engineering instructor at the Academy, a Zaldan who used to call me everything but my actual name: Johnny, Jonah, Judas, Judy-"

She blinked. "You mean Lieutenant Commander Orrik?"

Jonas' smile widened. "You know him?"

She grunted, rolling her eyes. "He used to call me Tony, Toadie, Taurus-"

He chuckled. "I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose, just to see if any cadet would be brave enough to correct him. I wasn't one of them, though." He paused and offered, "Listen, Tori, you've been through a lot today in here, so why don't you take a break, grab something to eat-"

"I can do my job!" she protested sharply.

"I never said you couldn't, but under the circumstances a change of surroundings can be a big help-"

"I don't need to go anywhere, Lieutenant!" she practically shouted in his face when she drew up to him.

Jonas was about to step back and give her some space to calm down... when a huge blue-grey hand clamped -- well, completely enveloped -- his shoulder and spun him around, and he looked up into the broad muzzle of Urad Kaldron. "Excuse me, Comrade Lieutenant, but what do you think you're doing with my squadmate?"

Up close, Jonas took in the mass of muscle and the thickened hide of the pachydermoid, whose race name eluded him, noted the disruptor burns on the exposed portions of his arms and the attempt to intimidate a superior officer... and ignored him, shaking off the hand, turning and facing Tori again. "Ensign Emoto, we're going to be overworking the food and industrial replicators in the next couple of days, even if they're set to produce only the most basic rations and supplies to make the base materials last longer. I want an inventory of spare parts from the Stores on Deck 5, and at least three sets of portable tool kits ready for us to pick up once the inevitable calls come in. If you're not up to the task-"

"I can do it!" she snapped, quickly adding, "Sir!" Then she stomped away.

Kaldron started to follow her, but Jonas reached up and put a hand on the tree trunk that was posing as the Security cadet's arm. He stopped, though he obviously didn't have to if he didn't want to. "Release me, Comrade Sir, or-"

"Or what? You'll get yourself in trouble, and not be around for your friend the next time she might really need you?"

Kaldron faced him. "You do not understand, you were not here, you do not know what almost happened-"

"No, I wasn't here, but I was briefed. I do know. And I do understand. Better than you might think."