Surefoot 53: Deep Six

"Only in the very short term," Hrelle countered. "With six Galors in the search."

"Eight now," Neraxis corrected. "Just confirmed another two have joined the original six. Passive scans are picking up traffic between the ships. They've definitely detected us, and are already coordinating sensor sweeps."

"What about the ice giant? It's large; if we land on the surface near one of its magnetic poles-"

"Not recommended, Respected Captain," Kit offered. "Unlike gas giants, the atmospheric composition and magnetic field strength of ice giants such as the one in this system would be both insufficient and hazardous... however, if I may offer a potential alternative?"

Hrelle and others looked to the reptoid at the far end. "We're listening."

The Science Officer called up an image magnified from the ice giant. "One of the planet's collection of moons is Class-N, ocean-based, believed lifeless; its 12-day orbit around the planet is a cycle of the water rapidly and violently freezing and melting, and it is currently in the latter liquid stage. We can submerge with very little modifications to our spaceframe."

"That moon?" Sasha repeated. "It's even smaller than Luna! One Galor could scan it in less than an hour! With eight of them coming to search-"

"Forgive me for interrupting, Respected Lieutenant, but I should point out that the oceans of this moon are heavy in kelbonite particles-"

"Which interfere with sensors," Hrelle finished, his heart racing head with hope, even as his head raced ahead with the details. He called up damage reports, drawing T'Varik and Sasha closer. "Can Sasha's shuttle from the Ajax still fly?"

Sasha nodded. "Yeah, but not far."

"It doesn't need to go far. How far until we get to Waterworld?"

"1.1 hours," T'Varik replied. "The first of the Cardassians will arrive approximately twenty-nine minutes after."

"What have you got in mind, Dad?" Sasha asked.

He called up the statuses of the Surefoot's shuttles. "We proceed to the ice giant, leaving a discernible trail so they know we're headed there. As we pass over it, I want the Ajax shuttle, the Littlepaw and the Firefang programmed for autopilot, to leave us at a predetermined time, travel together, and crash here." He indicated a section over the northern magnetic pole of the ice giant. "Detonating their warp cores simultaneously. We'll also be depositing damaged plating, random debris, anything we can do without, in the same area. We'll even rig a false recorder marker."

"You wish the Cardassians to believe we attempted to hide within the magnetic field of the ice giant," T'Varik deduced. "But failed, and were destroyed?"

He nodded. "It's the obvious option that any commander would take, under the circumstances."

"The combined warp core breaches of the shuttles, detonated simultaneously, might approximate the residual energy signature of our own warp core breaching," Jonas confirmed. "What about the relative lack of debris?"

"The lack of debris can be explained through the breach," the Vulcan contributed. "And perhaps a quantum torpedo detonation."

"It will help even further to include bodies," Hrelle added.

The others looked to him, Sasha echoing, "Bodies?"

He nodded again, feeling their eyes on him without looking. "All the bodies from the Morgue are to be included in the debris. The Jem'Hadar and Cardassians corpses, too. And any body parts." Now he looked up, his people showing various levels of reaction to his orders. "We need to make the illusion as realistic as possible."

"What, even Chief Grev?" Sasha asked, paling. "Nancy? Brian Gorman? Orogg? All our crew who have died? People we knew, worked with?"

Hrelle met his daughter's eyes, hoping she would understand. This gambit wasn't the way he would prefer to treat the bodies of people he once considered friends, colleagues. But at this point, he could count the number of viable options for keeping them alive on one finger.

But then she nodded her understanding, and he looked to T'Varik. "When the time comes, I want you to handle the transfer of the bodies, tag them and have them beamed directly from the Morgue. And what we're doing with them doesn't leave this room. Our crew, the survivors... no one is to know, not until I can speak with those involved."

"You promised they would have the opportunity to visit the remains, Sir... did you wish that accelerated?"

He thought about it, but shook his head. "We don't have the time or people to spare getting that done... or to have arguments about it, or make exceptions for those who might object." He looked at her. "I would appreciate your opinion as to my decision."

Her expression evoked sympathy. "It is sound, Sir, and will greatly increase the verisimilitude of the illusion."

"Thank you. Jonas, we'll need all the power we can muster to handle the transporter requirements. Neraxis, get back to the Bridge, make sure our energy signature is tight... but not that tight; I want them to know our general direction, and that's all. I'll program the shuttles and recorder marker-"

"No, Sir," Sasha said, cutting him off. "You won't."

He stared at her again. "Excuse me?"

She stared back. "We'll take care of the preparations, Captain. You were injured, more than once, today; now's the time to get to Sickbay and get treated."

Hrelle felt himself blush beneath his fur, as the others began looking at him. "I'm fine, Sasha, I can handle it-"

But she straightened up. "The way you're holding yourself, you were probably stabbed, maybe more than once. 'Starfleet Order 104, Section A: Should a starship's Commanding Officer receive an illness or injury that could potentially leave them medically or psychologically unfit for command, it is their duty to seek immediate treatment.'"

"Sasha-"

She crossed her arms. "'Section B: Bridge Officers of the rank of Lieutenant or higher are obligated to inform said Commanding Officer if they believe treatment is advised-'"

Anger flared within him now; he didn't need his daughter noodging him like an old woman right now in front of others. "Enough, and that's an order, Lieutenant. I don't need a lesson in Starfleet Regulations from you! Understood?"

T'Varik straightened up as well. "Your Second Officer is doing exactly what she is expected to do, Captain, and she has my full support in this matter. And it is logical for you to take this opportunity to deal with any outstanding issues that might impair your performance later, at a more critical moment than now, particularly as our medical teams will have treated the most serious cases by now. We will manage the details of your plan."

He grunted... and surrendered to the logical. "Fine, I'll go, before you sic my wife and other cubs on me too."

"The Lieutenant will alert Sickbay that you are on your way," T'Varik helpfully affirmed as he started for the door.

He said something in Old Caitian on the way out.

"You don't want to know what he said," Sasha informed T'Varik. "I promise."

"I have recently adjusted my personal Universal Translator to include the obscure dialect," the Vulcan replied. "I take no offence, given the physiological impossibility of his suggestion."

*

Deck 3 Mid -- Sickbay 1:

The EMH squatted and passed a sensor wand over the Horta sitting on the floor, his bald holographic head creasing in an approximation of deep thought. "Well... you're alive."

Zir stood by, arms crossed, frowning in disbelief. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"No, young woman, though humour is meant to be an efficacious tool for good bedside manner."

"Just a couple of hours ago he was on the verge of death!"

"And now I'm not," Stalac reminded her, his voder unit crackling from damage. "Calm down, Zir, I'm fine."

"Your friend is quite correct," the EMH supported, reattaching the sensor wand to his tricorder. "More or less. The fibrous trisilicate in the Securifoam assisted in his healing, though I would avoid any major tunnelling for the next couple of days."

"Always good advice on a starship," Zir quipped, lowering her arms and drawing closer, kneeling on Stalac's other side. "Stal... how are you feeling? After what happened on the Shuttlebay-"

He rumbled slightly. "Yes, Zir, I'm rather curious about that myself... what did happen?"

She frowned again. She hadn't been there herself, but the Security reports were explicit about the details. "Stal... you don't remember? The Jem'Hadar who beamed into the Shuttlebay, began killing and wounding everyone around you? You trying to stop them? Being wounded? You..." She paused. "You being forced to kill them?"

"Kill? Me?" He tapped one side of his perimeter against the bulkhead in an approximation of a biped's foot. "No, I can't say I recall that. Funny, my memory is usually quite reliable."

Zir looked up at the EMH in concern. "Doctor, what's wrong with him?"

The hologram shrugged. "The Horta cerebral network is radically different to most carbon-based lifeforms. It's possible that the wounds your friend received damaged or eliminated his short-term memory of the events."

"Exactly," Stalac agreed. "I'm in fine fettle, Zir, and solid as neutronium. Nothing to worry about with me."

She stared at him, as if she could see some hint on his bumpy stone carapace that would give away what felt like a lie. "Yes, but-"

"But what?" Stal cut in, his artificial voice registering an uncharacteristic sharpness. "But nothing, Zir! Will you please leave me alone already?" The Horta rotated in place towards the EMH. "Am I free to leave, Doctor?"

He shrugged again. "Don't ask me, I'm only a short-term diagnostic treatment program; the real doctor is off doing something interesting in your Brig with the Jem'Hadar prisoners." He indicated the two Caitians making their way out of the Sickbay. "See? Those two should probably stay in here another night, but they're leaving."

Zir looked up, seeing Lt Shall and the Hrelles' nanny Dr Furore walking out, and rushed over to them. "Lieutenant?"

The coal-furred Caitian female stopped, as if to adjust her uniform jacket. "Cadet Dassene! I was hoping to talk to you, to commend you on your actions in Engineering. Well done. Very well done. If you want to change mission specialities from Command to something more useful like Security, let me know."

Zir felt her olive skin darken, recalling her actions, but wishing she had amnesia like her friend. Even pretend amnesia. "Thank you, Ma'am. But I thought you were going to be off-duty for a couple of days-"

C'Rash bristled. "Too much to do. Besides, a few hours beside Spots here is more than enough."

Beside her, Jhess smiled and winked at Zir. "I'm an acquired taste."

Zir felt her pulse quicken, just a little -- did he know how handsome and charming he was? Bloody hell, of course he did! -- but she recovered. "Um... Ma'am, it's about my squadmate, Stal."

C'Rash looked past her to the Horta, nodding. "Yeah, I got the report on him on the Shuttlebay. What about him?"

Zir drew closer, lowering his voice so as not to be overhead. "He's claiming he doesn't remember what he did. The EMH thinks he might have lost his short-term memory following his injury."

Jhess nodded soberly at that. "Lucky him."

Zir shook her head. "That's just it... I don't believe him. I think he's lying, and he's lying because he doesn't want to face it. He has the most gentle, peaceful spirit you'll ever know. Having been forced to kill like that must be too much for him to deal with."

Now C'Rash shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, then, can't you- can't order him to-"

The female felinoid held up a hand. "No, I can't. Not my job, or yours. Nor is it the time."

"But-"

Jhess drew closer, looking sympathetic. "It's admirable that you want to help him, Zir. But he needs to be willing to accept that help. By all means, fulfil your duties as his friend and Squad Leader by expressing your concerns with the Counselor, and being there if you can when he needs you."

"And maybe what he needs right now," C'Rash finished. "At least in the short term, is the distraction that returning to duty brings. It's a therapy a lot of us need, especially as it appears we're not out of danger. Now, unless you've been reassigned to other duties, you're still working for me, so follow, I need an update from Neraxis..."

*

Deck 3 Fore -- Shuttlebay:

Price stood with his senior officers near one corner, as if waiting in line for one of the hygiene chambers, but instead keeping an eye on the increased activity among the Surefoot crew, moving in and out of the shuttles, moving damaged bulkhead plating and containers into areas near the cargo transporter pads... seemingly acting in an ordinary manner.

Except Price had been in the service long enough to know better. "Something's up. And they won't say anything."

His First Officer, Commander Fatimah Gular, a wiry human female of Turkish descent, with light brown skin and a mane of tight curly black hair, followed her commanding officer's gaze. "Looks like another rescue. But Hrelle told you we were on our own out here?"

Price grunted. "So he said. What are you getting, Thigh?"

His Chief of Security, Lt Commander Thiqilar, a tall, gaunt Andorian male, stood slightly apart, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the Surefoot crew, antennae twitching as he listened to the dialogue from twenty metres away across the crowded Shuttlebay. "They're talking about programming the shuttles to converge at some rendezvous point. There's also talk of transporter energy requirements, Cardassians... and to keep things to themselves and not tell us."

Price frowned. He hadn't even had time to process losing his ship, losing so many of his crew, in that terrible battle, and be stranded onboard this vessel, with that bizarre Caitian. Hrelle had such an inflated reputation with Tattok, but Price wasn't impressed.

Gular drew closer, her voice dropping. "What the Hell's going on here, Nate?"

"I don't know, Fatimah." He felt his anger grow. Anger at losing so much today. Anger at being rendered a passenger instead of a leader. Anger at not having the answers for his people when they needed them. "But I'm gonna find out."

He had been starting towards one of the crewmen being watched, when he was intercepted by the ship's Second Officer, that human girl with the smart mouth and the Captain's surname. "Captain Price?" She drew up and offered a PADD. "We have a list of personnel from the Lynx we could use-"

"'Use'?" Price sneered. "We're not spare parts, Missy! We're people, people who have gone through Hell today!"

She blinked, before finally nodding, her regret appearing genuine. "My apologies, Captain, that was a very poor choice of words on my part." She glanced down at the PADD before looking up again. "Please, let all of your people know that this is a request for their help, certainly not a command, and no one's obliged to work if they, or you, feel they're not ready for it." She held out the PADD again to him. "Schedules have been adjusted so those ready and able to help will be moved up to the head of the lines for food, rest and hygiene; just indicate anyone we might need to replace. Preferably as soon as you can, so we can reschedule with a minimum of disruption."

He started at the unexpected offer, before reluctantly accepting the PADD, but continued to focus on her even as he indicated the crewmen working behind her. "What's going on?"

She looked over her shoulder, once, and quickly, before facing him again, lowering her voice. "Some Cardassian ships have spotted us, and we're taking measures to throw them off our scent."

"Cardassians?" He stiffened. "Take me to Captain Hrelle, I can offer tactical guidance."

Lt Hrelle breathed in. "I'll pass on your offer, Sir. If you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere-"

She started away, but then Price grabbed her by the elbow. "Hold it, Missy-"

She stopped, looked down at his hand and replied, "Please let go of me, Captain."

"I don't think you understand, when a superior officer gives you an order-"

"Sir," she interrupted more forcefully, staring hard at him, her voice and stance taut. "I am respectfully asking you, one more time, to take your hand off of me."

Suddenly Gular and Thiqilar were on either side of him, Gular leaning in and murmuring, "Sir..."

Price heard the tone in her voice, and let go of the young officer, who relaxed. A little. "As already promised, I'll pass on your offer to Captain Hrelle. If you'll excuse me...?" She turned and departed without waiting for a response.

Price watched her leave, harrumphing. "Insolent little bitch. No respect for rank."

"She's a killer," Thiqilar remarked suddenly.

The other officers looked to him, Gular asking, "Excuse me, Thigh?"

The Andorian looked back, his antennae rising, his expression showing an uncharacteristic wariness. "She's a killer. Her eyes, her posture. I've seen it before, dealing with Maquis, pirates, Cardassians. And the weapons she's carrying... they're not ceremonial. How they hang on her, how her muscles move... she was ready to grasp them. They're not for show. She's used them."

Price stared in disbelief; the girl must have been half his age... "What kind of ship is Hrelle running here?"

*

Deck 3 Fore -- Enlisted Mess Hall:

Astrid Michel sat at the table, cradling the coffee mug in her dark-skinned hands, seeing the black contents steam as the liquid remained untouched.

Opposite her, Cadet Squad Leader Jexa-Naku adopted a near-identical position, her curved, segmented Grazerite horns reflecting the lights above, her snout wrinkling as if reacting to the scents of the liquids they had chosen in lieu of actual food. They had been silent since they had been dismissed to get food and sleep.

Astrid wanted to speak. She wanted to talk about the attack on the Bridge. About diving for cover like a coward when she came under fire, just as Jexa-Naku, Logan Gentry and Velkovsky did, About poor Lt Neheru not being so lucky, being struck point blank in the gut by a disruptor bolt. About T'Varik leaping over the Bridge rail, screaming like an animal as she broke the necks of the Jem'Hadar. About the purple-red Kelpien blood that seemed to cover every square centimetre of the Bridge floor as Neheru lay there, and T'Varik struggled to keep him alive.

She wanted to get drunk. She wanted to make love. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up under her blankets. She wanted to take a phaser and go down to the Brig and burn the surviving Jem'Hadar prisoners to Hell. She wanted to be told what to do. She wanted everything.

"I want to go home," Jexa said.

Then Astrid realised that she didn't want everything. She had spent half her life in a lie not of her own making, with a man she believed was her father but wasn't, and the other half with the man who was her father, but didn't know him. Neither ended up being a home for her. Starfleet had become her home, as it had for so many others. But now, her home was blood-stained.

"I could go to work in my brother's office, in the Federation Council offices," Jexa continued, her voice cracking a little. "Nepotism be damned. I could do the job of any of my brother's staff. Schedules, communications, itineraries, travel arrangements. No death. No disruptors. No danger. The worst thing I'll ever face there is a pushy reporter looking for a quote from my brother about the latest trade agreement with the Ferengi."