Surefoot 56: Shelter from the Storm

The Russian shrugged. "Hopefully. Personally I'd rather not stay too long on a ship where metal-eating bacteria are centimetres away from causing an antimatter containment breach. Boshe moi, I wish I was back on the Ajax. At least there the worst I had to deal with was our Gnome of a Captain sneaking up on me and sticking his Baba Yaga nose in my business..."

*

Deck 3 Mid -- Security Suite Brig:

Lt Neraxis Ostrow stood near the console, seeing the deterioration in the self-control of the Jem'Hadar together in the cell, and hoping her disquiet didn't show to everyone around her. They orbited around the tight perimeter of the enclosure, growling and snapping when they bumped into each other. It reminded her of ancient videos of when wild animals were kept in zoos, in tiny cages, where they would circle and circle and circle and slowly go mad.

"Disturbing, isn't it, Lieutenant?"

The Bolian turned to the other Brig, where the Cardassian Prisoners of War had separated. Their Glinn, a dickhead named Drurocc, was standing at the edge, not too close to make the force field react to his proximity, his arms crossed and his pewter-grey face as smug as ever. "To see them in the latter stages of Ketracel White withdrawal? The mighty warriors of the dreaded Dominion, descending into mindless animals?"

"Shut up."

"And yet, you're still trying to find some treatment for them," he continued, unabated, the admiration in his voice as false as his concern. "It's clear Starfleet's reputation for selfless gallantry is well deserved. Or is it mindless gallantry? Because at this point euthanasia seems more merciful-"

Neraxis faced him. "Do you want a smack in the mouth? Because you still flapping your gums after I tell you to shut up is a good way to get one!"

Drurocc sneered at her. "I've gotten the measure of you in our time together, Bolian. You talk tough, but you've yet to back up your threats with action." His head tilted. "You prefer to have that murderous mountain of flesh, Ensign Kaldron, come in to try and intimidate us."

"What do you mean, 'try'? The last time he was here, I had to arrange to get your trousers laundered." She ignored him and approached the Jem'Hadars' cell. "Listen, if you're concerned about your comrade, don't be. Our Medical and Science teams are trying to find a way to help all of you with this problem-"

One of the confined Jem'Hadar suddenly launched himself at her, making the force field erupt and crackle against him. The others immediately joined him on the assault, the energy flaring up around them, the noise filling the air.

Neraxis stood her ground, even as Thykrill and Pamela Travers entered from the adjacent Armoury where they had been working, phasers drawn. Neraxis didn't reach for her own weapon, knowing the force field would hold them. Not much else would, though; a previous attempt to sedate them with neurozine worked, but for much less time than expected, and didn't work at all when it was repeated. In the end, they had to beam out one of them to the Science Lab to examine their dependency.

She hoped her bug-eating buddy Kit would come up with something soon, before the Jem'Hadar killed each other. Or were forced to be killed.

"I hate to say 'I told you so'-" Drurocc started.

"Then don't!" Neraxis snapped back.

*

Deck 4 Mid -- Sickbay 3:

In the absence of a medical emergency, they had managed to clear the Sickbay and secure it, its Isochamber modified with a secure biobed, and a member of Security on hand to ensure the Jem'Hadar beamed in from the Brig... cooperated.

Ensign Kitirik, Acting Science Officer for the Surefoot, watched as the Jem'Hadar continued to struggle against the forcebeams pinning him down, reluctantly accepted this definition of 'cooperation'. The debate about whether or not to study the Jem'Hadars' reliance on Ketracel White had been vocal and varied, with some refusing on ethical grounds or a general unwillingness to help the enemy, and others pointing out the Jem'Hadars' present mental state leaving them unable to refuse... and reminding the others of the tactical advantage of learning more about the enemy, including their weaknesses.

Kit, for his part, understood all sides of the debate... and was grateful that the Most Respected Captain Hrelle had the authority to make the final call, and order them to learn what they could. He was less grateful that he also ordered Kit to take charge. He had worked as part of several science teams on the Iberia, but never commanding one, and he had privately voiced his concerns to the Most Respected Captain.

And the Caitian's response was... typically inarguable: No one's born commanding, Kit, you have to start somewhere, and I have faith that you can rise to the challenge. Of course, you could continue to argue against my decision... but then that would be incredibly insulting and hurtful to me. And you wouldn't want to be incredibly insulting and hurtful. Would you?

And then he made his muzzle wobble as if ready to cry.

The Most Respected Captain was very persuasive.

He stood near the Master Systems Display, which provided multiple detailed scans of the Jerm'Hadar being studied. "The bicantizine and sonambutril combination appears to be the most successful to date. It seems to stabilise the Jem'Hadar metabolism almost as well as the Ketracel White."

"Only in the very short term, Ensign," the Emergency Medical Hologram noted, the image of the balding human male in the Medical Blue uniform looking bored by the proceedings. "It misses out on the concentrated nutritional benefits that Ketracel White also provides to them."

Beside him, one of the Surefoot's doctors, an Andorian female named Shyrik, grunted. "He's right. Once the existing nutritional potency in their bloodstream drops below a certain level, it triggers hormonal changes which would override the stabilising effects of the bicantizine-sonambutril combination. And so far, any other concentrated nutrient supplements we can provide can't be assimilated by them before being rejected."

Lt Cmdr Henry Bradley, formerly of the Lynx, and one of the only members of the survivors who agreed to assist, after they learned the subject of their research, was leaning against one of the spare biobeds, stroking his greying beard and moustache. "Because their bodies are designed to treat anything entering their system other than Ketracel White as a poison, to be overcome. It hardly seems an efficient system, though; what if they genuinely needed treatment for some condition, and their systems reject the medication?"

"Then they die," Chief Nurse Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas replied simply, the tall, dark-skinned Capellan female standing near Ensign Urad Kaldron, the massive Security officer assigned to watch over the Jem'Hadar subject. "There is no individual value with them, Mr Bradley. The Dominion clone these creatures in the hundreds of thousands. They wouldn't waste time or resources if one became defective."

On the floor, the Horta Ensign Stalac had part of his body attached to the interface to the Surefoot's various databases, his silicon brain accessing the data far more quickly than the carbon-based lifeforms around him. "There is a report filed by a Doctor Bashir prior to the commencement of the War, which confirmed the possibility of genetic anomalies in individual Jem'Hadar producing a lack of dependency. But the Jem'Hadar DNA structure samples we have here are proving remarkably resistant to genetic manipulation."

"So a biogenic-based treatment would not be effective here," Kit concluded.

"No, it wouldn't. The resistance stems chiefly from the Dominion use of temporal RNA sequencing, in order to artificially accelerate the clones to quickly reach a certain age. The temporal RNA needs to be activated before a certain point, or the clone would begin to experience a breakdown of the cellular structure, eventually resulting in death."

"Is that something we can use?" Bradley asked.

"As a treatment, Respected Colleague?" Kit enquired. "Forgive me, but we just confirmed-"

"I mean as a weapon." As eyes turned to him, he continued, his expression brightening as he considered the possibility. "Not a treatment. A biogenic weapon keyed to their temporal RNA, harmless to us but one which would be deadly to them. We could wipe out their entire race! Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," the EMH replied. "I believe that is the definition of the word 'genocide'."

"You can't commit genocide against a manufactured race!" Bradley declared, ignoring the hologram to look to the others. "They're no different to a collection of genetically-engineered pathogens in a container!"

"Except for the part where they're sentient," Shyrik pointed out. "And appear to have a distinct culture, rituals, individual names-"

"The collected data I have been perusing," Stalac added. "Confirms that though there has been extensive modification by the Dominion over the centuries to refine the Jem'Hadars' strengths, as well as their dependency on Ketracel White, they did originate as a natural sentient species."

"Well, so what? My ancestors lived in trees and picked fleas from each other's pelts! What matters is what they are now, and the threat they face!"

"Respected Colleague," Kit interrupted, sensing that now was a proper time to redirect the conversation. "I understand your... enthusiasm over this possibility, but we are assembled to discuss a means of keeping our prisoners alive-"

"Oh, so you understand, do you, Ensign Kitirik? How many of your crewmates and friends did you lose when those animals attacked the Iberia?"

"That is uncalled for, Lieutenant Commander," Eydiir intervened, turning to face him. "We are not-"

Kit raised a hand towards her, cutting her off. "Thank you, Good Friend Eydiir, but that is unnecessary." Then he focused on Bradley. "To answer your question, Respected Colleague: I do not know. Perhaps many. But we are not a War Crimes Tribunal, here to decide upon the fates of those responsible for their deaths, or the deaths of any others. We are a scientific team, here to try and find a solution to a medical issue affecting the lives of prisoners... who are in our care. That is the focus that we as professionals must maintain."

Bradley's expression tightened. "I don't need a lecture from some Squab barely out of the Academy about professionalism!"

"The evidence suggests otherwise," Shyrik quipped.

He ignored her, drawing up closer to Kit... stopping when he saw Eydiir still moving closer, as if to intercept him. "Hrelle hasn't exactly made himself many friends with this little exercise in misplaced mercy to the enemy."

"Perhaps not, Respected Colleague," Kit replied, adding an edge to his normally placid tones as he looked up at the taller human. "However, in my experience serving under the Most Respected Captain Hrelle, I can state with certainty that he places a higher regard towards maintaining his ideals over garnering personal popularity."

"Is that so-"

Kit raised a webbed hand to cut him off. "Forgive me, Lieutenant Commander, but I am not done speaking. Your experience and knowledge is highly valued with this team, and you are more than free to forward your recommendations about a potential biogenic weapon to your own superiors. For now, however, I prefer to keep our focus on the task at hand. If you are no longer able or willing to contribute, I will arrange for your escort back to the Shuttlebay." He folded his webbed hands behind him. "May I please ask for your response?"

Bradley glanced around uncomfortably, before finally nodding, "I... would very much like to remain, Ensign-" Then he frowned and looked up at the display. "Wait- What if we introduced a pathogen or chemical agent with immune-suppressant properties first, reducing their bodies' ability to fight the stabilising elements and alternate nutrient supplements?"

"That is a most intriguing notion. Ensign Stalac, Respected Hologram, please examine the databases for suitable pathogens or chemicals."

The Horta grumbled with satisfaction. "Yes, Ensign."

"Yes, Ensign." The EMH tilted his head, though being what he was, he could just stand still and access his own database directly.

Kit turned to face the display, allowing himself a smile, a flush of pink in his throat wattles and moment of selfish pleasure at how he handled the confrontation. He could grow accustomed to command.

*

Deck 2 Fore -- Starboard Corridor:

Sakuth walked quietly ahead of the guards escorting them to the Conference Room, allowing Captain Price to note them. "Hrelle makes us feel so welcome, doesn't he?"

Sakuth measured her responses. "I believe you'll find they're here more for me than you, Captain."

He grunted at that, and in a lowered voice voice offered, "Just say the word, and I'll back you in any move you need to make. You can count on it."

She doubted that; such was his malleability she could almost imagine he was a shapeshifter in disguise. Still, he might prove worthwhile as a potential object of blame. "That is appreciated, Captain."

They entered the Conference Room, which had been modified since her last meeting here, with Hrelle and several of his senior officers standing around a wall display offering a tactical overview of the sector she knew they were currently passing through. The Caitian looked up at the new arrivals, beckoning to them. "Thank you for coming. If you would, please...?"

Sakuth kept a measured pace, not moving to the front or lagging to the rear, confirming that what she had already learned from secretly monitoring the Surefoot's sensor logs, allowing Hrelle to explain for the others, pointing to areas on the display. "We've been moving along this course, avoiding the Jem'Hadar patrols, but lately we've been having to make course corrections, to account for seemingly random changes in the patrol movements."

"They are not random," Sakuth offered.

Hrelle glanced at her, still looking suspicious of her but too wrapped up in the current crisis to do more. "No. Our computer, and my First Officer and Chief of Security, have all confirmed that there is an overall pattern to these changes, creating a narrower and narrower latitude for us."

Price nodded, staring at the display. "They've detected us."

"Or suspect they have," Commander Zirangi, former Chief Engineer of the Iberia and that ship's surviving senior ranking officer, noted. "They're testing the waters, trying to confirm our existence."

"Or they've already done it," Hrelle added, "And are keeping us in line until reinforcements arrive."

"Why don't they just attack us outright?" Price asked. "They're not exactly reluctant warriors."

"But they are cunning," Sakuth indicated. "And aware that somehow, we've survived the battle, and those who boarded us, despite being a non-combat vessel. Part of their motivation for boarding the Surefoot and attacking face to face rather than blowing us away involved intelligence gathering."

"We have a further complication," Hrelle noted, growling slightly. "We need to stop and make repairs. Our ventral hull has been contaminated with Shiprot."

Price looked to him with disdain. "You let your ship get infected with that pestilence?"

Hrelle looked back, his hackles rising. "It wasn't exactly on my To-Do List for today, Captain."

"So why do we have to stop to deal with it?"

Zirangi grunted. "If you're willing to climb out onto the hull of a starship at warp speed to run decontamination protocols, Captain, be my guest. And if it's anywhere near any of this ship's antimatter containment units, the sooner it's dealt with, the better."

Hrelle nodded. "Thank you, Commander. We'll be as quick as we can, but there's still the issue of the Jem'Hadar patrols. We have to find a safe haven, an area of sensor blinds or-"

"Captain, if I may, please?" Sakuth drew up, sensing his increased tension at her approach, but she ignored his reaction to indicate a point on the map. "There is a cloaked facility here, at the outskirts of the Skrysa system. A Regula-type station."

The others started, leaving Hrelle to echo, "A cloaked facility? What is it, a classified Starfleet Intelligence station? Or maybe some other, illegal organisation?"

Sakuth perceived the barb behind his last question, and ignored it. "The latter. It is a private station, owned and operated by a Terran smuggler named John Agar. He specialised in trafficking across the Romulan border, the usual contraband goods: ale, weapons, artificial quantum singularities. SI allowed him to continue his criminal activities, in exchange for intelligence gathering within the territory of the Empire, fleet movements and so forth."

"We're far from the Romulan borders," Hrelle pointed out suspiciously. "Too far for this Agar guy to have a base of operations here."

"This is not his former base of operations, Captain. This is his refuge. Agar differs from other criminals in that he conducted his illegal activities in order to fund his survivalist plans."

"Survivalist?" Zirangi asked. "What's that mean?"

The Vulcan turned to her. "A survivalist mentality operates on the belief in the possibility of the imminent collapse of civilisation, whether on a planetary or galactic level, either from internal or external forces such as natural disasters, economic instability... or war. The responses to this belief can vary, from managing a financial portfolio dependent on multiple unconnected sources, to, in Agar's case, constructing a concealed, self-sustaining shelter in a remote location.

He chose this location because of its lack of any inhabited worlds, outposts or other features that could attract attention, and because he obtained a Romulan cloak designed to hide his station. At the outbreak of hostilities, and the reported initial devastating losses by the Federation, Agar and his selected group withdrew to this station."

Hrelle nodded to all this -- but Sakuth could see the dubiety in his eyes. "Survivalists tend towards the suspicious, the territorial. He's not likely to open up his doors to us in our hour of need."

"You are correct, Captain... but he may be willing to trade his assistance for goods."

"What goods?" Price asked. "We're short on everything onboard but bad luck!"

"Quantum torpedoes." She looked to Hrelle again. "Agar's station is designed to be self-sustaining, as well as fortified... but my impression of him in our past dealings is that he would appreciate additional arms. Paranoia is also typical of such personalities."

"And you think giving away Starfleet arms to criminals is a good thing?" Price asked, looking aghast.

"Not giving them away," Hrelle corrected, still staring hard at Sakuth. "Bartering with them, to save our lives. Still, despite my motivations, something like that could land me in front of a court martial."

She folded her hands behind her. "In the unlikely event you do, Captain, I will be standing alongside you as an accomplice; I am the one who has made the suggestion, after all, and I am offering to make the initial contact. He will remember me, and will acknowledge that we have kept his presence out here a secret so far, and will continue to do so."

Hrelle's expression creased in thought.

"For what it's worth, Captain," Zirangi proposed. "You'll have my official support on any deal you make with this guy."

"And mine," Price added finally, resignedly joining with the rest. "Do whatever it takes to get us to safety."

Sakuth regarded Hrelle, mentally calculating he would require another 1.64 minutes of consideration before he-