Surefoot 57: Cloak and Dagger

There was a sound behind her, and T'Varik turned back to see Ma'Sala place a disc onto Sakuth, before the injured Vulcan and her various pieces vanished in a Caitian transporter beam.

T'Varik looked up at Ma'Sala. "She needs to be treated, and arrested!"

"I promise I'll take care of her... after we take care of my family."

*

Starfleet Academy, Earth -- 40 Years Ago:

"Hey, you! Stringbean!"

Lieutenant Ian Trenagen turned in place, staring with a frown at the direction of the young, slight groundskeeper with the shovel in his hands. "Are you addressing me, Sir?"

The gaunt, prematurely-balding man replied in a tone which sounded like it was mocking Ian's British accent. "Yes, I'm addressing you, Sir! There's a reason I put up all those signs around telling people to stay off the damn grass!"

Ian raised her chin, and was about to respond, when a new voice with a gravely Russian accent intervened. "Please excuse him, Mr Boothby. He's not from around these parts."

"Obviously," Boothby grunted and turned his back to them, sinking his shovel blade into an adjacent clump of compost.

Ian looked over at the path, where Admiral Pavel Chekov stood, grinning and beckoning for him to return. Ian did. "The warnings I'd received about the lack of manners on this side of the Atlantic appear to be true."

Chekov chuckled; in contrast to Ian's tall, thin, pale features, he was a shorter and stockier, his hair ash and his face a wrinkled, amused portrait. "You must excuse them; Etiquette was a Russian invention."

Ian held back his initial retort -- Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfied, in fact compiled the first comprehensive guide to modern etiquette in 1774 -- well aware of the Admiral's idiosyncrasy, as he stepped onto the pathway again. "May I help you, Sir?"

"Yes: walk with me a while." As they proceeded to stroll, he added, "And indulge an old man's insistence on helping a promising young officer at the start of his career..."

Ian rolled his eyes, the closest he would indulge in showing emotion. In the weeks since he had arrived to take a position as Academy instructor, carrying on the legacy of his late mother, Admiral Chekov had approached him several times, with a view to enlist him in Starfleet intelligence, of which Chekov was the current Head. "Admiral, as honoured as I am that I would even be considered, I must once more respectfully decline. I will be quite content remaining on these hallowed grounds."

Chekov stared ahead, his gaze growing distant, his voice sharp. "These 'hallowed grounds' as you put it are here only because others ensure that any threats to them, to everything we hold dear, are dealt with! Brave men and women, out there, risking their lives, losing them-" He calmed down again. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, I am somewhat distracted. Today is the fortieth anniversary of the death of the Greatest Of Us: Admiral James T Kirk."

Ian paused, nodding; no one could study here, graduate from here, without knowing that name. "I'm sorry, Sir. I know of your long association with Admiral Kirk."

Chekov nodded. "He was my first Commanding Officer when I was just a Squab fresh from the Academy. He inspired me. He inspired many of us. Even his death was fitting: it was during the inaugural flight of the Enterprise-B, saving hundreds of civilian lives threatened by a strange, destructive ribbon of energy. And because of that, we became alerted to the danger of that phenomenon, and have instituted general alerts for vessels to avoid it at all costs, no doubt saving countless more lives."

He looked to Ian. "You could do that, Lieutenant. We need smart, vibrant young men like you out there, not hiding behind a podium lecturing bored cadets on Cicero and Herodotus and other famous Russian historians."

Ian eyed the older man, seeing the twinkle of mischief in his grey eyes. "It is a family tradition, Sir, to impart the wisdom of the past, to the denizens of the future."

Now Chekov stopped and faced him. "I knew your mother, Lieutenant. I knew how... demanding she could be, to her cadets, to her colleagues... and I have no doubt to you, too. Tradition is all well and good... but not at the expense of the waste of potential. I look at you, and I see someone destined for more than just a quiet, safe life here. Especially in this uniform; as Admiral Kirk was so fond of saying, 'Risk is our business'."

Ian was prepared to argue further with the well-meaning old man.

Except his arguments appeared to be hidden somewhere, as if still packed away with his belongings in his new quarters.

In the weeks he had settled into this assignment, he had felt himself almost... overwhelmed. Not by the work, but by the prospect of doing it for years... decades... maybe occasionally moving onto related subjects, or writing the odd paper for the Starfleet Historical Journal.

It felt... wicked... just contemplating denying his late mother's desires for him.

It was that which drove him to not deny Chekov once again, and instead argue, "Sir, I'm trained in History and English Literature, not Command or Engineering or the Sciences. What could I do outside of a classroom?"

Chekov smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Well, that's the beauty of working for Starfleet Intelligence. It's a branch of the Service that embraces people with all manner of skills and backgrounds and temperaments. It's not all gunfights, shuttle chases and trysts with buxom women-"

Ian smiled. "I would certainly hope not about that last one, Sir."

The Admiral kept a hold on the younger man. "Come, let's go to my office, and talk more privately about where you could end up when you're my age..."

*

USS Surefoot-A -- Present Day:

"First Officer's Personal Log, Supplemental: The victims of Captain Sakuth's assault are in various stages of recovery. Captain Hrelle remains unconscious, but the Hrelle family and my partner Lieutenant Shall are awake and healed, with no significant after-effects.

After Captain Sakuth was... disabled by Fleet Captain Shall, the Starfleet officer was beamed over to the Mother's Fury. I will of course make the requisite requests for her return to face a Starfleet Court Martial; the efficacy of such a request, however, is not certain. In the absence of contact as yet with Admiral Tattok or Starfleet Command, I am relying on the next-best source of wisdom..."

*

On the viewscreen, Weynik leaned back in his chair and folded his hands onto his stomach, his black eyestalks wavering slightly. "Well, that's the last you or anyone else will see of Sakuth. She'll be in whatever passes for Hell for Vulcans before long. And Trenagen will follow soon, too, no doubt. Good riddance to both."

T'Varik sat behind Captain Hrelle's desk in his Ready Room, the better to hold this encrypted conversation. "Regardless of her actions, and of her commanding officer's possible involvement, I am not entirely comfortable with allowing that to happen."

"But what exactly can you do about it? What can I? Ma'Sala did you a favour by taking Sakuth to a place you have no oversight or jurisdiction over; if Sakuth was still on your ship, or mine, we both know she would never face an actual trial.

This is bigger than both of us, and from what I've gathered from my father, this private little war of spymasters really started years ago. I've watched Trenagen and Shall interact, and I've personally heard her directly threaten his life if he interfered with her family again. Today's events are sure as Hemra going to count as that. And knowing how Caitians get when their families are in danger...

Listen, I understand, Sakuth's a fellow Vulcan-"

T'Varik's face hardened. "Captain Sakuth has meant far more than that to me... in the past. Today she attempted to openly murder my godchildren; our racial connection and shared past means nothing to me now. But there is no proof regarding Admiral Trenagen's involvement, just hearsay."

Weynik nodded back. "And that's what it will always be, though we all know better. Don't expect there to be any open legal proceedings about this, or any uncovering of Section 31, or the Mother's Claws.

So, this is what you should do: you'll officially file your request to the Caitians for Sakuth's extradition, as per Regulations. They will come back with a lie about her escaping, or dying in custody. Evidence will pop up from nowhere later that she was in fact a Dominion or Romulan spy, or some nonsense like that.

And Trenagen? His shuttle will mysteriously explode in some terrible accident, or he'll have a heart attack in bed. Or he'll just vanish, becoming another mystery.

It won't be legal, or truthful. But it might be just.

We have another day in Silent Running until we get back to the Fleet, so in the absence of orders from Starfleet Command, follow the book. Give my best to Wide Load and the family. I'll come over for a visit later tonight."

T'Varik nodded again. "Thank you again, Captain." She ended the transmission, staring at the black screen. She had once been intimate with Sakuth, had even planned on marriage with her. Sakuth's long association with Starfleet Intelligence, and from there, Section 31, in the decades since that time, had obviously eroded Sakuth's integrity profoundly.

In another reality, had T'Varik accepted the offer of joining SI and both of them marrying, could that have tempered Sakuth's ruthlessness and zeal? Or could T'Varik have ended up just as amoral as her former lover?

She chose to cease further pointless introspection. 2.23 seconds of it was far too much of an indulgence.

*

Hrelle stirred, his nose catching the scent of his whole family around him, and the scents of Sickbay beyond them. He purred.

"Papa!" Misha cried, moving in and grabbing his forearm. "Wake up, Lazy Lump! I fight the Bad Lady!"

Mention of that dragged Hrelle from his sedated state, and he bolted upright, ignoring the obvious pain that action produced. "Sakuth! Where is she-"

Kami moved in, pressing her paws on his shoulders. "She's been taken care of, so relax. You've been through a psychic attack, your psilosynine and other neurotransmitters are through the roof, and you're not ready to get out of bed."

Now he frowned, looking around again. "What happened?"

Squirming in Sasha's arms, Sreen cried out, demanding, "Papa! Papa!"

"Little Howler!" He looked to her, reaching up to tickle under her muzzle, but focused on Kami, his voice soft but insistent. "What happened?"

Kami stared back, equally insistent, but replied, "Sasha, please take the cubs to our quarters. Papa has to sleep."

"No!" Misha protested. "I wanna stay with Papa!"

Kami looked to Sasha now. "With our return to the Fleet only a day away, I think we can spare the replicator credits for some tavaberry ice cream for them."

Misha reached out and took Sasha's hand, tugging her to the doors. "Papa has to sleep."

Sasha looked between the couple, ending with, "Glad you're still with us, Dad."

"Me too, Runt of the Litter. Talk to you later."

As the cubs departed, leaving them alone in their corner of Sickbay, Kami tightened her hold on Hrelle's shoulder, her voice soft. "Sakuth neck-pinched you, assaulted Misha, and tried to shoot Sreen with a phaser."

"What?" Teeth bared, he pushed past her and jumped to his feet.

And immediately regretted it, as he collapsed to his knees.

Medical staff keeping a discreet distance saw and started to help, but Kami waved them back, helping him back onto the biobed. "I told you that you weren't ready to get out of bed. Ass."

He grunted, adjusting his rear to free his tail, before swallowing, recovering and replying, "Continue."

Kami nodded. "That chair that Mama gave us for Sreen had a few safety features she didn't tell us about, like shields and Red Alerts. Mama, T'Varik, C'Rash, Sasha and myself entered, and fought Sakuth. Some of us were wounded, but we've recovered. Mama stabbed Sakuth, and then had her beamed to her ship."

Hrelle looked staggered from the news. "But... But everyone is okay now?"

"Yes... Esek, do you remember what Sakuth was doing in your head? What she wanted?"

He nodded, swallowing. "It was about Ma'Sala... Sakuth wanted information on her... and..."

"And?" Kami echoed, prompting.

"And... Sakuth was trying to place subconscious commands in my brain, to... to kill Ma'Sala, and then myself. Trenagen wants her dead." He stared upwards, shocked. "I wouldn't hurt her- you know I wouldn't-"

Kami nodded, bending down and rubbing the side of her muzzle against his. "Give yourself a couple of hours here to recover-"

"No- I've got to warn Ma'Sala-"

His wife rested her paws on him, keeping him from rising again. "She's debriefing T'Varik. I'm going to see her now. You rest, we'll manage." She looked over at Doc Masterson, who was standing nearby trying not to listen. "Zeke, he's on Medical Leave for the rest of the day. If he tries to get up, sedate him. Got it?"

The human tipped an imaginary hat. "Yes, Ma'am."

Kami turned back, smiling as she rubbed her muzzle against Hrelle's. "Rest. I'll be back in a bit."

*

Kami found Ma'Sala in the Ready Room, recovered from her own injuries and talking with T'Varik. "-There is no body left, Commander. There appeared to be a self-destruct mechanism inside her, that disintegrated her upon her death, presumably to eliminate any evidence."

T'Varik nodded, though her expression told more, looking to Kami as the latter entered without preamble. "Then... I will make a note of it in my report. Admiral Tattok may have further questions for you, however."

"Understood." Ma'Sala turned to her daughter. "How is Esek?"

Kami glared at her, responding with, "T'Varik, may I have a word alone and undisturbed with the Fleet Captain, please?"

The Vulcan looked between the two Caitians, nodding in seeming comprehension. "Take all the time you need; I will be on the Bridge."

Once the woman departed and the door closed, Ma'Sala drew closer. "Kami, I'm-"

Kami growled at her to stop in her tracks.

Ma'Sala drew back. "Daughter-"

"Don't call me that," Kami snapped coldly, her claws bared, her tail twitching with barely-contained rage. "I'm not here to speak with my Mama, or the Fleet Captain of the Caitian Planetary Navy.

I'm here to speak to the Head of the Mother's Claws.

The organisation that doesn't officially exist. The shadow organisation that is supposed to protect our people from harm.

The one you've run since I was born. The one which has touched my life, in ways you think I don't know about.

But I do. I've known for a long time."

Ma'Sala's breath quickened. "Kami..."

Her daughter began pacing around, as if her anger and anxiety was galvanising her limbs. "When I was Sreen's age, and you were still nursing me onboard your ship, Ferasan terrorists launched a poison gas attack that nearly killed me... I learned much, much later that you tracked down the Ferasans responsible. You didn't have them arrested, did you?"

Ma'Sala approached again. "Kami-"

Kami backed away. "Did you?"

Her mother paused. "No. Kami, please-"

"When I was a Lieutenant in Starfleet," Kami continued, pacing again. "I was abducted by Cardassian soldiers, wanting to obtain the secrets of some of my high-ranking Counseling patients. Before Starfleet could rescue me, however... you and your people did. You didn't turn the Cardassians over to Starfleet Security. Did you?"

"Kami-"

"Did you?"

The older Caitian was taken aback by the rising level of emotion from her daughter. "No."

Kami was bristling now. "My first husband Rmorra was shot in the back and killed on a nameless little planetoid by some smugglers looking for archaeological treasures. When I returned to duty later after burying him and comforting our son Mirow, I asked about the Starfleet investigation towards apprehending them. I was told the smugglers had vanished from the Galaxy, with absolutely no trace whatsoever." She stopped and stared at her. "Are you responsible for that, too?"

"Yes."

Kami nodded at that, and continued pacing again. "And last, but assuredly not least, four years ago, the Bel-Zon allied with the Skarosians and sent Vlathi assassins to this ship to kill us. Obviously they failed, but not before almost killing Misha. After that, there was a report that the Bel-Zon and the Skarosian Imperium Palace had been destroyed... by a tactical nuclear device. Allegedly it was Skarosian rebels." She nodded again. "You again, obviously. Are there other instances, Ma'Sala? Ones I haven't mentioned, ones I'm not even aware of, and never will?"

Ma'Sala stared back. "Yes. I've tried to protect you, all of you, whenever I could. When I couldn't... I've avenged you. My authority with the Mother's Claws has given me access to intelligence, to resources and opportunities that few others possess. I've dealt with threats to you, to Esek, to Sasha and the other cubs-"

Kami stabbed a clawed finger at her. "But today is different. Esek could have been left brain damaged today. My son too. I was wounded, Sasha was wounded, C'Rash, T'Varik. My beautiful baby girl was almost shot! Not because of some external threat, but because of some... feud... between you and Trenagen."

Her finger, her whole arm shook with venom. "You brought this down onto us today. We became pawns in whatever Shadow Game you two are playing."

"Kam-"

Kami bared her teeth. "I'm not done speaking. I have no doubt that you're ready to assure me that you'll take care of all this, like you always do.

What I'm telling you now, is that whatever you have planned... is not enough.

Not final enough.

Not bloody enough.

You will end this.

You will make those responsible suffer.

You will make those responsible know why they are suffering.

You will make sure that everyone who might even consider threatening, let alone harming your family, in the future, knows about this, and thinks twice, and twice again.

I want you to teach them all a lesson that will still be talked about when your grandcubs are grandparents.

And if you ever want to see those grandcubs, or me, again... you'll do this.

Do you understand me, Ma'Sala?"

Ma'Sala stood there, stunned by the outburst.

"I asked you if you understood me," Kami growled.

The older Caitian glared back, feeling more beaten, more angry, more mortified, than she could remember feeling in a long, long time. "Yes."

Kami lowered her arm. "Don't contact me again until it's done."

Then she turned and departed.

Ma'Sala stood there, alone, struggling to keep control.

Then she raised her wrist communicator to her muzzle, fighting to keep her voice clear, calm. "Commander Ksara, beam me back. And prepare for us to move out."

The female's voice filled the air. "Move out, Ma'am? We're still a day away from the Thirteenth Fleet."

"We're out of danger of the Dominion forces. The Ajax can escort them the rest of the way. Ready the Slipstream Drive, and set a course for the Antares Maelstrom."

"The Maelstrom? That's not on our flightpath back to Cait, Ma'Sala. This is highly irregular-"

"I'm declaring a Mother's War."

There was a pause, and then Ksara responded with, "Course set, all weapons will be armed and ready, Ma'am."

*

Narenda III -- 31 Years Ago:

Captain Ian Trenagen, Starfleet Intelligence, moved quickly over the rubble, ignoring the bodies, leaving it for the Starfleet and Klingon teams to manage. The clouds moved swiftly overhead; there was a strong, steady breeze, and he was glad that it was carrying the smoke... and the scents of death... away from him.