Surefoot 57: Cloak and Dagger

"You can return close enough to beam him onboard! You can do that much!"

"No, we can't! I'm sorry, but I have over a hundred evacuees from the station to think about- scientists, civilians, families- I can't risk their lives to save one!"

Trenagen leaned forward, gripping the Bridge rail, all thoughts of maintaining decorum, self-control, had fled from him at transwarp speeds. No, this would not happen. He was the most powerful man in the Quadrant, in command of an organisation with ineffable power, authority and autonomy, even if it could never be acknowledged! "Captain S'Nesint, on my authority as the Head of Starfleet Intelligence, I'm giving you a direct order to return!"

"Again, I'm sorry, Admiral, but I will not endanger those onboard for the sake of one man."

"You have no comprehension of what I can do to you!" Trenagen threatened, shouting now. "To your career! Your family!"

"Excuse me?" the Caitian exclaimed.

"Admiral-" Chen warned, drawing nearer to him.

"Ian, that's enough!" Landry interjected.

Then Lt Riker spoke up. "Captain, there's an additional signal coming in from the Caitian convoy- their lead escort, demanding to speak with us!"

"Put them through," Chen replied, still staring in disbelief at Trenagen, who ignored her.

S'Nesint's part of the viewscreen was replaced by a black-furred Caitian female in a Navy uniform of high rank... one Trenagen knew all too well. She fixed her steely gaze on Trenagen, but spoke to Chen. "Potemkin, this is Fleet Captain Ma'Sala Shall of the Mother's Fury, escorting the Caitian Colony Convoy outside the system.

We had received the distress signal from your observation post, and I had ordered the Broken Paw to enter the system and rescue your personnel. They will not put at risk the lives they have just saved, or their own crew, to try and save one man who willingly chose to remain behind." She paused and added, teeth bared, "And there will be no more threats made, to Captain S'Nesint, or any other Caitian, while I'm present. I strongly hope that's understood."

Chen looked between the viewscreen and Trenagen and back again, before responding, "This is Captain Chen of the Potemkin. I'm certain no threat was intended, Fleet Captain. Is there anything you or the other ships can do to assist Captain Landry?"

The Caitian female drew back. "Unfortunately not... and the situation is in fact worsening. That phenomenon is continuing to grow, and I understand there is an inhabited pre-Warp civilisation nearby. Am I correct?"

"There is," Chen confirmed, frowning. "You believe they are under threat by this?"

"My own Science officers believe so. But they also believe a large enough explosion now could seal the breaches before the planet is caught in this. The Broken Paw is still close enough and equipped enough to launch a missile strike."

"Are your missile warheads' yields strong enough to seal the breach?" Chen asked.

"No... but if they targeted Isengard's power core-"

"No..." Trenagen whispered. This wasn't happening. "You're lying..."

Onscreen still, Landry swallowed and nodded, though ionic interference was affecting the transmission. "No, Ian. She's not. It's consistent with what we learned about this phenomenon... and if I have to choose a way to go, a quick, painless way is preferable to what awaits me in the maw of that monster out there. Fleet Captain Shall, you have my eternal gratitude for your assistance in this matter." He offered a slight smile. "Until my dying day, at least."

"No!" Trenagen cried out. "Léon, don't do this!" He looked to the Caitian on the viewscreen. "Ma'Sala! You can't let him die! Please! You have access to technology that I don't have on hand-"

"None of which will assist him now," the Caitian female replied, sounding regretful. "We need to take immediate action. I am authorising Captain S'Nesint to launch the strike." She glanced at something off-screen. "You have thirty seconds. We'll boost the signal from the asteroid to you for as long as it lasts. Mother's Fury out."

She vanished, leaving only Landry on the screen, looking at Trenagen. "Well, Ian, this is a bit of a blessing, really, given how much we both hate long goodbyes-"

Trenagen's heart cracked, and he still couldn't accept that this was happening, so quickly. Rein it in, show nothing, nothing... "Léon..."

Landry held up a hand. "I love you, Ian. I always will."

Trenagen raised his own, as he died inside. "I love you too, Léon. I always will."

Landry smiled wistfully. "See? Just enough ti-"

The signal turned to static... and then snapped back to the starfield at warp.

The Bridge was silent, apart from the background noises of the oblivious machines at work, continuing to carry them forth towards the system.

Trenagen dropped his hand, but continued to stare ahead.

In the distance, the Science Officer reported, "Temporal fractures are sealing up now... no trace of the station..."

Chen drew closer to Trenagen again. "Admiral, please accept my condolences-"

He straightened up, tugging down the sleeves of his jacket, his demeanour all business once more. "Captain, you may reduce your speed to whatever level you consider most appropriate and safe. The urgency to reach Isengard has now ended, but we shall continue to proceed in order to collect the rescued station personnel and their families from our Caitian allies." He glanced around. "My compliments on the performance of you and your crew. If you'll excuse me, I will return to my quarters and begin my reports on this incident."

Chen looked ready to respond, but instead nodded and replied, "Yes, Admiral."

He held it together. He held it together until he reached his VIP quarters. And then he sat down at the desk, and held it together still. And he was determined to continue holding it together, for the rest of his life.

It was some time later when his intercom chimed, and a voice announced, "Admiral, there is a private message for you from the Mother's Fury."

Trenagen nodded to himself, breathing in deeply, calming himself. Amazing himself with his level of composure- and then dismissing his amazement. He was of superior stock, unflappable. Unbreakable. Of course he could manage. "Put it through, please."

The expected face of Ma'Sala Shall filled the desk screen, looking as contrite as he had ever seen it. "Ian... I'm calling to express my regrets that we could not save your partner. I know how much you loved each other."

Rein it in, show nothing, nothing... "Thank you, Fleet Captain, but I must confess my ignorance as to what you mean. Captain Landry was a colleague, nothing more. His loss will be felt... by my office."

Ma'Sala's furred brow furrowed. "Ian, I could see it, scent it, whenever I was in the presence of you both. I know we have never been the best of friends... and probably never will... but I know how it feels to lose a loved one. Earlier this year, my bond-son Rmorra, my daughter's husband, was killed. He was a Security officer for the Federation Archaeology Bureau. He was a charming, gentle, loving male to my daughter and their son."

She swallowed. "Such loss cuts into us, leaves open wounds that never quite heal. You and I share a burden that few others can appreciate. Should you ever wish to speak, I will be available to you."

Rein it in, show nothing, nothing... "Thank you once more, Fleet Captain, but it is entirely unnecessary. If there's nothing else..."

"There is, actually. I want it understood between us that Captain S'Nesint was obeying my orders, both to protect the crew of the Isengard station -- half of whom will be innocent, and no doubt not be aware of Section 31's illegal temporal weapons experiments in the system -- as well as the innocent inhabitants of the planet being studied."

Trenagen steepled his fingers together. Rein it in, show nothing, nothing... "Of course, Fleet Captain. Such is the nature of the Shadows in which we operate. Farewell."

He ended the transmission before she could respond further.

He sat still, staring at the dark screen. He considered her words, her attempt at some form of empathy by recounting her own loss.

As if a fucking animal like her could truly understand.

He focused his meditative skills on achieving inner peace.

And found them missing. There was only the facade of calm composure. Not the reality.

And the reality was that within, he was a Supernova, a rip in time and space, like the temporal fractures that had consumed Léon, and Isengard.

He considered the many, many years he would now travel alone. In pain. In despair.

And he wondered why Ma'Sala, the architect of that path, shouldn't be made to do the same.

And he decided that... she should.

And he decided that he was in a perfect position to ensure that she suffered, too.

But he knew that he couldn't act hastily, so as to draw attention to himself. He would wait. It might take years, but he would find vengeance.

A full and sweet measure of vengeance.

*

Antares Maelstrom -- Present Day:

The three sections of the Imperator veered around every angle of the Mother's Fury, firing phasers and ion torpedoes, making the space around them flare with fury against the Caitian flagship's metaphasic shields.

Inside the latter vessel, Ma'Sala's Bridge crew scrambled to get the damaged weapons back online, reinforce the shields and find a means to counter the Section 31 ship's multivector assault mode. Ksara barked orders, keeping things as much under control as she could.

Ma'Sala studied the enemy: their weapons, their defences, their capabilities, the comparison with their own resources. Ian's ship was an impressive design: fast and well-armed, and she could see a few things her own Navy could incorporate into-

She rose, risking getting knocked onto her ass from another sharp manoeuvre. "Target the upper secondary hull section! Ignore the primary and ventral secondary hulls, focus on the connecting midsection! Damage it so it can't reassemble! Ronosh, keep our metaphasic shielding to Maximum, it'll keep out their more exotic weaponry! Solanj! Arm the Duonetic Mines!"

Her crew obeyed, as they lurched once more under the persistent fire, despite their shielding. Ian, if any of my crew die because of you, I will feast on your fucking liver while you watch-

"Mines armed, Ma'am!" Solanj reported with a squeak.

Ma'Sala suppressed a smile at the cub's high-pitched voice when he got stressed. "Fire!"

*

Outside, a half-dozen balls of coruscating red light streaked out, split into three teams of two each, targeting the three sections of the Imperator, striking the hulls and latching onto them, generating duonetic fields that disrupted and inhibited the Starfleet technology onboard.

Ma'Sala watched the pieces struggle to continue their flight and attack.

"It worked!" Solanj squeaked again.

"A pitch lower, Mr Solanj," Ma'Sala quipped, louder now barking, "Ready an Assault Team!" She cracked her knuckles. "I'll lead them."

*

On the Bridge of the Imperator, humanoid figures in Starfleet uniforms, all sporting solid black arrowhead insignias, sat calmly at the stations, reporting with unflinching composure at the battle. "Damage to Ventral Engineering Section Port Nacelle, compensating..." "Enemy Shields holding at 64%, focusing on higher band energy bursts..." "Systems access achieved, decryption in process, accessing database..." "Ion torpedo complement at 23%..."

Trenagen sat in the Captain's chair, gripping the arms, fighting back the pains in his chest. They had lost the initial advantage; better if they had achieved an all-out strike on the Caitian vessel before they had regained their footing and launched their counter-offensive. Still, it was all working as expected-

"Weapons launched from Mother's Fury," reported the one at Tactical. "With energy disruption properties-"

A new alert, and then the lights and power around the Bridge flickered and protested... as did Trenagen's crew. Some fell over, others staggered.

Trenagen breathed in.

This was the End... she would arrive, soon.

*

Saddleworth Moors, England, Earth -- 5 Years Ago:

The wind howled across the desolate terrain, making even the blanket of slate-grey clouds above race across the sky as if in terror at what horrors might lay hidden below, ready to strike at the unwary.

In an isolated cottage, made to appear from the outside an ancient and abandoned domicile, a single occupant sat alone, as he always did at this time, working to finish off the bottle of 100-year-old Dunlivin whiskey, from a particular stock he had acquired decades before. He had initially purchased it to share with Léon on their wedding anniversary, here in Trenagen's family home. Now he indulged alone, commemorating another anniversary.

He sat before a smouldering, dying coal fire in the hearth, with a greater illumination afforded him from the adjacent computer screen, the outstanding duties ignored. He was on leave today.

Not that this would stop him from being interrupted, as the communications flash reminded him. His voice was husky from alcohol and grief as he responded, "Yes?"

The screen came to life, along with numerous measures to secure the transmission, with the image of a stern, olive-skinned Vulcan woman. "Admiral."

He set aside the whiskey tumbler, not allowing his subordinate to see it. "Captain Sakuth. You have news?"

"I have completed a search of all available medical databases throughout the Quadrant, consulted all available sources outside of it. There is nothing regarding a cure for Darnay's Disease." She paused, and added, "Please accept my condolences, Sir. If there is anything further I can do..."

He eyed her. "Restrain these bursts of maudlin sentimental tripe, Captain. They are ill-becoming."

"Of course, Sir. If it of any comfort, I am fully prepared to take over your position with immediate effect."

"Thank you," he smirked, appreciating her naked ambition, even veiled in the equally-appreciated Vulcan predilection for composure. In the years since he had recruited her, he had been impressed by her acute zeal in fulfilling her duties, both as an operative of Starfleet Intelligence and of Section 31. The consistency of her lack of obsequious decorum was refreshing in these uncertain times. "But I have a few years left before my brain degenerates to the point where a replacement will be necessary... and my successor will be chosen by others."

"I see." She made little effort to hide her disappointment, before noting, "Sir, as the commander of Section 31, you could assemble teams of scientists and experts to work on a cure-"

He held up a hand to cut her off. "There are no commanders of Section 31, just custodians. It exists to serve the Federation, not my own selfish interests. When Death does come for me, I will look it in the eye with the dignity and poise expected of one of my standing. Now, shall we proceed with official business?"

"Of course, Sir."

"The court martial of Erik Pressman for his involvement in the Pegasus affair is about to commence. He has been instructed to plead guilty and accept the sentence of incarceration on Elba II. You will be assigned to transport him to that distant penal colony... but in fact an android has been fashioned to take his place. You will convey the real Pressman to our facilities at the Black Forge Shipyards, where he will reside and take over management of the Imperator Project."

She frowned. "I was meant to take command there, Sir."

"You are meant for greater things. With the destruction of the USS Odyssey, the Dominion joins the growing list of credible threats against the Federation. There is a push for new weapons of mass destruction, both officially and unofficially. I am assembling teams of scientists and technicians in various fields -- subspace physicists, temporal physicists, biogenic engineers, cyberneticists, biological warfare specialists and others -- to form think tanks to devise potential weapons. You will be in charge of the security arrangements: vetting, elimination of possible risks and so on."

She nodded. "This is well within my considerable abilities, Admiral."

"I agree. Some will be official Starfleet Intelligence projects; others won't. Particularly the ones involving illegal substances such as protomatter and isolytic elements."

"Of course. Is that all?"

"No. I believe I asked you to look into Fleet Captain Shall's daughter?"

Sakuth nodded... though her expression offered mild bemusement. "Counselor Kami Hrelle gave birth to a son, Misha Hrelle, on Stardate 47430.08. She remains onboard the USS Surefoot-A, with her husband, Captain Esek Hrelle. He continues his fleet tender duties near the Cardassian border."

He breathed in. "There is more." It was more an invitation than a question.

And the Vulcan accepted it. "The Surefoot also serves as a training vessel for gifted Academy cadets. His First Officer also serves as as Academy Liaison: Commander T'Varik."

He raised an eyebrow in imitation of a Vulcan. "Your former partner?"

"Yes."

"As I recall, I tried to recruit her at the same time as I recruited you, but she refused."

"Yes... to our ultimate advantage. She was always a woman of limited intellect, jejune principles and arrested ambition."

"Undoubtedly. Her husband, Captain Hrelle, had been sold into Orion slavery by the Bel-Zon following the deaths of the crew of Hrelle's former command, the Furyk. After his escape, Starfleet Intelligence attempted to recruit Hrelle to serve as an operative into both the Bel-Zon and the Orion Syndicate. He refused, on more than one occasion, choosing an inconsequential post. He then married the daughter of the Caitian Planetary Navy's highest-ranking officer."

She frowned. "You suspect his loyalty, Sir? I understand Admiral Arrington's office investigated him following his escape from captivity, and cleared him?"

"One of the cadets onboard the Surefoot happens to be Bill Arrington's son Giles. And Captain Hrelle allegedly saved Master Giles' life in some incident involving Nausicaan slave traffickers. Coincidentally, Admiral Arrington dropped any further investigations soon after."

Sakuth frowned. "You do not trust the Caitian."

He matched her pose. "I do not trust any Caitian. Nor should you. Beyond their bestial nature, they have a lengthy history of self-serving autonomy, happy to reap the benefits of Federation membership while abnegating the inherent responsibilities that come with it. Bear in mind that some worlds are accepted for their system's strategic value rather than any contribution that they might make to the Federation."

"Understood, Sir. Is there anything else?"

"No. I will back on duty tomorrow." He ended the transmission, and reached for his drink, downing it, and then reaching for a refill.

In another life, this would have been a home, not a refuge. Léon and he would have shared their shore leave here, walked across the Moors, Léon complaining about the lack of warmth and amenities and the quality of the beer in the local pub... but appreciating the huge, warm bed. Perhaps they would even have talked about children.