Surefoot 72: Blue Sunshine

Now he looked to his crewmate and nodded in appreciation. "No apology is necessary, Alison. Equanimity is one of the Twelve Vows I took before leaving my world to serve others; I am in no position to judge anyone... not even foul-mouthed hedonistic infidels like yourselves who are clearly destined for Perdition's Storms for your many, many sins." He sipped at his drink... not trying to conceal his sly smile.

Sitting beside Kevin, taking the wet napkin from him to more properly deal with the stain, Malala Jain grinned, her hairless, ashen-grey Malurian skin reflecting the lights above. "Well, as long as you're not judging." Then she leaned in closer to her reptoid crewmate and whispered, "Do you want me to get you some lube from Sickbay?"

Kevin hissed with pleasure. "Thankss, Mate, but don't worry, thiss issn't my firsst time with a handssome ssstud! Left more than one hunk back home with a limp and a sssmile!" He glanced across at Gyver now, raising a clawed thumb to him. "And with you praying for my wicked ssspirit, I ssshould be sssafe from any Hell!"

"I will do my best, my friend... but even my Gods have limits."

As the others laughed, the final member of the Support Crew, Valentin Dellaport, who had been leaning against an adjacent wall cradling a replicated beer bottle, finally stopped brooding long enough to run an irritated hand through his truculent straw-coloured hair as if to illustrate his latest rant. "Seriously, though, doesn't anyone else think it's outrageous that they let him take command again?"

Hylore finally removed and set aside her helmet, revealing her wet chartreuse hair and skin, the triad of gills on either side of her thick neck fluttering in the open air as she reached for her seastrings and chopsticks. "Please, Valentin, give it a rest. I can only be out like this for a little while. I'd like to spend it conflict-free."

Malala looked up from her cleaning, releasing Kevin's shirt and setting aside the napkin. "Val, we're here to have a good time tonight, not have another argument."

"Who's arguing? I'm not arguing! There's nothing to argue about." He straightened up, taking another drink before announcing, "It's all political, you know."

"Ssstrewth, Mate, just keeping drinking, and ssstop wagging your tongue like a tail." Kevin rose to his feet as Dylan approached. "Hello again, Handssome, glad you didn't dessert me."

Dylan, a muscular, freckled Canadian with a broad chin and crinkled copper hair, chuckled as he leaned in close. "No, but I will have you for dessert!"

"Get a room, you two," Alison teased.

"I hope ssso!" Kevin cackled delightedly.

"I mean it," Dellaport continued, seemingly oblivious to the attempts to abort his polemic. "They took command from T'Varik and gave it back to Hrelle just because of what happened to his planet! And he's clearly not up to the job!"

Dylan dropped his smile and looked to Dellaport. "Excuse me?"

"Ignore him," Kevin urged, "He'ss consstipated."

"High Tide sweep me away," Hylore muttered, setting down her chopsticks and rubbing her eye sockets wearily. "Enough of the attitude already! You'd start an argument with a reef!"

Malala looked to him. "Val, they gave Captain Hrelle back command because this ship is his command! And they wouldn't have done it if he wasn't fully able! He's a magnificent Captain! He's done so much good for Starfleet and the Federation! For more people than we can ever know!"

"Well, that's no surprise to hear you saying that," he countered sourly. "It's like a day can't go by without you reminding us of how he saved you and a bunch of your fellow Malurians! It's getting tiresome!"

"Not as much as hearing you spout another rant," Alison pointed out.

But Dellaport continued relentlessly. "Not that the rest of the command structure's much better. We have a Vulcan with all the warmth of an android, that purple-haired Nova Roman who was court-martialed for cowardice but somehow managed to talk herself into a cushy job here, the Black Cat Security Chief, the bug-eating iguana posing as a Science Officer- I mean, they can't bother to include even one normal human being in a senior position..."

His words trailed away as he, and the rest of the Support Crew, noticed how much attention his vitriol had drawn from the larger group in the room, conversations shutting down as everyone stared in their direction.

But it was Dylan who took the lead, pulling himself from Kevin's arm to draw right up to Dellaport, his face taut and indignant. "Remind us again of how many decades you've served in Starfleet? How many ships you've commanded? How many battles you've fought, how many lives you've saved?"

As his response drew vocal support from the rest of the room, he raised his ire at him. "You jerks have got some nerve coming out here after only a few weeks' training, and think you can pass judgement on men like Captain Hrelle!"

"Whoa!" Alison objected. "He doesn't speak for the rest of us!"

Dellaport stuck out his chin, facing Dylan directly. "I have a right to my opinion! It's one of the things we're out here fighting to protect, isn't it?"

"Opinions as rancid as yours should be put in the recycler! And you with them!" Dylan snarled, hands balling into fists, tensing-

"Please."

All attention turned to Gyver as he rose to his hooves, folding his three-fingered hands into the billowy sleeves of his off-duty robes, his voice as low-key and gentle as ever... but somehow capturing the attention of everyone in the room. "Please, Dylan... all of you... I ask that you forgive my friend for his words. They are not driven by genuine animosity, but fear."

"I'm not afraid!" Dellaport denied sharply, his face reddening. "Stay out of this, Timbrel, it's none of your damn business!"

The Paladelian remained calm and collected, however, looking out to the rest of the group. "None of us within the Support Crew have your estimable experience in dealing with the stresses of our great responsibilities... nor the estimable honour of working with the brave, resourceful senior officers commanding us. But with your patience and understanding, we will learn, and we will be all the better for it." He bowed slightly. "Thank You, and Bless You."

His speech seemed to mollify the others, though the incident as a while seemed to have put the dampeners on the party atmosphere, as people started to depart in twos and threes. Dylan shot a final withering look at Dellaport, before turning back to Kevin. "It's late, I should go-"

"What?" the Gorn made a sound. "No, Mate, you don't have to-"

"I'm on Morning Shift tomorrow anyway. We'll get together another time, okay?"

Kevin looked ready to protest further, before holding up his hands in defeat. "Yeah, sssure, Ssstud. G'Night." As Dylan walked away, Kevin turned back to Dellaport, hissing, "Bloody wanker." Then he departed as well.

Alison looked to her fellow human as she rose. "If I pretend not to know you for the next couple of days, don't take it personally."

Hylore picked up her helmet and her food, her round black filmy eyes fixed on Dellaport. "I spend ninety percent of my time onboard trapped inside this suit in order to live and work around you full air breathers. I wanted to sit here and enjoy myself, that's all. I'm just glad I've met enough humans to know you're the exception rather than the norm." She rose. "I'll be filing another complaint with Lt Bellator."

"Me, too," Alison confirmed.

Both women left.

Malala rose and turned to Dellaport now, clearly conflicted by the animosity among her friends. "Val... it must have been so horrifying for you, being there in San Francisco when the Breen attacked, seeing people die, being so scared... I understand what you're going through. So would many people onboard... including Captain Hrelle. You should talk to him about it during your One-To-One. He'd understand, he's very kind and patient and-"

He finished his beer and set it down noisily on the table, interrupting her. "Tell me, Mal, are you going to be screwing him while his wife's back on Catworld? I suppose it's one way to get someone to want to have you around."

She turned an even darker shade of grey, before turning and storming out.

Then Dellaport slumped down into a vacated chair at the table and half-looked at Gyver. "Well? Have you got some fortune cookie wisdom to impart to me?"

The equinoid set down his water container. "I do not know what a 'fortune cookie' is. But if it is wisdom you seek: a mind, like a bottle, is only as good as what is put into it."

Dellaport waved him off. "And there's the fortune cookie. Gallop away with everyone else, Black Beauty."

Gyver rose and regarded him silently, long enough to recapture Dellaport's attention, before concluding with, "You are better than this angry, frightened child you show to everyone around you."

Then he left.

Dellaport sat alone at the table.

*

Hrelle sat alone in his quarters, able to sift through the lingering layers of scent and discern history: a long period, years, when he and his family had lived, loved, slept, eaten, worked and played in here... the scents had abated somewhat in the last few months, but they were still here. He had been grateful that during his and his family's absence, T'Varik and C'Rash chose to remain their own quarters, and that Commander Murphy had graciously agreed to take one of the VIP suites during his stay onboard.

He rose and moved around the room, looking under and behind couches and beds, finding clothing and heavily-chewed furry toys from Misha -- Mother's Cubs, how did he possibly manage to stuff his Captain Fuzzybutt doll down there? -- and gathering them to throw together onto his own bed. He went into the Cubs' Room and found some blankets in Sreen's crib that had her scent and took them as well.

What he wanted from Kami was already in their own bedroom, piling it all in onto the bed with the rest, relaxing a little more as he finally collapsed. He closed his eyes and breathed in, imagining it was one of those nights when everyone would sleep together, Kami would tell them stories about when she was a cub their age, Misha would curl up into the crook of his father's arm and fall asleep, and Sreen would babble-sing.

He picked up Captain Fuzzybutt, remembering when he had first purchased it, so long ago, for when Sasha was Misha's age and he'd given it to her to think of him when he was away. It had been Sasha's most precious toy... but she had gladly bequeathed it to Misha years later after he had been born, and he had kept it with him when his father wasn't around. Now, ironically, Hrelle had it, to remember his family.

"Computer," he spoke aloud, clutching one of his wife's fur brushes, drawing it close and smelling it. "Can I finally make that call to Cait?"

"Negative; the local subspace relay network is still under maintenance and replacement."

He closed his eyes. He'd get through this. Of course he would. "Lights out."

*

Kitirik was perusing the previous shift's reports, as per protocol, when Ensign Dassene spoke up from the Ops station behind him, "Lieutenant, may I ask you a personal question?"

The young reptoid allowed himself a slight smile, never looking up from the PADD in his webbed hands. As a junior officer on the Surefoot, he was of course part of the rota of those who acted as Bridge Officer. And he enjoyed it. Especially the so-called 'Late Shift' from Midnight to 0800 Hours, when the majority of the crew was asleep.

It did not of course guarantee that such shifts were likely to be any more or less free of incident than the other two -- the Galaxy and all of its inhabitants did not run on the same circadian rhythm -- but generally, it afforded him free time to catch up on scientific qualifications and news.

And to assist and interact with others, such as the members of the latest Alpha Squad, now manning the Bridge stations. "Of course, Respected Colleague. Answers are not necessarily assured, however."

"Understood, Sir." He heard the amusement in the Orion woman's voice. "What was it like, meeting Captain Hrelle for the first time?"

Kit's smile broadened, and he set aside his PADD and rose to his feet, noting how the others on the Bridge -- Astrid Michel at the Helm, Urad Kaldron at Tactical, Tori Emoto at Engineering, Stalac at Sciences -- were attentive, awaiting his response; even the Horta Stalac looked as curious as a lump of silicon-based fibrous rock could be. "I first met the Most Respected Captain Hrelle seven years ago, on the previous Surefoot, an Oberth-class supply vessel.

My fellow cadets and I had been part of the Academy's Advanced Work Experience program when it began, and many were excited and curious about him, as he had not long been released from years of captivity with the Orions. We had assembled in the Main Cargo Bay for his Welcoming Address, when the then-Cadet Giles Arrington made an insulting joke about the Captain."

"Lieutenant Arrington insulted the Captain?" Astrid asked, sounding shocked. "He's one of Captain's biggest defenders!"

Kit nodded. "Indeed he is... now. At the time, however, he had been more under the influence of his family, who wrongly believed the Most Respected Captain of treason and criminal activity. He had of course been wrong... and had underestimated the sensory capabilities of Caitians. The Captain had heard his remark, and ordered Best Friend Giles to join him at the front of the group... and to sit on the first step of the dais for the duration of the Welcoming Address."

Tori guffawed. "He put Lt Arrington on a fricking Naughty Step? Like he was Misha?"

Kit nodded again. "At the time I was most confused by what seemed to be an unconventional and demeaning response on his part, certainly not one that would be found in Starfleet Regulations... until it was pointed out that, had he followed Regulations, Best Friend Giles would have received a note on his permanent record for disrespect to a superior officer, an outcome with much longer-lasting effects than the momentary humiliation of sitting on the Naughty Step.

It was the start of an enlightening and rewarding relationship with the Most Respected-"

He stopped as an Alert sounded on the Ops board, and Zir stooped to read it. "Sir, we're picking up an automated distress signal from a civilian vessel!"

He nodded. "Alert Captain Hrelle, please, and then hail the vessel. Helm, Tactical, please access the signal and collect the required information for you to proceed with your duties should we be called to respond. Engineering, alert the Chief and inform him we may be jumping to high warp-" He looked to Zir, noting an unexpected reaction on her face. "What is it, Ensign?"

Her olive-skinned face had darkened. "It's our Command Status board, Sir. It's been updated..."

*

On the front path of the Shall Clanlands, a group of about twenty or more Ferasans had swarmed together, launching themselves like a wave at Hrelle, roaring at the top of their lungs.

He dropped his sword and reached up behind him for the next weapon from his backpack, bracing himself as he gripped it with both paws and-

A wide tongue of flame shot out from the nozzle, snaking forth and engulfing the Ferasans at the front of the swarm, igniting fur and fire and leather armour, the shock of the intense assault killing them almost instantly.

They were the lucky ones.

They fell, the others toppling over them or each other in their efforts to evade the inferno Hrelle offered them, their screams almost drowned out by the roar of the flames. Mercilessly he swept the flame across them in a wide arc, ignoring the collateral damage of the surrounding foliage. The grounds were lit up in orange-red, with silhouettes scrambling in vain to escape imminent death.

And the voice in his head... the Beast who had been reborn in the fires of the Occupation... screamed I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE -- AND I BRING YOU-

"Commander T'Varik to Captain Hrelle: please report to the Bridge."

Hrelle bolted upright, swinging out his arms at things that weren't there, roaring at the lingering flashes of the nightmare. Then he gasped. The- The Ferasans at the Shall Clanhouse- Kami, his cubs in danger- He burned away the Enemy, heard them scream... could smell them even through his riot helmet... and he loved it...

"Commander T'Varik to Captain Hrelle: please report to the Bridge at once."

"On- On my way." The darkness was of little hindrance to one with infrared vision, as he jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket on his way out, thankful he hadn't undressed when he slumped into bed. He felt the ship alter course and increase warp speed, never stopping to ask for explanation, knowing he'd be there-

-Momentarily, approaching the Ops Station where T'Varik stood with C'Rash, Kit and Zir. "Report."

The Vulcan turned to him, looking uncharacteristically distracted by.... something. Something in Hrelle's paw. "Sir?"

He glanced down, realising he was still carrying Captain Fuzzybutt. He shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. "Never mind. Report."

She nodded. "We have intercepted an automated distress signal from a private vessel, the Aquarius, in the adjacent Tandaran Sector. The ship has not responded to our hails, but we've received permission from Admiral Tattok to separate from the Task Force and respond; ETA is 4.4 hours."

He nodded, looking around. "Any details about the cause of the distress signal?"

"A diagnostic report accompanied the signal: there was a critical theta radiation leak from their warp core." She called up a diagram and datascroll of a recognised starship profile. "The Aquarius is a decommissioned Oberth-class surveyor sold to Zodiac Cruise Lines in 2370 and converted to a personal transport vessel and private yacht for hire. There is a crew of twelve, and according to the records obtained from the Interstellar Vessel Registry the ship is currently hosting a party of nine Betazoids from Tandara Prime."

He made a sound. "Many off-world Betazoids have ended up refugees at nearby Tandara following the Dominion occupation of their homeworld. The numbers of potential casualties will be small, so we won't need to wake up the crew for a Full Medical Alert. But the theta radiation may affect transporters."

"I'll alert the Shuttlebay Flight Teams to prepare the Shadowpaw and Firepaw."

Hrelle nodded. "I'll go over on the Shadowpaw, I know the Oberth design well enough from the previous Surefoot and-"

"Captain," T'Varik faced him directly, her expression sober now. "When the Distress Signal was received, Lt Kitirik attempted to contact you first. That was when it was discovered that you had been removed from Active Duty."

He tensed, not sure he heard right. "What? Why? On whose authority?"

"Counselor Auger's. It was filed in the ship's computer immediately after your rescheduled appointment last night." She paused, adding, "I am assuming that you cancelled it. Again."

"Because I don't need to see a damn Counselor! Especially not after I've already been cleared by my own damn wife!" Outrage made his tail snap like a whip. "Get Doc Masterson or one of the others on our staff to me put back on Active Duty!"

"Regrettably they cannot, Sir -- as you will know yourself. Only the Ship's current Counselor has the authority to do so, short of an Appeal Board with a minimum of three independent-"

He cursed, turned and stormed off the Bridge, striding down the corridor, glad that it was the middle of the night and no one was around to see him... or get in his way. Who in the Seven Hells did this arrogant kussik think he was? Hrelle had been more than prepared to meet up with him later, tick all the requisite boxes and let them both go back to more important duties.