Surefoot 74: Compilation

TRACK 01 - WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

New Jericho Colony, Planet Scesity, Salem Sector:

The Proximity Alarm sounded, like a wailing wind over the community.

Kate Sternhagen had been hunched over her worktable, attempting to repair the combadge when the Alarm sounded. She set down her precision tools, closed the casing on the combadge, and tossed it back to her guest. "Sorry, Sport, I'll finish it another time. It'll chirp, though."

On the woven rug near the stone fireplace, eight-year-old Thom Christopher caught his toy instinctively, fitting it onto his replica Starfleet jacket, though his attention was clearly on the sound outside. "They're early. Why?"

"Dunno," she lied, rising and reaching behind her to press her fists into the small of her back. Damn, she had hoped that it might have worked... "You'd better get back to your Mom. She'll be worried about where you are now."

"Yes, Captain."

"I'm not a Captain," she reminded him wearily for the thousandth time, a rote that never seemed to sink into the kid's head. Thom had been a burr in her backside ever since he had learned of her past from someone here, had pestered her time and again for stories, souvenirs, repairs to his toy combadge, tricorder or phaser. Anything Starfleet related, and never mind her repeated denials or suggestions to go play in the hills or the mines rather than waste her time.

Thom rose, tapping his combadge until it chirped. "I'm gonna be Starfleet, like my Dad. Starfleet's not afraid."

"You should be. Get going." As the boy departed, leaving the door open so Sternhagen could see the other colonists emerging from their habitat domes to venture out, she ran her arthritic fingers through her greying curly hair, and cleaned the lenses of her spectacles, a vintage compensation for her inability to more modern corrective measures.

She watched her breath ghost before her as she stepped out into the cold air of late afternoon, rubbing her hands before tucking them into her cardigan, as most of the rest of the colony emerged from their warm homes to pour like a half-frozen river down the slope of the main street to the foot of the open plain.

She looked around, noting the number, hoping they would be sufficient to not raise suspicions and trigger another raid on the houses. People inevitably died at such times, though these days they rarely gave any justification to do so. They had learned quickly the rules of the New Order.

As the Alarm finally died away as if exhausted by its efforts, Sternhagen took her customary place at the front of the assembly, the older members of the colony gravitating behind her. She was not the elected leader, had never even asked for any attention since arriving here years ago. She just wanted to be left alone to spend her remaining days in isolation. But the Universe had other plans, it seemed.

Thom was also nearby, as usual, despite Sternhagen's orders; the boy had more loyalty than sense. He kept nervously tapping his combadge, as if the chirps it made could really work, and he could summon help.

The older youths, though, stayed silent and sullen near the edges. No more acts of rebellion again, Sternhagen silently urged. It's not worth it.

Then the Wolf Pack's Fleet appeared from the cloud-blanketed sky: shuttles, runabouts, fighters and flyers of all shapes, sizes and origin -- bound together by the red and white striped war paint daubed on their hulls -- led by the largest: an ancient, box-shaped Starfleet Galileo-type shuttlecraft, at least a century old but still somehow functioning almost despite itself. I know the feeling, Sternhagen thought.

The Fleet moved into a tight delta formation as they settled as one onto the grassy plain at the foot of the colony, their engines creating a massive symphony of power. Finally the engines died, doors and hatchways opened as one, and the Wolf Pack emerged: a motley collection of humanoids of many races, armed with a plethora of weapons and clothing, but like their vehicles bound together with the same red and white war stripes on their persons.

It was always the same ceremony, each time they returned. But they're earlier than usual now, Kate. You know what probably means...

From speakers mounted on the Galileo shuttle, orchestral fanfare blared, and the doors on the starboard side extended and parted, and a small, hunched figure scurried out and ahead of the formation: a Ferengi male, dressed in furred robes, finer materials than the other Wolf Pack, as befitted his slightly elevated position in their food chain.

His huge ears seemed to twitch from excitement rather than the rising wind as he raised a loudspeaker to make his customary announcement following the fanfare. "Greetings from the Invincible! The War Chief of the Wolf Pack! The Conqueror of the Kzinti! The Scourge of Starfleet! The Master of Mayhem! The Warrior of the Wastelands! The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla!"

His Toady is in fine form today, Sternhagen noted wryly, watching the Ferengi bow and scrape like a puppy around a second figure emerging from the shuttle: a huge, muscular humanoid male two metres tall, clad in leathers and furs, including the hide of an adult silver and black Terran wolf, probably replicated, worn like a cape. The Invincible's face was covered in a leather wolf mask in the same red and white colours. Someone's been to Mardi Gras, Sternhagen always thought.

He stepped forward, holding out his right hand, fully expecting the Ferengi to hand him the loudspeaker. He was not let down, though when he used it to address the colony, his voice was deep, deliberate. "I am greatly disappointed in you." He spoke slowly, as if to ensure that the gravity of his words was not lost on the assembled colonists. "Here you are, alone in a dangerous war-torn Galaxy. And we come and offer our protection, asking for only a few meagre scraps of goods and services in return-"

His words sparked grumblings of disbelief and dissent among the group, but Sternhagen raised a hand to silence anything more vocal.

"And what do we get in return?" the Invincible continued. He signalled to his Toady; the Ferengi barked at some subordinates, who appeared from the shuttle, carrying out the black-charred remains of a metre-long cylinder, dropping into onto the grass beside their leader.

There were more sounds from the colonists. Sternhagen let them indulge this time, her own guts twisting in disappointment. She knew that converting the old orbiting probe into an interstellar distress beacon had been a major investment of much of their valuable, irreplaceable pieces of technology and resources. And she knew the risks if, as it turned out, it was discovered and destroyed by the Wolf Pack.

But she, they, had to do something. They couldn't keep living like this, under the shadow of these barbarians.

The Invincible indicated the object. "A message in a bottle, thrown into the ocean of space, a desperate cry for help." He shook his head in exaggerated tragedy. "How foolish."

Now he raised his voice to them. "There is no help out there for you! The Federation has fallen! The Dominion has swept in, firebombed Earth, Vulcan, Rigel, Andor and Tellar as an example to the rest, and the remains of Starfleet are being hunted down and annihilated even as I speak!" He pointed to the sky. "The last thing you want to do is attract attention to yourselves from them!"

Then he lowered his gloved finger to the crowd. "Actually... the last thing you want to do is anger me."

"You son of a bitch!"

Sternhagen and others turned to see Danny Trayne, one of the youngest in the colony, a copper-haired, freckled kid who just did not know when to shut up even at the best of times. He shook off the cautious hold his friends had on him to turn towards the Wolf Pack, his face ruddy with rage. "You come here, take what you want, leave us with almost nothing!"

The Invincible held out his arms, as if to embrace them. "Nothing? I give you life and security, the greatest gifts of all."

"You're all parasites!" Danny started towards him.

The Wolf Pack raised their weapons.

"NO!" Now Sternhagen stepped forward, capturing the attention. "Don't kill him!"

Everyone, including thankfully Danny, stopped. And now the Pack's leader regarded her, throwing aside the loudspeaker, no longer needing it. "Ah, our resident Engineering genius... and no doubt the one who helped make the beacon. Pray, tell me, why should I not cut you down for your actions? You and this disrespectful whelp? Will you appeal to my magnanimity? But I have already been more than generous to you ungrateful scum. Perhaps you shall stir my sense of mercy? Assuming I have any?"

"No," Sternhagen replied. "I'll appeal to your pragmatism. I'm the only one here who can keep your ships running. You need me." He pointed to Danny. "And he's young, strong. He can work down in the mines with the others, digging up duranium and fashioning it into replacement hull plating and other parts for your ships. You need him, too. And the rest of us run the hydroponic stations to provide you food, and the medical equipment to treat your wounds, the tools to mend your clothes, and a hundred other things.

You need all of us."

The Invincible drew a disruptor pistol from his belt, aimed it at Sternhagen, the icy eyes behind the wolf mask fixed on the old woman. "I don't need all of you."

Then he turned abruptly and shot Danny in the chest.

The young man fell on the spot, his friends instinctively backing away, even as his mother rushed up to him, kneeling beside his body, cradling it, wailing in anguish.

Sternhagen gasped, her heart sinking, having seen enough wounds like that to know it was fatal. In the time since the Federation had shut down Salem One and departed the sector to focus on the Dominion War, and the New Jericho Colony lost contact with the rest of the Galaxy, the Invincible and his Wolf Pack had moved in, demanding tributes of goods and services in exchange for 'protection' e.g. not blowing the colony to bits.

It had kept them alive, and Sternhagen, like many others, had stomached it, in the hope that Starfleet would show up in just a few days to restore order.

But the days turned to weeks, and months, and years. The colony survived... just.

She faced the Wolf Pack's leader. "That wasn't necessary!"

The Invincible stared at the scene of grief on the grass, before turning back to face her as he holstered his weapon. "Forget the paltry rules of civilisation under which you once lived. This is the Jungle, and in this Jungle I am the King of Beasts. We shall return at the usual time for our usual tributes. And as a gesture of recompense on your part, you will also provide us with some warm company to take away with us. Make them young and virginal, none of the dregs I see assembled here. You may even get them back alive after we are sated... albeit a little worse for wear."

Then he turned back towards his shuttle, signalling to his Ferengi to declare loudly and proudly to the colony, "Rejoice, Scum! You have been spared by the Invincible! Drop to your knees and give thanks, and pray his infinite mercy continues!" Then he was rushing into the shuttle before the doors shut again, as the other Wolf Pack stepped back into their respective vessels.

Sternhagen stood there and watched them leave, letting the others crowd around Danny's body, raising him up to carry him back to his family's home for eventual burial... with all the others who had been killed since this nightmare began. She watched the ships rise into the sky and pierce the ceiling of clouds, to wherever their base was in the sector.

She drew up to Thom, who stood detached, staring at the grieving group's departure, his fantasies of imminent rescue from Starfleet cast away. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go home, Thom." She gave him a gentle push to get him started.

Then she approached the remains of the beacon, kneeling and examining it, even as the older, more prominent members followed her, Dmitri sniping, "Well, there you go, Kate! Another one dead, needlessly! Because of your actions!"

Sternhagen shot him a look that was colder than winter on Scersity. "Go to Hell."

"It wasn't Kate's fault!" Freya defended. "We all agreed it was worth the risk to launch it!"

"Tell that to Danny's mother!"

"Danny was a hothead," Sternhagen noted gruffly, turning back to the beacon, peeling back some twisted plating on the side and examining the insides. "He got himself killed. That doesn't mean he deserved it."

That silenced the group, until Freya asked, more tentatively, "Kate... you were in Starfleet... what the Invincible said about the Federation... about Starfleet... could it be true? Could they really be... gone?"

Sternhagen ground her teeth, hating being asked to give an opinion. Hating to be reminded that she had been in Starfleet, a lifetime ago. Hating wanting to indulge in her default cynical, self-destructive thoughts and confirm the worst. Because deep down she knew that, as proud and as strong and as long-serving as the Federation and Starfleet had been so far, they were not undefeatable, not immortal. Could they be gone now? Maybe.

But, she forced herself to tell them what they wanted to hear. "No, he's all piss and wind."

"Then where are they?" Dmitri asked. "And how are we going to save our young people from being brutalised by those monsters?"

"We can't," Freya pronounced sullenly. "We're out of options."

Sternhagen peered inside the casing, running a quick internal check of the logs... and confirming that the beacon did manage to get a signal out in the direction of Salem One's automated relay. It might be forwarded back to Starfleet Command. If the signal was strong enough. If the onboard systems are still working. If the station hadn't been destroyed, or taken over by the Wolf Pack or some other enemy. If the Federation hadn't indeed fallen.

The Terrible Ifs accumulate. She couldn't count on help coming.

She checked the ultritium-filled injectors she used in place of antimatter to fuel the beacon's warp sled; there was still a substantial amount. Enough for her contingency plan. "No. There's one more."

"That'll get more of us killed," Dmitri groused.

"No," Sternhagen countered, helping herself back to her feet, thinking ahead to what she would have to scavenge to put her plan into action. "Just me, along with as many of those murdering bastards as I can take with me."

*

TRACK 02 - A HARD DAY'S NIGHT

USS Surefoot, Command Quarters, Deck 2:

The intercom chimed in the darkness, and Esek Hrelle had to force himself not to react too abruptly, and stir awake his family, sleeping around him: his wife Kami, nestled beside him, his daughter Sreen, in her adjacent crib, and his son Misha, between his parents, snoring away. They had only recently returned to the ship, following the End of the War, and traditionally they all slept together to reacquaint themselves with each other's scents.

A lifetime of practice let him check the chrono on the wall -- Ugh, 0312 Hours, an unholy time -- as he slipped back into alertness, carefully extricating himself from his family on the bed... but not before Sreen awoke, the infant lying helpless without her exoframe on her, gurgling curiously up at him. He reached down and gently scooped her up, slipping his forearm beneath her diapered rear end to support her and play with her little curly tail as he carried her out of the bedroom and into the living room of their quarters, closing the door behind them as he made his way to the desk.

He was curious as to the reason for the late night call. Following the end of the War, they had parked near Deep Space Nine along with many others needing repairs of varying degrees, as well as crew replacements and downtime for those remaining assigned. Which was fine by Hrelle; he was in no rush to get back into active duty, after all he had been through, and just wanted to spend some quality time with his loved ones, and keep checking in on Weynik and see how he was coping following the loss of his leg. He sat down, adjusting his tail through the hole in the seat, as the chime sounded once more. "Yes?"

Commanding the Night Shift, Lt Bellator's apologetic voice carried in the darkness. "Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, Captain, but there's a Priority Transmission from Admiral Raner at Starfleet Command."

That made Hrelle's pulse quickened. Marija Raner, the Head of Starfleet Security? He had never met her or communicated directly with her before, but then he never expected to, being pretty far down the proverbial ladder compared to her. He readjusted the sleepy Sreen against his shoulder. "Put her through, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Sir." Seconds later -- just as Hrelle realised he was still nude -- the desktop viewscreen came to life, and a gaunt, olive-skinned woman with sunken cheekbones and sable hair pinned in a severe bun appeared, regarding him. "Greetings, Captain. Is it Casual Friday onboard?"

He felt his skin heat up beneath his sepia fur, and used an excuse of Sreen awakening to the voices to take time to adjust her again. "Excuse me, Admiral, it's the middle of the night for us, and I wasn't expecting any calls. If you want me to go get into uniform-"

"No need, I'll be as quick as I can -- but given the height of the camera on your desk I'd appreciate it if you didn't stand up during the call. Captain, we've never met, but I've been reading up about you, and I'm most impressed. Your work during your previous command on the Furyk, your duties along the Cardassian border, the battle of Khavak, the Resistance you raised on Cait against the Ferasans. All very impressive."

"Thank you, Admiral. But you didn't have to call me just to tell me that. A card would have been just as nice."

She offered a slight smirk. "Such talent and experience as you've shown needs to be rewarded. Effective immediately, you're promoted to the rank of Commodore. I'm afraid under current conditions we can't send anyone out for a formal ceremony, but I'm sure you can throw your own celebrations."

Hrelle blinked, and Sreen, sensing his reaction, tried to move to see the source of his change of mood. Her father accommodated her. "Commodore? That- That can't be right, Ma'am."

"What, were you expecting to be made Admiral?"

"I- I wasn't expecting anything, Ma'am!" Memories of just a couple of days ago, when he was present at his daughter Sasha receiving a promotion to Lieutenant Commander, flooded back to him. "It's just all very- I mean, I'm not sure this isn't all just a dream-"

Sreen scowled at the screen. "Seen Seepy Time! Yoo go!"

Raner looked with amusement at the infant. "Is that Caitian for 'Congratulations'?"

Before he could respond, he heard the bedroom door slide open, and without looking could hear and smell Kami enter, approach after a moment and, staying out of view, take Sreen from his arms... but remain close, listening to the rest of the conversation, Hrelle tailoring his reply to help his wife catch up. "Well, Admiral Raner, I'm honoured that the Head of Starfleet Security herself would call to announce my promotion to Commodore, but like I said, it's completely unexpected and..." Then it hit him. "Commodores don't get to command ships as a rule anymore, do they?"

"Not directly, no; you have bigger responsibilities. Also effective immediately, your First Officer T'Varik is being permanently promoted to the rank of Captain of your ship. In fact, my Adjutant Commander Oh is speaking with her right now about it."

Hrelle felt himself reel, and he glanced to Kami, who looked back in matching astonishment. The Surefoot had been his home, their home, for years. Not too long ago he had been commenting to T'Varik about how change was the nature of things. "So where are you going to assign me, Admiral? Starfleet Command?"