Surefoot 74: Compilation

She made a sound. "You'd be wasted here, Commodore, it's all staff meetings and unflattering dress uniforms. No, you're being assigned to an outpost station in the Outer Rim. The War forced us to withdraw our presence, our influence, in many of the frontiers of the Federation, even as we were expanding those same frontiers in an effort to find allies and gain territory. Those areas have suffered, both from neglect, and from exploitation from criminal and terrorist parties and adjacent powers. But now that the War is over, we have a chance to repair and rebuild."

He glanced again at Kami, who mouthed the word Where?, having also noted Raner's avoidance of specific details. He turned back to the screen. "Where am I being assigned, Admiral?"

Now he saw her hesitate, and his curiosity multiplied. How bad could it be?

Then she responded. "The Salem Sector. Station Salem One. You'll remember it, of course."

He tensed, his tail hitting one of the legs of his chair in alarm, as he felt like his heart would burst through his chest. No, no, no, no... He leaned in closer, his muscles tightening. "Yes, Admiral. How could I forget it? My first wife was murdered there. My crew on the Furyk was killed there. I was tortured and enslaved there! My daughter was left orphaned there!"

"Hrelle-"

"And you expect me to just toddle on back there and take up residence again?" he demanded, leaning in closer, raising his voice and baring his teeth. "Like nothing happened?"

Sreen began reacting to her father's growing stress, and Kami quickly purred against her, even as she approached him again, still out of view, raising a cautionary open paw for him to calm down.

Onscreen, Raner looked wary, as if he could reach across the light-years and get in her face. "I'm not ignorant of the terrible events that ended your time in the Salem Sector, Commodore. But I also can't ignore the familiarity you'll have with the planets and systems, the allies and threats present.

And the reputation you made for yourself there; I believe you were referred to more than once as The Lion of Salem Sector." She smiled, as if trying to lighten the situation. "It's a lot more complimentary than some of the things I've been called."

He didn't smile back. "I have to turn this down, Admiral."

Raner's smile dropped. "We no longer have the luxury of choice in our career paths, Hrelle. This damn War has cost us just over a thousand vessels, stations and outposts... and nearly half a million personnel: dead, missing and presumed dead, medically incapacitated, deserted, or just simply resigned. And those numbers are increasing with each passing day."

Hrelle leaned back again, more astonished by those cold, brutal statistics than this sudden change in his life. He knew the numbers had to be high, but still...

Raner continued. "If this is going to be a problem for you, and you won't be available for this assignment -- and therefore any other assignment -- tender your resignation now, so I won't waste your time or mine any further-"

Now Kami came into view, dropping down into a squat beside Hrelle's chair, pressing Sreen against her muzzle as she interrupted. "Admiral, I'm Counselor Hrelle, his wife. Please excuse him, it's the middle of the night for us, it's been a traumatic couple of months, things are moving so quickly-"

"I'm aware of that, Counselor," Raner cut her off, conceding but still sounding stressed. "Things have to move quickly. We still have enemies, ones who haven't been devastated by War, and are taking advantage of our current depleted state. And we have citizens who have been deprived of security, of services and trade and the other benefits of the Federation, and left to fend for themselves all this time."

She turned back to Hrelle. "I'm sending the mission pack now with all pertinent updated Security intel on the sector, Commodore... such as it is. You can recruit from the Starfleet ships and crews currently stationed around Deep Space Nine, subject to the restrictions detailed in the pack, and you will have the full authority of this office behind you.

But understand this: you need to be on your way to the Salem Sector within forty-eight hours, even if all you end up recruiting is a shuttlepod and a Crewman Third Class.

There are no alternatives to this assignment; if my office doesn't receive your resignation within the hour, I'll assume you have accepted the promotion and the mission."

After a moment, her expression softened. "Commodore, you weren't just chosen for this assignment because of your tactical skills or your connections to Salem. I've learned a lot about you: your patience, your compassion, your ability to motivate others, both cadets and crew. You're one of the few in Starfleet who can make the impossible happen. We need you, now, more than ever, and I genuinely hope you remain with us. Raner out."

The screen went dark, leaving the room in blackness. The Caitians could see in the dark, but Kami raised the lights to a low level, quietly taking Sreen back into the bedroom to settle her down, before returning clad in a dressing gown, throwing Hrelle his own as she moved to the replicator, conjuring up two tavaberry teas.

Hrelle left the dressing gown on his lap, his tea untouched on the desk, as he stared at the blank screen before him, his thoughts a turbulent storm.

After a moment, however, he looked up at her, frowning. "Well?"

She was reclining on the couch, cradling her tea, blowing on it and looking back. "Well, what?"

He shifted in his chair. "In the seven-plus years I've known you, you haven't exactly been stingy with your opinions. But now, at this most critical time in my life, you go silent as a Hupryian."

Kami sipped at her tea for a moment, before gently correcting, "This is not the most critical time in your life, Esek. Nor was it losing the crew of the Furyk. Or being captured and tortured by the Bel-Zon. Or even when you learned that Hannah had been killed in the raid on Salem One.

No, the most critical time in your life was after all of that, after you escaped. When you finally stopped just surviving, and fully comprehended how much you had lost... but you still decided to continue living. Not just for yourself, but for Sasha. I was there, I saw it in you.

And I've seen it in myself, after my first husband Rmorra died... after I pushed past the grief, the anger, the fear, and decided to continue living. Not just for myself, but for my firstborn Mirow.

True strength isn't illustrated by what we can take without getting knock down, Husband of Mine. True strength is illustrated by our rising again after we're knocked down."

He listened, regarding her reply, before reaching for his tea. "You're not worried about what'll happen if I go back to Salem One, and...?"

He let her finish. "And what? That you'll feel some sorrow over the memories you shared there with Hannah and Sasha? If you didn't, then I'd be worried for you. But you've learned -- mostly from me -- that memories, like an old song or book, never change, but the approach we take to them as we revisit them, and the meaning we attach to them, will change, with time and experience.

The Esek Hrelle who forged those memories of life on Salem One is different to the one who will return to it. He's an older, more mature, stronger and resilient man."

He grunted, noting her turn of phrase. "'Will return', huh? You're that sure that I won't just resign and take up a cushy position back on Cait working for your mother? You and the cubs can then have a nice, safe life living permanently on the Motherworld."

She nodded in seeming contemplation. "Yeah. Yeah, we could do that." She sipped at her tea again, leaving it at that... but leaving him with no doubt as to what she thought of that notion.

He drank his tea. "Hmph. 'The Lion of Salem Sector'. I used to embrace that, back on the Furyk. Raner was right, my reputation used to do more than a fully charged phaser bank. But I'm not embracing that title, ever again."

"Whatever works for you." Their door chimed unexpectedly, and Kami set aside her brew and rose. "Put your dressing gown on, no one but me wants to see Little Esek."

He rose and slipped quickly into the covering, as Kami opened the door, and T'Varik and C'Rash entered, dressed in casual clothing, the Vulcan regarding Hrelle. "There was a 99.7% probability that you would be still awake, having received a transmission of your own. Congratulations, Commodore."

Hrelle nodded, drawing closer to shake her hand. "Congratulations, Captain. We're definitely going to have a party about this. What are you like when you're drunk?"

"Horny," C'Rash muttered, moving to the replicator. "Coffee, Caitian Mnara Blend, blacker than my mood."

Hrelle grunted with amusement at her demeanour. "What's brushed your fur the wrong way?"

"She is disgruntled because Sasha now outranks her despite being younger and less experienced."

C'Rash took the replicated coffee out of the alcove. "I told you, I don't care. Who want all that extra admin work, the responsibility, having to be pleasant to people? It's the same reason I won't be T'Varik's First Officer. I can serve her better as Chief of Security."

"That, and Starfleet Regulations prevent partners from serving as Commanding and Executive Officers on the same ship," Hrelle teased, looking to T'Varik. "Have you an idea about your XO? Bellator?"

"It would be logical; they were on a more direct Command Track before their court martial, and has shown great progress since boarding." She took the coffee from C'Rash to sip at it, grimacing. "That is atrocious. Commodore, I was given no details as to the nature of your new assignment, and was logically curious."

"Oh, he might not be taking it, T'Varik," Kami informed her facetiously. "Just before you showed up he was considering throwing away thirty-plus years of Starfleet service, resigning and moving back to Cait permanently. And coincidentally, also sabotaging my career in Starfleet. Not that he gave a second thought to that."

The other females looked to him, C'Rash asking, "Really, Uncle Esek? Is it that bad an assignment?"

Hrelle shot his wife a dirty look; she looked unapologetic. Finally he replied, "Your aunt is exaggerating; old age will do that. As a matter of fact, I will be taking it." He turned to T'Varik. "But I haven't much time to prepare and be on our way, so I need your help. I know you'll want to focus on getting your command up and running and making this ship your own, but... I have some ideas which might help you as well."

The Vulcan reached for a chair and drew it closer to the desk. "Let us begin."

"That's my coffee!" C'Rash protested.

"And I thank you for it, Wife of Mine," T'Varik replied.

As Hrelle sat down and began accessing the mission pack, C'Rash looked to Kami. "I've seen that look on both of them before; we won't be given a second thought for the rest of the night. Care for some company?"

"Yes, please. But the cubs are in there, so..." Kami brought a shushing finger to her snout as she opened the bedroom door.

Then burst out laughing and waking up the cubs as she heard T'Varik ask, "Commodore, please secure your dressing gown."

*

TRACK 03 - GET THE PARTY STARTED

Quark's Place, Promenade, Deep Space Nine:

The music was loud and raucous, and until Sasha experienced it sober, she never realised how annoying it was. But as her party was enjoying themselves too much, she said nothing.

The establishment was famous throughout the sector, and following the victory of the War, all of the surviving ships that remained in the area awaiting repairs or reassignments, all the off-duty crews from Starfleet, the Klingons and Romulans ventured her at some point; the eponymous owner had even been given permission to remain open 26 hours a day to accommodate the unprecedented demand. She wondered what would happen if they ran out of alcohol. Maybe another War will break out, she mused-

She saw her Captain lying there, his leg trapped under fallen bulkhead, certain to die if she didn't take action. She saw herself bring her blade down to through muscle, sinew, bone, the smell of the inner flesh hitting her nostrils-

She shook it off and cradled her mug of root beer, a surprising offering among the few non-alcoholic choices available on the menu, as she grinned at her friends and crewmates around the large table: her friends from Alpha Squad Giles Arrington, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, Kitirik, Jonas and Neraxis Ostrow, and her friends from the Ajax, Jim Madison and Mru Mori.

She was so glad to see them all here, alive. So many others weren't-

She saw their First Officer Kohanim lying there, the Zakdorn's chest opened up from where the energy feedback had exited after travelling up through his arms, his insides exposed obscenely, the face frozen as if in astonishment at the swiftness of his passing and his blood was on her hands her uniform the smell of his charred flesh-

Giles was raising his glass in her direction, grinning, his face pink with inebriation and his words slurring. "I wanna make a toes-"

"'Toes'?" teased Jonas across from him, shaking a finger at him as he nudged his wife. "Yeah, he's hammered!"

The bald Bolian Neraxis chuckled, her skin a darker shade of blue than usual from the alcohol. "He was always a fricking lightweight, even back in the Academy!"

"I would defend Best Friend Giles," Kitirik noted, the reptoid raising his voice over the laughter, "But I have helped carry him back to his quarters too many times!"

"Bite my ass, all of you," Giles suggested, turning back towards Sasha. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I wanna make a toast, to our new Lieutenant Commander, who will no doubt make Captain before she's twenty-five."

"Which isn't too far away," Madison noted mischievously.

Sasha raised her middle finger in his direction, but drank from her mug along with the rest, hiding her embarrassment at being the centre of attention again, before rising to her feet. "My round. Same again?"

Mori frowned at her, the mahogany-furred Caitian male's ears twitching. "Sash, no, you've been paying all night!"

"Hey, who's on the highest pay grade here? One more round, and we'll call it a night." She rose to her feet and moved to the bar with her half-finished drink before anyone could argue further.

At the bar, the Ferengi who owned the establishment abandoned some other customers to approach her, smiling with jagged teeth. "And she's back. Have you reconsidered my offer, Lieutenant Commander?"

She leaned against the bar. "No. Same order as before: one Bolian lager, one honey-flavoured Saurian brandy, four Terran beers, three Aldebaran whiskeys... and a Terran root beer."

Quark leaned in as well, the lights from above reflecting off his large, bulbous, salmon-pink head. "Think about it: your heroic death dive towards the Dominion Battleship, commemorated for all time in a hologame where users can fight alongside you! And you could earn a lavish five percent of all profits from the sale and rental of Operation: Warhead, exclusive to Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade!"

She swallowed -- her stomach twisted into knots as she drove the Warhead down, down, the Battleship filling up the cockpit screen -- as she pressed her fingers down harder on the bartop. "No. Just get the orders."

"Did I say five percent?" he leered. "I meant ten. And you know, I'd much rather have your endorsement and use your exact image for authenticity than, say, issue it myself with some generic hyooman female hologram-"

"Hey! It's you!"

Sasha tensed, bracing herself for the boisterous smack on her back from another admirer, some hulking Bolian in a gold-banded Starfleet uniform with Commander's pips. "It's really you! Hellcat Hrelle!"

She frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

Quark drew closer, winking. "I made that up. Alliteration makes for good product recognition."

"Let me buy you a drink!" The Bolian offered. "What are you having?"

"Root beer," the Ferengi replied helpfully.

"What? Seriously?" He caught Sasha's attention again. "That's not good enough for a hero! Come on, really, what are you drinking?"

Go on, take a drink... you earned it... "Aldebaran whiskey, thanks."

The Bolian slapped her back again as he turned to Quark's. "Aldebaran whiskey for Hellcat Hrelle! Put it on my tab!"

"Oh, I will, Commander Parix."

"Thanks," Sasha repeated as the Bolian departed, before turning back to Quark. "Remove one of the whiskeys in my original order and let Commander Backsmacker there pay for the third."

Quark regarded her bemusedly. "I don't get it. No one would say you weren't entitled to neck a few shots down, after all you've been through. Do you have some religious or medical reason for abstaining? If so, why hide it? It can't be you actually like the sickly sweet taste of root beer?"

Sasha stared back, her expression taut. "Just get the damn order. Oh, and if you do release any hologame even remotely resembling what I did, you'll end up the last casualty of the War."

Quark chuckled. "I love a women with a sense of humour."

Suddenly she slammed her fist down on the bartop, making a sound heard over the music and crowd and making the nearby glasses rattle. "I'M NOT JOKING!"

Quark stepped back, hands raised in conciliatory fashion. "Okay, okay, Lieutenant Commander, no harm done. I'll have it brought over."

Sasha leaned back, in time to see Madison and Mori rush up, flanking either side of her in response to her outburst, Madison asking, "Everything okay, Sash? Is he giving you trouble?"

Mori rested a paw on her arm... more a gesture of exclusion to Madison than protection as he growled, "She doesn't need your help, Lieutenant, she can handle anything without you!"

Madison leaned forward to meet the Caitian's eye. "I never said she couldn't, Lieutenant! I've known her a hell of a lot longer than you!"

Sasha shook off both their touches; she thought it would be awkward to be working with a former and current lover on the same ship since her return to active duty following the Caitian Occupation, but they had all been too busy with the War for any complications to arise.

Now, however, with both of them relaxed and inebriated, the rivalries were finally surfacing... though at least it's kept them, or anyone else, from noting her recent sobriety. "Obviously not long enough for either of you to tell how annoyed I get at being talked about like I'm not here. Now come on, let's get back to the table before I rope you two into a threesome..."

*

TRACK 04 - WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

Mundulu Nature Reserve, Planet Bajor:

At the foot of a sheer wall of grey-white geiscite overlooking a narrow, olive-green valley, a portion of the rock began to smoulder, smoke, liquefy, and finally melt away, while a large rumbling object slithered out from the newly-created tunnel, the asymmetrical silicon hide reflecting the bright sunlight, the voder unit bolted one side beside the Starfleet insignia clearly translating delight. "What a marvellous repast! I do enjoy sampling new minerals!"

Nearby, the rest of Alpha Squad looked up with varying degrees of interest at Ensign Stalac's proclamation, Tori Emoto, clad in hiking shirt, shorts and boots, grunting, "And leaving fricking holes in the side of the Bajoran mountains."