Surefoot 74: Compilation

Until now. Effectively immediately you will act as the ship's Second Officer, with Ensign Astrid Michel being made Chief Helmsman. Assuming, of course, that you are prepared to accept the role?"

Giles beamed. "I am, Captain... along with any promotion in rank you might like to throw my way."

The Vulcan raised a wry eyebrow, along with her hand. "Don't be greedy."

The other officers applauded, and offered hand- and pawshakes, before Hrelle slapped his paws together. "Sorry, cubs, but the grownups have work to do! Go have juice and cake elsewhere!"

"And don't save any for the Commodore," Kami quipped, drawing closer to him. "Have you spoken with the Doctor and the Chief yet?"

"Not yet."

"Shall I do it?"

"No, thank you, I can manage."

"And what about that prospective Station Security Chief?"

"Still trying to track her down. I've got it all in paw."

"Have you got a Station Chief in paw, too, Buster?"

"Is this necessary now in front of everyone?"

"And Zir? Don't forget Zir, she needs to know what's happening to her. And you have to warn Sasha about the new assignment, it'll affect her as much as it did you. And have you considered the support crew for the station? There'll be civilians, dependents who need help."

Hrelle looked to T'Varik. "Captain, call Red Alert, I'm definitely under attack here."

*

TRACK 06 - WHISKEY IN THE JAR

Deep Space Nine, Habitat Ring, Conference Room 9:

Bad news comes in threes, the old saying went. Usually Sasha dismissed such old sayings as bilge. "Salem Sector? Our Salem Sector?"

On the small viewscreen in the back of the conference room, her father's sober visage answered before his words did. "Yes. Salem One was shut down and locked up two years ago when the War heated up. Now they're sending me back to reopen it and restart normal business there. I just wanted you to hear it from me before scuttlebutt got around to you first." He looked at her. "How do you feel about it?"

Feel? About you going back to the place where we once lived? Where Mom was once alive, where we were one big happy family before the Bel-Zon came along and blew all that to shit? "Okay, I think. And you?"

"Like I was punched in the gut. It wouldn't have been my first choice of new assignment. Or even my tenth. But Admiral Raner was clear enough on the subject: it was this, or resignation, an act I almost considered, but one that would affect more than just myself, but the whole family. Kami assures me I can handle it. I hope you can, too."

"Yeah. I'll be okay." She glanced over at the group assembling into the room. "I have to update the crew about the status of the Ajax, and about Weynik. Love you."

"Love you too, Sash." The screen went black.

She steeled herself. God damn it, she didn't need to hear that, on top of having to reveal what she'd just learned about their ship and captain. If this was a First Officer's life, then it can kiss her ass.

Sasha turned and drew up to the group, letting their talk die down before she finally spoke. "Thank you for coming to the briefing, all of you who could attend. As First Officer I'll be conducting this in place of Captain Weynik, while he continues to recuperate-"

"And how is the Captain?" Chief Maryk, standing at the front of the group, asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

Sasha swallowed, wishing she'd had some water before starting this. "They've fitted a biosynthetic leg to him, all signs point toward the operation being a complete success. He should be up and running -- well, walking at any rate -- before you know it."

"And his spirits?" Madison asked. "It can't be easy to recover from such a trauma."

Especially one I literally caused, she thought. "He's been seeing the doctors, and Counselors, and... and I'm sure he'll recover soon."

"How soon?" Crewman Vanchez asked

As soon as someone shakes him out of his deep depression over what I did to him. "Soon. We all know how strong the Captain is."

"In time for the Ajax to be repaired?" Nurse Craddy asked.

She breathed in. Here goes... "The Ajax, minus the Warhead of course, is being towed back to Starbase 375 for eventual repair and refitting. However, it's the 'eventual' part that is the problem. I've received word from Starfleet Logistics: because of the specialised nature of the components like the Defiant-class Warheads, and the need to rebuild the Fleet, with its focus on general-purpose vessels, as quickly as possible, returning the Ajax to active duty will be delayed by about four to six months."

That stirred up the group, as expected, Ensign Bump asking, "You mean we're going to be hanging around here for almost half a year?"

"No, Spacehead," Maryk answered before Sasha could, her crisp Russian accent lending weight to the portentous news. "They'll have us all split up and assigned elsewhere long before then."

"Wait! Listen!" Sasha raised her hands and spoke up, before the alarm could run away with the news. "We may not be on the Ajax, but that doesn't mean we won't be together on another ship! Even now, Captain Weynik and I are working towards making it happen!"

That seemed to mollify them a bit, Crewman Charleston asking, "Really? And suppose we get an offer to go somewhere else, Lieutenant Commander? What then?"

Her stomach was twisting; damn, she really needed something to drink.. "If something does come up for you, and you really want to take it, just bring it to me, I'll authorise the transfer out, I promise! But in the meantime, enjoy the break while it lasts. Once the new ship is assigned over to us, I expect we'll be on our way at short notice, and who knows when we'll have shore leave again, am I right?"

Her words had the desired effect, letting her conclude with, "In the meantime, when I hear anything more, I'll forward updates to your accounts... and the next time you're getting hammered, think of us poor old senior officers too busy working for your benefit to stop and join you."

That produced some good-natured jeers, and she slipped on a smile as she waved them off, turning and picking up her PADD as she made her escape through the rear entrance to the conference room, quickly making her way around the curved corridor and out of sight of the others. Nice one, Sasha. You've learned to shovel planet-sized amounts of bullshit. If they knew how fucked up the situation was, with their future, with their CO...

Lacking a ship of their own, they were being billeted on Deep Space Nine, in quarters that lacked replicators, forcing them to visit the commissaries and replimats. Sasha made her way to the Promenade... just not for a meal.

Quark's was open, though at this time of morning even with the high occupancy here, there was only a fraction of the patrons that were here last night. She strode up to the bar, beside a hulking Lurian male perched on the same seat he occupied the night before.

Remembering how much of a talker the Lurian had been, she took a place at the opposite end of the bar. "Terran vodka, double shot."

The Ferengi behind the bar turned and faced her, leering in recognition. "Ahhh, Hellcat Hrelle has come back! Have you changed your mind about the hologame?"

"No, just get me the drink."

Quark leaned against his side of the bar. "But why the attitude? Why deny others the chance at some harmless entertainment?"

And you the chance at some profit... "Because what I did wasn't entertainment. It was a nasty, necessary action. War isn't a game."

He smiled. "Tell that to all my customers who rent my Holosuites to fight at the Alamo, in the Battle of Narenda III, the Borg attack on Earth. Lots of people like to play at War."

She grunted. "Lots of assholes. Drink."

He shrugged and moved to the bottles.

"Sasha?"

She turned, frowning at the new arrivals. "How did you find me?"

Mori and Madison (I never see these two separately anymore, she mused, maybe they do want a threesome) entered the bar, both sharing a look of concern, but it was Mori who tapped his muzzle. "Your scent is easier for me to track than a sweaty shuris calf."

"Thanks." She felt her face burn as Quark returned with her drink, looking to the new arrivals expectantly. She thumbed to them. "Give them whatever they want."

"Nothing for us," Madison responded. "We're on duty. All of us."

"Why not opt for synthehol then?" Quark suggested.

"Because synthehol tastes like tail cheese," Mori retorted, sitting down on Sasha's left side, even as Madison took the place on her right. The Caitian nodded to the shotglass. "What's going on, Sash?"

She glared at Quark, who was still standing there listening, until the Ferengi took the hint and walked away, leaving her to stare at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. "Nothing. Just having a quiet drink, that's all."

"While on duty?" Madison asked, glancing outside, as if afraid of being found in here during the day. "Didn't you get enough last night?"

"She didn't drink at all last night," Mori corrected. "She hasn't had any alcohol in weeks." When Sasha looked to him, the Caitian leaned in. "I've smelled a lot of horrible things on your breath, but liquor hasn't been one of them for a long while."

"So, apparently I have bad breath and stink worse than a wild shuris," she muttered, staring down at her untouched drink. "Clearly you're not looking to get some anytime soon."

"Sasha," Madison said gently. "We're your friends. Talk to us."

She continued to stare at the drink. Go on, have it... "I have an addictive personality. Alcohol. Sex. Combat exercise programs without the safety protocols. Pain from the exercises, and then painkillers from a personal medical kit. Rinse and repeat, but mostly it's the alcohol. It was my way to distract me, numb me, help me avoid all the shit that's piled on me over the years.

But after what I saw on Cait, what I went through, I had to face that part of me, or it would swallow me up and never let me go. So when I got back on the Ajax, from a suggestion from our medical EMH Counseling, I made a private pledge, to cut out all alcohol for thirty days. A simple, straightforward goal... but proof that if I can do it for thirty, I can do it for 300, or 3,000. I can change who I am, overcome my flaws." She shrugged. "It's Day 27. The other things are easier to abstain from... I simply don't have time or energy to screw or go fighting holographic Ferasans and patch myself up afterwards."

She felt the males look at each other, before Madison asked, "Why didn't you tell anyone you were doing this?"

"Yes," Mori agreed. "We would have supported you wholeheartedly, not brought you here last night, kept you from temptation-"

Now she looked to her lover. "That's the point. I needed to keep myself from temptation, even in the midst of it, to know that I was the only one who'd judge me. Besides, in the absence of the Captain, the crew were looking to me for leadership. How would it look if the new First Officer admitted to having a problem with her liquor?"

"Synthehol is non-addictive," Quark offered from several metres away, his huge ears obviously still picking up the conversation.

"It also tastes like a dead Nausicaan's asscrack!" she snapped, reaching for the shotglass... and throwing it in the Ferengi's direction, Quark dodging in time to let it strike the wall behind him and shatter. She rose to her feet. "I'm done here, I have too much to do."

She marched out, taking Madison and Mori by the elbows to follow, ignoring Quark as he called after her, "I'm adding the damage to the wall to your tab! Unless of course you want it taken out of your future profits of Operation: Warhead!"

*

TRACK 07 - HERE THERE AND EVERYWHERE

USS Surefoot, Deck 1 Fore, Captain's Ready Room:

Hrelle could focus. Really. He made a successful tactical career of it, making instant judgements... in battle. Now, despite the short deadline, he had to force himself to stay fixed on the job at hand, with T'Varik now behind his desk -- his former desk, that is. "There's the Cuchulain- Norway-class-"

"Major structural damage to the secondary hull," the Vulcan noted. "It will not be warp-worthy for three weeks. And there is an ancillary report about it being earmarked following its repairs to help secure the Tholian border."

"Another one?" He grunted, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his coffee. "Raner said I'd have the pick of whatever was left around Deep Space Nine. I'm beginning to think she sold me a sack of shuris shit." He drank deeply, licking his muzzle.

"Starfleet Security is not the only branch of Starfleet, nor is Admiral Raner the only high-ranking officer looking to secure the surviving resources for their own purposes. Operations, Intelligence, Engineering, Tactical, Medical, Science-"

He made a sound. "Everyone wants a big ship. Something that looks impressive, representative of our scope, our ideals and abilities."

"Size isn't everything." She reached for her tea. "Or so I have been told."

Hrelle offered a smile... but then leaned back and grew thoughtful. "I never wanted to command a big ship. The biggest I ever had was the Furyk. Steamrunner-class, 150 crew. Even that seemed a lot to me. I always preferred smaller ships, smaller crews. You got to know the people who served under you better, more profoundly. And we still got things done- the Surefoot certainly did- T'Varik?"

She looked up at him, as he continued. "Maybe I'm going at this the wrong way. Traditionally, sector security in the outer regions of Federation territory has been managed by the medium-sized cruisers: The Akiras, Centaurs, Constellations, Nebulas, Norways, Springfields-"

She nodded. "Their size, speed, strength, firepower and multi-mission capabilities offer a high degree of long-range independence that smaller vessels lack."

"Which is why smaller support vessels like Sabres, Oberths, Cyclones and Novas are typically assigned to short-range missions such as patrols along established borders, or planetary surveys." He set aside his mug and leaned forward. "But what if instead of my selecting one large vessel, I take four or five smaller ones with me? All operating out of Salem One, whose maintenance facilities would be able to accommodate them better than one of the larger ships?"

T'Varik raised an eyebrow. "It would increase patrol coverage, and require fewer overall crew numbers. And allocation of identical ships would allow for a geometric increase in interchangability of crew members and components."

She set aside her tea and returned to her monitor, as Hrelle did the same, beating him to the search results. "Of the 113 vessels in this sector awaiting repair and/or reassignment or decommissioning, I identify six that would be almost immediately suitable for your needs, Commodore, all Sabre-class, all having served as ambulance ships: the Ulyanov, the Tangshan, the Prospero, the al-Razi, the Katana... and the Surefoot. You may have heard of the last one in your travels, Sir."

Hrelle smiled as he focused on calling up the records of the particular ships, thankful to have T'Varik on his side. "I like this idea. The Sabres may be small, but they're tough and versatile, and can cover a lot of territory simultaneously. The Katana, Tangshan and al-Razi need Captains and senior officers, however... but I have some ideas on that, one of them involving Weynik and Sasha."

"Indeed? They will not return to the Ajax?"

"No, it's at the back of the line for repairs. The Sabre is very similar in size and function to the Defiant class vessels."

"And do you believe Sasha will be accepting of returning to the Salem Sector?"

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "She wasn't pleased with hearing that I was going. She'll be less pleased that she'll be going there as well." He looked up at her. "I wish I could spare her this."

The Vulcan met his stare. "I believe you, Commodore. I also believe that Sasha is strong enough to overcome any emotional repercussions."

"Thank you; I'll speak to her when I have the time. Submit the appropriate requisition orders to Starfleet Command before anyone else grabs them."

"Aye, Sir. The majority of the present complements will be superfluous, as we will no longer be requiring the medical staff typically necessary for ambulance ships."

"We'll pass the word on to their senior officers to begin transferring those ancillary staff to billets on Deep Space Nine until they can be reassigned, and get onto the Sector Quartermaster, I want our ships fully stocked, Priority One from Admiral Raner's office." When she looked up at him again, he explained, "I'm tired of being polite and letting other people jump ahead of me in line. Looks like you'll be taking orders from me for a while longer, T'Varik."

"So it would seem. And I must remind you that you have yet to solve the problem of staffing for the station-"

"I haven't forgotten." He stared at the image of Salem One: one of the older R-Class outpost models, with its mushroom-shaped central module, a set of disk-shaped docking appendages and elongated Engineering cylinders beneath, and topped with a sensor/communications tower.

It was tiny compared to Earth's Spacedock or Deep Space Nine, but still requiring an absolute bare minimum of 40 specialised officers and crew to adequately function, and that didn't count the additional crew that would be required to support a squadron of six Sabres. The Sabre crews could certainly help out, at least to a limited degree, but still... "Cadets."

"Sir?"

Hrelle looked up again. "What if we had Salem One designated an Annex of Starfleet Academy? Set up a larger version of the Academy's Advanced Work Experience program that we had on the Surefoot? The best and the brightest could be transferred to the station, living, studying and working both on Salem One and the Sabres on a rotating basis? Same deal as what we had for Sasha and all the others?"

She gave him a look of genuine regard. "It is feasible. We would still need to recruit qualified support staff to provide instruction."

"Sure, but many senior officers and enlisted crewmembers already possess teaching qualifications as part of their career track requirements, don't they? All we'll really need then is an Annex Superintendent for the Station. And it's certainly a safer environment than the battlefield has been. Assuming Admiral Goldstein goes for it."

"The Academy Superintendent has been impressed with the results we have seen from the cadets who served onboard the Surefoot. I believe we-" She paused as an alert came though her desk monitor, and she paused to read it.

He frowned, seeing the expression on her face. "Problem?"

"A personal message from my brother Pedalk on Vulcan, regarding my nephew Srithik."

Hrelle grew concerned the longer she remained silent. "Anything I can help you with?"

She didn't answer right away. "Commodore, with my prior relationship with Admiral Goldstein and service at Starfleet Academy, I am best equipped to arrange the establishment of an Academy Annex on Salem One, and the rapid redeployment of cadets and possibly even instructors and necessary equipment, allowing you to focus on filling the requirements for the Sabres.

However, as you will remain my superior officer, I am obliged to inform you that I may exploit my command level status for personal reasons."

The cryptic nature of her request intrigued him. "Does this have something to do with your nephew?"