Surefoot 74: Compilation

Arrington smirked. "No argument there. What about my crew?"

"I'll submit the existing manifest for the al-Razi, along with all her system status, you can make your own choices, as long as you're quick. She'll definitely need a few key positions filled: Chief Engineer, Chief of Security, Science Officer-"

She nodded, and already he could see the depression lifting from her what the lifeline he had just given her. "I lost a lot of those... but can I be bold and ask for someone specific to be my Chief Engineer? He's one of your Cubs."

"Not one of my literal ones, I hope."

Arrington smiled. "This one saved my life and my crew's lives when everyone else had given us up as lost: Lt Jonas Ostrow."

He grinned now. "You have excellent taste... but he's a package deal with his wife, a Security officer as talented in her own field as he is in his. I'll work my charms and see what I can do."

*

The familiar human and Bolian faces filled the screen, the Bolian leaning in and asking, "Are you okay, Sir? The Cardassian viewscreens are making you look like one of the living dead in those old Terran horror videos we used to watch."

He grunted, fighting back a yawn. "Yeah, that'll be it... I'm glad to see my Cubs made it through the War with their bits intact."

Jonas and Neraxis Ostrow smiled as one, Jonas responding now with, "Yes, Sir, and can we congratulate you on your promotion? It'll be strange not to see you in command of the Surefoot anymore, though."

Hrelle nodded. "Same here, but I know I'll have left my mark on it. Mostly in the seats. What about the pair of you? I read that you're both being assigned to the Venture? Nice." He kept nodding. "Galaxy-class. Big. Real big. Over a thousand people onboard. It'll be nice to be part of a much larger crew. Part of a crowd. Two voices, lost in a choir. You might spend weeks, even months before you're noticed, before you're given anything with real responsibility, real challenge. Nice, safe, anonymous work to carry you for the remaining decades of your career."

The couple looked to each other, Neraxis noting to her husband, "Papa Cat's really shovelling it today, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Now we get to hear the real reason for his call."

He growled good naturedly. "Fine, you ungrateful whelps. The Sabre class al-Razi is going to be part of a squadron I'll be commanding in the Salem Sector. It needs a Chief of Engineering and a Chief of Security. Interested? I need an answer now."

Neraxis and Jonas gave each other another look, before both replied in unison, "Yes! Thanks, Sir!"

He smiled... but then let out a big yawn on front of them.

"That was pleasant to see," Neraxis joked.

Hrelle eyed them. "I can still change my mind."

*

He had hoped to grab a bite to eat, or a shower, or a catnap, but then the expected call came through. "Commander Neheru! A pleasure to see you up and about again! And with a rank commensurate with your talents!"

The salmon-pink Kelpien smiled at him from many light years away. "Thank you, Sir! And might I say the same to you?" Then he frowned. "Sir, if I may be bold to ask, are you getting enough sleep? You look positively bone-weary."

"No, I'm fine-" He paused and yawned. "Sorry. And Irina? Are you two still together?"

His former Second Officer, injured and transferred out after the Battle of Khavak, beamed. "Yes, Sir! She's been with me throughout my rehabilitation from my wounds. We've been working together in Logistics."

Hrelle yawned again. "Sorry, Commander, it's no reflection on you or the news, it's been a long day... couple of days, actually. So, you've had short-term commands moving ships to new locations? With Irina piloting?"

"Yes, Sir. As you'll already know, Starfleet has been refitting old and decommissioned starships for the War and getting them out there. It's been very interesting, commanding different classes, getting them to their destinations in time."

Hrelle nodded in understanding. "And now the War is over, and while we'll still need replacement ships out there, the rush to get them to various locations is not as great." He leaned forward. "Are you interested in a permanent command? And a promotion to Captain?"

The Kelpien leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers, looking a hundred times more confident than when Hrelle last saw him. "Tell me more, Commodore."

*

Masterson looked up from his office desk in Sickbay, frowning. "Commodore! When did you last sleep, Pardner? You look like seven kilometres of bad road!"

Hrelle grunted, having no strength to respond. "Zeke, let me get straight to the point: how would you like to head the Medical Department on Salem One?"

The human scratched at his thick moustache, and then nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." And left it literally at that. He needed his bed, but still had at least one more visit to make before giving in to his fatigue.

*

When Hrelle heard the bellow as he entered Quark's, he assumed it was from a group of rowdy Klingons, still celebrating the Quadrant's victory in the War.

Instead, he found that while there were Klingons present, the howl had come from a human female... albeit the tallest, strongest, sturdiest-looking woman he had ever seen: she had chocolate skin, a spade jaw, gaunt cheeks, and a short, sharp-edged buzzcut of sable hair.

He watched with interest as the woman grappled with a Klingon, holding her own as he tried to force her off the raised dais where a table and chairs had once sat, while other Klingons cheered and jeered and saluted the fighters with tankards of bloodwine, and a Ferengi stood nearby, trying in vain to cease the combat and end further damage to his establishment.

He rubbed his eyes, the scents and sounds getting to him, but still watched as the human finally ended the struggle by headbutting the Klingons, sending him sprawling. Then she raised her arms in triumph and roared in triumph... before bending down and taking the Klingon Imperial insignia from his shoulder plate and pinning it to her Starfleet jacket, to join a collection of various others: Romulan, Bajoran, Starfleet and others he didn't recognise.

Hrelle approached, watching as the Klingons gathered their fallen comrade and departed, as the human righted a chair and table, took a seat on the former and put her boots up on the latter, looking at Hrelle and snarling, in an accent reminiscent of Lt Bellator's on the Surefoot, "You! Waiter! Get me a bottle of Bringloidi poteen! None of that pig piss you give these Klingon lowlifes!" She guffawed at her own insult... until she saw Hrelle wasn't moving to fulfil her order. "By the Gods, Pussycat, you look like you crawled out of a cesspit!"

He took in her scent, looked and listened and gauged if the reality matched the record. When he judged in the affirmative, he stood his ground. "You're Lieutenant Commander Arcanis Prima Salvo, born Stardate 19976.19, Nova Roma Colony. Officer, Starfleet Security. Recipient of the Starfleet Medal of Honour, Starfleet Medal of Valour, Starfleet Silver Palm, Karagite Order of Heroism, Grankite Order of Tactics... and five reprimands on your permanent record from various superior officers for insubordination and gross disrespect."

Salvo stared back at him. "You want an autograph before you get me my bottle, Pussycat?"

He stepped forward, slowly, as if fighting the force field of arrogance around the woman. "Only family and friends get to call me Pussycat; everyone else addresses me as Commodore Hrelle, or Sir. I'm taking command of an outpost, and I need a Chief of Security with experience defending outposts. I think it should be you."

She breathed out in exaggerated disgust. "The War's over! I'm here to have some fun! Buy me a drink, Pussycat!

He drew closer, catching her scent better... and confirming she wasn't as inebriated as she was pretending to be. "Three months ago, you were stationed on LV-426, an automated communications outpost. You were one of eight Starfleet crew assigned to protect the outpost at all costs, given its strategic importance in keeping the lines of communication open for us in that sector.

The Jem'Hadar launched an unrelenting assault on you that lasted for weeks. One by one, your crew were killed. But you survived, kept going, kept fighting, kept back the Jem'Hadar single-handedly until reinforcements arrived. And when they asked you what kept you going, you simply told them, 'It was my duty'."

And he watched as he recalled the events for Salvo, saw the change in her demeanour, the ebb of her boisterous exuberance and cheekiness, replaced by a more sober respect for that memory. "Nova Romans take duty very, very seriously, Pussycat."

"So I'm aware. My Second Officer when I commanded the Surefoot is Nova Roman: Lt Bellator."

Salvo snorted. "I know of that coward! Better that they had fallen on their sword than continue living with such disgrace!"

Hrelle's jaw tightened. "That's debatable. I'll be working remotely, with limited resources, and potential enemies at our gates looking to exploit our weaknesses. I need someone who won't give up. I want you."

"No thanks, Pussycat."

"This isn't a book club, Lieutenant Commander. I didn't get to pick my new assignment, neither will you."

She dropped her feet to the floor and sat up, baring her pearly white teeth at him defiantly. "Oh, but I do have my choice of assignments, Pussycat! I can write my own ticket anywhere!"

He shook his head. "No, you can't. I've checked the personnel activity on you already. No one wants you. Oh, you were valuable when we were in the midst of War. But the War's over. Now you're more trouble than you're worth.

At least, to anyone but me."

He leaned forward, seeing her attempt to hide her reaction to his words, as he rested his paws on the table and bared his teeth back at her. "Let's make this interesting for you: we arm wrestle, Terran Style. If you win, you get these as a trophy." He pointed to the Commodore's pips on his collar. "Hardly used. If I win, you accept the assignment without argument... and you'll swear on your honour that from now on you'll behave in a manner that doesn't disgrace that uniform you're wearing."

Salvo glared back... and then grinned. "I'm going to enjoy this, Pussycat."

He grabbed a spare chair and sat opposite her, as Klingons and other patrons gathered around them, already starting the bets, Hrelle resting his right elbow on the table, paw out, while Salvo mirrored him, grasping his paw in her hand, the ferocity in her cocoa-coloured eyes making them saucer.

"Begin," Hrelle announced simply.

Salvo gritted her teeth and began her attack, exerting what felt like some considerable force in her arm, proving she was as strong as she looked.

Hrelle put on an expression of effort, of struggle. "Well, well... you do have some muscle under that attitude, Lieutenant Commander."

She grinned, as the surrounding crowd cheered both sides. "Better believe it, Pussycat. I'm not some dishonourable weakling like Bellator."

He breathed out, puffing and swallowing. "This... This certainly... takes me back to my days as a Squab back... back at the Academy, when I used to make a lot of credits at this..."

Salvo laughed. "When you were a Squab? Did they even have starships as far back as that?"

He continued as if he didn't hear her taunt. "There were hardly any Caitians in Starfleet at the time... most of us stayed home to join the Militia and fight in one of our wars with the Ferasans, you see... few realised that our physiology... our bone and muscle group structures, leverage... differed to most humanoids. We... We were built to run on all fours, long ago... We have our own style of arm wrestling.

Because this style is as easy to us as breathing."

He dropped his feigned expression of struggle.

Then he brought down her arm with a loud rap on the table, making Salvo cry out in pain... and rage.

The sounds of the spectators abruptly ceased.

Hrelle rose to his feet, staring down at the astonished, angry woman. "Bellator is ten times the officer that you'll ever be. But I can still use you, and maybe even temper you into something worthy of Starfleet. Report to Habitat Ring 4, Assembly Room 14 at 0900 Hours tomorrow morning to join the rest of my people for the initial briefing.

If you don't show up, at 0901 Hours I'll put a warrant out for your arrest and court martial, and then you can be sent back to Nova Roma as a demonstration of what dishonour really looks like.

And don't ever call me Pussycat again."

He turned and strode out... aching in places he had forgotten about, having only told half the truth about Caitian physiology.

He needed his bed.

*

Back in their quarters on the Surefoot, he entered to find Kami still up, sniffing and wrinkling her snout in disgust. "What in the Seven Hells, Esek? You smell like you look! What have you been doing?"

He shucked off his jacket. "My job."

"Really? On your own? You realise that flag officers can't micromanage; that's why they have aides, leaving their superiors to focus on the bigger picture. You have to delegate. Speaking of which, did Zir accept the offer?"

He cursed.

"You forgot?"

He rubbed his eyes, too tired to argue further. "I'll go to her first thing in the morning-"

"No." Kami rose to her feet and blocked his way to the bedroom. "You'll go to her now. Peter has reported that she's feeling like she's failed you, and by now her friends will have their orders waiting for them. You owe it to her."

Hrelle breathed out. "You're right." Louder now, he asked, "Computer: where's Ensign Zir Dassene?"

*

Back on the Surefoot, Zir put away her luggage, silent since her Counseling session with Peter. She had felt a little better, or at least a little more composed about herself and her place in Starfleet.

Then Astrid, sitting at the desk in their common room, checked the messages. "We have Priority messages."

The others had spread out around the room -- except for Stalac, who had been preparing to enter his sleeping box following his bout of overeating on Bajor, and Peter, who was putting his exhausted daughter to bed in the adjacent room -- but now they turned, Zir asking, "Are we on alert?"

The young coffee-skinned human shook her head, opening hers. "No, Fearless Leader. It looks like... orders. New assignments." She looked up. "I'm being promoted to Chief Helmsman of the Surefoot!"

"Really?" Tori exclaimed.

"Try not to sound too surprised by that, Sweetie."

The petite Asian girl snorted. "What about Lt Arrington? Where's he going?"

"It doesn't say. Maybe off the ship entirely?"

Zir's heart quickened, and she tried to control herself as Peter came up and hugged Astrid. "Congratulations! It's well deserved!"

Astrid tried to remain nonchalant, failing miserably. "Well, I just do my best..."

"What about the rest of us?" Stalac asked.

"Indeed," Urad agreed, his massive frame drawing closer. "Perhaps we all have promotions?"

"Get out of the way, Flygirl," Tori snarled, practically dragging Astrid out of the chair to take her place and access her own mail. "Hmph. I'm staying here, but I've been recommended for Advanced Engineering Training, as well as Command Training. What the frick are they trying to do to me?"

"Groom you for becoming an Assistant Chief Engineer someday," Peter informed her, smiling. "How about you, Stal? Shall we check?"

"If you would, please, Pete."

Peter nodded to Tori, who called up Stalac's message. "Congratulations! Science Officer, Station Salem One."

The Horta rumbled. "Sounds nice. I hope it's a planetside base."

"I hope not for your sake, you'll be too tempted to go out for snacks."

Urad laughed, the pachydermoid nodding to Tori. "And how about me, Comrade Little Sister?"

She checked his message now. "Security Officer, also at Salem One."

Urad crossed his huge arms, nodding his muzzle appreciatively. "As long as there's sufficient space for me to pummel scoundrels, I will be happy, I'm sure."

"Now let's check Petey Boy," Tori ventured. "Hey, you're gonna be with Rocky and Urad on Salem One as well! Damn, that's one popular place. You're gonna leave me with Flygirl and Zir. That's too much oestrogen for my tastes."

Peter smiled, looking to Zir hopefully. "Are you ready?"

The Orion swallowed. In for a darak, in for a stralin, as they used to say back home... "Why not?"

Tori accessed her message frowning. "Huh? No orders for you, Boss."

The others looked to each other, Astrid frowning as she asked, "Why would you be left out, Fearless Leader?"

Because, like I feared, there was no future for her in Starfleet, she told herself.

The door chimed, and Urad opened the door, everyone present rising to their feet as Hrelle stood in the corridor, stifling a yawn. "Sorry... and at ease. Zir, may I have a word with you in private please?"

She steeled herself. This was it... Well, she may have faltered before, but she would remain professional now... "Yes, Sir."

"Should we leave, Sir?" Peter offered.

Hrelle waved him off. "No need, Mr Boone." He beckoned to Zir.

The Orion nodded and stepped out into the corridor, following the Caitian to the nearby Officers' Lounge, thankfully empty at this late hour. "Sir, before you begin, I would like to say something."

Hrelle faced her. "Of course."

She swallowed and straightened up. "Sir, it has been an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to serve under you, to have a chance at serving in Starfleet and giving back something to the Federation. You fully deserve your promotion, I understand your disappointment in my recent performance, and where I go, I will be taking away nothing but the happiest of memories-"

He frowned and raised a paw to cut her off. "Zir... did I give you the idea that you were being discharged from Starfleet?"

She blinked. "Well... yes, Sir."

Then she saw the shock on his face, and the regret. "Zir... I am so sorry! I have handled this terribly! Kami was right, I shouldn't have tried to manage so much on my own! Even with T'Varik's help, it's been overwhelming! I-"

He stopped himself, focused on her reassuringly. "Zir, I promise you that you have never disappointed me. On the contrary, I am so proud to have served with you. I should have arranged this from the start...

I'll be based at Salem One, managing a sector of space, with the Surefoot and other ships reporting to me. And, as my oversight with you has proven, I need help.

Zir, when you were still a cadet and we employed you and all the others on the Command track as Captain's Yeomen, you were the best. You fully grasped the intricacies of the work, weren't afraid to speak with higher ranking colleagues to pass on my orders, or to take on any challenge thrown your way.

I want to recruit you as my Adjutant, assisting me in managing my schedule and carrying out my orders. You'll be promoted to First Lieutenant, and you'll carry my authority, while also learning the finer points of flag officer duties, which I have no doubt will be of use to you in your continued career in Starfleet." He paused. "If you're interested in the role, that is. If not, you tell me where you want to go and what you want to do, and I swear I'll make it happen for you."

Zir stared up at him in disbelief. Was it true? Really true? Had all of her fears and doubts and despairs just been products of her own insecurities? Delusions?

And she saw it in his eyes, his expression. He was genuine.