Surefoot 75: The Lion of Salem

He stood with his back to her, admiring a painting on her living room wall. "I'm easy."

"That's good to know, but what would you like to drink?"

He looked over his shoulder and smiled; she had removed her jacket, revealing a snug white top that did justice to her figure. "Coffee, please, Commander."

"Call me Hannah."

"Okay, Hannah: black, no sugar. I will forgoe any alcohol; I'm still planning on shipping out at Midnight."

She nodded and moved to the replicator unit. "A man of action, huh? Off to kick ass and keep us safe from the Terrible Whatsits out there?"

"I see you've read my Mission Profile." He accepted the mug from her and sat down on the couch with her, adjusting his rear to accommodate his tail. "Actually, it's almost never that exciting... thankfully. Just moving around a lot, flying the proverbial flags, keeping peace between the Paserak and the colonists, and snarling at the Kzinti."

She nodded, cradling her own mug as she tucked her legs under her as she regarded him. "Does that ever bother you? Having to face down other felinoids like the Kzinti?"

"What, like I feel like I'm betraying my own kind?" He shook his head. "No more than a Terran Captain might have a problem dealing with Iotians or Alpha Centaurians. And as far as I'm concerned, comparing Caitians to Kzinti is like comparing Terrans to gorillas. Only gorillas are more civilised." He drank from his mug, appreciating the smell and taste. "May I ask a personal question, Hannah?"

"Go ahead, Sport."

"How long ago did Sasha's father die?"

Hrelle had debated getting on the subject, worrying about her reaction, but she seemed to handle it well. "When she was still in the womb. We were posted on the Okinawa during the Tzenkethi War, and was caught in a raid. I kept Jake's images, his memories around us as Sasha grew up, so she would have some link to him, even a second-hand link..."

Hannah's expression sobered. "But maybe that was the wrong thing to do. She grew up with an idealised version of him, and no one could measure up to that."

"No," he conceded, "But at least she has that to hold onto. My mother died when I was very young. My Papa... burned so many of her things. He couldn't bear to have her scent around the cottage any longer, knowing she was gone."

"Her scent?"

Hrelle nodded. "Scent is paramount to Caitians, our neural pathways as srong with them as they are with hearing and sight. We often have Olfactaquaries, items of clothing of our departed loved ones, hermetically sealed and opened on special occasions to trigger our scent memories. But he destroyed Mama's. Destroyed the images and erased the recordings. The pain for him was too much to bear." He stared down into his mug. "I can barely recall her now."

Hannah's brow furrowed in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Captain."

He looked up again, amazed that he had opened up about that part of his life, so readily... and partly worried about how she might react. "I think you can call me Esek by this stage. And I'm sorry I dampened the atmosphere. I- I haven't talked about her to anyone in years, not since the Academy Counseling sessions."

She shook her head. "I don't suppose it's easy for a starship Captain to open up to anyone under their command, even their closest shipmates. On the Okinawa, Captain Leyton always seemed so... isolated. I felt sorry for him. It has to skew your perspective." Then she offered a sly smile. "Let's move onto lighter subjects. So... is it true?"

"Is what true?"

She nodded towards him... or rather, his lap.

Hrelle felt himself bluish under his fur, but still answered, "Yes, as a matter of fact. Well, somewhat. More or less, I mean-" He shook his head, chuckling. "When my First Officer badgered me into breaking my self-imposed monastic existence and getting social, he never warned me I'd be fielding questions about my genitalia."

"Them's the breaks, Sport," she teased, eyeing him deeply. "And how long has it been?"

"How long has what been?"

Her grin broadened in reply, peppered with, "Since you got... social with someone else?"

"Ahh..." He frowned in thought. "When did we phase out the old burgundy double-breasted jackets with the belts-"

Hannah affected a look of mock horror. "Too long ago! And I thought my last six years had been a celibacy marathon! Can you even remember where everything goes?"

He narrowed his gaze. "Careful, or I might be inclined to prove I do."

She met his expression. "No, you be careful, or I might take you up on that."

They sat in silence, staring at each other.

"There is something going on here between us, isn't there?" he asked softly.

"Seems like it," she agreed, her voice low. "And just for the record, Esek: whatever happens, there's no commitment attached, for either of us." She paused and confessed, "But I'm overdue for a good shtup."

He caught the change in her scent, matching her raw words. It had been a long, long time, but he did remember what that change meant.

He reached out with his free paw, taking her hand and letting a purr run through him into her. He saw the visible, positive reaction from the human, and he smiled inwardly, glad he hadn't lost his touch.

"I have four hours and twenty-three minutes until my ship departs," he reminded her, setting aside his coffee.

"My bedroom is just behind me," she offered, discarding her own. "Can you be quiet?"

"Me? Certainly." He drew closer, leaning in to her side. She looked ready to receive a kiss, before realising his snout couldn't do that, but instead began squirming beneath him as he purred directly against the nape of her neck. "Can't guarantee you'll be, though."

*

"Captain's Log, Stardate 36508.47, Captain Esek Hrelle, Recording: The Furyk is proceeding towards Scesity, to examine the area for evidence of the mysterious raiders, and to check up on the colony. It is a world rich in resources, to those willing to work to get at them, and is one of the prime targets for scavengers in the Sector. It has some considerable defences in place, but they're not untouchable-"

Hrelle paused his Logbook as he caught the familiar scent on the Bridge, and looked up. "Mr Dacosta?"

The young officer was on his way to assume his position at Ops, when he stopped, straightening up like a first-year cadet on parade. "Sir!"

Hrelle glanced at Macready, the pair of them already having discussed Dacosta since they left Salem One the night before... and Hrelle's best response. He rose to his feet, relaxing his stance. "At ease, Ensign. I just wanted to publicly offer my regrets at my reaction to your understandable error yesterday."

Dacosta glanced nervously at Macready, and then back again. "No, Sir! It was my fault, I should have been more careful-"

He raised a paw to stop the junior officer. "Please, Mr Dacosta, your CO is admitting he was in the wrong; there are crew onboard willing to give up a limb to witness this. I just wanted to get that off my furry chest, and to hope that we can proceed with a clean slate. Agreed?"

Dacosta beamed now, nodding. "Yes! Yes, Sir! Absolutely, Sir!"

Hrelle waved him down. "Then relieve Ensign O'Reilly already, she has a plate of salt and pepper ribs waiting for her in the Mess Hall." At the petite, redheaded woman's reaction, he added to her, "Don't pretend you don't have a Friday Night routine, Brigid." He sat down again, lifting up his Logbook and reading the transcription of what he had already recorded.

Macready sat down beside him, his voice low. "Nicely done, Captain. Amazing what a dinner with an Engineer can do to soften one's disposition."

Hrelle never looked at him; he had said nothing about his time with Hannah to Mac since returning to the ship, just before Midnight... but it was as if the human had telepathy, with those looks he kept shooting. "As you were, Commander."

"Not that everything needs softening. Quite the opposite, in fact-"

"I said As You Were, Commander."

Then both men looked up at an alert chime from Ops, as Dacosta examined the data. "Captain, there's a message, Text Only, directed at us- no, for you specifically."

Hrelle glanced at Macready before setting aside his Logbook again. "Source?"

"An unidentified ship, 2.7 light years away, coordinates 212-Mark-32."

The Caitian felt his tail twitch behind him. "And the message?"

Dacosta looked thoroughly confused now. "'I have a fire'."

The Caitian nodded. "Helm, plot a course, 212-Mark-32, Warp Nine, engage when ready."

As Ensign Shekrev moved to comply beside Dacosta, Macready checked his figures. "2.7 light years at Warp 9, we'll be there in 15.6 hours."

Hrelle nodded. "Mr Shekrev, make that Warp 9.5."

"Sir," Dacosta interjected. "Shall I alert Security and Medical teams-"

"No need."

"Sir?"

"The message is from a Paserak ship."

The human's bemusement only increased. "Sir, sorry but- I was briefed that the Paserak avoided contacting established authorities- even if they have a fire onboard-"

"The message is not a call for help, Lucas," Macready informed him. "It's an invitation for a meeting, made without appearing as an invitation and thus breaking with the Paserak tradition of neutrality. It's not your fault, you weren't onboard when the last invitation came in. Maintain Yellow Alert." He looked to Hrelle with some concern. "This will delay our arrival at Scesity."

Hrelle nodded in concession, but added, "Benjo wouldn't make contact without good reason. I'm going to have a read through the Intel on the Raiders, and then catch some sleep before meeting with the Paserak."

Macready nodded. "Good idea, recharge your batteries after that exhausting dinner with Commander Eismann."

Hrelle was rising from his seat, but stopped halfway to look at him. "You really should see Dr Grunghrig about that cut under your monkey nose."

But as he continued to his Ready Room, sat down and called up the accrued data, he found himself thinking about Hannah. It had been a remarkable experience for him, even beyond the obvious exotic novelty of sex with an alien. He felt... comfortable with her. No, not comfortable, that sounded bad. Natural? He hadn't really felt that way since Mama-

No, let's definitely not go down that line of thinking.

And she seemed to enjoy herself, too. The intensity they shared was profound.

She had promised him that nothing had to go further between them, if they weren't so inclined.

He was inclined. And he believed Hannah was, too.

Now, if only he could get Sasha to start liking him...

*

Commissioner Rorx was awaiting Hrelle on the Bridge when he returned, the Bolian looking bizarre out of his usual formal suits in favour of much more casual outdoor gear and boots, as if he was ready to go down the mines of Scesity. "Captain, would you care to explain this diversion? None of your crew are very forthcoming about details."

Hrelle glanced past him to the viewscreen, seeing the asteroid sitting out there in the void, visible only with computer enhancement, and showing no other vessels around. "Please follow me, Sir." Once alone with him in his Ready Room, he faced Rorx again. "Commissioner, I received a personal message from a Paserak tribal chief called Maquadan Benjo."

The Bolian frowned. "I was under the impression that the Paserak were anarchists, and had a policy of total neutrality, avoiding any official contact with any government agency?"

"They do, Sir. This is not an official contact, more... an exchange. A private trade. They are traders, after all."

"And given the situation with Scesity and the Vulcan freighter attack, you thought it was worth a diversion of nearly a day?"

Hrelle straightened up further. "Commissioner, the Paserak move more or less freely throughout this Sector and beyond, their neutrality affording them freedom... and an opportunity to gather information. I have met Benjo on numerous occasions. We have an understanding; if he contacts me, it's to impart news he thinks is vital for the stability of the Sector and his own race, neutrality and anti-government feeling be damned. He might even have information useful to our current mission."

Rorx nodded in apparent agreement. "You've met this Benjo before, but I've not heard him mentioned in any of your reports to Commodore Soldermann."

"Nor will you, Sir. I gave Benjo my word that our meetings will always stay Behind the Eyes." At the reaction from the Bolian, he clarified, "The Paserak version of Off the Record."

Rorx nodded again, not looking very convinced by the explanation, but also not prepared to argue the point. "Will this take long?"

"No. Benjo's tribe will have left him in a pocket in the asteroid, and then departed on our approach, so they can put their hands on their hearts and truthfully swear they did not see their chief converse with Minions of Statist Orthodoxy like us." He glanced outside his window. "But it's best not to tarry. I have to get some... takeaway."

*

The air was thin in the asteroid pocket, the gravity uneven, and despite his natural agility and balance, as he beamed in he nearly toppled over and dropped the tray of freshly-cooked, highly-spiced meat and vegetable chunks, sauces and bread pieces. But at least his Caitian eyes allowed him to navigate in the near-darkness, and his ears and nose led him down the tunnel to the familiar Grotto.

The small gas-powered fire in the centre of the chamber crackled as it cast shadows and light on the surrounding walls, the life support unit sitting quietly in the far corner... and the two Paserak sitting at the fire.

The smaller of the two was about Sasha's size, a male, and crouched fearfully behind the larger one, who sat cross-legged beside the fire. He was a sage-coloured reptoid, with features more Gorn than Saurian, rows of studded bones along the outline of his muzzle and brow, darker wattles around his throat, and eyes with sharp vertical pupils. He wore crimson cloaks... and a large-hilted sword slung over his left shoulder. He looked up at Hrelle, his voice a sound like a brush over a leather hide. "I Have a Fire."

Hrelle indicated his tray, following the ritual. "I Have Food."

Maquadan Benjo reached up, unbuckled his sword and cast it beside him. "Let Us Share Both, In Peace."

"Yes." Hrelle reached down with one paw and unbuckled his own Kaetini sword and scabbard, a weapon granted to him when he was recruited into the Caitian Kaetini Order, and he set his aside as well.

Behind the larger Paserak, the smaller Paserak peered up at Hrelle, his pupils clouded as he hissed, displaying rows of sharp pearly teeth.

Benjo turned and hissed back. "Manners, or I'll put you back in your egg! Sit!" He pointed to a patch of ground with a clawed finger. "I brought you here to learn, not to embarrass your tribe!" As the offspring complied, he looked back at Hrelle with a mix of chagrin and pride. "Forgive him. Turikina has just learned to cloak his eyes. Now he thinks he can grapple with the All Father."

Hrelle dropped to a cross-legged position and set the tray down between them, before regarding the young Paserak, seeing his clouded inner eyelids. "He is both handsome and fierce, Maquadan. You should be proud."

Benjo hissed with pleasure, a thin forked tongue dipping out quickly. "You must get a son of your own, Friend. Yours and mine can bond as we have."

Hrelle shrugged. "Someday, maybe. My duty keeps me busy."

"Duty rarely warms the heart... or the bed."

The Caitian nodded. "I'm... starting to realise that. What have you got for me, Maquadan?"

The Paserak made a sound. "We eat first."

Hrelle resisted the urge to insist on talking, aware of the need to proceed to Scesity. But he dredged up his patience and indicated the tray. "Help yourselves, Friends."

And they did, Hrelle joining in, enjoying the repast despite himself and despite having eaten shortly before they arrived at the rendezvous point. Benjo's son Turikina even relaxed enough to show Hrelle, a stranger, his eyes. Hrelle made sounds and gestures he had learned from his times with Benjo and other Paserak he knew would be recognised and reassuring to Turikina.

When they approached the end of the meal, Benjo wiped his muzzle with his sleeve, and did the same to his son. "Lovely food as always, Captain. I called you here to warn you of a new presence in the Sector."

Hrelle nodded. "One of our ore freighters was attacked by a group of unidentified ships on the way to Scesity."

"That was them. They are a new criminal organisation."

"From what planet?"

"None. They do not appear dominated by any one race, like the Orion Syndicate or the Rigellian Kaeneiv Cartel; this one comprises Humans, Bolians, Tellarites, Andorians. Many others. Like your Federation... no offence."

"None taken. How did you encounter them?"

"Near the Bandera system. They had bartered with us for plasma converters for their ships."

Hrelle's ears twitched. "Plasma converters?"

Beside him, Turikina made groaning sounds as he rocked in place, and his father reached out and drew the child closer, settling him onto Benjo's lap and stroking him. "That will teach you to be gluttonous, child. Yes, Captain. Their ships are Tholian, though the occupants are not. Tholian ships have enormous plasma generator networks to produce the high internal temperatures their people prefer."

Hrelle stroked his own muzzle in thought "They're looking to use the excess plasma in weaponry?"

"My tribe's technicians helped install the converters... and noted the connecting systems, as well as the modifications for humanoid use."

"Anything else?"

"They sought detonators, high-grade. Apparently they were expecting some from an Orion who never showed up to complete the transaction. We could not assist them."

Hrelle's ears twitched at that. An Orion? Daalan Sur? He had been in the Sector to obtain the Klingon arms from the Miradorns Hrelle had apprehended -- which included high-grade warhead detonators with isolytic charges, banned under the Second Khitomer Accords signed just a few years ago and awaiting safe dismantling when they were stolen. "Did you learn anything about their plans? Why they wanted those?"

The Paserak shook his head. "Only that I received the impression that they were working on behalf of another party."

The Caitian made a sound, rising to his feet. "I must leave now. Thank you, Friend."

"For what?" Benjo asked. "This was but a simple exchange: a share of my fire, for a share of your food. A transaction older than the stars around us. Safe Journey to You."

"Safe Journey to You." He raised his paw to tap his combadge for a beam-out, but stopped and asked, "Does this new criminal organisation have a name?"

Benjo was stroking his son, but looked up and replied, "They called themselves the Bel-Zon."

*

"Captain's Log, Supplemental: We are continuing to Scesity at top speed, while we examine the accumulated data and match it with what Maquadan has told me. There was nothing in any Starfleet Intelligence reports about a group called the Bel-Zon. But the Raiders vessels have been identified by our tactical experts as Tholian in origin, the old Arasene-class webspinners from the pre-Federation Age, most likely upgraded with more modern sensors and weapons, to judge from the sensor data from the freighter.

I've decided not to contact Scesity ahead of our arrival, in case our communications are monitored. Commissioner Rorx keeps reminding me of the importance of the mining colony as a significant industrial base for the Federation in this sector, with the only other viable source of kemocite, pergium and dilithium in the sector being from the Kzinti. I keep reminding him that Scesity possesses sufficient planetside defences for that very reason, and that if they were under attack, they could get a distress signal out.