Surefoot 75: The Lion of Salem

On the other paw, there's too questions not yet answered."

*

Scesity hung on the viewscreen, one corner of the screen showing a magnified portion of the planet where the colony sat... and the deflector screen dome raised around the community, with a ring of phaser cannons charged and ready.

Hrelle stood in front of his chair. "Well?"

Behind him, Ellerton closed his scans. "There is residual evidence of disruptor fire in the vicinity of the colony, perhaps in the last 72 hours, damage to the surrounding surface."

"But they never sent out a distress signal," Macready noted. "Hail them."

Seconds later, an audio message filled the air. "Leave! Unless you want another taste of phaser fire!"

Hrelle raised his muzzle, recognising the voice as the Governor of the colony. "Mr Vanderberg, this is Captain Esek Hrelle of the Furyk. We're here to help, lower your shields and power down your weapons. We're transmitting the appropriate security codes to you."

After a few seconds, Vanderberg's voice returned, his sneer thick. "You think I came down on the last drop of rain, you murdering bastards? You almost caught us off-guard with that trick already!"

Hrelle glanced at Macready before continuing. "Mr Vanderberg... Wilson... the last time we visited, we used the Furyk's tractors to help move one of the phaser cannons to a new position because of a recent landslide. The raiders who attacked you before wouldn't know that."

"Mr Vanderberg," Rorx interjected. "This is Commissioner Rorx from Salem One. I can assure you that we are the genuine article."

There was another pause, and then O'Reilly at Ops announced, "We're getting a visual transmission now, Sir."

Hrelle nodded. "Onscreen."

The image of the grey-green planet from orbit was replaced by a haggard-looking, snow-haired human male with a craggy hangdog face and dishevelled utility jumpsuit. "Captain Hrelle... apologies for that... it's been hard going here the last two weeks..."

"Two weeks? What happened? Why haven't you called for assistance?"

He wiped his hand over his sweaty brow. "The colony has been hit by Terrellian Plague. Half of our people are incapacitated, on life support, we're struggling but we'll manage if we can survive the isolation period."

Hrelle's heart raced at the news, and he glanced at Rorx and Macready before he responded, "Mr Vanderberg, how did you manage to contract Terrellian Plague out here?"

"We were infected! Deliberately infected by some Paserak who landed to trade, just before the first signs of the Plague appeared among our people!"

Now Hrelle frowned. "How can you be certain it was a deliberate act?"

"Because immediately after the Paserak departed, we were attacked by these new Raiders! It can't be a coincidence! They were obviously working together, weakening us on the ground! They've attacked us twice already!"

Hrelle stiffened now, feeling the eyes of Rorx, Macready and others on him. He knew that the Paserak had a contentious reputation among his people: nomadic, anarchic, uncaring about boundaries or regulations or authority, often dealing with peoples whose hostility to the Federation was clear. And they knew of his own dealings with the likes of Maqauadan Benjo, who would have been the most likely Pasarak to visit Scesity.

Hrelle couldn't accept Vanderberg's accusation. But now he needed more evidence to support his own gut instinct. "We'll prepare a medical team to assist you. Drop your shields and we'll beam them down-"

Vanderberg shook his head. "No! We're maintaining Priority One Quarantine Protocols for another two weeks! You want to help, get after those bastards! I'm sending you our collected tactical data on the ships, their weapons and attack patterns! Last we saw they were heading in the direction of Sauron!"

As if in punctuation, the Ops board announced an incoming data feed from the colony.

"Thanks, Mr Vanderberg. We'll examine what you sent and be on our way to deal with them with all due speed. If there's anything we can supply you with and leave it outside of your quarantine field to collect-"

"Just do your job and deal with them, Hrelle! We have enough on our plate here with this damn disease! Scesity out!"

The viewscreen returned to the orbital image.

Hrelle continued to stare ahead, his mind racing.

"I'm transferring the data to Tactical stations, Sir," O'Reilly reported.

Hrelle didn't respond, leaving Macready to answer, "Thank you, Brigid. Mr Shekrev, plot a course to Sauron, ahead full impulse when ready-"

"Belay that," Hrelle interrupted. "Helm: Plot a course, but do not depart until I say so. Mr Ellerton, take us to Yellow Alert, examine the data from Scesity, compare it with our existing Intel."

"What are you doing, Captain?" Rorx asked, frowning.

Hrelle ignored him, looking to his Science Officer. "Ms Rabin, you have the Bridge. Mr Macready, you're with me."

He was on his way to his Ready Room with Mac, when Rorx raised his voice. "Captain Hrelle! I am a representative of the Federation, and the senior ranking authority onboard, and I will not be ignored! You will tell me what you're doing!"

Hrelle stared back at him, aware that the attention of everyone else on the Bridge was on the confrontation, even as they made a show of appearing focused on their stations. "Very well, Commissioner. With the outbreak on Scesity and the subsequent attack on it reported to us, I am declaring a State of Emergency, and as per Regulations I am assuming senior ranking authority until further notice. I'll respectfully ask you to wait here, or in your quarters, and not interfere until I'm ready to brief you. Please excuse me, Sir."

He left the Bolian to harrumph to himself as he entered his Ready Room, calling up the data on his desktop computer, as Macready approached. "Esek, what the Hell are you doing, antagonising the new Commissioner like that?"

Hrelle made a distracted sound as he scanned the data. "Yes... definitely."

Macready leaned in. "What's going on? Your tail is going like it's being attacked by wasps!"

The Caitian leaned back in his chair, still staring at the screen. "Vanderberg was lying. The Paserak didn't infect them with any diseases, intentionally or accidentally."

"Oh? You're basing that on anything more substantial than your instinct?"

Hrelle pointed to the screen. "The damage to the area around the colony is staged. And the data they sent us presents a weaker picture of the Raiders than what we obtained from the Vulcan freighter." He leaned forward, calling up sensor data from his own ship. "Half of their people supposedly on life support, and they're still running the mining operations down there?"

"It's mostly automated-"

"But still needs supervision, especially with the inherent instability of kemocite." He rose to his feet again. "They're sending us away, to be attacked, maybe destroyed. Why?" Now he looked at Macready. "We have to head towards Sauron, let them think we're falling for their trap. Mac, I need you to go down there and find out what's going on."

Macready frowned. "Their force field is still up."

Hrelle nodded. "They use a high-energy sensor system, which cycles every 5.5 minutes, with a window of a fiftieth of a second. An Away Team can use that window to get in on the sly. Make it a party of five, including a Medical and Engineering Specialist- Take Second Engineer Patel! She worked in the mining operations on Janus VI before she signed up with Starfleet-"

"Captain," Macready interrupted, his expression thick with concern. "Are you sure about this? There's no cure for Terrellian Plague, just a matter of staying alive until the disease burns itself out. If they are infected down there-"

"Exosuits: they also have commpacks with greater range and secure frequencies. Get moving, Mac, I want you and your team down there in fifteen minutes." He blinked. "Unless you want me to lead the Away Team? I'll be happy to disregard Starfleet protocols and risk my valuable rear end by following in Jim Kirk's boots-"

Macready raised a hand. "Enough; you're worse than my wife trying to get me to clean out the attic. Just get back safe and sound."

Hrelle was about to argue, but then promised, "You get back safe and sound yourself; I don't want to have to write to that wife of yours."

*

"Captain's Log, Supplemental: We were successful in beaming Commander Macready and his Away Team into the main facilities on Scesity, and are proceeding towards Sauron, the system's main Gas Giant, whose proximity to Scesity made its eternal storm appear as an eye, inspiring its name from some reference to ancient Terran literature. I have sent a coded message back to Salem One with our logs to date, should the situation... sour."

*

Rorx kept making sounds. Hrelle hadn't noticed it before, being preoccupied with analysing the tactical data and listening to Commander Macready's initial reports. Now, however, while they proceeded to Sauron and awaited another update from the Away Team, Hrelle couldn't help but pick up the Bolian Commissioner's sounds of anxiety. Every. Single. Sound. The clicking of his tongue. The three-tap drum of the fingers on his right hand as he sat there in Commander Macready's chair beside Hrelle. The Hmph whenever Hrelle ordered another scan ahead of them. It almost made Hrelle want to rescind his earlier acquiescence and order Rorx off the Bridge.

Except that he also scented the genuine fear from the Bolian. A quick perusal of the man's record told Hrelle that he had never been in any dangerous situation before this posting, and he was certain Rorx would have been quite content to have led a peaceful, boring career helping to develop one of the newer, more underdeveloped sections of the Federation, without any thought as to what had to be done to aid in that development.

"Away Team to Furyk..."

*

"Away Team to Furyk..."

On Scesity, Macready crouched down, trying to compensate for wearing his exosuit so as not to be seen, as he motioned -- rather needlessly, he knew -- for the rest of his Team to ensure they stayed hidden as well.

"Furyk here," Hrelle's voice replied. "Report."

Macready raised his tricorders to continue recording the site below. They were in an upper level of a vast industrial complex, an Escher design of vertical and horizontal conveyers, sifters, purifiers, compactors and refiners, the noise covering any potential noise the interlopers might make from this high up. "We've run extensive scans on the atmosphere: no trace of Terrellian Plague. But there are uniformed strangers here: armed, directing the Scesity colonists to work. We caught a glimpse of the residential complex; hostages are being held there to ensure the colonist's compliance. I suspect they arrived here, infiltrated the compound and took it over from within."

"Are there any identifying marks to the strangers?"

"No, Sir, they're a mix of Human, Tellarite, Andorian, Nausicaan-"

"The Bel-Zon that Benjo warned me about. And no doubt they forced Vanderberg to lie to us, and send us that false data to lead us into a trap. What are they doing down there?"

Macready watched as automated carriers rolled away with more containers of kemocite, pergium, magnesite. "They've been... mining, adding heavily to the contents of the storehouses above that was meant to be collected by the Vulcans. But there's more to it than that, according to Crewman Patel."

"Rina?" Hrelle prompted.

Near Macready, Rina Patel rechecked the data on her own tricorders. "Captain, we've tapped into the automated worklogs in the facility. The Bel-Zon, whoever they are, have been here for the last four weeks, ignoring the veins of duranium and adamantine found below to focus on finding and collecting pergium, kemocite, magnesite -- all high-yield sources of energy that have been used in generators and impellers for over a hundred years."

"That makes sense, Crewman, it's valuable-"

"Excuse me, Sir, but there's more to it than that."

"So I was afraid of. Excuse the interruption, carry on."

The young Human looked up again, seeing the endless line of conveyers moving down tunnels towards the storehouses. "Scesity, like all mining facilities, have their own refinery, in order to produce their own sources of fuel from what they mine, and not have to rely on importing refined product. But the Bel-Zon are taking and refining all the kemocite they're extracting, and storing it with the unrefined material. Thousands of kilotons of it!"

"Why refine it here when it could be done elsewhere? And they already had enough to fill a freighter, why continue to stockpile it? We've not detected any other freighters coming to collect it. None of this makes any sense."

"It's more than nonsensical, Captain, it's dangerous! Kemocite is inherently unstable and volatile when refined and kept in large quantities! Didn't these people learn anything from Praxis?"

*

On the Furyk's Bridge, Hrelle frowned at the mention of Praxis, his mind going back to the Galactic History classes at the Academy. Praxis was a natural moon of the Klingon homeworld, Qo'noS, used as the Empire's key energy-production facility in the 23rd Century, until 2293, when there was a huge explosion caused by over-mining and insufficient safety precautions in how they stored their more volatile minerals. The explosion caused a powerful subspace shock wave and tore the moon to pieces, eventually forming a ring around Qo'noS' while also polluting its atmosphere.

It was a terrible catastrophe, even if they did manage to eventually clear up the environmental damage, and it did help the Empire and the Federation take the first steps towards what eventually became an alliance. But Praxis remained a warning against any future catastrophes brought about by short-sightedness and carelessness. But why risk that on Scesity? It was almost-

He growled, getting the attention of Rorx and the others on the Bridge.

As well as on the comlink, Macready asking, "Captain?"

"It's intentional," Hrelle declared, his pulse racing with the realisation. "The Bel-Zon are not looking to steal any of the kemocite or other ores. They're looking to recreate the disaster on Praxis."

Rorx rose to his feet, his blue skin darkening to a plum shade. "Why? What's the point? Isn't it more profitable for them to just steal what they have there?"

Hrelle faced him, his tail smacking against the side of his chair. "That's not what they were hired for! They were hired to take over Scesity and destroy it! It'll certainly be a smaller cataclysm than Praxis, but it'll be enough to kill everyone there, and completely destroy the operation and all the equipment! It'd take years to rebuild, assuming it's even judged worthwhile by the Federation Council!"

He began pacing, his thoughts racing ahead of his words, but he was desperate to get it all out and on record. "And that's why they needed the Klingon warhead detonators from Daalan Sur, that we took first from the Miradorn! And why they attacked the freighter before it entered the Scesity system, to keep them from finding out what was happening down there, or take away any of the subcritical mass needed for another Praxis-type explosion!"

"Again, I must ask why?" Rorx exclaimed. "Who would profit from that?"

"You said it yourself to me, Commissioner: the only other viable source of kemocite, pergium, dilithium and other minerals in the sector are located in Kzinti territory! Their power base and influence in this sector would increase exponentially! They're the ones who hired the Bel-Zon!" He turned away, as if Macready and the others were standing behind him. "Rina, they won't have the Klingon detonators that we confiscated, but could they still rig a means of triggering a Praxis-style explosion?"

"Yes, Sir -- there's enough conventional demolitions material here to do so, maybe not create as refined a yield as warhead-grade detonators, but yes!"

"Mac, you need to stop them, at all costs!"

There was a pause, and then, "Aye, Sir. But I'm definitely going home to Baton Rouge for extended shore leave after this."

"Fine, just bring back some more homemade gumbo when you do! Now get moving, we've got a Raider Fleet to face! Keep us posted, Furyk out!"

Now he faced forward, where the gas giant Sauron loomed ahead, filling up more and more of the viewscreen, its bands of ochre and tangerine and salmon disrupted by the large, angry, crimson storm, an eternal storm bigger than a hundred Class-M worlds, glaring down at them as they approached. Hrelle had never read the original works from which the planet was named, nor had he any mind to, at this stage in his life. "ETA to the last reported position of the Raiders?"

"32 minutes at current speed, Sir," Shekrev reported.

Hrelle nodded. "Increase speed to Full Impulse, shorten that time. Aim straight for the storm on Sauron: the centre of the sensor interference. That's where they'll be hiding. Let them think we've spotted them."

"Aye, Sir: new ETA, 14 minutes."

"Captain," Rorx began. As Hrelle faced him again, the Bolian swallowed. "Captain, forgive me for asking, but are you sure this is the right course to take? You're facing an unknown foe, their forces could overwhelm you, leaving the entire Sector defenceless! Would it not be more prudent to call for backup first?"

Hrelle regarded him, before inviting, "Would you follow me please, Commissioner?"

Rorx nodded, as Hrelle took him to the rear of the Bridge, to where the brass dedication plate was mounted beside the turbolift. Hrelle indicated the Starfleet emblem, the name of the ship, shipyard of origin and names of those officers involved in its design and construction. "Do you know the origin of the name of this ship, Commissioner?"

The Bolian frowned. "I'm- I'm afraid I'm at a loss- I just assumed it was of human origin."

"It is. The Furyk is named after a Terran poet, a Konstantin Furyk, from a nation called the Ukraine. In 2022, the Ukraine was invaded by a larger neighbouring power, the Russian Federation, at the behest of its ruler: just another one of those petty, power-mad bastards that Earth seemed to produce in great numbers at that time. The Russians believed that it would be a quick and easy operation; they had vastly superior numbers and firepower.

It was neither quick nor easy. The Ukrainians resisted them magnificently, if at great and terrible cost. And they were in part led by men like Furyk, an ordinary man who took up what arms he could find to join his people in the fight against these invaders." He pointed to the bottom of the plaque. "This quote was attributed to him: 'We are few. But we will face the bullets bravely, for lions sleep in our hearts'."

He stepped back from it. "They didn't get to choose who they fought, or what they would have to fight with, or have any guarantees of success. Neither do we. Too much is at stake for us to run off and call for help that will almost certainly not get here in time to do any good. That's part and parcel of life in Starfleet."

Rorx swallowed nervously. "I'm... I'm not in Starfleet."

"No," Hrelle conceded, "You're not. And I can't guarantee that you'll survive this. But you'll have to trust that the rest of us know what we're doing. You're free to return to your quarters, or remain here. If you remain, I won't have either the time or the energy to devote to answering questions or justifying decisions. Is that clear, Sir?"

The Bolian visibly took it all in, breathing in sharply and gathering his resolves. "As a representative of the Federation, it's my duty to remain and observe the proceedings." He offered a self-deprecating smile. "And stop being so annoying."