Surefoot 77: Nightmare Fuel

USS Katana, Triacus Sector:

Captain Weynik swung his legs out from under the sheets on his bunk and set his feet down, waiting a beat before accepting that his new one wasn't ready to fall off. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow, probably.

He rose, showered and dressed, all the while examining the logs and updates left on his computer while he was off-shift: his First Officer Lt Cmdr Hrelle assigned additional crew to help complete repairs in the Shuttlebay, Chief Maryk reported a slight imbalance required realignment of the warpfield balance, Lt Jor-Dakk submitted recommendations for the crew to re-qualify for proficiency on the new compression phaser rifles.

And Commodore Hrelle confirmed the arrival of the Surefoot at Salem One, with some additional notes about new support staff from among the Paserak... which sounded like an interesting story to hear in person from Wide Load when the Katana arrived in two days' time.

He moved through the corridors of his new ship. Although the Katana was overall the same size as his former ship the Ajax, the Sabre-class Katana seemed much more spacious, not being basically an overpowered flying cannon.

He nodded politely to the crewmembers he passed, some he recognised, some new - you can tell the latter, as they tried not to visibly react to his diminutive size. Don't worry, people, you'll get used to me. Or die trying.

He began smiling in the Mess Hall, as he met his mother and his children, waiting to share breakfast with him, Naida hopping off her chair to embrace him. "Poppy!"

He hugged his daughter back, looking to his infant son Jaxan in his high chair, grasping his bottle in his stubby hands and continuing to chew on its nipple but making gurgling sounds, while Weynik's mother Tallus wiped formula from the child's mouth and looked to her son. "No cane today?"

Weynik stroked the scales on the back of Naida's head. "No, Momma."

The Professor grunted. "About time. You were starting to remind me too much of your Grandfather Raja. But with a bigger rear end."

Naida gasped... but then laughed aloud at that. "Poppy has a huge rear end!"

Weynik glared at his unrepentant-looking mother. "Your Granny said bigger, not huge; for 'huge', see your Uncle Fatso. Come on, let's get some breakfast. Momma?"

She was reaching up to help Jaxan with the remains in his bottle. "Just a little bowl of maraba slices, please."

"That's not enough for you."

She snorted. "Don't lecture me about what's enough! When I'm on site at an important dig, I've gone for weeks without eating! Now get moving, young man, you've got a busy day ahead of you!"

Naida took Weynik's hand in hers. "Come on, Poppy, I want shuris sausages!"

"You've been hanging around Caitians too long." Weynik ground his teeth; as much as he loved having his family around on a full-time basis after serving so long on a ship of war, it was still something to get used to, even without taking into account how he was still recovering from his injuries.

As Weynik and Naida returned to the table with their replicated food, Weynik set Tallus' food down before her and asked, "Momma, are you sure you want to permanently move to Salem One? What about your next project?"

"There's plenty of archaeological and anthropological opportunities in the Salem Sector, Weynik," she informed him. "Ruins yet unstudied on Triacus, Axylus, Cignade, evidence of First Federation activity in this sector from over twelve millennia ago, a pre-Warp civilisation being secretly monitored on Bandera III... and no one's done a study on the Paserak Tribal Migrations, for that matter. I might hitch a ride with them for a few weeks, or months."

Weynik nodded, impressed if not surprised that she would have done her research. "Well then, I'll drop a line to the Commodore and get you set up with a lab-"

"Why thank you, My Son, but I can, and have, already taken care of that."

"You have?"

She smirked. "I've been at this Thing Called Life for decades before I had you and your sister Telka. Your friend Esek has already kindly had me billeted and listed as a Civilian Science Specialist, on call should my particular expertise be required by Starfleet, but otherwise able to divide my time between taking care of my grandchildren and working on my private projects."

"Oh. Good." He picked up his knife and fork, wanting to finish his morning meal quickly. He was still on reduced duty, pending his eventual clearance from the new Counselor, and the sooner he got that done, the better.

*

Sasha crossed her arms and leaned back against the Sickbay wall, shoving down the memories that rose, unbidden, about her times in an identical Sickbay back on the Surefoot, having suffered... so often. So very often...

Instead, she focused on her reason for being summoned here: the two male Lieutenants, one a massively muscled pale-skinned Terran, the other a sepia-furred Caitian, both of them lying on adjacent biobeds, being treated for their various broken bones, pulled and bruised muscles and cuts and scrapes. "No, no, no - they don't need painkillers. They're big, strong, strapping males who can take it."

Near Nurse Okeke, the Katana's new CMO, a young Klingon civilian female with swarthy features and a subdued set of cranial ridges, glanced over regretfully at Sasha. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Commander, I administered 20ccs of melorazine to them both before you arrived. I was not aware of your desire to punish them in this manner."

Sasha smiled. "Oh, don't worry, Doc, knowing these two dickheads, they'll be back here before you know it and you can let them suffer then."

The doctor nodded seriously and resumed her work.

Sasha continued to smile. When she was busy filling in the vacancies in their crew while Weynik was recovering, finding a new Chief Medical Officer was surprisingly proving to be the most difficult, with so many being assigned to hospital ships, starbases and planetary facilities to deal with the casualties of the War.

So she shamelessly asked her Dad for some Flag Officer pull, and he complied, albeit from a direction she hadn't expected: one of the Surefoot's previous medical officers, the Klingon Dr Kline, who had returned to the Empire following the War but had subsequently sent his niece, Dr Gisha Jiyajh, a medical practitioner in her own right if lacking Kline's experience, to work and learn from the Federation and its many races.

And so far, she seemed more than capable, if a little more subdued than the average Klingon. It was probably just her youth, Sasha decided, and lack of interaction outside of her own sphere. So she focused for now on the two idiots on the biobeds. "Well, Dickheads? You want to explain how you ended up here?"

Lt Jim Madison and Lt Mori Mru barely glanced at each other, before both replied, unintentionally simultaneously, "It was nothing."

Sasha nodded knowingly. "Nothing. So, you two weren't competing against each other again playing Parisses Squares on the Holodeck with the safeties off?"

Both males reacted, her former lover Madison and her current lover Mru frowning as Madison asked, "How did you know?"

"Elementary, My Dear Jimbo: both of you are listed as off-duty now, so this won't be a work-related accident. The injuries you both received are consistent with injuries that Parrises players typically suffer. And your uniforms aren't damaged in those same areas, suggesting you were probably wearing players' clothes, and changed out of them despite your injuries and pain so I wouldn't figure out what you were up to and rip you two a new one."

"You probably just checked the Holodeck logs to see what was running," Mori grumbled.

She ignored the remark; so what if it was right? "You two have been having one pissing contest after another since Mori and I returned to Starfleet from Cait, like I'm some fricking Princess you're trying to win over."

"We're not doing that," Madison denied.

"And you're definitely no Princess," Mori confirmed.

"No... but I am First Officer to you both. And so, on that authority, when you're not on duty, you're both restricted to your quarters for the next week."

Both males reacted again, Madison sitting up fully. "Just a minute, Sash-"

She raised a finger to cut him off, amending, "It's two weeks now. Go on, either of you: say something more now. I dare you."

Madison looked like he was about to. Mori made a show of not saying anything, as if to demonstrate how much smarter he was than Madison at seeing how annoyed she was at the whole situation.

"So spaketh Hellcat Hrelle," Okeke quipped under her breath, the Wakandan woman smirking at Sasha.

Sasha didn't smirk back at the continued use of that nickname... or at this ongoing situation. It couldn't go on like this. It shouldn't have been going on like this to begin with. They were all Twenty-Fourth Century adults here... allegedly. Sasha had never given Jim any indication that she wanted to start up with him again... or include him in her current relationship with Mru, despite the salacious rumours she knew were circulating among the crew about them (where in the Seven Hells would she get the time, energy or strength for that?)

And it wasn't just Jim; Mori's protective, possessive Caitian instincts always flared up around her former partner, despite their professional training.

Her stomach twisted... but not just because of this meshuggah situation. "Doctor, can I have a moment in private with you, please?"

Jiyajh looked over at her again, nodded and indicated the CMO's Office, as they entered and the door slid shut, the Klingon announcing, "My apologies, Lieutenant Commander."

"Apologies? For what?"

"For not anticipating your desire to make your crewmembers suffer while being treated."

Sasha smiled; she knew Klingons could have a dry sense of humour, but maybe this one was just being nervous. "Don't worry, Doctor, I wasn't serious. I haven't had much of a chance to talk with you after you boarded, I hope you're fitting in okay, no problems?"

Jiyajh nodded, looking hesitant to provide the wrong answer - am I that much of a badass that I can intimidate Klingons? Sasha wondered - before finally responding, "It will... take some getting used to, but everyone has been very accommodating; my father's brother Kline was correct about all of you. Thank you for accepting me into your ranks, and I swear I will not dishonour this ship or crew."

Sasha nodded back; that sounded more like a Klingon talking. "I'm sure you won't. But while I'm here, I'm hoping to get 20ccs of mertrexone."

The doctor frowned in thought. "That's... an addiction suppressant, I believe?"

"Yes, it is." Sasha's expression tightened. She knew most of the others onboard who needed to know about her condition did so, but Jiyajh was new, and this was as good a time as any to address it. "You probably haven't had the chance to examine my record, but I have an addictive personality; cognitive therapy and diet have helped, but sometimes I need a boost to help with some of the recurring withdrawal symptoms. I usually get Okeke to give me the shot, but I'd thought I'd take the opportunity to bring you in on it."

Jiyajh nodded again and moved to the medical replicator behind her desk, producing a hypospray and the requested drug, returning and applying it to Sasha's neck.

Sasha breathed in, feeling the cramps and cravings dissipating quickly. "Thanks for that. I, ah, don't suppose having a weakness like this would elevate me much in the eyes of many Klingons."

The other woman seemed to regard this consideration, before drawing closer again. "All of us are flawed in our own ways; few of us have the courage to see or acknowledge them, even to ourselves. Fewer still have the strength to face and overcome them. And I have been at the receiving end of my people's judgement; no others will be subject to the likes of that from me. Will that be all, Lieutenant Commander?"

Sasha regarded her back, smiling in appreciation. She was liking her already.

*

"Well, Captain, what shall we talk about today?"

Weynik leaned back in his chair in the Counselor's Office, cradling the delicate porcelain teacup and saucer in his hands. "Well, Counselor, I'd like your assessment on the newer members of my crew. Are we making enough of an effort to promote esprit de corps?"

Dr Vestri mirrored his own pose with her own chair, teacup and saucer, as she seemed to consider his question. The peach-coloured Denobulan female was older, had prominent facial ridges running down either side of her forehead to her cheeks, an enlarged brow ridge under a high receding hairline, a vertical crevice in the centre of the forehead, and a ridged chin that now creased further in thought. "Try again."

Weynik frowned as he delayed his response by bringing his teacup to his mouth and gently blowing on the wisps of steam rising from the amber surface of the liquid. "I'm worried about Sasha, how she's coping with her own traumas and responsibilities. It's a lot of pressure to put on one so young."

Vestri drank from her own cup, smirking. "Really, Captain? Next."

Weynik grunted. She really wasn't going to budge a millimetre, was she? Well, then, neither was he. "As a Counselor, have you had to receive any additional specialist training to deal with post-War issues among Starfleet personnel?"

"Yes, actually - chiefly about how to deal with Captains who avoid facing lingering issues about themselves."

He shifted in his seat. When he was at his lowest ebb after his injuries, and was leaving Sasha to recruit the replacements and additions to his crew, he had hoped for a young pushover for a Counselor. Surely the more experienced, formidable ones, like Kami Hrelle, would be busy dealing with far greater responsibilities than some piddling little Sabre like the Katana?

But no, the Universe chose to continue to torment him like a dose of Scale Mange, by sending him a woman with nearly half a century of experience in Starfleet, a list of degrees as long as his artificial leg. It was like being confronted by Kami Hrelle, but with less fur. "We've talked about me, my career, my injury, my recovery, my trauma, my feelings, and my relationships to my family and crewmembers following all of this. What is there left?"

She shrugged, setting aside her cup. "Your future?"

His black eyestalks dipped suspiciously towards her. "What about my future?"

"Yes, what about it? Where do you see yourself in ten years' time?"

Now he shrugged. "No idea."

"What about five years' time? One year's? Next week? Tomorrow?"

The Roylan breathed out, setting aside his own tea. "No idea, Counselor, because there's no point. I've given up on thinking about the rest of my life."

"Oh? And why is that?"

He leaned forward. "Because unless you're an El-Aurian or a Bajoran Prophet, then the future lies hidden behind a black veil, unrevealed until it's too late and it's been dropped on your head, and all the plans and hopes and goals you set yourself for the future are a waste of time and effort. Almost none of the most significant events in my life - losing my wife Fala, giving birth, the War, my leg - were a result of forward planning, but they were all enough to affect the plans I did have for myself.

We are all at the mercy of forces beyond our control, Counselor. Dust and debris pulled along by invisible gravimetric waves, with no knowledge or agency as to our final destination. Making plans for tomorrow is pointless."

Vestri nodded, in that smug, annoying way that all Counselors seemed trained to do. "And you don't think that adopting such an absurdist philosophy is not another symptom of your PTSD?"

He was expecting that question. "Of course it is... but that doesn't mean it's not healthy, or true."

The Denobulan folded her hands into her lap. "And this is an outlook you would recommend everyone take?"

"Yes," he replied simply... even as he grew suspicious of where she was taking this. Somewhere unwelcome, no doubt.

And he was right. "There is an old Terran expression: 'Get busy living, or get busy dying'."

"I know it." Are all Counselors required to watch that movie?

"I had the pleasure of talking with your daughter the other day. Naida wants to follow in your footsteps, in your father's and your sister's footsteps, and join Starfleet and have adventures with you and her grandfather and her best friend Misha out among the stars. She wants to get busy living.

When will you break it to her? That all of her dreams are pointless? That she, like her father, her grandfather and aunt and friends, are all at the mercy of forces beyond our control? Dust and debris, as you put it?"

Weynik leaned back in his chair. "I'll save it for her tenth birthday, and make it special for her."

Just then his combadge chirped, as Sasha's voice broke the silence. "Apologies for interrupting, Captain, but we're getting a Priority One message from Commodore Hrelle at Salem One."

"I'm on my way, Lieutenant Commander." He bolted to his feet, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. "See, Counselor? Neither of us expected that interruption."

"No, Captain, we didn't," she conceded, matching his expression. "But, like everything unexpected that crosses our paths in life, we don't have to just give up and accept it. We can work around it, reschedule, adapt, compensate, and, if we want to badly enough, get back on course at our earliest convenience. You may leave now... but this will continue. I am the most stubborn grandmother you'll ever know."

"Clearly you haven't met my children's." He departed, even as a part of him felt his pulse quicken. He still felt guilt over how he had spoken to his best friend in his trauma-induced rage, though not as much guilt as he had felt towards Sasha, though she seemed to have forgiven him. Would Esek treat him differently, now that he was Weynik's commanding officer?

*

The middle-aged Caitian male's sepia-furred head filled the desktop viewscreen as he peered at the two of them. "Lower the camera height again, please, Sash... a little more... more... sorry, no, I'm still only seeing the top of his head-"

Sasha reset the camera, leaned back and crossed her arms. "Putz."

In the seat beside her, Weynik grunted. "It's good to see that your promotion hasn't changed you, Fatburger."

"That's Commodore Fatburger to you. I know you're due to arrive at Salem One in 47 hours, but I want you to make a slight detour first."

"Detour?"

"Yes. We've been examining the logs of the Marauders who had been terrorising Scesity, trying to gain some insight on the Orion Syndicate operations in the sector. We identified some potential connections with a private transport, the Incubus , Antares-class, with Rigelian registry. It's been spotted 6.2 light years near your present location; intercept and conduct a Class V Security Inspection."

Weynik nodded, as Sasha immediately picked up a PADD from the desk and began drawing up data. "Anything on the Incubus' owner or operator?"

"It's registered to a Hugo Hengist of Rigel IV, a private interstellar trader. No criminal record to speak of... but with the Syndicate, we can't take any chances."

"There it is," Sasha reported, bringing up a sensor map on her PADD. "You want a surprise visit, Dad?"

"Yes - don't give them a chance to dispose of any contraband or wipe their computers."

Weynik nodded again. "Lieutenant Commander, proceed to the Bridge and lay in an immediate intercept course with the Incubus, Warp 9. The Commodore and I need some Quality Time alone."