Surefoot 83: The Dragon Gambit

"So we slapped together this little life support unit," Masterson completed. "Simulating the conditions of their planet as described by Levatrice as best we could. It should do the trick."

"If it doesn't," Turikana declared, his sibilant voice breaking with anguish as his clawed hand rested on the dome. "It will be my fault. My selfish impatience to demand now, in the midst of our people's crisis, a hatchling of my own."

"Of our own," his mate corrected softly, glancing at him and leaning in to rub her muzzle against his. "There were two of us involved in the conception, in case you have forgotten. We must both bear the choice - and the consequences for what will come."

"Yeah, well, as far as I'm concerned, this rodeo ain't over," Masterson assured them with a warm smile, "And your little critter's gonna have all the chance it can to put its brand on the rump of the Galaxy."

At their bemused reactions, Eydiir clarified, "He has said a positive thing. Believe it or not."

"Bet yer bottom dollar on that, Pardner," he agreed jovially, facing Eydiir now. "Levatrice will be making the appropriate refinements to the environment within the unit, but I figured with your experience dealing with reptoid races, you would be ideal to take over the assignment."

She crossed her arms. "I would not disagree with that assessment." She frowned now. "Is there a reason behind the obvious call for secrecy regarding this process?"

She saw the Paserak exchange glances, as Turikana explained, albeit tentatively, "There are... societal complications for our people when we have hatchlings off-world, and we would rather not reveal this to the rest of our tribe at this time. If you require further explanation-"

She shook her head. "You have said enough. I can be as quiet and discreet as a knife in the dark."

At their bemused reactions, Masterson clarified, smiling, "She's said a positive thing. Believe it or not."

*

Deck R2, Operations Centre:

Captain Kate Sternhagen sat in her favourite place in Ops: on the elevated observation dais in the rear, offering a clear view of the circle of workstations below, the windows and holoscreens above... and a railing where she could rest her feet while she leaned back in her chair, coffee mug in her lap, watching the storm rage outside. It reminded her of her childhood days on Benecia, a backwater world without a planetary weather control grid, and thus subject to some fearsome storms, which she would watch from the family porch, imagining being up in the centre of it, having lightning sheet and snake around her.

It was well over half a century ago, but such memories remained potent-

A sound to her left drew her attention. "Hello there, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"

Chief of Security Lt Arcanis Salvo stood inside the entrance to Ops, surveying the activity, and the view. The tall, muscular, coffee-skinned Nova Roman female scowled, her spade jaw jutted out. "You can tell me when this accursed storm will end."

Sternhagen shrugged. "How long is a piece of string?"

"That is not an answer... with respect, Ma'am."

The human smirked to herself; Salvo had been practically press-ganged into serving on the station by Commodore Hrelle, and Salvo's haughty, abrasive attitude had cost her her Lieutenant Commander's pips early on. But Sternhagen had seen the changes in Salvo's attitude since then, no doubt assisted by the patience shown to her by Hrelle and his Counselor wife in helping her mature, almost despite herself. She sipped from her mug again - Klingon coffee was slightly more palatable cold than hot - and regarded the storm outside, making sounds of assessment. "Another twenty hours. Twenty-five, tops."

Salvo looked up at her accusingly. "You cannot know that! Ion storms are unpredictable! You just conjured that answer out of the aether!"

"Then why'd you ask?" She nodded at the display. "And it's not just an answer I made up. This is my ninth ion storm, almost all of them serving here. I've developed an instinct for these things."

She lifted up the hand holding her mug, in the direction of one Ops station, reconfigured to accommodate the squat, pancake-shaped figure of the newly-promoted Lieutenant Stalac, a Horta and the station's Chief Science Officer, rumbling to himself as his body interfaced with Salem One's sensors. "Now, Rocky has been studying the physics behind the static abrasion between spatial and subspatial layers that causes ion storms, and claims to have worked out some new algorithms to predict their duration. He says he thinks it'll abate in under twelve hours. We've got a bet going. Wanna join in?"

Salvo breathed out with irritation. "This is intolerable. The Storm Alert protocols mean the power devoted to our weapons pods are diverted to shields, structural integrity and inertial dampening. We are defenceless."

"But to be fair, right now the storm is a better protector than our phasers and torpedoes. Any enemy vessel strong enough to get through a Level 5 Ion Storm to get here deserves to spank us." She beckoned to her. "You're bored. Come on up."

"Why?"

"So you can sit down and put your boots up and learn how to relax for a while. You don't have to fill every waking hour of the day with intensity." She beckoned again. "Consider it an order, if you like."

Salvo harrumphed... but ascended the three steps and grabbed a spare chair, drawing it closer to Sternhagen as the Nova Roman almost sat down in protest, putting her feet up on the middle rail, her arms crossed again, before finally sighing as if in defeat.

Sternhagen chuckled. "It'll happen."

The Nova Roman glanced at her. "What will?"

"The return of your honour... and your former rank. But you don't have to earn it with another battle. You're earning it now, every day, by performing your duties, keeping your nose clean, staying disciplined and dependable, attending Counseling, and earning the respect of your peers. And all your efforts are being noticed, by Hrelle... and by me." She held out her mug to her.

Salvo screwed up her face in mild disgust and shook her head. "Raktajino. It's constipating."

"I've never noticed myself - I'm as regular as a pulsar - but it would explain the Klingons' attitudes. Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

Sternhagen chuckled. "Because that's what co-workers do to pass the time when there's nothing to do. That, and screw. So, unless you wanna find a room-"

"I was born on Nova Roma," Salvo replied quickly. "The world where ancient Terrans from the Roman Empire had been relocated by the race known as the Preservers. My brother and sister chose to stay at home and serve in our Imperial Defence Fleet. I chose to follow others of my people beyond our system, and serve in Starfleet, in order to find excitement and glory through combat with alien threats."

The older woman nodded at that. "And did you?"

"Did I, what?"

"Find excitement, and glory?"

Salvo leaned back in her chair, not answering at first, her expression sobering as she stared upwards at the images of the storm outside. "Yes. And much more than I expected."

And left it at that.

*

Many decks below, at an airlock connected to the private flyer that had brought Dr Visaj and Sylvia Anderson to Salem One, a dozen grey and grey-black rats milled and swarmed over each other as they manipulated miniature decouplers over the magnetic locking mechanism, their collective consciousness allowing them to operate with a single mind, having waited for the right time.

Now they completed their work, and the airlock slid open, allowing the rats access to the station. But they held back, in fact flattened themselves against the airlock wall, as something invisible swept in past them from the flyer, its passing creating a wake in the air, leaving a residual scent detectable only to those with sufficiently keen senses.

The largest of the rats, calling himself Ben for the benefit of the huge bipeds in the Galaxy he was forced to work with to obtain what he and his Pack wanted, poked its head out of the airlock and in the direction of the invisible invader, its whiskers twitching with its nose as it called after it, said in an electronically-generated male voice, "No, no, don't stop to thank us, all in a day's work, you go on. And we can forget about the two children of mine you ate on the way here, don't give them a second thought, either. Asshole."

Then Ben regained his composure, summoning control to call out the rest of the Rat Pack from the flyer, ready to perform their part of the operation on Salem One, hoping that everyone else involved was on time to do theirs.

*

Not that far away, Engineering Crewman Brad Wyatt was making a strange, sibilant sound, before breaking down in laughter, a sound accompanied by a hiss of amusement from his Paserak friend. "Sorry, I probably said something very rude in your tongue."

Climbing down the vertical Jefferies Tube ladder and uncurling her short tail, Fraqueza clicked her claws. "Yes, Uniform, but it was so charmingly uttered you would probably get away with it in most civilised circles." She checked her duty PADD. "The plasma conduit malfunction detected is in Access 1138-E. Shall we attend to it together, or is your monkey brain capable of handling it on your own while I drop down to take care of the fault in 1155?"

Wyatt ran slender fingers through his blonde locks, unoffended by his friend's banter as he smiled back. "That's fine, Scales, you can buy the first round in the Starjammers tonight." He patted her shoulder as they parted, moving in opposite directions with their tool kits. Wyatt tried to speak Paseraki again as he crawled into the horizontal Tube.

"Stop flirting, we're just good friends!" Fraqueza called back, hissing again at her own jest.

Wyatt chuckled, pushing the kit ahead of him, ignoring the dust and organic residue - this place was a breeding ground - as he emerged into a wider enclosure that extended upwards for several metres. He straightened up and set his kit on the edge of the Tube to begin the checks, finding more organic residue.

It may not have been the cleanest of environments, but it was better, and safer, than the time he served on the New Hampshire during the War. After more than one near-miss from the Jem'Hadar, he would be happy to have a long, boring, safe career here-

A sound made Wyatt look up, as a huge object blocked the overhead lights, and then dropped down upon him, crushing his legs and hips, sending him into a merciful oblivion that spared him from seeing what his attacker did next...

*

In her own workspace, Fraqueza was running checks on a faulty EPS grid, contemplating a temporary patch that would satisfy Chief Sakai until a replacement could be replicated, when a blast of heat and noise travelled down from above to make her duck and cover instinctively. When it abated, she called down the Tube. "Brad! Are you okay?" She leaned in and listened, repeating, "Brad? BRAD!"

Immediately she began crawling back out, along the way tapping the combadge supplied to her and the other Paserak. "Technician Fraqueza to Chief Sakai: something's happened to Brad- Crewman Wyatt! There was an explosion, he's not responding!"

Sakai's concerned voice resonated within the narrow accessway. "We detected a plasma fire in 1138!"

Fraqueza's hearts competed with each other in a race. "Brad was alone in 1138!"

"We'll be right down! Stay where you are, don't put yourself at risk!"

She ignored the orders, knowing how her friend would do the same if the situation was reversed, smelling the smoke as she emerged into the vertical crosswalk, and then seeing it pour out of 1138 hatch. "BRAD!"

She tried to enter, but was driven back by the smoke... and the smell.

*

Hrelle caught both of this long before he descended and reached the accident site, his stomach churning as he kept back, not wanting to get in the way of the Medical and Engineering crew in the cramped quarters, as thoughts scrambled over each other like puppies since being informed of the accident.

Brad Wyatt, 26, born in Topeka, Kansas, Earth. Served with distinction onboard the New Hampshire, survived by a father and younger sister... Hrelle knew it was inevitable that someone would die under his command here. Nothing took away that sting, however.

A familiar sound and scent behind him caught his attention. "What are you doing down here?"

"My job." Kami emerged from the vertical hatch, professionally controlling her reaction both to the sensory input and their shaken crew, as she studied those around them, moving over to the one she obviously thought most needed her Counseling - the Paserak technician, Fraqueza, in the far corner, arms wrapped around herself, tail dipped and still, eyes milked white in her people's instinctive reaction to fear and trauma.

Hrelle resisted the urge to interfere in the proceedings, focusing on the figures of Chief Sakai and Doc Masterson, the two men emerging from the accident scene and removing the filter masks they were wearing, looking disturbed despite their age and experience. Hrelle kept this in mind as he addressed them, "Report."

They glanced at each other, Sakai taking the lead. "I- I don't know what might have happened, Commodore. It has all the signs of a plasma discharge, but there were no warnings prior to it."

"What was Brad doing down here? Could he have accidentally caused it?"

The Chief Engineer blanched. "He was replacing some ODN relays in the section! And he was too experienced to do something like that! With your permission, I want to keep the power down in this section and call in off-duty personnel, and Engineering cadets, to run full diagnostic sweeps on all conduits. We might have parts left over from before the station was shut down that missed being replaced."

Hrelle nodded at that, looking to Masterson, who took over the conversation. "If it helps any, Commodore, I'm sure death was near-instantaneous for Crewman Wyatt; the remains are being transported to the Morgue for the autopsy."

"Thank you, Zeke. Carry on." He looked over at Kami, who was kneeling beside the young Paserak technician, talking softly to her... and surreptitiously signalling to him that she was busy, but could handle it.

He departed, already preparing the condolence message in his mind for Brad's next of kin.

*

The one responsible for the murder moved swiftly away from the scene. It was large, but could compress itself quite easily, and when necessary could crawl through tight passages by sheer musculature control, as well as shedding its skin to increase viscosity.

It moved now, by instinct, though it possessed internal cybernetic mechanisms that awaited data about the schematics of its new hunting grounds, and the identities and locations of those who resided here. Until then, it moved now by instinct alone, something that had made it the Apex Predator on its homeworld, before being recruited by Max Zorin. Recruited... and enhanced.

It didn't get nearly enough to eat from that first kill.

Luckily, food was plentiful on this station.

*

The hulking, grey-skinned pachydermoid male in the Starfleet Security uniform, modified to bare his huge arms, stepped before the challenging crowd. He raised his broad muzzle, his round ears twisting and round eyes narrowing at the faces looking up at him, as he crossed his arms and cleared his throat to announce, "I am Ensign Urad Kaldron, Assistant Security Chief of Station Salem One. My race calls themselves the Hroch. My homeworld is in a system in a region of space known to the Federation as the Typhon Expanse. And I am the strongest, toughest, fiercest warrior you will ever face.

Now: what are your questions?"

The collection of children sitting at desks in the classroom raised their hands or other appendages at once, and Urad allowed himself a smile. He was familiar to many of the little ones here already, but for the newer ones, he remained an intimidating figure, and he welcomed the chance to introduce himself - especially now, while they were weathering the ion storm and he had little else to do.

In the back of the classroom, Misha Hrelle, the Commodore's cub, had stood up on his chair, still raising his paw to be higher than the other students, his tail swishing behind him excitedly as he called out, "Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Me first! Me first! I'm the Commodore's Cub, I outrank you all!"

To Urad's right at the front of the classroom, the teacher, Mr Talbok, a dark-suited swarthy young humanoid male with a mop of truculent sable hair and an aquiline nose, barked, "Misha! Off the chair right now! I will choose who will ask! Now sit down, all of you, or I will feast on your bones!"

Immediately the Caitian cub hopped off his chair, as he and the others took their seats once more. Urad spared a glance at Talbok. He knew the teacher was Klingon, though he did not look like any Urad had ever encountered, but rather a darker-skinned human. But his demeanour seemed aggressively Klingon enough, and it brought out Urad's protective instincts at such times, having a history with the Hrelles' cub from when they all lived on the Surefoot.

But he reminded himself that Talbok, apparently a minority among Klingons for having human genes, proved to be a good and dependable teacher, cleared by the Commodore and Counselor to live and work here as the station's Chief Teacher. And given how rambunctious these little scallywags can get, a Klingon might be an ideal authority figure.

Then he pointed to a young Andorian. "You first, Thykras."

The blue-skinned, white-haired boy rose, his antennae dipping accusingly at the visitor. "Is your world a member of the Federation?"

"A good question, Comrade," Urad responded, smiling, "And the answer is No: the Hroch Confederacy remains an independent power, but we have treaties with the Federation, and provided security in our sector of space during the War. As a non-Federation citizen, I was sponsored for Starfleet Academy by Captain Tryla Scott of the USS Renegade."

The Andorian boy continued to stare suspiciously, but sat down again.

Talbok then pointed to a more familiar face: Abby Boone, the daughter of Urad's close friend Peter, from Alpha Squad. The ruddy-faced blonde cherub grinned as she stood and asked, "Is everyone on your planet as big as you?"

He made an amused sound; she probably knew more about him than any other child here, except perhaps Misha, but she wasn't going to be let out of a chance to join in. "Actually, Comrade Abby, in my family, I am considered quite small. They call me Baby Boy."

That notion made many of the children laugh, as Talbok next chose a Tellarite girl, who pointed her hoof at Urad, "Why are you all so big? Are you doing it on purpose?"

"I am this size because my homeworld has a stronger gravity than many other planets, and we evolved to have great strength and durability to compensate."

"Like the Roylans!" interrupted Naida, the daughter of Captain Weynik of the Katana, the diminutive child's eyestalks bouncing as she spoke.

"That's right, Comrade! And being a Heavyworlder grants us great strength and stamina in environments with lighter gravity."

Talbok then chose a taller Vulcan male, one Urad recognised as Srithik, the nephew of Captain T'Varik of the Surefoot. The boy stood and folded his hands behind his back. "How do you compensate for the long-term deleterious effects of living in a gravity environment lower than your accustomed level?"

Urad made a sound; trust Vulcans, even their children, to ask sensible questions. "Well, Comrade, the gravity in my quarters have been adjusted to Hrochi levels, so my body can avoid muscle, cardiac and bone deterioration." He chuckled. "But call ahead before you come visiting."