Surefoot 84: Duel

Weynik nodded curtly; how bad was it there, Brother? "Yes, Commodore. We'll keep you posted. Katana out."

The screen darkened.

Sasha drew closer, looking shocked. "What the Hell-"

He slapped his combadge. "Red Alert! Helm, increase speed to Warp Nine!" As the klaxon sounded, the crimson lighting strip above them flared to life and the ship shuddered in its acceleration to a higher warp, he looked at her now. "Get out there, get all stations ready, and get those sensors turned up to 11. I'm examining the data your father's sending us."

The young human drew up, obviously wanting to talk more, but falling into Starfleet discipline. "Aye, Sir."

As she departed, Weynik glanced over at Ajax, who had learned to respond to the Red Alert by retiring to his bed in the far corner of the room, aware that the time for treats and attention was over.

Damn right, Fleapit... The Roylan activated his screen and brought up the received data, all thoughts about resenting his best friend for getting promoted and command over him forgotten.

He was needed. And he was in the best position in the Universe to do it.

*

"Milady, a ship is pursuing us."

Fantomax had been nursing a drink when she sat up in her chair, noting the Rat Pack all turning in the direction of the computer's voice. "From Salem One, Parker?"

"No, Milady, a Starfleet vessel, the USS Katana. I am detecting transmissions between the ship and the station."

She set aside her whiskey and turned to her adjacent station, calling up data on the vessel: one of Hrelle's Sabre Squadron, commanded by Weynik, a highly experienced Roylan officer, assisted by Hrelle's human daughter. They must have already been on their way to Salem One when the Thunderbird One escaped. Heavily armed, with phasers, photon torpedoes, quantum torpedoes, maximum warp 9.7... Bloody Hell...

Perched on the seat beside her, Ben leaned forward until he risked falling off, as the rest of his Pack scurried around his chair, reflecting his agitation. "Put the speed on! I don't want to think about the little cages they'll stick us in!"

"Our stealth fields won't function properly beyond Warp Five," Fantomax informed him, searching through the records; the stealth technology she had purchased for the Thunderbird One had been the very best... some years ago, before she had retired. Now, however, Starfleet will surely have upgraded their sensor capabilities, especially after dealing with all of their adversaries with cloaking technology. "Parker, open a secure channel to Dumont... we're going to need assistance..."

*

Elba II:

Bastien Dumont sat behind his desk, half-listening to the voice on the comlink providing an update on a potential sale of contraband thalaron radiation stabilisers to some ambitious Reman warlord. He should be devoting his full attention to what could be a significant profit for the Bel-Zon, over and above the primary mission running for their sponsor Zorin.

Instead he found himself returning to the large insignia on his office wall: a human hand grasping a dove-like bird between thumb and forefinger, with a sunflower-like logo in the top right corner. It had been the logo for the previous facility on this poisonous planet, an asylum for the criminally insane a century before. He continued his internal debate on what was more disturbing, the idea that someone believed that building a mental health facility in such an isolated region of space was a good idea... or the pretentious nature of the logo.

Enough distraction... "Monsieur Fajo, you were accepted into the Bel-Zon because you promised that your connections could deliver whatever we required. We have the opportunity to forge a strong alliance with the Remans, whom I suspect will become a major threat to their Romulan masters following the end of the War. Now, can you deliver, or can't you?"

On the other end of the audio transmission, a simpering, sweaty-sounding voice grated on Dumont once more, as the Zibalian trader Kivas Fajo responded. "Of course I can, Bastien, of course I can! It's just taking longer than expected, some of my contacts are, ah, indisposed... border patrols... under the table payments-"

Dumont looked up as his office door slid open, and one of his assistants poked his head through, offering an arresting expression that made Dumont sit up. "I'm not interested in excuses, Monsieur Fajo. If you wish help to restore your former collection confiscated from you upon your arrest, then I suggest you deliver. Dumont out." He closed the channel and rose to his feet. "What is it?"

"Fantomax has contacted us, Sir; they've escaped from Salem One, but are being pursued by a Starfleet vessel."

Dumont followed him back to their Operations Room, a circular room of stations and screens, where technicians laboured to maintain not only the environmental and security facilities here, but also the encrypted communications and advanced sensor webs in place.

Nearby one tactical screen stood the self-styled, self-titled Highwayman, the older Zeon male who supplied their legitimate and illegitimate shipping support. With his white mane and beard and aged face, he resembled a Moses who had joined the Merchantfleet, and his leather jacket was festooned with many patches indicating how far and wide he had travelled in this part of the Galaxy. "You have trouble, Bastien."

Dumont ignored him and glanced up at the screen, seeing the tagged dots of the Thunderbird One, moving away from Salem One, and a Starfleet vessel, one labelled the USS Katana, on an intercept course. "Are any of your ships nearby that can rendezvous with them and engage with Starfleet?"

The Highwayman nodded, but then clarified, "But they won't; they're built for hauling, not fighting."

Dumont ground his teeth and checked for the others: Frankie Nova's Ferengi Mob was still in Kzinti space, and Surinh Dag's Orion blockade runner was almost as far away. There was one more available ship, but he was reluctant to bring that out into the open so soon and show their hand.

Fantomax and her team wouldn't escape, and they couldn't afford to lead Starfleet here. Time to prepare to sacrifice some more pawns... "Open a channel to the Thunderbird One." When the technician complied, he announced, "This is Dumont. Help is on the way. Stay on your present course, but in the meantime transmit the collected data so we can begin examining it."

*

Fantomax stiffened on hearing the instructions, glancing once over at the Rat Pack, before asking, "Repeat your message, please."

"Help is on the way, stay on your present course and speed, and transmit the data you were sent to collect."

"No! Don't!"

Fantomax turned to see Dr Orlok, the Vulcan appearing intense, anxious even by human standards. She entered the cockpit and drew closer.

The human looked back. "Parker-"

"I've muted the transmission, Milady."

Orlok came up to her, turning her chair to make Fantomax face her directly. "Do not comply! They're lying! They're more interested in the data than in helping us escape!"

Fantomax stared up at her incredulously. Could it be true? Would their paymasters really be so ruthless? Then she wondered why she was even asking herself that. "They must know if we're captured, we could talk."

"Yes," Orlok agreed soberly. "Which makes me wonder what might have been secretly deposited on your vessel while we were being briefed on Elba II. Computer viruses, a bomb-"

"Impossible!" Parker protested. "I would have detected it!"

"Would you?" Orlok looked up at the interface. "Their resources are considerable, and their ruthlessness has been illustrated before us... graphically."

Fantomax's eyes moved from the Vulcan to the Pack, Ben looking back at her and noting, "For once she's not wrong. Zorin killed his own son in front of all of us, remember? In fact, he had you bring him all the way to Elba II just so he could do that!"

She remembered, and remembered the horror and guilt in her own assistance towards that dreadful act, no matter how oblivious she had been to Zorin's scapegrace son's ultimate fate. "Parker, reopen the channel." At the confirmation signal, she cleared her throat and announced, "We can't transmit, Mr Dumont; there's- there's-"

"Residual interference from the ion storm," Orlok prompted aloud.

Fantomax nodded at that, continuing. "Yes, ionic interference."

Dumont sounded agitated. "Nonsense! Your current signal is strong enough-"

She cut him off. "Please send assistance immediately, before we're captured. Thunderbird One out." She paused, scanning the maps ahead of them, before ordering, "Parker, drop the stealth fields and take us to Maximum Warp, take us close to the Deertail Cloud, but don't enter it, and keep blocking any incoming transmissions. I don't want any self-destruct codes transmitted to us."

"Yes, Milady."

As the ship jumped to a higher level of faster-than-light speed, she turned to the Rat Pack. "Take your portable scanners, examine the interior, top to tail, look for anything suspicious and report back."

The rats unknotted themselves from their protective bundle and scurried away. As they departed, Orlok noted, "Without the stealth fields, we will be visible to anyone with sensors."

Fantomax nodded. "Yes. Visible to Starfleet... and to our ostensible allies. Now we can test how willing they are to save the data... and us."

*

Dumont slammed his fist onto the console, cursing through clenched teeth as he turned back to the Highwayman. "Your vessels may not be warships, but surely they have some weaponry?"

The Zeon male shrugged. "Sure, but not against a Sabre... or the man commanding it." He indicated the Katana avatar. "I knew Weynik when he commanded the Starsong. I saw him take on four Klingon Birds of Prey I was delivering torpedoes to. He made scrap out of all of them."

"I'll double your commission!"

"And I'll double my refusal."

Dumont pointed a finger at him, sneering as he argued, "Do you think Monsieur Zorin will appreciate your lack of cooperation in protecting his interests?"

But the Highwayman crossed his arms, looking and sounding unintimidated. "I think Mr Zorin will be more likely to vent his spleen at the management of this operation for any failings. Especially given you already have a ship nearby that's stronger and faster than any of my freighters or couriers."

The Frenchman stopped arguing - he wasn't wrong - and turned back towards the communications console, already knowing his next steps. "Hail Captain Kazan on the Molotok."

*

"'Molotok'? Who's that, anyway?"

Crosby looked up from his station on the Bridge of the new ship, his gaze following his friend's to the simple brass dedication plaque currently being fixed to the wall near the doors. He shook his head and breathed out. "You're so uneducated."

Hope turned to him from his adjacent station. "You don't know either."

Crosby leaned back in his armless chair and crossed his arms. "Molotok was a Russian Revolutionary, actually. Uh, Ivan Molotok." As he captured Hope's attention fully, he continued, allowing his creativity to flow fully. "On a sub called the Red October, he killed Peter the Very Great with a poisoned drink that would later be called the 'Molotok Cocktail'."

Hope nodded in acceptance, but then quickly recovered. "I know all that!"

Crosby's sallow face creased with a smirk. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure! Molotok Cocktails- I heard that's what they used to kill John Lenin too-"

"Peasants!"

Both men turned as one to the centre of the Bridge, to the Captain's chair, and the large, bald human male sitting there, staring ahead at the viewscreen, never looking at them but acting as if expecting them to be rapt. His voice was deep and booming as he continued. "It's called a Molotov Cocktail, and it's not an actual drink, it's an incendiary device named after a Twentieth Century Soviet Foreign Minister.

The original Molotok our ship is named after was an armoured cruiser built for the Imperial Russian Navy, a raider that served with distinction during the Russo-Japanese War early in the Twentieth Century, sinking many enemy warships and freighters much larger than itself. Across the Yellow Sea, they spoke of the Hammer in fearful whispers." He paused and explained, "'Molotok' is Russian for 'Hammer'." Now he turned his chair to face them, his broad-nosed, beefy face a stony mask as he barked, "School Time's over! Back to work, peons!"

The technicians quickly complied, as Captain Arkady Kazan faced forward, pretending to study the viewscreen image of the poisonous green planet of Elba II around which they orbited... but in reality quietly indulging in the sheer naked enjoyment of possessing this ship, this mighty ship, under his command. It had been a lifetime ago when he last sat on the Bridge of a vessel, when he wore a Starfleet uniform, and obeyed the orders of less worthy men.

His previous command, the Fort Wayne, was an ancient Soyuz-class border cutter refurbished and brought into service against the Cardassians, and the fact that they got through that conflict and not fly apart at the seams was a victory in itself... and a testament to his own skills.

This ship, on the other hand, would have helped them win that War in a week. It would serve the Bel-Zon, and himself, well. Very well-

An alert, and from Ops came the announcement, "Captain! Urgent message from the surface!"

Kazan straightened up, his pulse quickening even as his face hardened. He had been onboard preparing to take the newly-acquired ship on some test runs of the systems and crew, with communications to be kept to a minimum. "Onscreen."

The image of Elba II was replaced by an angry-looking Dumont. "Arkady, the Salem One Team have fled the station with the data, but are being pursued by a Starfleet vessel. They are claiming not to be able to transmit the data to us first, and are requesting assistance."

Kazan grunted, echoing the dubious tones of his colleague; I would have said something similar in their place. "What vessel is pursuing them? A runabout from the station?"

"No, a Sabre-class, the Katana."

Now the Siberian-born man leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Send me all updated intelligence on the ship. I'll take care of it."

Dumont frowned. "We were to keep the existence of the Molotok a secret until absolutely necessary. If the Katana takes back word to Hrelle-"

Kazan waved a beefy hand dismissively at the screen. "No one will survive to inform Hrelle. The intelligence?"

The Frenchman looked to his left and nodded at someone unseen, before facing forward again. "You were supposed to use this time to test the ship, Arkady."

"And we shall, Bastien... and paint our hull with the blood of the crew of the Katana. Molotok out." He rose to his feet, feeling animated in a way unfamiliar to him for a long time. A saner man might have had qualms about facing Starfleet, his former organisation.

If you're scared of wolves, stay out of the forest... "Red Alert, you dogs! Helm, plot a course in the direction of Salem One! We have a Starfleet vessel to annihilate!"

The crimson strip of lighting circling the Bridge overhead flared angrily to life, as his crew hastened to ready the Defiant-class vessel for battle...

*

As the crew of the Katana hastened to ready for battle around her, Sasha leaned forward at the Auxiliary Ops station and read through the data received from her father, horrified at the deaths that occurred - and from some fakakta cybernetic, fire-breathing Dragon of all things? - and confused by the discovered identities of the Dragon's accomplices. Why would an elderly Terran thief and a fugitive Vulcan bioterrorist be involved in smuggling an assassin and saboteur onto Salem One? None of it made any sense.

She looked at the list of the dead and wounded. Of the latter, there were many, some she knew, including that big Hroch Ensign Kaldron - Great Mother, you recover soon, Man Mountain - but not recognising any of the casualties, feeling grateful not to know them... and then guilty for feeling grateful. She knew that every life lost mattered, and that any relief she might have felt at not knowing them personally was just a selfish reaction at not having an emotional connection to cause her pain.

She looked around the crew. She knew them all, some more intimately than others, but she knew them all. Some will fall during the course of their time on the Katana, she knew, and she would grieve. But she would also treasure them in the time they had together... and she began to better appreciate her Dad's preference for commanding smaller crews.

The doors to the Ready Room swished open, and instinctively she announced, "Captain on the Bridge!"

She watched Weynik react slightly to her words, but barely so; normally he eschewed formalities like that whenever he appeared here, but they had both agreed that it was appropriate during Red Alerts, to heighten everyone's attention. Then he strode up to her, his eyestalks focused up. "Report, Number One."

Sasha straightened up formally. "All systems online and ready, weapons fully charged and primed, Mr Mori has attuned the sensor algorithms and now the Thunderbird One is on our long-range scans, approaching the Deertail Cloud. I've adjusted our course to intercept."

He nodded. "They know we can outrace them, so they might be looking for a place to hide in there." He grunted. "Hemra help them if they go too deep into the Cloud and wake it up." He approached the centre seat. "Helm, increase speed to Maximum. Aim straight for the flyer, let them know we're on their tail, order them to power down and await us. Inform Salem One we have located the criminals and will apprehend them shortly." He sat down.

Sasha followed him to the adjacent seat, glancing at him. She had learned to read him over the last couple of years, and could feel the anger and determination that suffused him. "You think they'll put up a fight?"

He continued to stare ahead at the onscreen dilated warpfield. "For their sake, I hope not."

*

Fantomax glanced at the sensor readings, and hoped it was a ghost.

It was a futile hope, as Parker confirmed, "There is an incoming audio transmission from the Starfleet vessel, Milady."

"It's definitely from them? Not anyone else?"

"Yes, Milady."

She breathed in. "Run a security scan of the message before playing it anyway." The Rat Pack and Orlok had swept her vessel and found nothing suspicious, but that didn't mean the Bel-Zon couldn't have inserted hidden programs in Parker, ready to trigger some self-destruct protocols.

Her colleagues drew closer as the message played. "This is the USS Katana. You are ordered to halt with immediate effect and await our arrival. Do not attempt to continue to escape. This is the USS Katana. You are ordered to halt-"

"Turn it off," Orlok ordered. Although she was not authorised to give commands to the computer, it complied, as the Vulcan turned to Fantomax. "Ignore them."

The thief looked up at her. "Really? With all the carnage we left behind?"

The Vulcan glanced up at the tactical display. "The Bel-Zon will almost certainly be sending assistance, but if they see us comply, they could end up firing upon us just to keep us silent, whether or not we provide them with the gathered intelligence."