Surefoot 84: Duel

Around the Ready Room table, Sasha glanced over at him. "Damage Control can't shut that down remotely; Chief Maryk's got a team in exosuits on their way out there now to get that sealed off. She said they'll be done in an hour."

"They have thirty minutes," he told her.

"Thirty? Really? I told her fifteen."

Weynik made a sound. "I must be getting soft in my old age." He turned back to the others. "Report, Doctor?"

Their Klingon civilian CMO, Jiyajh, looked over at him. "We have four with injuries requiring surgery, two of them have been moved to stasis pods, the other two won't survive in there without prior surgery. The rest of the wounded have been treated and are back on duty. I should return and prepare; your EMH is capable, of course, but-"

"Of course, Doctor. Dismissed." But as Jiyajh nodded and rose, he added, "Prepare for more casualties. This fight isn't over."

She nodded again and departed, as Weynik looked to Jor-Dakk. "Tactical status? And drop the customary Brikari one word replies, because I'm not in the mood."

The huge, purple-grey Security Officer turned to him, his stony face suddenly animated. "Forward phasers and torpedo launchers damaged beyond our current ability to immediately repair. I am transferring the torpedo magazines to join those at the aft launcher. Shields back at 60%, expected return to full strength in one hour."

"Good, we're going to need them. Mr Mori, what's our propulsion status?"

The Caitian male set down his PADD. "Well, lacking a warp core we'll have to rely on impulse drive; it's functioning, but our inertial dampening and structural integrity systems are running at safe but reduced levels, so any sudden movement can be expected to be rough."

Weynik nodded. "We'll be operating at slow speeds for the time being anyway, not unless we're interested in mass suicide."

Sasha looked in his direction. "Does that cryptic statement have something to do with that subspace weapon they employed? Something you know that the rest of us don't, Sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Commander; one of the advantages of reaching my age. Years ago during my Starsong days, I fought the Tholians, who had crossed over into Federation space to test an experimental interphasic weapon utilising a set of missiles with isolytic warheads, the type banned by the Second Khitomer Accords for their effects on subspace.

They tried to use it on us, and like we did today we sealed the subspace rift by letting it eat our warp core... but afterwards we discovered that the weapon had a secondary effect, a way of levelling a playing field, by creating a zone of subspatial interference and instability a cubic light year in diameter. Subspace communications, transporters, long-range sensors are out... and warp drive and even travel at high impulse speeds could trigger a compressive subspace sinkhole that would crush us like an egg."

"In other words," Sasha concluded, "We're skating on proverbial thin ice. What about our attacker? And the Thunderbird One?"

Jor-Dakk called up a tactical display on the main viewscreen, displaying the Cloud and several dots. "This is the best estimate given our limited sensor capacity. The Thunderbird One is a small vessel, but will have most likely survived. Our attacker is closer, so may have been caught up in the rupture before we destroyed it."

"Don't count on it, not with that ship of theirs," Weynik replied. "At best there will be a delay in their pursuing us once more."

"That ship," Mori echoed, his tail snapping. "Where did they get a Defiant-class starship anyway? They're not exactly on the open market."

"It was salvaged," Sasha informed him, "Or stolen, depending on your definition." She brought up an image on an adjacent screen of the ventral side of the other ship, obviously recorded during their initial engagement, alongside the same image, but enhanced to reveal a designation that someone had almost completely removed from the hull, but was now computer enhanced back into visibility. "This was the USS Dallas, NCC-69713, part of the Second Fleet during the Dominion War, reported lost on Stardate 52113.11 during the Second Battle of Chin'toka."

"Hundreds of ships were lost in that battle," Weynik noted. "And there are Intelligence reports of criminal elements scouring battle sites salvaging weapons, hardware, shuttles... they must have thought they hit the Jackpot finding her."

"And with a working cloaking device onboard," Lt Holtzmann added anxiously. "I thought only the original Defiant had one of those."

"It did," Jor-Dakk corrected. "On loan from the Romulans in exchange for a share of any gathered intelligence on the Dominion in the Pre-War days. This one will be an addition from the thieves, along with that vortex weapon, both equally illegal."

"So..." Holtzmann interrupted, seemingly working up the courage to continue with expressing her thoughts. "We're going to leave? Get away from this 'thin ice' and call for backup?"

"No, Lieutenant," Sasha answered, beating Weynik in response. "We're not."

The young woman faced the First Officer, her expression creased in incredulity. "They have phaser pulse cannons, torpedoes, ablative armour, subspace weapons, a cloaking device - they have a dozen different ways of blowing us out of space!"

Sasha remained resolute. "You heard Starfleet Security Directive 27 when it was issued; we have to take every step necessary to stop the criminals from getting away with the data they've stolen. Our own safety is not a priority."

At Holtzmann's blanched reaction, Weynik turned to her, offering a sympathetic, "Lieutenant, the appearance of the USS Dallas has made our primary mission more... challenging... but not impossible. We worked for a long time on a ship of that class, we know its strengths... and its weaknesses. And while the Thin Ice will limit us somewhat, it will also restrict our opponents.

As soon as Maryk's team is back inside, we'll proceed for the Thunderbird One at best possible speed. Mr Mori, prep and launch a recorder marker with our updated logs towards Salem One, programmed to leave at sublight until it escapes the Thin Ice, before going to warp. Mr Grel, prepare for Sublight Tactical Operations. Ms Holtzmann, you'll study the Thin Ice Zone and determine its size and the decay rate, to see how long it will last and how far away from the epicentre we need to get. Mr Jor-Dakk, ready our remaining weapons, and analyse the data on the enemy's cloaking device to find a countermeasure." He looked around them again. "Dismissed... except for you, Number One."

The others rose and departed. He leaned forward, lifting up a PADD. "I have some ideas I want to run by you-" He stopped and noticed her expression. "What?"

She watched as Ajax waddled around the desk and could be heard whimpering at Weynik's feet. "Nothing, Sir. Just being all First Officer-like and curious."

The Roylan bent down to help the bulldog up onto his lap, letting the plump bundle twist onto his back to let his master rub his belly. "Curious? About what?"

She shrugged. "Normally Counselor Vestri is included in these meetings; now, you deliberately excluded her. Given that you had just left a session with her immediately before this crisis arose, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He dutifully fussed over his pet. "Don't read too much into things, Lieutenant Commander, I just didn't think she had anything of value to add to our current tactical situation. Let's be honest, you have to be in a pretty sorry state to want a Counselor around for any reason."

She crossed her arms, her expression tightening. "Thanks, Boss."

He winced, remembering too late the amount of personal issues his First Officer had faced, and conquered, and with the help of Counselors like her kin-mother Kami, and Vestri herself. Then he thought about how much her father Esek had been helped as well. And yes, you too, Groucho. "Apologies, Sasha. I didn't mean it like that."

She remained indignant - for a heartbeat. Then she shrugged again. "What would my Dad say? 'Forget about it, Short Round'."

Weynik grunted. "More likely it'd be, 'Shut up, you little crotch goblin, before I sit on you'." He sighed. "I just want to put what's happened to me behind me and move on. It's not happening fast enough."

"It never does. But then, one day, you'll realise you already arrived. No fanfare, no banners, no pomp and circumstance. Not the way you were before - you can never be - but close enough."

"Thank you." Grateful for her understanding - how did she get to be so damn mature? - he shooed Ajax off his lap and picked up a PADD again, calling up images onto the main viewscreen. "Now, onto more urgent matters. Stopping the Thunderbird One is doable, even in our current damaged state. But not with that bastard coming back after us."

"But you said you have some ideas about that?"

"Yes, and I think we'll need them all, and we'll need to have them all in place in the time it takes your father to clean a plate of shuris ribs." He called up schematics and details of the upgrades that went into the Ajax in the time after the Dallas had been abandoned. "Now, if you're done sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong..."

"Shut up, you little crotch goblin, before I sit on you."

*

Kazan was crouched down by the station, as if his proximity could somehow compel the Romulan technician halfway inside the station to make physics work more efficiently.

Then, suddenly, the station above returned to life, and other lights seemed to feed from it to the rest of the station. He grunted with satisfaction. "Excellent." He glared up at a sheepish-looking Crosby. "And not impossible, despite your assurances!"

Danetha sat up, the slim, sallow, pointy-eared female rising up. "Do not chastise your underling too harshly, Captain. I have reactivated the cloaking device, but it will require realignment in order to properly mask the significant power output of this vessel. This will take a minimum of one hour."

"I want it ready sooner!"

"Impossible, as Mr Crosby has already stated."

Kazan snarled. "I am not used to accepting such answers!"

The Romulan merely raised an eyebrow in a very Vulcan-like way. "Then there's never been a better time to learn to do so, Captain. This was meant to be a shakedown cruise, not a combat mission."

Vargas slid out from under the Helm console where she had been working, sitting up and wiping the sweat from her brow. "We won't need it, Captain. We have other tricks up our sleeves, as well as strength and power. The Katana is living on borrowed time."

He helped her up, straightening himself out as he looked around the rest of the Bridge. They all had talent and experience, not just Vargas. But they were still getting accustomed to this ship, and each other. And him. He looked around them. "Yes. Yes, it is. Alright, you dogs, let's get moving!"

*

Sasha and Weynik entered the Bridge, Weynik taking his seat as Sasha drew up to Mori, forcing down her anxiety and all other emotions. "Okay, Lieutenant, I've got some work for you Down Below." She paused. "Yes, I just heard how that sounds out loud. I mean on Deck 8; grab an Engineering Kit and follow the guidelines here." She handed him a PADD.

She saw the furred frown crease his sable features as he accepted and quickly read, looking up again. "Really? I didn't know we could do this."

"I still don't know if we can," she admitted. "I've had Maryk send down a few spare bodies to help you. But hurry, we don't know when the Dallas will catch up with us."

Now he nodded, offered her a look and departed quickly, allowing her to linger for a heartbeat of indulgence, before she resumed her duties, moving to check on the rest of the Bridge stations and crew, providing encouragement to those who seemed to need it.

"Is there a reason we're not resuming, Lieutenant Commander?" Weynik asked, his voice as taut as his body language.

Sasha turned to him, needing to put aside any stubborn thoughts remaining about his state of mind. "The Engineering crew completed the interim repair work on the nacelle, Sir." She turned to Grel. "Lieutenant, proceed on an intercept course with the Thunderbird One, maximum safe speed."

The young Tellarite nodded, having adjusted his station to include a seat harness and a manual steering column. "Aye, Ma'am. One-twentieth impulse."

The Katana lurched as it proceeded, an inevitable and unavoidable side effect of the damage they had already suffered.

And it might just be the start, she reminded herself. In fulfilling their mission, they might not survive the day. That wasn't exactly a new thought to her, and she knew it wouldn't sway her from doing her duty, from protecting the Federation, Starfleet... her family.

The ship shuddered sharply again. "Ayin kafin yan! If you screw like you pilot, Grel, no wonder you spend your Saturday nights alone with your right hoof!"

He glanced at her and nodded, grateful for the reassuring banter.

*

Another subspace ripple made the Thunderbird One lurch, and Fantomax glance up in alarm. "What's happening, Parker? Another of the Bel-Zon's weapons?"

"Just the aftereffects of the weapon, Milady."

"Any sign of the Starfleet vessel? Or that monstrous ship that came to our aid?"

"Both are still behind us, Milady, but precision is impossible with the lingering subspace interference."

She nodded at that and sat back. Next to her, Ben sat up, twitching his whiskers. "You're not still thinking of surrendering, are you?"

She didn't answer. Under her skin, Parker's voice asked, Do you wish me to return to the Starfleet vessel, Milady? Or even back to the station?

Fantomax stared ahead. She had a Hobson's Choice: imprisonment, or continued threat under the Bel-Zon- no wait, that's not a Hobson's Choice, is it? She was thinking of a Morton's Fork-

Oh, who bloody cares? "Parker, is there a third option? Somewhere else we can get to from here not within reach of either Starfleet or the Bel-Zon?"

"What?" Ben asked.

"The Kzinti Patriarchy is reachable, Milady," Parker replied aloud. "Slightly farther, we also have the Paserak Openlands. Of course, there's also the Sling. It's the most distant, but the jump it offers straight into the Orion Empire could be worthwhile, they have no extradition treaty with the Federation, and we have had some successful dealings with the Orions in the past. Our contacts there might still be alive."

"Yes..." The Orions were not among her favourite people, but at least they appreciated talent, even from foreigners. She looked back at her rodent companion. "You think you and your Pack will mind finding a home in Orion space?"

Ben provided a tiny shrug. "Bipeds are bipeds, no matter the colour and temperament... no offence. But what about Orlok?"

"We'll sell her to the Orions, they can claim the bounty from the Federation."

The rat squeaked with amusement at that.

"Shall I set a course for the Sling, Milady?"

*

Weynik kept his eyestalks fixed on the viewscreen, as if transfixed by the gentle pastel swirls of the Cloud to the side, thankful at least that the effects of the subspace weapon hadn't seemingly affected this mysterious lifeform.

Then he focused on listening to the sounds around the Bridge, the constant reports from the various stations, relayed through to Sasha, who efficiently managed it all, only forwarding anything she considered relevant to him directly. She was good, real good. However proud you are of her, Esek, it isn't enough. She could easily take the reins when I-

He stopped himself, before he completed that thought. He hated to have to admit it to anyone, especially himself... but after all that had happened to him, a part of him was doubting his abilities now.

And that was the last thing his ship, his crew, needed now.

He heard Sasha behind him approach Holtzmann and Jor-Dakk. "Lieutenants, any progress on identifying the type of cloak being employed?"

Holtzmann's youthful voice seemed on the verge of cracking. "Um- I mean, Ma'am- we're still analysing, and-"

Jor-Dakk punctuated the response with the more concise, "Negative."

Weynik, still staring ahead, asked, "Can you read the temporal flux density? Is it over 200 Manheims per second?"

Now it was Sasha's turn to respond. "Yes, Sir: 350, in fact."

He nodded. "It'll be a Romulan cloak, probably from a D'deridex class vessel. The larger Romulan ships generate power using artificial quantum singularities rather than matter-antimatter reactions, and so in order to remain undetected while cloaked they need to compensate-"

"-For the chroniton particles being generated," Sasha finished, sounding impressed. "Nice one, Sir."

"They didn't just make me Captain because of my good looks, Number One."

"My Dad would certainly agree, Sir-" A signal from Ops had her report, "Emerging from the Cloud, Sir; Thunderbird One spotted.6 light years distant; they've altered their course, aiming for Open Space, possibly Orion territories."

Weynik tensed. "Any sign of the Dallas?"

"Nothing, Sir; I've refocused the algorithms for Romulan cloaks, but we're still getting background sensor interference."

"And if I were them, I'd be using that to my advantage. Keep your eyes peeled." Weynik rose to his feet. "Get Mr Mori back up here, he's taking over as First Officer. As for you, Ms Hrelle... you've grown far too tall for my liking. Get off my ship, this instant, and take that garish hot rod of yours too."

Sasha snapped to attention, offering an archaic salute of her right hand - or at least the middle finger of her right hand - to her forehead. "Aye, Sir."

The Roylan indulged in the reactions of those around him to his cryptic commands to Sasha as she departed. No, boys and girls, not everything gets spoon fed to you.

*

Sasha rushed into the Katana's Forward Shuttlebay on Deck 5, tapping her combadge. "Hrelle to Tailless: Power Up."

The large enclosure was packed with numerous Starfleet support vessels of sizes and types, from the relatively tiny work bees to the largest shuttle, the Type-10 Wakizashi.

She ignored these, however, to move to an aerodynamic, raptor-shaped flyer, almost twice the size of the Wakizashi, in blood-red colours and an armoured black cockpit section, its wings folded inward... and the hatchway on the port side in the central fuselage opening up on her approach.

The Tailless was Caitian in origin, a gift from her kin-grandmother, First Minister Ma'Sala Shall, and contained features that, technically, were borderline illegal in Federation space. Any Starfleet commanding officer in his right mind would have ordered the ship removed.

And then there were moments like this, as she entered her ship and strode up to the cockpit, planting herself into the seat and opening another channel. "Tailless to Shuttlebay Operations: open the doors."

Seconds after piercing the invisible atmospheric shield and entering space, the flyer spread her wings.

*

Mori had returned to the Bridge. "The modifications are complete, Sir, but Chief Maryk can't promise how long it'll hold before burnout-" He paused and looked up to see the Tailless on the viewscreen, its wings unfolded as it flew away. "Sasha?"

"Lt Cmdr Hrelle will deal with the Thunderbird One; take her seat and her place." Weynik ordered, needing the young Caitian focused on his job rather than his lover - she's more likely to survive to fulfil our orders than we will, Furball - adding, "Scan the area behind us again, Mr Jor-Dakk."