Surefoot 21 Space Oddity

"I don't know where I'm going from here, but I promise it won't be boring."

-David Bowie

"USS

Surefoot-A

, Captain's Log, Stardate 44642.77, Captain Esek Hrelle, commanding: we're currently docked at Deep Space Nine for the next two days for a software upgrade, and to avail ourselves of a little shore leave. The latter of which I am definitely taking advantage of, given who is set to play here tonight. I was lucky to have enough pull to get myself a ticket, and now I'm getting ready for The Greatest Night of My Life!"

From their bed nearby, Kami stopped trimming the tuft of fur at the tip of her tail to look up at her husband. "Excuse me? 'The Greatest Night of My Life'? I

thought

that was the first night we made love. Or so you've told me more than once."

Hrelle had commandeered her dressing table, trying to apply the red and blue make-up to the fur on his face in an attempt to copy the lightning bolt pattern on the holopicture beside him. It wasn't easy; the original model was human, with a flat face and no muzzle like Caitians sported, but he thought he was approximating it rather well.

But now he stopped, turned and smiled charmingly. "Of course not, darling! I meant of course 'The Greatest Night of My Life Not Involving My Beloved Kami'." He returned to his reflection. "I just didn't want to end up sounding like a tail-kisser."

"Sure you didn't." She lay back fully, breathing out with relief. "I should put a tracer on you, in case you run off with this Ziggy Bowie."

He shook his head with mild exasperation. "I told you before, it's not Ziggy Bowie, it's

David

Bowie. Ziggy Stardust was a persona he created early in his career. He didn't just sing and play, he was a performance artist-one of many, many talents he possessed. He was a master of reinventing himself."

"Or, he was someone insecure with his own identity. Or perhaps just someone under the influence of narcotics, like I heard many Terran artists were at the time."

"OR... Someone whose planet-sized genius couldn't be contained so easily!"

She chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult your boyfriend."

He glowered at her reflection as he put away the dye applicators, turned and faced her. "How do I look?"

She regarded him, smirking, before finally settling on, "Indescribable."

He blew a raspberry at her and rose, reaching for his longcoat, the final piece of his reproduction of one of Bowie's baggy beige and blue outfits from his Serious Moonlight Tour (his original choice had been a tight silver jumpsuit more appropriate for his make-up, but his first attempts at fitting into one of those met with so much laughter from Kami that she peed herself, and prompted him to find a more flattering alternative). "There's nothing wrong with fans showing their allegiance to artists by emulating their look."

"And gushing over them constantly. And throwing their knickers onstage."

"I'm not going

that

far. Probably." He grunted. "Are you sure you don't mind my going out without you? Unless you've changed your mind and want to come along?"

Kami smiled. "No thanks. As appealing as it sounds to stand around all night on my aching feet and watch you drool over your man-crush, I have an extended subspace call scheduled later with my fathers on Cait, and then a long, hot soak in a tub on the Holodeck."

He smiled now. "An actual tub? I'm envious now."

"Enough to want to cancel your plans?"

"Kiss my furry ass." He drew close, bent down and rubbed the side of his muzzle against hers, before offering a good night to the cub in her belly. "Take care of your mother, my Warrior Prince."

She shooed him off. "Don't be too late. And don't talk to strangers. And if this Mr Bowie tries to take advantage of you, resist."

"No promises on that last one," he joked. Then he was on his way out to the docking port, ignoring the looks from the few crewmembers still onboard as he passed. Nothing was going to dampen his elation. He was going to see HIM! The Starman, the Thin White Duke, Major Tom, the Goblin King! Not a hologram, not an android, not an impersonator!

David Freaking Bowie!

*

Deep Space Nine Promenade:

"Who in Holy Hraxor's name is David Bowie?" Neraxis asked, before a long, loud belch erupted from her.

Sitting at a table outside the station's Replimat, the other members of Alpha Squad groaned and waved away the quease-inducing odour of Bolian sausage it produced. Sasha grimaced from behind her beer bottle. "Some old Terran musician from the Twentieth Century. He used to be a member of a group that studied Beetles."

Beside her, Kitirik sipped nectar from a tall glass garnished with a small green sprig covered in crawling insects, which he nibbled at between drinks. "Forgive the correction, Good Friend Sasha, but he was not a member of that esteemed group I believe you are referring to, but rather an accomplished artist in his own right. My studies of Terran subcultures of his era confirm his innovation and influence, not just in music but also film, fashion, and art, long after his first death."

Next to Neraxis, her teammate and boyfriend Jonas Ostrow was making a failed attempt to keep her from consuming all of his cheese-slathered nachos, as she had already finished her own. "Okay, so how did a Twentieth-Century musician end up in the Twenty-Fourth?"

Sitting opposite him, Eydiir cradled her own bottle. "His original body died from cancer in 2016-"

"Wait, you can die of that?" Neraxis asked.

The Capellan girl nodded. "Back then, yes, and epithelial cells were extracted from him and tested as part of several failed tailored treatments. But before he died, he had his brain holographically mapped at the Jackson Roykirk Institute in Manchester, as part of a project to duplicate human engrams for artificial intelligence.

In 2365, some of his original cells were discovered intact in a cryogenic complex, as were the holographic engrams in a museum. Both were purchased by a Ferengi businessman, who had the cells revived and cloned, accelerating the clone's growth to adulthood, and somehow successfully imprinting the engrams onto it. The Ferengi tried to claim ownership of the Bowie clone."

"So what happened?"

Eydiir paused to drink before answering, "His claim failed, of course; the Federation Legal Council declared Bowie had the same rights as any other sentient being, and he was rehabilitated into modern society."

Sasha looked to her friend. "How do you know so much about him?" She nudged her, grinning. "A secret fan of classical music?"

"We discussed the case in my class on Medical Ethics. Ferengi do not have any ethics, at least not where profit is concerned."

"Ferengi are disgusting," Jonas groused - suddenly smacking Neraxis' hand as she reached for more of his nachos. "Order a second bowl for yourself!"

The Bolian nudged him, grinning mischievously. "Yours are tastier, Scrappy."

Kit watched the interplay with interest, offering, "Good Friend Jonas, I would suggest an alternative snack next time, but I fear Good Friend Neraxis might simply end up with a case of... peanuts envy." He wheezed with laughter at the pun, uncaring of the groans it induced.

"So," Meow Rrori interjected, returning to the table with a tray of drinks, this round on him. "Have we decided on seeing this Bowie character, or have I sold you on my idea of a day trip to Bajor to see the Chulkese Waterfall?"

"I'd like to see him," Jonas confessed, having resigned himself to letting Neraxis assimilate the rest of his nachos. "It'd be fascinating to see a man who lived through the most tumultuous periods in Terran history: the Cold War, 9/11, Khan-"

"You really want to see some old man crooning ancient songs?" Sasha asked, smirking. "Include me out."

"Did I mention that there were many scantily-clad beauties at the Chulkese Waterfall?" Rrori asked.

"No," Sasha replied, "But you didn't really have to-"

"CADETS! AT ATTENTION!"

The group bolted to their feet, the force nearly tipping over the table and spilling the contents of a few of the bottles and some of the snacks.

A female couple approached them, a Vulcan and a younger Caitian, the former dressed in sober black and grey civilian clothes that matched her demeanour, the latter a colourful contrast in both attire and personality, guffawing to herself, her black tail swishing mischievously behind her. "Oh, you darling little cubs! I'm going to miss teasing you when you go out into the Big Bad Galaxy!"

Sasha sat down again, showing Lt C'Rash how many middle fingers she had on her right hand. "Thanks, Cousin. Hope you get worms."

The Chief of Security looked to her companion. "Ooh, that sounds like gross disrespect towards a superior officer, Commander! Should I file charges?"

T'Varik offered the barest hint of amusement as she replied, "You could, Lieutenant, but I doubt if you possess the requisite maturity to sit through the required disciplinary hearings." She nodded to the cadets. "Good evening, Alpha Squad. I trust you are staying out of trouble?"

Sasha grinned. "Don't we always, Ma'am?"

"No. But assuming that there are no Nazis on this station to antagonise the pugilistic Mr. Ostrow, I will expect a lack of reports from the local constabulary."

Rrori grabbed a beer, letting his white-furred tail swish to display his gold tailbands at some passing Dabo girls from that interesting-looking bar nearby. "We were just deciding to shuttle over to Bajor."

"We were just

debating

whether to do that," Sasha clarified. "Or to go see the Bowie concert."

"Definitely go to Bajor," C'Rash recommended.

"Why? You got something against Bowie?"

"I know nothing about him. I'm just thinking about who'll you be seeing there." She nodded towards a crowd of people milling about the Promenade.

Sasha and the others looked up, Sasha spotting her father strutting towards them like he owned the place, the lightning bolt on his face bright and unignorable, and the back of his longcoat swishing about because of his happy tail. "Mother's Cubs..."

Hrelle drew up to them, singing, "We are the Goon Squad and we're coming to town... Beep Beep!" He stopped and grinned. "Hello All You Young Dudes! Well?" He held out his arms. "How do I look?"

No one deigned to speak, until Kit offered, "You are quite resplendent, Most Respected Captain! You capture the look of the period most successfully!"

"Ass kisser," Sasha quipped, smirking again.

"Thank you, Kit!" Hrelle beamed. "Drink up, cubs, you don't want to miss the start of the concert! You're gonna love him!" And in a loud voice he began singing. "There's a StaRRRrmanNNN waiting in the sky / He'd like to come and meet us / But he thinks he'd blow our minds!"

Nearby, a strange alien with slicked-back hair and an unformed-looking face, and wearing the beige uniform of a Bajoran security officer, looked over at the group. "You there! Do you require medical assistance?"

"What? No, Constable!"

"In that case, there's no noise-making allowed on the Promenade!"

"Sorry, Constable!" Hrelle waved to him happily, before focusing again on his crew. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Sasha bit back her initial reply, offering a hesitant as she stared at her father's outfit, "Well, we, ah..."

He frowned. "What's wrong with you guys? David Bowie is AMAZING! He's written so many incredible songs!

Space Oddity

,

Starman

,

Let's Dance

,

Loving the Alien

,

Fashion

,

Under Pressure

,

Suffragette City

,

Changes

,

Life on Mars

,

Heroes

... oh, Great Mother,

Heroes

! And he's the most handsome, charismatic man you'll ever see! Women wanted to be with him, men wanted to

be

him - actually, they wanted to be with him, too - and his voice! It's- it's just-"

C'Rash chuckled. "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as yours, Uncle Esek."

He looked to her. "You have a problem with my singing voice, Lieutenant?"

"Me? Oh,

no

- at least, not if you're doing an impression of a man trying to pass a self-sealing stem bolt through his urethra."

That made some of the cadets titter, or moan in sympathetic pain, until T'Varik pointed out to her companion, "Were you not just complaining about the lack of respect shown towards superior officers?"

"Yes, well, it's tough to show him respect in that get-up."

Hrelle looked to the cadets. "I guess you cubs can't appreciate good music; your loss. Enjoy yourselves, anyway." He started to turn, but looked back at his senior officers. "Oh, Commander? Would you agree that Lieutenant C'Rash's attitude towards me is a poor role model for our cadets?"

"Undoubtedly, Sir."

"Good. She's earned herself thirty minutes on the nearest Naughty Step you can find, while you lecture her on her responsibilities. Somewhere nice and public to maximise her embarrassment."

"What?" the young Caitian exclaimed.

"If she refuses," he added, ignoring his niece and junior officer. "Then her shore leave is cancelled and she's confined to her quarters."

"Acknowledged, Sir." T'Varik took C'Rash by the elbow. "I believe I saw a suitable Step near the Klingon restaurant."

"Wha- he's not being serious!"

"Yes I am!" he called over his shoulder as he walked away, trying to find the location of the concert hall. Damned Cardassian architecture...

*

He was still cursing it as he found himself in a quieter part of the station. There were no maps, no directions or signposts, and unlike the

Surefoot

, no helpful central computer he could ask for help. Seven Hells, he was gonna miss the start of the show!

His pointed ears twitched at some sounds when he rounded a corner, finding a man standing there, pacing anxiously outside a door, flexing his fingers. He was dressed in similar fashion to Hrelle - another fan? the Caitian wondered - and Hrelle drew up to him. "Excuse me, I was looking for the concert-"

Then he stopped, his jaw dropping open.

Mother's Cubs, it was

him!

He was lean and young; the Ferengi who had created him might have used the holographic brain map of Bowie when he was in his late sixties, but the cloned body standing here was aged only up to his twenties. But there was the charisma, the intelligence and charm Hrelle had seen in recordings of performances. The eyes looked different, but otherwise, it was definitely... "Mr. Bowie? David Bowie?"

The man stopped pacing, faced him with a measure of shock Hrelle recognised from people unused to non-humans, but then shook his head. "Sorry, you have the wrong man. My name's Davy Jones."

Hrelle reacted - but only before his confusion blossomed into a grin, as he pointed at the man. "Hah! Good one! That

is

your name, but I know you changed it to Bowie to differentiate from another singer of your time, who was a member of the Primates!"

"The Monkees, actually." He began pacing again. "Look, I'm rather busy-"

"Mr. Bowie," Hrelle gushed, his heart racing at the unexpected opportunity, the words rushing from him like steam. "My name is Esek, and I just have to say how thrilled and honoured and delighted I am to run into you! You don't know how big a fan I am!"

Bowie looked over his outfit again. "I can guess."

Hrelle chuckled. "I suppose you can! Anyway, you're- you're amazing! Fantastic! Wonderful!"

"Please, you don't have to go on-"

"Oh, but I do!"

Bowie stopped pacing and stared resolutely at him. "No. You don't. I really don't want to hear it, thank you."

Hrelle frowned. "What's wrong? Are you in trouble or-" Then he stopped and smiled. "You've got stage fright?

You?

But you're

Bowie!

You've played hundreds of gigs!"

"Yes, and I've been nervous before each and every one of them. And that was before I started gigging in outer space for aliens."

"Wow." Hrelle shook his head. "Still, it can't be too far out for someone like you, can it? Your songs practically prepared you for this century!" He drew up and nudged Bowie with his elbow and sang, "Believing the strangest things / Loving The Alien-"

"Is your carer nearby?"

"Mr. Bowie?"

Hrelle and Bowie turned at the approach of four figures - three human males and a Bolian female - but Hrelle's hackles rose as he watched them. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but moved with a military bearing. The human up front was young, swarthy, with curly black hair, goatee and a gimlet gaze that was fixed on Bowie. "Excuse me, sir, my name is Captain Belexes-"

The musician looked away. "I'm not in the mood for more fans-"

The man drew a phaser, as did the others. "You need to come with us."

"What's going on? Who are you?"

Hrelle studied them, their weapons, their body language, prompting him to speak up. "We'd best do what they say, Dave."

Belexes focused on Hrelle. "What's this 'we'? We're here for him, not you!"

Hrelle's expression was aghast. "What? How

dare

you!" He drew closer to Bowie and put an arm around him. "We're a double act! Look at me! Do you think I'd go out looking like this otherwise?"

Belexes looked at his comrades, before focusing on the Caitian again. "We weren't told about you. What's your name?"

"Mick Jagger."

"And you're a singer?"

"Am I a singer?" Without waiting for a prompt, Hrelle launched into a loud power ballad. "There's no sign of life / It's just the power to charm / I'm lying in the rain / But I never wave bye-bye-"

Belexes held up a hand. "Please, no more." He looked to his colleagues. "I don't know classical music, I can't tell if he's serious or not."

"Just as easy to take two as one, Captain," the Bolian pointed out.

"Excuse me," Bowie exclaimed. "Just what the bloody hell is going on-"

"Stay calm," Hrelle advised quietly. "Best not to antagonise them."

Belexes nodded. "Your friend Mr. Jagger's quite right." He drew out a handheld communicator. "Belexes to

Gallifrey

: six to beam up."

On beaming into a small transporter room, Belexes strode up to a wall communicator. "Capaldi! Eccleston! Get us going, but don't attract attention from the Starfleet vessels docked to DS9." He looked to his men and their captives. "Baker, Tennant, lock them up in one of the cabins until we get back to the Badlands."

*

Hrelle took in the cramped quarters of their improvised jail cell fairly quickly: a bunk bed, a chair and small table, empty overhead shelves, and an open doorway leading into the hygiene chamber. He waited until they closed and locked the door before shucking off his longcoat and began moving things about, while Bowie stood in the corner. "This is almost as small as my first flat in London." He looked to Hrelle. "What are you doing?"

"Assessing our situation." He shifted furniture, finding an environmental panel near the floor: good. "Planning our escape."

"Escape? Escape from whom? Who are they? Who are

you

?"

Hrelle found a power conduit under the table. "They're called the Maquis. They're rebels, opposed to a peace treaty that unfortunately meant some of them had to be relocated from worlds in this sector; it led them to renouncing their Federation citizenship to fight for their homes. Many Starfleet officers and crew joined them, sympathetic to their cause. Captain Belexes was one of us, I'm sure."

"'One of us'? Are you saying

you're

with this Starfleet?"

Hrelle popped out his claws and worked at the environmental panel, raking the insulating seal and tugging the panel slightly away from the wall. "Yes. Captain Esek Hrelle, USS

Surefoot

."

"And why would they kidnap me? I'm just a singer from another century! I'm nobody!"

Hrelle began tugging out a sensor wire from the interior, twisting it about to point it towards the floor. "You're not nobody; the story of your creation sparked a renewed debate on cloning and sentient rights. Kidnapping you will draw attention to the Maquis' plight." He rose and entered the hygiene chamber, hoping his guess about the make of this vessel was correct. "We need to escape before we reach the Badlands."