Surefoot 59 The Burning World

Dominion Support Vessel 323-742-5669, Hellbaum Sector:

Vonbran leaned back in his chair and rubbed his deep violet eyes, fighting off the exhaustion that had been plaguing him for the last several days, the closer they approached the Test Site. He had to make sure that everything was perfect, everything was right. The alternative... the alternative...

"Vorta."

Vonbran rose to his feet when he saw the Jem'Hadar enter: two soldiers, led by their First, Asara'sos. Vonbran tensed, as he always did when Asara'sos appeared, their beady reptilian eyes fixed on Vonbran like prey. It was a widely-held belief that the genetically-engineered soldiers of the Dominion were almost as loyal and obedient to the Vorta as they were to the Founders.

It was a belief without much foundation. In truth, without the Vortas' control over the Jem'Hadar's Ketracel White to keep them in line, these gruff, ugly feral monsters would rip into Vonbran and turn him into some sort of paste. They still might, if Asara'ros ever receives the Word. The Word that the Founders were fed up with Vonbran's lack of progress, and were ready to kill the Vorta and replace him with his clone successor.

He was currently Vonbran-7. He had come to life four months ago when Vonbran-6 was liquidated over his last major failure. And he knew nearby, Vonbran-8 was waiting, waiting to accept Vonbran-7's accumulated memory engrams, periodically updated and stored.

Still, he didn't have to end up like his previous versions. He was a brilliant scientist, if he did say so himself, and his initial experiments had been promising. Certainly promising enough for the Founders to give him a ship, a small Jem'Hadar task force, and the freedom to test it out on a planetary scale.

He could do this. He

would

do this. "Is there a reason for this disturbance at such a critical time?"

Asara'ros regarded him, glancing with disdain at the chair Vonbran preferred, the Jem'Hadar seeing such items as displays of weakness... then offering the same disdain to Vonbran himself. "We have entered orbit, Vorta. There are Federation grain freighters fleeing the system. We are prepared to destroy them."

Vonbran regarded him; the Jem'Hadar was a valuable resource to the Founders and the Dominion, but they could be vexingly fixated on their insatiable lust for combat. "Civilian ships? No Starfleet vessels?"

"No, Vorta."

"Then let them go."

"What?"

"Chase them out of the system, but do

not

fire unless fired upon first. We are here to bring order to the people of the Alpha Quadrant, not needless destruction." He smiled. "We are not barbarians."

The First and his two guards bristled. And almost protested. But Asara'ros straightened up. "There are vessels on the planet, preparing to launch."

Vonbran nodded thoughtfully. "No doubt wishing to escape as well. Shoot down any that reach orbit; they'll get the message, and stay planetside. I want test subjects on the surface for when the Conflagrators sweep over- what's this place called again?"

"Gault, Vorta."

Vonbran smiled; he knew, of course, but wanted to make Asara'ros answer to him in front of his soldiers. "Gault, yes. Put us in orbit, while I make the final calibration to the warheads. You may leave."

They didn't leave.

Vonbran tensed, but otherwise showed no reaction as he asked evenly, "What is it?"

Asara'ros nodded to the equipment in the rear of the lab. "The orders are for you to update and transmit your brain engrams on a daily basis, Vorta. In case something should happen to you."

He stared back.

You mean, in case you get the orders to turn me inside out. Or even if you

don't

get the orders.

But he smiled and nodded, mentally preparing himself for the rather unpleasant process ahead. "Of course. Victory is Life."

"Victory is Life," Asara'ros chanted in reply.

And pointed his gun in the direction of the engram recorders, and the tank containing his potential successor.

No, my erstwhile replacement. I am not ready to let you take over just yet.

*

SS

Claridon

, Deck 11 Poolside:

Ensign Zir Dassene reclined in the deck chair, staring up with wonder through the dome to the planet the ship was orbiting, a beautiful, terrifying gas giant of swirling lavender and lime colours, with tiny planetoids in tighter orbits moving between the two.

The pool area was crowded, but everyone else seemed more interested in splashing about, drinking and flirting, while music played distractingly from speakers near the bars. Zir didn't begrudge anyone their fun, however; the passenger liner had been contracted by Starfleet to provide shore leave to personnel near the front lines, whenever there were no planets or other facilities nearby. And the Thirteenth Fleet certainly needed it.

She was clad in her plain black one-piece swimsuit, a modest costume compared with what many of her comrades preferred. She didn't care, though at least she had grown enough in confidence not to be self-conscious about being ogled by others; it helped that, unlike the last time she had worn it, on Sherman's Planet, she wasn't surrounded by lascivious civilians who wanted to hit on an Orion girl, given her people's reputation.

Her world, her people, seemed so far away these days. And not just astronomically.

Her attention returned to the here and now, as a tall, pale-skinned human male with short, straw-coloured hair, clad in a baggy sleeveless shirt, shorts and sandals, approached, carrying tall, skinny, colourful drinks in his hands, handing one to her as she sat up, and he took a seat on an adjacent deckchair. "Sorry it took so long; there was a big crowd at the bar."

Zir sucked from the straw in her glass, her eyes widening at the tartness of the liquid... and the potency of the alcoholic components. "Yes... and I saw a big, handsome barman there too. Did I see him whisper something to you?"

Peter Boone flushed a little at her observation. "Maybe."

"His cabin number?" she invited with a sly grin.

He tasted some of his own drink and pretended to be distracted by some poolside hijinks, responding only with, "Maybe."

Zir's smile became a grin, feeling herself blush as well at the memory of her early days on the

Surefoot

, when she had first met Peter, and had allowed herself to be strongly attracted to him, before learning he was gay. Then she recalled the amused advice from Counselor Hrelle on the subject:

You're allowed to be attracted to someone you know won't return it, so long as you don't let it affect how you otherwise interact with them.

"Are you packed and ready to go?"

Peter nodded. "The transport is scheduled to depart here tomorrow at 0600 Hours."

"Think you'll have enough time to get together with Mr Hunky Barman?"

He sipped his drink, smacking his lips. "No... but it's nice to be asked." He looked at her. "Are you sure you don't mind me going?"

"Are you kidding me? It's your

daughter

! If you have the chance to go visit her, take it! How often are we that close to Gault, and with enough off-duty time for you to get there and back?" She sipped again. "Especially after all we've been through."

He nodded. "Thanks. I'd invite you guys along, but... it's all farms. Farms, and people talking about farming." He shrugged. "Stalac might enjoy burrowing, though."

Zir chuckled. "At least it'll get him out of the casino; he's barely left it since we boarded yesterday. I think he's developed a gambling addiction." She sipped again. "You're gonna get me drunk."

"It's medicinal; Doctor's Orders."

"You're still studying. And aren't you going to be specialising in Counseling?"

"Still applicable. I want to make sure you actually relax while I'm not here, and not worry about us."

"I'm not worrying."

He smirked. "Hence the talks you gave to Tori about not getting into fights, or Urad about not overindulging in the Cafe, or Astrid about not... well, being too much Astrid. Think about yourself for a change." His expression sobered a little. "Have you heard from Niles?"

Her own expression mirrored his now as she nodded, and drank more deeply, as if to avoid responding as long as possible. "He'll be back on Earth in two weeks... out of Starfleet. He's sorry he couldn't handle the pressures. He's sorry for leaving us. And he... dropped hints about our remaining a couple, despite his decision."

"And how did you respond to that?"

She breathed out, feeling the alcohol reaching her head now, and wishing she had eaten more for dinner earlier that night. "I told him No. It wouldn't work out for either of us. He needs to recover from the traumas he experienced and think about a new direction for his life."

"So do you," Peter pointed out.

She nodded. The events of the Battle of Khavak had affected them all, in varying ways: as victims... and as killers. They had been given an initial clearance by the Counseling staff upon their reunion with the Thirteenth Fleet, but that didn't mean they were magically over what they had undergone.

For Niles Angstrom, a young, gentle Medical cadet on another squad who had become someone very special in Zir's life for a brief time, his recovery took him out of Starfleet, and out of Zir's life. She didn't begrudge him that; more than a few people had left the Service, or were discharged, because of the War. "When we last talked, he was dropping hints that we could still have something, despite the distance and his leaving Starfleet. I told him we would always mean something to each other, but not in a romantic way." She looked up. "Did I do right?"

Peter smiled, momentarily distracted by a passing broad-shouldered, tanned man wearing very little, before responding. "As a Counselor-In-Training, I wouldn't be qualified to say. As your friend, I'd say Yes. I think Niles was important for you, your first real intimate partner -- one

you

chose, not one forced upon you -- and I'm sure you'll always remember him affectionately. But I don't think either of you wanted to settle down, marry and have a passle of kids."

Her eyebrows rose. "'Passle'?"

"One of Doc Masterson's words."

"Of course. And did he say how much was in a passle?"

"I didn't dare ask."

Zir smiled and drank again, agreeing with Peter's assessment of her own situation, and glad that he seemed to be on the same wavelength with her. He was going to be a fine Counselor-

"Hello, you two."

Both turned to see the approach of a shapely, chocolate-skinned human female with a mane of sable hair and a slinky, shimmering Tholian silk evening dress, scrutinising them both as she approached. "Midnight drinks by the pool." She glanced up to see the gas giant. "Neither of you will be getting a tan under that."

"Evening, Astrid." Zir glanced down at her friend's shoes, ones with incredibly long pointed heels --

how in the Gods' names can anyone walk in those?

-- once again filled with admiration and envy at not only at Astrid Michel's beauty but also her poise and confidence in every situation. "Putting the rest of us to shame as usual in the fashion stakes, I see. How was the singer?"

The Squad's Flight Ops Specialist offered a theatrical gasp. "'Singer'? How very

dare

you, Fearless Leader! Diva Plavalaguna is one of the most talented and revered operatic artists in the Quadrant." She reached for Zir's drink, taking it and drinking from it without any reaction to the alcohol. "Mmm, nice, but any more of these and you two will end up going Bumpers."

"Not likely," both of them said in reply.

Then Astrid took on a slightly serious expression. "I was leaving the Theatre to join Stalac in the Casino, when I saw our other esteemed squadmates in the Slaughtered Lamb. Our Gearhead's overindulged herself again, and is getting mouthy and refusing to listen to Urad."

Zir rose to her feet, immediately feeling the effects of the alcohol she had imbibed, but shaking it off as best she could, her concern for her friends. "Come on, it's late anyway, and I want everyone to say goodbye to Peter before he leaves for Gault in the morning."

They padded their way out and down to a deck below on the Promenade, where the ship's themed bars, shops and snack facilities sat, Zir's concern for Tori barely contained. Of them all, Tori Emoto's experiences at the hands of the Cardassian boarders on the

Surefoot

was perhaps the most intense and personal.

Yes, Zir knew that those animals hadn't the time to actually rape her friend, and that her own experiences with being a victim of sexual assault while escaping Orion space had been more prolonged and graphic... but this wasn't a competition of ordeal. Tori was still reeling from it, despite her denials.

'Mired in the Anger Stage'

, as Counselor Hrelle had put it. They needed patience to help her leave that and enter the other recovery stages. Which Zir and the others were prepared to do.

Assuming Tori didn't punch out the Galaxy first.

The Slaughtered Lamb was a drinking establishment themed around some Terran place and age that Zir half-recognised from ancient videos, with elaborately-carved chairs and tables, stained-glass windows, brass fittings and faux-gaslit wall and ceiling lights. The three of them quickened their pace on their approach, as they heard shouts from within, and then knocked over chairs.

They entered to see a dozen or more patrons crowded together, gaping within intimidated looks at the sight of a slight Terran female with Asian features and casual clothes, kept from launching an attack on them by a massive grey-skinned arm, attached to an equally-massive, grey-skinned bipedal pachydermoid in a tight-fitting Hawaiian shirt and white trousers. Despite his obvious superior strength, his voice was almost pleading. "Please, Comrade Tori, these are not worthy targets for your righteous wrath!"

The young woman continued to struggle, snarling, "Let me go, Urad! I haven't kicked enough of them in the balls!"

"Stand down, Ensign!" Zir snapped. "That's an order!" When she saw Tori calm down -- a little -- and saw Astrid move to mollify the staff behind the bar to keep them from calling their own Security, and then she asked, "What happened?"

Tori kept staring hard at the other patrons, leaving Urad to explain, "Comrade Tori was engaged in some boisterous bawdy Karaoke singing, and she reacted badly to some critics from the nearby tables."

"It was just a joke!" one of them explained, swaying slightly.

Zir waved him off, drawing closer to Tori, Peter beside her as she focused on her squadmate. "Ensign... you've had enough. Time to call it a night."

Peter drew closer, but made a point of not reaching out to touch her, smiling. "Yeah, Tor, I'll be away first thing in the morning. Let's all have a good night drink in one of our cabins."

Tori calmed down further.

Until one of the other patrons added, "Yeah, get the yappy little bitch back on a lead."

Urad immediately released his hold on Tori, pushing her aside before knocking over another table to step forward, arms extended, hands balled into fists as big as most humanoid heads, as he bellowed, muzzle wide, "REPEAT THAT INSULT, SCOUNDRELS! I DARE YOU!"

The room tensed.

Until a large irregular lump of golden-brown mineral slithered in, the Starfleet combadge bolted to his side carrying a computer-generated male voice opining loudly,

"Gosh, I hope I'm interrupting something! I must confess to be thinking of giving up Starfleet and becoming a professional gambler on Kasperia Prime or Wrigley's Pleasure Planet!"

Astrid turned to him. "Have you won again, Stalac?"

Zir glanced at her, wondering why she would be asking that at such a moment.

"

My pockets would be bulging,"

the Horta replied.

"If it wasn't all in ship's credits. And I had pockets."

Astrid smiled. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind sparing a few, to buy everyone here a round to smooth things over... and to tip our hard-working bar staff here for their discretion in not reporting this incident?"

"

Gladly! My good fortune is everyone else's good fortune!"

As the pub settled down again, and Stalac rumbled over to provide the necessary credit transaction, Peter guided Tori and Urad to the exit, while Zir sided up to Astrid, murmuring, "Nice save."

Astrid grinned, slipping an arm around Zir from behind. "I've had plenty of experience quelling bar fights; they usually start over me."

Zir grunted. "Well, you can accept my thanks, Ensign."

"You're welcome, Fearless Leader."

"You can also get your hand off my ass."

"Spoilsport."

*

They managed to return to their cabins without further incident, Tori flopping onto her bed fully clothed, muttering to herself. Zir stood nearby. "This isn't over, Ensign. We need to have a good long talk tomorrow-"

But Astrid, standing there removing her high heels, cut her off. "No point in saying anything now; I'll stay up a while and keep an eye on her, in case she's sick. The rest of you, go back to your cabins." She smirked, turning her back slightly to reveal the fasteners on her gown. "Unless someone wants to stay and keep me company?"

"

I would,"

Stalac quipped.

"But I promised my egg-mother before I left my planet that I would save myself for my Wedding Night."

When Stalac and Urad entered their own cabin, modified by the ship's crew for their own unique needs, Zir pointed a finger in the latter's face, her expression taut. "As for

you

, Ensign Kaldron: those were fellow members of Starfleet,

not

the enemy. You intimidate people more than you know with just your presence, without even your shouts and declaration of your readiness to combat. Do you understand?"

The hippo-like Hroch somehow suddenly looked very small and vulnerable. "They... They insulted Tori-"

Zir stuck her pointed finger against his snout, between his enlarged round nostrils, feeling the hot breath from them.

"Do... you... understand?"

Urad drew back, and nodded.

"Now go to bed... and no more fooling around."

Stalac was crawling into the environmental chamber the liner's crew constructed for him to sleep inside.

"Yes, Mom..."

"Good night." As the door slid shut and she moved across to the cabin she was sharing with Peter, she shook her head. "Am I never gonna be off-duty?"

He chuckled as they entered and moved to their respective beds, larger and more comfortable affairs to what they had on the

Surefoot

. "You mean, not scolding us? Probably not."

Zir slumped on the bed, too tired to even get out of her swimsuit. "We're idiots at heart."

Peter sat down on his, reaching for a locket on the table between the beds. "Or... we're family."

"Maybe the same thing." Zir smiled as she stared up at the ceiling. "Do you think it's like that everywhere in Starfleet? Or just under Papa Cat's influence?"

"I won't question it."

She glanced in his direction, seeing the tiny holoprojector locket in his hand, activated to reveal a tiny image of his six year old daughter Abby, a golden-haired charming beauty. Peter and Zir talked at great length about her: how she had been conceived with his friend Claire Hastings when he was barely in his teens, still exploring his sexuality, and how he had joined Starfleet, specialising in a role he couldn't initially stomach, in order to graduate and provide a better home for Abby than what awaited her if she remained in their collective on the farmworld of Gault. He stared with obvious love and longing at the image.

She smiled. "You know, you still have time to visit that hunky barman."

He smiled back, shaking his head and reaching for the light controls. "I have to get up early for that transport ship. I'll be as quiet as I can when I wake."