Surefoot 62 In The Bleak Midwinter

Planet Navida III, Stardate 51855.22:

In the waiting, windless gloom, the corpse of the city rose up from the snowy swaddle into the thick mist that was slowly, inexorably suffusing the sky. Charred, gutted buildings sat like grave markers, vehicles cluttering the streets and bridges haphazardly, cast aside like forgotten toys. Ships sat in the quay on the bay, their wooden and metal hulls protesting their slow but relentless crush by the surrounding, swelling ice, unchecked by the former inhabitants of the devastated metropolis, whose remains littered every conceivable corner, the planet no longer possessing any animal life to pick at the frozen flesh.

There was a park in the hub of the city, with spoke-like boulevards extending outwards in every direction, a park now denuded of plant and animal life, a park that now served as the base of operations for the Starfleet rescue effort that had arrived eight hours before.

Captain T'Varik, clad in cold weather clothing, heavy gloves and hooded jacket, watched her breath ghost before her as she moved from the transporter pattern enhancer ring to the nearest collection of crewmembers, her boots crunching in the thin carpet of frost beneath them. The Vulcan decided with immediate effect that it was perfectly logical to hate the cold. "Lieutenant Kitirik: report."

Kit turned to face her, the junior officer identically clad but also equipped with supplemental heating units to keep his more sensitive reptoid physiology from shutting down in these low temperatures. His round bronze eyes watered excessively from the cold, making him appear mournful... which, T'Varik considered, would not be inapposite for where they were. "Respected Captain, I believe I can confirm that the Navidans were not the victims of the Dominion."

She glanced around once more at the gnarled, carbonised trees, the bodies they had found here moved out of sight. "You are certain? But there was no evidence of a natural disaster that would have caused such immediate and widespread devastation as what we see here."

"No, Respected Captain, this was no natural disaster either. I believe the catastrophe here was the result of a polaric ion explosion."

"I am unfamiliar with that term."

Kit nodded, setting aside his tricorder onto an adjacent data display table. "Polaric ion particles are an exotic, highly volatile form of energy, capable of generating power on a large scale, but also prone to instability, causing subspace chain reactions when they reach critical mass. Such reactions

do

have the potential of killing all life on an entire planet within a matter of seconds."

He indicated the surrounding area. "There

is

evidence of polaric ion particles in the immediate area, as well as the subspace instability currently affecting our transporters, scanners and communicators, and which has also severely altered the planet's weather patterns, can be a result of a subspace chain reaction specifcially caused by a polaric ion explosion."

T'Varik's brow furrowed now, recalling a brief historical note in one of the lectures she gave while teaching at the Academy, "The destruction of a Romulan research station on Chaltok IV by a polaric ion detonation led to the Polaric Test Ban Treaty of 2268. This agreement effectively halted and prohibited all polaric ion research in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants."

"That is correct, Respected Captain."

"Navida III is...

was

a Federation member, and would be as subject to the Treaty as any other. It would not have knowingly engaged in such research."

Kit drew back the hood of his jacket, adjusting some of the heating pads around his seaweed-green head. "The initial Romulan experiments also noted a strong potential for polaric ion energy weapons production. In recent months, the Federations News Services have reported many member worlds are seeking to augment their domestic defences in the wake of Dominion advances into our territory.

I suspect the Navidans believed the Dominion threat strong enough to warrant breaking the Treaty. However, I am awaiting corroboration from my esteemed colleague..." A slight seismic shudder made the tricorder on the table dance. "Who I believe is returning."

Nearby, a patch of frost-covered, frozen earth melted and collapsed into a small geyser of acid residue, from it emerging a metre-wide, irregular lump of orange-brown rock with a Starfleet combadge and tricorder bolted to his side. He rumbled closer to the officers, the voder unit in his combadge producing a male voice.

"You were correct, Lieutenant. There is a subterranean complex, 4.4 kilometres north-northeast of this point, possessing the residue of sophisticated technology, and where the polaric ion concentration is at its highest."

Kit nodded. "Thank you, Ensign Stalac; I hope you did not overindulge in the native minerals during your burrowing." He turned back to T'Varik. "Captain, do you wish us to continue our investigations? We may find computers elsewhere intact enough to provide supportive evidence for the official records."

For the 232

nd

time since she had been promoted from First Officer and given temporary command of the

Surefoot

, T'Varik secretly considered how Captain Esek Hrelle would have responded. It was ostensibly an illogical and needless tactic on her part; she was experienced and adept enough to make her own command decisions, otherwise Admiral Tattok would not have given her the responsibility.

But she also acknowledged that, in the 6.48 years that she had served with the Caitian, her regard for his success in the role had grown, and though she would undoubtedly forge her own style, she knew there was much she could still adopt from him.

And would continue to do so, she reminded herself, when he and his family returned, when their Motherworld was liberated from the Ferasans. T'Varik was as rational and objective as any other Vulcan... but equally, she would not entertain any other notion. Esek, his wife Kami and their cubs, were family, closer to her than the one she grew up with, bonded to her not just through T'Varik's marriage to their relation C'Rash, but also through T'Varik's status of godmother to their youngest.

T'Varik did not ask for command under these circumstances. So she chose to consider herself 'keeping the seat warm' for Captain Hrelle, as their Chief Medical officer put it. And she kept him in her thoughts. 1.89 seconds after Kit had asked his question, she responded. "No. The cause of the disaster here can be verified later, if need be. Our priority must be to rescue anyone might have survived. Have you run the climate forecast?"

"Yes, Respected Captain; the polaric ion pulse has also had a profound effect on the weather patterns, causing inversions and vortices of air from the planet's upper atmosphere to ground level. We have perhaps 4.8 hours before the local temperatures drop below -120 degrees Centigrade." He shuddered. "If I am allowed to return to the ship before that happens, I would not be ungrateful."

She nodded. "You will return now and take over from Lt Bellator. Mr Stalac, join Ensign Nguyen's search team at the Civic Centre; many of the buildings have collapsed there, and they could use your excavating skills."

As they acknowledged her orders and departed, T'Varik turned to look at the craggy, snow-capped mountains surrounding this city on three sides, mountains being swallowed up by the growing mist, and indulged in a moment of sorrow, unable to merely focus on the scientific aspects of the reason for the

Surefoot

coming here. Six days ago, this was a living world of millions of people, like so many others in the Galaxy.

Then a distant, mysterious energy pulse was detected from the planet by the

Surefoot

, followed by a total communications blackout. T'Varik ordered a course diversion, calculating an 85.4% probability of a systems malfunction on the part of the Navidans' outer subspace network, possibly something their new Chief Engineer David Sakai could easily repair.

She had been proven profoundly wrong.

The subspace instability caused by the explosion affected sensors, communications and transporters on all but a very short range, but an experimental sensor enhancement algorithm from the crew's newest Chief Ops Officer Lt Bellator revealed the possibility of potential survivors in the planet's largest city, so they took the radical step of descending into the lower atmosphere of the planet, hovering only a few hundred metres above them now, while search and rescue teams were assembled to retrieve survivors.

If there were any. None had been forthcoming so far, and their remaining operational time here was limited.

She reached inside her jacket and tapped her combadge. "Captain to Bridge: Lt Bellator, have you managed to boost the subspace signals to the

Triton

?"

The young officer's voice carried well in the still air.

"Yes, Ma'am, with a modification of the deflector dish. I have relayed our logs to date and have forwarded your request to the

Triton

for additional ships to supplement the search for survivors. No response from Admiral Tattok as yet."

"Acknowledged." After a pause, she added, "Mr Kitirik has just beamed onboard, and will relieve you, while you obtain sleep for the next 6 hours."

"Captain, that won't be necessary. I am a Child of Nova Roma, we are able to work tirelessly for hours, even days. I can stay at my post."

T'Varik saw Dr Masterson nearby, stomping his boots for warmth, and approached him, while continuing to speak to the junior officer over her combadge. "Lieutenant, you had already completed a long shift when we first arrived, and I allowed you to remain as you were determined to solve the problem with subspace communications. As you have now provided the solution, and earned my gratitude, you can sleep, and return at optimum efficiency and alertness."

"Captain, I'm fine, I don't need sleep, I promise you."

As she stopped next to the doctor, T'Varik responded with, "And I promise

you

, Misc Bellator, that if you do not comply with my orders with immediate effect, I will return to the ship, drag you to your quarters, throw you into your bunk and tell you bedtime stories until you sleep."

The comlink seemed to go dead, before Bellator replied, nonplussed,

"Ma'am, you- you can't do that!"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow to the protest, ignoring Masterson's smirk. "I know verbatim all 26 stories of

The Crooked Tailed Cub

series. They were Misha Hrelle's favourites when I babysat him."

There was another pause, and then Bellator answered,

"Mr Kitirik has arrived, Ma'am. I'm going to bed. Stories are not required from you."

"Your loss; I am a most accomplished raconteur. And I will be running a computer audit later to ensure you have complied and not continued covertly working from your quarters. T'Varik out." She turned to the human. "Doctor?"

He rubbed the side of his gloved hand against his dimpled chin as he chuckled, "Remind me not to play poker with you, Captain, you bluff like nobody's business."

"Assuming I

am

bluffing, Doctor. Have you something to report?"

He puffed up his cheeks and breathed out mist, his Western twang tinged with dolour. "No survivors found yet, Ma'am. We've been checking the bodies, and they all died the same way: massive synaptic disruption caused by a pulse wave of polaric ion particles." He breathed out again. "If there's any hope to grasp with this tragedy, it's that death was almost instantaneous." He glanced around. "They wouldn't even have known what was happening."

She nodded. "I will accept that, Doctor. We will remain as long as possible to continue to search for survivors, but the environment is growing hostile by the hour. I want your teams prepared to deal with cold-related injuries... as I fear the chances of finding survivors on Navida III are diminishing with the temperature."

Masterson regarded her. "Pardon me for asking, Ma'am, but if you think we're not likely to find anyone alive down here, then why-"

She drew the fastening of her jacket up further to cover her throat. "Because it is Christmas Eve Day."

He started. "I didn't know you celebrated."

"I do not. But I am aware that some humans still celebrate the secular aspects of the holiday if not the spiritual, and that the Christmas party you had scheduled for tomorrow in the Officers' Rec Lounge was cancelled following the news about the Occupation of Cait. It seems that between that, our imminent return to battle at Betazed, and now our diversion to this planetary catastrophe, there is evidently little reason for our crew to feel... festive.

Christmas is traditionally a time to receive gifts. If we cannot have peace in our time, or have the Hrelles back safe with us... then finding survivors here in the midst of this... graveyard... will be an acceptable consolation."

Gossamer snow began to fall from the sky.

*

Commander Dominic Murphy stood near an irregular opening of a large building that appeared to be a shopping complex for the Navidans, looking out at the growing clouds in the already-clouded sky, hearing rumbles, and recalling scenes from novels he had read, novels written before the days of weather modification nets, when dangerous, destructive storms were allowed to form unchecked on planets, threatening those mortals below, like the Gods of Myth and Legend. It sent a shudder through him.

Yeah, Dom. You've taken time off from a galactic war to stand on a freezing planet full of corpses, and you're getting the shivers over a predictable atmospheric phenomenon.

He turned back inside with the rest of his team, who were moving through the various levels of the complex, fighting the polaric ion interference on their tricorders to seek survivors, checking each of the bodies-

Fire—he was on fire-

Murphy paused, closed his eyes and counted to Ten as he forced down the memories of the

Sherwood

, ripped to pieces, its crew, his crew, his colleagues, his

friends

, dead and dying... he employed all the techniques taught to him by the Counselors to deal with his trauma.

And it was working, better and better each time. But it left him with his usual doubts that he was... worthy. Worthy of the continued support and respect of those around him. And worthy of his imminent promotion to Captain, and the subsequent assignment of a ship of his own to command, the

Messenger

, after he helps out serving as First Officer on the

Surefoot

.

He ventured further into the complex, relishing the slight increase in ambient temperature inside. He had spent most of his career as what his former Captain called a 'Squint', a science officer, biochemistry to be specific, and as terrible as this disaster was, the scientific mysteries behind it couldn't fail to distract him.

Stay focused on what's in front of you,

Calista would advise him. And who was he to argue with his Blue Angel?

But then his command instincts returned, and he drew up to Ensign Zir Dassene, one of the

Surefoot

's former cadets, and now one of their Ops Officers. "Ensign, where's Lt Shall?"

She turned to him, straightening up formally, strands of cherry-red hair peeking out from the hood of her jacket as a contrast to her olive-green skin. "She descended to the lower levels we discovered, Sir. She believed she... picked up a fresh scent."

"Scent?" he echoed, quickly understanding. Shall was Caitian, and though he had never worked with any of them before, he had heard of her people's tracking skills. "Who went with her?"

Dassene's skin darkened. "No one, Sir. She ordered us to remain above, she said she didn't need the distractions."

He frowned. "And you thought that was a good idea? You didn't question it, or thought to contact the Captain or myself?"

The Orion girl started at his rebuke. And then Murphy rebuked himself.

She may have been an Orion, Dom, but that didn't mean you had to treat her like a member of the Syndicate instead of a competent but young junior officer; after all, what would people assume about you because of

your

heritage?

"Excuse my anger, Ensign, you were merely following orders." He reached for his combadge. "Commander Murphy to Lt Shall: respond." Silence. "Lieutenant Shall!"

"It, ah, might be the continuing communications interference, Sir," Dassene suggested.

Murphy looked to her, his expression telling her what he thought of that. He knew that he hadn't been invited onboard the

Surefoot

, that Tattok had assigned him chiefly because he was an outsider, a presence to remind the crew that, as much as they might want to go in rescue of Captain Hrelle and his family, they had orders to do otherwise.

To their credit, nearly all of the crew reacted to him professionally, even with friendliness, considering the circumstances. Lt Shall, on the other hand, was just short of unprofessional to him in her behaviour: barely acknowledging his presence, breaking protocol by taking actions on her own, never responding to his requests for assistance with performance reviews and Security updates.

He initially put that down to being personally affected by the recent events on Cait, with her family caught behind enemy lines, or maybe even dead. And he tried to remind himself that he was only there temporarily.

But this was getting Beyond the Pale. "I'm going down there to collect your boss. Gather the team together, I have an idea about calibrating our tricorders to work in tandem and boost their scanning abilities."

"Sir? Should someone accompany you?"

"No." He moved to the vertical access shaft they had discovered earlier, one they could employ in the absence of power for the complex's elevators. He wanted some private time with the Lieutenant, in a place she couldn't just walk away from.

*

His boots echoing on the metal rungs, he soon found he needed the torch on his tricorder halfway down the shaft ladder; otherwise the device was useless except at very close range. The air as he descended was at least warmer and thicker, if mustier, and when he arrived at the bottom, he found himself in a relatively spacious horizontal tunnel of circular design. "Lieutenant Shall?"

He aimed his tricorder torch around, noting metal tracks at his feet, running in either direction, though the roof of the tunnel had collapsed here and there, forcing him to step around or climb over. He raised his voice, his echo rebounding as his temper shortened. "Lieutenant Shall, respond!"

A muffled female voice snapped back, "Piss off! I'm busy!"

Then he saw a brief light appear ahead, and he strode forward, his anger growing. What the Hell did she think she was doing? He didn't care now how temporary his assignment was, or about her personal circumstances, he was going to settle this between them. He tried his tricorder's scanners now, the cyclic sound echoing around him.

He heard a curse now, closer. "I said piss off!"

Murphy kept walking, lighting ahead of him. The tunnel opened up into what looked like a raised platform, with elevator doors, colourful diagrams on walls resembling schematics, and machines with dispenser panels. "Lieutenant?"

The coal-furred Caitian was crouched up on the platform, and when he aimed his torch on her, she hissed at him. "I don't need that on! I can see in the damn dark!"

"I can't," he reminded her... but aimed it slightly away from her head, watching as she was hunched over some debris, her tail raised and swaying as if from an errant breeze. "This is some sort of... subway station. With elevators that lead up to the shopping complex."