Surefoot 84 Duel

DUEL

Thunderbird One

, Salem Sector, Stardate 54155.99:

Fantomax stopped and clutched a handhold as her ship rocked sharply once more, but she withheld her instinctive need to protest - the ion storm that had struck the station was abating, but still proved potent, and her computer had his proverbial hands full navigating them away - as she made her way to the cockpit.

Bloody Hell, Bloody Hell, Bloody Hell...

At her feet, rats swarmed around her boots and ahead of her, like water, their smaller size giving them an advantage in the turbulence. Not that they could do much more than join her as she looked up to see the swirling miasma of pinks and purples outside the windows. "Status, Parker?"

The computerised male voice with the affected Cockney accent seemed to emanate from every part of the cockpit.

"You might wish to take a seat for the next half hour, Milady. As I have no tiny seats for your furry friends, they might want to just hold onto each other's tails."

"We're on it," squeaked Ben, the largest of the rodents, as he and the rest of the Rat Pack coalesced into a ball around the base of the co-pilot's seat. "What about Doctor Death?"

Fantomax slid herself into the pilot's seat and strapped herself in, just as the flyer took a sharp drop to port. Their so-called colleague Orlok boarded along with the rest of them when they fled Salem One, but the Vulcan bioterrorist immediately went her own way, Lord knows where.

As if reading her mind, Parker noted,

"She went to her quarters. Shall I lock her in... or better yet, beam her back to the Starfleeters?"

"You have our vote on the latter," Ben offered from his clump of rats. "Or maybe just send her into space and let them pick her up later?"

"I like how you think."

The elderly human female ignored them as she gripped the arms of the seat, staring ahead, fighting a growing nausea... one born not from the tumult of the ion storm. She was a thief, someone who could take what she desired and not harm another living soul, and she suspected and feared that her coercion into the Bel-Zon would drag her down a darker, more visceral path than she desired. Still, she recognised that she had little choice in joining this motley band, and had tried to deceive herself into hoping that she could keep her hands and conscience relatively clean.

But if this particular mission was anything to go by, that was a fool's Hope. The leaders of the Bel-Zon had sent them here, and deliberately sacrificed one of their own, just to give Fantomax and the others the chance to obtain classified data on Commodore Hrelle, his family and crew... savagely killing and maiming several of the last along the way.

It was distasteful in the extreme... and she feared it would only get worse, the longer she associated with these people.

"Milady?"

She blinked herself out of her thoughts. "Yes, Parker?"

"Are we returning to Elba II?"

She swallowed. "Is there any sign of pursuit from Salem One?"

"Not that I can detect, Milady, though sensor efficacy remains reduced."

"Proceed... but along a circuitous route. And as soon as you can, send a coded message to our... partners... and inform them of our ETA."

"Yes, Milady."

Fantomax breathed in, repeating a calming mantra. She should be enjoying retirement back on Risa, not risking imprisonment or worse.

What was she going to do?

*

USS

Katana

, Deck 3 Mid, Counselor's Office:

"So, what are you going to do, Captain?"

Weynik fidgeted in his chair, his fingers steepled in his lap as the Roylan male affected a casual demeanour. "Well, I expect to continue in this role for at least a year or two, help re-secure this sector of space for Commodore Fatburger, and enjoy the relative peace and routine after the War. Then maybe I'll turn the

Katana

over to Sasha once she's experienced enough, and seek out a new ship, maybe an exploration mission; it could be fulfilling to boldly go where no one has gone before. Or possibly take up an instructor's role, an Academy vessel, like Wide Load's arrangement with the cadets when he still commanded the

Surefoot

. The Galaxy's my oyster."

Sitting across from him, Counselor Bas Vestri smiled and leaned forward, the older Denobulan female reaching for the plate of biscuits on the table between them next to the white ceramic teapot and matching teacups. "Actually, Captain, I was asking what you were going to do, just sit there and keep eyeing the shortbread, or finally give in and indulge?"

"Oh." His eyestalks dipped down again to the plate she was lifting up now to him, glad that his people's bony carapace couldn't display the embarrassment he felt at his faux pas. He accepted one of the biscuits, resting it on the arm of his chair without touching it, and hoping that this would be the end of it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She set the plate down and leaned back. "So-"

He felt his hopes plummet. "Don't read anything into that."

"Into what, Captain?"

"Everything I just said, about contemplating a career change. I can do this job perfectly well!."

"Of course, Captain."

"I know how you Counselors operate, latching onto every misspoken word, looking for hidden meanings and motivations like some... Mind Detective."

She smiled guilelessly, her impossibly-wide Denobulan grin lifting up the ridges that ran along the edges of her hairline. "What, me, Captain?"

He ground his teeth; she was being even more insufferable than usual. "Yes,

you

, Counselor. And if you think I'm worried about being Captain of the

Katana

-"

"I don't think that, Captain."

"Good."

Then she lifted up her teacup, staring into the contents. "You and Commodore Hrelle graduated from the Academy together, didn't you?"

He started, not expecting that question. "Yes: Class of 2340. Why?"

Vestri paused and sipped at her tea before continuing. "You've both had redoubtable careers, great achievements under your proverbial belts, captaining many ships with distinction, saving many lives, entire worlds. How did it feel when

he

received a promotion, a squadron and an entire sector of his own to command, and nothing similar was offered to you?"

Weynik froze, shocked that she would ask such a question. "That's- That's

ludicrous!

You're suggesting that I'm jealous of my best friend? He's been stuck behind a desk, and now has to spend his time in endless meetings with other flag officers! And you know what? He's a natural at it... and now he even has a bigger office to hide his snack boxes!

But that's not the life I want! 'All I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.'" He paused and clarified, "

Sea-Fever

, John Masefield. A Terran poet."

"Yes, I know, I've heard many Captains quote

that

before." She rolled her eyes and set aside her cup again. "I've also heard many Captains take their tactical perspicacity, the ability to think many steps ahead of an opponent... and trip themselves up with it, by revealing what's on

their

mind rather than their opponent's. Even if the perceived opponent is their Counselor, who's only trying to help them."

Weynik grunted.

Vestri smiled again as she continued. "And I have no doubt that you are one of those Captains who

would

indeed like nothing more than to be surrounded by the Bridge of a starship, maintaining your own autonomy with a minimum of bureaucracy, and if a promotion to Flag Officer

was

offered to you, you would turn it down... at least, at this stage in your life.

But that doesn't mean you can't feel some resentment for not being offered it in the first place. It doesn't make you petty or immature or anything else negative. It makes you

normal

. Just be aware of it.

And aware of any resentment you might feel for taking orders from Commodore Hrelle, too. It can be difficult when even best friends have been on an equal level for so long, and then one of them moves into a position of direct authority."

Weynik grunted again. He knew she'd take this conversation somewhere along those lines.

But was it true? He

told

himself that he was happy for Esek to be settled in so well, especially in the place that brought him so much misery years before. Was there resentment mixed into that happiness? "Is that it? Are we done now for this week?"

Vestri sipped again at her tea, slowly, deliberately not replying right away. "One more thing: you wouldn't be feeling any of this as strongly as you are now if you hadn't suffered so profoundly during the War, with the loss and replacement of your leg during the Battle of Cardassia. You are an accomplished, talented starship commander, but a part of you still feels doubt about your self-worth.

Those doubts will pass, in time.

Don't forget your biscuit."

*

Deck 2 Fore - Captain's Ready Room:

Sasha lifted the biscuit off her plate, holding it between thumb and forefinger and moving it left and right, watching with amusement as Ajax, a fat brown and white English bulldog and the ship's mascot, sat at her feet, rapt on the potential treat, rocking from side to side.

Meanwhile, she sat across from her lover, Second Officer Lt Mru Mori, the brown-furred Caitian male engrossed in the PADD in his paw. "So, what do you think of Lt Holtzman?"

"She's got a great ass. Very pert and muscular. And those lips... oooh..."

Mori made a show of scanning through the PADD's text. "Funny, I didn't read any of that in her Performance Review."

"What's a Performance Review?"

Now he looked up. "Maybe I should go find a Holodeck program that'll teach me all these Command duties I missed while studying Engineering?" He watched her. "Stop teasing that poor dog."

Sasha smirked, breaking off part of the biscuit and flinging it to the far corner of the Ready Room, making Ajax move with uncharacteristic speed. "He needs to burn off all the snacks Weynik and everyone else feeds him."

"Everyone else, huh?"

She nibbled on the rest of the biscuit, swallowing and asking, "So, what points would

you

award her?"

He shrugged, returning to his notes. "85. She meets the performance targets, manages her team, is never late on duty or with her reports-" He stopped as he watched her shake her head. "No?"

She reached for her coffee to wash down the rest of the biscuit in her mouth, smacking her lips before responding soberly. "50, at best. She meets the

minimum

criteria for doing her job, but has made no effort to go Above and Beyond: no requests to offer instruction at the Academy Annex on Salem One, no papers submitted to any Starfleet journals, not even any extracurricular activities onboard."

Mori made a contemplative sound. "Some people aren't that outgoing, they just want to do their job. Nothing wrong with that."

"No, there isn't. But Starfleet has always pushed for Personal Development, for their officers being well-rounded people who connect with those around them. If Holtzmann chooses to be standoffish, that's fine. It'll just take her longer to make Lieutenant Commander."

"Or... we could encourage her to open up, join the

Katana

's Improv Team or the Choir or even the Poker group-"

Sasha made a noise, leaning back in her chair and pressing the back of her hand against her forehead melodramatically. "I knew it! You've had enough of me, and now you're looking for my replacement! Someone younger, smarter, prettier-"

"Less hammy?"

Now she pouted. "I thought you had a taste for ham."

"I do: good on the lips, bad on the hips." Mru smiled, regarding her now. "Congratulations, by the way, on reaching your Hundredth Day."

She felt her face redden as she recognised what he meant, reaching for another biscuit as Ajax returned. She broke off another piece and threw it in a different direction. "No big deal."

He watched with amusement as the biscuit bounced under a chair, and Ajax struggled to get his bulk underneath. "A hundred days sober

is

a big deal. I'm proud of you, Sasha. Very proud."

Sasha smiled back; like the Counselor told her, enjoy the victory each day offers. "Just proud?"

He set aside the PADD. "No. I also love you."

She regarded him back. "I love you, too." She amazed herself with how readily she could declare it now, no joking, no banter. All this could have just been a fling for them both, a distraction to help relieve the stress they experienced during the Occupation of Cait.

But it grew into something more, much more, and in the weeks following their victory, Mru had even taken her back to meet his mothers and aunts, all of whom ran a hotel near the volcanic springs of Ujanki. His family had embraced her, figuratively as well as literally, though she had initially put it down to the hero worship she was getting from the Caitians for her small part in the Liberation.

It wasn't some teenage infatuation she felt for the male; for one thing, she was closer to her thirties than her teenage years. For another, she was no fragile virgin, not in any sense of the word. And she knew she was clear in body and mind when she looked at him and felt what she felt. "We should celebrate my milestone."

He leaned in. "Oh? What did you have in mind, Hellcat?"

She rose, pausing to snap another piece of biscuit and sending Ajax away from her feet once more. Then she came around the desk to face the Caitian, seeing his tail, sticking out through the hole in the back of his chair, swish with pleasure at her approach, and suddenly she straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck and stroking his pointed ears and the fur on the back of his head. "You've been patient with me all these months while I've abstained from... everything." She smiled as he began purring. "And on my 100 Day Anniversary, I think maybe I can treat myself... and you... to some Fluttertail."

She felt his excitement - literally - as he leaned in and began purring directly against her neck. She wallowed in it, ignoring the bulldog that had returned to her feet, whimpering for attention and more biscuit.

Then the door slid open, and Weynik entered, PADD in hand. "Hmph, Performance Reviews have gotten a lot more interesting than when

I

last did them."

Sasha immediately hopped off Mori, feeling herself turn shades not usually seen in nature. "Sir! You're early!"

He dropped his PADD on an adjacent chair. "No, I think I'm just in time." He bent down as Ajax trotted up to him, stubby tail wagging in delight. He lifted up the dog and let him lick his face. "You poor boy, having to witness these two escapees from Horny Jail."

Mori rose as well, steadying himself. "Uh, we were, uh, just heading back to the Bridge..."

"Good idea," Weynik agreed, taking the dog and himself to his chair behind his desk, reaching for a remaining biscuit. "No, don't worry about all the coffee mugs and snacks you've left-" He stopped as Sasha returned to clear up the desk, focusing instead on letting Ajax nibble at the biscuit he had brought with him.

*

On the Bridge of the

Katana

, Mori recovered quickly - counting the minutes until Sasha and he were off duty - as he strode up to the Ops station. "Status?"

Beside him, Security Chief Lt Jor-Dakk remained motionless, the Brikari male statue-like as he responded in typical laconic fashion. "Operational."

Silence hung in the air after that, until Lt Grel, sitting at the Helm, turned in his chair to face the rear, the Tellarite male's snout wrinkling. "You're tighter with your words than a globfly's nethers. We're continuing towards Salem One, Mr Mori, ETA one hour at Warp 6. Long-range sensors indicate the ion storm hitting them has almost all died away. And we received a message from Captain T'Varik on the

Surefoot

, requesting a rescheduling of her meeting with Captain Weynik, owing to an unexpected delay in their own arrival at the station."

"Thank you, Mr Grel. Your input is appreciated... now turn around again, the back of your head is the most attractive part of you."

Grel snorted at the Tellarite Banter and complied, as Jor-Dakk muttered, "Kissass."

Mori smiled, but then noticed Holtzmann, busy at the Science Station, her burr of honey-blonde hair covering her soft face as she hunched over a scanner, making noises to herself that only he could hear.

Sasha had been right, he conceded. Brianna Holtzmann kept to herself pretty much all the time while she was onboard the

Katana

, managing those with Science qualifications, seeing to upgrades in training and databases, and performing as and when required. He knew she wasn't long out of the Academy before being assigned here, and remembered how shy he had been, and welcomed any overtures of building relationships among his colleagues.

He rose from the centre seat and approached. "Lieutenant?"

Holtzmann straightened up abruptly, her dark blue eyes wide with surprise. "Lieutenant! I'm sorry, were you speaking to me before? Is there an alert I missed?"

Mori smiled. "No, and No. I just wanted to say Hi, and find out how you're doing, that's all."

She glanced around nervously. "Why?"

He leaned against the edge of an adjacent station, crossing his arms as he regarded her. "Just being friendly, and realising how little we've actually talked outside of ship business, so I thought we could take the time to get to know each other better."

Holtzmann stared up at him. "What do you need to know, Lieutenant?"

His smile broadened. "Not 'need',

per se

... what about hobbies?"

"Hobbies?"

"Yes! Me, I play Sorcrosse, a type of Caitian tennis, and I'm in the ship's Improv group, and when I'm feeling adventurous I also dabble in cooking. What about you?"

"I collect spores, moulds and fungi."

He blinked. "That sounds... interesting. Maybe sometime when we're both off-shift we could get together and talk about it?"

Her eyes saucered, and her pale Nordic features went russet as her voice dropped to a shocked whisper and she glanced around nervously. "Lieutenant... I thought you were involved with Lt Cmdr Hrelle?"

Mori frowned now. "What? I was! I mean I am! We're a couple, we're staying a couple, it's just- we thought-"

Holtzmann frowned back, whispering, "You want a

threesome

?"

What was it about people thinking he was some sort of Horncat?

But before he could respond further, an alert sounded from Ops, and he rushed up to his station, checking and then opening a channel. "Bridge to Captain: Sir, there's an urgent message coming from Commodore Hrelle!"

*

Back inside the Ready Room, Weynik let his dog slide off of his lap as he sat up, glancing over at Sasha in the far corner near the replicator recycling the remains of her snacks and drinks, before he accepted the incoming transmission, his eyestalks dropping in shock at the sight of Hrelle: his face and fur ensanguined, burned in places even, looking exhausted and angry in equal measures. "Bloody Hemra, Esek, what's happened?"

Hrelle's jaw tightened.

"An assassin was brought onboard the station hiding among the ion storm refugees. We've had casualties."

Weynik's heart raced.

Casualties... his children and mother lived on the station...

he resisted the urge to ask about them, knowing Esek would inform him if they had been affected. "I'll increase our speed, we'll be there in twenty minutes-"

"Belay that. The assassin is dead, but its accomplices have escaped in their vessel: a modified Opulent-class private flyer designated the

Thunderbird One

. We're sending you all the data we have on it and the passengers, and what's happened here."

He stepped closer to the screen, pointing at him, baring his teeth and his rage.

"They do

not

get to go home. You bring them back... in irons, or in

boxes

! Is that understood, Captain?"