Surefoot 01: Ch. 03

Hrelle looked back to Giles. "So... what's your choice, Mr Arrington?"

Giles looked as if he would have given his soul to be able to beam out of there and not come back. Turning redder than it should be possible for a human, he faltered as he replied, "I'll, ah, I'll take the Step, Sir."

"Excellent. Oh, and for the record: I don't use a litter box, I don't chase mice, I don't drink milk from a saucer, and I don't lick myself." To the group he added,"Though not for lack of trying." As they laughed aloud, he returned to Giles, waving him towards the step. The laughter grew as Giles descended, his gangly legs looking ridiculous as he sat down on the bottom step, finding an excuse to look anywhere else but at the group.

As everyone quieted down again, Hrelle faced the group again. "So... welcome aboard. For those not in the know, the original Surefoot was a historical naval vessel on my homeworld. It was a little ship, one that delivered supplies, medicine and communications to the people of the islands of the R'Trerah Archipelago. It was not a warship, it was not a flagship, and it never carried anyone famous. The work was never glamorous, ballads were never sung for its crew. But it saved lives. It was essential.

And our work here is essential, too. There are colonies, outposts, research stations, observation stations, navigation and subspace communication buoys in this sector, all in need of our presence. The majority of Starfleet personnel will never explore strange new worlds, will never seek out new life and new civilisations. They will most likely boldly go where others have already gone before. But they will still make a difference. And if you still want to grumble about the lack of glamour, imagine all of your planetbound ancestors who dreamed of going to the stars, and would give up their right arms, or equivalent appendages, to have the chance that you have here and now.

For the course of the year your time will be divided between the continuation of your studies and actual work experience. Your academic side will be supervised by Commander T'Varik, and your work side by your appropriate supervisors. Although our mission objectives do not normally include scientific or security-related aspects, those of you majoring in those fields will still get an ample opportunity at practical experience.

There is a permanent crew of twelve, including the Commander and myself; you'll get the opportunity to meet everyone tonight at 2000 hours, at a mixer we're throwing in our rec room/mess hall/meeting room. Your quarters have been assigned, and from there you can access further information on your work and academic schedules, crew roster, deck plans, Starfleet regulations, and information about our sector of operations.

Now, perhaps we should get you to your quarters and-" He paused, rubbing his jaw. "Wait, I forgot something. Oh yes: I need to speak with a cadet here. What's her name?" He snapped his fingers repeatedly. "I think it's, uh, Sassy? Sassy Hurrah? Am I getting that right?" Louder now, he called out, "Is there a Sassy Hurrah here? Report, please."

The dismay she was feeling on seemingly going unnoticed or unmentioned by him fled from her like snowflakes in a fusion reactor, and she fought to stay deadpan as she broke ranks and walked around to the platform.

"A little hurry up, if you would, Ms Hurrah, some of us are old and decrepit and not long for this life."

She quickened her pace, stepping around Giles as she strode up and stood at attention. "Crewman Sasha Hrelle reporting as ordered, Sir."

He seemed stunned by her appearance, looking her over. "Is this it? Is this all there is of you?"

"I think you'll find it's more than enough, Sir."

"Really? You seem like the Runt of the Litter."

"I was, Sir."

"Oh? And where are all your brothers and sisters?"

A smirk was breaking through her demeanour. "I ate them, Sir."

But Hrelle cracked first, laughing as he reached in and embraced her, lifting her up and spinning her around before setting her down again, though he still gripped her upper arms. "Look at you! It's incredible how much you've grown since I last saw you! You look amazing!" He glanced down at her chest. "Where'd you get those things from?"

She blushed as she heard laughter from the cadets. "Got them from Mom."

He laughed and hugged her again, then turned to T'Varik. "Commander, I have such stories to tell you about my baby! And they're all guaranteed completely embarrassing for her!"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I have no doubt. Perhaps in the meantime the crewmen can escort the cadets to their assigned quarters?"

"Excellent idea!" He turned around. "Mr Arrington! Stop lounging about down there, go join the others!" To Sasha he added, "You go get unpacked, meet your squad members, and I'll see you at the party later."

She grinned. "Yes, Sir!"

As she departed, she heard T'Varik asked, "Captain, if I may speak with you at your earliest convenience?"

Sasha practically bounced back to her friends. This was going to be wonderful!

*

Hrelle indicated a seat near his desk, only after taking his own noting that T'Varik remained standing. His quarters and adjoining office were smaller than what he had on the Furyk -- but was a palace compared to how he had lived for so many years after. "Can I get you a drink, Commander?"

"Thank you, no."

"Well, then, what can I do for you?"

She remained at attention. "Firstly, I wish to formally request permission to come aboard, Sir."

He leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I don't know, you look very suspicious..." When she didn't react, he added, "Permission granted -- but only if you stand at ease, you're making my back ache."

T'Varik did relax -- a little. "Secondly, I wish to formally protest your treatment of Cadet Arrington."

He raised an eyebrow, then dropped it in case she thought he was mocking her. "Oh? You think it was cruel and unusual punishment?"

"On the contrary, I believed it lenient. Mr Arrington displayed an openly racist sentiment, not to mention his disrespect towards a superior officer. Both warrant at least a note on his permanent record."

He folded his hands on his belly and leaned back further. "If he had a genuine issue with dealing with other races, I doubt if he would have made it past the entrance exams -- even if he is one the Mighty Arringtons. However, let the Counselor know so she can discuss it with him. As for the open disrespect, I was willing to let it slide - this once. Well, if that's all-"

"I have a further objection: My role as First Officer is to support and enforce your decisions in front of the crew. However, when I persuaded you to take this position and join the AWE Program -- and to allow Sasha to serve onboard with you -- it was with the understanding that I would be in charge of the cadets."

"Oh? And what's my role here? Just sit in the Captain's chair and stay handsome and quiet?"

T'Varik tilted her head. "I cannot vouch for your attractiveness. As for your quietude... you have already amply demonstrated to me your capacity for this during our meeting with the Superintendent."

*

Starfleet Academy, Two Months Ago:

Hrelle sat quietly, allowing T'Varik to carry the conversation. She seemed as pleased to do so as any Vulcan can be pleased to do anything. "And a non-Terran commanding officer can also provide a positive role model for the cadets. Particularly one with Captain Hrelle's considerable experience."

Across the table, the Superintendent was nodding, but beside her, her predecessor, Admiral Jeffrey Arrington, had remained dubious throughout, without ever once looking at the object of his derision.

"I can also confirm that Captain Hrelle has completed the required instructions certification to allow him to act as the supervisor for those cadets majoring in Command."

Admiral Arrington made a sound. The Superintendent and T'Varik glanced at him curiously, but Hrelle just tugged at the sleeves of his uniform. He was still getting used to the new designs.

"The Surefoot's size and mission fits the required parameters for the cadets' training," T'Varik continued. "And can be quickly adapted for their use. And its sector of operations is well within Federation space."

"You've done your research with the expected thoroughness, Commander," the Superintendent, looking to Arrington. "Well, Admiral? Are you satisfied?"

Arrington was a callow, balding man with a pointed, dimpled chin and sunken eyes, eyes now moving from officer to officer. "That the requirements have been fulfilled in this instance? Reluctantly, yes." Now he settled his glare on Hrelle. "But I want the chance to speak my mind."

He pointed a spindly finger at the Caitian. "You're a malcontent, Hrelle. You always have been, you always will be. I recognised you as such from the moment I first set eyes on you thirty years ago, on these very grounds. You're rude, irreverent, licentious, facetious, corruptive, and from what I hear, you've inflicted those same bad traits on your stepdaughter.

And though you may have deceived everyone else in Starfleet, as far as I and many others are concerned, you remain a coward and a traitor. You're responsible for the deaths of the crew of the Furyk, as well as those on Station Salem Four. Including your wife." His already-wrinkled face somehow creased further. "There, I've said my piece, you can say what you want now."

Hrelle felt the room tense. Even T'Varik seemed taken aback by the venom; the Admiral was retired, but had managed to get himself reinstated and wrangle his way into becoming an adviser for the AWE Program, though he refused to wear the new uniforms. For his part, Hrelle could have asked what he had done all those years ago to warrant Arrington's ire, enough to have his nieces and nephews, upperclassmen all, give Hrelle hell for four years. He could have reminded the Admiral of all the years of exemplary service he had given to Starfleet, of his confirmed innocence, of the grief and trauma he was still undergoing because of his terrible experiences, and appealed to the man to put the past behind them and move on.

He could have said all that, and more.

Instead, he settled for, "Kiss my furry ass."

Arrington blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said kiss my furry ass." Hrelle's tone was soft, even mild. "Pucker up those cracked, colourless slugs you call lips and kiss it. Bring your whole miserable, rotten family along, too, you old bastard, and make a feast of it. It shouldn't be too difficult, now I don't have a tail in the way. And if you can't bend down, I'll raise my hindquarters for you. Be quick, though, I had a curry for lunch-"

Arrington slammed his fist down on the table. "I hope you enjoyed that, Hrelle, because your words have finished you now! I'll see to that!"

"Admiral," T'Varik interrupted calmly, drawing his attention. "You invited us to say what we wanted. That statement constitutes granting us permission to do so. Captain Hrelle was within his rights to make his... colourful suggestion."

Arrington frowned so much he looked like his face would implode.

"They got you there, Jeff," the Superintendent admitted, looking like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

*

USS Surefoot, Today:

"What is it, Commander? You looked lost in thought."

"Vulcans do not get 'lost in thought'. I was merely comprehending how much of an influence you have been on Sasha."

"For the good, I hope."

"Yes... when neither of you is being provoked by a member of the Arrington family, that is."

Hrelle chuckled, but then sat up and grew serious. "Commander... you are correct to raise an objection to my handling of the boy. I will endeavour not to repeat that mistake, at least not without discussing it with you first."

"Thank you, Captain. I should inform you of an incident that occurred on the transport here, between Mr Arrington and Ms Hrelle."

He grunted. "I'm not surprised. I think our families are gonna end up the Twenty-Fourth Century version of the Montagues and the Capulets. Still, we don't always get to serve with people we like, and as long as they're on different shifts, their interaction time will be limited."

T'Varik paused, before replying with, "About that..."

TO BE CONTINUED