Surefoot 01: Ch. 05

Hrelle was screaming, and kept screaming when he felt the blade at the base of his tail, cutting into his flesh...

*

Hrelle found himself gripping the sides of Giles' bunk, shaking, and fought to control it.

"I- I-" Giles couldn't finish whatever he wanted to say.

Hrelle left him at that. He wouldn't know what to say either. Being mutilated by having his claws removed had been bad enough, but to remove a Caitian's tail... he knew it didn't serve a vital purpose, as he had obviously survived all these years without it. But it was still such an significant part of his people's identity...

"I... I don't understand," Giles finally admitted, confused. "What did they mean, Sir? That they already got what they wanted from you?"

Hrelle breathed out, realising he had tensed up with the memory of that day, as if he was ready to spring from the bunk and run away. "The third alien that always accompanied the other two, the one I didn't recognise. I learned later that he was an Ullian."

"An... Ullian? I don't know them."

"I'm not surprised, with all the known sentient species out there. They're mnemopaths, able to read not other people's thoughts but their memories. I'm told that they go out into the Galaxy to collect interesting, powerful memories for sharing with their race, and that the majority of their people are peaceful, and would never forcibly extract memories.

The Ullian who worked for the Bel-Zon, however, was not so ethical, and his methods proved quicker and more efficacious than drugs or assault. The Terran who asked those strange questions about the station, and made the joke, triggered my own memories, allowing the Ullian to reach in and gain the security codes and other information needed to raid Salem Four. I suspect my Tactical and Communications Officer was given the same treatment, and then... killed."

Giles looked to him, paled by the realisation. "There wasn't... You couldn't have helped them. And you couldn't have stopped the Bel-Zon from taking the information."

Hrelle nodded. "That was also the finding of the second court martial when I returned."

"But- But why wasn't this made more clear when the findings were released?"

"That aspect was deliberately downplayed. There has always been a general unease regarding telepathy within the Federation, and how secure our own thoughts are against those who possess the ability. But the telepathic races we know about - the Vulcans, Betazoids, Melkotians, among others - tend to be regulated by ethics and morality, or at the very least an isolationism from the rest of us. Starfleet didn't want an unwarranted fear of telepaths to spread - or for other organisations like the Bel-Zon to be inspired to exploit them in similar crimes."

Giles looked to him. "You didn't do anything, Sir. You weren't guilty."

He stared ahead breathing out deliberately slowly. "Oh, but I was guilty. I am guilty."

"What? I don't-"

Hrelle fought to end his trembling, barely able to look at Giles. "Have you ever felt pain, Giles? I mean, actual, enduring pain?"

The young man's face furrowed in thought, though it seemed as if he already had an answer for him. "Once, when I was in my solar yacht, on a solo voyage. One of the mechanical moorings had jammed, and I was going off-course." He opened his right hand in his lap, stared down at it blankly. "The mechanisms tended to jam because of the constant shifts in temperature between light and shadow, even with the carbon aramid materials used. I needed to free it, quickly, and didn't want to waste time looking for the extension tool. So..."

His fingers curled around a memory, making him wince. "I was stupid. It was so hot... I only held onto it for a few seconds... they repaired the burns fully, of course, but..."

"But you still remember the pain." Hrelle nodded. "Now, imagine someone holding down your hand, preventing you from letting go. The pain shoots through you, ongoing, for a minute. Then an hour. A day. Your whole body is protesting, demanding, pleading with you: Do something! Do anything! Just make it stop!

I was... I was at the end of my proverbial tether. I was sobbing. Sobbing like a cub. Begging them not to cut off my tail. All the bravado I had shown when I had first been captured had been brutally, systematically ripped from me. Thoughts of being a hero had fled at Warp Ten. I had been broken. They had imbrutened me, reduced me to the level of an animal driven by self-preservation.

I know that they had taken what they wanted from me without my even knowing it. But... if they had asked me for the security codes for Salem Four then, I would have given them up. I would have betrayed Starfleet, the Federation... my family. Anything. That I didn't actually end up doing that is immaterial to my guilt. And now, every time I look at my lovely, wonderful daughter, a little voice inside me reminds me of how far I would have gone, just to stop the pain."

After a moment of heavy silence, he continued. "They let me live, as planned, sold me into slavery, first mining pergium on an asteroid somewhere for the Breen, then onboard a Corvallen ship keeping the theta waste systems clear. And I kept myself alive - not out of any sense of heroism, but only because I didn't deserve the release of a quick death. I needed to suffer, just like they wanted me to suffer."

The cell grew quiet again, until Giles asked, "You... you don't feel that way now, do you, Sir?"

Hrelle considered his answer before replying. "No. With time, and the help of counseling, I learned to accept that what happened to me was a dark, terrible chapter in my life. But that's all it was: a chapter. It wasn't my life.

Your brother Matthew attended my last hearing, and there he stated for the record that I was no hero. I agreed with him. I avoided giving interviews or compiling accounts of my so-called heroism. I did nothing heroic; survival is not heroism.

A part of me will never forgive myself for all those who died because of my actions. But that part of me is small now and usually sits in the corner and behaves itself, because the Bel-Zon took too much of me already, it doesn't need any more."

He looked to the boy. "When I left Salem Four, my wife and I were working towards having a child of our own, a baby brother for Sasha. But as the old saying goes, 'Sometimes the Universe Has Other Plans'. I could be bitter about that. But that would be a waste.

I'm alive, Giles - even if I've lost a lot of years off the back end of it because of what I went through. My daughter lives, and has grown up to be a remarkable young woman, one whom I couldn't be more proud of if you put a phaser to my head."

Giles offered a slight smile. "You... You have... a right to be proud of her, Sir."

"Thank you. And of course, I'm captaining a ship again, the one thing I've always wanted to do. You'll get that chance too someday."

"Sir, why-" Giles started, frowning, then stopped himself.

"Go on," Hrelle urged. "At this stage, I think you can ask anything."

"Why- Sir, you can have your tail regrown now, your claws, you can get rid of the scars-"

"Yes, I can. So why don't I?" His gaze narrowed. "Because that would be too easy, like pressing a button to reset the status quo. I don't want to forget what happened to me. And I don't want others to forget. I don't want them to forget that we live in a Universe where things like this can happen. The slave trafficking network was aided and abetted not only by those who profited from it, but those who refused to believe something terrible like that could exist in their midst. Our lives are mostly good, Giles, as are the people we'll encounter. But we cannot forget what can happen."

Hrelle rose, walked about the cell, stretching his legs. "This is a rotten place to spend your first night on your first starship. Get up." He faced Giles again as the boy returned to his feet. "If you still want to leave and find another posting after you've heard my story, I'll persuade Commander T'Varik to make the appropriate arrangements. However, if you decide to stay, we can start fresh, again, and I promise you'll still be on your way to Command. I'll even teach you things you won't read about in your books."

He held out his hand to Giles.

Giles looked to him, and took it.

"Thank you, Sir. I'd be honoured to stay."

That pleased Hrelle, more than he imagined.

*

Alpha Squad were still awake, sitting in chairs or on the floor of the living area, exhausted from talking about the events of the evening but unwilling to finally go to bed, when the door chime sounded. Startled, Sasha called out, "Come."

Everyone rose to their feet when Hrelle entered, followed by Giles. "At ease."

Sasha relaxed, but only a little, unable to take her eyes off of a red-faced Giles even as she addressed the Captain. "Sir, is everything okay?"

Hrelle put his hands behind his back, adopting an equally formal tone. "Crewman Hrelle, I am here to let you and Alpha Squad know that as far as this evening's events are concerned, the incident between Mr Arrington and myself has been settled amicably. You and the others are not to question him about what was said, or treat him differently in any way because of it. Is that understood?"

Clearly it wasn't, to judge from her expression, but she went taut and replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Mr Arrington has agreed to stay onboard the Surefoot for the time being, and will serve in the capacity expected of him. And I expect him to receive the same courtesy you would give to any other member of our crew. Is that understood as well?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." Hrelle nodded, looking at the others - and the glasses of alcohol and snacks strewn about, suddenly feeling nostalgic for his own days when he was their age, a thousand years ago. Then he caught the collective scent of multi-species adolescent body odours, and thought again. "It's 0130 hours! What the hell are you all doing still awake? You have a shift starting at 0800. Get to bed."

"Yes, Sir, we will."

Hrelle started to depart, but then stopped and asked, "Do any of you need a bedtime story? I think I still remember some of the Flotter ones Sasha liked, though she always got scared whenever I told the one about Flotter and the Red Ogre."

Sasha's face reddened. "No, Sir. No story is necessary."

"I could do with one, Sir," Neraxis confessed, grinning at the look Sasha shot her.

Hrelle smirked, nodding to each of them in turn. "Another time, maybe. Good night, Alpha Squad. And... Welcome aboard."

He departed, feeling much lighter than he expected given the events of the evening.

He hoped it would last...

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN... IMBARRAZZO