Welcome to my website, detailing the adventures of Captain Esek Hrelle, his family, and the crew and cadets of his starship, the USS Surefoot. These stories are set in the 2360-70s, the Next Generation/DS9/Voyager Era.

When I wrote the first story, The Universe Had Other Plans, in the far off distant year of 2016, I never intended it to be a "first" story of anything. It was meant to be a one-off, a means of helping me fight writer's block on another project. I am amazed and delighted that it has taken on a life of its own, with an extended family of characters, places, ships and events.

The column on the right hand side groups the stories chronologically by significant events in Captain Hrelle's life (such as the command of a new Surefoot), as well as major events in the Star Trek timeline. The column on the left hand side lists reference articles, one-off stories, and a link to stories set on the USS Harken, a ship from decades before but with ties to the Surefoot Universe.

The universe of Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount; all of the original characters here belong to me. There is no explicit sexual content, but there are instances of profanity, violence and discussions of adult subject matters and emotional themes; I will try to offer warnings on some of the stories, but sometimes I forget.

I love comments (I don't get paid for this, sadly), so feel free to write and let me know what you think!

Sunday 13 August 2017

The Fast and the Furriest


31,357 Words

“USS Impala, Captain’s Log, Stardate 36521.31, Captain Lucille Arrington recording: We are en route to the Ophelius Cluster to investigate subspace anomalies detected by a Starfleet communications station established in this sector. Intelligence reports indicate Ferasan vessels have passed through this region, and though they are on an authorised diplomatic mission, and we are not currently in a state of hostilities with them, we cannot dismiss this as a mere coincidence.”

Lucille gritted her teeth as she entered her office. She had a headache. It was something that had been needling her behind her eyes for days now, waning and ebbing day and night, eroding her sleep, her appetite. And now her reflexes; she was usually a champion at Pareses Squares, but had just ended up landing on her tailbone.

Hard.

She should have gone straight to Sickbay, but she had already been there about the headache, had been given a look from the staff like she had come in complaining about gout or consumption, and had eventually lied about their treatments helping her to avoid further scrutiny. She poured herself a shot of Aldebaran whiskey and sat down in her chair - but then bolted up in pain and yelped.

“And I thought your chair on the bridge was the Hot Seat.”

She spun in place at the unfamiliar voice, swearing.

A man was perched like a bird of prey on the top of her couch, smoking a cigar. “If I’d known I was gonna hear language like that, I’d have brought my mother along to wash your mouth out with soap. Assuming there was any left after dealing with me.” He was humanoid, dark-haired, with a thick moustache and round-rimmed old-fashioned spectacles, and dressed in a dark vintage Terran outfit from centuries past. He also seemed strangely pale, devoid of colour, almost monochrome in appearance. “But then I’ve always said women should be obscene and not heard.”

Lucille smacked the combadge on her uniform. “Security to my quarters! Intruder alert!” When no one responded, she tried again. “McMahon! Answer!”

“Save it, Captain, I slipped a Mickey to your communications so we wouldn’t be disturbed,” the intruder informed her.

She moved back towards her office door - but it refused to open. “Computer: Command Override! Open this door!”

“You’re just wasting your breath, Captain, and that’s no great loss either,” the man added, waggling his thick eyebrows as he flicked ash from his cigar onto her couch.

She moved back to her desk, sliding open a drawer to retrieve… nothing.

“And your secret phaser,” he concluded genially. “You know, Captain, I’m beginning to think I’m not welcome here.”

Panicking, she moved to her chair, lifted it up and flung it in his direction.

It passed through the intruder, struck the wall behind him and tumbled to the floor. The intruder, meanwhile, hopped off the couch and stood before her, though he stooped a little, the tails of his black longcoat swishing behind him. “You keep this up, Captain, and I’ll leave in a huff. Or maybe in a minute and a huff.”

She kept her desk between them. “Who the hell are you? What are you?”

“For the purposes of advancing this meeting - and who wouldn’t want to make advances with you, my little wildflower?” He paused to waggle his eyebrows again and leer at her. “You can call me Captain Jeffrey Spaulding, the Alpha Quadrant Explorer. And I am what the eggheads in my organisation call an isomorphic projection.” He stepped forward, made a show of tapping the lit end of his cigar on her desktop - and only succeeded in passing it through the surface. “I’m not all here. But then people have been telling me that for years.”

She studied him more closely; the moustache and eyebrows weren’t real, but more painted than anything else, but now she could almost see through him. “You’re a… projection? That’s not possible! We’re light years from any ship or planet that could send something like that!”

Spaulding shrugged. “Well, it’s either that or you’ve been nipping at a particularly nasty batch of bathtub gin at your local speakeasy.” He began pacing around the room, hands folded behind him, occasionally stopping to puff on his cigar. “Speaking of speaking easy… has Matthew ever spoken to you about things best not spoken of?”

“Matthew? You know my brother?”

“We’ve kept a keen watch on his work in Starfleet Intelligence. Starfleet Intelligence: now there’s a contradiction in terms.” Spaulding stopped and peered into a large glass globe with a golden model of the USS Columbia, Lucille’s first posting, suspended in the centre. “Did Matthew ever tell you about a covert organisation watching over the Federation? All cloak and dagger, eyeholes in the newspapers, secret decoder rings and lemon juice invisible ink?”

Her eyes widened. Mention of her brother did bring back a memory of a clandestine talk about- “Section 31?” Her voice was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid to say it aloud and possibly conjure them into being. No one ever admitted to knowing anything about that cabal of agents working outside of Federation rules in order to protect its interests. “Is that the answer?”

Spaulding puffed on his cigar before replying. “That depends on the question. But the game isn’t The $64 Question, it’s You Bet Your Life, and on tonight’s show, the Secret Word is… Hrelle.”

Her hackles rose. “Captain Esek Hrelle?”

He pointed his cigar at her. “And the young lady says the Secret Word and wins a hundred dollars. Of course, she said Three Secret Words, but I’m allowing for inflation.”

She scowled, having learned to ignore his distracting patter and glean the essence of his communication. The Caitian Hrelle had been a thorn in her side since their Academy days, when he refused to see sense and resign despite her efforts to convince him otherwise, thus earning her the ire of her father, the then-Superintendent of the Academy.

Since then Hrelle has proven to be a malcontent, a maverick, and though his story of escaping alleged slavery after so many years have made the Galaxy proclaim him a hero, she knew the truth: he was a coward at best, a traitor and threat to the Federation at worst. And in her last encounter with Hrelle, the man had managed to turn her nephew Giles away from the rest of the family, and even physically threatened her life - and got away with both. “What about him?”

Now Spaulding’s cigar smoke seemed to coalesce between them, taking shape, solidity, until the image of Hrelle’s scarred Caitian head took form. “Quite a mug on him, huh? I never forget a face, but in his case I’ll make an exception. You know, for a man who says he wants to live an ordinary life and do ordinary work, he gets into some extraordinary scrapes: escaping from captivity, uncovering Malurian child trafficking, surviving the destruction of the Tyche Station in the Malbruk system, encountering the Rising Star. He must have rabbit’s feet instead of cat’s.”

Lucille swallowed; some of those incidents were highly classified, but this… individual… knew about them, further evidence of his connections with Section 31. “I’m not a fan. I don’t trust him.”

He nodded. “Trust is earned, and if anyone should be trussed up and hit with an urn, it’s him. And to top it all off, there he is, influencing the Best and the Brightest from the Academy; like my psychiatrist always says, get ’em when they’re Jung. Don’t look now, Captain, but there’s one too many threats in this room, and I think it’s him.”

Lucille stared at him, her shock at his appearance and manner overcome by his warnings about Hrelle. “What can I do?”

Spaulding smiled, and blew the smoky image of Hrelle out of existence. “You’ll have to put the Cat in the Bag, for good. And there’s no time like the present. So here’s your present: he’s about to have an unauthorised meeting with the Ferasans currently in this sector.”

“What?”

“Secretly contacting his racial cousins, members of a militant power who has threatened Earth in the past?” Spaulding rolled his eyes. “I was never good at math, but even that has to add up to treason in anyone’s book.”

She paled. “I have to stop him.”

“You Bet your Life.”

Then he vanished.

Lucille stood there for a moment, stunned, before something made her try her badge again. “Captain to Bridge. McMahon, get in here!”

Seconds later the door slid open, and the figure of her First Officer Commander Edward McMahon stepped inside; he was a short, unassuming man with a round face and receding hair, and a presence so bland that more than once Lucille wondered if, like Spaulding, he was all here. Even his voice was bland. “Yes, Captain?”

Still, she couldn’t really complain; she chose him precisely because he was one to stay in the background and not try to steal her thunder. “McMahon, have a Security team come in here and do a sweep of my office.”

“Ma’am?”

“Just do it. And then locate the Surefoot and plot a course for its location.”

“Uh, Captain, inspection of the communications station at Ophelius is outstanding-”

Her relief at his presence vanished once more. “Did I ask for an argument?”

“Uh, no, Ma’am.”

“Then follow your orders.” Idiot.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He departed.

She sat down. And bolted back up, her tailbone still hurting.

*

“USS Surefoot, Captain’s Log, Stardate 36521.31, Captain Esek Hrelle recording: We are still on course for Starbase 154, and given the number of delays we’ve had in the last few weeks, I’m starting to wonder if it actually exists, or if the Surefoot has become some Ship of the Damned, forever sailing towards a destination it will never reach.

And as a result of the recent crises we’ve faced on Malbruk II and Sigma Lambda, our resources have been stretched to the point where I’ve been forced to instigate emergency rations for two out of every three days - thus securing my place among the cadets as Most Unpopular Captain since Drydock Styles. Well, screw you guys, I don’t like eating cardboard either.”

*

Deck 1, Captain’s/Counselor’s Quarters, 0730 Hours:

Hrelle noticed the change in demeanour of his wife as she emerged from their bathroom. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Kami lied, as she moved to the wardrobe and selected her uniform, guiding her tail through the slit in the rear.

He stared at her a moment longer, and then continued dressing. He knew better at this point in their relationship than to press the matter before she was ready, knowing she was more than able to address it when-

“I think my Seasons have finally stopped,” she announced.

He finished tugging his boots up over his furred feet and caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, watching him for his reaction. “Glad to hear it. You always hated taking those hormonal suppressants. Anyway, you never needed your Seasons to make me attracted to you.”

She offered a slight smile. “Good reply, my Captain. At least you didn’t say how sorry you were for me.”

He rose, adjusting his belly over his belt. “Are you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?”

Kami looked away, pretending to adjust her breasts in her bra. “A little. I know that it was inevitable, I know I’m at the age when it typically stops, I know that I’ll stay fertile for a while longer, and yes, I know that I hated those suppressants.”

Hrelle nodded and drew closer, putting his arms around her and using his nuzzle to shift aside her honey-brown mane and get at her neck before she could finish dressing. He purred against her skin.

“Do you want to have children with me, Esek?” she whispered.

He stopped purring, but still held her close, only tighter now. He couldn’t lie and say that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before now. Not long ago, the thought of being whole again, of being married and happy again, would have been inconceivable. But to be a father again, even at this late stage in his life, while daunting, was also enticing.

“If that’s what you-” he started.

Until she cut him off. “No. Don’t leave it all on me. Your answer, one way or another, will not be the final say, I promise you that. Just tell me.”

He felt his skin blush under his fur. She was right; she deserved honesty from him. “Yes. Yes, I do. I wanted it so much when I was with Ha- Sasha’s mother-”

“You can say Hannah’s name, you know,” she assured him dryly. “I won’t break down into tears knowing another woman had your heart before me. I was married too.”

He made a sound. “Hannah and I had been planning on a child when I was…” He stopped himself. Of course, Kami already knew the rest, knew his full story, of his capture by the criminal Bel-Zon organisation, of being tortured and sold into slavery, finding himself working in a Breen mine, fighting in the Orion pits, working with theta waste in a Corvallan freighter, and escaping after six years - only to find his beloved Hannah had been killed not long after his capture. “I know that Sasha has been as much my daughter as if we shared blood. But…”

“But it’s not quite the same, is it?” she noted, leaning back into his shoulder. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it either. It’s been almost twenty years since I gave my own cub life; now he’s all grown up and getting married in a few weeks. It was beautiful raising him - but also demanding. Am I really ready to go through all that again at my age?”

His stomach suddenly growled loudly in reply.

She laughed, the tension broken. “Seven Hells, Esek, are you carrying a cub of your own in there?”

He drew back and slapped her rear, making her tail wag. “A whole litter, and they’re all hungry, so finish dressing and let’s get to the mess hall before Morning Shift starts.”

*

Deck 1, Bridge:

Sasha Eismann Hrelle smiled as she leaned back in the Captain’s chair in the centre. “French toast, slathered in fresh whipped cream, blueberries, and dusted with cinnamon.”

This elicited groans of gastronomic delight from some, though not all of Alpha Squad, manning the various stations. It was the last half hour of the late shift, and today was the day when they could use their replicator credits.

At the Ops station behind Sasha, completing a Medical essay in between her other duties, Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas never looked up. “I can prescribe any number of substances that will clog your arteries far more efficiently.”

Sasha harrumphed. “They can’t be as tasty.”

To her left at the Engineering Station, Jonas Ostrow turned in his chair and looked at the others. “Chicken fried steak, creamy mashed potatoes, sweetcorn and Altairian gravy.”

That brought out more groans of appreciation, and from his place at the helm, the Caitian Meow Rrori offered, “I have developed a fondness of late for Terran oysters.”

“You know those are famously aphrodisiacs?” Sasha informed him, smirking.

From the Tactical Station beside Ostrow, the Bolian Neraxis Nemm guffawed. “Like he needs those! Now me, there is a Klingon gagh curry begging to be devoured.”

“Please, God, no,” Jonas begged.

Neraxis’ bright blue bald head turned to him. “What’s up with you, O Mighty Second in Command?”

“I sleep under you. The last Klingon curry you had, I almost declared a Biohazard in the bedroom. Eydiir, isn’t there something you can give her for the horrible flatulence?”

The Capellan shrugged. “Nasal suppressants for the rest of us. I fear her Bolian biochemistry could overcome anything I prescribe her.”

At the Science Station, Kitirik turned, his lime-green scaled face bright. “Friend Neraxis, perhaps I could interest you in my diet? I produce very little in the way of flatulence.”

“What, me, munching on beetles and locusts? Hell, no!”

“You eat rotted meat,” Sasha reminded her. “And you turn your nose up at bugs?”

“A girl’s gotta have standards-” But then her attention turned to the Proximity Alarm at her station. “We have a vessel on an intercept course at high warp! It’ll be here in sixty seconds!”

Sasha sat up, the banter forgotten. “We’re not scheduled to rendezvous with anyone. Eydiir, hail them. Neraxis, get an ID on them.”

“Already on it. They’re big, armed- Holy Hraxor, it’s a Ferasan Attack Escort!”

Sasha’s heart leapt into her throat as she hit the alarm. “Red Alert! All hands, Red Alert! This is not a drill!”

Around them, the apple-red lighting strip circling the ceiling of the bridge brightened, flashing, as the shields snapped on, and phasers and photon torpedoes came on-line, while inside, she kept saying to herself: Come on, Dad, get up here, take them on, not me, I’ll get us blown to pieces! You can stop them, you can stop anything-

She kept still as she heard the bridge doors slide open, and only turned when she heard the familiar voice. “What’s happening, Sasha?”

She turned and rose to face him, seeing that he had been accompanied by Ship’s Counselor Kami Hrelle, and their Vulcan First Officer T’Varik. “Sir! There’s a Ferasan ship on an intercept course, shields raised and weapons primed! Intercept time-” She looked to Neraxis.

The Bolian glanced over at her display. “Twenty seconds now!”

Sasha looked back at her father, expecting him to leap into action, stride forward and say-

“Computer, cancel Red Alert,” he ordered, and as the klaxon died away, he continued, “Helm, full stop. Tactical, drop shields and take the weapons off-line.” He stared at the viewscreen.

And left Sasha thoroughly confused. The Ferasans first made their presence known before the birth of the Federation with a number of attacks on Earth, all repulsed. Then they became allies of the Klingons, who were technically allies of the Federation, but that always seemed tenuous at best. But attempts at forging a more recent relationship directly with the Ferasans was hampered by their hatred for their cousins, the Caitians. “Sir?”

Her stepfather ignored her, as the Surefoot came to a complete stop, and Sasha turned to see a wicked-looking brick-red vessel with a three-nacelle propulsion design and numerous projections, obvious weapons, here and there.

They were going to die. They were going to be eaten. And her father had seemingly left them vulnerable.

Eydiir had stepped aside to allow T’Varik to manage the Ops station, the Vulcan announcing, “There is an incoming transmission, Sir.”

“Onscreen.”

Sasha looked back to see the starship replaced by a darkened bridge interior, dominated by a huge sabretoothed felinoid at least two metres in height: vaguely resembling Caitians, but with more flattened muzzles, thinner chocolate-orange fur and taller, more pointed ears. It was dressed in armour and leather in a style very reminiscent of Klingons, and leaned in close to fill up the screen. “Across the Trackless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you! I challenge you, Esek Hrelle! In the name of the Patriarch, I challenge you to-”

“Kiss my furry ass,” Hrelle finished simply, reaching out and cutting off the transmission, before turning to T’Varik. “Resume our course to Starbase 154, send a report on that vessel to Starfleet Command. I’m going back to finish my pancakes.” He stepped out of Kami’s touch as he departed from the bridge, stopping only to add over his shoulder, more loudly and sharply, “And while you’re at it, Commander, have all cadets brought up to speed on what justifies bringing us to Red Alert!”

“Yes, Sir.”

As she started away again, Sasha asked, “Da- I mean, Sir, did I- did I do wrong?”

He didn’t stop. Kami offered a sympathetic look and, “It wasn’t your fault.” Then she followed Hrelle out.

T’Varik approached the Captain’s chair. “Helm, take us around the vessel, resume our original course.”

Rrori, looking bemused, nodded and faced his console again. “Aye, aye, Ma’am.”

Sasha looked to her now, appearing thoroughly lost. “Commander, what’s going on? Did I make a mistake?”

The Vulcan took the command chair. “You did not necessarily do anything wrong, Squad Leader. However, the potential for escalation into a major incident was high.”

“Escalation?” Neraxis declared, “They’re the ones that came in with shields raised, weapons armed-”

“There is a Ferasan saying: ‘A roar is not always a warning; sometimes, it is a salute’. It is standard Ferasan tactics to approach an unfamiliar vessel under conditions which might be interpreted as hostile, without actually intending hostility; it is a sign of respect for us. But, had you responded by firing first, the results would have been… unfortunate. Particularly for ourselves, given how outmatched the Surefoot is in comparison.”

“These Ferasans appear most belligerent,” Kit noted. “Forgive my ignorance, but I am unfamiliar with them. Are Caitians an offshoot of them?”

“We most certainly are not!” Rrori snapped, clearly offended. “They are an offshoot of my people! A twisted version of us! Militant, bombastic, they’re nothing but disgusting throwbacks!”

“Vulcans have shared similar attitudes regarding Romulans,” T’Varik admitted dryly. “Recent intelligence reported that the Ferasans are in this sector for commercial interests; had you consulted the bulletins before you started your shift, their presence would not have been such a surprise.”

“Yes, Commander.” After a moment Sasha asked, more softly, “Ma’am… do you know why that Ferasan made that challenge to my father? Or why he responded the way he did?”

“No, Cadet, nor do I wish to engage in idle speculation on the matter. However, as you are now off duty and presumably bound for the Mess Hall, where I believe he is still finishing his breakfast…”

“Good idea, Commander.”

“I am aware of that, Cadet.”

*

Hrelle continued to cut up his remaining pancakes, which in his absence had become thoroughly suffused with syrup and turned cold, without actually bringing any of them on a fork to his mouth.

Beside him, Kami had finished off her melon dish and now sipped at her tea. “At this point you can’t make the pieces any smaller without the help of Nanites.”

“Is that right?” he challenged blankly.

“Do you want me to fill in T’Varik and Sasha on the reason for all that on the bridge? They’ll be concerned.”

“No need. It’s over and done with.”

“Of course it is. No issues to deal with, no unresolved problems, nothing. Everything is fine.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength.”

“Ahem.”

Hrelle looked up at Sasha, who stood on the other side of his table with her tray. She smiled. “Can I sit with you please, Daddy?”

He blinked, aware of Kami’s amused reaction to his stepdaughter’s use of ‘Daddy’ and the childish voice - a tactic she employed from an early age whenever she wanted something, having instinctively gleaned how emotional it made him, and thus more likely to grant her whatever she wanted. “Of course, sweetheart. Do you want help cutting up your food?”

She sat down. “Hell, no, I’m not letting you anywhere near my grub, you greedy bastard, you’ll inhale half of it before I even get a taste.” As Kami laughed at that, Sasha tucked into her French toast before the whipped cream totally melted and mingled with the blueberries and syrup. “So, are you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

“No.”

“Come on. I’ll let you tease me about having sex with Giles.”

“I’ll do that anyway.”

She swallowed the food in her mouth and licked her lips. “Don’t make me bring out the Big Guns, Dad.”

“The ‘Big Guns’?” Kami enquired.

Sasha stared across at her father - and started banging the ends of her knife and fork in her hands on the tabletop. Loudly.

All eyes turned to them, as Sasha continued to make noise, never taking her eyes off of Hrelle. Kami looked to him for explanation, as he complied, over the rising din. “Hannah said she’s been doing this since she was an infant, to try and get her own way.” As Sasha increased the noise and tempo, making the glasses and cutlery on the table rattle, he added more loudly, “As you can tell, she remains an annoying little bitch.” But he reached out and gently clasped his hands over hers, ending the protest. “Fine. You win.”

She grinned. “I usually do. So, what was that all about?”

He picked up his cutlery again, but recognised the futility of even trying to eat now, and set them down again, reaching for his coffee instead. “Caitians and Ferasans… do not get along. At all. We were once one people, all called Ferasans, before we fled from them a thousand years ago.”

Sasha nodded. “The Exodus. I remember reading about it when I was a kid, when I wanted to know more about your people.”

He nodded back absently. “You read the cleaned-up Junior Version of events, that we left to find a new home because we disagreed with what Ferasans were becoming. But it was more than that.

They had rejected the peaceful teachings of the Great Mother in favour of their toxic Patriarch, all misogynistic fire and fury. They had genetically Augmented themselves, the way humans tried to do on Earth centuries ago, but in our case they succeeded, becoming bigger, stronger, faster, even producing telepaths, and they took over Ferasa Prime. They were building an armada to take over the Galaxy. We tried to stop them. So… they tried to exterminate us.”

Sasha paled. “They did?”

He sipped at his coffee. “They consider themselves superior to us, think us weak and soft, an embarrassment. More than once over the centuries they tried to attack Cait, the way they did Earth. But like most bullies, they underestimate the strength of their intended victims, and overestimate their own, and we beat them, time and again.

Still, they can’t let that go, and every so often when they hear a Caitian is in the area, they like to come along and challenge us to mortal combat.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

Sasha caught a reaction from Kami, as if there was more to the story than her stepfather was saying, but chose to remain silent about it. And so did she. “Well, if that’s all-”

“Yes. That’s all-” When his combadge chirped, he responded, “Sorry, T’Varik, I know I’m late, but-”

“I am not admonishing you for your tardiness, Sir. A matter has arisen requiring your attention.”

He sighed. “I’m on my way. Hrelle out.” He rose to his feet. “Sorry if I seemed angry with you on the bridge, Runt of the Litter.”

She smiled up at him. “That’s okay, Dad. All is forgiven.”

Then he swiftly reached across, folded up one of her French toasts and carried it away with him, dripping whipped cream and blueberry syrup on the carpet along the way.

“You son of a bitch!” she called after him, as the room settled down again. Then she looked at Kami, concerned once more. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Kami smiled, wanting to lighten the mood and distract the girl. “Tell me… how do you feel about doing babysitting in the near future?”

*

T’Varik was back at the Ops station when Hrelle returned. “What is it?”

“We are receiving another Ferasan transmission.”

“Mother’s Cubs… alert any combat-ready Starfleet vessels in the area to chase these cats away.”

“Sir, this is not from the vessel which had just intercepted us, but another, designated as The Bloodstained Shroud.”

“Hmm, with a name like that, they must be on a peace mission, right?”

“Actually, they are, the vessel’s designation notwithstanding. They were granted a licence to visit certain sectors within the Federation to promote trade and tourism to their homeworld, and presumably counter their people’s public image.”

Hrelle grunted. “Good luck with that.” He stared out at nothing in particular, before finally replying, “Put them onscreen.”

Seconds later, the starfield was replaced by another interior shot, taken up by another Ferasan: as tall and imposing as Second Son, this one had thinning, greying fur and a broken right sabretooth, and his leathers and armour were colourful, decorated with jewels and gold pieces. “Captain Hrelle, I am Consul Tresherr-Tan. I understand our escort ship intercepted you earlier, piloted by SecondSon of R’hewann.

I am calling to apologise for that. He is my subcommander, from a related Pride, assigned as a favour to them, but he took the ship without permission to challenge you, and I can assure you that his actions were not sanctioned by either myself or the Patriarch’s Council. Our intentions here are entirely peaceful.”

Hrelle grunted. “What are your intentions here, Consul? I have heard it is to promote trade and tourism. That doesn’t seem work worthy of a Ferasan Consul.”

“Any duty which helps others see through the lies spread about us by our enemies is a worthy one. And I am empowered to secure deals for tourism, services, and trade with any Federation member world.”

Hrelle nodded, knowing full well that the Caitians were considered among their enemies. “And your Klingon masters allow this?”

Tresherr-Tan visibly bristled, but he recovered quickly. “The Ferasans have no masters, Captain, just allies... and prey. We will conquer you… at least, your hearts and minds.” He bared ruby-encrusted teeth, in an approximation of humanoid good humour.

Hrelle knew how felinoids would interpret that expression, however. “Well, it’s been lovely talking with you, but I’ve no one to blame but myself for answering your call-”

“Captain, we would like to offer recompense to you for the unfortunate incident earlier. We understand you might be in short supply of certain essential materials, which we have brought with us in large quantities to trade, and could offer you at reasonable rates: Starfleet-grade deuterium, replicator base proteins, transtator circuits-”

“We don’t need anything from you.”

“Are you certain, Captain? We also have many facilities here on The Bloodstained Shroud, here to display our culture in all its glory: museums, theatres, food, entertainment. You and your crew are welcome to visit and enjoy-”

“I said No.”

“If you are concerned about SecondSon, you need not fear him-”

Hrelle stepped forward. “Let me be clear on this, Consul: it’ll take more than some mangy, snaggletoothed, rat-tailed Ferasan arsehole looking to earn himself a Name to make me afraid! Just get on with your business and we’ll get on with ours. Surefoot out.”

The viewscreen returned to the starfield as Tresherr-Tan was starting to reply, producing chuckles from some of the cadets on the bridge.

Hrelle felt himself relax now. “Helm, continue on our original course.” He felt his First Officer shift closer. “Yes, Commander?”

“May I speak with you privately, Sir?”

He nodded, expecting this. “Mr Falok, take the Grown Up Seat.”

The senior officers were silent until they entered the adjacent briefing room, before the Vulcan proceeded. “Sir, your attitude towards the Ferasans is not appropriate.”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Yes, Sir. You need to present to our cadets a more professional attitude when dealing with other races. Even with ones who share a chequered history with your own.”

“You call what they tried to do ‘chequered’?”

“It is not dissimilar to my own people’s history with the Romulans.”

“Oh? Did the Romulans ever try to come back and blow up Vulcan? Were you ever threatened with forced genetic manipulation, with being eaten by them?”

“Admittedly, no, Sir. But the fact remains, your behaviour is disappointing-”

“Oh, is it? Well, thank you so very much for your kind assessment, Bubulah!” He paced around the room, his temper and voice rising. “I am so sorry for my poor performance! I’m such a rude man! I should have bent down and KISSED HIS FURRY ASS!”

He struck the tabletop with his fist, cracking it.

T’Varik remained silent.

He straightened up, lowered his arms but kept his hand in a fist. “I’m… sorry for that outburst, Commander.”

“It is… understandable, Captain, given the history of Ferasans and Caitians-”

“No. It’s not that. It’s more… personal.” He rubbed at his eyes, his tail hanging limply behind him. “That was not the first time I have encountered SecondSon. Do you know what he was challenging me for?”

“I assumed it was some Ferasan test of honour.”

“He’s called SecondSon because Ferasans are raised Nameless, designated with labels involving their family connections or occupations, and have to earn their names, by performing some great service to their Patriarch… or by winning a great victory that will have others singing ballads about them. Such as challenging the likes of me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is there any particular reason why he would choose you for that?”

“Yes.” He drew closer to her, but wasn’t quite able to look at her. “When I was a captive in the Orion fighting pits, I became one of the very few combatants to survive nearly a hundred of their deathmatches. They called me the… the B-Beast. I faced opponents of many species, including Ferasans, and somehow the Ferasans heard about this.

So there are more than a few Nameless Ferasans out there like SecondSon who have sought me out to challenge me, and earn a name through killing me… or even by being killed by me.”

A look of shame crossed his expression. “I’ve tried to explain to him that I wasn’t there of my own free will. I was starved, I was given drugs like hypocordrazine to increase my aggression and stamina, I had pain implants in my spine to force me to fight. I- I was not proud of what I did, it wasn’t honourable, not worthy of b-ballad or epic or even boasting, but a-a n-nightmare that I- I wanted to es-escape-” He stopped as his stammering increased, growing more agitated until he slammed his fist into his other hand. “Sorry.”

The Vulcan’s expression softened. “Captain-”

“The Great Mother taught us to revere life, to love and respect and forgive.” He turned away, reaching out and resting his other hand on the edge of the table as if for support. “My time as a gladiator went against everything I was taught. If I was lucky, the drugs would blank out my memories of the fights themselves, and the only clue I would have of the events was the fact that I was still alive - and that my fur, and my… mouth… was c-covered in flesh and b-blood. But I wasn’t always lucky. My Orion Master, Surinh Dag, made a lot of m-money off his B-Beast.”

“Captain,” T’Varik said, softly, sympathetically, “You were forced to commit those acts-”

But he shook his head, staring out the window at the starfield at warp speed. “I suppose what I’m saying is that, to you and to me and to most right-thinking individuals, what I underwent was a nightmare best put behind me. To the Ferasans, however, it’s an opportunity, for b-battle, for g-glory. I c-c-can’t-” He smacked his fist into his hand again. “Mother’s Cubs, I haven’t lost such control in years.”

The Vulcan’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and it was only Hrelle’s keen olfactoral senses that confirmed for him a sheathed embarrassment and regret from the woman. “Esek, I am truly sorry for the distress I have raised in you.”

He swallowed and visibly calmed himself, wondering if that was the first time she had used his first name since they’d met. “It was there already, you didn’t raise it. And you were right, as usual. The cubs pick up my bad traits as well as my good ones - if I have any of the latter.”

“You have many of those, Sir.”

“Thank you. So, I will endeavour to stay professional in future. But I will also endeavour to avoid contact with the Ferasans.”

“And I will endeavour to assist you in that, Captain.”

“Thank you again. Contact them, make the appropriate trade arrangements. And arrange for the cadets to visit their facilities. It’ll be educational.”

Then his combadge chirped, and Kami’s voice joined them. “Captain Hrelle, please report to the Holodeck immediately. Counselor out.”

He smiled a little at the announcement. “That’s unexpected. Maybe she’s arranged for a little romantic time on some simulated getaway?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “You two do not appear to need the holodeck to enjoy each other’s company. However, if it is the case, then the appropriate response from me would be… have fun.”

*

Somewhere Else:

“Captain’s Log, Imperial Date 36521.31, Captain Esek Hrelle, ISS Surefoot: We have just departed from our rendezvous with the Impala and Captain Arrington, having delivered the subspace isolytic warheads needed to pacify the rebellion on Karakol. We are most pleased to contribute in our own small way towards keeping the Empire safe. End log.”

Beside him on the bridge, his Counselor and mate Kami sneered as she played with the dagger strapped to the gold sash on her miniskirt; her skimpy top barely held together to keep her ample breasts encased. “So, how long do you think it will take before that bitch Lucille realises one of those warheads has been ‘accidentally’ activated?”

He chuckled, tugging at his shimmering gold sleeveless top and playing with the jewelled handle of the blade strapped to his own sash. “About a millisecond after she also realises who’s responsible, and that we’ve kept the majority of the weapons, to destroy Karakol ourselves and claim the glory.”

She purred at that. “‘Contribute in our own small way’… how do you keep from choking on your own words?”

He grunted. “I have a big appetite.” He leered at her as he reached out and drew her closer, making her tail wag and her purr grow. “For many things.”

But then he suddenly ducked as he felt a hand reaching for his neck, and he blindly grabbed behind him, grasping and flinging a body over his shoulder to hit the floor before him. “TRAITOR!”

On the ground, T’Varik, clad in an attractive outfit identical to Kami’s, except it was in Command Red instead of Medical Blue, looked up at him. “Captain, wait, I was merely-”

“You were merely trying to give me a neck pinch, my sweet little second in command,” he sneered, drawing the blade from its scabbard on the side of his chair. “Looking to take over and claim the glory yourself? Nice try, T’Varik.” He bared his teeth. “Looks like Vulcan is on the menu tonight!”

“What in Mother’s name is going on?”

All eyes on the bridge turned to the newcomer, seemingly unnoticed until now, a Caitian almost identical to the one in the Captain’s chair, but in a different uniform, his face filled with outrage as he drew closer, focused on Kami. “What is this all about?”

The other Hrelle glared at him. “He looks like me! An imposter, sent to take my place-”

Then Kami announced, “Computer: Freeze Program.”

Everything but the real Hrelle and herself turned still, the latter walking around, glancing down at her outfit. “What do you think? I might have to keep this for the bedroom-”

“Kami, what is all this?”

She smiled at him. “A psychological exercise, devised by the Counseling Services, utilising the new holodeck technology. You remember that old story of Captain Kirk’s sojourn to a quantum reality that was like our own, but with significant differences?”

“That?” Of course he was; it was the stuff of legend, how Kirk and his landing party had somehow crossed over via a transporter malfunction into another universe, one that contained duplicates of themselves, their ship and others they knew, but one where there was a ruthless Empire instead of a Federation, where torture was punishment, genocide was policy and promotions could be gained by assassination.

It had never been officially confirmed by Starfleet. Personally Hrelle thought it was load of shit; a reality that was as brutal as that described in the rumours would have left the other Enterprise with a radically different crew by the time the real Kirk visited it. But it was intriguing nonetheless. “What about it?”

“This simulation is based on accounts and extrapolations of that other reality, as well as your own psychological profile, and is designed to approximate how you might be depicted there.”

He stared at the frozen holographic version of himself. “What? Why would anyone want to do that? What’s the point?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “To illustrate one’s dark side, Esek. Some people refuse to believe that they have one. Others think they’re already enveloped by it. Seeing a version of oneself without any civilised beliefs, any veneer of decency and kindness, can offer a fresh perspective. Counselors are considering employing this new holodeck technology towards helping others see their hidden natures-”

“Computer: End Program.” As the characters and setting vanished, replaced by a room of yellow and black gridlines, Hrelle glared at her. “I don’t need this to see my hidden nature. I’ve seen it. I’ve embraced it! And it’s far worse than that parodic posturing clown you conjured up-” Suddenly his combadge chirped, prompting him to snap, “Yes?”

T’Varik’s voice filled the air. “Sir, forgive the interruption, but there is an incoming priority message from a Captain Sa’Rahn.”

Hrelle’s expression changed instantly, his mood lightening as if with antigrav handles. “Thanks, I’ll take it in my quarters!” As he turned to Kami, beaming, he explained, “A distant cousin from a separate clan in the Luhar Peninsula. He encouraged me to join Starfleet; his career has been even more colourful than mine, if you can believe it. Come on, I want to introduce you!”

She looked ready to argue her point further, but instead shrugged and followed him out.

In their quarters, he strode up with her to the large screen behind his desk. “Ready, Commander.”

The screen lit up, displaying a sepia-furred Caitian male looking remarkably like Hrelle, though with a more expansive belly that refused to be contained beneath the officer’s Starfleet jacket, and his voice carried an accent different to his cousin. “Hello, Skinny! Mother’s Cubs, you’re worse than when I last saw you! You’re all fur and bones!”

Hrelle shrugged, resting his hands on his own substantial belly. “It’s all the sex I’m getting now that I’m married. How are your parents? And Leo and Morley?”

“Everyone’s fine, Mother’s still expecting you to visit, and my brothers are keeping out of trouble… mostly.”

“Glad to hear it. Cousin, I’m pleased for you to meet my wife, Counselor and better half, Kami.”

Sa’Rahn smiled brightly at her, noting the skimpy uniform she was still wearing. “A genuine pleasure, Kami - and I’m loving the outfit Skinny’s obviously designed for you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I actually had to add material to his original designs, or I would have caught cold.”

Hrelle noticed the emblem on the wall behind Sa’Rahn. “What’s going on? What are you doing at the Caitian Embassy?”

“Temporary secondment as Starfleet Liaison while my ship undergoes retrofits in Earth Station One.”

“Really?” He smiled. “You get to work with the Ambassador? What’s she like?”

“Like she was still 25 instead of 105; I swear she could bare her teeth to the Great Mother Herself and get away with it. Anyway, on to why I’m calling you: the Ambassador has been made aware of the Ferasan Trade Consul in your sector.”

Hrelle nodded. “What a coincidence. I spoke with him earlier today, a Consul named Tresherr-Tan.”

Sa’Rahn nodded. “That’s him. What was your impression?”

“He’s a Ferasan. I’m glad to see the back of him.”

“Sorry to hear you say that, Skinny. You see, we’d like you and your crew to have a sniff around his operations, see if it’s all legitimate, or if there’s something more to their trying to win us over.”

“What? I got a boatload of cubs, I can’t take them on a secret mission into hostile territory!”

The Caitian onscreen smiled again. “It’s not exactly a mission. And there’s been no actual declaration of hostilities between us. But there are enough red flags being waved to make us concerned that an ally of the Klingons with a history as militant as theirs might be making unwanted inroads into Federation territory. I’m transmitting authorisation from Starfleet to deviate from your assigned course, just to cover your tails. We don’t anticipate any threats, but you’re free to involve your cadets as much or as little as you see fit.”

Hrelle sighed. “Well… I suppose I can manage something.”

“Much appreciated, Cousin.” Sa’Rahn smiled, offering a final nod to Kami. “And Counselor… stop having so much sex with him. He’s wasting away to nothing!” The viewscreen darkened.

Hrelle looked to his wife. “I’d better go brief T’Varik. And yes, I know, we’re not done talking about me.”

Kami reached out and took his hand in hers, drawing him closer. “Esek… you are the bravest, most wonderful man I have ever had the pleasure to know, and love. You’re a good man, no matter what you might have done in the past. And it is in the past; the Beast is dead.”

He looked ready to argue with her, but decided against it...

*

Bloodstained Shroud, Promenade:

The Ferasan ship was huge and saucer-shaped, a former troop and vehicle carrier now converted to a seemingly more peaceful purpose, with large interior sections in rings around a central column, rings now filled with examples of Ferasan painting, sculpture, weapons, fabrics and glassware, food and drink and music.

And people, performers as well as more ordinary Ferasans. There were many visitors to the ship, representatives from nearby worlds and colonies as well as the cadets of the Surefoot, taking in a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells with a mix of interest, wonder, curiosity.

And in Rrori’s case, trepidation at being surrounded by scents that were like his own people, but at the same time not. And it extended to more than their scents: their size, how they looked and moved and reacted to his presence. It reminded him too much of that ancient Terran video that Jonas insisted they all watch one evening, where dead humans were for some reason being reanimated inside a shopping complex to consume the flesh of the living, looking human but certainly not acting in that way. It generated a psychological uneasiness that Kit described for some reason as an ‘Uncanny Valley’.

He hoped he would get over it, and focus on his intrigue at seeing the divergences between his people and the Ferasans in the millennium since the Diaspora. It might even be worked into a report, one that would help him recover the academic credits he lost last month in the debacle over the Rising Star.

Speaking of which, he turned to see a happy-looking Jonas holding hands with their Rigelian colleague Soolamea, despite the general ban on Public Displays of Affection while in uniform, as they watched two Ferasan acrobats juggle blades, occasionally tossing them to each other without any warning. Jonas winced each time they did that. “They call this entertainment? My heart won’t slow down!”

Soo nudged him, smiling. “You don’t seem to mind that when I make your heart do that.”

Behind them, Giles Arrington smirked and leaned into a distracted-looking Sasha. “Do you think we make other people nauseous when we act like that?”

“Forgive the correction, Friend Giles,” Kit spoke up in front of them, never taking his eyes off of the demonstration. “But in grammatical terms, you two are nauseous, in that you are a force that makes the rest of us nauseated.” He smiled to himself, pleased to have offered elucidation.

Next to them, Eydiir and Neraxis focused on the display, the Capellan’s arms folded across her chest. “It is similar to an exercise my people perform, to practice in throwing and deflecting a kligat. I still possess a scar on my right breast from the one time when I was distracted.”

The Bolian glanced at her. “I wondered about where you got that.”

“And yet you haven’t asked before now?”

Neraxis shrugged. “Didn’t want you thinking I was staring at your boobs. That would be creepy.”

“So instead I’m thinking you’ve been secretly staring at them. Which is not at all creepy.”

“Caitian!”

Rrrori spun in place, his hackles rising at the approach of a tall, broad-shouldered indigo-furred Ferasan female, clad in leathers and armour, her thin, hairless tail swishing behind her. He guessed that she was about his own age, and had a small litter of friends following behind her as she drew closer, and he asked, “Yes? Can I help you?”

She stopped before him, standing a head taller than him, honey eyes fixed as smacked her fist against her chest, declaring, “I am FourthDaughter of Kesseth! Across the Trackless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you!”

“Really? Because it looks like you just crossed the Promenade, but still, I’m flattered. I am Alpha Squad Cadet Meow Rrori.”

Her flattened muzzle twitched and her eyes widened, and her friends reacted in a similar manner. “You have a name? What did you do to earn yourself that?”

“I was born, for the most part. I was an exceedingly beautiful cub, and have only grown more attractive with time, as most will agree.”

She stared at him in confusion, but quickly recovered, reciting her challenge once more. “Across the Trackless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you! I challenge you, Meow Rrori! In the name of the Patriarch, I challenge you to fight me!”

“Thank you, no.”

Rrori started to turn away, but FourthDaughter reached up, grasped his shoulder and spun him around again. “But I challenged you! You have to accept!”

“Why?”

“Because to refuse would bring great shame to you and your Pride!”

His furred brow furrowed. “I have a clan, not a Pride. And no, I don’t think it would bring them shame. I think the only shame would be in having a needless fight where one or both of us is hurt, or worse.”

Her friends drew in closer, even as he felt his own Squad do the same. The Ferasan female sneered. “I call you Coward for not accepting my challenge!”

“You can call me whatever you like. Your opinion of me means nothing.”

She was stunned, clearly unable to process what he was saying, and glanced at her friends. “B-But I’m challenging-”

“Yes, very. But I’ll forgive you because you have a certain charm. And we have different ways of challenging ourselves.” He motioned to his friends. “Come on, let’s see what else there is-”

“No, wait,” FourthDaughter glanced at him, and then the others, before asking, “How do your people challenge themselves?” She glanced at the humans, Capellan, Qarari, Bolian and others. “Especially when dealing with so many inferior races?”

“‘Inferior races’?” Neraxis repeated archly.

Rrori smiled. “We have ways.”

*

In another part of the Shroud, Hrelle and Kami walked closely together, taking in similar sensory inputs, keeping a distance from the cadets whose scents lingered in the air if not their actual bodies. Kami kept an arm wrapped around her husband’s, mimicking this with the tips of their tails as they noted the jewellery and other items of Ferasan art. “Do you see a theme running through these?”

Hrelle hadn’t, more focused on the Ferasans who were eyeing them as the couple walked by, but answered, “Of course. But I’ll let you feel better by telling me.”

“You’re too kind. It’s all martial: weapons, shields, battles, hand to hand combat. Even the Pride-based art depicts their going into battle.”

“What did you expect? You’re not going to see a Ferasan’s soft and tender side. There’s none to find.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it. I’ve met them, you haven’t. They’re worse than Klingons. At least Klingons have a sense of humour.”

She nodded to an open archway. “Look, they have a historical exhibit. Come, let’s go learn something.”

“But I thought maybe we could investigate the food court-”

“Later. Let’s give them a chance.”

They entered, finding a darkened corridor that gently zigzagged, opening up occasionally to provide an overhead holographic display, accompanied by a male narrator’s voice. As a lush planet of many greens appeared around a hot white sun, the voice announced, “This is Ferasa Prime, home to our people, granted us by our Patriarch as our cradle, our castle, our Pridelands.”

“It’s beautiful,” she noted, as images of verdant grasslands and shimmering cities with faces reflecting sunlight appeared.

“Cait is better,” he groused.

“Stop being such a curmudge. That’s our ancestral homeworld.”

“Cait is our ancestral homeworld. Come on.”

He tugged at her arm to follow along without replying. In the next display area, images of Ferasan cities spread out over endless velds appeared, until it focused on one Ferasan in old-fashioned clothes standing on a rock, looking up longingly at the stars. “We grew from a single tribe spread out over the T’Kathnal Veld, into a Phalanx of Prides, ready to reach out and touch the stars. But we were not yet strong enough, not in mind, and not in body. We needed to be stronger.”

In the next display area, they saw holographic Ferasan scientists standing around a tall, muscular, sabretoothed figure, as the voice continued, “And so, with the blessing of the Patriarch, we made ourselves stronger. Stronger, faster, wiser.”

“Don’t know about the last part,” Hrelle quipped, as Kami nudged him.

The next area offered something more graphic: riots in an urban area, between Ferasans sporting different coloured banners. “But there were those who chose to reject progress. They embraced a weak, false goddess, one who demanded that they remain stumbling and afraid, wallowing in gluttony, licentiousness and sloth.”

“They left out lust,” Hrelle muttered. “The best one.”

“Such was their hatred of progress that they took militant action against those who would deny us the stars,” the narrator continued, “Killing many innocents with their cowardly terrorist acts.”

Kami was stunned. “What? How can they get away with talking such shit?”

“Who’s out here to refute it besides us?”

The next area offered images of huge multi-generation ships leaving the planet. “And when their meagre courage escaped them, they fled, to settle elsewhere, to spread their lies.”

Kami cursed and stormed out, Hrelle quickly following to find her in the Promenade again, Hrelle noting, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m convinced: Caitians are the worst.”

Her face was twisted with anger. “Can you believe they would spout that crap?”

“What happened to giving them a chance? To be fair, it would be bad propaganda if it told the truth about what really happened. They have to keep some things under wraps.”

“Well, you know all about that.”

He looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“Those lies you told Sasha, that your attitude was all about cultural schisms, instead of your time in the Pits.”

He shrugged, pretending to be distracted by some floating attraction on the Promenade. “She already knows I spent time with the Orions.”

“She doesn’t know the details.”

Hrelle looked at her resolutely again. “And she doesn’t need to know. Is that understood?”

“Captain?”

Hrelle turned to see a small party of Ferasans approach, led upfront by Consul Tresherr-Tan and SecondSon, the younger of the two striding a little faster and towering over Hrelle, sneering with naked contempt. “No… you cannot be the Beast! The one from the videos! You are fat and old!”

Hrelle grunted. “Please, no flirting in front of my wife, she gets jealous.”

“SecondSon, step back!” Tresherr-Tan barked as he joined them, grey eyes gleaming as he regarded the Caitians. “And be respectful to our guests.”

The cub stepped back, but he remained disdainful. “I am not impressed with him.”

“Whereas, I’m amazed by you,” Hrelle replied. “Mostly that you managed to survive to this age without chasing your own tail off a cliff.”

Tresherr-Tan chuckled. “Please forgive the impulsiveness of youth, Captain.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Hrelle stared at the offering - and then accepted it. “And you. This is my wife, and our Ship’s Counselor, Kami.”

The Ferasan turned to her and nodded politely. “Among our people, females are prized - but few hold positions of high authority. They are better suited for other functions.”

Kami smiled politely. “Fortunately, we recognise that a woman’s functions don’t just reside below the belt.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded to the exhibit. “And what did you think of the historical display?”

“Utter shit,” Kami replied without hesitation.

“You’re quite right,” he admitted, with equal lack of hesitation, relishing the reaction from the visitors as well as SecondSon. “Total nonsense, and I am thoroughly embarrassed by it. But it was what was approved by the Patriarch’s Council, and I must abide by it.” There was a glint in his eye. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He breathed out. “Captain, Counselor, while my people continue with the bartering for supplies, I would very much like to invite you two to a private dinner, and a conversation, one where we can learn something from each other. There are those among us who would certainly benefit from that.” He gave SecondSon a reproving look as he added, “Speaking of which: isn’t there something you were supposed to say, cub?”

The young Ferasan scowled, gnashing his fangs in some token protest, barely able to look at Hrelle as he growled out, “I… apologise for disturbing you in the performance of your duties with my challenge.”

Hrelle shrugged. “Forget about it. I was young and stupid once, too.”

“Thank you-” Then SecondSon frowned. “What?”

Tresherr-Tan chuckled again. “Please, come. There’s no reason why a set of intelligent beings such as ourselves can’t at least be cordial with each other…”

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 1, Bridge:

T’Varik was in the midst of authorising the payment for replicator-grade proteins when Cadet Falok at Ops announced, “Commander, there is an incoming Starfleet vessel: the Impala.”

She naturally suppressed any reaction, though she acknowledged that if she did react, it would logically be with surprise: the Impala was on an assigned patrol course elsewhere in this sector, and to her knowledge was not scheduled to rendezvous with the Surefoot or any other vessel here. “Hail them, Cadet.”

“No need; they are hailing us.”

The Vulcan woman set aside her PADD and straightened up slightly. “Onscreen.”

Before them, the image of the Bloodstained Shroud and the surrounding vessels was replaced by another, larger Starfleet bridge, and a familiar middle-aged, copper-haired human woman in the Captain’s seat. “Where’s Hrelle?”

“Greetings, Captain Arrington. How may we be of assistance?”

“I asked you where Hrelle was.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow. “There are several Hrelles onboard: a Captain, a Counselor and a Cadet Squad Leader. Perhaps it would facilitate matters if you used their proper forms of address.”

Arrington scowled. “You know I mean Captain Hrelle! Where is he?”

“Captain Hrelle is onboard the Ferasan ship.”

“What? Why? Why is he meeting with them? Why did you leave your assigned route? Why are we detecting transporter activity between your two ships? What’s going on here? Well? Why aren’t you answering me?”

“I was waiting for a moment when you stopped asking questions. We have received orders from Starfleet on behalf of the Caitian Embassy to scrutinise the Ferasan trade delegation in this sector; members of the crew and the cadets are onboard their ship, ostensibly for shore leave but in fact to gather intelligence towards that end. We are also engaged in a standard supply trade, hence the additional transporter activity.”

“The Caitians? Why would they be interested in what the Ferasans were doing here?”

“Given their history I would have thought that self-evident, Captain.”

“Don’t get lippy with me, Commander! What do the Caitians think they’re doing, ordering a Starfleet vessel around?”

“No lippiness was intended, Captain Arrington. As for your accusations, the orders were approved by Starfleet.”

“I want to see copies of those orders!”

“I will transmit these in due course, once I have completed my other duties.”

“NOW!” Arrington demanded.

For a moment, T’Varik almost sought a reason to delay this further - until she recognised that her attitude since the transmission opened was needlessly, deliberately baiting the other woman.

And she acknowledged to herself why: in their last encounter, Arrington had exacerbated her general unpleasantness and duplicity by verbally abusing her nephew, Squad Leader Giles Arrington, and at one point tried to physically strike him, stopping only when Captain Hrelle caught her by the forearm and threatened her.

The matter was never taken further, but obviously T’Varik had never forgotten it. And she found that despite numerous meditative exercises since that time, the execrable image of the woman raising her hand to smack Giles continued to remain a primary memory association, along with the residual emotional reactions that T’Varik sought to repress.

The likelihood that T’Varik’s current dealings with Captain Arrington were influenced by this memory could not logically be ignored, and she couldn’t help but remember how she admonished Captain Hrelle for his own unprofessional attitude towards the Ferasans because of past associations - especially as Arrington was the senior officer here. “Of course, Captain. I will transmit a copy of our orders to you immediately. Mr Falok?”

Behind her, the Vulcan cadet replied, “Aye, Ma’am. Transmitting now.”

“Is there any other way I can assist you, Captain?” T’Varik asked.

Arrington cut off the transmission.

“Commander,” Falok started after a moment, “Should we alert Captain Hrelle of the presence of the Impala?”

T’Varik considered it, but then replied, “No, Cadet. I am certain that Captain Arrington will make her presence known without our assistance.” She was also certain that Captain Hrelle had enough on his proverbial plate to deal with without having to worry about Lucille Arrington again.

*

Bloodstained Shroud, Recreation Room:

Sasha tried to ignore the faded stains of blood on the walls as she watched a select number of cadets and Ferasans squaring off, dribbling and passing a freshly-replicated basketball between them. The room was bare, with marked sections on the opposite walls that approximated where the two baskets would be in a proper play of the Terran game.

Once the Ferasans were given the basic rules of the game and grudgingly accepted the notion of competing in something that didn’t involve weapons, the Surefoot cadets selected their best players: Giles, Eydiir, Rrori, Gamma Squad’s Saurian Security cadet Orogg, and Beta Squad’s Science Specialist Charlie Ingalls, a beanstalk of a human who towered almost as high as Orogg. They had removed their jackets and shirts and played in their vests, moving with a practised ease, expertly passing the ball to each other to reach their intended targets, time and again.

To their credit, the Ferasans, led by FourthDaughter, made a valiant effort considering they had never heard of the game before today, their superior strength and speed compensating for their lack of experience.

But as she watched the game, she couldn’t help but notice how often their efforts were stymied by their lack of teamwork, by their desire to stride forward and score a point for their own personal glory, and more than once they ended up tripping each other over on the court.

It made sense. After the embarrassing incident on the Bridge, Sasha had done some research on Ferasans and their dealings with other races. Initially misidentified as the Kzinti, a race depicted in some ancient Terran speculative fiction because of their similarities, the Ferasans had repeatedly attempted to attack both Terran and Caitian territories over the centuries, but were always defeated with relative ease.

And historians concluded that the fault lay with the Ferasans themselves, both because they tended to launch attacks without proper preparation (because of course preparation would imply - gasp! - that the Ferasans were less than perfect), and because they prized personal over group victory.

That’s why she thought Rrori’s choice of game was ideal for illustrating the differences between the groups. That, and she was notoriously bad at it and no one would think of involving her as anything more than a spectator with the other cadets.

And it took her mind off of the news that Kami had dropped, about her and Dad considering having children. Not that it was a bad thing - in fact, Sasha was pleased about the notion of finally being a big sister, even a half-sister - but it was killing her that she couldn’t tell anyone about it until the couple had finally decided on it-

“This is most fascinating!” Kit declared excitedly beside her, round eyes flared as he observed the match. “Respected Squad Leader, do you think this could help forge a positive relationship between our respective groups?”

She was about to reply, when she watched one of the Ferasans respond to Rrori successfully faking a pass to send the ball to Orogg by striking the Caitian in the muzzle, sending him to the ground.

The match stopped, and Sasha strode forward. “Hey! We told you no physical contact!” She glanced down at Rrori, who was shaking his head and helping himself back to his feet.

“This is a stupid game!” the Ferasan male declared. “For children! And you are all nothing but a miserable collection of aliens!”

“Then why are you losing?”

Swiftly the male growled and swung out again.

But Sasha was ready for him, dodging and striking with a move she learned in the Caitian martial arts of K’Gressor, doubling him over before delivering a second kick that sent him fully to the floor, astonishing his friends.

She readied to defend herself again, and felt the other cadets draw up behind her for backup. But the Ferasans just watched her, jaws dropped, leaving FourthDaughter to proclaim, “Who taught you that? That is an attack move from the K’Gorrdor discipline!”

She straightened up. “The Caitians call it K’Gressor. I’m assuming your two peoples came up with the same-”

“Why would the Caitians teach a human their combat arts?” a male sneered.

Sasha folded her arms across her chest. “My father is Caitian.”

It was as if she had stopped time around the Ferasans. The one she knocked down helped himself back up and sniffed the air. “You are part Caitian? You’re a mongrel?”

She stiffened, as her fellow cadets drew around her protectively. “Call me that again, you kussik. I dare you.”

“She is Caitian.”

All turned to the unfamiliar male voice: an adult Ferasan, tall but stooped, with sabreteeth shorter than most, dressed in leathers but lacking any of the weapons or other intimidating paraphernalia, his hands clasped together before it almost as if in prayer. He focused on Sasha as he continued to speak, “Her thoughts are Caitian, her feelings are Caitian. When Captain Hrelle took his place in her mother’s heart, she took him in hers.”

Sasha felt herself grow uneasy in the presence of this new arrival, not helped by FourthDaughter’s contemptuous response to him. “What are you doing here?”

The older male appeared uncharacteristically unfazed by the attitude given him. “I was sent by Consul Tresherr-Tan to invite Squad Leader Sasha Hrelle to join her father and his wife at a formal dinner.”

“He did?” Sasha asked.

He nodded. “He did not wish to disturb you with a communication, and sent me.” His furred brow furrowed further. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Sorry to ruin your time, Runt of the Litter, but duty calls’.”

She smirked; yes, that was her Dad. She looked to her friends. “See you guys back on the ship. Try not to kill each other.”

“Yes,” FourthDaughter sneered at the new arrival. “Leave, Telepath. Your presence offends us.”

Sasha was shocked that they would treat one of their own kind like this, especially in front of strangers. But again, the male remained composed as he indicated the doorway out.

She followed the older male out of the court and down some corridor, seeing no one else. He was quiet, until he announced, “Thank you.”

“Excuse me? I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for.”

“Your thoughts. You felt sympathy for the way my people treat me. I am not accustomed to such feelings.”

She slowed down, staring at him. “FourthDaughter called you ‘Telepath’-”

He stopped and looked back, smiling warmly. “Yes. When my abilities surfaced during my first Season, I was taken, trained and named as a Telepath, my gifts enhanced, before being assigned to serve this Pride. I have done so faithfully for many years now.”

“Really? They don’t seem-”

“Grateful?” He shrugged. “My people recognise and value the talent, but still believe that it is dishonourable. I am not trained in fighting, am not allowed to carry weapons, and despite my record I am unlikely to have my deeds considered worthy of granting me a name other than Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath.” He offered an approximation of a smile. “Thank you again for your thoughts.”

Sasha frowned now. “I don’t know if anyone has ever told you, but-”

“Forgive me, Squad Leader, but we are unable to switch off our gifts. It is a burden that overwhelms us at times, causes many mental health issues, and has us avoiding other people as much as possible to keep from drowning in their thoughts.”

She shook her head, trying to grasp what it would be like to be constantly in other people’s minds, hearing their thoughts, unable to switch it off. It had to be-

“Terrible, yes,” he confirmed. “At times.” He glanced around, as if there might be people in this otherwise deserted corridor to hear him speak besides Sasha. “But I must confess to feeling envious of you and your people. It is… refreshing… to hear such varied thoughts, not just from different races but… but thoughts of camaraderie, of friendship, and even love, all genuine. You are not obsessed with ambition or aggression or suspicion.” He nodded. “You are most… fortunate.”

“Umm… thank you. Could we maybe-”

“Take you to your father? Yes, my apologies. I indulge myself too much sometimes.” He continued, Sasha following, turning a corner and indicating an open doorway where a Ferasan guard stood outside. “Please, enter.”

She was distracted by the sight of the guard outside what was supposed to be a formal dinner, so much that she had stepped into the room before realising that it was completely empty.

Then all thoughts were swallowed up in the pain of a neuroleptic beam striking her from behind. She collapsed, all motor control lost but still feeling the impact of her head striking the bare metal floor. Before unconsciousness swallowed her fully, she heard Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath say, “Prepare her for dinner…”

*

The cadets emerged back into the Promenade, noting the Ferasans keeping a respectful distance from them following the basketball game - for which Eydiir was grateful. She did not like them, and was beginning to understand how Rrori felt.

“Hungry?” Giles asked her, nodding to the food stalls offering numerous grilled and fried meats - and no vegetables whatsoever - their collective scents enticing. “I doubt if Sasha will bring back a doggy bag from her dinner.”

The Capellan eyed him. “You believe they are serving dog?”

He grinned. “An old Terran expression; if you couldn’t finish your meal in a restaurant, you could ask to have the rest taken home in a bag, with the excuse of bringing it back for your dog.”

She grunted; humans loved expounding on their many little slang words and obscure sayings. “Knowing Sasha as we both do, how likely is it that she’ll not finish a meal?”

“Mr Arrington.”

Eydiir stopped along with Giles and the rest of them at the woman’s voice, turning to see an older Terran woman with red hair and a Starfleet uniform - with four Captain’s pips - approach. Giles’ face reddened. “Aunt Lucille?”

The woman stopped and stood ramrod straight in front of them, her face hardened and her hands behind her. “That’s not the correct form of address when speaking to a superior officer, Cadet.”

Eydiir stiffened as well. She had been made aware via Sasha of the rift that had arisen between Giles and his family, because of the latter’s attempts to coerce Giles into spying on Captain Hrelle. To his credit and his honour, Giles had refused, and as far as she knew, while he heard from his father from time to time, none of the others had made contact with him since then - a family situation Eydiir understood all too well.

Now beside her, Giles straightened up. “Apologies… Captain.”

Arrington fidgeted a little, and for a second Eydiir thought that the other woman might do that “just kidding” thing that humans seemed fixated upon. But instead she produced a small, brightly-wrapped and ribboned box. “Your father sent this: your Christmas present. Since you couldn’t be bothered to come home, I’ve had to serve as a messenger.”

Giles grudgingly accepted it. “Thank you, Captain. Did you… did you come out here to deliver this?”

She made a harsh sound. “Do you honestly think I would divert my ship light years just to do that? Where’s Hrelle hidden himself?”

“Uh, he, his wife and daughter are having a private dinner with Consul Tresherr-Tan.”

The older woman grunted. “Of course, a private dinner, that’s typical of Hrelle.”

Suddenly Eydiir found herself saying loudly, “That’s not the correct form of address when speaking about a superior officer, Captain.”

Now Arrington turned to her, drawing closer with a face of cold hostility. “Who the hell are you?”

Eydiir came to attention. Just. “Cadet Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, reporting as ordered, Ma’am.”

Arrington sneered, practically in her face now. “And would you care to explain your insubordiante attitude?”

She was obviously trying to intimidate her - a waste of time as far as the Capellan was concerned. “No insubordination was intended, Captain. I was merely reminding you that Captain Hrelle is your superior officer, by virtue of his seniority. And that you should show him the proper respect, the same respect you want and deserve from us.”

Arrington’s eyes widened, and her pink face reddened. “How dare you-”

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

Arrington twisted about. “And who the hell are you, you little brat?”

Jonas never flinched, merely stood at attention with wide open eyes and polite smile. “Deputy Squad Leader Jonas Ostrow, reporting as ordered, Ma’am. Forgive the interruption, Captain, but I very much wanted to meet you, and thank you.”

“Thank me? What for?”

“You inspired me. When I started at the Academy, my Secondary study was Medicine, but then I read about how you took command of the Columbia when your Captain was injured during that awful Tholian attack, and you managed to get your ship and crew to safety. It was amazing! And inspiring! Now I’ve switched studies to Command. It’s not been easy doing that mid-course, but it’ll be worth it, if I can be half the officer you are.” He held out his hand. “May I have the pleasure of shaking your hand, Ma’am?”

Arrington stared, dumbfounded, before finally offering her own hand. “Yes, well, you’re welcome, Deputy Squad Leader. Good luck with that.” She stepped back, giving a glare at Eydiir and Giles before finishing with, “Carry on.”

As Arrington departed, and Eydiir stood amazed at Jonas’ expert defusing of the situation, even if he partly lied to get what he wanted, Neraxis leaned in and asked her, “How the hell did he manage to stay a virgin for so long with that silver tongue?”

*

Bloodstained Shroud, Consul’s Quarters:

Like most everything else involving the Ferasans, the dining room was stark and Spartan and sharp and uncomfortable to the Caitian visitors, but the view from the wide observation windows of the Surefoot almost made being there worth it for Hrelle.

Tresherr-Tan noticed him looking out. “I suppose you do not often get the opportunity to see your vessel from the outside, Captain. You must be proud.”

He grunted, but acknowledged, “Yes, Consul, I am. She’s a fine old ship.”

Sitting opposite him, SecondSon sneered. “Proud? Of that old wreck? It has one phaser bank and, what? A dozen photon torpedoes? That’s nothing!”

Hrelle stared back. “Size isn’t everything, cub. You must have said that to plenty of females.”

The young Ferasan remained defiant. “My Pride’s flagship could blow your little wreck to pieces!”

“Yeah, probably.”

SecondSon blinked in confusion, and then continued. “Did you not hear what I said? I insulted your ship!”

“It wasn’t an insult, it was a fact. The Surefoot has minimal combat capabilities, and is over 75 years old; a loud enough fart onboard her could probably put her in Spacedock for repairs.”

“We could crush it! Just as I could crush you!”

“So? I could get crushed by having a ton of shit dropped on me. It’s still shit.”

“SecondSon,” Kami butted in, leaning forward and smiling, obviously trying to defuse the situation. “You said ‘my Pride’s flagship’. Are you not a member of Consul Tresherr-Tan’s Pride, then?”

“No, Counselor, he is not,” Tresherr-Tan answered. “His Pride, like mine, is prominent on our world, and when he heard I was taking the Shroud to this sector, his Pridemaster asked me to take SecondSon onboard as my subcommander.”

“Oh?” She stayed focused on the cub, offering an impressed look. “Such responsibility at your age! But you bear it well.”

SecondSon bristled, looking suspicious, before acknowledging grudgingly, “Yes. Yes, I do. You are clever, for a female.”

Kami smiled again. “Why thank you, SecondSon. I can’t tell you how that makes me feel.”

“Actually, she could,” Hrelle corrected dryly. “But it probably wouldn’t end well.”

The door slid open, and an older Ferasan male curiously bereft of weapons and armour entered, carrying a tray of golden drinking cups, setting one before each of the four at the table, as Tresherr-Tan took control of the conversation again. “Having studied the history of our peoples, I have seen that we have far to travel before we can acknowledge common ground.

But that does not mean we shouldn’t try. After all, it was once considered impossible that the Klingons and the Federation could end up allies. Or for that matter, many of the founding members of the Federation itself.” He lifted up his cup. “Here’s to… What Will Come.”

Hrelle glanced at Kami, before lifting up his own cup. “What Will Come.” His tongue confirmed what his nose had already told him: the Ferasan drink was strong and bitter, like so much else about their people.

But then he checked himself. Tresherr-Tan had proven to be a surprise, offering candour and civility and a calming influence to the hotheaded SecondSon. The older Ferasan, who was about Hrelle’s age, was making this almost bearable. He set down his cup. “Is that why you’re out here, Consul? To facilitate What Will Come?”

“Indeed, Captain. Much has been said of my people, and not all of it true; understanding will only come about when ignorance is swept away.” He smiled. “And if we can manage a profit as well, that would not be unwelcome either.”

“And what do you have to offer the Galaxy?” Kami asked, sipping at her own drink without showing any negative reaction.

“Well, in addition to the sights to be found on Ferasa Prime, we have abundant riches on worlds within our territory, deposits of topaline, kivas, trillium… and of course our own skills as warriors, hunters, bodyguards. With the Treaty of Sirius, our young people do not have the opportunity to win their names in battle as they might have in times past.” He shrugged. “What else can we do?”

Hrelle shrugged back. “You can always expand the definition of what constitutes honourable service. One can serve their people through more than combat: I know that diplomats, scientists, doctors…” He glanced up at the elderly male who had brought in the drinks. “Telepaths… they all can contribute in ways far more profoundly than through battle or single combat.”

“You talk nonsense!” SecondSon accused.

“The scientists who developed the disruptor cannons on your ships,” Kami pointed out, “Who keep the engines of your vessels running at peak efficiency, who heal injuries that get your warriors back on their feet to fight another day, they all play important roles too.”

The young Ferasan grunted. “I would expect a female to say something like that.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Because it makes sense. Great Mother forfend that you listen to something sensible.”

“Great Mother,” SecondSon spat. “Heresy! Your false goddess has no place in any discussion!”

“False goddess?” Kami raised an eyebrow at him, her patience eroded. “She was ascendant for a thousand years before your Patriarch was invented-”

Tresherr-Tan held up a hand, smiling. “The first rule they taught me when I trained to be a Consul was never discuss Sex or Religion; no one can win that discussion. Don’t you agree, Captain?”

Hrelle shrugged. “I heard it was Politics and Death. And I always thought that the aim of any discussion should not be to win, but to learn. Was that not the purpose of this get-together? To learn from each other? Walking in with an open mind and an open heart-”

SecondSon spat on the floor. “Weakling nonsense! Is that what you Caitians are? Soft, effete female-worshipping cubs? No wonder we improved ourselves!”

“If you really improved yourselves,” Kami pointed out sweetly, “Then why has every attempt you’ve made to conquer us, or Earth, been met with your defeat?”

“Because we’re arrogant,” Tresherr-Tan answered first, enjoying the reaction he received from her at his honesty. “And we always go in unprepared, because preparation would imply weakness. We are obsessed with strength and prowess, and neglect so many other desirable qualities, both as individuals, as Prides and as a people. We mewl in the night like cubs about our fierceness, but in the harsh light of day we are still cubs.

There is much about my people that I would see change, Counselor. If we are fortunate, perhaps an increased exposure to the rest of the Galaxy will help us grow up a little?”

Hrelle regarded the Consul differently. Not necessarily with more trust, but with less suspicion. “You might want to start that growth with not having a Telepath in the room unannounced, secretly probing your guests’ thoughts.”

Kami frowned, looking up at the male who had brought in the drinks. “You?” Then she looked at her husband. “How can you tell?”

“Past experiences with telepaths have left me sensitive. Also, he carries no weapons and wears no armour, and has fewer colours on his belt… and I’ve been watching his moments of concentration as he focused on us.” Hrelle looked up at him. “Well? Give him your report, Bubulah.”

Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath glanced at the Consul with embarrassment, receiving a nod before complying. “He was given orders by the Caitian Ambassador to investigate us. Apart from the disagreement with our historical recollection, and a contempt for SecondSon’s attempts to engage him in combat, I am detecting nothing else. The female is conflicted, reacting negatively to our propaganda and attitudes but wanting to remain cordial; her mate’s mental state is also prominent in her mind.”

Kami leaned back, folding her arms across her chest, her expression sharp. “I could have told you all that without being probed without my permission.”

Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath offered an apologetic half-bow, As Tresherr-Tan spoke up again. “Forgive the subterfuge, Counselor, Captain, but as a senior member of the Ferasan Consulate Offices I am required to protect myself as well as my people’s interests.”

“Yeah,” Hrelle muttered, still staring at the telepath. “You want to tell your master what I’m thinking I’ll do now if you keep reading our minds?”

Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath shuddered, and looked to the Consul. “Perhaps it is time for dinner?”

“Excellent idea!” Tresherr-Tan motioned for the Telepath to proceed, the latter departing as the Consul continued. “But, you must admit, that while we have much to learn from our cousins, you have things to learn from us?”

“Perhaps. Though maybe not in the way you believe.”

“No? What about our strength of Pride? Nearly every member of my crew and staff are members of mine. We have our bond, our unity-”

“Caitian clans have strength,” Kami indicated. “We have unity. But our strength and unity is built on love and loyalty. And unlike you, we don’t limit what our females can achieve, and we don’t have telepaths we treat like indentured servants.”

As if on cue, Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath returned, guiding other Ferasans to set large cubes covered in cloths. Hrelle stared at these, only half-listening to Tresherr respond. “These are minor societal differences, understandable given the centuries since our bifurcation. We have other things we share: our desire for the hunt, the kill.”

Hrelle’s hackles rose as he stared at the cube set before him on the table, smelling and hearing something alive beneath the cloth. “Consul… what is going on?”

“I have something special for you,” he promised, “A rare delicacy, and something we don’t display to outsiders; we’ll offer them our grilled meats, and leave this for ourselves. Have a look.”

Hrelle lifted up the cloth, Kami doing the same for her own, as Tresherr-Tan and SecondSon followed suit. The Caitians stared at plump, coiled snakes with mottled apple-green skin and wide mouths that hissed from within their cages. “What are these?”

“Wentilian condor snakes. Quite rare, a special treat, particularly to have them live.”

Hrelle looked up to see SecondSon open the door to the caged snake sitting in front of him, reaching inside and drawing it out. The snake unfurled, and then wrapped itself around the Ferasan’s arm, squeezing tightly even as SecondSon’s grip around the snake’s neck - before snapping it with a sharp crack that made Kami wince.

Then Tresherr-Tan did the same with his own snake, casually tossing the now-emptied cage before him to the floor to make room on the table for his meal. They extended their claws and pierced the skin, making black-red blood spurt here and there.

Kami returned the cover to her own meal’s cage. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Hrelle did the same. “Thanks, Consul, but I had helpless creature for lunch.”

Next to SecondSon, Tresherr-Tan looked up at the Caitians with a mixture of bemusement and derision. “Not so helpless; they do offer some amusement.” He chuckled. “Does it truly disgust you to have to kill your own food? Isn’t it more honest than having replicated proteins disguised as meat?”

“Honest? Maybe. But it’s also unnecessary. We’ve reached a level of technology where living animals do not have to be slaughtered for food.”

SecondSon wiped his muzzle on his sleeve. “Maybe we should get you some vegetables to nibble on?” He chuckled to himself.

“Sure, Snagglepuss. We’ll start with your brain.”

Tresherr-Tan laughed at that. “Come on, Captain! You must have killed and eaten living things in your day! Your time as a prisoner, for instance? With no access to your fancy replicators?”

Hrelle tensed. “Of course; eating vermin beat starving. I also spent my time shitting in a hole in the floor; that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up a proper toilet with The Three Seashells.”

“But the thrill of the Hunt-”

“What hunt? You reached into a cage and drew out a creature that never had a real chance at fighting back! Go up against a bear or a mugatu or a razoreel with just your claws and fangs, and then you can boast about your prowess!”

Tresherr-Tan looked ready to rip into the belly of his snake, as if to catch up with SecondSon, who allowed blood and flesh to spatter on his clothes and table, but then he looked up at the Caitian. “Are you attempting to be superior to us, Captain? Because I’ve seen what you really are.” He set down the corpse snake and drew out a small remote from within his armour, pointing it at the wall behind SecondSon.

The stark wall was replaced with bright moving images and sounds, a kinetic play of two characters grappling with each other in a brightly-lit pit, as unseen spectators cheered and jeered and catcalled.

Hrelle’s heart triphammered, and his stomach plummeted into his boots.

There he was, on the screen: gaunt, scarred, tailless and naked, patches of fur missing from his body, roaring as he punched and kicked and bit into the hide of an equally-naked Nausicaan, its facial claws broken but its spirit still strong as it fought back, each of them drawing blood from the other as the roars of the unseen crowd in the Orion fighting pit grew to a frenzy.

He knew about the Orion deathmatch videos, of course, knew they were popular in certain circles despite being banned in the Federation, for obvious reasons. But he never saw them. Why would he?

SecondSon looked over his shoulder casually, in time to see the younger Hrelle snap the neck of the Nausicaan, sending it to the ground while he roared in triumph. “Hmph, good one.”

Hrelle felt Kami’s hand on his arm as he rose onto unsteady legs, looking away at Tresherr-Tan. “W-What are you d-doing with that-”

Kami was on her feet as well, outraged. “How dare you show that to my husband?”

Tresherr-Tan looked up at her. “Why? Didn’t you know? It’s what he is.” His gaze narrowed. “And it’s what he’s going to be again.”

Hrelle breathed out hard through clenched teeth, but he looked at Kami and slapped his combadge. “H-Hrelle to S-Surefoot.” When there was no answer, he tried again, controlling his stammer completely now. “Surefoot, answer!”

As he realised the Ferasans were blocking transmissions, he felt a familiar stunning force strike him from behind, his ear filled with the cry of Kami as she, too, was stunned…

*

Hrelle was no virgin to being stunned; as the vestiges of his consciousness returned to his control, he mentally forced control back to himself, struggling internally to awaken and be ready without actually moving and alerting whoever he knew would be monitoring his progress, in order to get the drop on them-

Until he heard the voice of Tresherr-Tan’s Telepath. “He’s awake. Wanting to surprise us.”

Then he heard Tresherr-Tan chuckle. “Good, good. Come on, Captain, we’re wasting time.”

Hrelle opened his eyes, aware of having been stripped to his briefs, his hands bound behind him with electronic cuffs. He was on the floor of a large cell, looking up at the Consul, the Telepath , SecondSon and numerous Ferasan guards standing at the other end. His head rang, and his mouth felt like a desert; he struggled to speak. “W-Where’s-”

Tresherr-Tan nodded. “Your wife is nearby, we’ll bring her in momentarily to confirm her safety to you.”

“If you’ve hurt her-”

“I know, I know, there’ll be no place where I’ll be safe from your wrath, etcetera etcetera.”

Hrelle forced himself to move, to try and get himself back to his feet. “Why are you doing this?”

SecondSon stepped forward. “You will not deny me my chance at earning my name! We will step into the Pit, and I will-”

“Kiss my furry ass! Again!” Hrelle looked to Tresherr-Tan. “This is what all of this is all about? Assaulting Starfleet personnel, kidnapping them, imprisoning them? So this mangy worthless cub gets a chance to get spanked and sent home crying?”

“You fat old woman-worshipping weakling!” SecondSon snapped. “I’ll kill you here and now-”

But was drawn back by Tresherr-Tan. “No, you will wait until the Pit is ready, and your Pridemaster and elders are on the monitors to personally witness the outcome.” He stepped forward now, focusing on Hrelle. “Essentially, yes, Captain. As I’m certain you’re already aware, although those Orion videos are banned within the Federation, they are quite popular among our people. You have gained a fearsome reputation as the Beast. And SecondSon here is dead set on challenging you, and being seen to challenge you.”

He smirked. “Granted, you’re much older and more, ah, substantial than you once were, but I bet you’ll still put up quite a fight in our Pit. Certainly the information we received about your grappling with the Nausicaan slavers on the freighter Beholder months ago is proof of that.”

Hrelle shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why should you care if Snagglepuss gets his name? You said he isn’t even a part of your Pride!”

“That is true,” Tresherr-Tan admitted. “But his Pridemaster is influential within the Patriarch’s Council. My doing this for his cub means he will ensure I get a Full Name. With that, I will gain much wealth and power of my own. My own Pride will be watching as well, and taking bets.” He smiled. “I have good money that you rip the arrogant cub’s throat out.”

SecondSon glanced at him. “What are you saying-”

Tresherr-Tan never even looked back at him. “Shut up, you snivelling little runt; two men are talking, and a spoiled, indulgent shit like you wouldn’t understand. By the Patriarch, if your Pridemaster didn’t have such influence, I would have gutted you myself and fed you to my own cubs, so just stand there and be quiet. Captain, whether you are defeated by him and he gains his name, or you defeat him, and he dies with honour and perhaps a posthumous name, I will still get my own reward. I believe the humans call that a ‘win-win scenario’.”

Hrelle swallowed. “And you… you think you can get away with all of this?”

Tresherr-Tan shrugged. “I am a Ferasan Consul. I have diplomatic immunity, as does everyone onboard my ship, as my employees. You can’t touch us, Captain. Well? What do you say?”

“I say you fatherless kussiks can go lick your mangy rat tails.”

“Of course you do.” Tresherr-Tan looked to the Telepath, who nodded and departed. “That’s why we’re moving swiftly to the resolution of this problem.”

“What? You’re gonna torture me into cooperating? Morons. I’ve been tortured by experts. I’ve had the shit kicked out of me more times than you can count.”

“I’m sure,” Tresherr-Tan replied, “But who said we were going to torture you?”

His telepath returned, with- “Sasha! Kami!”

The pair were bound and missing their combadges, looking both afraid and defiant, and shoved into the cell. Hrelle rushed to them, only to have a pair of guards draw up and hold him in place. He looked to his family. “Are you two okay?”

Sasha nodded, gasping. “Better than these bastards will be when I get loose.”

Tresherr-Tan chuckled. “Give her fur, claws and a tail and she could pass for one of your people; I can see your influence in her upbringing, Captain.”

“Esek,” Kami growled, terrifyingly angry eyes fixed on the Consul, “Whatever they want… don’t give it to them.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sasha agreed. “He can’t hurt us. He wouldn’t dare.”

Tresherr-Tan smiled at Hrelle. “Such loyalty. Such defiance. Such naivete. They don’t understand what you understand, do they, Captain?” He drew up to Sasha, reached up and played with strands of her honey-blonde locks, before walking behind her, stopping when Kami moved closer before she was held in place by another guard.

When Tresherr-Tan stood behind Sasha, he looked over her shoulder at Hrelle again. “They have never been in the grip of someone who had control over them.” He drew even closer, reaching around and stroking her neck, her throat, almost tenderly, smirking at her efforts to pull away from him. “Absolute control.”

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Hrelle roared, teeth bared, his guards barely able to restrain him.

And Tresherr-Tan stopped touching her - only to reach up and rake her right cheek with his claws.

She cried out, the harsh red stripes leaking blood, and Hrelle and Kami fought with their respective captors with increased ferocity. But it was futile.

Tresherr-Tan shot Kami a contemptuous look, before returning to stand before Hrelle once more, his voice soft, almost gentle. “You understand the depths of suffering that one person can inflict on another without a glimmer of conscience to get in the way.

So… when I tell you that if you don’t cooperate, I will take your wife and daughter out of here, and make sure that before they die, every male in my Pride has had fun with them… you believe me. Don’t you, Captain?”

Hrelle stopped struggling. He looked past Tresherr-Tan, saw the deep, dark scratches on Sasha’s face, the blood streaming down in fingers to her uniform, saw the pain and the terror in her saucered eyes, and in the eyes of his wife, smelled the fear from them both.

His voice was a whisper, cold and quiet. “Yes.”

“So… will you swear to cooperate?”

He nodded to his family. “I swear, on their lives… I’ll freely get in the Pit to face SecondSon.”

“No, Esek!” Kami cried out. “You’ll be killed!”

Tresherr-Tan nodded in satisfaction. “Thank you for being reasonable, Captain… and thank you for sparing me the obligatory promise to come after me and make me pay for what I’ve done.”

Hrelle fixed on him, his own voice just as low, but with no trace of amusement. “I shouldn’t have to promise it. Now let them go.”

Tresherr-Tan stepped back. “I think we’ll hold onto them until the end of the match. I swear to you, Captain, they will be freed.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“I don’t particularly care if you do or not, since you can't take the chance of refusing to cooperate.” He turned and barked at the guards, “Lock them away for now!” To SecondSon he added, “Prepare yourself, we shouldn’t tarry.” Finally he looked back at Hrelle. “We’ll begin shortly. Is there anything you’d like, Captain?”

“Yeah. I’d like you to enjoy breathing while you still can.”

Tresherr-Tan chuckled. “That made my fur stand up a little, Captain. You Caitains are such hypocrites. You act so smug and superior to us, call us savage versions of yourselves. But you’re really no better. Are you?”

Hrelle never answered. He just stared at Sasha and Kami as they were led away, trying to express all the love, all the guilt and sorrow he felt at their being hurt - because of him.

*

On the Promenade, Kit stood with his crewmates, and watched - not them, but the Ferasans, observing their behaviour, their dialogue and attitudes and body language, once the basketball game ended in a mutual draw, and Giles, as the de facto leader of the cadets in the absence of Sasha, was leading them back to the concourse to witness some more acrobatics and sample some foods, with the Ferasan youths in tow.

Kit was lagging behind, however, to the point where Eydiir drew back and approached. “Is there a problem? Have the Ferasans intimidated you?”

“Me, Friend Eydiir? No, though I thank you for your concern. I am merely collating my observations on them, in comparison with what I have learned from our three Caitian crewmates.”

“And have you learned anything of interest?”

“Yes. Both races - and they must reasonably be considered separate races at this point - maintain similarities, not just biologically but culturally, especially with regard for appreciating family loyalty. But whereas Caitians are inclusive as to whom they would extend their sense of loyalty, Ferasans are exclusive. Caitians are cooperative, but Ferasans clamour for personal honour and gain, with little sense of self-sacrifice or even cooperation.”

Eydiir nodded. “They have heightened strength and speed, but demonstrate scant discipline. They have little to no experience fighting or even just interacting with any race but their own. And their equally heightened reflexes make them overreact at times.”

“Indeed, Friend Eydiir. Also, there is something of interest to them just now that has arisen that they wish to keep from us.”

Eydiir frowned. “Do you know what it might be?”

Kit looked out at the Ferasans. “It might be nothing, a routine occurrence onboard - except that there is a growing excitement. If it had been something boastworthy, I would have expected them to brag about it to us.”

Eydiir looked out as well; there did seem to be a growing frisson among them, words being whispered, and some of the Ferasans were leaving the group. It could have been nothing - but Kit had in the past proved to be a highly effective observer. She tapped her combadge. “Eydiir to Surefoot. Commander T’Varik, please.”

The Vulcan’s voice replied. “Yes, Cadet?”

“Commander… is there anything of note occurring that you are aware of? The Ferasans appear distracted, or even disturbed by something.”

“The USS Impala is here; Captain Arrington is curious as to our reasons for visiting the Ferasans.”

“Yes, we encountered her earlier.”

“Do you believe you or the other cadets might be threatened in any way?”

“I don’t know,” the Capellan admitted. “I will investigate further, and keep you updated. Eydiir out.” She noticed several Ferasans departing from the Promenade into an establishment that resembled nothing more than a tavern, getting more crowded by the moment with Ferasans. “Come on, Kit.”

The pair approached, unnoticed by the Ferasans, most of them towering over even the tall Eydiir, and too distracted by a large screen set up in the corner of the room, as they excitedly talked amongst themselves, or downed large flagons of what passed for beers and wines among their people.

Kit was struggling to look over the heads and shoulders of those in front of him. “What is it, Friend Eydiir?”

“They are displaying some sort of circular pit, with bloodstains on the walls. It is suggestive of some form of entertainment involving combat. I see Ferasans and- Gods, it’s the Captain!”

She turned along with Kit to depart, when they ran into two of the young Ferasans who had approached them before, the pair of them snatching the combadges off of the cadets’ uniforms. “No, Little Ones, you are not going anywhere, not until the match is over.”

“What is going on?” Eydiir demanded, tensing for the inevitable. “What are you doing with our Captain?”

The male of the pair grunted. “He will fight SecondSon of R’hewann to the death. Why not stay and watch?”

“Please stand aside, Respected Opponent,” Kit snapped, his skin flaring an unaccustomed crimson. “Or return our combadges! I must insist!”

The Ferasan growled at him. “Stay back, Bug Eater! Crushing you will not grant me much honour, but I will do it!”

The Qarari tilted his reptilian head as he continued to regard the male. “Friend Eydiir, I have studied Ferasan physiology, and noted that the genetic augmentation they underwent to produce heightened agility has also produced large saphenous nerve clusters on the outside of their knees. These offer major vulnerabilities.”

“Understood,” Eydiir said beside him, tensing.

The Ferasan sneered now. “You talk like a scientist!”

“Thank you.” Kit ducked, and kicked his leg out, connecting with the outer side of the Ferasan’s right knee, making him screech and collapse, before striking out again and hitting the side of his head, sending him sprawling, even as Eydiir was performing a similar feat on the other Ferasan, allowing the pair of them to retrieve their combadges and escape back into the Promenade, trying desperately to hail someone, without success.

Eydiir rushed up to Giles and gripped his upper arms as if she was about to kiss him, before slapping his own combadge. “Eydiir to Captain Hrelle! Eydiir to Counselor Hrelle! Eydiir to Sasha Hrelle!”

Giles stared wide-eyed. “Eydiir, what the hell are you doing?”

But she just smacked his combadge again. “Surefoot! The Ferasans have Captain Hrelle in some fighting arena! I can’t reach him, the Counselor or Sasha!”

Giles paled as he listened, and T’Varik responded immediately. “There is a disruption field in place, preventing transporter use. All cadets are on Red Alert: stay together, protect each other-” The rest of the transmission was lost in static.

The other cadets drew together, questions and demands thrown about in the confusion.

Eydiir looked into Giles’ eyes, before the pair of them look out to the Ferasans currently beginning to surround them…

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 1, Bridge:

“Commander McMahon, the Ferasans have abducted Captain Hrelle, the Counselor and Squad Leader Hrelle, are not responding to my hails, and have set up duonetic fields to prevent the use of transporters or communicators.”

The man’s mild, hairless face creased in confusion. “What? Why would they do that?” He turned to someone out of sight on his bridge and barked some orders.

T’Varik felt her expression tighten - a reaction akin to exasperation in a Vulcan. “Perhaps we can ascertain that, after my crew and cadets - and your own Captain - are confirmed safe? The Ferasans have acted aggressively; we must take appropriate action.”

McMahon looked back at her. “It appears they are blocking transmissions and transporters to and from their vessel.”

T’Varik summoned her reserves of self-discipline. “Yes. I told you this already. As you are senior officer, you are required to take command and make an immediate response.”

He nodded. “Leave it with me. We’ll continue to try to contact them and work out what’s going on.”

“With respect, Commander, that is not acceptable.”

”And what more would you expect me to do? Launch an attack without knowing all the facts?”

“Of course not, but-”

“Just sit tight and take no hostile action against them - consider that an order. I’ll keep you informed. Impala out.”

The viewscreen returned to the image of the Bloodstained Shroud.

T’Varik sat silently in the Captain’s chair; since taking a position as First Officer onboard the Surefoot, her first actual ship’s posting after a career spent at the Academy, she has had prior occasions to take Captain Hrelle’s place in his absence - and appreciate the burden that a commanding officer faced at times like this.

She looked to the Tactical station. “Lieutenant Abed, run a tactical scan of the Bloodstained Shroud. Identify the source of the generator blocking our transmissions and transporter beams, and determine the amount of firepower required to disable it without causing further damage or injury to those onboard.”

Prakesh Abed turned in his seat, his hazel eyes narrowed. “Um, Commander, Commander McMahon ordered-”

“I am aware of what he ordered. This is merely a diagnostic exercise of our tactical systems. Agreed?”

Something like a smile lifted his goatee. “Yes, Ma’am.”

T’Varik tilted her head slightly, not looking behind her at Ops. “Mr Gorman, take us to Yellow Alert - a diagnostic exercise. Ready a security team to stand by in the Transporter Room - another diagnostic exercise. Lt. Velkovsky?”

At the helm console before the First Officer, Irina Velkovsky turned to look at her. “Commander?”

“Lieutenant, you will lead the Security team over to the Ferasan ship.”

The other woman offered a sly grin. “You mean, in the diagnostic exercise?”

“Precisely.”

*

Kami finally stopped struggling with her cuffs; they were designed to completely immobilise Ferasan wrists and forearms and prevent use of their claws, and obviously they were equally efficacious with Caitians.

The cell was long and narrow and open at one end, and Kami could hear and smell a single guard just out of view. Sitting opposite her, Sasha fidgeted in place, identically manacled, the three parallel claw marks from Tresherr-Tan on her cheek having stopped bleeding but looking raw and ugly. She didn’t look up at Kami, but kept trying to do… something… with her own cuffs.

“It’s no good,” the Counselor assured her grimly. “They’re especially designed.”

The younger girl grunted. “What’s going on with my Dad? There’s more than either of you have told me.” There was rebuke in her tone.

Kami didn’t blame her, she supposed. “There always will be, Sash. We all have our dark secrets. In your father’s case, this was one he never wanted to revisit. One of the hardest aspects of his ordeal in captivity.”

Sasha nodded. “Being forced to fight, to kill-”

“No. That wasn’t the hardest part for him. It was the times… when he wanted to kill.”

Sasha stopped what she was doing and looked up at the other woman.

Kami paused, knowing she was breaking the confidentiality between her and Esek, but also knowing how much the girl deserved to hear, especially given what she had undergone already - and what might still happen to them both. “Yes, they forced him… at first. Pain implants, drugs, hunger.

But then he began to… look forward to the matches. Not just because his Orion master would treat him better. Not just because it gave him the illusion of control over his life, his fate, even for the few moments when he was in the Pit. Not even just because it was an outlet for his trauma, his rage.

He looked forward to it because he wanted to kill. He embraced the Beast they had dug out of him, unleashed it onto anyone who stood against him.”

Sasha paled, and for a moment Kami feared perhaps the blood loss she suffered earlier was affecting her. “No. That’s not him. He doesn’t want to kill.”

“Sasha, a part of all of us wants to kill, no matter how much we might embrace our civilised sides or our faiths or whatever else we use to suppress those parts. That’s one of the hardest things we all have to accept about ourselves - and seeing how far we’ve risen from our own Beasts can be one of the proudest things we can accept. Your Dad, however, was dragged down to his Beast, lived with him. And the Ferasans want to force him down there again.”

Sasha stared a moment longer, before resuming her struggle - abruptly stopping.

“What’s wrong?”

The girl looked up again, nodded towards the open doorway and mouthed Someone there?

Kami nodded silently.

How many?

One.

Sasha swallowed, and in a whisper admitted, “The worst part of all this is that my Season started today, and I never took my suppressant. And that male standing out there is affecting me. Strongly.”

Kami frowned. What in the Seven Hells was she doing, talking like she was a Caitian in heat instead of a human? “Sasha, no-”

But the girl continued, whispering, “I’m hoping he doesn’t scent how much I want to mate with him right now. Maybe they don’t know much about how humans work and he won’t notice?”

Then Kami understood. “Sash, shut up, you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s too risky-”

The guard stepped into view, shutting down the force field and stepping inside, staring hard at Sasha as he approached, his own arousal clear to Kami’s nose. “Looking for company, human?”

Kami looked to Sasha, who shifted on her bare seat to face him - allowing Kami only to see that she had somehow freed her hands from the manacles, and was holding the solid piece of metal like a bludgeon.

Her heart was racing inside her chest; the girl was putting herself at terrible risk. But they had to get out there and help Esek, and it was too late for Kami to do anything else… but assist. “Leave her alone! She doesn’t know what she’s doing! Humans’ Seasons leave them helpless!”

“Shut up, Old One,” the cub sneered, reaching out and stroking Sasha’s throat. As Sasha tilted her head back in response, reacting to her eyes closing and her panting increasing. “I've never even seen a human female before today, let alone had one. I've heard you’re all shameless whores.”

“P-Please,” Sasha gasped heavily, mouth opening, almost panting now. “Please don’t make me do this- I can’t help myself- I- I want- want you- want you to- to take me-”

He chuckled, his hand reaching down and cupping one of her breasts. “Oh, I think we have time for that-”

Until Sasha drove the manacles into his groin.

He doubled over, falling backwards further as Sasha rose and kicked her boot into his knee, making him howl and fall backwards. She leapt onto him, bringing the manacles down onto his head.

Kami rose and approached, as Sasha set as her manacles and retrieved items from the Ferasan’s belt. “How did you manage to get out of those?”

The girl examined a disruptor pistol, before continuing her search. “It was an old trick Dad taught me with a pair of Caitian cuffs; they don’t work as well with human wrists.”

She lifted up a black cylinder and pointed it at Kami. There was a click, and Kami felt the manacles release her hands; she caught the metal before it fell and hit the floor and made a noise. She set it aside and reached for the girl, embracing her. “Come on, let’s go find your Dad before this cub wakes up.”

*

The enclosure was remarkably like the Orion Pits: a sunken circular arena carpeted in sand and littered with various assorted melee weapons. Above the surrounding wall, large monitors sat between cameras capturing every angle of the imminent fight to the death below, and Ferasan spectators filled up the monitors.

From one end of the Pit, a door slid open, and SecondSon strode in, wearing a ceremonial tripartite gold kilt, his thin tail swishing excitedly behind him, his eyes wide with anticipation and his claws extending and retracting repeatedly.

From a door at the other end, Hrelle entered, wrists still bound behind him, followed closely by Tresherr-Tan and a guard. Hrelle looked across at his opponent, swallowing, knowing what he had to do, ignoring the eager faces overhead. His heart continued to pound, and he didn’t dare speak, in case his stammer returned in full and he collapsed.

Tresherr-Tan made a sound as if he sensed the feelings in the Starfleet officer. “Don’t worry, Captain. You’ll give a memorable performance. I’ll see to that.”

Hrelle never took his eyes off of SecondSon, but he muttered, “I’m killing you today, Tresherr-Tan.”

“No, Captain. You’re not.”

Hrelle winced and pulled away at the sharp stab and hiss he felt and heard against his bicep, looking to see a hypospray in the Consul’s hand. “What did you just give me?”

Tresherr-Tan pocketed the medical instrument. “Something you’ll remember from your younger days, Captain, something to get those aggression levels racing and the heart pumping: hypocordrazine.”

The breath caught in Hrelle’s throat. “N-No-”

“Yes.” Tresherr-Tan stepped back. “Just a little. Well, a lot. Actually, it was a lethal dosage.” He shrugged. “I can’t really have you running around causing me trouble after this match.”

Hrelle moved after him, restrained by the guard. “Y-You lying b-b-bastard!”

“Save it for the match, Captain. Remember, I still have your wife and cub.”

Hrelle froze - even as he recognised that Tresherr-Tan wouldn’t let them live, either. He’d concoct some story about how they all died, and even if it wasn’t believed, Starfleet and the Federation couldn’t touch him because of his immunity.

Tresherr-Tan looked to SecondSon. “Make your challenge before your Pride!”

The cub nodded, stepped into the centre of the Pit, even as Tresherr-Tan withdrew, the guard releasing the manacles from Hrelle and stepping back, disruptor pistol raised as he and Tresherr-Tan left the Pit. SecondSon looked up at the Ferasan faces watching as he bellowed, “I stand before my Pridemaster and my Pride, so they bear witness my victory over the warrior they call the Beast, and the winning of a Name!”

Now he looked at Hrelle directly. “Across the Trackless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you! I challenge you, Esek Hrelle! In the name of the Patriarch, I challenge you to fight me!”

Hrelle could feel the drug pumping through his bloodstream, making his heart quicken, making his fur stand on end, as he strode closer to the Ferasan, eyes fixed, fighting the urges building up inside him.

He knew what he had to do.

He knew how this had to end.

He dropped to his knees, hands clasped up in supplication, crying, “Please don’t kill me! Please! I’m not a fighter! I never was!”

SecondSon froze in place, face creased with confusion. “What?”

Hrelle was sobbing now. “Please, it’s all a big mistake! What am I doing here? I want to go home! Please! Please, don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything! I want my wife! I want my mother!” He collapsed onto all fours, still sobbing loudly, his fists pounding the sand beneath him as he looked up at the astonished cub.

And the monitors around him, as the witnesses… laughed.

SecondSon looked up at them now. “No! He’s lying! He’s not like this-”

But one heavily-decorated grey-furred Ferasan glared with naked hostility. “You present us with this wretched specimen, and think to earn your name by slaying him? You insult our Pride!”

“N-No, Pridemaster! It’s a trick!”

“You expect us to believe any male would willingly grovel like this, debase himself? You dishonour us, cub. You dishonour me.”

And the screens began to go dark and silent.

And Hrelle stopped sobbing.

He could feel the drug suffusing him, galvanising his muscles, making his heart pump at a cadence reserved for races the likes of which he had not undergone since his Academy days. And he could feel his teeth grinding together of their own accord, as he heard a door slide open again, and two Ferasans enter. “What’s going on?”

Standing before Hrelle, SecondSon mewled, “He’s ruined it! You said he’d fight, but he ruined my chance! Now I’ll never get my Name! I want his wife and daughter ripped apart by your males! I WANT TO HEAR THEM SCREAM!”

“You first,” Hrelle growled.

His right hand, claws extended, shot up under SecondSon’s kilt, finding exactly what he was looking for.

And ripping away what he found there.

The Ferasan staggered back, clutching his groin and screeching in agony as blood spurted out from beneath his kilt, his eyes saucered as he crumpled up into himself like a wad of paper, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Hrelle felt the soft, eviscerated parts in his hand, and flung them aside, before looking over his shoulder at the horrified faces of Tresherr-Tan and the guard.

The Beast crouched and bared his teeth at them, his voice carrying over the screams of the cub. “I had to admire his balls. Your turn now.”

A now-terrified looking Tresherr-Tan started for the open doorway, as the guard struggled to get the disruptor pistol from his belt.

Hrelle launched himself at the male, slamming him backward towards the doorway, where the door was sliding shut. He jammed the guard into the opening, preventing it from closing completely, before driving his claws into the male’s eye sockets, ignoring the blood and the screams as Hrelle left him behind and pursued Tresherr-Tan.

*

On the Surefoot bridge, T’Varik was growing as agitated as she had ever felt before, though she believed she was adequately concealing it from those around her. “Mr Gorman, hail the Impala again. They must respond.”

A few seconds, and the young man replied, “Sorry, Commander, they’re still quiet.”

She nodded to herself, her decision made. She raised her voice. “Attention, please: I am about to violate a direct order from a superior officer, because I have a genuine belief that our Captain, crew and cadets are in danger. Should you follow my subsequent orders, you may find yourselves subject to the same sanctions that I will undoubtedly face. Should you wish to avoid this and withdraw from duty, please do so, immediately.”

The bridge went silent for a moment.

Then Chief Grev at the Engineering station announced, “All systems at full power, Commander.”

Behind her at Ops, Gorman added, “Velkovsky and the Security team standing by in the Transporter Room, Commander.”

Abed at Tactical offered, “Generators on the Ferasan vessel identified, ready to lock phasers and apply appropriate measures to disable it, Commander.”

Ensign Utrecht at the Helm finished with, “Ready to uh, move us where you say, Commander.”

T’Varik nodded. “Keep the Ferasans between us and the Impala, Mr Utrecht. Mr Gorman, take us to Red Alert.” As the bridge lights turned crimson, she continued over the klaxon. “Mr Abed, lock phasers.”

*

Jonas stood beside Eydiir and the others, keeping a careful watch on the surrounding Ferasans on the Promenade. “We have to do something.”

“We are,” the Capellan responded. “We are staying together, gathering intelligence, ensuring everyone knows the Ferasans’ weaknesses… and we’re moving slowly closer to the weapons displays.”

“We are?” Without being too obvious, Jonas glanced towards the few Security personnel among the cadets, who were subtly edging their way towards the displays. His heart quickened. “What about Captain Arrington?”

Eydiir nodded towards the woman, who was conversing with some Ferasans. “She is still attempting to obtain information.” Her tone told him what she thought of Arrington’s efforts.

Jonas glanced around the others. “Anyone able to get through to the Surefoot? Or Sasha, or the Counselor?”

Soolamea shook her head, looking nervous. “The signals are completely blocked. What are they doing?”

Jonas didn’t answer; his recent Command training taught him to find a balance between confidence and honesty in dealing with others, but at this point, his honesty would have told everyone that he had no confidence.

Arrington returned to them. “They’re claiming that there is an ongoing Security Drill; that’s what’s blocking our transmissions and transporters. They said it’ll be over in a couple of minutes.”

“And what about what we saw?” Eydiir demanded. “About their forcing the Captain to fight?”

Arrington glared at the younger woman. “Watch that tone, Missy. As for that, I saw some match on their screens, but it wasn’t Hrelle. You were probably mistaken; Caitians look alike, after all.”

“Excuse me, Captain?” Rrori piped up, sounding offended.

Arrington ignored him, focusing on Jonas, whom she obviously respected the most among them. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, or why Hrelle has sequestered himself with the Ferasan Consul, but I assure you we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Pardon our impatience, Ma’am,” Jonas replied carefully, “But why don’t they take us, or at least you, to see them?”

“They said the Alert has sealed the doorway-”

Suddenly there was a noise of alarm from several Ferasans at one end of the Promenade, as one Ferasan appeared from a doorway and raced down the central passageway, pointing back from where he came. “Stop him! He’s gone berserk! Stop him!”

“So much for what they say,” Eydiir muttered.

Then more noise, and several Ferasans were savagely shoved aside, and Jonas’ jaw dropped as he saw Captain Hrelle, clad only in a pair of briefs, his fur caked in blood, pursuing the older Ferasan, his expression enraged.

“Captain!” Eydiir started.

But then Arrington grabbed her by the elbow and kept her in place. “Hold it! We don’t know what’s going on! Stay put, that’s an order!”

Other Ferasans stepped in to cut off held - only to have limbs snapped and their bodies cast aside by him, the air in the Promenade filling up with screams of agony or cries of confusion.

Jonas watched, remembering the time that the Captain had saved their lives by fighting those Nausicaans on the SS Beholder last year, revealing the savage side of the man. But that vision of Hrelle seemed timid compared with this one. And where was Sasha and Kami?

“STOP HIM!” the Captain’s obvious target stopped and roared at the crowd. “KILL HIM!”

More Ferasans joined the fray, overwhelming Hrelle, burying him beneath a frenzy of kicks and punches.

Beating the man to death.

And suddenly Jonas found himself shoving Arrington to one side and crying out, “SAVE THE CAPTAIN!”

All of the cadets charged forward.

*

Hrelle charged like a juggernaut through the corridors, aware of how quickly his energy, his life, was burning out of him, and of how little time he had left, and determined to get to Tresherr-Tan and free Kami and Sasha before it was too late. His senses had been heightened by the drugs as well as his strength and stamina, and he was able to track the Consul out into the Promenade.

The bright lights of the crowd distracted him, until he heard Tresherr-Tan cry out, “Stop him! He’s gone berserk! Stop him!”

Hrelle pursued. Ferasans started towards him - but he had gotten the measure of this Pride by this point: they were strong, they were fast… but they were also woefully inexperienced. They may have fought with each other, and they may sometimes kill caged prey for food. But that was nothing compared with what he had done in his life.

A young male charged; Hrelle swung out and knocked him aside without even thinking. He heard a female rush him from behind, and he slowed down enough to kick out, catching her between the legs and doubling her over.

The path down the centre of the Promenade was the clearest, quickest route towards Tresherr-Tan: a gauntlet, but one he had to run before he died. He saw his cadets in the background, looking confused, looking afraid, but he had no time to stop and explain.

His heart felt like it was ready to explode, his vision was crimson and every breath through his mouth was like falling into a furnace.

He was going to fail.

He was going to die.

Failing was worse. He had been prepared to die many, many times before. But at least those times he knew those he loved would outlive him. Now…

“STOP HIM!” Tresherr-Tan cried out. “KILL HIM!”

A young Ferasan cub charged right up to him, trying to bellow like he was a big strong male, his claws extended, like they all did.

Hrelle’s fist connected with his muzzle, shattering bones in both of them.

Two, and then three Ferasans leapt upon him, bringing him down hard onto the bulkhead, punching and kicking. Hrelle tried crawling, almost managed it, before others joined the three. He felt bones crack. He felt claws sink into him. Teeth. Their combined weight was upon him. He couldn’t breathe.

This was it-

“SAVE THE CAPTAIN!”

From one remaining good eye Hrelle looked up to see his cadets charging in a line, carrying blades, sticks, even cooking pots, attacking his attackers.

No! Don’t get involved, you’ll get killed too-

*

Eydiir had lifted up an abandoned blade from a food stall and moved directly towards the Captain’s attackers, the training of a childhood returning to the surface. It was not Cadet Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas of Starfleet Academy but Eydiir, Daughter of Kaas of the Ten Tribes of Capella, who dodged and ducked the wide swings of the clawed hands of Ferasans who attacked her, responding with swipes at their axillary, brachial and, if necessary, the carotid or jugular arteries, depending on what was exposed or available to her. She was certain that none would die before receiving treatment - just as she was certain that she would not lose any sleep if any did.

Around her, she watched her fellow cadets use whatever objects could work as weapons, or if they went unarmed, whatever training they were most comfortable with: Aikido, Anbo-jytsu, Mok’bara, K’Gressor, Suus Mahna - or at least in the case of Neraxis, pure brawling, the Bolian’s beefy fists smacking muzzles and sending teeth flying as she ignored the claws marks she received. And the lesser trained were protected by the others - even Kit, whose childhood training on his homeworld returned to him. A mix of styles, a mix of races, a mix of weapons - it was enough to keep a larger number of their opponents off base.

So much for this ‘miserable collection of aliens’.

They reached where Captain Hrelle lay, the Ferasan nearest Eydiir turning, raising a clawed hand and roaring.

Eydiir responded with a swift slice across the Ferasan’s throat.

The Ferasan’s roar cut off, and it now clutched its throat with both hands, its eyes wide with shock, unable to stop Eydiir from kicking it backwards away from the Captain, and allowing the Capellan to drop to one knee to examine him.

Gods… her other training surfaced, as she looked him over, noting an incredible number of cuts and scratches, dark bruising appearing beneath the furred skin, the broken bones appearing in other places. She focused on his face, his eyes, seeing intensely dilated pupils, extremely laboured breathing, temperature high- some sort of overdose. “Stay with us, Captain- they gave you something-”

“Hypo- hypocor-” His voice was ragged over the surrounding din.

“Hypocordrazine,” she finished, recognising the signs. “Understood. Stay still.”

“K-Kam- Sash-”

“We’ll find them, Sir,” she promised, starting as she watched Jonas, wielding a chair, was almost caught from behind by a Ferasan youth - until he was saved by the Andorian Thykrill, who had stayed near him, carrying an improvised staff. Eydiir nodded; Thykrill was skilled, and would protect Eydiir’s squadmate. But they couldn’t keep this up indefinitely- the Captain wouldn’t survive long-

The entire ship suddenly rocked, the lights overhead flickered and a klaxon sounded; Eydiir guessed the ship was under attack-

She looked up in time to see a Ferasan about to drive a sword down into the Captain’s chest.

Until a phaser beam struck him, sending him tumbling backwards, his sword dropping from his hand.

The fighting ceased, and Eydiir looked up to see Lt. Velkovksy and members of the Surefoot crew standing there, all armed, the officer shouting, “Drop your weapons! All of you!”

Eydiir smacked her combadge, before setting it on Hrelle’s chest. “Surefoot! Medical Emergency! Lock onto my signal, two to beam directly to Sickbay! Hurry!” Before she vanished, she turned to Giles, who was scratched and bruised but otherwise still standing. “Sasha and Kami are still onboard somewhere-”

Then she was gone.

*

In another part of the Bloodstained Shroud, Kami heard the body rush at her from behind before she could do anything but feel a huge, furry body slam into her, knocking the breath out of her.

Next to her, Sasha turned, raising the disruptor in her hand - only to be tackled as well, the second Ferasan proving too fast and too strong.

Kami struggled with her own, snapping and snarling. They had to escape, alert the others, but the Ferasans were too-

Sasha screamed as her opponent broke her arm.

And Kami felt something snap within her, too.

She sank her teeth into her opponent’s throat, ripping away flesh, feeling blood spurt against her face as she rose up and charged towards Sasha’s attacker, claws bared, teeth bared, vision a deep red as she leapt upon the one who had attacked her husband’s cub, her cub GET OFF MY CUB YOU BASTARD!

Blood fountained.

A transporter beam enveloped Sasha and her before Kami could finish off the second Ferasan…

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 4, Sickbay:

Chaos reigned.

Injured cadets were being beamed into the adjacent cargo bay, forming an improvised triage unit, and those who weren’t too bad ended up helping those who were. Dr Ling and her chief nurse and Eydiir focused on Captain Hrelle, lifting him onto the biobed, activating the overhead sensor suite and preparing the instruments as Ling barked, “Pruhl, cortical stabiliser! Eydiir, 50cc Masiform-D!”

Outside the operating theatre, Kami helped Sasha into Sickbay, dodging around the cadets and crew, her nose telling her where Hrelle was, her breath catching in her throat as she peered through the window to see him. Great Mother, please keep him alive…

“Sash!” Giles and Jonas rushed up, Giles asking, “My God, what happened?”

“Her arms broken, there's blood loss, she's in shock.”

Jonas stepped up. “I’ve got an emergency kit ready, and I still remember my Medical training.” Confidently he guided Sasha with him, talking gently. “Come on, Sash, we’ll take care of you. Giles, as senior cadet you have to report to Commander T’Varik.”

“What?” The other young man was clearly conflicted, wanting to stay with her but needing to perform his duties. Fortunately the latter prevailed, leaving Kami to stride up to the windows looking into the operating theatre, watching Dr Ling work feverishly on Hrelle.

Those bastards... what they did to him... She wanted to go back and kill some more. Many more. All of them.

She had killed today...

“Counselor?”

She never looked away from her husband, just muttered distantly, “Is everyone else safe, T’Varik?”

“All are accounted for. Do you require medical assistance-”

“No.”

She felt the Vulcan First Officer join her at her side, both of them watching the medical team at work. “Dr Ling is highly qualified-”

“I know.”

“I must see to the cadets, but I will remain nearby-”

“Yes.”

T’Varik nodded and moved away. Kami continued to stare, her ears listening to the dialogue within the theatre, to Esek’s laboured breathing and the sounds of the medical monitors and equipment, even as she took in the activity behind her, as injured cadets were examined and treated, and T’Varik took reports from the Squad Leaders and Deputy Squad Leaders on what happened on the Shroud. Her mouth still had the taste of Ferasan blood in it. She thought she would throw up.

Behind them, the Sickbay doors slid open, and now she turned as she heard the presence of a very unwanted person: Captain Arrington, and several security guards, obviously from her own ship. Kami faced them, as the woman nodded at various occupants of the room. “There they are! Arrest them, all of them!”

T’Varik strode up to Arrington. “Explain yourself.”

“All the cadets that were on the Shroud disobeyed my orders to take no action against the Ferasans! I watched acts of assault, of mayhem!” She stabbed a finger at Eydiir, still in the theatre. “That one in there out and out killed several of them! She should be incarcerated!”

“As I understand it, they took action when it was clear their Captain’s life was in danger; his current critical condition supports this. She will be commended, as will all the others.”

“They attacked members of a diplomatic entourage! They’ve caused an interstellar incident-”

That was it… Kami stormed up to the woman, her eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “The Ferasans were killing my husband, you bitch! They imprisoned Sasha and me, they threatened us, they broke her arm! And you’re standing there talking about interstellar incidents?”

Arrington took a step back, her hand moving to the phaser at her side, understandably looking fearful - not helped by the sight of the blood all over Kami. She focused on T’Varik again. “I’m taking them all back to the Impala!”

“No,” T’Varik countered resolutely, “You are not.”

“You have no authority to stop me, Commander!”

“On the Contrary: Starfleet Academy Regulation 105.6: ‘Principle authority and command over cadets while on Starfleet Academy property rests with their Academy Liaison’.”

“This is not the Academy!”

“As they are being educated and trained here, it is de facto Academy property.”

“None of this applies during Red Alert situations, Commander; I have senior rank here-”

“T’VARIK!”

All eyes turned to the open doorway leading into the theatre, the transparent aluminium window revealing an awake and conscious Hrelle, still being worked on Ling and her assistants, but able to call out in a ragged voice, “The cadets- stay onboard- my orders- personal author-authority-” Then he began coughing, and Eydiir pressed a respirator over his muzzle and settled him down again.

Ling turned enough away from the table to shout, “I’m trying to save this man’s life! Get everyone not needing medical aid out of my damn Sickbay! NOW!”

T’Varik faced Arrington again. “Captain Hrelle’s personal authority on this ship supersedes yours, Captain Arrington. Please return to the Impala immediately, or I will have you placed under arrest. You may file a formal protest with Starfleet Command, but you will do so on your own vessel. Lt. Velkovsky, ensure our guests reach the Transporter Room safely.”

Arrington’s face turned a particularly lurid shade of red as she sneered, “You’re gonna pay for this, Commander.”

“Threats are illogical. And payment is usually expensive.”

Arrington spared them all dirty looks, before grudgingly turning and motioning to her security detail to follow her out, with Lt. Velkovsky bringing up the rear.

Kami returned to the observation window, her ears twitching as she listened to the activity within. Don’t you dare die on me, Esek Hrelle. Do NOT make me a widow a second time.

Without realising it, she felt a hot hand slip into hers - T’Varik’s - but before she could react further, she was silently suffused with a strength and a warmth that she didn’t know she needed. Kami recognised it as the preliminary of a Vulcan mind meld. There were no thoughts exchanged, it was more like a hug than anything else.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

*

“First Officer’s Log, Stardate 36534.44, Commander T’Varik, in temporary command of the USS Surefoot: Dr Ling has saved Captain Hrelle’s life, and has downgraded his status from Serious to Fair. The cadets who were injured during their time on the Ferasan vessel have fared better, and have made full physical recoveries. Reports on the incident have been collated and transmitted to Starfleet Command and Starfleet Academy. I have also completed and submitted a formal protest to the Ferasan government regarding the criminal actions against our commanding officer and crew members, though given the diplomatic status of Consul Tresherr-Tan, I do not expect efficacious results. The Impala remains in proximity, as does the Bloodstained Shroud, for the time being.”

*

Captain Arrington stood before Tresherr-Tan, her arms folded across her chest. “Consul, don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes.”

Tresherr-Tan sat behind his desk, dressed in his finest ceremonial clothes, the picture of innocence. “Wool? That’s a Terran clothing material, isn’t it?”

“And don’t try to deflect the issue. I was present when I heard you order your men to kill Captain Hrelle!”

He opened his arms to her. “He was trying to kill me, Captain! He had already crippled the second son of a prominent Pridemaster on the Council! Emasculated him!”

Arrington bristled. “You can get him fixed- I mean, repaired-”

“No! Word has spread about what that maniac Hrelle did to him! He’s been eternally dishonoured, cast out from his Pride, worse than dead! Did you not see the bodies your fellow Starfleet Captain left in his wake?”

“I saw, Consul. But what I want to know is what set him off? Why were you two meeting? I’ve received evidence from the Surefoot that he was challenged to some sort of duel-”

“A harmless custom among our people, that’s all. I invited the Captain and his charming wife to a dinner to apologise for the disruption. But then he started ranting and raving, and attacked us. Our medics attempted to assist him, but he resisted.”

She frowned. “You still haven’t told me what would have set him off like that.”

“I wasn’t certain at first either, Captain,” Tresherr-Tan informed her. “Until my people began investigating. Then we learned of Captain Hrelle’s murderous past.”

“Murderous? What are you talking about?”

Tresherr-Tan frowned, gnashing his fangs. “You are not aware? They kept that from you as well? Well, I don’t suppose I can blame Starfleet Command for that. Who would want to serve with a brutal killer?”

“You’re being cryptic, Consul. I hate cryptic.”

“So do I. Allow me to be straightforward, then.” He reached to a control on his desk. Seconds later, on the screen behind him, an image of a younger, emaciated, savage Hrelle grappling with a Klingon in a pit, as the sound was dominated by cheering. “We found extensive recordings like this on the Orion market: your psychotic Captain had made a name for himself as a fighter. A killer. He did well, I hear. They called him the Beast.”

Arrington watched in horror as the image of Hrelle gouged out the Klingon’s eyes, and to a crescendo of cheers from the unseen spectators, sank his teeth into the Klingon’s throat, ripping away flesh and sending blood spurting, a recall of the events of the day before on this very ship. “My God…”

“Yes,” Tresherr-Tan agreed gravely. “Captain, I realise that mine is hardly the most pacific of peoples, but at least we live by a code of honour, something humans can certainly appreciate. I would never have let Hrelle onboard my vessel if I had known about this horrific past - and I am frankly shocked that Starfleet would let someone like him run around free, let alone in command of a starship - and in command of young and impressionable people. And your superiors must have known; Starfleet Intelligence would have been made aware of it.” He turned off the video. “But then with some thought, it becomes obvious how he managed it.”

“What do you mean?”

Tresherr-Tan shrugged. “The Caitian government no doubt applied pressure to keep Hrelle in Starfleet, to give him a command, and to suppress the truth.” His gaze narrowed. “If you don’t mind my saying, Captain, I am pleased to see your disapproval of this situation. Starfleet has a reputation throughout the Alpha Quadrant for integrity. I would be loathe to see that reputation tarnished because of this… Beast.”

Arrington tensed. The thought that Hrelle’s murderous actions could damage Starfleet’s reputation gripped her, almost as much as witnessing that scene, and how much it reflected in the present-day incident on this Ferasan vessel. The warnings of the Captain Spaulding projection returned to haunt her. “I can assure you, Consul, I was not aware of Hrelle’s past, nor I suspect does anyone else outside of certain circles in Starfleet Command. And I certainly do not approve of this. In fact, I will be making a formal protest to my superiors about Hrelle.”

Tresherr-Tan nodded sagely, before rising to his feet, lifting up a datarod and offering it to her. “Here are copies of all the Orion recordings we collected. Perhaps you could use it?”

She stared at it, before accepting it. “Thank you, Consul. Yes, I believe I could.”

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 4, Sickbay Recovery Unit:

Kami entered, wondering who she would find here this time. Since Hrelle had recovered enough to be taken off the Critical list and moved into the Unit, the cadets had organised themselves into a ceremonial guard, with one or more of them always here, constantly watching over their Captain until he wakes up. It was an old tradition, she had learned, and though technically not something in the Regulations, she had recommended to T’Varik to allow the cadets this visible show of support for Hrelle, an emotional release for them after what had happened.

Kami had been counseling many of the others following the Ferasan incident, as part of her duties - and to keep herself busy while she waited for Esek to awaken. The cadet who was here now was one she hadn’t counseled yet, but was one she most wanted to speak with. “Sasha.”

The girl had been sitting there, reading from a PADD to him, but now set it aside and rose. “Counselor-”

The Caitian drew up and hugged the girl, nuzzling the side of her cheek, her people’s equivalent of a kiss. “We’re a bit past that, sweetheart. Call me Kami.”

Sasha hugged her back, with no sign that she had broken her arm less than forty-eight hours ago. Then Kami moved to the side of the still-unconscious Hrelle, who lay still, with a salmon-pink sheet drawn up to his armpits. She leaned down and purred against his ear. “Hurry and wake up, you bastard, and I’ll let you eat all the fried shuris steak and bacon cheeseburgers you want.” She straightened up again. She didn’t ask how her husband was doing; any change would have been brought to her attention already. “What have you been reading to him?”

Sasha flushed a little as she nodded to the PADD. “Something from Neraxis, a collection of the filthiest jokes I have ever encountered. I’m blushing in places I never knew existed. How are you doing?”

“Super, thanks.” She watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest and belly as he breathed in and out. “Yes, I’ve not slept or eaten or been able to focus on anything for more than a minute or two without thinking about him, but apart from that…”

“I meant, after what you- well, what happened on the Ferasan ship.”

Kami looked at her again. “You mean, when I killed that Ferasan?”

Sasha paled. “I’m sorry- I mean, it must have been horrific for you. And who does our Counselor turn to for counseling?”

She nodded towards Hrelle. “Well, when Papa Bear isn’t being a lazy kussik lying about like this, it’s T’Varik; she graciously mind-melded with me to help me cope, at least temporarily, so I can focus on the rest of you.”

“Has it helped?”

Kami breathed out, her heart quickening, just a little, at the memory of her teeth in the Ferasan’s throat, at her rage over how the other one had injured Sasha returned, and she’d went for him too, fully prepared to kill again. But the mind meld had managed to distance herself from the trauma, let her see it more objectively.

Not that it wasn’t still a terrible, terrible part of her life now, and always would be, but… “Yes. Yes, it has. You know, I've counseled your father and others who have killed, told them all the things they needed to help them deal with what they’ve done. All the things I’d been trained for. But I never fully understood how it felt, until I killed someone myself.” She swallowed. “I have no regrets about what I did, but I wish I never had to do it, and pray I never have to do it again.”

“I- I never thanked you,” Sasha whispered, tears welling her eyes. “You saved my life.”

Kami drew her into another embrace. “You’re my daughter too now, girl. You were before I married your Dad.”

“H-Hey…”

Both women turned to see Hrelle staring up at them with lidded eyes, and rushed up to either side of the biobed, Sasha exclaiming, “Dad!”

Kami was panting with excitement as she gripped his hand. “Beloved!”

He swallowed weakly, gasping, “Ch-Ch-Cheeseburger…. you promised…”

*

“USS Surefoot, Captain’s Log, Stardate 36544.85, Captain Esek Hrelle Recording: I’ve awakened. I remain on Medical Leave for the time being. None of the cadets have been seriously injured, for which I’m grateful. Now come all the legal entanglements that follow an incident like this. Suspecting how this is going to end up, I think I’d rather be back in the coma.”

*

“Are you serious?” Kami exclaimed with outrage as she slammed the table with her fist.

On the screen in the briefing room, the figure started as if the woman could leap across the light years and throttle him. “Kami, I know it’s a cliché, but please don’t kill the messenger because he brings bad news.”

She leaned forward, shaking off the hand that Hrelle, sitting beside her, set on her forearm. “After all Tresherr-Tan and his cronies have done - almost killing my husband, injuring his daughter, threatening her and me with rape, with death - you’re just going to let them walk away?”

“Kami,” Craig Whitham, Attaché to the Federation Judiciary Council, repeated, looking as sympathetic as he could. “We will be filing a formal protest with the Ferasan government on behalf of Starfleet Command, and taking steps to remove their licence to seek out trade within Federation space. But Tresherr-Tan and his staff have immunity - at least, to a limited degree.”

Hrelle looked up at his old friend. “What do you mean by that, Craig?”

“A Consul is not like a Diplomat; their immunity from prosecution while in foreign territory only extends to activities directly involved with their work.”

“Then why aren’t they being arrested right now? You have our testimonies, you have forensic evidence-”

On her other side, T’Varik spoke up now. “The testimonies are insufficient to make an immediate arrest. And while we have obtained Ferasan DNA from the claw wounds inflicted on Cadet Hrelle’s face, we have no data to confirm that it was from Consul Tresherr-Tan - and I suspect he would be reluctant to provide a DNA sample.”

“To say the least,” Whitham agreed sombrely. “Captain, I hate to only ever be talking to you when I’ve got bad news but… there’s something more you need to be aware of.”

Hrelle leaned on his cane as if he was getting ready to rise. “Not your fault, Craig. Just spit it out.”

The man nervously stroked his Van Dyke moustache and beard. “There’s been a formal protest filed by a Captain Lucille Arrington of the USS Impala regarding your fitness to command, especially with a ship of cadets.”

Hrelle grunted, allowing his wife to react openly. “What? That witch!”

Even T’Varik appeared disconcerted by the news - as much as a Vulcan could. “This action would be in keeping with her general attitude towards Captain Hrelle.”

“What’s going to happen, Craig?” Hrelle asked tiredly.

“You should be receiving official word shortly from Starfleet Command of a preliminary hearing to address her charges against you. I’ll be in remote attendance, given my prior experience at your retrial, as will Admiral Greg Quinn at Starfleet Operational Support Services, the Caitian Embassy, and of course the Academy Superintendent. It will most likely be held on the Impala.”

“What, to make it easier to arrest me?”

“No one’s arresting you, Esek,” Kami assured him, gripping his forearm.

“Indeed,” T’Varik agreed. “The most negative outcome for this would be your suspension from duty pending a full disciplinary hearing.”

“T’Varik!” Kami snapped, sounding exasperated.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “I do not suggest that this will be a likely outcome, Counselor.”

“We know, Commander,” Hrelle guaranteed her softly, looking up at the screen. “Talk to you later, Craig. Surefoot out.”

Whitham’s image frowned as the screen went black.

Hrelle continued to stare at it, as Kami focused on him, saying, “T’Varik, would you give us a moment, please?”

She nodded. “I will return to the bridge.”

As the Vulcan departed, Kami crouched down beside him, leaning on his lap and looking up at him, her concern evident. “Esek, you need to talk to me. Since you woke up, you’ve been withdrawn, resigned, dispirited-”

“You sound like you’re surprised at that,” he muttered.

“I’d be surprised - and alarmed - if you weren’t all those things, after what you went through-”

“Not just me, though. You. Sasha. The other cadets. Hurt, terrorised, threatened. Because of me-”

“Because of Tresherr-Tan,” she corrected firmly, gripping his hands in hers. “Victims blaming themselves for what happens to them is a primary reaction-”

“Yes, I remember - we’ve been on this road before.”

“Yes we have - and you know better than to let yourself get here. Now you, me, Sasha, and the other cadets have survived, we’ll all recover, and before you know it, we’ll have this business with Lucille Arrington behind us and we can focus on happier subjects.” She smiled up at him. “Boy or girl?”

“What?”

“Boy or girl? Which would you prefer we had?”

“Neither.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Esek, we’re not Axanars-”

He looked at her. “I’m not having children now.”

The room went silent.

Her hackles rose. “You’re serious. What could make you change your mind so profoundly?”

“Do you really have to ask?” He leaned forward, his expression narrowing. “Do you know how many Ferasans I killed and maimed over there? What I b-became?”

“Yes. You did what you had to do, to survive, and to try and rescue Sasha and me-”

“That B-Beast lives in me! Just under the s-surface!” He was panting now, smacking his thigh. “Not some quantum counterpart, but ME! And you’d trust me with an infant?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Absolutely I would!”

He stared at her sadly. “But I wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Kami, but… if I was father material once, I’m not anymore.”

He rose. Kami followed. “Esek, you’re still recovering, it’s understandable that you might feel this way-”

“Sure, sure.” He started towards the door, hobbling on his cane. “Excuse me, Lil’ Kitten, I have work to do.”

“You’re on Medical Leave, Esek, there’s no work for you.”

“Then excuse me, Lil’ Kitten, I want to be alone for a while.”

“Esek-”

But he didn’t stop.

*

USS Impala, Briefing Room:

Lucille looked in her element, evenly dividing her attention between Hrelle, Kami, T’Varik and several other crew and cadets from the Surefoot, to the four figures on separate screens on the main wall: Craig Whitham; Admiral Quinn, an older, snow-haired human male; the Academy Superintendent; and Captain Sa’Rahn from the Caitian Embassy. “Our cadets are our future. How they’re shaped and guided will affect untold millions throughout the Federation. It is of paramount importance that they are inspired by the best.”

She nodded with disgust at Hrelle. “That man is far from the best! I witnessed what could only be described as a horrific display of savagery from him, a display that left six Ferasans dead, twice as many injured, and a number of Starfleet cadets also injured, almost killed, when they disobeyed my orders to not get involved in the incident!”

“Excuse me, Captain,” T’Varik spoke up calmly. “But the cadets in question were following my orders, issued before we lost contact, and I quote: ‘Stay together, protect each other’. Clearly they interpreted that to include Captain Hrelle. And rightly so.”

“Regardless of what you might have said, Commander, I gave them a direct order not to risk their lives!” She pointed at an ashen-faced Jonas. “That cadet assaulted me and led the others to attack the Ferasans!”

From her screen, the Superintendent spoke up. “Cadet, stand up.”

Jonas rose to his feet, aware of all eyes on him, his anxiety obvious in his expression as he swallowed and replied, “Deputy Squad Leader Jonas Ostrow reporting as ordered, Ma’am.”

“Is Captain Arrington’s accusation correct?”

He swallowed again. “Not... quite, Ma’am. I wouldn’t have considered what I did an assault. I merely… pushed her to one side.”

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” Sasha, sitting beside Jonas, rose as well, standing at attention. “Squad Leader Sasha Hrelle-”

“Oh, I remember you, Squad Leader. You have something to add to this?”

“Yes, Ma’am: I believe my Deputy Squad Leader wasn’t attempting to assault Captain Arrington, but merely trying to ensure that she was out of harm’s way before coordinating a rescue effort for our Captain-”

“What?” Arrington glared, aghast. “You lying little bitch!”

“Captain Arrington!” the Superintendent snapped. “I strongly advise you curb that tongue and allow me to continue!” The older woman focused on Sasha again. “Squad Leader Hrelle, according to the reports you were not present during this incident. How would you know what Mr Ostrow’s intentions were?”

“Because I know Mr Ostrow, Ma’am. There isn’t a malicious bone in his body. He has proved to be a superlative and considerate leader; his grades and records will support this.”

“A superlative and considerate leader might have thought better than to lead their people into a dangerous situation, or to respect the orders of a superior officer.”

“Ma’am, if I may speak freely: my own personal history has proven that dangerous situations come our way whether we’re veteran officers, Starfleet cadets, or ten-year-olds attacked in their classrooms. And while I appreciate the importance of respecting orders, had my fellow cadets followed Captain Arrington’s orders, Captain Hrelle surely would have been killed, as would Counselor Hrelle and myself, and the rest of you may never have learned the truth. I believe that any infractions my fellow cadets might have committed would be more than mitigated by the benefits obtained as a result of said infraction.”

“Squad Leader,” Whitham quipped, smiling, “If you ever want to give up Starfleet and study law, look me up.”

“If I may speak,” Sa’Rahn interrupted. “Captain Hrelle took on this mission on behalf of the Caitian government, and with the authorisation of Starfleet Command - namely myself. He expressed concern at involving the cadets, but I assured him that the danger would be minimal, that they were merely there passively gathering intelligence. I take full responsibility for this-”

“Thank you, Captain Sa’Rahn,” Quinn replied quickly, “But there is no need to accept responsibility. This meeting is not about the incident with the Ferasans, nor is it about the alleged insubordination of the cadets - on the contrary, I would reiterate Commander T’Varik’s commendations for them - but rather to determine the fitness of Captain Hrelle to command a starship. Captain Arrington, we’ve read the statements and examined the medical evidence, and so far, all I’ve seen is a veteran Starfleet officer who had been drugged and threatened and was defending himself and his family. His actions speak for themselves.”

Arrington turned to his image. “Admiral, with all due respect, they most certainly do not!” Now she looked to Hrelle. “Tell them! Tell them of your career as the Beast! Or are you too ashamed?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “I am ashamed, Captain Arrington.”

She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she returned to the remote audience. “I saw the rage, the glee, with which he tore into his opponents, making no effort to minimise injury! And it’s not just this incident! He’s had a history of savagery! The Orions made a fortune off of him!”

She moved to the PADD on the table, as T’Varik asked, “What is the purpose of this, Captain? Captain Hrelle’s past experiences are already on record.”

The woman activated a command on the PADD. “Those are mere facts and figures. You have to see what he’s capable of.”

Hrelle looked up, his heart quickening. “Captain Arrington, please- don’t-”

Kami rose to her feet, glancing at the screens. “Don’t let her do this!”

Another screen came to life beside the others; Hrelle knew it was being transmitted to the remote members of this hearing, as well as being shown to those assembled here. His gaze averted.

So he listened to the gasps and the protests from the others, in particular Whitham. “Captain Arrington, for your own sake you need to turn that recording off now.”

“Mr Whitham is correct, Captain,” Quinn agreed gravely. “Turn that off, that’s an order.”

“Get that obscenity off our screens, Captain!” the Superintendent exclaimed. “Immediately!”

Arrington looked at them, before turning off the recording. “I realise that it’s upsetting to view. You can only imagine what it was like for me to see it happening before my very eyes-”

“Captain Arrington,” Whitham started, looking pale. “How did you get hold of that recording?”

“The Ferasan Consul, Mr Whitham. You all needed to see-”

“Captain Arrington,” Quinn followed up darkly, “Starfleet Command was already fully aware of the nature of the terrible acts Captain Hrelle was forced into committing by the Orions. It was already judged that he wouldn’t be held responsible for them.”

She stared up at his image. “That’s not possible; I wasn’t aware of it.”

“Why would you be? You weren’t involved in the hearings that confirmed Captain Hrelle’s fitness for command! It was none of yours or anyone else’s damn business!”

“Captain Arrington,” Whitham continued. “You must have been aware that Orion Deathmatch recordings are contraband within Federation space? There are serious penalties for possessing them, not to mention disseminating them - as you’ve just done by transmitting them to us!”

Arrington looked to him now in disbelief, her face turning a deep shade of scarlet. “Why are you focusing on that? The real threat sits before us!” She indicated Hrelle. “Here! A murderous animal! They’re all like that!”

“Captain,” Kami started, looking concerned as she stared at the woman. “You’re becoming irrational, perhaps we should pause these proceedings-”

“Don’t play the innocent, Counselor! I saw the blood on you when I walked into Sickbay! You’re all savages under your uniforms!”

“I’ve heard enough.”

All eyes turned to one of the screens on the wall, towards Sa’Rahn, though it was a female voice that had spoken. Then they saw him being pushed out of view, replaced by an elderly Caitian female with ash-grey fur and Ambassador’s robes. Though a figure of extreme age, there was still a fierce fire in her eyes and in the sibilance of her voice as she glared at them. “I’ve heard quite enough.”

Hrelle straightened up, eyes wide with naked admiration, along with Kami and Rrori and the non-Caitians in the room who recognised her. Mother’s Cubs, it was really her: the first of them all in Starfleet, the one who paved the way for all who came after! He never thought he would be in her presence, even remotely!

Though Arrington obviously wallowed in ignorance. “This is meant to be a Starfleet Only hearing, Madam.”

“Don’t ‘Madam’ me, you arrogant little cub! You’re speaking to Ambassador M’Ress! Formerly Admiral M’Ress! And I was helping save the Federation when your father was still suckling his mother’s teats! And I’ve never heard such blatant bigotry from a Starfleet officer in all my years! If anyone needs a hearing to determine their fitness for command, it’s you, Captain!”

“I have to agree with the Ambassador, Captain Arrington,” Quinn announced. “I was already prepared to admonish you for breaking your assigned patrol route for what turns out to be an obvious obsession with Captain Hrelle; your own words are only condemning you further. We need to discuss your actions and attitude privately-”

“NO!” She faced Hrelle again, eyes wide. “YOU did all this! You did! Captain Spaulding said you were the threat!”

“Captain Spaulding?” T’Varik asked curiously. “I am unfamiliar with-”

“SHUT UP!” Arrington cried out, looking confused and panicked now - her hand moving to the phaser on her belt.

“Captain!” Quinn yelled from the screen.

“Nobody move, nobody say anything,” Hrelle murmured softly, staying still, eyes fixed on the woman from his side of the table, talking carefully to her, keeping her focused on him and him alone. “Lucille… you’re absolutely right. We’re all savages under our fur - or skin. I did kill, readily, and probably would again. But I did what I did to survive, or to protect my family, just as my wife did what she did to help save my daughter, and my cadets did what they did to help save me. Just as I’m sure you would do the same for those you love and care about.

I’m not saying it was easy, or that I didn’t give it a second thought afterwards. It stays with me, constantly: the pain, the trauma, the guilt. And it always will. As will the knowledge that if I had to do it all over again… I would.

That doesn’t make me evil. That doesn’t make me an animal. So long as I recognise that it’s only a part of me. It’s not me.”

“Captain Arrington?”

She turned to the briefing room door, looking confused now. “McMahon?”

Her First Officer drew up to her slowly, cautiously, his round, hairless face looking concerned, sympathetic. “Captain? Why don’t you accompany me to Sickbay? I think this hearing is done.”

She stared at him, looking thoroughly lost, adrift, before finally nodding sheepishly, keeping her eyes away from the screens and the occupants of the room as she followed McMahon out, letting him disarm her and handing the phaser to a guard.

*

“USS Surefoot, Captain’s Log, Stardate 36556.78, Captain Esek Hrelle Recording: Captain Lucille Arrington has been relieved of duty pending a formal psychiatric evaluation, and her First Officer has been temporarily promoted. I know some might think I should feel satisfaction at this turn of events, given the years of hostility we shared.

No. I watched the life of a fellow Starfleet captain unravel, collapse, before my eyes. I sincerely hope she recovers soon.

Admiral Quinn had ruled that I remain fit for command, and I expect we will soon be back to our previous mission, as will the Impala - and the Ferasan ship. Knowing that Consul Tresherr-Tan has lost the licence for his people to trade in this sector doesn’t seem justice enough, given what he did to Sasha and Kami and myself. But I’m old enough to know that the best we can hope for in this life is Some Justice.”

Hrelle sat alone in the briefing room, his back to the door, looking out at the ships in view. He heard the door slide open, of course, and his nose picked up the first person to enter. “I thought I said I was busy, Commander.”

“Yes, Sir. However, an urgent matter has arisen with a member of our crew, one that requires my adjudication - and your participation.”

He never turned, but heard others enter the room as well - including Kami. Now he shifted in his chair, to see a dozen cadets from each of the three Squads, and his First Officer, and his wife, who now sat nearby, her feet up on the table as if she wasn’t a part of all of this, let alone the obvious instigator. “Get out. All of you. That’s an order.”

T’Varik folded her hands behind her back. “You are still on Medical Leave, Captain. Shall we continue? This matter involves a highly valued member of our crew who believes he is unqualified for a particularly important role. The cadets assembled here will provide evidence to the contrary.”

Hrelle looked to Kami. “I’ve made up my mind. This is pointless.”

She shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I just came in for the view outside.”

“If this is pointless,” Sasha noted with a slight smile. “Then there’s no harm in listening, is there?” Without waiting for an answer, she looked to the end of the group. “Rina? If you would?”

Rina Chaudri blushed a little, shifting uneasily before finally starting. “On my first duty shift, I sat at the helm on the Bridge, ready to do what I dreamed of doing all my life: piloting a starship. Except... I couldn’t. I froze. I forgot everything. But my brain still worked, at Warp Ten, telling me that I was going to fail, be sent home in disgrace, maybe even court-martialled for insubordination. I was panicking.

But then you came over to me, knelt beside me, calmed me down, assured me everything was going to be okay. You taught me the pre-flight mnemonic that brought back all my training.” She smiled. “You made me laugh. You gave me confidence again. I never thanked you for that.”

Beside her, Jonas shrugged self-consciously. “I never knew my Dad. I never thought I needed him, or anyone like him. Before I realised it, I found myself opening up to you, getting advice, getting support when I was ready to… to do something stupid. And you treat me like an adult, offering without ordering. I told the crew of the Rising Star that you were like a father to many of us. I didn’t lie.”

Beside him, Nancy Yeager looked a little disgruntled. “You… you weren’t afraid to tell me I was wrong, and to tell me why. And you gave me a second chance to make good again.” She scowled. “Someone else say something now.”

Giles smiled at that. “You saved my life - literally. And when you knew I was being made to spy on you by my father, you didn’t turn me in, you didn’t confront me, you gave me the chance to redeem myself. You stood up to my family to protect me.” He blushed a little. “Also, you haven’t killed me for being Sasha’s boyfriend.”

“Yet,” Hrelle added dryly.

Beside him, Eydiir straightened, looking both vulnerable and proud. “Many here know that I defied Capellan tradition when I joined Starfleet to practice Medicine instead of Security, and paid for it by being disowned, my tribe’s colours taken from me. My friends tried to support me, telling me it did not matter. They meant well. But they did not understand. You did, though.”

She raised her chin. “You contacted the High Teer of the Ten Tribes - the High Teer himself! - spoke highly about my courage and honour, the lives I had helped save, my victories.” A slight smile raised the corners of her lips. “And you threatened to adopt me as your own child if my people continued to be so foolish as to disown me.” She raised her arm, allowing a dark green silk sash to unfurl from her hand. “Not long after that, this was sent to me. I am proud to serve under you.” She tied the sash around her waist, her smile broadening. “And if you had kept true to your threat and adopted me… I would have been even more proud.”

Glenqom Orogg, the Saurian Security Specialist of Gamma Squad, raised his reptilian head, his salmon-pink skin darkening as his bronze oval eyes nictitated. “When my hatch mother was called in for an emergency operation to replace her subaltern heart, I stayed up all night waiting for a subspace message on the outcome. My Squad, Commander T’Varik, the Counselor, they all offered to stay up with me, but I turned them down. You, however, insisted on remaining with me through the night: getting us coffee, disassembling and reassembling phaser rifles, teaching me K’Gressor martial moves. You distracted me, until the good news about my mother arrived in the morning - and ensured I was given the morning shift off to catch up on sleep.”

Bill Beadine of Gamma Squad spoke up now, flushing. “I didn’t tell anyone about the crush I had on Charlie Ingalls. I thought I had to keep it to myself, never working up the courage to approach him. I still don’t know how you figured it out... but you did, and you not only gave me tips on what to say, but you taught me to cook his favourite meal! How did you know?”

Hrelle shrugged, trying to act insouciant. “It’s food related, cub. Look at me.”

Beside Beaudine, Neraxis stared at Hrelle with unabashed admiration. “When we were rescuing those Malurian children, all that time, all I could think about was my own little brothers and sisters, how it could have been them, trapped in some Hraxor-forsaken hold, sick, suffocating. Dying.” Dark violet tears welled up in her eyes, quickly wiped away. “I tried to hold it in, stay strong and do my job like everyone seemed to be doing. But I- I was cracking, crumbling inside. I thought I kept it hidden.

But somehow you saw. You called me over, said you needed help getting blankets from Stores. Instead, when we were alone in there, you just talked to me, reassured me that it was okay. And when I just broke down and started bawling like a baby, you didn’t scold me and talk down to me or tell me to pull myself together. You gave me time to do that myself.”

Hrelle felt himself blush under his fur. “You know that all of what you cubs have said is just part of what any commanding officer would do?”

“I disagree,” T’Varik assured softly. “These actions go above and beyond the job description of a starship Captain; having assisted 32 Starfleet officers in reaching that position during my career, I believe I am qualified to confirm that. I can also confirm that none of them have ever referred to those under them as their ‘cubs’.”

He frowned. “I’ve only ever said it once or twice.”

“You have made 344 references to it in my presence.”

His frowned deepened. “I think you make these figures up half the time.”

Sasha laughed softly. “Well, I've known you longer than anyone else here. I still remember that evening 12 years ago when you first walked into our quarters on Salem Four, and I realised you were going to be more than just a visitor to the station. You were an intruder, one who seemed intent on taking over Mom’s attention and affection from me. I met you with unrelenting resentment and hostility.

You, however, returned unrelenting patience and fondness. You brought my shields down. The Intruder became Uncle Esek, then Papa Bear… and then Dad.” She let the tears flow freely down her cheeks. “And I would hate for any cub of your own to miss out on what you have to offer.” She laughed again as she wiped her face. “Especially when you’ll have a ship full of sitters on hand.”

Hrelle was swept up in the emotions at play, and looked to his wife. “This was a rotten trick of yours. You know that, don’t you?”

Kami shrugged unapologetically, idly playing with her tail. “Told you once before, Captain, Sir, that when it comes to helping those I love, I’m a no-holds-barred, dirty bitch fighter.”

“I would not argue against that,” T’Varik added dryly, as the cadets tittered. “Captain, the fact remains that, though I may sometimes question your overfamiliarity and overemotional approach to the cadets and crew, I cannot deny the positive effect you have on them, both academically and emotionally. So I would reiterate Squad Leader Hrelle’s words, and point out the illogic of denying others the magnificent influence you would have as a father to them.” She looked to the cadets. “I believe we are done here.”

“Wait.” Hrelle rose to his feet, leaning on his cane as he hobbled around the table to stand before them. “Thank you. All of you. Now get back to work or there’ll be no bedtime story.”

As they laughed - or in T’Varik’s case, raised an eyebrow - and departed, Hrelle approached Kami, who stood up now and regarded him with a smile. “Feeling better?”

“Feeling like a self-pitying ass.”

“That’s a good place to start.” She put her arms around him and purred against his throat. “And to carry on with our lives and put all this business behind us.”

He started at that, and reluctantly turned to glance out the window again, at the Ferasan vessel.

She watched him. “Forget about them, Esek. We can’t touch Tresherr-Tan, not without physical evidence.”

He smiled a little. “No?”

*

Bloodstained Shroud:

Hrelle left his cane behind as he beamed into the Promenade with T’Varik and an armed security team. The Vulcan gripped her tricorder. “I must advise against this course of action, Captain. You are not yet fully recovered.”

“You’ve already done that. Getting senile in your old age?”

“I have not yet reached old age. And should you pursue this gambit, you might not either.”

“Who said Vulcans don’t have a sense of humour?” To Lt. Abed he ordered, “Take no action until ordered by me - or Commander T’Varik if I’m killed.” He enjoyed the reaction on his security officer’s face as he led the way towards the large table in the Promenade, where Tresherr-Tan and a collection of Ferasans sat and feasted on what looked like the remains of animals that had been alive moments before. “Sorry to interrupt your picking on tiny defenceless creatures, Tresherr-Tan.”

The Consul shifted in his seat to glare with open contempt at the new arrivals. “What are you doing here, Fat Man? I didn’t give permission to let you onboard.”

“It is allowed, Consul,” T’Varik informed him. “As part of our continuing investigations into the assault on members of our crew.”

“We won’t be long.” Hrelle walked up to the table, looked at the other Ferasans. “Thought you might have changed your mind about giving us a DNA sample?”

Tresherr-Tan grunted. “Go to your Seven Hells, Caitian scum.”

“It’s a painless procedure; you don’t have to be afraid.” He leaned in closer. “Is that it? You’re afraid? Oh I know, you need to hear the Magic Words.” He cleared his throat and announced in an overly melodramatic voice, “Across the Feckless Veld I have journeyed to stand before you! I challenge you, Consul Tresherr-Tan! In the name of the Pattycake, I challenge you to fight me!”

The other Ferasans tensed and went silent. But Tresherr-Tan just smiled mirthlessly up at him. “No, Hrelle. I won’t take the bait that easily. Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“Oh, I don’t think we have enough time to go into that.”

One of the Ferasans sitting nearby leaned forward. “Why don’t you just take your plant eating Vulcan and run along back to your-”

Hrelle suddenly turned and snapped at him, making the young Ferasan yelp and almost fall backwards in his chair, and the others surrounding him almost follow.

He looked into their eyes - and saw their fear. And he knew why. His voice returned to a low growl. “Maybe one of you would like to face me? Come on, cubs. Don’t you want to follow in SecondSon’s tracks? How’s he doing, by the way?”

They averted their eyes.

And Hrelle leaned in even closer. “Spread the word among your people: anyone else come looking to make a Name for themselves by fighting me will end up like that neutered kussik. Even your females. I swear on my cub’s life I’ll make it happen.”

Then he glanced at Tresherr-Tan, who sat there, making a show of trying to ignore the intruder.

Even when Hrelle casually reached out and tipped Tresherr-Tan’s cup off the edge of the table. Then the remains of Tresherr-Tan’s meal into the man’s lap.

“Run along, Captain,” the Consul chuckled.

“Captain,” T’Varik prompted. “Perhaps we should return to our ship?”

Hrelle straightened up, made a move towards her, before facing the back of Tresherr-Tan. “Maybe you’re right, Commander. I shouldn’t antagonise them like this. It’s like my grandmother used to say: ‘Never piss off a Ferasan’.”

Tresherr-Tan grunted in satisfaction, as did several of his comrades.

None of them saw Hrelle unfastening the front of his uniform and reaching inside, enjoying the reaction from T’Varik. “‘It’s so much more satisfying to piss on them’.”

Tresherr-Tan froze as he felt the hot stream hit his neck and the back of his head before his astonished fellows.

He shook, as if the liquid had been ice cold. He rose to his feet, his chair falling to one side, his limbs shaking with rage. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

Hrelle tucked himself away again. “Now’s as good a time as any to prove, Momma’s Cub.”

The Consul spun and torpedoed into him, sending him sprawling, his claws out and his jaw opened to rip into the Caitian. But Hrelle was ready for him despite his still-infirmed condition, his own claws raking fur and flesh. The air filled with shouts of protest from both sides.

Very quickly, Hrelle realised that in his current state, he was hopelessly outmatched. “T’Varik!”

He filled the residual sting of a phaser on a stun setting as it struck the Ferasan over him, sending him to one side, shaking but still conscious, as the security team kept the other Ferasans at bay.

Hrelle caught his breath, holding up his bloodied hand. “C-Commander-”

The Vulcan was kneeling at his side, her tricorder whirring with activity. “It appears your stratagem for voluntarily obtaining a DNA sample from Consul Tresherr-Tan was successful; it matches the sample obtained from Sasha’s wounds.”

He nodded. “Grab him and let’s get back. I have a wife waiting to kick my ass for this stunt when she finds out about it.”

*

“First Officer’s Log, Stardate 36567.40, Commander T’Varik, Recording: Consul Tresherr-Tan has been arrested and detained in the Impala’s brig, to be taken to Starbase 84 following their escort of the Bloodstained Shroud to the border with Ferasan space. I have returned command to Captain Hrelle and am finalising reports and debriefing involving the events of the week.”

T’Varik knew something was wrong; she had worked with the Superintendent long enough to discern the changes in her demeanour, even via the viewscreen in her office. However, she chose to finalise her reports first; it was only logical. “The cadets have been fully cleared by our Chief Medical Officer, and our Counselor has found that, far from suffering any long-term emotional trauma from the incident, that their esprit de corps has strengthened. Although, of course, I shall endeavour to find safer methods of galvanising their group loyalty than combat with Ferasans.”

“I’m not amused, Commander.”

T’Varik looked up, setting aside her PADD. “That is regrettable, Ma’am. May I enquire as to-”

“Do you know how easily one of our cadets could have been killed?”

“Yes, Ma’am. But none were.”

“But they could have been.”

T’Varik straightened up. “Squad Leader Hrelle was quite correct in her reply at the hearing; mortal danger is not exclusive to those who have graduated from the Academy. During this year I believe four cadets on Earth died from various accidents and illnesses. It is of course a tragedy, but it is not an entirely unavoidable situation-”

“You are correct, Commander. At least, the ‘entirely unavoidable’ part. That does not mean we should be reckless with those in our charge.”

“Superintendent, I did not mean-”

“There are three other vessels involved in the AWE Program: the Shrysia, the Revere and the Gavvl. They repair communications modules, deliver supplies, salvage wreckage. None of them have reported incidents involving Nausicaan slavers, disintegrating space stations, telepathic attacks, suicide attempts, militant Twenty-Second Century humans or lethal Ferasans.”

“Ma’am, it hardly seems fair to make comparisons. Under slightly different circumstances, these incidents could have occurred to any of the other vessels-”

“Commander, I have the utmost respect for Captain Hrelle’s history, ability and personality, and sympathy for what he has undergone. But I ask you, honestly: would the Ferasans have approached your vessel and eventually put the lives of your cadets as risk if it had been commanded by anyone other than him?”

T’Varik stared at the screen. “It… seems unlikely.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Commander. I’m not questioning the AWE Program. It’s Captain Hrelle I’m concerned about. I have to seriously consider whether he should continue to be a part of it next year. I will of course inform you if any changes are to be made.”

“Superintendent… please do not make any rash judgements. I admit to having developed a… personal bias in favour of Captain Hrelle-”

“I recognise that, Commander, and it speaks well of the man that you would do so. I promise you, my judgement will not be rash.”

The viewscreen faded to black.

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 4, Sickbay:

Dr Ling set down the control unit. “There you go: your implants are deactivated, you can now conceive. And thanks for giving me something non-critical to do for a change. Happy Fertilisation.”

“Thanks, Juliet.” Kami slipped an arm around Hrelle’s and led him out into the corridor. “So, shall we head back to our quarters and get going?”

“Going? There’s too much work ahead of us. We’ll be reaching Starbase 154 in 3 days, there’ll be extended refittings and leave for the cadets and crew, we have a transport to get to Cait for your son’s wedding, clothes and gifts to replicate, orders to authorise… we might not have sex for weeks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yes.” He quickened their pace to their quarters.

*

USS Impala, Captain’s Quarters:

Edward McMahon completed the last of the orders as quickly and efficiently as ever, doing the work of First Officer as well as Captain. Not that there was much difference, from an administrative viewpoint, but if he was eventually permanently promoted to Captain - as he expected he would, given his influence with Starfleet Command - he would inevitably have to appoint someone to take his current place.

But unlike his former Captain, he’d be keeping a better eye on his Number One. “Well? Are you satisfied?”

Across from him, the Ferasan Telepath stared with amazement at the figures on the PADD in his hand. “More than satisfied. Astonished. I did not realise my talents would be valued so highly.”

“And that’s only the beginning, my furry friend,” promised the monochrome isomorphic projection perched on a nearby chair, puffing cigar smoke into the air. “Stick with us, and you’ll dine on the finest fish heads and have a gold plated litter box to call your own.”

The Ferasan looked up in consternation. “Excuse me?”

McMahon glanced up, wishing ‘Captain Spaulding’, his contact with the Inner Circle, was more straightforward, at least until the latest recruit to their organisation grew accustomed to the projection’s anachronistic jokes and references. “Never mind him. You had ample opportunity to probe Hrelle’s mind.”

“Yes, the orders from my former employer were to be most thorough.”

“And you can definitely confirm he knows nothing of the Bel-Zon’s activity in this sector?”

“If there was, it certainly wasn’t at the forefront. His main concerns were my people, his guilt over his violent past, his marriage and the prospects of imminent fatherhood.”

“Marriage and fatherhood are fine institutions,” Spaulding quipped, “But who wants to be put in an institution? I was married once. Actually it was twice. It was bigamy. It was big of my wives as well.”

The Telepath glanced at McMahon bemusedly. “Are all your organisation’s leaders like this?”

“He’s an avatar of a 400-year-old Terran humourist. You’ll never meet our leaders, but all you need to know about them is that they are magnanimous to those who are loyal, merciless to those who are treacherous... and they rarely display a sense of humour.” He leaned forward. “You are certain Hrelle is not aware of our activities on Skaros?”

“I did not see any such reference in his mind.” The Ferasan scrutinised his PADD again. “So much wealth at my disposal now. I could buy my own Name from the Council.”

“You will not be returning to your people,” McMahon informed him, rising to help himself to some Aldeberan whiskey from Arrington’s drinks cabinet. “You don’t need them anymore. Call yourself whatever you like. We’ll continue to support you. The telepathic suppressants I gave you earlier, are they working?”

He nodded. “Yes. I cannot read your mind, or anyone else’s. It will be most pleasing to have a good night’s sleep without the unwanted thoughts of those nearby.”

McMahon smiled; it would be even better for him, knowing the Telepath couldn’t read his now. The plan to oust Arrington from command, using a secret Thought Maker to induce a constant distracting pressure, as well as the assistance of Captain Spauling, pretending to be a member of Section 31, went almost without a hitch.

It was unfortunate that Tresherr-Tan ended up in the brig, thanks to Hrelle, but still, the gambit’s main objectives - gaining control of the Impala and recruiting the Telepath - were met. Tresherr-Tan, of course, would be found to have committed suicide before facing questioning from Starfleet Intelligence. “I never met Captain Hrelle before now. To hear tell of him from my associates, I expected something more... formidable.”

“Do not discount Captain Hrelle so readily.”

McMahon looked across at Captain Spaulding, expecting another non sequitor - but then straightened up as he saw the change in the voice and body language, recognising the new operator of the projection. “Sir… why don’t we just kill him? It can be easily done in any number of undetectable ways.”

The projection shook his head. “No. We have an open-ended contract to make him suffer for the rest of his life. Killing him would be merciful, compared with what we could put him through... via his loved ones...”

6 comments:

  1. Jeez Essek can't catch a break can he lol? It was awesome to see Sa'Rahn make his cameo, thank you again for that! It's also nice to see Dr. Ling and Kami allowing Essek to enjoy his food a bit more than before. The man deserves some level of comfort after all he's been through I'd say.

    The part with the Mirror Universe holodeck program had my head spinning at first lol. I was just like "You're bringing the Mirror Universe into this? What?!" I started laughing when I finally realized what was going on.

    And I have to say, seeing M'Ress stepping in to diffuse the situation... I out-loud said "Oh snap!" when I read that!

    Excellent work! I've been looking forward to this for over a month now! Fantastic story! I fear for what may happen to Essek and his cubs in the next segment. I absolutely can't wait till the next part!

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    1. Thanks so much! And don't worry, they're headed to Cait next, they know how to eat there!

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  2. Just FYI, it seems the USS Surefoot is showing up as the USS Effort in some points.

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    1. Thanks for that, Dave - now corrected! My laptop must have been drunk :-)

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  3. Well now, finally got around to reading this, lol.

    I have to agree a bit with Nyz - you just won't give poor Hrelle a break! Bad enough the Arringtons have been on his ass all his adult life, now you have this secret cabal wanting to make him suffer? Who the hell are these people and what do they have against him (for that matter, what the hell did the Arringtons ever have against him other than that he's a cat man)?

    An incredible story, as always. Now to catch up on the next one.

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    1. Thanks for reading and commenting!
      The Arringtons? I suspect it started with their grandfather when he was the Academy Superintendent, and he just took one look at Hrelle and didn't like him, and then feed that disdain to his children who were eager to please their father, and their failure to break him fed their own contempt.

      As for the Bel-Zon and their contract against Hrelle, he had a long career on the Furyk bttling pirates, slavers and criminals; a lot of them could have pooled their latinum together to make sure Hrelle suffered for what he did... or maybe it's something even bigger than that... heh heh...

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