Chapter 1: Live in Infamy

 

“Captain’s Log, Caitian Date Fellnight 7th, 1218 After Landing, Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall, Recording: The CAV Mother’s Fury is completing the final tenday of its patrol at the edge of our system, before returning to the Motherworld and taking a well-deserved shore leave. Myself included, of course, albeit reluctantly-”

Ma’Sala heard the sound from her First Officer at the other end of Bridge as she shut down her logbook. “You have something to say, Commander Ksara?”

The ginger-furred female swivelled away from her station, the amusement in the swish of her tail through the hole in the back of the chair matched by her tone. “Me, Ma’am? No, Ma’am, not at all. What could I – what could any of us – possibly say in response?”

A relaxed scent wafted in the enclosure from the rest of the Bridge crew, one that Ma’Sala willingly encouraged. They deserved it; besides being the flagship of the Planetary Navy, this ship and crew had supported her along more personal lines: firstly, in helping to find and rescue the Surefoot when the latter ship had been trapped behind enemy lines at the Battle of Khavak, and then immediately afterwards, in her quest for vengeance against that kussik Admiral Ian Trenagen following his cowardly attack on her family to get to her. It had been rough... but also welcome, a chance for them to face a real challenge instead of yet another patrol, another drill.

The broad-framed, ash-furred female extended the claws on her right paw and tapped with mock impatience on the arm of her chair. “And here I was, hoping you’d show some initiative. Maybe I need to consider an organisational change, get some younger, hungrier tail chaser to step up into your role. Perhaps Solanj has stopped squeaking enough to be promoted-”

“But if I did want to say something,” Ksara cut in, as expected, “I might be inclined to point out that you will probably be the first off the ship when we get back to the Motherworld. And five minutes after being back, you’ll be in a comfy rocking chair on your veranda, holding your new grandcub and shedding tears of joy as she purrs to you.”

Titters scurried through the Bridge, as Ma’Sala kept a straight face. “Commander... I am the Storm Bringer, the Scourge, the Eighth Hell. Ferasans and Orions and Nausicaans shit themselves in fear when they hear my name. You make me sound like some doddery old codger who melts with an infant in her arms.”

Ksara crossed her arms. “But Ma’am, you’re not suggesting that your granddaughter wouldn’t have the power to reduce anyone to that state?”

Ma’Sala growled playfully. “Well played, Commander-” She stopped and turned to her Second Officer’s station, where an alert had just beeped. “What is it, Solanj?”

Lt Cmdr Solanj, a slim, auburn-furred young male, was hunched over his station, his brow furrowing. “We’ve lost the signals from the Outer Belt stations near Kuburan. Attempting to regain a link...” He paused. “Still trying...”

Near Ksara, their Chief of Security Lieutenant Commander H’Murin, a beefy black-furred male veteran, turned. “Interference from Tail Chaser?”

Ma’Sala considered it. Cait’s system was in fact a binary star, with the planets circling a large yellow giant star, and a smaller, younger yellow star, nicknamed Tail Chaser, circling beyond the system’s Outer Belt of ice debris. There had been reports in recent years of infrequent bursts of cosmic radiation from Tail Chaser affecting the security and communications networks set up at the edge of the system, prompting heated debates about upgrading said networks with greater shielding. Ma’Sala continued to stare in the direction of her Second Officer. “Well, Solanj?”

“I- I can’t tell!” the younger male squeaked, frowning and waiting for the usual teasing from the Fleet Captain about his voice’s tendency to climb an octave when he got stressed.

Ma’Sala didn’t feel like teasing now. “Anything on long range sensors, Mr H’Murin?”

He was his usual swift efficiency. “Nothing, Ma’am.”

Ma’Sala tapped the arm of her chair. It was nothing, she told herself. A malfunction. It would right itself by the time they reached the area. She was only postponing getting her crew home... and her new granddaughter in her arms.

“Helm, plot a course towards Kuburan. Ksara, contact our other ships in the sector for an update... and then send a signal to Cait. Inform them we’ll have a slight delay in coming home.” She breathed out. “Very slight. The Seven Hells themselves won’t stop us from getting home.”

*

Planet Cait, Mrell Province, T’Grerish-Nein Temple:

The huge trapezoidal stone building was half-hidden in the endless dense foliage of the surrounding jungle, with the upper tiers affording a magnificent view to the horizon… and closer, to the curved tips of the ruins of the ancient spaceship, like the ribs of an ancient behemoth.

It was the few remaining sites of the landing of the great ships of the Exodus to this world, over twelve centuries ago, and its general remoteness in the surrounding jungles has mostly preserved it, and its hull of rare arakanium, from exploitation.

Captain Esek Hrelle approved of the historical tactical advantage of the temple; nothing could approach from the air without being seen, and there was only one viable route on the ground in or out, a route that could be closed off quickly and easily. Of course, there was no need to provide fortifications or other defences here; as far as the rest of the world was concerned, this was merely the centre of practice for the Caitian martial art of K’Gressir.

A noise from behind made him turn and approach another section, one that overlooked a courtyard of stone, where a series of armed figures in twos and threes fought each other, with swords, knives, staffs and shields.

His tail twitched, and he felt himself heat up under his fur despite his loose black civilian clothes, as he focused on one figure below, who stood out from all around her with her furless skin and tailless rear end. Her strawberry-blonde hair was ponytailed behind her, and sweat beaded her pale flesh, her vest and shorts as she thrust and parried against two opponents at once, grunting and cursing as they orbited each other.

She was fine, he reminded himself, feeling foolish at his protectiveness. None of them were really fighting, just exercising, an opportunity to secretly meet others of their kind, to share fighting techniques and stories... and general camaraderie. After all, it was rare for Kaetini to openly acknowledge their role, their responsibility, in this secret society.

It was a society Hrelle had once been a part of, for many years, even though he rarely advertised it, having spent so much time away from the Motherworld. Had life not thrown him the way it had, he might have been down there in the courtyard.

He was distracted by one of the elderly attendants to the temple sweeping the stone corridors, before focusing on Sasha below, hitting the stone floor. The fighting immediately stopped, as the others swarmed to her, concerned. But he watched his daughter shake off their concerns, laughing as she returned to her feet and retrieved her sword, before they broke for water.

Hrelle nodded to himself with approval; they had only been on Cait for a couple of days, and Sasha, for all her embracing of Caitian culture, still needed to acclimate to Caitian gravity, atmosphere and humidity, especially this close to the equator at this time of year. He was glad to see she was smart enough to know her limitations... and that the other Kaetini had welcomed her, the first and only non-Caitian Kaetini, so warmly-

“Excuse me,” said the attendant, an elderly, grey-furred female in simple purple robes, her broom at his feet, waiting for him to move.

“Of course, sorry.” Hrelle stepped back and let her continue, before asking, “Excuse me, but do you know where Mistress Nvell is?”

She stopped, turned and faced him again. “Yes.”

Then she returned to her sweeping.

He breathed out. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you at your work, but can you please direct me to where I can find Mistress Nvell?”

She regarded him for a moment, before repeating, “Yes.”

And returning to her sweeping.

Hrelle watched her, tail twitching with excitement as his confusion bled away. “You’re Mistress Nvell, aren’t you?”

The female straightened up, tapping the broom on the stone floor to shake the dust from the bristles. “You took your time, Captain, but you got there in the end, once you know the right question to ask.”

He nodded to the broom. “Why is the Head of the Kaetini sweeping the temple? Is it some sort of... lesson?”

“If you like.” She strode up, handing the broom to him. “Dust doesn’t care who holds the broom.” She folded her paws into the billowy sleeves of her robe. “You wished to speak with me, Captain. Speak.”

He straightened up. “I wanted to thank you personally for including Sasha in the Kaetini.”

Nvell grunted. “I didn’t do it for you, Captain. I did it for the Kaetini; her inclusion enriches us. But then, not being Kaetini anymore, you couldn’t possibly understand that, could you?” Then she turned and began walking away, her tail slipping out from a slit in the back of her robes, though age meant it wasn’t as lively as if it might have been when she was younger.

He stood there and watched her depart, stunned by her response.

Until she called back at him over her shoulder. “Are you going to follow, Captain, or are you going to stand there with a face like a smacked arse?”

Hrelle rushed up to her, following beside her down a set of labyrinthine steps into the centre of the temple, noting how quickly she moved despite her age. “Look, I know that you didn’t induct Sasha for me, Mistress. But it always means something when your cub is recognised for her valour and strength.”

“Well then, I guess ‘You’re Welcome’ is apropos.” She pushed open one of a set of huge, ancient, elaborately-carved sablewood doors, and entered a dark room with stone shelves, with square compartments of ten centimetres on each side, and black wooden covers fitted over each compartment and sealed with wax. “And perhaps we should thank you, Captain. Your influence upon Sasha is clear; she might not have been considered for affiliation with our body, were it not for what she learned under you, directly and otherwise.”

She took the broom from him... and twirled it easily in one paw like a baton before setting it deftly into a nearby stand. Then she faced him again. “You know, Captain, you must possess an immense set of balls.”

“Uh... excuse me, Mistress?”

She nodded sagely. “Big, dangly balls, that bruise your thighs as you walk. I hope your dick doesn’t feel inadequate in comparison.”

Hrelle blinked, not expecting such talk from the leader.

She folded her paws inside her sleeves again as she continued. “You are the only living Kaetini to have rejected affiliation with us. To come here, even with the excuse of accompanying your daughter...” She shrugged.

He flushed, his tail drooping with embarrassment. “I... I explained my reasons at the time when I returned my sword. I had been made into a killing machine by the Orions, had disgraced the Order, and didn’t deserve the title. You should understand, you’re so very wise and enlightened and-”

“Blah, blah, blah. It was crap almost a decade ago, and it’s crap now.” Her gaze narrowed. “But I suspect you’ve come to that conclusion since then. Am I right, Big Balls?”

He looked at her, seeing other females in his life in her now: Kami, Ma’Sala. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! It’s one of the few advantages of reaching this age; it almost makes up for the ache in the hips and the drooping tits.” She tilted her head, a slightly amused smile widening her stubby muzzle. “So now you’re back to plead to return to the Order, eh, Big Balls?” She paused, and clarified, “This is the part where you open your mouth and let words fly out instead of letting cake fly in.”

Hrelle almost couldn’t express his agreement. It had been in the back of his head since learning that Sasha had been accepted into the Order. And then, being here, in the midst of other members, of the rich history of the association that had existed almost since their Exodus to Cait, providing guardians and role models to the people, exemplifying the best traits of Caitians... but he held back, afraid of looking so arrogant and presumptuous, to want to take back what he had willingly given up.

Now, however, he knew he had nothing to lose by affirming, “Yes. I had been wrong to reject it. I wasn’t in my right mind then.”

Nvell snorted. “You’re still not in your right mind, Big Balls! But then, you’d be in good company again. We’re all bonkers here.” She drew closer. “And what will you do to be considered Kaetini again? To get your sword back?”

He straightened up formally. Before, it had been an errant, hopeful thought. Now, standing before her, any lingering doubts vanished like dew before the dawn. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The elderly female nodded gravely at that. “‘Whatever it takes’, eh? Fine, Captain. Your original decision was unprecedented; the actions required to reverse that decision should be equally unprecedented.

To regain your sword and your standing: you must swim naked across the Psana Channel in the dead of winter.

And if you survive that, you must journey to Shanos Major for the Sunlow Festival and join in the Running of the Shurises.

And if you survive that, you must trek to the caves of North Csosin and seek the legendary Dancing Stones of Shenan Egan, and return one to this temple.”

Hrelle blinked, shocked at the requirements. “Oh.”

She nodded. “Or, you can just turn around and get your sword from Compartment 47.” She indicated the wall behind him. “I’d do that instead, if I were you. I just made up all that other crap. There aren’t even any Dancing Stones!” She guffawed. “But I’d have pissed myself if you’d actually went out and tried to do it all!”

His jaw dropped in disbelief. Finally he turned, facing the wall, looking at the numbers on the compartment seals, before finding the one she indicated, breaking the wax seal and tugging the lid open, albeit with some difficulty.

He withdrew from within an old leather scabbard with a line of identical crimson diamond patterns running along the length of it, a long, narrow black and silver handle, and a narrow silver guard. Mother’s Cubs, this was really it...

“Well, Big Balls?” Nvell prompted, still looking amused by his reaction. “Still remember which is the business end?”

Hrelle shot her a look, grasped the handle of the sword, and drew out the gleaming black blade, its weight and balance just as he remembered it, twirling it in his paw as he moved into the practice moves of the Kaetini: Roa, stepping forward, blade raised in a forty-five degree angle, before moving to Telo, Efatra, Dimy, Enina…

He stopped, sheathing his sword again and grinning broadly like a cub on Life Day. “Looks like I do.”

*

Mrestir Province, Mroara-Lnee Clanlands:

Kami and Sreen Hrelle reclined beneath the welcoming shade of a honeythorn tree, the latter distracted from the biscuit in her paw by the tiny blue flitters that danced in the air above, moving from thorn blossom to thorn blossom. Kami glanced around once more, admiring the richness of the lands, the luxury of the decor and the main house, reflective of the high standing of its residents.

It almost made staying in her host’s presence bearable.

She had no issue with her own firstborn son Mirow, of course, a pilot with the Caitian Rescue Services, who had joined the Mroara-Lnee Clan six years before when he married Ptera. Nor did she have anything but love for Ptera, a surgeon now six months pregnant, and, to judge from her expression and scent as Mirow sat beside her and fussed over her, ready to smack him across his snout (Kami reminded herself to talk to him about taking pheromone suppressants).

No, the object of her vexation remained with the Matriarch of the clan, Jnill. They had rubbed each other’s fur the wrong way almost from when they first met, before Mirow and Ptera’s wedding, the mothers ending up in a claws-bared catfight. And though Kami’s mother Ma’Sala had compelled them to make up and play civilised for the sake of the young couple and both clans, Kami doubted that they would ever warm up to each other, even with their imminent mutual graduation into grandmotherhood.

And she was right, though through the course of the day since Kami and Sreen had arrived for their visit, Jnill had remained the quintessential aristocratic lady... serving her barbs in only the finest china. “I must compliment you on your efforts with your new cub, my dear. She seems most lively and alert despite her handicap.”

On Kami’s lap, Sreen sat up, the exoframe that helped compensate for her Neurodystraxia reflecting the sunlight, and began singing a ballad of her own creation to the remains of the biscuit in her paw.

Kami saw Mirow and especially Ptera melt at the sound - I know it might be the hormones you’re feeling right now, Ptera, but you’re clearly far superior to your withered old kussik of a mother – but Jnill remained unmoved, cradling her expensive china cup and saucer in her bony paws. Kami smiled back. “Thank you for saying, Jnill, but I can’t claim any credit for Sreen. She was born purring and singing.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that, my dear,” Jnill assured her saccharinely. “I was merely referring to the patience and fortitude required by yourself, your husband and nanny to deal with such an unfortunate cub.”

“Mother!” Ptera snapped indignantly. “There’s nothing ‘unfortunate’ about Sreen! I’m both delighted and honoured to be her Bond Sister!” She looked to Kami, embarrassment tainting her scent. “Please excuse her thoughtless words, Kam!”

“I don’t need my kin daughter apologising on my behalf,” Jnill informed her archly, sipping at her tea before continuing. “I’m certain Kami is aware that no offence was intended. Don’t you, my dear?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear,” Kami assured her, scratching under Sreen’s chin. “I know your intentions better than you do. In fact, I’m the one who must apologise to you, Jnill.”

Jnill signalled to a nearby servant to take away her cup and saucer. “Apologise? Why, whatever for?”

Kami rose. “Well, I’ve been here on your palatial estate all day, and I haven’t given you a chance to cuddle my daughter!” She rose to her feet and approached. “Please, honour me by letting Sreen know your scent and touch.”

The other older female blanched. “Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t want to-”

“You wouldn’t want to insult a guest in your home by refusing a request?” Kami prompted, nodding sagely. “I know, such grace and decorum is what makes a High Born, one of the clans who can trace their ancestry back to the First Landing, stand out from the common herd.”

Sreen looked at Jnill expectantly. “Nil?”

Jnill sniffed and rose, adjusting herself to accept the infant, gingerly adjusting to ignore the metal lattice of the exoframe, reacting more like she was taking a bundle of dirty laundry than a cub. Sreen, on the other paw, seemed animated to be in a new set of arms, reaching out and crushing the crumbs of her biscuit onto Jnill’s expensive Tholian silk dress and purring.

“Well, Mother?” Ptera teased. “That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

Jnill glanced up; not even her breeding was able to help her fully resist the purrs of an infant. “She’s... not unpleasant.”

“Why, that’s a lovely thing to say, my dear,” Kami said dryly. “Every mother dreams to have a cub that’s not unpleasant.”

Jnill frowned as Sreen now took hold of one of Jnill’s fingers like a rattle. “Age seems to have made you thin-furred, my dear. I mean of course that her lively, bubbly personality will serve her well as she struggles through life.”

Kami crossed her arms. “‘Struggles’?”

Jnill looked up, her expression patronising. “My dear, I have nothing but the utmost of sympathy for you and your husband... and of course, this poor cub. You’ll have to lower your standards about her potential, given her helpless state-”

Then she yelped, as Sreen had taken one of Jnill’s fingers and nipped it.

Kami smiled. “Looks like you’ve been graced to receive the Sreen Hrelle Manifesto.”

Jnill drew her finger away and noted the marks from Sreen’s pin teeth, eyes narrowing in confusion. “‘Manifesto’?”

Kami nodded. “In her current inability to form complex words, she’s just told you: ‘You can hold me, feed me, burp me, change me, bathe me, entertain me, reassure me, love me, do all those things... but don’t you dare pity me’.”

Jnill glanced down at Sreen, who shook a stubby furred finger up and confirmed, “Gabba doo!”

The young married couple laughed at the sight. The Matriarch harrumphed, shifting her hold to return Sreen to Kami. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t want to seen as edacious with your cub, my dear-”

Ptera stood up, with some effort, waddling towards her. “I’ll take her again!”

Mirow bolted upright. “Wait, let me help-”

Ptera hissed at him, making him stop in his tracks, before eagerly accepting the infant, resting her against her extended belly, purring and cooing, Sreen clinging to her, gurgling, “Terra!”

Ptera gasped, looking up at Kami with eyes wide. “Did she really say my name? Are all cubs that clever at that age?”

Kami grinned with pride. “Females more than males.” She nodded to Mirow. “That lazy lump didn’t speak until he was nearly two, just pointed at what he wanted and grunted.” Then she winked at him.

Ptera smiled down at Sreen. “He hasn’t changed much, believe me.” She leaned in and breathed in Sreen’s scent again. “Oh, I do hope ours is even half as lovely as this beauty!”

Jnill drew in closer, as if feeling left out of the proceedings. “Oh, she will be, Daughter. And with the additional comfort of knowing that you’ve already had the foetus tested, and confirmed that she’ll be perfectly healthy, at least.”

Kami looked up at her, considered responding in kind... and then resisted the urge. She needed to be better than that, and began leading the others out into the clan’s gardens, an intricate arrangement, but rather too planned for Kami’s tastes. “So, how is the clan business going with the War?”

The grey-furred female relaxed, more in her element with that topic of conversation. “Rather well, actually, thank you for enquiring; we’ve secured a lucrative contract with the Anticans to supply them with our Shikaris short-range patrol vessels, and there is similar interest from the Selay and the Ornarans. Many worlds are seeking to upgrade their local defences; it seems there’s little confidence that Starfleet will protect them from the Dominion.”

Kami nodded, having heard similar opinions from ordinary Caitians since her family’s return to the Motherworld. “It hasn’t been easy; Starfleet has suffered heavy losses in the initial battles. Even as an ambulance ship, the Surefoot has experienced casualties during our last engagement. But I have faith that we’ll ultimately prevail.”

“As do I, my dear, as do I,” Jnill agreed, albeit less empathically. And I expect that given such dangers, you’ve decided to keep yourself and your cubs safe now with a planetbound assignment?”

Kami blinked; she couldn’t deny having thought of it herself immediately afterwards, even as she recognised it was a natural reaction to the traumas they had experienced. “It... has occurred to me. But my husband and I are needed out there; if all of us took planetbound assignments, no one would be keeping back the Dominion.”

The other female reached out and idly stroked the wide ivory petals of an orchid as they passed. “But your cubs aren’t in Starfleet, my dear. There are many excellent boarding schools and nurseries available here. I can even make a few enquiries on your behalf? It would benefit them greatly to be associated with fellow Caitians, especially our people’s finer specimens, rather than the... common folk. Or worse, aliens.”

One, two, three, four... “Thank you, but no. Our cubs stay with us, under our influence and our protection, though I’ve allowed Misha to join the local school to be with other cubs his age while we’re here; he’s on a field trip today to see the Skycats in Pakui, with his Grandpa Bneea as one of the volunteer chaperones. And you will be pleased to know that Misha has benefitted greatly from interacting with other races.” She paused and noted, “I’ve seen for myself how such interaction can prevent people from becoming bigoted and parochial.”

Jnill’s expression tightened, though her mask of cordiality remained fixed. “Well then, my dear, I can only express my admiration to you and your husband, for putting your duty over the safety of your family.” She slipped an arm around Kami’s. “Shall we return inside for tea and cake? Too much midday sun is insalubrious for the cubs... and I wouldn’t want you to develop any more grey fur from overexposure.”

Kami smiled back, controlling her emotions. “Yes, let’s go inside... but I’ll forgo any more tea and cake; Starfleet has certain weight restrictions.” She guided Jnill back towards the mansion. “I envy your freedom to just... let yourself go, my dear. As you’ve obviously done in the last couple of years.”

*

Five thousand kilometres west of Mrestir Province, in the planetary capital First City, a young communications specialist for Network 23 was running a final security check on an incoming data transmission packet from the outer colonies, before authorising their forwarding to their intended destinations on Cait. There had been some background anomalies, but the initial security protocols had been passed, and he was late for a lunch date with a rather enticing-smelling new Payroll Specialist.

He sent the transmissions on their merry way, never having detected the hidden virus codes in them, codes designed by a spy organisation he will never have heard of, on the command of people he will nevr have heard of.

Codes now seeking out and infecting public, private and military channels...

*

Aerodrome, Pakui Desert Province:

The crowd of hundreds in the bleachers looked up and gasped almost as one, as the four winged vessels swooped around each other, each one producing a different colour of smoke trail in huge rings, rings that the others would then fly through, in practiced, perfect harmony, the engines of the machines growling in the cloudless blue sky.

On one of the upper benches, clad in a blue and white uniform along with the forty others in his class, Misha Hrelle rose to his feet, peering up through his magnifiers at the action. “Grandpa! Do you see the shuttles?”

At the end of the group with the teachers and other volunteers, Bneea Shall drank from his water bottle and licked his muzzle, as he looked up as well, feeling as amazed as his grandcub at the sight. “Not shuttles, Misha! Aerofighters! Piloted by some of the best aeronauts our people have ever known! Now sit down!”

Sitting beside him, his husband Mi’Tree stopped checking his minicom for an update on his popularity ratings on the Cynet, to peer up over his shaded spectacles at the aircraft. “Hmph. I did better in Skycats Ho!”

“You did nothing! That vivid was all sets and special effects! I spent more time in a real aerofighter for the stuntwork!”

Mi’Tree dropped his gaze again, his interest remaining fixed on himself. “And yet who received the S’Ralcha Award nomination the next year for Best Actor for that role?”

Bneea shook his head... then looked up again as one jet-black aerofighter suddenly swooped straight up, its engine roaring now with the effort, and pirouetting as its ascended, releasing multiple coloured trails that spread out in a widening spiral that prompted the audience to rise and applaud thunderously. Bneea glanced down at Mi’Tree, who remained sitting. “Will you put that thing away and remember why we’re here?”

Mi’Tree sighed and slipped his minicom back into his jacket, before joining the rest of them in a show of appreciation. Bneea grunted to himself, thinking the ban on schoolcubs having their minicoms with them during school hours should have been extended to certain old cats.

Then his focus moved to the task at paw, as the aerofighters landed and returned to the huge surrounding hangars, and the class was led by the teachers and chaperones to the toilets and concessions, Bneea staying alert and conscious of not letting any of the little tail chasers wander off... especially his own grandcub.

He was happy to have volunteered for this (and volunteered Mi’Tree as well on his day off from broadcasting the Taleteller show), not just out of a sense of community duty, but to get a sense of how their grandcub was coping since all that terrible business fighting the Dominion. He would never criticise Kami or Esek for choosing to take their cubs with them into potential danger in space – both of them were more than qualified to face what was out there – but still, Bneea couldn’t help but worry about the effects on the likes of Misha. And with his little alien friend Naida having just gone off-world to return to her father in Starfleet, he might have felt isolated.

The cub, however, seemed to fit in with other cubs beautifully, laughing and chatting happily... unlike Mi’Tree, who had returned to his minicom. “Will you put that thing away-” Then he stopped and regarded his husband. “You’re jealous!”

Mi’Tree glanced up. “What?”

“You’re jealous of our grandcub! Every time I brought you along on these school trips, the cubs would always gather around you as the Taleteller, wanting your autograph, stories, hugs-”

“Nonsense!”

“But now they’re used to you, and Misha is getting all the attention, with his father a decorated Starfleet captain, his sister a human and a Kaetini warrior-”

“The sun has driven you senile!” He put away his minicom again, his muzzle creasing in annoyance as he crossed his arms and regarded their grandcub, who was regaling his new friends with a story about a space battle he allegedly took part in, using his paws as prop starships. “He has no storytelling skills. I’ll go help him-”

Bneea grabbed him by the crook of the arm before Mi’Tree could interrupt. “If you try stealing our grandcub’s thunder, I’ll shove that minicom of yours straight up your-”

“Gentlemen,” someone interrupted behind them.

They turned to see the approach of one of the class teachers, a shorter, younger female with shimmering stone-coloured fur and a bushy tail. She looked more amused as she noted, “I hope I’m pre-empting the sort of language we would scold cubs for using?”

The two males blanched, Bneea swallowing, “My apologies, Ms Praow.”

Mi’Tree nodded, indicating Bneea. “The sun has driven him senile.”

The teacher smirked, looking more amused than annoyed, before moving up to them, but looking over at Misha. “When he joined the class, his mother asked me to evaluate him with regards to his interactions with other Caitian cubs.”

“Really?” Bneea asked – but then checked himself; of course his daughter would be astute enough to ask professionals for a separate, objective assessment.

She continued to regard the class. “And I’m happy to say she has nothing to worry about. I have never met such an outgoing, self-assured cub his age, not just with other cubs, but with adults. He’s not only willing to try new things, he encourages the shyer cubs to do so... and, he won’t tolerate anyone being teased.” She chuckled. “And he has such a vivid imagination, too! I heard him tell the others a story about his fighting a group of dragon men to save his mother!”

Bneea felt his skin flush under his fur. “That’s, ah, actually a true story.”

Praow blinked. “What?”

The grandfather nodded absently, looking back. “I believe they’re called Jem’Hadar, the soldiers of the Dominion. Last month the Surefoot was caught up in a battle. They invaded, attacked his mother. He stood up to them. Four armed soldiers, and he stood up them. Fearlessly.” He suppressed a shudder at the memory of Kami informing him and her other father Mi’Tree about it. At the time, he had fought with himself to keep from trying to tell his daughter how to raise her cubs; that feeling returned in full force with his retelling the account.

Praow blinked again, looking back at Misha again. “And the story he told about being in a battle with a band of marauding giant snakes?”

“Ooh, yes, that happened!” Mi’Tree confirmed happily, nodding. “Though Misha was a mere infant at the time. They were marauding Vlathi assassins, sent by a wicked emperor to kill us all! Fortunately I was there, and fought at least eight of them singlepawedly! I was particularly valiant on that day, I must say.”

“No,” Bneea responded, rolling his eyes. “You mustn’t.”

The teacher’s eyes widened. “If you’re gonna tell me it’s also true that Misha once took command of the ship and saved everyone from a swarm of Space Farts...“

Despite himself, Bneea chuckled. “I think we can safely confirm that that’s made up.” Then he shrugged. “Maybe.”

After the bathroom and concession breaks, the class moved to the hangars to see the aerofighters... and to fulfil a long-buried desire on Bneea’s part to see these fine aircraft, still in action, and by their original pilots too! He helped herd the class to one parked craft, resting on retractable inflated tyres: onyx-black in colour with blood-red stripes, with swept-back wings and tail fins, twin turbofan impeller units mounted on either side of the armoured fuselage, and a sliding single-occupancy cockpit canopy on top.

Bneea ate it all up, allowing the Fancub in him to emerge, away from any teasing from his husband or other contemporaries, as he pointed out various parts of the aircraft to the cubs. ”Look! This is an A-90 Ebonwing! A design unchanged from the Civil Wars of over 500 years ago! No warp drive or fusion engines! No antigravity generators, no transtators or duotronic components! They communicated over aetherwave frequencies and navigated with radiolocation!”

Bneea drew closer to the impellers, still feeling the residual heat from their earlier use. “Those blades spin within the cylinders, drawing huge amounts of air in at the front and pushing it out the back, making it fly! It’s amazing in its simplicity! And the men and women who serve today, keeping the aerofighter designs flying and performing these stunt shows, are still keeping the legend of the Skycats alive!”

“You should be one of our tour guides,” said a voice from behind.

Bneea and others turned to see a tall figure in a tan leather longcoat, gloves, cap, white scarf and goggles draw up. He was an older Caitian male with blonde and ginger fur on his squat face, and the group parted as he approached Bneea, smiling. “You must be a former member of one of our Squadrons.”

Bneea felt himself flush. “Ahh, no, but I grew up with the stories... and later, when I worked as a stuntman, I had to learn to fly a replica for a vivid about the original Civil War squadrons.”

The aeronaut’s brow smirked. “Are you referring to Skycats Ho? The one starring Mi’Tree Shall?”

At the sound of his name, Mi’Tree lowered the minicom back in his paw and approached, smiling. “That will be me. Would you like my autograph?”

Bneea smacked him in the stomach. “Rein it in, Husband of Mine! These are real heroes!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” the aeronaut replied humbly. “My squadron and I merely recreate the intrepid feats of our illustrious ancestors. I’m Captain Majes Biggleshen, by the way.” He removed his glove and held out a paw. “Friends call me Biggles.”

Bneea shook the paw with genuine enthusiasm.

Then Mi’Tree popped in, took a quick image of himself with the aeronaut, and keyed in a command to post it on his social media site... until he frowned. “The network’s down! What cheek! How am I supposed to find out how popular I am?”

*

Scarlet Park Restaurant, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

Since his arrival on this side of the planet, meeting with his ex-wife and son for the first time in years, Dr Jhess Furore had tried to relax. He knew how Mreia had felt about him, and she had been on edge about his presence with their cub, given her feelings about his service with the Militia during the last War. But on his return, and after repeated calls to her, she finally relented to let him visit, albeit in neutral ground, away from their home.

Mreia hadn’t changed much if at all since they had last been together, her onyx-coloured fur reminding him of Lt Shall on the Surefoot, but with a longer tail. All of the change had been reserved for Shau, who had barely reached Jhess’ waist when they last met, and now, at age sixteen, was almost as tall as Jhess, and more resembled his father than his mother... except in the hazel-flecked eyes and sharper ear tips.

Their table in the restaurant offered a resplendent view of Shanos Minor, one of the most beautiful coastal cities in Nashea, built up over the last three hundred years in the hills surrounding Shanos Crescent Bay. And its multitudes of glass buildings reflecting the tropical sunlight helped provide the metropolis with the nickname “The Radiance”.

Jhess took the opportunity to glance out often as they waited for their drinks and meals. “I forgot about the view from this high up. I used to run up the Thousand Steps every morning to get to the Parapet, and it was worse than any three marathons.” He chuckled, looking to Mreia. “Do you remember that time I came back after one run, stripped off and hopped into the shower thinking it was you, but it was your mother?”

Sitting beside Mreia, Shau gasped and set down his glass of water, looking to her. “Mom! He really did that to Grandma?”

Mreia idly played with a breadstick she’d set on her plate, looking grateful to have something to do to pass the time in what was obviously an interminable experience for her. “Yes.”

Shau guffawed at that. “I can’t wait to ask her about it when she visits next!”

Mreia now met Jhess’ gaze... her gaze of disapproval as his mentioning that clear.

Jhess forced down his growing frustration. He recognised that this reunion wouldn’t be easy after so long, after so much acrimony between them, and that Mreia was unlikely to have changed her views since then. So he appreciated her concession to today’s visit.

He just wished the concession had extended to not making him feel as welcome as a dose of mange in the crotch. “Mreia, are you still working for Mnorant and Naro?”

She looked at him again, as if suspecting he was tricking to trick her somehow, before responding. “Yes. In fact I was made Senior Partner last season, in charge of Civil Rights cases.”

Jhess smiled. “That’s marvellous! And long overdue! They should have made you a Senior Partner long ago!” He focused on Shau once more. “From the first day I met your mother, I knew she had the Gift of the Gab! She could talk the stripes off a sleekfish! No one’s immune from her persuasion!”

She reached for her wine. “I wouldn’t say that. Some remain immune, no matter how much hurt their mistakes cost.”

Jhess winced, struggled to keep himself from letting himself be triggered by her barb, obviously aimed at him, for his decision to join the Militia at the start of the last Ferasan War, when Shau had been an infant. Mreia had come from a clan of pacifists, never saw the moral imperative of choosing to fight to defend the Motherworld and the colonies. And after he had returned, and stories about some of the horrors of the War reached the public, and Jhess himself had traumas to overcome, their strained relationship exacerbated into separation, and then ultimately divorce.

“Dad,” Shau suddenly said, obviously sensing the continued tension between his parents. “The cubs you’re minding now- what are they like?”

Bless you, Son... He turned to Shau once more. “Oh, they’re adorable! They’re Caitians, the cubs of the Captain and Counselor of the Starfleet vessel Surefoot! Misha is six – well, four in Federation Standard years, but once he heard Caitian years are shorter and he was six here, he lapped that notion up - and is a charming little rascal, bright as a nova! And his sister Sreen has just turned one! She has Neurodystraxia, a rather severe case, and I’ve been helping develop and train her to use exoframes.”

“Sreen? Is she the one who appeared on The Taleteller the other day?”

“Yes, that’s right!” Jhess frowned playfully. “Do you still watch that?”

Shau chuckled. “Me? No! But my girlfriend’s little brother does! Do you think you can get the Taleteller’s autograph for him-”

“Wait, wait- you have a girlfriend? When did this start?”

His son rolled his eyes. “Dad, I had my first Season years ago!”

Jhess leaned back in his chair, thoroughly delighted. “Well, now you can benefit from my sage advice-”

Mreia set down her glass. “Shau, please step outside for five minutes. I need to speak with your father privately.”

The cub looked between mother and father, his feelings about the request clear. But he finally rose, pushed back his chair and departed.

Jhess mentally braced himself, recognising when his former wife got in this mood. “What is it?”

She focused on him directly now. “I didn’t agree to this reunion because my feelings have changed.”

Now he reached for his wine. “So I’ve gathered.”

“I did it because Shau keeps asking about you. And because you never contested the divorce, you made it as easy as you could... no matter how much I know it hurt you.” She paused and clarified, less aggressively, “And because of your last message to us, before that battle you faced. I’m genuinely glad you survived.” Her gaze dropped. “I never hated you, Jhess. Only what you chose to do with your life. You could have stayed a paediatrician, a Llalare to cubs. Instead, you...” She stopped herself from proceeding further.

For which he was grateful; they had gone through the same arguments too many times to rehash it again with any hope of a change of opinion from either of them. He glanced to his left and right, momentarily distracted by patrons having problems with their pocket minicoms. “I won’t be back on Cait long, Mreia. I want to get as much time as I can with Shau. Do you begrudge me that?”

She shook her head, her face creased in consideration. “No. And I know for a fact that he’d love that. He’s been scouring the news sites for all items on the Surefoot; it wasn’t difficult, really, with your Captain Hrelle being such a celebrity on Cait. His teachers have reported that a lot of his essays have focused on the last War, and his Community Volunteer Service has been towards assisting in Veterans’ Homes.”

Jhess frowned. “Really? I didn’t think you’d be okay with that.”

She downed her wine. “I’m not, but he’s becoming a man, able to make his own decisions. That’s why, when – not if; I’m not so naive to think it won’t happen – he asks about the War, about the Militia and fighting...”

She leaned forward, her expression intense. “I expect you to tell him the truth. No romantic hokum, no machismo-driven anecdotes, no recruitment speeches. I want him to know about the father he was too young to see years ago, the one I couldn’t stay married to when you returned. The one who was a wreck.

I am so glad that you recovered, Jhess, and I can’t imagine you want to recall what you went through. But I’m asking you to do so now, with our son.

I want him to fear War. Can you do that?”

And there it was. Jhess feared that, as a condition of her letting him see their son, she would ask him to do so many things he would hate himself for later.

But keeping Shau from ever following Jhess in his proverbial footsteps and picking up a gun to kill, or be wounded, or even killed? “Not a problem.”

*

The outer world of Kuburan was named after one of the Seven Hells of Caitian mythology, a cold, dark oubliette reserved for Invaders and Marauders. The planetoid they approached was aptly named, and in the past millennium since the Caitians had fled their Ferasan racial cousins and settled here, it was used as a graveyard, for the remains of all the vessels – and their crews – that had tried and failed to attack or invade them. Ferasans, Orions, Romulans, Hur’q, Triacans, Xindi, Malurians, Nausicaans, Kzinti...

She remembered visiting the surface years ago after her promotion to Fleet Captain, hating the constricting exosuit but fascinated with the ancient wreckage around her, preserved on the airless surface. It gave her such a profound sense of history, of the burden she had undertaken in the defence of the Motherworld and her colonies.

Now, however, her mind was on more immediate things. “Status of the interference?”

Solanj’s tail smacked in irritation against the side of his Ops station. “It’s stronger near this sector of space... wait, I’m accessing the nearest security beacon... it’s triggered a diagnostic cycle... the others are undergoing it as well!”

“If there was unprecedented stellar radiation causing the interference,” Ksara opined, “It might have triggered diagnostics across all the beacons affected.”

“Send a signal to Cait,” Ma’Sala ordered. “And contact the Azure Aura colony and see if they’re distant enough from the interference to give us a clearer picture of what’s happening.”

The Bridge had grown tense, and time seemed to crawl as a cub made to go to bed. Conversely, Ma’Sala’s heart refused to slow down, though she kept a calm veneer.

“No response from any of the colonies,” Ksara reported.

Ma’Sala frowned. “Bounce a signal to our nearest sister ships: Palefur, Leangrowl, Broken Paw, Stoutpelt, Razorteeth... we need a response...”

An alert from Ops preceded Solanj squeaking, “Distress signal from the Debris Cloud!” A second later, he elaborated, “It’s Capt S’Nesint of the Broken Paw! They’re experiencing main systems failures from the stellar interference!”

Ma’Sala rose to her feet. “Is it a visual or audio transmission?”

“Data only, audio/visual transmissions are being broken up by the interference. They’ve sent diagnostic data on their problems and are requesting assistance.”

“You’re running it through Security protocols?”

“Already done, Ma’am – they meet all the protocols.”

She nodded. “Run the data through our own diagnostics. Ksara, prepare a data transmission to the Motherworld, if this interference also affects civilian craft coming or going-”

The lights on the Bridge and at every station died.

Ma’Sala’s paw moved to the blaster at her side. “What the Seven Hells-”

Emergency light strips came to life, and then auxiliary alarms, as the crew struggled at their stations, reports and orders shouted over each other: “Propulsion system shut down! Manoeuvring thrusters down!” “Shields and weapons offline!” “Environmental systems malfunctioned!” “Reroute battery power to stabilisers!”

“OPEN THE VIEWPORT!” Ma’Sala roared over them all.

Crew moved to comply, and the viewscreen panel, now dark from lack of power, rolled aside via the manual controls, revealing a panoramic transparent steel window, and beyond it, the huge cloud of debris circling the outer perimeter of most systems.

A cloud with hundreds of moving objects, not dust or ice or asteroids. Moving swiftly towards them.

“SHIELDS!” She turned, even as she kept an eye on the window, as circular Ferasan vessels moved along Jem’Hadar Scarab ships, disruptor cannons firing mercilessly at the larger vessel.

The Mother’s Fury lurched hard to starboard, crewmembers flying to one side, Ma’Sala almost slamming into one of her Engineer’s Mates, before righting herself, the sounds of alarms, hull ruptures and leaking gas filling the air. “Shields! Weapons! Thrusters!”

“Everything’s down!” Ksara shouted back. “That transmission from the Broken Paw- a fake- computer virus overriding all systems!”

Ma’Sala looked back at the window, for wont of anything better to do.

More ships. Scores and scores of them, pouring in like a torrent from the direction of the colonies, and past them, the Ferasan Patriarchy. Allied with the Dominion. “Ksara! Ready a Warp Bullet to Cait with our status! We have to warn-”

Another lurch, and all tumbled forward, the flagship spinning, the view outside now a rapid, sickening blur.

Ma’Sala clung onto a rail, and grabbed Solanj before he slammed into the nearest wall beside her, aware that others were not so lucky, the centrifugal forces of their spin pinning them down.

It was a death spin. And if they weren’t shot at again, her ship, the pride of the Navy, as tough as she was, would rip itself to pieces. And she had no doubt that the outer patrol vessels had all suffered similar fates.

She could hear the metal rip itself open around her.

I’m sorry Bneea, Mi’Tree, Kami, Esek, Sasha, my grandcubs.

My world.

I’ve left you defenceless.

I’m sorr-

*

No warning left the Mother’s Fury. Their silence joined the outer perimeter defences, and the colonies and outposts beyond, all who had fallen.

The Invaders continued into the Caitian system, aided immeasurably by intelligence on the Caitian forces, security codes and other data received weeks before by an unknown source, and exploited before changes could be made to the Caitians’ forces.

Inner perimeter defences received recognised signals, and were placed into diagnostic modes that prevented their intelligent systems from noting the sheer numbers of non-registered vessels swarming towards the Motherworld, moving at velocities faster than the light would take to reach any planetbound observers and warn the people the old-fashioned way.

Cait hung like a blue-green dream sailing around the huge yellow star.

By the time of their arrival, the viruses already transmitted to Cait had done their job, disrupting global communications on all channels, while the Invaders tapped into the security, communications and weather modification satellites circling the planet, overriding their functions. There was a manned platform in high orbit that visually detected the hundreds of ships pouring in, but they were unable to send a signal to anyone on the planet below, before they were blown to pieces by a Jem’Hadar fighter.

A single non-Caitian vessel in orbit at this time, the Starfleet research ship USS Kanaloa, there on shore leave, fared better, keeping their shields raised long enough for them to turn and warp out of the system.

No one pursued them. They had more important plans.

Larger Ferasan Carriers moved into position, carrying precious cargo, ready to be beamed down without warning to their targets below.

*

Sasha leaned back in the pilot’s seat of her ship, rolling her neck around to work out the bruises and cramps she had obtained during her visit to the Temple. Then she turned and looked back, smirking. “Seriously, Dad?”

Hrelle stood there, holding her Kaetini sword in one paw, and his own, newly-reacquired sword in the other, bringing the black blades together until the tips almost touched. He never looked up. “What?”

“Are you really back there, comparing the lengths of our swords?” She guffawed. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Kami! She’ll piss herself!”

He harrumphed and sheathed the swords. “I’m so glad I can still amuse my daughter with more than just fart noises.” He stowed both swords in a wall rack next to the cockpit, before sitting down beside her. “Maybe you can return the favour by sparring with me when we’re back with the Fleet? You know, come over from time to time for a match or two?”

She looked to him. “Really? Don’t know what I can teach you, you have years more experience than me.”

“I’m a little rusty. And it’d be good for both of us, to let loose as both our blades are made of arakanium and can offer a genuine challenge.”

Sasha regarded him for a moment, before reminding him softly, with a smile, “You know I don’t need reasons to come home to see you, Dad.”

He smiled back. “Nice to know.”

She turned back to check their progress home. “We’ll be back at the Clanlands in an hour, sooner than expected. Shall we go visit my big brother Mirow and his wife, and bring home Kami and Sreen?”

Hrelle faced forward, staring out at the deep cloudless skies ahead. “Yes, it’d be a pleasure to see Mirow and Ptera again.” He left it at that.

She didn’t, smiling. “And Jnill too, of course? I remember how warmly she received you at the cubs’ wedding. Won’t you be happy to once more see your...” She frowned playfully. “What do you call her, anyway? In-Law? Kith Sister? Bond Co-Parent?” She paused and offered, “Snooty Bitch?”

Hrelle shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve that, Sash. And she’s been very friendly in the last five years.”

Sasha laughed. “We’ve haven’t been back to Cait in the last five years!”

He shrugged, reaching for the communication station. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And she can hardly flick her tail at a clan with two Kaetinis, can she? I’ll contact Kami’s minicom and-” He frowned. “I can’t access the network.”

Sasha half-listened, working the navigation station. “I’m- I’m having problems, too; I need to log a course change to Mrestir Province with Traffic Control, but their network is down as well.”

Hrelle sat up, the pair of them running diagnostics, as he noted, “Nothing wrong with the Tailless’ systems. Scanning for public communications, the Cynet channels, local government and military frequencies... Seven Hells, there’s... nothing.”

She looked to him. “The whole planet’s gone quiet.”

“No. It’s been silenced.” He keyed in a few commands. “Starfleet channels are being disrupted as well. I can’t reach Kami or Jhess’ combadges. Nothing from the Starfleet Office in First City.”

Sasha’s heart quickened. “There may be dozens, hundreds of aircraft in the air! They all depend on communications!”

He leaned forward, running more checks. “The emergency automated subnetworks are still operating. That much is-”

An alert on the Tactical panel made them look up, just in time for a flash on the northwest horizon, several hundred kilometres distant. Sasha gripped the edge of her station. “What the- what was that? An air crash?”

“No.” His paws moved, swiftly entering new commands. “Explosion... massive... Mother’s Cubs, a thirty isoton yield! That could vaporise cubic kilometres of matter!”

“Fuck...” She peered out; the Ravath Province was in the Northern Hemisphere of Cait, a sparsely-populated area of sloping steppes and patches of dark, thickly-packed forests of sablewood trees, and from their present altitude, it looked like an endless dark olive carpet. Now, however, a fireball could be seen, rising up. “What could cause that? Quantum torpedo strike? A starship warp core breach? What’s out there anyway?”

Hrelle brought up the navigational direction, looking up again. “It’s North Ravath Militia Base. Get us there, Mach 5. Hurry.”

She nodded, making the course change, the Tailless shuddering as it broke the sound barrier, and the ground quickened below them. “They must have had some accident- a warhead detonation-”

“There’s nothing in the typical Militia arsenal that could produce a yield that great. A simultaneous detonation, maybe, but warheads have safeguards to prevent that.” He tried to access Communications again. “And it wouldn’t explain the global communications blackout.”

Sasha swallowed as she slowed their approach, as a massive black cloud rose higher and higher into the upper atmosphere. They saw the fallen trees before the flat grounds surrounding the base...

Or what was left of it.

There was a wide irregular shape of several square kilometres, enough to contain buildings, bunkers, airfields, helipads, hangars, towers, dormitories... housing for the civilian families.

Now, the area was sunken, as if a leviathan had scooped it all away, leaving a massive crater.

“Mother of God...” she murmured, stunned beyond belief, setting a wide orbit around the former base. “How... How many...?”

Hrelle had to force saliva back into his muzzle. “The Militia Directory says there was a population of 6,350. Including about 800 civilians.”

She gasped, swallowing as she scanned the area. “There are no survivors... none... We- We have to let someone know, Dad-”

“Sasha.”

She looked up, followed his gaze out, leaning in to peer at another part of the horizon. “Another plume of smoke? What’s-”

“That’s the direction of the Militia Base in Syeya Province,” he responded coldly. “This is too big for us to manage. We have to get back home, collect our family, get them together and make sure they’re safe, before working out what’s going on.”

Sasha keyed in another course change, before moving to the Communications panel. “Grandma Ma’Sala equipped my present with a lot of secret goodies... I’m tapping into some of the older government weather satellites up there-”

The rest of the words died away as both of them saw the images of the invasion fleet in orbit.

*

Seismological stations throughout Cait detected 112 explosions, occurring almost simultaneously, averaging thirty isotons each, on every one of the three continents on the planet and on two of the major island chains; it would be later when experts would identify the sites of the explosions as all of the larger bases of the Militia. Meteorological stations would track the plumes of smoke, suffused with lethal metreonic particles, reaching the upper atmosphere, to eventually disperse over the subsequent years.

Of more immediate concerns were the many Jem’Hadar fighters, swarming down throughout the world to attack the smaller Militia bases with more conventional weapons.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

First Minister Shellis Dsune forced down her indigestion from an interrupted evening meal as she raced through the corridor to her Operations Centre, her Chief Administrator at her side, desperate to continue briefing her on the emergency despite looking ready to collapse from the exertion. “The- The Matriarchy Counc- Council is converg- converging at the- the Emergency Bunk- Bunker-”

“Save it for the Ops Centre, Tail High, before one or both of us pass out.”

“Yes, Stilts.”

Dsune tried not to laugh; she was getting on in years, having spent the last fourteen years developing a fat furry ass from endless Council meetings and a fat furry belly from endless dinners following endless speeches, so she was hardly in a position to judge the fitness of others. But she had her height to help out.

Csosi P’Sat, on the other paw, was short and squat and almost waddled like a wind-up toy... but Mother’s Cubs if she wasn’t the most dedicated and loyal person she ever knew.

They entered the large, semi-circular room, filled above with holographic displays of their planet, and below with operating stations and personnel shouting reports and updates to each other. Dsune put on her Big Girl Face, the one her Mama and Papa told her people in a crisis always needed, to calm them and assure them that everything was going to be alright. Even if it wasn’t. “Report, Huyutr.”

The tall, broad-shouldered, cinnamon-furred male in the green and black Militia uniform with Field Marshall insignia turned to her, his tail twitching. “First Minister, it’s an invasion, nothing more, nothing less. A virus received earlier disabled most of the communications infrastructure, and prevented us from receiving any warning about the fleet of Ferasan and Dominion vessels now in orbit.

Shielded satellite data provided by the Caitian Secret Service confirmed they beamed down metreon-based weapons of mass destruction to all of our major Militia bases, triggering simultaneous detonations, followed by aerial attacks from Jem’Hadar ships on many of the minor bases.

Estimated casualties-” He breathed in, his entire being tightening like a wire. “Estimated casualties exceed 400,000. We’ve lost 90% of our armed forces.”

“Mother’s Cubs...” Dsune stared at him, her stomach twisting into knots she thought would never untangle again. Four hundred thousand lives lost... “What about Fleet Captain Shall and our Navy forces out at the edge?”

“There’s been nothing official as yet,” he responded. “But I can’t imagine Ma’Sala would have just rolled over and shown them her belly.”

No. She’d known Ma’Sala Shall for years, had worked well with her. She’d been confident that the female could have faced up to any threat to the Motherworld, and defeated them. She turned to her right, having smelled the human in the room before seeing him, baring her teeth. “And Starfleet? Where in the Seven Hells are they, Commander?”

Commander Fletcher Phelps, Starfleet’s Liaison on Cait, was a reed-thin, pink-fleshed male in his twenties, with bushy brown hair and a matching moustache and beard that helped reduce both his youthful nature and that creepy skinned look that humans always generated in Dsune. He had been a more frequent participant in government briefings since the start of the War, and always projected an air of confidence in the overall situation despite his age.

Not now, though. “My office has lost off-world contact as well, Ma’am. There was nothing in any of our reports that would have even hinted at this offensive. There were Starfleet Intelligence reports several months ago of the Ferasans attempting to form an alliance with the Dominion, but nothing seemed to have come of it.” He flushed a deep scarlet, glancing up at the holograms. “I can’t imagine how they managed to be as successful as they’ve been, Ma’am.”

“I’m sure you can’t.” Dsune grunted – thanks, Cub, you’re about as useful as a toothless fur comb – signalling P’Sat to join Huyutr and herself, dropping her voice to a whisper, praying for some good news. Somewhere. Anywhere. “How secure are we here?”

The Field Marshall’s muzzle jutted out. “We raised shields around the building as soon as you arrived, we have armed guards on all levels, we have independent power, supplies, and we’re working on bypassing the interference they’re generating...” Then he looked at her. “But you and the other civilian staff might be better leaving now in the subshuttle for the dock, to join the Deep Keep. My people will keep them busy, and then detonate and collapse the tunnels.”

Dsune bristled. More than a thousand years, their people had lived on this world, successfully defending themselves from any and all invaders. And now that was about to end, today, on her watch... “No. I have to stay.”

P’Sat pushed her spectacles up her short muzzle, swallowing, her emerald eyes wide with fear... but also resolve. “Stilts... First Minister... there’s nothing further for you to do here. Our people will need you in the days and weeks to come. I’ll arrange for your family to join you-”

Alarms sounded, as the lights flickered and died around them. People froze, but Huyutr reached for the plasma pistol in his hip holster, glancing around. “Guards! Take positions! P’Sat! Get her and yourself down to the subshuttle station! NOW!”

Suddenly, multiple purple-red glows of transporter beams at strategic points throughout the Ops Centre filled in the darkness, beams quickly replaced by armed figures: Jem’Hadar and Ferasans, firing away.

Chaos erupted, people screaming and dropping to the floor. P’Sat tackled her friend and employer, covering Dsune’s head as disruptor bolts soared and seared above them, striking walls, floors, stations... people... the smoke- the smell-

The silence.

The terrible silence.

Then a deep, booming, triumphant voice asked, “Who’s in charge here?”

Dsune pushed P’Sat’s arms off her – gasping at the sight of Field Marshall Huyutr lying there, dead, a disruptor burn smouldering on his chest – and she looked up.

There were her staff members, those still alive, forced down to their knees around the Ops Centre. And there was the Jem’Hadar: tall, armoured, reptilian, with olive-skinned, studded faces like the hides of desert hornback lizards, and wielding short, stubby black weapons, along with a single, soft-looking humanoid standing in the background, dressed in a beige that seemed to match his demeanour, silent and observant.

But her attention focused on what were obviously the Ferasans, creatures she had only ever seen in documentaries: like Caitians, but taller, more muscular-looking, this muscularity enhanced with Klingon-like armoured uniforms, and with short, thin, rat-like tails, and prominent sabre teeth sticking out of their flat muzzles. They were all dark-furred, with none of the variety among Caitians... and none of the pleasing scents that Caitians exhibited.

“Familiar, but different enough to give you nightmares...” That’s how Fleet Captain Shall, the only Caitian Dsune knew who had met one in the flesh, had once described them, and Dsune could understand that now. There was enough commonality to see that Caitians and Ferasans had once been the same race, like Vulcans and Romulans.

But whereas the more aggressive Romulans left their homeworld and the more peaceful Vulcans, the more peaceful Caitians had left their homeworld to escape the more aggressive Ferasans, who had genetically augmented themselves, and were determined to enslave or exterminate what they now saw as their inferior cousins.

They were said to be arrogant, proud, superior in attitude. She saw that, too, scented it now.

And she noticed who was the leader: tall, even by Ferasan standards, with wicked scars on his muzzle, the scars highlighted with broad red war stripes, and colourful insignia on his uniform with a cape that fluttered as he walked around, gloved paws held out, snarling once more. “I asked who was in charge here? Be warned: I don’t like asking questions twice. A third time, and I promise you, heads will roll.”

Dsune started to rise – until P’Sat rose first, pushing the First Minister down as she announced, “I am.”

The Lead Ferasan looked at the short administrator. “You are First Minister Shellis Dsune?”

P’Sat stepped forward, straightening up, trembling. “I am. I ask you not to hurt anyone else-”

The Ferasan drew up to her quickly, grabbed either side of her head, and twisted, breaking her neck quickly and cleanly.

Dsune and other Caitians cried out, Dsune’s eyes widening in horror as she watched the Ferasan hold up the body of her associate, her friend of many years, by her head like a mistreated doll, before finally releasing it, letting the body fall to the floor with a sickening thud.

The Lead Ferasan held out his arms. “I don’t like asking questions twice. I like deception even less. Now I’ll start punishing more people until your cowardly leader finally makes himself known-”

Dsune shot up to her feet. “STOP!”

The Lead Ferasan regarded her. “A woman. Of course. Should subsequent generations ever ask how your planet fell in one day, they merely have to see it was because a woman was in charge.” He stepped on P’Sat’s body as he walked over her to approach Dsune. “I am Pridemaster Melem-Adu, of the Black Pelt Pride. I am the new Master Governor of Cait during this transitional period into its place as part of the Ferasan Patriarchy. You may kneel and offer deference due to me.”

Dsune forced herself not to instinctively back away from him, forced herself not to tremble or think about her family or her planet or the next five minutes. She had to be the leader, she had to maintain some control. “You- You have no right to-”

His paw, long and thin, sheathed in a studded fingerless glove, swung out with uncanny speed, smacking her across the muzzle and sending her sprawling to the floor.

“Repeating myself, attempts at deception... and disobedience. You’re learning more of what I dislike than what I like; that approach won’t leave you breathing for much longer, I promise.” He looked around him. “Beam down our technicians, take over these stations. We need to restore order as quickly as possible.”

As she heard the sound of more transporter beams bringing down more Ferasans, Dsune reached up to her muzzle, winced at her own touch, tasted blood. No one had ever struck her, not even her parents when she was said to be the naughtiest cub in her clan. Cold, atavistic fear gripped her like the floor... but she couldn’t just lie there-

“Pridemaster Melem-Adu!”

Dsune, Melem-Adu and others, turned to see the Starfleet Captain Phelps, disarmed and sporting bleeding claw marks across the right side of his face, approach slowly, stopping when Ferasans and Jem’Hadar aimed their weapons in his direction, and he glanced in Dsune’s direction.

But, to his credit, he mustered his courage as he continued. “I am the representative of Starfleet, and de facto representative of the United Federation of Planets, on Cait. This is a member world of the Federation, within our territory, and you have committed an illegal act of aggression. You and your forces are hereby ordered to leave with immediate effect.”

Melem-Adu stared at him, appearing expectant, almost confused.

Dsune understood that feeling. What did the human think he was doing?

Then the Ferasan made a sound as he continued to stare at Phelps. “Oh. You’re being serious. I was waiting for a punchline.” Then he looked towards the nearest group of Jem’Hadar, where Dsune saw the unidentified humanoid. “Welros! What is our ally’s policy regarding the disposition of Starfleet personnel in this instance?”

The humanoid, an effete male-seeming figure with alabaster skin and violet eyes, drew forward, his mannerisms making Dsune think of someone born to kiss the tails of others. He smiled broadly. “The Dominion and the Ferasan Patriarchy are not yet formal allies, Master Governor; we are only offering a minimal amount of initial support at this time, to observe how you operate under these conditions.” He held out a hand towards Melem-Adu. “What is your policy regarding the disposition of Starfleet personnel in this instance? You command this world now, after all.”

The Pridemaster grunted in satisfaction. “Yes. I do.” He snapped his fingers, and a shorter, younger-looking Ferasan male approached. “Dakea-Mad... find the kitchens in this place.” He indicated Phelps. “And take our esteemed representative of Starfleet, and de facto representative of the United Federation of Planets, with you. We’ll have a Victory Feast tonight, and he can play an important part in it.”

The younger Ferasan grunted and drew up to the human, who looked confused by the orders, glancing at Melem-Adu. “You don’t seem to understand the gravity of this situation, Pridemaster-” Then he struggled, as the Ferasan grabbed him and dragged him away, helped with other Ferasans. “Stop this! I’m not going to help cook some damned meal for all of you! Stop this at once-”

He continued protesting even after the door slid closed on his departure.

Melem-Adu looked down at Dsune, chuckling. “He really doesn’t understand what’s going to happen to him, does he?”

Neither did she... until she did.

And her heart leapt into her mouth. “Y-You... You can’t... eat sentient beings! You can’t!”

He smiled down at her. “Oh, don’t mewl about the furless monkey, Caitian; you have other things to worry about. Get up.”

Dsune hesitated... but then complied when he reacted to her hesitation, caught in his gaze as he summoned another Ferasan to approach, nodding to the Caitian. “Escort the former First Minister to our Command ship. Mahar-Gad and his Pride performed well in destroying the Mother’s Fury, and they deserve a treat.”

Before Dsune could respond, the other Ferasan clasped his paw on her shoulder, and both of them were swallowed up in the quantum stream of a transporter beam- No NO NO-

*

The Global Communications Silence had continued when the Tailless had landed unannounced on the Clanlands of the Mroara-Lnee. The Matriarch Jnill was indignant at the arrival, striding up as the side door opened and Hrelle rushed out. “We are not a spaceport, Captain! These grounds are among the finest-”

“Excuse me, Jnill,” Kami interrupted, seeing and scenting the anxiety in her husband. “What’s going on, Esek? There are no calls, no transmissions, nothing.”

He stopped, seeing Mirow and Ptera catch up, the latter pregnant and cradling Sreen. “There’s a fleet of Ferasan and Jem’Hadar ships in orbit. They’re behind the communications blackout.”

“Seven Hells...” Kami gasped.

Mirow held onto Ptera. “It can’t be-”

“Impossible!” Jnill declared defiantly. “The Navy, the Militia, wouldn’t allow them to get even close to us!”

Hrelle looked to her. “Sasha and I directly witnessed the destruction of at least two of our planetbound Militia bases, and our accessing of satellites confirmed the same has happened with dozens of other bases throughout Cait. Tens, hundreds of thousands have died today.”

Sreen began crying, sensing the change in mood, and Kami went for her. “We have to get in touch with Mama, Esek! She’ll need our help!”

He nodded, but clarified, “We might be able to sneak past the enemy ships with the Prowl unit on the Tailless... assuming they haven’t broken our cloaking frequencies. But we’ll also need to get in touch with the Starfleet and Federation offices in First City-”

“Dad!”

They turned as Sasha emerged from her ship. “The communication blocks have dropped! They’ve announced a Global Broadcast imminent, everyone’s been urged to watch and listen!”

He looked back at the others. “Come on.”

The group moved as one onboard the ship, crowding together in the roomier aft section, dominated in one corner by a holographic transmission advising to PLEASE STAND BY, Hrelle asking, “Was there any explanation, any detail-”

Sasha shook her head, indicating the image before them. “Nothing, but this is being broadcast on all channels, all frequencies. They even set off the Public Disaster Alarms on the nightside of the planet, to wake everyone there up.”

“Mom...” Mirow breathed, sounding less an adult now. Kami reached out with her free paw and patted him on the shoulder.

Then PLEASE STAND BY vanished, replaced by the image of a tall, highly-decorated Ferasan male, who looked left to right, as if able to see the hundreds of millions now watching and listening to him. “To the people of Cait... to my cousins... I greet you. I am Pridemaster Melem-Adu, of the Ferasan Patriarchy.

I am your humble servant.

And I am honoured to finally be allowed to walk upon your world, to breathe your air and drink in your scents and hear your voices, after being denied for so long.

And more: to free you from the terrible, secret oppression you have lived under for far too long. An oppression of lies and fear.”

*

In homes and offices, in schools and hospitals and recreation halls and shopping centres, and on exterior screens in all public areas throughout Cait, the broadcast continued.

“Long ago, your ancestors were deceived into leaving your world – our world, yours and mine – by their leaders, a cabal of power-hungry collaborators, intent on cleaving you from your birthright, your heritage, in order to establish their own little matriarchal dictatorship out here.

And in the centuries since then, truths had been hidden from you, hidden and twisted and corrupted, by the descendants of those collaborators. By those in your Matriarchy Council. By their enforcers in the Militia and the Planetary Navy. And by their spymasters in the Mother’s Claws. They are the ones who have woven lies about us, about our intent, and they have been aided and abetted by the corrupt, self-serving United Federation of Planets and their Starfleet lackeys.”

*

In Shanos Minor, Jhess stood beside Mreia, Shau and the rest of the restaurant patrons, staring at the public screen outside, or at their minicoms or PADDs. Shau looked to his father. “Dad? What’s he talking about? It’s not true, is it?”

Jhess stared up in disbelief. “No, son, of course not!”

He reached out to grasp his paw.

But his mother had pulled him away from his father.

*

The Ferasan Pridemaster held out his arms, as if to embrace the world. “We are family. We have missed you: our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our sons and daughters. We have so much to offer each other. But all our attempts to approach you peacefully were met with violent resistance.”

“Bullshit,” Sasha muttered.

Hrelle agreed, and felt the same from Kami... but he noted the confusion from the likes of Mirow and Ptera... and the stronger measure of doubt from Jnill.

*

“This culminated in a terrible plan to commit genocide upon the civilian population of Ferasa Prime, with horrifying weapons of mass destruction, weapons supplied to them by Starfleet. Weapons that were to be launched from Militia Bases throughout Cait, and from the ships of the Planetary Navy standing guard at the edge of the system.”

Melem-Adu looked sorrowful now. “But they underestimated the power of their own murderous weapons, and tragically, they detonated before they could be used, at the cost of so many thousands of lives, on Cait and in space... including the war criminal, Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall.”

The group in the Tailless gasped. Kami’s jaw dropped, and her golden eyes widened. “Mama?”

Hrelle reached out and took her paw in his. Ma’Sala Shall, dead? Kami’s mother, their Matriarch, the female who had adopted him as her own? It couldn’t be...

*

In the main house of the Shall Clanlands, Bneea and Mi’Tree sat alone, having put Misha to bed before the transmission, hearing the news.

“No,” Mi’Tree murmured, tears welling up. “This isn’t happening. Please... please, Bneea, tell me this isn’t happening...”

Bneea leaned in, an arm around his husband, unable to take his eyes from the nightmare unfolding before him, wishing desperately to offer assurances that none of this was real, that their partner of so many years, the force of nature who seemed so invincible to him, was dead.

And the Enemy was on their world.

*

“I offer all of you my deepest and most sincere condolences,” Melem-Adu continued, sadly, sympathetically. “Not just at the loss of so many lives... but at the sheer needlessness of it all.

We are not your enemy. We never have been.

We are family.

Upon detection of the detonations, we arrived to render what aid we can. Your First Minister, Shellis Dsune, who masterminded this attempt at genocide, confessed before committing suicide, rather than face a war crimes trial. Her accomplices in the Matriarch’s Tribunal remain fugitives at large.

A Provisional Government is being put in place even as I speak, and our Peacekeeping Forces will remain in orbit and in the major metropolitan areas, providing security and stability in the absence of any trustworthy authority. And I will remain here, acting in a custodial capacity as Governor.

He raised a paw to his unseen audience, open and inviting. “There has been too much violence. Too much blood. Too much pain. And we have been separated for far too long.

But the healing begins today.

Our future is together. Let us lead you there.”

*

“The transmission has ended, Master Governor,” the Ferasan technician informed him.

Melem-Adu lowered his paw, pleased with the new title, pleased with the transmission, pleased with the unbelievable good fortune, for him and for his Pride. He had used the alien data transmissions they had received about the Caitians to force the Highest Patriarch to grant him governership, and to unite the major Prides of the Ferasans together, for this, their biggest operation. And he would take full advantage of this opportunity. Yes, Highest, you’d best watch yourself, I will take your place too before long... “How many watched and listened?”

“The whole planet, Master Governor. Approximately five hundred million.”

Melem-Adu grunted with satisfaction. “Five hundred million fucking sheep.”

*

Sasha piloted the Tailless back to the Shall Clanlands, while her Dad comforted Kami and Sreen in the back. She scanned the Planetary Navy channels, desperately trying to belie the claims of the Ferasans about Grandma’s death. But they were as silent as the Starfleet channels.

As impossible as it seemed, Ma’Sala Shall, the Storm Bringer, the Scourge of the Enemies of Cait, had fallen.

They were alone. Trapped.

*

In a crushed but contained darkness somewhere millions of kilometres away, a broken male voice called out, “Fleet Captain? Are you there?”

Silence.

TO BE CONTINUED in CHAPTER 2: ANSWER THE CALL