Chapter 2: Answer the Call

USS Surefoot, Captain’s Ready Room:

Admiral Tattok knew how to seem tall. Being of a people that was seen as shorter than most of the freakishly-tall races in the Quadrant, he had long-since grown accustomed to compensating through sheer force of personality. His rank and reputation illustrated his success in that area.

Nevertheless, now was not one of those successes, feeling very small right now as he briefed the assembled senior officers of this ship – and his own son, Captain Weynik of the Ajax – as to the incredible turn of events of the past day. “The reports from the Pericles scouting the edge of the system have confirmed the worst: a combined fleet from the Dominion and the Ferasan Patriarchy swept into the Caitian sector. 

The Caitian colonies on Azure Aura, Perigord and Alchemy have been destroyed... with no survivors. There is wreckage on the outer perimeter of the Caitian system identified as the remains of the Caitian Planetary Navy... again, with no survivors.

A Starfleet research vessel, the Kanaloa, was in orbit around Cait engaged in shore leave when the invasion fleet swept in; they barely escaped, having had to leave some of their personnel behind. And... a subsequent broadcast from Cait itself has confirmed the Ferasans have decimated the planetbound Militia and seized control.”

The group reacted, the greatest reactions from those in the foreground: Weynik, the First Officer T’Varik and Chief of Security Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, who held the greatest familial ties to those currently stranded on Cait. The Vulcan T’Varik was the first to respond, more with a statement than a question. “There is no news regarding Captain Hrelle and his family.”

“Nothing as yet. But of course, they are experienced, highly capable officers on their home territory-”

C’Rash growled, the black-furred female baring her claws and teeth. “When do we go?”

“Lieutenant-”

“Yes,” Weynik cut in. “When do we go? The Ajax will be ready to warp in five minutes. T’Varik, you can command here, we’ll let the others in the Fleet catch up with us-”

“Captain...” Tattok started.

The Vulcan’s face remained taut and fixed on the Admiral. “I believe we have yet to hear the worst of today’s news.”

The Roylan senior officer grunted. “You are correct, Commander. This invasion has occurred almost simultaneously with another, into the Betazed system. The Dominion assembled their forces in the Kalandra sector, which Starfleet Intelligence had believed was too far from their supply lines to present a major threat. 

The attack caught the Tenth Fleet, assigned to protect Betazed and its outlying colonies, out of position on a training exercise. The Dominion met little resistance from Betazed's obsolete planetary defence system, and was able to conquer the planet in a mere ten hours-”

C’Rash stepped forward, fighting as T’Varik and Weynik grasped her arms and held her back. “I don’t give a shit about the fricking Betazoids! My Matriarch’s dead! My family’s trapped on the Motherworld, with those Rat-tails threatening all of my people! Why are you talking about Betazed?”

Here we go... “Because effective immediately we’ll be joining the Tenth Fleet in retaking the Betazed sector.”

The group lost all attempts at maintaining professional decorum now, audibly protesting, Weynik being the one bold enough to demand, “What makes the Betazoids more deserving of help than the Caitians?”

“I suspect it is not a question of the Betazoids being more ‘deserving’,” T’Varik ventured, though her voice remained taut. “But rather the greater strategic importance of the Betazed Sector in comparison to the Caitian.”

Tattok nodded. “That is essentially correct, Commander. With Betazed under its control, the Dominion is now in a position to strike at the heart of Federation territory, including such core worlds as Andor, Tellar, Alpha Centauri, Vulcan... and Earth. 

In comparison, Cait sits in a more remote, less inhabited sector of space, and was considered a less valuable target for the Dominion. Also, traditionally, the Caitians have always been more than prepared to defend their sector, especially against Ferasans. So, no serious consideration was ever given to assisting them.”

C’Rash crossed her arms, her teeth bared. “Well, that worked out fricking brilliantly, didn’t it, asshole?”

T’Varik tightened her hold on her partner... but stepped forward. “Admiral, please excuse Lt Shall’s outburst. The shock of this news-”

Tattok raised his eyestalks to her. “Apologies, Commander, I was momentarily distracted. Was there some outburst I missed?”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow, but accepted the subtle acknowledgement. “Admiral, I must confess to my own emotional contamination to this news. We all share concern for Captain Hrelle and his family, for all the planet.”

“Yeah,” Weynik agreed darkly. “I’ve tangled with the Ferasans before. They’re savage, monstrous- Damn it, Dad, Naida only just left the planet after vacationing with the Hrelles! If my daughter – your granddaughter! - had delayed returning home by one day-”

“I know,” Tattok confessed, looking to the others. “And I share the same feelings. And I’d like nothing better than to lead the Thirteenth Fleet to Cait and drive the Ferasans and Dominion into the sun. But we simply do not have the resources at this time to divert to Cait. 

But we’re not giving up on them. There are operations in place to learn what we can, and see if we can make secret contact with Captain Hrelle.” He stared up at C’Rash, awaiting a response.

The Caitian tightened her posture... but then relaxed and straightened up, glancing at T’Varik. “We- We were due to start our shore leave tomorrow. We should have left with Uncle Esek and Aunt Kami. We could have been there, with them, helping.”

Tattok nodded. “You have my understanding and sympathy, Lieutenant. As it happens, I will selfishly be grateful that you and Commander T’Varik are still here, as we need all the experienced, familiar hands onboard. The Fleet leaves within the hour to join the Tenth.” 

He looked to T’Varik. “Effective immediately, you are temporarily promoted to the rank of Captain, and will assume command of the Surefoot. I realise that this is short notice for you, Captain, and under adverse circumstances, but I have faith that you will prevail.”

T’Varik nodded formally, but asked, “I will appoint a temporary First Officer-”

“One is already on his way,” Tattok informed her. “Commander Dominic Murphy.”

“Who?” C’Rash snapped, her twitching tail matching her tone.

“Technically he is a Captain,” Tattok clarified, ignoring C’Rash to focus on her partner. “Having just finished a long tour as Senior Science Officer on the Sherwood, he is due to take command of the Messenger, but they’ve had delays in their latest refit, so he has agreed to remain at his Commander rank and assist you temporarily. He is highly experienced.”

“This crew has enough experienced officers to take the role,” Weynik pointed out. “Why bring in an outsider?”

T’Varik folded her hands behind her back. “I suspect the Admiral has chosen Murphy precisely because of his ‘outsider’ status. To provide oversight.”

The Roylan Admiral made a sound. “Your powers of perception do you credit. I am aware of the... close familial ties that ‘Papa Cat’ has cultivated on the Surefoot. This has served you extremely well in the past, I must admit. But it may also offer a temptation should certain individuals choose to – I don’t know, accidentally find themselves on a rescue mission to the Caitians? – and I have made Commander Murphy aware.” He focused on T’Varik. “Not that you would ever act in such a brash, emotional manner, Captain.”

“Of course not, Sir,” she lied.

Tattok regarded her, before looking to his son. “We need to return to our respective ships, and prepare to move out with the rest of the Fleet. Captain T’Varik, under the circumstances we’ll forgo any formal celebrations of your temporary promotion.”

She nodded with genuine, if understated gratitude. “That would be appreciated, Sir.”

As the two Roylans moved to depart from the room, Weynik looked to T’Varik and the others remaining. “You need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Captain.” As they left, T’Varik turned to the remaining crew, a mix of old and new, many still looking shocked by the news, both about the invasion, and about their inability to respond to it. And about her promotion to Captain as well, no matter how temporary? She reminded herself.

Then she dismissed such notions as illogical and unnecessary. Anyone who knew her would know that as much as she desired command, she would not have wanted this at such a price. They needed decisive leadership, reassurance.

And it fell to her to provide it. “Lt Bellator, prepare for the arrival of Commander Murphy. Lt Arrington, Chief Sakai, prepare the ship for departure. Doctor Masterson, brief the rest of the medical staff as to the circumstances... and recommend an appropriate person to fill the role of Counselor, should the need arise. And rest assured, should further information be obtained about Captain Hrelle and his... our family... then I will keep you appraised. Dismissed.”

Everyone responded, and then left. Everyone but C’Rash, whose stress was clear even without the psychic rapport they shared as partners. The Caitians paced like some animal in a cage, going mad, her growls growing louder and louder until she let out a roar, claws bared and head tilted back.

Then she bent over, her breath ragged, prompting T’Varik to approach-

-Until C’Rash growled again. “You... You kept us delayed here!”

“Yes,” T’Varik agreed.

“If you hadn’t, we’d be there now, helping out in the fight against the Rat-tails!”

“Yes.”

“Instead, we’re stuck here! Helpless!”

“Yes.”

C’Rash snarled furiously, “IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?”

“No.” T’Varik drew closer, her voice lowered, uncharacteristically vulnerable and emotional. “I need you, Beloved. I need you to forgive me for the circumstances that have separated us from our family. I need you to take the time to grieve for your Matriarch... later. And I need you to support me, with the responsibility I must reluctantly bear, instead of following our shared instincts and running to the aid of our loved ones.”

She held out a hand, fingers outstretched. Inviting.

C’Rash drew her paw up, to intertwine her fingers with her partner’s, before pulling them together into a tight, fierce embrace, both of them needing each other far more than either would ever admit out loud. Or need to.

*

Capitol Building, First City, Planet Cait:

Melem-Adu, Pridemaster of the Black Pelt Pride and Master Governor of the planet, picked the last of the meat he found on the bone in his paws, before tossing the bone over his shoulder and licking his fingertips, never looking up at the Caitian who stood silently several metres away, flanked by Ferasan guards. “So... you’re Renthri Lessade, former Governor of some shitty little icebox of a province in the Northern Circle?”

The Caitian, an older male with russet fur and a fearful, confused expression in his eyes as he glanced at the Ferasans who had appeared in his home hours before and dragged him here, swallowed. “I, ah, I am still the Governor of the R’Trerah Gulf and Archipelago-”

Melem-Adu looked up at him finally.

“Unless you say differently, of course,” Lessade clarified hurriedly.

The Master Governor smiled and rose from his side. “Don’t look so glum, Caitian. You’re getting a promotion, effective immediately: you are the new Provisional First Minister.”

The Caitian male started. “M-Me? The new First Minister?”

“Provisional,” Melem-Adu clarified.

“B-But- the Electoral process-”

The Ferasan Master Governor held out his arms, as if to encompass the world. “First Minister, look around you! Your planet is in chaos! It has been ruled by a cabal of females who have dominated the government, industry and the military for generations! And now their attempt at the genocide of my people has backfired, but it is your people who will suffer as a result!”

“Suffer? What do you mean?”

Now Melem-Adu frowned. “Have you not been keeping up with the news in your little icebox? The Starfleet-sponsored terrorism attempted by the Caitian Militia has spread metreonic fallout throughout the world! Millions of lives are at stake! Many will die, and many more will become permanently sterile, without our immediate help! We have no time to engage in a lengthy and corrupt electoral mechanism!”

Now he pointed to Lessade. “I will continue to supervise the behind-the-scenes rescue and security operations, while you provide the population with a familiar face, to reassure them that we are here as benefactors, not conquerors. Well? Are you up for the challenge?”

Lessade swallowed again, eyes wide. “In the face of such calamity, how... how can I possibly refuse you?”

Melem-Adu shrugged. “Well, you could be like the last Caitian I brought in here four hours ago and offered the job. He refused, quoting procedure and legislation... and he ended up in the kitchens.” 

He licked the last of his meal off his fingers, looking to one of the nearby Ferasans. “ThirdSon, find some unoccupied office for our new First Minister, make him comfortable, get him some food, good clothes and females to keep him company.” He spared a final look to Lessade. “Don’t worry about speeches or appearances; we’ll tell you what to say and do. Scurry along now, Caitian.”

Minutes later, Melem-Adu stepped into the Operations Centre, now fully staffed with Ferasans, with Jem’Hadar standing guard in the periphery, and Melem-Adu’s Seconds, a dozen senior Pridemasters who helped him unite their people in order to gain substantial amounts of glory – and the spoils of conquest.

Standing slightly apart from everyone else, the Dominion’s representative, the Vorta Welros, remained silent and observant as always. Melem-Adu kept his initial disgust at the effete furless humanoid in check; the Patriarchy needed their auxiliary forces, and their fearsome reputation. At least for now. “Well? What do you think of my operations here?”

The beige-skinned figure turned and smiled unctuously. “I’m quite impressed with the  efficiency with which your forces have seized control of the planetary infrastructure.” He raised a slight hand and indicated the various overhead displays. “And my Jem’Hadar troops are reporting successes in their efforts to search the former sites of the Caitian Militia bases for survivors.”

“Ah, yes, the ‘Rescue Teams’.” Melem-Adu and several other Pridemasters laughed at that. “Rescuing them from survival!” He began gesturing to the other displays. “Our Orbital Transporter Network will be operational before tomorrow. We are also locating and eliminating those planetbound operatives of the Mother’s Claws.” At Welros’ expression, he explained, “The Caitian Secret Service. The intelligence data we received included the identities of many of the secret agents, who may prove to be disruptive to our purposes.

Most importantly, however, are our efforts to manipulate the Caitian social media platforms.”

Welros’ brow furrowed. “‘Social media’? I am not familiar with that term.”

The Pridemaster grunted. “Unsurprising, given the strong, homogenous nature of the Dominion. The Caitians are sickeningly gregarious: all soft and fuzzy and desperate to share with everyone else their feelings and opinions and images of their meals and their mates and their cubs’ first shits. Through Cynet platforms with twee names like Purrsona, MyClan, Spacebook and Pawprint, they offer their perceptions of the world around them... and they get their perceptions shaped in turn.

So now we are the Shapers of those perceptions: we are feeding them accounts of Caitians confirming the facts of my speech yesterday, detailing past atrocities committed by the Militia and the Matriarch’s Tribunal, the war crimes of Starfleet and the Federation... and of course, the Metremia Threat.”

“I see,” Welros opined, nodding. “But surely they won’t be that susceptible to manipulation?”

“Not all,” the Master Governor conceded, “But they will find themselves in the minority, without outside corroboration. We’re also restricting and amending the public information databases to support our claims.”

The Vorta nodded in understanding. “You will compensate for your comparable small numbers though propaganda, and claim their hearts and minds. Efficient.” He paused and asked, “And the Camps you require? You have selected appropriate sites around the planet?”

Melem-Adu nodded back. “Local industries will be conscripted towards their construction. And we’re scanning the medical databases for suitable candidates.” He smiled broadly. “Everything is going to plan.”

*

Shall Clanlands, Mnara Province:

Bneea looked at the growing numbers of clan members who have been arriving, wishing it had not been for such a terrible occasion. Indeed, the last time had been some years ago, at the wedding of Kami’s son Mirow, when they first met Captain Esek Hrelle.

It would be like this over the coming days, with relatives, Kin and Bond and Kith, and outsiders showing up, offering their condolences over the loss of Ma’Sala. He had expected more outsiders, people who knew Ma’Sala through their prominent role in the Navy, but perhaps they were more wrapped up in the overwhelming news of the Occupation.

His husband Mi’Tree, ever the showman, was more accepting of the attention, albeit at a more subdued state than normal, regaling younger relatives with anecdotes about the early days when Ma’Sala had courted Bneea and he, and how she described them as ‘two sides of one magnificent male’.

Bneea grunted to himself. It hadn’t quite been like that; Mi’Tree was always more flamboyant, more lively, but also more likely to get himself and others in trouble, and Bneea, the quieter, more reserved one, would also be the sensible one who bailed everyone out, who was self-reliant.

Oh Ma’Sala... I knew in the back of my mind that this day was always just around the proverbial corner, with your profession. I just figured – and hoped – you were too tough to let Death take you-

“Bneea.”

He turned, gasping at the sight of the older female with ash-black fur standing before him, a female with a strangely familiar scent and face. “S’Graow?”

She grunted, nodding curtly. It had been literal decades since he had last seen her, but she appeared in fit condition, dressed in an expensive-looking mourning dress, her tail drooping a little with age. “Bneea... it’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you.” He nodded back, not quite sure what to say, the memory of the female’s last visit to the Clanlands still raw even after all this time. Despite those feelings, he reminded himself, this was a solemn occasion, and not one for clawing up the past. “You look well.”

She grunted again. “I feel like shit. Gravity is a harsh mistress on your back, boobs and tail when you reach our age.”

Despite himself, Bneea smirked. You’re still very much Ma’Sala’s sister. “Thank you for coming. I know the circumstances of your last time with the Clan weren’t... ideal...“

“That’s putting it mildly,” she agreed. “But in retrospect, it seems so petty now. All I can think of is all the time wasted since then, and now I don’t have the chance to mend the fences with her.” She glanced around. “Your daughter, Kami. Is she not here? As Ma’Sala’s daughter, she should be present.”

Bneea raised his muzzle. “Upstairs, with her infant Sreen. She is still coming to terms with the news of her mother’s loss.”

S’Graow frowned with disapproval. “She’s an adult, not some cub that needs her snout and arse wiped.”

Bneea frowned back. “Age has no bearing on grief. And between our loss, and the events of the last two days-”

“YOU!”

All eyes turned as Mi’Tree, catching scent of the new arrival, strode up, his tail twitching behind him in anger. “What are you doing here?”

The female appeared insouciant to the outburst. “Hello, Kith-Brother.”

“Mi’Tree,” Bneea cautioned him, clasping his partner’s forearm.

Mi’Tree shook it off. “Don’t you ‘Kith-Brother’ me! You have no business being here! Ma’Sala ordered you off the Clanlands after your perfidy!”

S’Graow bristled. “That was ancient history, Mi’Tree. And Ma’Sala is gone now. We need to move on, make amends.”

He drew closer to S’Graow, growling. “Oh, are we all friendly now? One big happy clan again? We should just forget your betrayal, your lies? Don’t piss on me and call it rain!”

A steel emerged in her expression, as she growled back, “My pissing on you could only improve your scent, you miserable old libertine-”

“Stop it!” Bneea pleaded, aware of the rest of the clan in attendance watching, and his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “This is not the place to reopen old wounds!”

“Papas.”

All turned to the top of the staircase, where Kami stood, Sreen in her arms, looking down on all, before she descended, nodding politely to others who offered greetings and condolences, before approaching the elder relatives.

Bneea calmed himself, knowing how much his daughter need him, needed them all. “Kami, you remember your Aunt S’Graow?”

She nodded as she approached. “It’s been too long.” She drew in, not for a full hug, with the infant in Kami’s arms, but close enough to take in the scent of the new arrival. “This is my daughter, Sreen.”

S’Graow drew in to rub her muzzle against the infant’s, before straightening up again. “A lovely cub, Niece.”

“You needn’t bother faking interest,” Mi’Tree muttered behind her. “The cub has no money for you to steal.”

Bneea growled at him. “Enough!”

The older female made a visible effort to ignore Mi’Tree, in fact literally turning her back to him, to focus on Kami, offering a smile. “I remember last seeing you when you were setting off for Starfleet Academy. It’s been a long time since then.”

“It didn’t have to be,” Kami pointed out. “I had invited you to my son’s wedding six years ago.”

The smile dropped. As easily as it had been raised. “No... Ma’Sala would not have permitted my return.”

“She would have, if you had responded to me. I would have convinced her.”

S’Graow drew back, looking offended... but then shook her head. “It’s not that simple. You’re too young to understand.”

Kami grunted. “I’m an adult, not some cub that needs my snout and arse wiped, apparently. And I expect you – all of you – to keep your claws sheathed and put aside the past, because I’m really, really not in the mood for this.” She looked to Bneea. “Where’s Misha?”

“Out keeping Sasha company in her ship, while she continues to try and learn more about the situation.”

She nodded at that. “I received a call from Esek. He’s reached First City, and is headed for the Starfleet Offices to get an update from them.”

“Will it be safe for him?” Mi’Tree asked, concerned. “With those damned Ferasans everywhere?”

“They’re not ‘everywhere’, Papa; ours is a big planet, and there’s only so many of them to go around. And my husband can handle himself... and gather intelligence along the way.”

“Well, I look forward to meeting him later,” S’Graow remarked. “After the Memorial.”

Kami nodded neutrally... and looked to Mi’Tree. “Papa, would you please go make me a shuris sandwich? You know the way I like them.”

The male grunted. “Of course, my little Nova.” He spared a final dirty look at S’Graow and, “I’ll take an inventory of the house silverware while I’m at it.”

*

The black and gold Caitian flyer sat some metres away from the main house, in a large clearing, the starboard hatch open, letting in a warm afternoon breeze. Some of the visitors’ cubs came out to walk around it, but none dared enter.

Inside, Sasha sat in the pilot’s seat, running another attempt to access the outer perimeter satellites, failing and triggering a curse. She paused, waited for a reaction from the other occupant in the cockpit, and when it wasn’t forthcoming, she swivelled in her seat. “Hey, Baby Brother, aren’t you supposed to scold me now about Rude Words?”

Misha was curled up in the seat, staring as if hypnotised at a systems screen displaying fractal patterns of a systems diagnostic. “Don’t wanna.”

Sasha rose and approached, dropping to one knee and stroking the fur on the top of his head. “I know. I’m sad too.”

He bared his teeth as if to chase away the bad thoughts, the emotions welling up inside him like a torrent. “Why the Fearies hurt her? Gramma good!”

She nodded, drawing him into a hug. “Yes. Grandma was good.” He made a mournful sound in her arms, and she held him more tightly, unwilling to let her own emotions be released. She couldn’t. Because it wouldn’t just be for Grandma, it would be for all of the Planetary Navy and the Militia killed in the last 48 hours. 

Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. 

The numbers were inconceivable, and that wasn’t even taking into account their present predicament with the Ferasans. It would break her utterly to face all of that in now.

So she focused on helping her little brother deal with the loss of the only person that mattered to him at this terrible time.

When he’d exhausted himself, and his eyes were drooping, she wiped the tears from his furred face and asked, “Do you want to nap in my cabin?”

He growled, shaking his head.

“My Kaetini sword’s in there,” she pointed out.

Now he stopped growling, and nodded.

She carried him inside, tucking him under the covers, and leaving the sword and scabbard mounted on the wall, in his eyesight. She gave him one of her worn shirts for scent comfort, turned off the lights and slid the door shut.

Kami walked in, Sreen in her arms, the infant eyeing the plate with a shuris sandwich stacked upon it. “Everything okay?”

Sasha smiled gently and approached, taking Sreen from her mother. “Misha had a good cry, it tuckered him out.” She motioned for Kami to enter the cockpit and sit down opposite her, adjusting Sreen on her lap while the infant growled at the injustice of not having food in her grasp. “How are you doing, Mama?”

Kami set the plate on a flat panel, untouched. “Gathering up my reserves. I don’t know if the family drama I’m getting back in the house is a good distraction or something that will set my hackles rising.”

Sasha leaned back in her chair, letting Sreen reach up and tug at her strawberry-blonde locks. “Family drama? Someone you want me to beat up?”

Kami grunted, reaching for the sandwich. “My aunt S’Graow, Mama’s sister.”

“Ma’Sala had a sister? Did I miss her at the last Clan Gathering?”

“No. She hasn’t been back in about thirty years.”

“Oh?” She frowned as Sreen tugged at her hair, before freeing herself. “Something bad happened?”

Kami took a bite, swallowing before replying. “S’Graow would describe herself as an... ‘entrepreneur’.  There was always a new get rich quick scheme with her: real estate, asteroid mining, shuris ranches, colony transport contracts... she’d always breeze back to the household, bringing the cubs alien candies and tall tales of her adventures, before asking for more money. When Ma’Sala was made Matriarch of the Clan on her mother’s death, that ended.

So S’Graow contested Ma’Sala’s leadership, and took her to the Matriarchs’ Courts... telling lies, terrible lies, about Ma’Sala’s unfitness for the responsibility.”

“Unfitness?”

“Claims of physical abuse of cubs, among other things.” She grunted at the notion. “The Courts didn’t believe her, and threw out her claim... and Ma’Sala advised her not to return or contact her or the clan again.”

“Wow.”

“I still sent her an invitation to Mirow and Ptera’s wedding,” Kami added. “Offering a chance at reconciliation. But she never responded. And now she’s back, and my Papas look ready to throw her out on her tail again.”

Sreen growled, raising her stubby paw towards the sandwich and making demanding sounds.

Kami sighed and drew out a strip of grilled shuris meat and handed it to her daughter, who took it and greedily began chewing on it.

Sasha raised her own hand to Kami and growled.

Kami grunted. “Greedy cubs.”  But she offered the young human a piece for herself. “Any word from outside? Starfleet? Surviving Caitian forces?”

“Nothing on the local military channels. The subspace frequencies are being flooded with interference, and attempts to open off-world transmissions through the government and private networks are getting put on hold, stating they are all ‘upgrading their security protocols’.”

She finished off the shuris strip and keyed in a display of various colourful networks. “They’ve left the news and social media channels fully active... but not as much condemnation of the Ferasan takeover as I expected. In fact, there’s a lot of anger about both the Militia and Starfleet.” 

She brought up images of masses of Caitians in various city plazas and parks. “Demonstrations are forming in cities all over Cait, censuring Starfleet and Caitian Military, and supporting the Ferasans who ‘saved’ the planet from domination by the Eliminati.”

“‘Eliminati’?”

Sasha nodded. “The alleged cabal of military and government that has been secretly running the planet for centuries now. I thought you’d know that, being a part of it like me.” She shook her head. “How can people buy into that crap?”

“Caitians are cooperative and trusting, peaceful, by nature; they don’t have much contact with the military, or off-worlders, and especially not Ferasans. We have cognitive biases, like most races, subjective influences in the way we process and interpret information, and for Caitians in particular, there is an Olfactoral Affiliation Bias; we will more likely identify with and believe those who smell like us, than we will with humans, Vulcans or other races.”

Kami studied the scenes, especially of images of Ferasan soldiers walking the streets, speaking with Caitians... even offering the cubs rides on their shoulders. “The bias disappears the more we associate with non-Caitians... but most Caitians never have that opportunity; they’ve never even been off-world. And the accounts of the threat, the atrocities of the Ferasans, are all historical, or second-paw.”

“And all this talk about the Eliminati? Some secret conspiracy? How do so many people seem to accept that nonsense?”

“For some people, it fulfils a sense of epic poetry, or another cognitive bias to make connections with unconnected events and facts. For others, it’s an ego stroke, making them feel smarter, more savvy than people around them, offering the illusion of control over the uncontrollable-” She sat up. “Your Dad checked in with me before I came out here. Is he safe?”

Sasha handed Sreen back to her mother before turning to use both hands at her station. “No disturbances reported in First City. I’d have taken him there myself, but Dad said he wanted the ship, and all of us, to avoid attention for now-” She stopped as an incoming signal flashed on her panel. “What the-”

Kami straightened up as well. “Is it Starfleet?”

“No, a planetbound signal, private channel-” She answered it, and on a smaller screen, the head of a young, cider-furred Caitian male with unusually-long pointed ears and amber eyes appeared, making her start. “M’Turis! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon-”

He cut her off with a raised paw. “We have to keep this short and untraceable, Sasha. Mistress Nvell has ordered the Sumishar.” He paused and asked, “You remember what that means?”

Paling, she nodded. “When? Where?”

“Dusk, on Tamaniday. Inform your father. Keep checking your mail for disguised instructions.”

The screen went blank. Sasha kept staring at the blackness.

Leaving Kami to break the silence. “Was he one of the Kaetini?”

“Yes; we met at the Temple the other day. He teaches Communications Engineering in Shanos Major. Decent fighter. Nice scent.” She turned to Kami, looking stunned. “Mistress Nvell has ordered the Sumishar: The Call to Arms.” 

She was rubbing her hands together nervously. “Kaetini were never meant to be an army, an organised force, or have any real power or authority. We’re here to serve, in whatever way we think is appropriate, and to inspire.

The Sumishar is called when some catastrophe would require as many Kaetini as possible to assemble, seeing each other in greater numbers than we ever might during occasional trips to the Temple, and to take orders. It’s never been called before.” She brought up another satellite image of the Ferasan and Jem’Hadar ships in orbit. “But I guess now is as good a time as any.”

*

Civic Plaza, First City, M’Mirl Province:

Hrelle saw his Ferasan as he emerged from the subshuttle station and into the strong light. There was actually three of them, clad in their Klingon-like armour and furs, their short, thin tails hanging behind them, and carrying large, unfamiliar-looking black weapons slung behind them. They stood near some of the high-spouting Plaza fountains, a rainbow arc forming above.

And Caitian adults and cubs were swarming around them, speaking to them like they were guests instead of invaders.

He found himself standing there, staring in naked disbelief. Just a couple of days ago, half a million Caitians had been killed by these kussiks. But now, overwhelmed by an avalanche of propaganda, and by their own innate desire to cooperate, Caitians were welcoming them. Cautiously, in some instances, but nevertheless...

His personal dealings with the Ferasans had been uniformly hostile. From his early days in Starfleet, assisting the Caitian Planetary Navy in fighting them in the last War, to the numerous times after his escape from Orion slavery, when Ferasans sought him out, to challenge him and earn names for themselves... the last one threatening Kami and Sasha if Hrelle refused. That Rat-tail ended up regretting that-

“Don’t stare.”

Hrelle stopped, turning to face an older, broad-shouldered Caitian male, with stone-coloured fur, stocky body and a broad muzzle. “Excuse me?”

The other male reached out and guided Hrelle to face in another direction and walk, as if they had intended to meet all along. “Don’t stare, especially with such obvious hostility. It attracts their attention, and I don’t think you want their attention now, Captain.”

Hrelle stiffened. “You know me?”

He nodded. “My son met you when you arrived at the Caitian Spaceport six years ago. He took your image and sent it to me, knowing how interested I would be in seeing it.”

Hrelle stopped, glancing around. “Why? Who are you?”

The other male straightened up, though age diminished his physical capacities, and lowered his voice. “Lieutenant Commander Aris Tshal, Retired. Former Second Engineer of the USS Calpurnia. You and the Furyk once saved us from destruction by the Orions.” He held out his paw. “I’m glad I have the chance to thank you personally, Captain.”

Hrelle felt astonished, recalling not only the original incident, but the one where the male’s son had taken the image and showered Hrelle with such praise, making him feel like a celebrity. He accepted the paw. “I’m glad to have had the opportunity to help, Lieutenant Commander.”

Tshal raised a paw to him as they continued walking. “No ranks. We need to keep a low profile. The Enemy are among us. As are those they are duping into seeing us as the Enemy.”

Hrelle bristled at the very notion. “Understood. Can I ask what you’re doing here? It seems a coincidence that we’d meet like this.”

“I suspect you’re here for the same reason I am: to find out why the Starfleet Offices aren’t taking any incoming calls, and to get some answers.”

Hrelle nodded and proceeded. The Offices weren’t something he had visited before in person; most of the time, whenever he registered himself and his family as being back home as per Regulations, he did it electronically. But he knew where it was, and what it looked like.

At least, before the vandalism.

The tinted transparent walls had been damaged, and sprawled across several panels, in big crimson letters, was the word KILLERS. Hrelle exchanged a shocked look with Tshal before proceeding.

A young Caitian male with chestnut-tinted fur and clad in a red-based Starfleet uniform was outside with an abstergent tool, trying to remove the lettering, his tail giving away the anxiety he was feeling. His feelings became clearer as he spun at the approach of the older males, eyeing them suspiciously. “What do you want?”

Hrelle held up a reassuring paw, keeping his voice low as he noted the insignia on the cub’s collar. “It’s okay, Lieutenant, we’re on your side. I’m Captain Esek Hrelle, Active Service, USS Surefoot. This is Lieutenant Commander Tshal, Retired.”

The Lieutenant nodded, relaxing a little. “Lieutenant Mru Mori, Starfleet Administration. Sorry, Sirs, it’s been... eventful, as you’ll already be aware.”

“Yes.” He moved to the open maintenance tool box near the Lieutenant, picking up similar devices, handing on to Tshal as they joined Mori at removing the graffiti. “Are you on your own here, Mr Mori?”

The cub nodded, trying to stay focused on his work. “There’s just the two of us stationed here, Sir. My C.O., Commander Phelps, had been summoned to the Capitol when this emergency rose. 

He’s... not come back, or responded to my hails. I’ve queried the Capitol staff repeatedly, but each time they’re saying he’s being held for questioning. There’s no response from the Federation Office either. And any messages and calls we’ve been getting that aren’t abusive have been Starfleet personnel or families, looking for answers.”

Tshal held up a paw to the damage on the walls. “And this?”

Mori grunted. “Last night, as more so-called information about our ‘atrocities’ are being spread in the media. I reported it to the local Constabulary... but I doubt if that’ll yield any results.” 

He gritted his teeth as he increased the frequency on his tool to quicken the work, and glanced at Hrelle. “Sir, I have a subspace communicator in the office, but I can’t get any messages in or out. What in the Seven Hells is going on? Where’s Starfleet? I’d have expected them to come in by now to repel the invaders?”

Hrelle looked around, making sure there was no one nearby. “They could be out there right now, at the edge of the system, and we wouldn’t know it. We’re not likely to hear anything on the public communications networks; they’ve certainly been compromised.” He paused and added, “But I don’t know if we can just sit around and wait to be rescued.”

“And the Caitian Militia and Planetary Navy, Sir? Are they really... gone?”

Hrelle breathed in, thinking of the terrible losses of life... and in particular, one life, one he loved. “Yes. Our military forces have been all but wiped out completely.”

Mori’s arm dropped, and he stared at the wall, aghast, his scent tinted with fear. “Mother’s Cubs... Sir, this is my first posting after the Academy. My clan... my mother... she was so glad that I’d be back here on the Motherworld... where I can come home each night... where I’d be safe.” He looked to Hrelle. “Sir, in the absence of my commanding officer, I have to turn to you. What are we going to do?”

Hrelle looked to him, and then Tshal. Was Hrelle really the one the cub had to turn to? What was their responsibility now, under these circumstances? What would he do, if he were one of the Ferasans?

He dropped his tool paw. Idiot, you should have thought of this sooner... “Get inside, now.”

They followed him into the offices, an open and cool area that under other circumstances, but now one that felt bleak, Hrelle asking Mori, “Your database? It’s encrypted, yes?”

The Lieutenant moved to a desk and sat down. “Yes, Sir, why?”

“Has there been any attempt to access it externally?”

Mori typed on his keyboard, calling up results. “There are repeated requests from the Caitian government since all this started, wanting an update on on-world Starfleet personnel-”

“You haven’t responded, have you?” Tshal demanded.

“No.” The younger male looked between the two older ones, appearing confused. “Why?”

“Make an emergency portable backup,” Hrelle ordered. “Then wipe it. Wipe all data sources. Hurry!”

Mori reached for an isolinear card, as Tshal looked up at Hrelle. “You think they’ll be coming for us?”

“It’s possible. Especially with how they’re painting us as the villains here. They’ll be afraid of us stirring up trouble.”

“Shouldn’t we be?” the older male asked him.

Hrelle didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. It sickened him that, after little more than a century of their people joining Starfleet, that they would have to act like fugitives on their own planet.

“There,” Mori announced, leaning back and picking up the card. “Our computers and backups are wiped, Sir, except for what I’ve saved here.”

Hrelle accepted and pocketed the card. “This includes identities and locations of Active Duty and Retired Starfleet personnel?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are we gonna do, Captain?” Tshal asked. “I’m ready to don my uniform again. So are a lot of others who have retired. We can still fight for the Motherworld.”

Hrelle didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t agree with their sentiments. But because he didn’t know where to begin.

Until he did. “Lieutenant, is there anything here, anything at all, that could trace you and your address?”

Mori glanced around. “I- I don’t think so, Sir. Of course, Commander Phelps knows who I am and where I live.”

Hrelle looked to him sympathetically. “Mr Mori, in all likelihood, Commander Phelps is dead. Does he have any family on Cait?”

The young cub swallowed, his expression appalled at the notion. “Uh, no, Sir. He- He was human- alone, no family or friends here but me, I guess- and now you say he’s dead-”

Tshal drew up to him, resting a paw on Mori’s shoulder. “There’s no time to think about that, Son. You have to set a message for any subsequent calls or messages that the Starfleet Offices are shut down until further notice... after you do a final search of the place.”

Mori looked to them both, before nodding and moving away. Tshal drew Hrelle over to the transparent walls, as if interested in viewing the Plaza beyond, his voice low. “Well?”

Hrelle’s response was equally low. “This is going to be different from your service days, Aris. We’re fighting on our home turf, not in space. And our families will almost certainly be targeted as well.”

Tshal growled. “We can’t just do nothing!”

“And we can’t just leap into the darkness, either...” Hrelle’s words trailed away as he frowned at something he saw outside, and stepped back out into the Plaza, blinking, Tshal following.

The heat of the day was swaddling, and there was only a slight breeze. But it was enough to lift up the cherry-red flag that was now being erected beside the Ferasan guests. It was a novelty for his people – Cait had no flags or banners – and it drew the attention of cubs and adults alike as it fluttered, its single symbol in the centre reminiscent of the right-side feline profile on many Caitian government and military buildings and vehicles, but looking leaner, sleeker, and certainly more ferocious, with an emphasis on the sabreteeth sported by Ferasans.

And no one seemed to understand what it meant to have the Ferasans flying their flag on Caitian soil.

“This is a nightmare,” Tshal announced, staring with dread.

Hrelle couldn’t argue that.

*

The Shall Clan Memorial Garden held no monuments, no markers, like many humanoid equivalents. There were clusters of colourful, fragrant flowers, and shade beneath the branches of old sablewood trees in full fruit.

The assembled clan gathered in a semi-circle around the perimeter, as Bneea stood at the centre. “We have gathered here to pay tribute to our Matriarch, Ma’Sala. It is a sad duty I hold as one of our Clan’s Elders... but it is also an honoured one. Ma’Sala died in the performance of her duty, a duty she had embraced for over sixty years: the protection of the Motherworld.

She had come courting Mi’Tree and I long ago, longer than most of you have been alive... but it feels like yesterday.” He adjusted his spectacles. “Give or take a few grey furs and kilos around the waist.” 

He paused for their laughter. “We shared our lives over many decades, working together to keep our Clan intact. She was thoughtful, hard-working, indomitable. And she loved as fiercely as she fought. Loved us. Loved her cub Kami. Loved her grandcubs, and all of you.” He paused again as he met S’Graow’s gaze.

Then he looked away. “And because she would demand a balanced assessment of her if she were here, I would also say that she was loud, brash, aggressive, obnoxious, opinionated, stubborn, infuriating-” As the group began to laugh again, he looked to Mi’Tree, who stood with Kami, Sasha and the cubs. “Have I left anything out?”

Mi’Tree held onto his daughter in comfort, but, caught up in the moment, offered, “Ooh, how about cross, impatient, foul-mouthed, flatulent-”

Kami laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “Stop it, you two!”

Standing beside his mother, Misha looked around in confusion. “Why you all laughing at Gramma? It’s rude!”

Kami looked to Sasha, who was holding Sreen, before kneeling down beside her son, stroking him. “Because as sad as we want to feel now, your Grandma would also want us to laugh, and smile, and remember all the happy times we had with her. Because those happy times will keep her with us.”

“And we will need those happy times inside us,” Bneea added, as much to those around them as to his grandcub. “Especially in the coming days. So, all of you, share with each other.” He held out his arms in invitation.

“Bneea.”

He turned, fighting to keep his instinctive reaction in check. “Yes, S’Graow?”

The older female approached. “May I speak with you alone, please?”

“Who she?” Misha demanded. “She smell like Gramma!”

Mi’Tree indulged in a low growl, before patting the cub on the shoulder. “Never you mind about her, lad. Come, let me introduce you to your second cousin Hnarl, his tail is so long he can touch his own snout with it...”

Bneea gave Kami and Sasha a look, before walking away with S’Graow to a quieter part of the Gardens, determined to maintain decorum with the female. “What is it?”

She stopped at the edge of the gardens, looking beyond to Sasha’s ship. “That was a good speech. I think my sister would have approved.”

“Hmph. More than likely she would have complained it didn’t have enough dirty jokes in it.”

S’Graow chuckled. “You’re probably right. Well, I just wanted you to know that I will greatly appreciate your help in the coming weeks. I will of course also include your partner in my gratitude... though I am well aware who has really been maintaining the Clan’s holdings while Ma’Sala has been off-world-”

He raised a paw to cut her off, his hackles rising. “Excuse me, S’Graow, but what help do you need from me?”

She blinked. “Your help with my succession to Clan Matriarch, of course.”

Bneea tensed, feeling like he’d been slapped across the snout. He stepped back. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

S’Graow reacted, noting how Kami, Mi’Tree and the rest of the clan were looking in their direction as a result of his outburst. “I don’t understand- As Ma’Sala’s sister, I’m naturally the next to succeed her as Matriarch-”

“The Seven Hells, you are!” He almost bared his teeth. “Ma’Sala confirmed long ago in her will that Kami would succeed her! Her daughter! Not the sister who spun lies about her!”

Then his bronze eyes widened with blossoming realisation. “Of course... that’s why you showed up now, full of false regrets about not having mended the bridges you burned with her years ago before she died.” He bared his teeth. “What a fool I was, to think there might have been something other than mercenary motives behind your appearance today.”

The female breathed in sharply, indignantly. “You are... sadly mistaken, Bneea. I did make the assumption that I would assume the Matriarchy, and now in retrospect I see how foolish that was... but it certainly isn’t something I desired. 

In the years since I’ve last been here, my fortunes have changed... as has my outlook, on life, on family. I wanted to make amends with my sister, so many times. But I lacked the courage. Now, all I have is regret.”

She looked to the rest of the group, who had turned to witness the argument. “I’m sorry to have disturbed all of you at this time. I’ll take my leave.” She started away, towards the path to the gates.

“Wait.”

Kami drew up to the older Caitian, regarding S’Graow as she approached her. “You don’t have to go. If I am meant to be our Clan’s Matriarch, then I can use that authority to put the past behind us.” She reached out and took S’Graow’s paws in her own. “You are welcome to remain, to consider yourself a part of this family. If you want, that is.”

The other female stared back, with open appreciation and relief. “Thank you, Niece. I- I would be honoured.”

Then Kami drew her into a hug.

And whispered to her, “I’ve been a Counselor for almost thirty years. I know when someone’s lying... like you’ve just done with my Papa. You lie to him, to me, to anyone here again, and you’ll regret it.”

S’Graow pulled back... a little of her true feelings showing.

But Kami slipped an arm around hers and guided her back, looking to Bneea as they returned to the group. “Papa, do you remember when we have the service for Great Grandma Shashon, and I went into my first Season, and Mama had to take me out for a suppressant while everyone was laughing...?”

*

Central Hospital, Highsun, M’Restir Province:

Mirow slipped out of his pilot’s helmet as he walked down the corridor, having brought in a couple of injured passengers from a crashed omnibus on the Eastward Viaduct, his neck aching. It had been a stressful couple of days since the Occupation began, and there had been an increase in accidents and suicides, and he’d had to pull double shifts in his Rescue Flyer.

But now, his focus was on his wife; she was nearing giving birth, but she insisted on continuing her work, despite his insistence, and she assured him that the Head of the Neurosurgery Department was accommodating-

He caught her scent mingled with many others, and followed the scents and sounds to a large common room on the Surgical Floor, where dozens of hospital staff, patients and visitors were crowded around the wallscreen, where a Caitian male he didn’t recognise was speaking, and the audience was muttering and commenting to each other.

He saw Ptera near the doorway, and she looked to him, catching his scent as he approached and they rubbed muzzles, Mirow catching the apprehension in her scent and asking, “Who’s that? What’s going on?”

She nodded to the screen. “That’s the new Provisional First Minister, Lessade, a former Governor up north. He’s claiming the Militia Weapons of Mass Destruction that detonated around the world released huge amounts of metreonic particles into the atmosphere.”

“Metreonic particles? Never heard of them.”

“They’re highly-radioactive and dangerous isotopes that can cause a terrible blood disorder called Metremia. Its mortality rate is very high, but thankfully it’s also very rare.” She looked to the viewscreen. “Or it was.”

Onscreen, Lessade continued. “-uation is far more dire than our initial reports had hoped. The metreonic particles released by the Starfleet weapons of mass destruction on the complicit Militia bases have permeated the atmosphere of every part of this beautiful planet. We have been in intense consultation with the finest oncologists on Cait, who have confirmed that...” 

He swallowed. “Left untreated, between ten and fourteen million Caitians will die slowly and in pain from Primary Metremia in the following six months... with another eight to ten million who will contract Secondary Metremia-induced sterility from exposure to those with Primary Metremia.”

A horrified sound ran through the group, though several in the back loudly spoke up. “What consultation? We have the best Oncology Department in this hemisphere, and this is the first I’ve heard of any Metremia Crisis!”

“That’ll be the Eliminati,” another said, semi-seriously, “Hiding the truth from us.”

“However,” Lessade promised, “Our Ferasan cousins here are already assisting towards establishing medical centres throughout Cait, where they will transport those identified as infected by metreonic particles, or at risk to them. They have sworn to do everything they can for us, and they ask from us nothing more than our trust.”

He took on a grave expression now. “And our vigilance. The Militia has been devastated, but rogue agents exist out there, among us, threatening further acts of sedition, and you are urged to report them to your local authorities.

But we face an even greater danger, from those who have chosen to pledge allegiance to an alien ideal: Starfleet.” Beside Lessade, the Starfleet stylised delta insignia appeared. “This imperialist, Earth-dominated band of brigands, whose symbol, that of a spearhead to pierce the hearts of innocent worlds throughout the Galaxy, was behind the attempted genocide of our innocent Ferasan cousins, a crime that we will now suffer for.

With this is mind, I am implementing the Protection Act, a series of emergency directives to ensure our safety and security. The details will be made available to all news media outlets and on the appropriate Cynet channels.

Thank you, and good night.”

Some among the hospital crowd made dismissive remarks about that. But not many.

Mirow looked to Ptera, saying nothing, having no need to. His mother, his bond-father and sister were in Starfleet... and some of their colleagues knew it.

*

Mroara-Lnee Industries, M'Restir Province:

Jnill slammed her paw down on her desk. “Seven Hells, Hrulish! There must be something you can do! This is chaos!” She waved at the now-darkened monitor before her. “Cut off from our off-world customers! Contracts suspended, maybe lost entirely! And you’re standing there doing nothing about it!”

Her brother Hrulish stood by the window overlooking the expansive grounds of their complex, all of the factories, the hangers, the testing fields and storehouses... but seemingly more impressed with the short but generous tumbler of whiskey and ice in one paw. “I’m not ‘doing nothing’. I’m drinking. I’m exceptionally good at it. Watch.” He brought the drink to his muzzle and downed half of it, letting his tongue lick out and around. “See? You should join me, Big Sister. A little liquor might ease your stress and loosen your kussik.”

She bolted to her feet, kicking back her chair. “Miserable sot!” She had little time or regard for her brother even in the best of times. She had let him run the Clan industry in her name for years, until an act of cowardice and dishonesty on his part while onboard the Starfleet vessel Surefoot years ago forced her to demote him in order to maintain clan honour. 

And he had somehow grown even more insufferable since then, which was probably the most accomplished act he had achieved in his misbegotten lifetime. “We are at crisis! The Occupation will ruin our business!”

Now he sighed and turned away from the window. “I have made an interminable number of calls in the last two days to our government contacts... those that are still around. The answers I have received are all the same: there’s no contact with the rest of the Quadrant, no leaving the world. No nothing, except entreaties for us to Please Stand By.”

“So now you sink into another bottle of spirits?”

He raised the glass to her in mock salute. “It’s imported. We’re not likely to see any more shipments in the near future, under our new masters. Best finish it off before it spoils.” He drank again. “Why don’t you call your Starfleet in-laws for help? The mighty Captain Hrelle and Wife, and his detestable little human bitch daughter? I’m certain the three of them alone could drive off the invading hordes single-pawedly. Then you can find some other means of humiliating me?”

“What a wretched, self-pitying cur you are,” she sneered. “You don’t need my help with humiliation, you’re expert at it. In case you’ve forgotten, our business is under threat! Most of our capital is tied into off-world investments! Cut off from the rest of the Galaxy, we face financial ruin!”

Hrulish shrugged and moved back to the drinks cabinet. “‘We’, Big Sister? You’re the one in charge. I’m just a lackey now.”

“You pathetic little-”

Then she stopped and turned, her fur rising as she felt an ionised sizzle in the air, which experience told her was a quantum wave from-

-The transporter beams filling up the centre of the room. Jnill’s heart raced, and her tail smacked against the legs of her chair. Beaming unannounced into an office was the height of impropriety! Who would dare...

Then she saw the three tall slate-furred Ferasan males, two of them armed with large black energy weapons behind a third, who was unarmed but sporting brightly-coloured insignia on his furs and armour-plated uniforms, and striped warpaint on his muzzle.

Jnill felt her brother move... to stand behind her, the scent of his fear wafting the air. Yes, my daughter was right about you, you wretched coward... She braced herself, lifting up her muzzle to the intruders, determined to show them how a High-Born acts in the presence of their inferiors. “Who are you? How dare you appear uninvited! Do you know where you are?”

The lead Ferasan regarded her... and for a cold, terrible moment, Jnill feared for her life.

But then he relaxed again, nodding in her direction. “Forgive me, Madame; your protocols are still unfamiliar to us. Do I have the honour of addressing Jnill Mroara-Lnee, the Head of this august corporation?”

Jnill reacted; the Ferasans’s voice was sibilant, almost silky, not at all what she expected from such coarse creatures. She played with the lapels of her jacket. “You have the advantage of me, Sir.”

He bowed slightly. “Forgive me once more, Madame. I am Pridemaster Ubar-Sin, of the Evercrest Fur Pride. I am one of Master Governor Melem-Adu’s Seconds, assisting him, and your people, in the repair of the damage caused by the terrorist actions of Starfleet and the Caitian Military. My responsibility towards that laudable goal is the construction of the Medical Camps your people will require, and the transport network that will carry the poor afflicted souls to said Camps.”

Jnill frowned, crossing her arms. “And what has that to do with me? With my company?”

“Hopefully much from both of you, Madame.” He strolled around in an air of insouciance, looking at the various framed images on the walls, of the company’s many successful lines of flyers, patrol ships, starships. “We are aware that you have earned a strong reputation for fulfilling large construction and distribution contracts in record time. 

You, and a select number of other robust local industries, are being offered the opportunity to contribute. If the work on the camp transports is successful, we may invite you to undertake contracts for passenger ships from here to Ferasa Prime.”

She glared at him with naked suspicion. She was aware of the announcements made, of course, about the Metremia Crisis. Unlike most of the Low-Born fools out there, however, she did not accept every word that dripped like saliva from these Rat-tails’ snouts. 

And she was smart enough not to express her feelings aloud. “Well, that sounds like quite an opportunity, Sir. However, my company has many outstanding off-world contracts to fulfil first. If you wish to assist in that respect, it will be welcome.”

Ubar-Sin smiled at her, without a trace of humour or warmth. “Ahhh, sadly, you’ll soon learn the truth we have kept from the rest of your planet: the Federation has all but fallen. The Dominion have already conquered Betazed, Vulcan, Andor, Tellar, and Earth. And the Breen Confederacy has just joined in alliance with the Dominion, as have the Cardassians, the Tholians, the Ferengi, the Gorn, and of course our Patriarchy.” He shook his head. “I fear those contracts will never be fulfilled.”

Jnill stiffened. Could it be true? Was the situation out there far more grave than the news agencies, and her own contacts, had presented? No. No, she paid too highly for accurate investment intelligence, and she would have known it was as bad as it was out there.

Wouldn’t she?

He approached her. “But... under our banner, Cait will be protected from the wrath of the Dominion. And you, and other forward-thinking industrialists on Cait, can salvage something from this profound change of Galactic circumstances. You can divert your vehicles, your personnel, your resources, towards helping to build the Medical Camps and the required supporting structures.

Needless to say, you will be handsomely recompensed... not to mention, you will have the satisfaction of performing your civic duty to help your fellow Caitians.” He held out his paw, large and muscular, to her. “Well, Madame? Will you help your people... and your company?” He smiled and added, “The offer will not last longer than the time I keep my paw raised to you. You have many rivals who would gladly accept the honour... and the profits that will assuredly come with it.”

She stared at his paw. At him.

She was no bumpkin. Over the decades, her clan’s company had done enough business with the Planetary Navy, and non-Caitian forces, to know the Ferasans for what they really were. 

And certainly all this talk about a secret society of elite ruling Cait for centuries was nothing more than wind; certainly if such a cabal existed, her clan would be among its more prominent members. More than likely there had been some combat between the Ferasans and the Militia, the Ferasans won, and they’re blaming the literal fallout from their warfare on the losers.

She did accept that, at present, the Ferasans held sway. And she could choose to reject their offer, and face financial ruin. Or she could accept the inevitable.

So she did. And the Ferasan’s paw with it.

*

Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

It took all of Jhess Furore’s self-control not to let his claws extend to rake the arms of the chair he sat in; it wasn’t his furniture, or his house, any longer. He was merely a guest now, and hardly  cub with no discipline.

Still, he let them appear enough to tap rapidly on the sablewood as he stared at the desk screen. “Are you sure about that, Sasha? Are you really sure?”

The human on the screen appeared as sickened as he felt. “I wish I wasn’t, Jhess. My ship has some... special programs from Grandma; we tapped into the weather satellites over Mlell Province. Mlell Base is gone. Like all the others. I’m sorry.”

He made a sound in his throat. He thought he had been prepared for the worst. He was wrong. Mlell was where he had studied Paediatrics... and where he was trained as a Sabrecat under Colonel Srular, before they set forth during the last Ferasan War. And now she, and all of their comrades who had survived the last War, were now dead in this one. “And there’s no word from the Navy? Fleet Captain Shall?”

Sasha shook her head. “I want to head out there in my ship to see for myself, but Dad thinks we need to hold off. If the Ferasans and Dominion did sweep through them as quickly and easily as they seem to have done, then they may have found a way to pierce the Caitian Prowl cloaks.”

“Well, I’m just a Ground Pounder, but he’s probably right, Sash.”

“What are you gonna do now, Jhess? Are you still staying there?”

The spotted male glanced to his left, hearing his ex-wife and son in the kitchen, attempting and failing to give him privacy while he made his calls. “If I’m allowed. There’s a few Sabrecat vets like myself in the civilian world, and maybe some still on Active Duty, but off-base. I need to try and reach them.”

“Be careful about that,” she warned him. “This so-called Protection Act and there’s a lot of anti-Militia, anti-Starfleet feeling on Cait right now. Dad’s on his way back from First City; the Starfleet offices were vandalised, and the Federation offices are closed.”

He nodded, at a loss as to what to do. “You be careful too, Sasha. Message me if you have any news, on anything. And give my love to Esek, Kami, the Warrior Prince and My Lady.”

She nodded back, and the screen went black.

He rose, his muscles aching from having sat still for so long, and under tension, and let his nostrils take in the scents of cooking from the kitchen. It made him hungry... and melancholy, as he indulged in the memories of endless meals in this house. And reminded himself that that’s all they were, memories, and that he was a guest here, not an occupant.

He strode into the kitchen, seeing his son Shau helping Mreia with chopping up food while the slices of sleekfish were grilling in the pan. “Thanks for that. Anything I can do to help?”

He saw his ex-wife turn to obvious say No- but was beaten to a response by Shau, who held up a pawful of uncut ninshoots. “Come on over!”

Jhess took the opportunity, taking a board to Shau’s left, rather than between Shau and Mreia, expertly chopping away with an offered knife. “It’s been ages since I’ve had fresh ninshoots. Do you still get them from Crescent Market?”

Mreia didn’t answer. Shau responded, however. “Yes! Noma’s family runs a fresh fruits and vegetables shop there!”

“Who’s Noma?”

“His girlfriend,” Mreia replied now when her son didn’t respond, the female never looking up from cutting up sweetbulbs.

Jhess’ tail swished happily, glad for the distraction now. “Very nice! Her family can cater for the wedding!”

“Dad!” Shau gasped, his chagrin acute and clear.

Jhess laughed... then noticed Mreia’s work, and laughed again. “You still throw away the Umbrellas!”

Shau looked between his parents. “The what?”

Mreia shook her head. “Never mind, he doesn’t need to know.”

But Jhess wasn’t prepared to let it lie, reaching past Shau to pick up some of the discarded tops of the sweetbulbs, which had leafy, mushroom-shaped protrusions. “It’s what we used to call these bits. They’re perfectly edible, but when your mother was a cub, her Grandpa told her that if she ate them, they would grow in her belly and sprout out of her ears! So every time we had them, she always cuts them off and throws them away!”

Their son looked between them, then seemed to see his mother with new eyes. “You do do that, Mom!” He laughed.

“No one’s ever proved that they can’t end up growing inside you,” she defended half-heartedly, provoking more laughter.

Jhess regarded her – seeing a little of the wife he once knew intimately.

It didn’t last long, however, when they sat down, and talk returned to more serious matters, Shau asking, “Was that human on the comm the one you wrote to me about? The one who thinks she’s Caitian?”

He smiled slightly. “She doesn’t think she’s Caitian... but she just might as well be. She has Caitian citizenship, speaks Old Caitian, is in the Clan registry. And... she’s Kaetini.”

Shau’s jaw dropped. “I thought they were just legend! Story material! Can I meet her?”

“You won’t be meeting her,” Mreia informed him abruptly. “She’s also in Starfleet. Like her parents. Isn’t she?”

Jhess held his fork in his paw, never raising the food on it to his muzzle, hearing the challenge in his ex-wife’s seemingly-innocent question. “Yes. And she’s a very decorated, very brave and very capable young woman.”

“And what does she have to say about the allegations being made? Did she deny them?”

He looked up at her. “No. Because she didn’t have to. Because the allegations are the height of absurdity! You’re an intelligent female, you should see that.”

She set down her own cutlery and looked at him. “Should I? Cait signed up to the Federation just over a hundred years ago, and what has it brought us?”

He frowned. “Trade, Knowledge, Security-”

“-Bureaucracy, Legislation, War- how many of our people have joined Starfleet and have been killed in wars that have nothing to do with the Motherworld?”

“How many Starfleet people have been killed in wars that have protected the Motherworld?” he snapped back, his anger at her attitude pouring out, unchecked. “Wars you’ll never have heard about?”

“Kussik!” Shau cursed, bolting to his feet and kicking away his chair as he stormed to his room.

Jhess rose as well. “Shau! Get back here!”

Mreia joined him. “Nice one.”

“Oh, you’re blaming me for this?  One of our darkest periods is upon us, tens of thousands of men, women and cubs, dead! And you’re still acting like you’re debating in law school!“

The door chimed.

Mreia continued to stare for a moment longer, before moving to answer it.

Jhess clutched the edge of the table. Nice one, Jhess. Anger your son, alienate your ex, why not set fire to the kitchen while you’re at it?

“Jhess,” Mreia called to him, her voice anxious.

He approached now, tensing at the sight of the Caitian Constabulary at the front door, one of them with Sergeant’s chevrons checking a pawheld Minicomm before looking up again. “You’re Doctor Jhesster Furore?”

He tensed. “I am.”

“Formerly a Lieutenant with the 47th Caitian Militia? The Sabrecats?”

His heart raced. No, don’t try anything, not here, with Mreia and Shau nearby. “I was, but-”

“Not another word, Jhess.” Now Mreia stepped forward. “Excuse me, Sergeant, but what is this about?”

The Sergeant ignored her, focusing on Jhess... and, Jhess, noted, the male keeping his hand near the Yap sonic pistol at his hip. “You’ll need to come with us, Sir.”

“What for?”

“We’ll discuss this at the Detention Centre, Sir.” They stepped inside.

“Hold it!” Mreia stepped between Jhess and the officers. “You’re not taking him anywhere! The Fourth Title of the Civil Rights Act adjures you to provide a reason for arresting a citizen-”

“Dad?” It was Shau, emerging from his bedroom, looking confused and afraid.

“Get back inside, Shau!” Jhess snapped at him.

“The Titles of the Civil Rights Act are superseded by the Protection Act,” the Sergeant informed them. “The Border Agency confirmed Lt Furore has been off-world, serving on a Starfleet vessel.”

“I’m just a nanny there,” Jhess informed them.

“He’s a doctor, a paediatrician!” Mreia told him angrily. “He takes care of cubs! He’s a civilian, he’s not in Starfleet!”

“This is merely a security precaution,” the Sergeant assured her. “We need to run some checks, that’s all.”

“Dad!” Shau insisted.

Jhess faced him again, forcing himself to appear as calm as possible. “Everything’s okay, Shau. This won’t take long, I’m sure.” Then he stepped around Mreia. “I’ll be fine. Like the man said, they just need to run some checks.”

His ex-wife looked to him, then at the officers. “Where is this ‘Detention Centre’? The Sixth Title adjures you to inform citizens under arrest where you’re taking them!”

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant said, sounding like his patience was being tested. “As I already informed you, the Titles of the Civil Rights Act are superseded by the Protection Act... and Lt Furore is not under arrest. We just need to run-”

“Run some checks,” she finished for him, “You said that already. You can still tell us where you’re taking him!”

“It’s a secure location, Ma’am. The Lieutenant will be released and returned as soon as we’ve run our checks.”

“Then I’m accompanying him, as his legal representative.”

“That will not be allowed, Ma’am.”

Jhess watched him. Watched the paw tighten around the grip of his Yap. “It’s okay, Mreia, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He reached out and patted her shoulder. “It’s nice to know you can still flex your legal muscles even for me.” He let his paw linger, before turning to Shau. “You take care of your mother, do what she says. I’ll be right back.”

Mreia looked to him, concern etched in her expression and scent. “Just tell them the truth.”

He departed with the officers, who surrounded him as they briskly departed the apartment building to a large armoured truck awaiting them. Jhess desperately fought the urge to strike out, to react to these men as the Enemy. They were just doing their jobs. They were just doing their jobs. They were just-

Pain shot through him as a sonic blast from one of the Constables’ Yaps sent him sprawling to the street, wiping out his sense of balance and control entirely, leaving him like a sack of laundry to be lifted up and placed in the back of the truck.

*

Kami was at the front door of the Clanhouse when her husband finally returned, and she rushed up to embrace him... even as she noticed the young, unfamiliar male following behind. “I’m so glad you came back safely!”

His huge arms felt as strong and reassuring around her as his scent. “Sorry I didn’t get back sooner, Beloved; there were... complications.” He drew back, indicating the male. “This is Lieutenant Mru Mori, the... last surviving member of the Starfleet Offices. He... didn’t want to be tracked back to his family’s home and endanger them. Mr Mori, this is my wife and Counselor, Kami.”

The cub nodded, looking hesitant as he approached the front porch. “Captain Hrelle insisted I accompany him, Madame. I- I don’t want to put you or your family at risk. If you don’t want me here...”

She looked to Hrelle. “It’s that bad?”

He nodded. “They’re looking for data on all planetbound Starfleet personnel, Active or Retired. I’ve made contact with one of the Retired, and he’ll be spreading word around to the others, warning them.”

She nodded back, looking at Mori once again. “We’re all in this together, Lieutenant. The only thing you’ll have to fear here are my Papas trying to fatten you up.” Then she leaned into her husband again, whispering, “Sasha’s in her ship; go to her. The Kaetini are assembling.”

He complied, leaving Kami to deal with their new guest, while he raced through the house, quickly apologising to the few Clan members still around, to the back, and the clearing where the Tailless sat.

Sasha rose from her seat and hugged him. “You took your time getting home, Dad!”

“Sorry, complications. What’s this about the Kaetini?”

She drew back. “Mistress Nvell is calling the Sumishar. Tonight.”

His eyes widened. “The Call to Arms? And she expects us to meet out in the open? That’s too risky!”

Now his daughter offered him a slight smile. “Not for fans of David Meowie.”

“Excuse me?”

Her smile became a grin, and she moved to a display at her side, bringing up some text, headed by an image of an attractive-looking, lavender-furred young Caitian male in a flamboyant purple costume. “You and I are Premium Members of the David Meowie Fan Club.”

Hrelle frowned as he leaned in to see the image. “I know him! He’s a Bowie tribute act!  I actually introduced him to the Bowie Clone I met a few years ago!” He looked to Sasha again. “I’m assuming that this membership wasn’t some crap Christmas gift for us?”

“According to official records, we joined years ago. And apparently as Premium Members, we have been invited to an exclusive mini-concert for a preview of songs from his new album Diamond Cats. It’s at the edge of Winterwane Common  in Kaigi Province, at dusk; they’ve even supplied travel vouchers to Winterwane if needed. 

I have some fake registrations for the Tailless, and have entered a flight plan under one of them for us, but we’ll have to leave soon.” She paused and asked, “No good news, I take it?”

He produced the isolinear card. “This is a list of all Starfleet personnel, active and retired and Cait. Use your Grandma’s onboard secret agent crap to access the Caitian Cynet and hide their Starfleet connections from conventional searches.”

She accepted the card warily. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not entirely familiar with local protocols and networks.”

He nodded. “I’ve brought a Lieutenant Mori with me from the Starfleet Offices, he’ll help. In fact, he can come along and mind the ship while we’re out.”

She stared at him, looking a little afraid. “What are we going to do, Dad? Who can we turn to?”

He breathed out, expecting such a question. “Out of contact with Starfleet Command, and until we find someone of superior rank and experience... we may have to gather all the Starfleet people, any remaining Militia or Planetary Naval personnel on Cait, and work towards a common goal: to fight the invaders of our Motherworld.”

“Fight? With what? We’ve only got one ship, some hand weapons and spy gadgets and a handful of idiots ready to take on an army of Rat-tails!”

Hrelle smiled, resting a paw on her arm. “No. It’s not all we’ve got.”

Sasha didn’t understand what he meant.

*

At least, not until they reached Winterwane Common, in Kaigi Province.

It was an open area, surrounded by woods, near the edge of the bay separating them from the metropolis of Winterwane. Sasha, using a false registration of a private transport flyer, piloted herself, Dad and the young Lieutenant Mori, an earnest young male, set them down outside the Common, Mori remaining behind to complete the computer work and watch the flyer, as Sasha and her father followed the signs and walked through the empty woods... aware of eyes watching. “Dad, are we-?”

He nodded, keeping his eyes forward. “Oh yes. We’ve been identified from the moment we appeared. We’re surrounded.”

She was desperate to keep her cool... but that dropped away when they entered the Common... and saw the hundreds of Caitians gathered together, a huge throng of males and females of all ages, some dressed in casual clothes, others in formal suits, yet more in purely traditional gear. Many openly carried weapons. Others had young cubs with them.

All were expectant, anxious, angry. Determined.

Sasha took it all in. “I... I never knew there were so many of us.”

Hrelle breathed in, impressed despite himself, slipping an arm around her. “Me neither.”

“B-But isn’t this dangerous for us to be gathered here?”

“Why? We’re just here for a bit of David Meowie. He’s not bad; he’s not the real thing, of course, but-”

“You know what I mean, Dad! It’s risky.”

“Risky to anyone who shows up uninvited.” He winked at her as he looked around, understanding more about their reason for being here.

Before he could respond, however, all attention was drawn towards the stage set up before them, flanked with musical instruments and speakers, but with no persons, just the sound of a chime...

Then a figure appeared: female, lithe, grey-furred, long-maned, clad in a simple vest, trousers and sandals... and with twin swords at her sides, her tail swishing behind her as she strode up to the centre and the edge of the stage.

And all went silent at the presence of Mistress Nvell, her voice carrying far more easily than one might have expected for one of her age. “Look around you. Go on, look.”

Everyone did. A rumble travelled through the assembled group.

“Look at our numbers here,” she continued. “And multiply these numbers by a thousand. That’s how many lives were taken by the Enemy three days ago. Not just the brave males and females of the Planetary Navy and the Militia, but their families. Their cubs.

But the Enemy took more than those lives. They took the bulk of our defences. They cut us off from the rest of the Galaxy. They control the government, the media, and they whisper lies to our people.

They believe they have won.

Look around you again. What do you see?”

She drew her swords, twin black blades that reflected the dying sunlight from across the bay, and slowly pointed to the hundreds here. “I see Kaetini: the Warriors of the Great Mother.

We are not an army. We do not wear uniforms or hold ranks or follow regulations. And that will be our strength.

We are parents and teachers, artists and accountants, doctors and drivers and therapists and farmers and a hundred other occupations. And that will be our strength.

We exist among our people, quiet and invisible, but ready to serve and protect our people in every capacity, in our struggle against the Enemy. We do not have to fight and kill to do this. We can look and we can listen. We can shelter and we can supply. We can feed and heal and build and tear down. We can do all of this... but if need be, we can fight and kill and die as well.

And that will be our strength.”

Nvell paused to sheath her swords. “We will not meet again like this, not while the Enemy is on our soil. Until that time, I ask you, all of you: Answer the Call.

Will you?”

The crowd cheered, “Yes!”

“Will you?”

They raised their weapons and arms. “YES!”

“WILL YOU?”

“YES!”

Nvell looked out among them as the roar ebbed. And as she began to recite the Oath, everyone joined her: “’We are Kaetini: a Warrior of the Great Mother. We are Her Eyes, and We are Her Ears. We are Her Teeth, and We are Her Claws. We are Her Purr, and We are Her Roar. I will defend the Living, and I will avenge the Dead. And I will give my life to protect the Motherworld and her people.’”

Nvell nodded. “Before we depart, stay a while, in each other’s company, and our comrade David will provide a few songs, which will surely be more entertaining than seeing this old cat up here reciting ancient oaths.”

Nvell departed, and Meowie and his band appeared and set up to play. Sasha looked to Hrelle, before looking around. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Hrelle agreed, awed, as others around them drew closer, asking about them – especially Sasha, the only human here -- before starting at the approach of- “Mistress Nvell!”

The elderly female acknowledged others as she drew up to Hrelle and Sasha, focusing on the former. “Hello again, Big Balls.”

Hrelle ignored the reaction from Sasha to the words. “Mistress Nvell.”

She stared at him for a heartbeat, before asking, “That’s it? No praise for my inspirational speech?” She indicated her skimpy clothes. “No erection from seeing me in my best combat gear? I’m amazed your wife has put out enough to produce two cubs.” Now she looked to Sasha. “Well, Tailless? What did you think of my speech?”

She smiled. “If the Rat-tails had heard it, they’d be shitting themselves.”

Nvell guffawed, looking back at Hrelle but indicating Sasha. “I’m glad someone around here is on the ball.” Then she sobered. “We’ve been looking for surviving high-ranking Militia officers to organise the rebellion. There’s a few Lieutenants in hospital in Shanos Major receiving treatment for IDV; we’ve moved them to a secure location. But many are being collected for ‘questioning’ under orders of the Ferasans.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re probably the most senior, most experienced military officer on the planet. They’ll be coming for you and your family, too.”

He nodded. “Sasha and a Starfleet Lieutenant we met have set loose a virus to clear all Starfleet identities, active and retired, from the planetary databases, but we’ve kept a copy to stay in contact with them and arrange... something.” He nodded again. “We’ll be doing the same for any surviving Militia members.”

“That’s a good start, Captain. But you’ll have to do more. Much more. But we’ll have a network open with you. And we’ll supply whatever and whomever you need.” She held out her arms. “And in case you feel guilty about involving civilians, Captain, just remember: we are all more than what we seem.” She turned to Sasha. “Watch out for him, Tailless. His importance is even bigger than his gut... if such a thing were possible.”

Sasha smiled. “I will, Ma’am.”

Then Nvell was gone, though Hrelle hardly noticed, as he turned away, saying, as if to himself, “We have to go.”

Sasha caught up with him as they made their way back through the woods to the ship, leaving the music and the assembly behind him, her father staring intently ahead of him, not acknowledging her until she prompted, “Dad?”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Pardon?”

He stopped, his tail smacking against her, his paws balled into fists. “I didn’t ask to be given this responsibility.” He looked to her. “All those lives back there. All those lives. I can command a ship of hundreds. Seven Hells, if it came down to it, I can even command a task force of ships.

But this? The fate of our world? Hundreds of millions of lives?” He shook his head. “I didn’t ask for this, Sasha.”

She looked to him sympathetically, drawing closer. “No. You didn’t. I... I guess no one ever does. Not if they’re smart, anyway. But... in all the times I’ve seen you face threats, terrible threats, you’ve always risen to the challenge...” She embraced him tightly. “And you’ve got all of us on your side.” She held him for a moment, before adding, “It’s better if you hug back, or it’s just weird.”

He did. “Sorry, Sweetheart.”

“Hush.” Then she drew back. “Come on, Big Balls, let’s get home, and start making plans. We have a planet to free.”

*

In the Capitol, Melem-Adu felt the pangs of hunger, but ignored them as one of his subordinates approached. “Master Governor, the Transporter Grid is now fully operational.”

He nodded with satisfaction. Now they could beam troops to every part of the planet instantly... and beam them out should trouble arise. “Get me some food.”

Then he continued looking over the lists of names, the names of eligible Caitian females his people were gathering from the medical databases... none of you have any idea of the great service you will provide us.

Not yet anyway.

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN... IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER