Chapter 4: Red Flags

 

Prologue:

The camp on the steppes of the Ravath Province was not on any maps of Cait, or in any directory accessible to the inhabitants of the planet. It consisted of a score of windowless buildings of various sizes, an open area for flyers and land vehicles, and a perimeter of a high razor wire fence studded with sensors, and topped in places with security towers that swept more intense sensor beams over the surrounding area. Nothing could approach without being detected.

A black-furred Caitian male Agent approached without being detected.

He was covered from head to toe, even his tail, by a bodysuit coated in sophisticated materials that masked him, not only from the sensors, but the natural senses of the Enemy. As he approached the fence, he slowed, knowing that his bodysuit could not mask his mass from the inner sensor ring, and so touched a control on his wrist, activating a phase shifter that let him continue onward, walking through the fence without disturbing it or the sensors.

The Agent drew closer to one building, finally switching off the shifter and breathing again; it was a useful device, but one of limited utility due to its power requirements and its effect on his body. He kept to the shadows, remaining still whenever one of the Enemy guards passed by, moving like they had already won.

No, you snaggletoothed kussiks, he thought to them. The fight’s not over. Not just yet.

He moved closer to his intended target, the camp’s largest structure, a black box of an industrial building that looked like a factory built to mass-produce dread. He checked the power levels of his shifter, calculated he needed the remaining amount to safely escape the camp, and chose from his utility belt another means of entry: a hand phaser, its silent black beam vaporising a small part of the building’s wall.

Naras, came a familiar female voice in his head, courtesy of a subcutaneous communicator comprised of technology not available to anyone outside of certain parties.

Not now, Nenjo, he thought back, not needing the distraction, studying the layout of the interior: a series of individual medical examination and treatment rooms, interspersed with storage cubicles and offices- there.

You can at least give me an update, she chided, her anxiety lacing her cybernetic transmission.

Naras knelt down at the door lock, retrieving an exceiver from his belt and letting it do its magic. I’m in the camp. There are extensive medical facilities here.

But? she prompted.

He ground his teeth; his sister could always pick up whenever he was holding something back. I’ve not yet seen the type of decontamination features expected to detect and treat metreon isotope contamination.

What, the Ferasans are lying to us? Shocking.

The door unlocked, and he straightened up, finding a standard office, starkly furnished, entirely functional, and moved to the desk terminal, adjusting his exceiver’s controls. Stay focused. Have you located her family?

Yes: they’re still on their Clanlands, though Captain Hrelle and his human daughter having been travelling around-

He frowned under his bodysuit. Ma’Sala’s kin are still there? We need to get them to safety!

They’ve altered their identities pretty thoroughly. I recognised one of Professor S’Li’s classic encryption algorithms-

Doesn’t matter. They’re famous in their own right even without being the Fleet Captain’s kin! Contact them, take them to the Island- Naras paused as he watched the terminal come to life, with records of Caitians being gathered from all over the Motherworld, ostensibly on account of the so-called Metremia Threat, having general medical tests, genetic scans- fertility tests for the females? And what was this Factory many of them were being sent to from here-

He started as the lights flared to life around him, and screeching alarms pierced his ears. Immediately he transmitted the data he had just collected to their current homebase. I’ve been made.

Get out of there, Brother!

He was already moving. Since the Onslaught, when the Ferasans wiped out the Militia and the Planetary Navy and took over the Caitian government, the members of the Mother’s Claws had been on the run, leaderless following the death of Ma’Sala, and they were rapidly losing contact with their fellow agents, from death or disappearance, whether self-imposed or caused by the Rat-tails...

But regardless of their current straits, they had responsibilities to their people, to find out what the Enemy was doing to those selected to come here.

Naras raced to the hole in the wall he had created, mentally calculating the distance to the beam-out point outside the camp, even as his eyes took in the many, many Ferasans converging from every direction, weapons drawn, none of them realising that the duonetic scrambler on his belt would prevent their use... and that his phase shifter will deal with those Rat-tails who want to get physical.

He raced towards the fence, his mind jumping back to when Nenjo and he were cubs not even into their first Season, chasing each other’s tails around the garden, quarrelling, laughing, without a care in the world. Never even thinking about what tomorrow would bring, let alone decades later. Never thinking about dying.

Nenjo... he thought for a final time. Beloved Sister... protect Ma’Sala’s kin. Assist them to help free the Motherworld.

Naras, what’s happening? Get back to the beam-out point, Brother!

He switched on the phase shifter before the first of the Ferasans could grab him. He indulged in a moment of satisfaction as he watched them pass through his body, more than once slamming into each other, shouting and cursing in confusion at being able to see their quarry, but not touch him.

And despite himself, he wondered if he might actually make it out alive.

A second after the power to the phase shifter depleted entirely, and he solidified halfway through the fence, that wonder was rudely driven from him, along with his life.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M'Mirl Province, Planet Cait:

Provisional First Minister Renthri Lessade drew back, having quickly grown accustomed to speaking to the unseen hundreds of millions around the planet, offering them the most mature, confident and commanding facade he could manage.

“Fellow Citizens of Cait: it is with a heavy heart that I must impart the gravest of news. The Metremia Threat created by the traitors in the Caitian Militia and their Starfleet collaborators has worsened. It saddens me profoundly, as it saddens all of us, to hear of the growing reports of cases all over the Motherworld.

Metremia is an insidious degenerative disease, one which will not display any outward symptoms... until it is far too late. And, tragically, those who carry it can unknowingly spread it to their parents, their spouses... even their cubs.

But we must take heart! Our Ferasan cousins, who now shield us from being seen as enemies by the Dominion, are continuing to run scans of the population, finding those infected, and inviting them to attend the isolated medical facilities being set up now. We will be forever in their debt for their selfless contributions to our welfare.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Those identified as infected must respond with immediate effect and accompany the professionals when the transport vehicles arrive for them; any delay can be fatal. They may take a small carry-on luggage item with them... but they must go unaccompanied.

I know this will be emotionally difficult, especially with those young cubs who have been infected, but the medical facilities do not have the capacity to accommodate any more than the infected or the medical staff. We will provide regular updates as to the condition of their loved ones, but for security reasons, we cannot arrange for visits or communications, at least not at present.”

He offered an angry furrowed brow to the cameras. “But as sorrowful as we all are at the medical emergency we face, I am even more saddened... and angered... at the number of terrorist acts being committed by the Enemy Within: those surviving members of the Caitian Militia, and their Starfleet paymasters, who are even now conducting acts of murder and sabotage, in their execrable efforts to impose their militaristic, dictatorial agenda upon us. None of us are safe – not even innocent cubs!

Until their threat is dealt with once and for all, we must endure certain temporary limitations to our liberties: travel must be restricted for only essential reasons; public assemblies and demonstrations not approved by the Provisional Government must be denied; certain suspect citizens must be temporarily detained indefinitely to allow them to assist the Provisional Government; and there must be necessary searches of industrial and private residences.

We will of course keep such limitations to a bare minimum, never to be abused... and we will rely on the innate, unparalleled qualities of cooperation and understanding of our people, to assist our Ferasan cousins, allies and benefactors.

Our futures lie together.”

The indicators confirmed the transmission had ended.

At the side, a bored-looking Ferasan was leaning against a wall, but now breathed out, grinding the sabreteeth in his muzzle. “Come along, Puppet, let’s get you back into your box...”

*

Elsewhere in the Capitol Building, Melem-Adu, Pridemaster of the Black Pelt Pride and Master Governor of Cait, picked at the remains of the meat on a femur bone, tossing the bone over his shoulder and belching loudly.

At the table, sitting before a bowl of untouched nuts and berries, the Vorta Welros cocked his head and looked at the Ferasan with curiosity. “Is that a healthy response to the food?”

Melem-Adu wiped his stubby muzzle on his sleeve and reached for his wine. “Better out than in. Don’t Vorta belch?”

“No, our diet is simple, and does not induce such extreme gastronomic reactions within us.”

The Ferasan grunted. “Throw away the nuts and berries, my friend, and tuck into some fresh meat. It’ll put fur on your chest and juice in your balls.”

Welros smiled politely. “Thank you, Master Governor, but I doubt if either modification to my physiology would augment my ability to serve the Founders. Perhaps if you’re finished, we can commence our daily briefing?”

Melem-Adu drank from his goblet, gesturing to a young Ferasan male standing warily near the Jem’Hadar who were present to guard Welros. “Approach!” As he obeyed, Melem-Adu gnashed his sabreteeth with pleasure. “Hap-Tek, my First Son: tell our Dominion friend of our security successes.”

The male, with thick vertical blue war stripes on his muzzle, straightened up proudly, displaying the colourful symbols of his affiliation with the Black Pelt Pride, as well as his more specific high standing within it. “We have complete control over the planet and its infrastructure, our Personal Transport Network is fully operational, and we are arranging to empty the government treasuries of gold-pressed latinum and other valuables. We have collected nearly all of the Caitian Militia operatives who were not wiped out in our First Strike, and the civilian Constabulary are obedient sheep, following the directives of the Protection Act.”

Welros nodded at that. “And your search for the Starfleet personnel still at large on Cait?”

Hap-Tek looked hesitantly to his father, who drew in a breath and answered for his son. “Not as successful as we would prefer; some have been collected and disposed of, but there has since been a purge of all computers of references to Caitian and non-Caitian Starfleet personnel on the planet. 

My second son, Enam-Bel is in Shanos Minor now, where we believe there are some potential leads among the Militia prisoners.” He grunted. “More than likely any Starfleet scum on the planet are hiding like vermin, afraid of us.”

“One would hope,” Welros replied. “And one would hope you are still maintaining vigilance against the potential threat, rather than act like a pack of... looters?”

Hap-Tek growled, stepping forward. “How dare you? You effete vegetarian, I will-”

Melem-Adu raised a paw to stop his son... fully aware of the Jem’Hadar standing guard nearby, reaching for their weapons at the potential threat to the Vorta. The Pridemaster kept his gaze fixed on Welros. “Please excuse my son; youth can be impetuous, especially with a race as proud and passionate as we are.”

Welros offered a smile that didn’t reach his purple eyes. “And desperate, too, I imagine, given your current genetic problems.”

The Pridemaster started, then bolted to his feet and glanced around, fixing on Caitian servants in the background. “REMOVE THEM!” When this was done, Melem-Adu glared at the Vorta. “What do you know?”

Welros leaned forward now, casually reaching for the bowl of nuts and berries. “Enough, Master Governor. Enough to know this operation is about more than finally conquering your ancestral adversaries, or looting their treasuries... or even of petitioning to join the Dominion.” He selected a large, juicy-looking orange berry, popping it into his mouth and consuming it before adding, “It’s about your race’s survival.”

Melem-Adu looked to his son, his heart quickening. They knew... “We need to keep this known only between the Patriarch, the highest Pridemasters and their First Sons. Should our people learn of the strength of our calamity-”

“Or your enemies,” Welros offered, reaching for a nut now, as if the revelation had triggered his appetite. “Quite understandable. Do not fear, Master Governor, your people’s secret is safe with the Dominion.” He popped another nut into his mouth for punctuation.

Melem-Adu controlled his reaction.  You miserable, unctuous  cur... if we didn’t need your forces to watch the outer system, while we focus on our needs...

*

Kaijushima Island, Sea of Rhun:

“Oh my God,” Sasha Hrelle whispered softly to herself at the sight of the dinosaur.

It was the largest land animal she had ever seen in the flesh: as big as a house or more, with four massive legs like elephants, and a long curving neck leading up to a tiny head that occasionally dipped down to rip at some foliage it passed on its way to a wide clearing. Its leathery hide was a mural of bright coloured stripes that helped camouflage it while in the jungle, every step it took a rumble, and its spiked mace-like tail contributing a further beat as it thumped into the soil.

She watched with the wonder of a child. She had read about dinosaurs on Earth and of similar creatures on other worlds – Hodgkin’s Law of Parallel Planetary Development applied to sauropods as well as humanoids, it seemed – and she had seen ancient movies detailing them, and even holodeck programs recreating them. But this... this was real!

She watched as the beast continued out of the jungle and into the clearing, where others of its kind awaited, the creatures making trumpeting sounds of greeting, like elephants. And around them, smaller beasts – some with spiky backs, spinal plates or armoured plating, some two-legged as well as four-legged, some even possessing bat-like wings – drank from the river that cut throughout the clearing, occasionally snapping at those animals who came too close.

She wiped the sweat from her brow once more as she stayed hidden.

Amazing.

“Wow.”

Sasha turned as her father approached, Captain Esek Hrelle staring out at the clearing as well, pointing to the various different species. “Gojiras, Megalons, an Ebirah at the edge, two Rodans humping – ouch, that looks painful – next to a family of Gameras, a Ghidorah...” He purred to himself. “I had a picturebook with all the names of the species on the island.” He sniffed the air. “It's one of the more amazing places on Cait: an isolated island with an ecosystem untouched since the planet's prehistoric era.”

“Yeah... but why isn't this a tourist attraction?”

“It was considered, once or twice, but the prevailing wisdom has always been that the animals here should be left in peace, and only studied discreetly.” He nodded. “Which should work in our favour. Come on, Mori is having some trouble getting the support systems online.”

She nodded as well and followed him back towards the half-hidden vertical hatch, glad to be getting out of the heat and humidity as they descended, their boots echoing on the metal rungs... and Sasha becoming acutely aware in the confined space now that just a short while up there was enough to make her reek like a dead pig stuffed with even deader rats. Sorry, Caitians, but you’re gonna have to live with my aromatic bouquet until the systems are up and running.

The ladder took them into a darkened corridor lined on either side with crates and barrels of many sizes and shapes, a corridor that branched off in various directions at various junctions. When the latest addition to the Resistance had recommended Kaijushima and Sasha took them here in her flyer the Tailless, she had expected a small unmanned research outpost at most. It had been musty from being locked up for years, but a reactivation of the environmental controls soon cleared that.

They entered the station’s Ops Centre, a standardised open circular area of screens, monitors, stations and desks. Most were active now, without having anyone sitting there... except for one station, where a young, chestnut-furred Caitian male in a cherry-coded Starfleet uniform was hunched over, his tail twitching through the hole in his chair, muttering to himself before letting out a filthy curse.

“Problem, Lieutenant?” Hrelle asked dryly.

Lt Mru Mori started at the interruption to his frustration, gasping and almost knocking his chair over in his rush to stand to attention. “Captain! I’m sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to lose my self-control, it won’t happen again, I promise-”

He waved off his apology. “We’re all working Above and Beyond here, Mr Mori; swearing will be part of all our repertoire before we’re done.” He indicated Sasha. “Especially from Funky Trashmouth here. Okay, Runt of the Litter, let’s help the young Lieutenant here.” He sniffed the air near her. “Prioritise the sonic showers if you can.”

Sasha offered him her middle finger as she approached Mori, drawing up a chair to sit beside him. “Okay, Mru, let’s have a look and see where the bugs are.” She made a face as she stretched out an arm and breathed in – Jeez, Sash, you stink like a mugato’s ballsack – and then pulled it back as much as she could. “I apologise.”

He glanced up. “Apologise? For what?”

“Are you kidding? You don’t smell me? I whiff like out-of-date Bolian takeaway wrapped in one of my baby sister’s used diapers!”

Mori frowned at her, the tip of his snout wrinkling in mild distaste. “You, ah, don’t actually smell bad to me at all. I’m rather used to human scents; I spent almost four years at the Academy rooming with one who, ah, loved to exercise. All the time. More than he liked to shower.” He smiled. “You’re fine in comparison.”

She smiled back. “I like you. You talk like I smell.”

*

Hrelle smiled to himself as well as he listened to the young cubs’ banter, as he left the Ops Centre for his next port of call, following his ears to the sounds of crates being opened and doors unbolted.

He found who he was looking for in a large dormitory, the bedframes and mattresses stacked along one side of the room, and two Caitian males peering into a large opened crate. “Gentlemen? How are we doing?”

His kin-father and one of his wife’s fathers, Bneea, looked up from the PADD in his paw. “Very well, Esek: I’ve confirmed there’s basic replicator protein stores for a hundred people for three months, and pre-prepared rations in stasis crates for double that time. We have access to an unlimited supply of natural, filtered water, the medical bay remains fully stocked, and there are even kitchens, gyms and recreation facilities! This all seems far more than they would have needed for a scientific research facility.”

“That’s because it was always meant to be far more.” This came from Nenjo, the female in their midst, middle-aged and with fur as black as Hrelle’s niece C’Rash, but possessing a more refined accent from the M’Restir Province, and a taste for hand-tailored suits of purple Tholian silk. “This was designed as a secret wartime shelter by a certain government agency.”

“Agency? You mean the Mother’s Claws?” Hrelle prompted. “No point in being coy anymore.” 

The female didn’t react, remaining as laconic as when she first approached Hrelle and the others two days ago, offering her services in the wake of the Occupation. Her reticence was initially frustrating, even taking into account that as a spy she was hardly going to have a Warp Ten Mouth... but then Kami pointed out, after a private talk, that Nenjo was very likely one of the last surviving members of the Caitian Secret Services, and had probably lost people she couldn’t even talk about to others.

He looked to the other male in the room. “Lieutenant Commander?”

Lieutenant Commander Aris Tshal, Retired, former Second Engineer of the USS Calpurnia, drew up to him, the older, grey-furred, broad-framed male seemingly returning to Starfleet protocol after so many years. “Mr Shall is quite correct, Sir: the facility has a shielded fusion generator, more than equipped to provide power indefinitely, there’s a sensor grid keeping watch over every part of the island, with concealed plasma cannons, an encrypted communications network, and an armoury of Militia hand weapons and military equipment! This will make an ideal base of operations for the Resistance!”

Hrelle breathed in, looking around again. “No.”

“No?” Bneea echoed, bemused.

“No. This is going to be a refuge, a sanctuary for the Starfleet and Militia personnel and their families who don’t feel secure living out in the open anymore. Those of us who’ll be fighting will be better off knowing our loved ones are safe here.” He looked to the other male. “Kami will be in charge here, hopefully supported by our cubs... and by you and Mi’Tree.”

Bneea smiled. “We’ll be honoured to, Kin-Son.”

Hrelle looked back at Nenjo. “You have a problem with any of this, Agent?”

The female shrugged. “Not unless I hear from any senior operative or government official that hasn’t been compromised. You remain the highest-ranking authority available.”

“Thank you. If there’s anyone you know who might benefit from coming here-”

“No,” she declared flatly.

“Well, then, any ideas for a base for the Resistance efforts?”

Nenjo looked away now. “I’ll make some enquiries when we finish here. I might have to go away for a few days to do it.”

“Are you sure about this, Captain?” Tshal asked. “We could still operate out from here-”

Hrelle shook his head. “That will risk drawing attention to this place.” He walked around again. “We’ll need a way to get the people here, quickly and quietly. Sasha’s flyer can’t do it all, we’re going to need craft that can collect them from various points on the planet without attracting attention.”

“Aircraft can be obtained,” Nenjo noted. “But trustworthy pilots are less available. And the automated aircraft available for hire could be traced.”

Bneea made a sound. “I might know some very qualified and experienced pilots who’d be willing to help, Esek.”

*

Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

Mreia Furore struggled to keep her patience, in the face of the repeated proverbial walls she had been encountering this week. Patience is not only a virtue, her old Professor of Law would tell her when she was a student, but in the face of official bureaucracy, it’s as necessary as oxygen.

On the other hand, in her years defending the rights of her agency’s clients, it had never been as personal as it was now. “Look, Sergeant, three days ago my ex-husband was taken from my home by members of your Constabulary for questioning-”

The Desk Sergeant in the Constabulary Station, a fat ginger male whose expression seemed to alternate capriciously from boredom to harassed, barely acknowledged her. “His name?”

“Doctor Jhesster Furore.” As he began accessing his desktop computer, she added, “I’ll bet you won’t find a record of his being arrested. The last four Stations I’ve visited couldn’t, either.”

He looked up, his slitted eyes narrowing at her. “Then you must be mistaken, Mrs Furore. If he had been arrested by the Constabulary, there’d be a record of it.”

“That’s just it,” she snapped, “He wasn’t being arrested, he was brought in for questioning because of his Militia background!”

“And where did these alleged Constables say they were taking your husband?”

“Jhess is my ex-husband! And they wouldn’t say! They just quoted the new Protection Act!”

The Sergeant breathed out, as if the effort to continue discussing the matter was akin to completing the Hsova Run. “If it was a matter of the Protection Act, then you need to take any queries to the State Ministry.”

Mreia bristled. “I did. They told me it was a Constabulary matter!”

“It can’t be, Ma’am; we have no record of apprehending your husband. Perhaps you should go home and wait for him to return from wherever he’s taken himself-”

She leaned forward, having heard almost the same thing from every other law enforcement official so far. “Now look, Sergeant, I happen to be a lawyer! And a pretty damn good one! I know my rights, and the rights of my ex-husband! And if you don’t want my firm to file a complaint in the Courts-”

“I doubt they will.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, contempt thick in his scent and expression now. “In case you’ve not been watching the news, Mrs Furore, we’re in a state of global emergency... thanks to Militia scum like your husband. They’ve poisoned us; people are being informed now that they may be dying... my sister included. Your rights don’t mean a damn thing anymore.” He indicated the Station entrance. “Now run along home and stop wasting my time. Unless you want to be seen as a Militia sympathiser?”

Mreia stared at him in naked disbelief... and felt the hostility from several others around her, a hostility from everyone who seemed to believe what was being said in the media about the Militia. But as much as she despised the military, and for what it did to Jhess, even she couldn’t believe that their people would have commit such a heinous act.

“Ma’am?”

She turned; a younger Constable had drawn up to her. “You need to leave now. I’ll escort you outside.”

Mreia’s muzzle screwed up indignantly. “I don’t need an escort!”

The Sergeant made a contemptuous sound. “Ssesil, get her out of here before she gets herself into trouble.”

She pulled away from the young Constable’s proximity, turning and storming out of the precinct station and into the fresh air and strong light of the morning... and looking up at disgust at the red flag of the Ferasans, fluttering from a hastily-erected pole across the street. The new pro-tem First Minister, Renthri Lessade, claimed it was a necessary measure to afford them ‘protection’ from the Dominion, now that they had allegedly taken over the Quadrant-

“Wait! Ma’am, wait!”

She stopped and spun in place, tail twitching and claws popping out. “You and your cronies have made your position quite clear, Constable-”

“No, wait!” The young Constable raised his open paws to her, even as he glanced nervously around him before continuing, his voice lower. “Agana Mount.”

“What?”

He drew closer, lowering his paws. “Agana Mount. All the Militia located and collected in Nashea Province were taken to Agana Mount.”

“Agana Mount? The City Aeroport?”

He nodded. “They’ve co-opted the Militia Terminal there, prior to transporting their prisoners... somewhere. With all but essential air travel being suspended because of the security situation, they have so much of it to themselves now.” He paused, adding, “Don’t waste your time going up there to find him, or anyone willing to talk to you up there. They’ll deny anyone’s up there.”

She regarded him, looking for deception, finding none, but still asking, “Why are you helping me, when everyone else isn’t?”

His expression grew serious... and guilty. “We don’t all think like the Sergeant and the others. But- But no one seems to want to listen to reason.”

Mreia frowned at him. “If they’re not listening, maybe you should be louder?” She sighed. “Thanks for your help, Constable Ssesil... but I think you’re going to have to do more before this is done. A lot more.”

She left him, determined to get home and make some further calls for help, and to get home to Shau. Many students throughout Cait had chosen to continue their schoolwork remotely from home, part of the overall recommendations for people to maintain  social distance during the Metremia Threat.

She found him there....but with a half-dozen fellow students, standing or sitting around the kitchen table, PADDs and schedules laid out around them. Shau looked up at her arrival. “Mom! Did you find Dad? Is he coming home?”

She hesitated. “I’m- I’m getting closer-” She looked to the others. “Shau, maybe it’s not a good time to have your friends around to do homework-”

Now he beamed proudly. “We’re not! We’re organising our part of the protest this afternoon!”

“Protest?”

“Yes! The Student Protest against the Occupation, the Protection Act, the detainments! All the Student Groups for all the city schools are meeting! We’ll be holding protests in Liberty Plaza every day until things are back to normal!”

Mreia stared at him, her pulse quickening. “Shau... you can’t.” Then she looked to the others. “You can’t protest.”

One of his friends, a slim, smoke-furred female rose. “Mrs Furore, we have to! We can’t let this go unchallenged!”

She caught the shift in the scent of her son at the sound of the young female’s voice – Is this the girlfriend you barely talk about, Shau? – but she put it aside. “Have you read the details of the Protection Act? Because I have, and part of it involves the suspension of the Right of Assembly and Protest during the current Emergency! You could get into trouble!”

Shau shook his head. “No, Mom. They can’t do that! Shanos Minor has always been renowned for the expression of our innate rights! You taught me that!”

She reached out and clasped his shoulders. “Shau... things are different now. Untold numbers of people have died, and they say many more will die in the days and weeks to come! What about your health? The Metremia Threat-”

“It doesn’t exist, Ma’am!” another cub declared, holding up a PADD. “I’m studying Physics, we’ve run our own independent tests, there’s barely any metreon particles out there! Certainly not enough to cause the expected deaths and illnesses of hundreds of thousands like they’re claiming! It’s just an excuse to oppress us!”

She gasped, stunned at the possibility. Could it be true? “Then why hasn’t there been any qualified scientists or medical professionals refuting it?”

“They’re being silenced! The Ferasans are controlling the media now! Only the official line is being heard out there!”

The other cubs made sounds of agreement, but she ignored them now, focusing on her son. “Shau, I must insist that you don’t go out there. Even if your friends are correct and the Metremia Threat is... exaggerated... there’s still the security measures. You could get arrested, get a criminal record! Something that could follow you for the rest of your career! Do you want that?”

Shau stared up at her. “Mom... I won’t back down. If I have to have a criminal record for doing what’s right, then I’ll accept. If we don’t stand up for what’s right, who will? You taught me that, too.”

“But I’m on the trail to get your father freed!”

He shook his head. “I’m not just doing this for Dad, but for all of us.”

Mreia drew back, wanting to argue further... but unable to, and despite her fears, pride ran through her at her cub for his level of strength, commitment and maturity... even if he remained naive about the dangers. “I... I have some calls to make to my firm. I’m going to see about getting their help in raising a court injunction to get all the Militia personnel freed, or at least seen. I’ll make the calls in my bedroom... don’t go anywhere. I mean it!”

He smiled back gratefully. “I understand, Mom. Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

As she departed for her bedroom, she wished she could share her son’s optimism. She stared at her bedroom screen for a moment, before scanning the call history, looking for the number that Jhess had called the other night, to the human Starfleet officer he knew... but the number had somehow deleted itself without a trace. But that wasn’t possible... was it?

She called up the messages Jhess had sent her over the years about his time with the Starfleet family, the Hrelles... but could find nothing of them either. Incredible... it was as if some agency had wiped away anything that might lead to mentions of Starfleet... or at least anything that might identify members of that organisation. Was that an action taken by the Ferasans, or Starfleet itself?

Fortunately she recalled some names from memory, and ran a directory search, finding a potential match, before taking a risk and calling it.

Moments later, an older, auburn-furred female appeared on her screen. “Hello?”

Mreia swallowed. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know someone named Doctor Jhess Furore?”

Now the other female smiled warmly. “You must be Mreia. I’m Kami.”

*

Agana Mount Aeroport, Militia Terminal:

Pain.

Fear.

They produced the same reactions in Jhess now.

He couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t feeling anything but both.

He could barely recall his own name.

He lost count of the number of times he was shocked awake by the Ferasans, stuffed naked in a leather cocoon, bound to immobility with straps, and dropped into ice water. He could feel it seep in, and each time, despite his attempts to keep control, he would panic as he was engulfed, almost drowning.

Then they would take him out, and beat him with clubs.

Then the Lead Ferasan would step forward, kick Jhess onto his back, plant his boot onto Jhess’ chest and declare, “I am Enam-Bel, Second Son of the Master Governor of your shitty little planet. You are employed offworld by a Caitian Starfleet officer and his family. We want his name and location.”

Jhess said nothing.

The Lead Ferasan would kick Jhess around the interrogation room, driving him into a corner where he would kick him some more, repeating himself, but never giving Jhess a chance to answer. Then he was dragged back to the cold, stark cell, where they’d alternate at random times between darkness and blinding light, silence and ultrasonic torment.

He could have been there for weeks. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much at all.

Except that he would never escape. That he would never see his son and former wife again.

*

Highsun Central Hospital, M’Restir Province:

Dr Ptera Mroara-Lnee stopped in the corridor, clutching her distended belly, waiting for the cub within to settle down inside. Don’t be in such a hurry to get out here, Daughter of Mine; it’s frightening.

“Doctor? Do you need help?” 

She turned, straightening up, hating feeling so vulnerable this late in the term. “Thank you, Doctor Mispusha, I’m fine. But this cub of mine is eager to get out and roar some.”

Dr Mlane Mispusha was an older female, caramel-furred, with a pair of octagonal spectacles propped onto the tip of her snout, and strode up with a strength belying her age, slipping an arm around the younger female’s and nodding sympathetically as they continued down the corridor. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”

“Yes, well, my Maternity Leave is scheduled for another tenday-”

“I mean I’m glad you haven’t been ‘redeployed’.”

Ptera frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Some of our best people in Haematology, Oncology, Pathology received orders for redeployment to the treatment camps our ‘cousins’ are setting up around the planet.”

She stopped in her tracks and faced her. “What? Who has?”

“M’Tus, Prerow, Hmull, M’Tashar, Crille... coincidentally, they’ve all been the most vocal in disputing the declared dangers of the Metremia Threat.”

She swallowed. “Where? Where were they sent?”

“No one knows. Not our Chief of Staff; not even their families. All hush-hush.” Her expression told Ptera what she thought of that.

Ptera was aghast. Their world had turned upside down over the last tenday, with the loss of the Militia, the so-called conspiracy with the Eliminati, the anti-Starfleet paranoia, the alleged Metremia Crisis... “Have you heard about the growing number of cases of metreonic sickness being reported around Cait?”

“Of course. It’s all the news is talking about.”

“But has anyone shown up in our Emergency Department with signs of the disease?”

Mispusha shrugged. “Oh, plenty have come in thinking they had it. It’s turned out to be everything from ulcers to Tail Crick to just plain hypochondria.”

Ptera faced her fully. “Mlane... we have to speak up about this- there’s no Metremia Threat!”

Now the older female tensed, glancing around fearfully, before taking her by the arm and leading her into an alcove off of the corridor. “Ptera... go home. Take your maternity leave now.”

“What?”

“These are dangerous times. You can’t voice your opposition openly and not expect a response.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Your husband’s family have prominent members in both the Militia and Starfleet; I remember you mentioning that more than once in our staff meetings. Others might remember, too, and pass it on to the wrong people. Take you and your husband home; your mother is powerful and influential enough to protect you.

Hopefully.”

*

Several kilometres west and above, a medical flyer was swinging over the perimeter of the First Landing Memorial Park, when the co-pilot S’Grus frowned and turned to the pilot. “Mirow! I’m picking up a news item! Starfleet have opened fire at the Memorial!”

“What?” Mirow glanced out of his cockpit window, banking the flyer sharply to port to give him a better view; he saw the patches of dark from the sablewood trees, the open stretches of grasslands, the silver shard of the Memorial reflecting midmorning light. He saw people below, many moving in groups to leave the park, herded quickly away by black-uniformed Constables.

He saw nothing. Nor did he expect to; ever since this madness started, he had heard plenty about the atrocities of the Caitian Militia and Starfleet, and immediately dismissed it for the crap that it was. His late grandmother Ma’Sala Shall had never been a dainty flower, but the idea that she was a war criminal was ludicrous. And his mother Kami, and his kith-father Esek and human kith-sister Sasha, all in Starfleet? They were the best! And now he couldn’t even speak to them, for fear of giving them away, or himself, to the Ferasans...

And he didn’t have time to think about that. “Something’s going on down there.” He reached out to his panel and scanned the ground below. “I’m not picking up any weapons fire-” He keyed in a signal. “Central Command, this is Flyer 9-Alpha-1! We’re at First Landing Park, we’ve picked up the news about the attack, we’re ready to lend assistance-”

A new, harsh voice, cut through the transmission. “Flyer! Depart the area with immediate effect, or be shot down!”

S’Grus looked to him with alarm. “What the Seven Hells-”

Mirow forced down his own fear and confusion to respond. “Who’s on this channel? Identify yourself!”

“Flyer! We repeat: depart the area with immediate effect, or be shot down!”

“Damn it! This is a Municipal Rescue Services flyer! We have authorisation to respond to any-”

“MIROW!” S’Grus shouted, eyes wide.

Mirow looked up, seeing a sleek, silver-black vessel larger than their flyer, shaped roughly like an elongated skull, dropping down to hover several hundred metres in front of them.

Alerts sounded on the board. Mirow checked them. “Mother’s Cubs, they’re locking weapons onto us!”

“Get us out of here, Mirow!”

Mirow didn’t argue, banking them sharply to starboard, dropping and swerving out of the area, checking the readings to ensure they weren’t being followed. The Weapons Lock remained on them for a kilometre... but then dropped off.

S’Grus was breathing rapidly. “Seven Hells... They- They were ready to fire on us...”

Mirow struggled to keep himself and his voice from shaking, as he opened another channel. “Central Command, this is Flyer 9-Alpha-1. We’re returning to home base... and I want to speak with the Shift Supervisor as soon as we land. 9-Alpha-1 out.”

“They- They were gonna fire...”

“Not necessarily,” Mirow muttered. “They might have just wanted to scare us off.”

But even he couldn’t believe that.

He just wanted to get back to his wife.

*

Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Desert Province:

There was a growing storm, obscuring the flat horizon as walls of dust rose, as if seeking to shield the collection of buildings here from the growing chaos on the rest of the planet.

It felt strange to Bneea, seeing the place as it was now, without any visitors or observers to the shows and displays offered here, like those times earlier in his life when he was a stuntman for the action Vivids, appearing in the studios early in the morning before the bulk of the cast and crew would show up.

But his attention had stayed focused not on the past, but the present, as he walked around the hangar with the man he had come to see, an older ginger- and blond-furred male in the leather longcoat and matching cap, his voice echoing as he responded to the request. “I don’t believe this. A stranger drops out of the sky, unannounced in an unmarked aircraft, and tries to recruit my squadron, asking us to risk our lives in aiding and abetting people who have been declared enemies of the Motherworld by the Provisional Government...”

He smiled broadly. “That’s the best offer we’ve had in ages, Good Sir.”

Bneea couldn’t help but let his tail wag; the other male had Mi’Tree’s flair for the theatrical, no doubt about that. “Are you sure about this, Captain Biggleshen?”

The pilot raised a leather-gloved finger. “As I told you previously, my friends call me Biggles. And yes, the Caitian Historical Aerobatics Squadron stands ready to assist!” He turned in place, indicating the rest of the hangar, and the aerofighters, the vessels using ancient materials and design but still fully functional. “As we are a civilian organisation not officially affiliated with the any branch of the Militia, we have not been subject to detention under the so-called Protection Act... however, no one feels like coming to our shows these days.”

Bneea drew up to him; ever since he was a cub, he had admired the Skycats, who for generations had kept these machines, and the spirits of the males and females who had flown the originals, alive. The chance to be working with them, and for something far more substantial than a Vivid production or an aerobatics show, was irresistible.

But it was for that very reason that it made him ask, “Biggles... none of your Squadron have ever been in actual combat, have you? I have no doubt about your aerobatic skills and experience, but if you’re caught helping us, you’ll-”

“We’ll most likely be killed,” Biggles finished, straightening up, his expression sober. “Mr Shall, at our age, all that death means is an end to drooping tails and the need to get up three times a night to pee.” He looked up at the insignia on the fuselage of his own aerofighter, reaching up to touch it reverently. “Like you and so many others who come here, we too admired the stories of the first Skycats, the real ones, who fought centuries ago in the Moonfleet Wars, when our people needed them the most.

And now, our people need us again. If we don’t answer that call, how can we ever look at ourselves in the mirror again?” He looked to Bneea once more. “I’ll speak with my crew, spell out the dangers as clearly as you have. But I suspect we’ll all be ready for you.”

He removed his glove and extended his paw to Bneea.

Bneea gratefully accepted it.

*

Shall Clanlands House, Mnara Province:

Hrelle’s concern etched his features on the viewscreen. “Jhess is at the Militia Aeroport’s Agana Mount Aeroport? Is his ex-wife certain of that?”

Kami let her claws extend to dig at the arms of the chair in the study, as she nodded at her husband’s image. “She seems very capable, as you would expect for someone in her position. And there was an indication that there were other Militia members being held there.”

He nodded. “We’ve left the Skycats; they’ve agreed to join our efforts. And the base on Kaijushima will be ideal for our families... with you in command, in my absence.”

She nodded back. “I’ll begin to make arrangements for our move. What about Jhess?”

“I’ll get Sasha to divert us to Shanos Minor, and work with Agent Nenjo on freeing him and the others. Send us her details; we’ll contact her and do what we can.” He paused. “How are you and the family doing? Is everyone okay with the new IDs?”

She retracted her claws and reached for her teacup. “The Clan Registry’s updated, the false IDs you and Sasha set up for all us seem solid. Misha was confused, but I think he understands.” Something like a smile lifted her a little. “Papa Mi’Tree, of course, will throw himself into any role offered him if the need arises... though he’s still not happy that S’Graow is still here, and is now officially listed as the Matriarch instead of me.”

Now Hrelle frowned. “Hopefully you’ll be away before we need to test them. But how are you feeling having S’Graow around, after all that’s happened between her and Ma’Sala?”

She finished her tea. “In the last couple of days, I’ve been keeping an eye on her, seeing her interact with myself and the cubs. And I’ve been interrogating her, in the guise of getting to know her and Mama more. She’s... had a chequered past, with more than a little bitterness despite her causing so much of it herself. But there’s something decent underneath all that, and though I know it’s a cliché, but maybe something good will come out of all of our losses.”

*

After his call, Hrelle turned in his seat in the cockpit of the Tailless to Sasha. “Plot a course for-”

She never looked away from her controls. “Done five minutes ago, and already on our way.”

“Good work. And good work on finally having that shower.”

“Ayin Kafin Yan.”

He chuckled and rose, leaving her with Lt Mori in the co-pilot’s seat, asking her, “What was that dialect you just used?”

“Yiddish. You’ll be learning some of that before you’re through with us, Bubulah...”

 

Hrelle entered the aft section of the flyer, where Nenjo sat at the table, with a set of enigmatic devices scattered around her, while she held one device in her paw, replacing a component. “What’s that?”

She never looked up. “Personal holoprojector. Good for deceiving visual sensors and facial recognition technology, at least in the short term.”

Hrelle made a sound, then picked up another item. “I’ve seen these before! Ma’Sala gave Sasha a pair: Pummels. Hand weapons, delivers neuroleptic shocks-”

“I know what they are, Sir,” she informed him tightly.

“Sorry, of course you do. Such amazing spy toys...”

“They’re not toys, Captain. They’re tools. And they’re not amazing. They give us a temporary advantage, but the Enemy, whoever they are, soon adapts.” She passed her free paw over the devices. “Personal transporters, vaporisers, phase shifters, cloaks, weapons dampeners, exceivers... the Mother’s Claws’ Quartermaster would issue these for missions, and each time, she would tell us, ‘None of these make you invincible’. We’ve lost too many Agents from overconfidence and overreliance on these things.”

He nodded at that, studying her. “Who did you lose?”

She seemed to ignore his question... until she set down the projector, still not looking up at him, but displaying an open vulnerability that he hadn’t seen in the female before now. “Naras, my brother. We were born twins; the clan gave us the nickname Twofer, as in Two For One, because if you wanted one of us, you always got the other as well. Our paths in life ran parallel... including being recruited by Fleet Captain Shall into the Caitian Secret Service.

We joked about retiring together and opening up a saloon in New Landing, keeping each other from getting drunk and rutting with anyone we’d regret later.” She breathed in. “He died this week, gaining intelligence from one of the Ferasan camps.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Nenjo.”

But she waved off his words and looked up at him. “None of us have time to mourn, Captain. With the Quartermaster, Ma’Sala and the rest of the Mother’s Claws missing and presumed dead, I was hoping I could bypass the security features on some of these in order to mass produce them, but no such luck. Did I hear correctly that we’re off risking our lives to rescue your nanny?”

He felt his own face tighten now, despite his sympathy for her recent loss. “Dr Furore was a Sabrecat, a highly-experienced fighter, as no doubt are the others being held with him right now. Right now the Resistance consists of a couple of active and retired Starfleet people, Kaetini civilians, a group of old Skycat pilots... and you. We need all the help we can get.

Now... help me work out a plan to get in and out of Agana Mount. And then I’ll want to see that intelligence your brother gave his life for.”

*

Kami looked around the study, seeing Ma’Sala’s things – Oh Mama, I’m going to go on missing you forever – and emerged to hear voices. “You see that railing up there? Your grandmother was just a little older than you when she stood up on it.”

Kami turned a corner to see S’Graow on one knee, at the foot of the grand staircase, pointing upwards where the staircase split and went to either wing of the house, while Misha stood beside her. “Gramma was up there? That’s not safe!”

“No, it wasn’t,” S’Graow agreed, the grey-furred female nodded in agreement. “Our Mama told us not to play indoors, but Ma’Sala was sure she could leap out and grab the lighting fixture and swing from it.” She now pointed to the black iron chandelier hanging overhead. “Just like the Crooked Tailed Cub.”

Misha gasped. “I like the Crooked Tailed Cub stories!”

S’Graow smiled and nodded. “So did we. And Ma’Sala was going to do it. She crouched on the rail, tensed... and then leapt out!”

“Did she do it?”

S’Graow nodded. “She did... but she didn’t know what to do then. She was hanging there, calling out for our Mama... and then she let go and fell. She broke her right leg.”

Misha’s jaw dropped. “Gramma was hurt? Did the docs fix her?”

“Oh, yes, they fixed her leg quickly... but she spent the month grounded in our room afterwards. Always remember, if grown-ups tell you to do something, it’s usually for a good reason.” She looked up at Kami and rose, smiling. “Hello again, Niece of Mine.”

“Mama!” Misha raced up to leap into his mother’s arms. “Gramma liked the Crooked Tailed Cub!”

Kami made a sound at the weight of her cub. “Well, who wouldn’t? But you know what I want you to do? I want you to go down to the beach and collect me ten of the biggest shells you can find.”

“I go sit in the boats?” He smiled, eyes wide, and his throat purring for emphasis.

She eyed him back. You’re gonna charm the pants off every female you meet, Cub of Mine... “Did you hear what I asked you to do? Stay off the dock – I repeat, stay off the dock – and collect me those shells.”

Misha grunted as she set him down again. “Okay. Bye, Aunt S’Graow! Thank you for minding me!”

The older female watched him rushed out through to the kitchens, smiling now. “What a delightful little cub you’ve got there, Kam.”

“Thank you.” She slipped an arm around S’Graow’s. “Walk with me.”

Then she began strolling away, assuming the older female will follow.

They stepped out through the front door and onto the veranda, Kami offering, “I hope Papa Mi’Tree is behaving himself now with you?”

S’Graow made a sound. “He’s either warmed up to me a little, or he’s a better actor than I ever gave him credit for. Having your other cub around him helps, no doubt.” She regarded her. “What do you want to ask me? I’ve seen that expression from Ma’Sala often enough.”

Kami led her to the veranda rail, looking out at the large, colourful gardens leading to the main road. She breathed in, welcoming the scents on the afternoon air. “Why are you staying here? Really?”

S’Graow was silent for a moment, except for unthreading her arm from her niece’s, and resting her paws on the wooden rail, pretending to look out as well. “I... can’t go back to my apartment. I have creditors looking for me. I was, ah, helping to broker an off-world mining deal with our colony on Alchemy, but the Occupation screwed that over.” She reached into her jacket and produced a small silver box, flipping the lid open and holding it out to her. “You indulge? It’s good stuff.”

“No. And I don’t want my cubs seeing you use that, is that understood?”

S’Graow. “Sure, sure, Just Say No and all that.” She extended a claw on her forefinger and took a tiny amount of ash-grey snuff, bringing it to her nostrils and inhaling sharply. Seconds later, she put away the box. “No one knows of my connections here.”

Kami tensed. “Are you in trouble with the law?”

“No!” S’Graow snapped, quickly calming down. “No. But I’d rather stay low until this business is blown over and things get back to normal... and my creditors aren’t out looking for my tail.” She tensed, leaning forward and shaking her head. “Oh, Ma’Sala, if you could see me now, you’d... well, you’d say the same things I’ve always heard from you. Your opinion of me never changed. And... with good reason.”

She dipped her head down, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Sister. Sorry for trying to drag your good name through the mud all those years ago. Sorry for not righting things between us before it was too late.”

She looked to Kami now, her bronze eyes welling with tears. “Our parents were right about me. I was never any good, never realised whatever potential others saw in me... and using my envy of my sister’s successes as an excuse not to even try anymore. I kidded myself into thinking I was better off, being alone, responsible only to Number One, answering to no one... but my erstwhile partners. And the occasional court order for non-payment of bills.”

She wiped away her eyes, breathing in sharply. “Then I’m standing here, eating here, telling my niece’s cub all about the days when I was his age... being able to pretend like I was still a part of a family.” The tears welled up again.

Kami regarded her... using her every instinct to find some level of deception.

And finding none.

She reached out, taking S’Graow’s paws in her own. “There’s no pretend here. You’re still a part of this family.”

She drew her aunt into an embrace-

-And then pulled back, at a preset alarm on a tiny sensor on her dress, S’Graow asking, “What’s that?”

Kami glanced around worriedly. “Transporter sensor. Someone’s beaming-”

She never had time to finish, as half a dozen transporter columns appeared on the veranda and in the gardens of the Shall clanhouse, quickly coalescing into tall, armed, thin-tailed figures.

Ferasans. Aiming weapons in the direction of the females, the most decorated member of the sextet barked, “DON’T MOVE!”

Kami tightened her grip on S’Graow, containing her anxiety at the appearance of the enemy as she whispered, “Remember the briefing.” Esek and she had prepared for this eventuality, having created false identities for the pair of them, and the cubs, and wiping away any traces of the truth from all records, even setting up S’Graow as the Matriarch in the Caitian Clan Registry. They had hoped that this wouldn’t be tested before they found a safe haven elsewhere.

If hopes were bricks, we’d all have palaces... “May we help you?”

The lead Ferasan fixed a narrow, unflinching gaze on her, striding up onto the veranda. Unlike the others, he didn’t have his weapon drawn, and based on her own studies, the insignia on his Klingon-like uniform marked him as the head of something called the Umber Tail Pride. His leer and superior attitude confirmed it. “I am Pridemaster Ishme-Dagan, in charge of security for this Province. Where is the Master of this house?”

Kami began to respond- but then her aunt beat her to it, stepping forward. “I am S’Graow Shall, the Matriarch of this house. Why have you come here-”

The Ferasan shot a paw up into S’Graow’s face- not touching her, but silencing her, as he responded, “I’ll ask the questions here.” Now he turned to Kami. “And who are you?”

Kami steeled her expression. “I’m Mleni Dal.”

He nodded, stepping forward. “And do you live here, Mleni Dal?”

She stood her ground. The last time she had met a Ferasan was in space, on one of their own ships, and they had nearly killed Esek and Sasha and herself. She was not prepared to let him see her shaken. “No, I live in Kamar-Taj, with my husband and cubs.”

“Then what is your business here?”

Now, as she studied him further, she understood his reaction: he wanted her to be intimidated by him, a meek little female unaccustomed to dealing with Ferasans, and her self-control was unnerving him. So she changed her tactics, let slip out some anxiety, like she was some naive, vulnerable cub. “I- I came for the Memorial for Ma’Sala Shall... Sir. We’re related, through my mother’s cousin.”

Ishme-Dagan grunted. “Ah yes, Ma’Sala Shall... the cowardly war criminal.” He stared at S’Graow. “And what is your relation to her?”

S’Graow stared back. “We were sisters, Pridemaster, but I hadn’t seen her in years. In fact, I haven’t been back since this cub,” She indicated Kami, and grew animated as she continued. “Was tail high. I never got along with Ma’Sala, she was always so high and mighty, acting so superior for being in the Planetary Navy. And what did it get her, eh? What did it get her?”

Ishme-Dagan smirked. “It got her blown into a million pieces, if that’s any comfort.” He walked around the veranda, as if he was looking to purchase the property... then he signalled to his fellow Ferasans, several of whom entered the front door.

“What-” S’Graow started, until Kami raised a paw to cut off any further protest.

The Ferasan looked to them. “You don’t mind if we do a quick search of the premises, do you? Ma’Sala Shall may be dead, but there are others in this family of yours of interest to us.” He approached S’Graow again. “Our Intelligence reports mention the Fleet Captain’s daughter, a Kami Hrelle. She’s in Starfleet, along with her husband, a Captain with a notorious history of violence against my people. They’re not here, are they?”

“Those two?” S’Graow crossed her arms, affecting an annoyed air. “They’re off Mother Knows Where in their starship, no doubt sticking their snouts in where they don’t belong. Why Caitians can’t just stay at home where they belong, I can’t for the life of me fathom.”

Kami kept neutral, but inwardly admired her aunt’s ability to cope – no doubt her questionable history of skirting on the edge of lawfulness helps – but then her attention drew to commotion from within the house, as her father Mi’Tree emerged with Sreen in his arms, the male roughhoused by two Ferasans. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

Kami froze. Please, Papa, play along, like we discussed-

Then he continued. “S’Graow! Mleni! Will someone please tell me what’s going on? The infant was just dropping off for her nap!”

“Who are you?” Ishme-Dagan growled, staring intently at Sreen... who was hissing back at him, the afternoon light reflecting off the exoframe compensating for her disability.

“This is Mi’Tree Shall,” S’Graow explained. “Ma’Sala’s former husband.”

“Oh? And are males in the habit of acting as... nursemaids? Have you no real job?”

Mi’Tree harrumphed. “It is an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to care for cubs on our world, especially those of our own family members! Besides, since your... arrival... my series has been put on hiatus. My audience anxiously awaits my return.”

“My uncle is a very popular and beloved actor on Cait,” Kami informed them. “Uncle Mi’Tree, why don’t I take Sreen and you can show them your awards?”

She moved, but the Ferasan raised a paw to stop her, before pointing at Sreen, who hissed again at him. “What is that... thing? ”

Kami tensed, stepping closer... you touch her, and I’ll rip your throat out... “My daughter Sreen. She’s disabled, please don’t disturb her.”

Ishme-Dagan guffawed. “Disturb her? She’s already disturbing enough as it is! We throw away crippled garbage like that before it ever gets to the teat!”

The other Ferasans laughed, until a new voice spoke up. “RUDE!”

All eyes turned as Misha dropped the seashells he had been collecting down at the beach and strode up the path around the Ferasans to join the others on the veranda, stepping in front of his mother and sister, glaring up at the Pridemaster and pointing a finger at him. “You disrespect my sister! You be nice, or you fight me!”

Kami rested a free paw on her son’s shoulder, drawing him back and sending calming purrs running through him. “Pridemaster, this is my son, Misha. Please excuse his outburst.”

Ishme-Dagan laughed as he continued to regard the cub. “Excuse him? Why? He has bigger balls than any of the Caitian adult males I’ve met here!”

“You Fearies!” Misha accused, his little tail twitching in anger as he slipped out of his mother’s touch. “Big teeth! Little tails! You go! My Papa fight you! He Starfleet Hero! Big Cat!”

“Misha!” Kami immediately smacked the back of her son’s head.

He looked up at her in shock and horror.

She forced down her own shock and horror as she stabbed a finger at his snout, channelling her revulsion at her unprecedented act of violence into maternal anger. “I’ve told you time and again about making up stories! There’s nothing wrong with your father being a chef! Now go to your room!”

Misha’s eyes welled with tears, and his snout quivered as he began to cry.

Sreen, still in Mi’Tree’s arms, began mewling, and it took nearly all of her effort to ignore it as she pointed to the front door. “I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

Misha was sobbing now as he obeyed. Mi’Tree cradled the now-crying Sreen as he fixed an angry gaze at Kami. “Mleni, you’ve gone too far! So what if the cub is a little imaginative? They’re only stories-”

“Stories that have gotten him into trouble at school and at home, more than once! Mind your own damn business, you interfering old cat!”

Mi’Tree growled. “This is still my house, young lady! I’m going up there and offer some comfort to that poor cub!”

He started, but then Ishme-Dagan raised a paw. “Hold it! No one else is going anywhere!” He scowled at the still-crying Sreen. “Silence that mistake before I silence it!”

Kami swept Sreen up in her arms now, cradling her protectively while she offered her subliminal purrs as well to calm her down. “There’s no need for threats, Pridemaster-”

“Shut. Up.” His suspicious gaze looked to each of the three Caitian adults in turn. “Your husband, Mrs Dal: identify him and his location. Immediately.”

She raised her muzzle with mock indignation. “Everyone knows Resh Dal, one of the finest chefs in the city! Our restaurant The Fat Cat’s earned a Five Moon Rating in last year’s Guide!”

“Perhaps my niece could offer you and your men a discount if you’re in Kamar-Taj?” S’Graow suggested. “Resh makes an exquisite shuris tikka masala.”

Ishme-Dagan ignored them, perusing a Ferasan datapad in his paw. “Your identities check.” He looked up again. “Does your restaurant serve live food?”

“Live? Uh, no. But I suppose we could branch out into that for... new customers.”

The Pridemaster grunted and lowered the datapad. “Under the Protection Act, citizens are obliged to report the sightings of any members of Starfleet or the Caitian Militia. Should you be contacted, you’re required to report them to the authorities immediately.” He signalled to his males to follow him onto the path, barking an order into a comm unit on his uniform. “Return us!”

Seconds later, they were enveloped by their transporter beams and disappeared.

“Good riddance,” Mi’Tree muttered. “Are you alright, my dear?”

She drew up to him, offering him a calmer Sreen. “I will be, after I see to the son I just traumatised and beg his forgiveness...” She looked to S’Graow. “Thank you for your help.”

Her aunt nodded back. “Happy to help the family. And to be a part of it again.”

*

Mroara-Lnee Industries, M'Restir Province:

When Jnill had been a tail-high cub, more decades ago than she cared to remember, her father brought her to the family’s shipyards for the first time, and she entered the Assembly Complex, an immense domed building bigger than most towns, where the ships their company constructed slowly came to life, their shells swarmed over by articulated arms, drones and workers on antigrav platforms, occasionally glowing like lumiflies from their laser torches or tractor fields.

Of late, she had lost that childlike wonder. Her daughter had chosen not to follow Jnill in the family business, and though there were nephews and nieces who were potential successors, still, she felt like everything would eventually pass onto their stockholders.

Now, however, she feared that it would never even survive the coming weeks.

She stood in the office of the Operations Manager overlooking the assembly of the latest vessel, her Head of Security, Shikor, an ash-furred mountain of a female nearby, but she was now focused on the holoschematics brought up by the owner of the office, K’Misil. “And look here! See? These changes the Ferasans have ordered! The system upgrades required go beyond the original specs-”

“Yes,” she agreed, her bemusement and anxiety growing the more he showed her here. “We’ll need Type-40 Interocitors incorporating X-C condensers- we don’t have those in stock, do we?”

“Not on site, Madme. I’ll have to contact Supreme Electronics for the replacements.”

Jnill’s eyes moved over the holoschematics, and the list of discrepancies her trusted aide had identified. “Do it. And light a fire under their tails, I’m not taking their usual excuses for delays.”

But he didn’t respond, not until she faced him, and he asked, “What about these changes? These aren’t what they originally asked for-”

She nodded sympathetically. “I know. When our... clients... next appear, I’ll have words with them.”

Just then, the intercom above announced, “Ms Mroara-Lnee, Pridemaster Ubar-Sin has appeared in your office.”

She grunted. “Speak of the Devil.”

She left the office, Shikor following... and grunting to herself as if she’d had some bad shuris.

Jnill knew the other female long enough to recognise the prompt. “What is it?”

“He treats you with disrespect.”

“Are you referring to the Ferasan, or K’Misil?”

“Both. They’re both dishonest. You should have got rid of the old bastard years ago... and let me arrange an ‘accident’ for the Rat-tail.”

They both hopped into an autocar to the Main Building, Jnill once more feeling quite small sitting next to her Head of Security, and noting dryly, “Why not just arrange an accident for both of them at the same time?”

Shikor grunted again. “Because then K’Misil’s family would be entitled to Enhanced Death Benefits.”

Jnill smiled a rare smile, sending Shikor to her Department while she proceeded to her own office, where the Ferasan awaited her... with her inebriated rake of a brother, Hrulish, there, helping himself once more to her drinks cabinet. She drew herself up. “Welcome back, Pridemaster. I was just speaking about you.”

The tall, slate-furred Ferasan smiled coolly at her. “Fondly, I hope.” He indicated Hrulish. “Your brother has been most accommodating, telling me all about yourself and the company’s fortunes.”

Hrulish raised his tumbler of Aldebaran Whiskey to her, grinning inanely.

She ignored him. “I’m happy that my brother has made himself useful; it’s refreshing.” She approached. “I have questions about the changes to the ship designs you wanted.”

Ubar-Sin smiled again. “Ahh, my apologies, but there are certain... political exigencies, completely out of my paws. Hopefully they will not be insurmountable.”

“You’ve increased the passenger capacity, life support, structural integrity and warp propulsion requirements of the transport vessels you’ve ordered,” she observed. “You asked for Class 4 planetary medical transports to ferry the victims of Metremia to and from the treatment camps you’re setting up. But these are more like specifications for Class 6 transports... with interstellar conveyance capability.”

The Ferasan’s eyes widened with ostensible innocence. “Really? What a strange notion.”

“Then why make the changes?”

He shrugged. “Well, we have to think about what they might be used for once the Metremia Threat has passed. We fully expect to open up tourism between Cait and Ferasa Prime. Just think of the opportunity for your people to visit the planet where you came from?”

Jnill’s expression tightened as she regarded him. “And the security reinforcements to the passenger sections? Do you intend to treat your tourists as prisoners?”

Ubar-Sin regarded her for a moment, and she saw the change in him, something she’d seen with government officials and opponents around the negotiating table. He took a step closer. Just one step, though it was enough to make her tense and force herself not to step back instinctively, as he growled, “Madame... you are in an extremely fortunate position among your people. At a time of great change and instability, you have a chance here at security and prosperity, for yourself and your family. As the old saying goes: ‘The one who keeps his claws sharp in the morning, will be ready to feast in the evening’.”

He drew closer still... before stepping around her. She followed him with her eyes as he stepped up onto the raised dais leading to the way out... but he turned around once more, offering, “I like working with you, Madame. I would hate to see our budding relationship sour.”

Then he transported away.

Jnill’s heart continued to race.

“What in the Seven Hells...”

She turned, ready to chastise her brother for his inebriation... only to see him move and react with acute sobriety. She stared at him. “I thought you were in your cups.”

Hrulish set aside the tumbler, tugging nervously at the lapels of his jacket. “As it happens, I had only just arrived when His Lordship appeared without warning.” He looked at her now. “I thought it more advantageous to let him think he was dealing with a drunkard.”

“Clever.” And how often have you pulled that trick on me, Brother?  “What was he asking you?”

“Just like I said: the company and its fortunes... and your health. If I didn’t know any better, I’d expect a hostile takeover.”

“Look around you; we’ve already had that.”

Now Hrulish pointed at the spot where Ubar-Sin had beamed away. “What was all this about changes to the medical transports?”

She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked to the balcony, where the Assembly Complex dominated the landscape, feeling her tail flick agitatedly behind her. “We’re not building medical transports to ferry the sick around Cait. We’re building prison ships, to take Caitians back to Ferasa Prime.”

“Prison ships? But who are going to be their prisoners? Militia and Starfleet?”

“No. With the ‘modifications’ they’ve asked for, the transports can carry upwards of a thousand people... and we’re building thirty of them, here and in our subsidiaries around Cait. There’s not enough Starfleet and Militia left on the planet for that. And why would they take them away in the first place?”

Hrulish drew up beside her, his scent thick with anxiety now. “The Metremia Threat-”

“-Is a falsehood. Our own industrial sensor network here and at the subsidiaries is designed to warn of potential particle contamination; there are the expected fallout particles from where their destruction of the Militia bases, but there’s nothing about any background increase in metreon isotopes.”

“And no one else has noticed this?”

She shivered. “If they have... they haven’t been around long enough to argue it much.” She watched her breath ghost on the glass before her. “Hrulish, what are we going to do?”

He drew up closer to her, his voice dropping. “Survive.”

She glanced at him. “What?”

Her brother’s expression hardened to match her own. “Say nothing, carry on, take their money. Survive.”

“Are you serious? If they’re preparing to abduct large numbers of our people, for whatever reason-”

“What’s going to happen is going to happen. Just make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”

Jnill stared at him in disbelief. “Hrulish-”

Now he reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, tightening his hold. “If you ask too many questions, we won’t be around long enough to argue it much. And then someone else will take over. You have a granddaughter about to come out into a world radically different from what we knew of it, only a few weeks ago. We’re not government. We’re not military. We’re not responsible for what happens to others.”

She had been prepared to argue him further, explaining their responsibility as Caitians towards their people, their world.

But she didn’t.

Instead she pulled out of his grasp and looked out again at the business again. The business, and the thousands of Caitians depending upon her.

“What are you going to do?” Hrulish asked.

“What’s necessary,” she finally replied.

*

Shanos Minor:

Mreia Furore stared aghast at the bedroom screen. “You can’t be serious, R’Nus.”

Her firm’s Senior Partner frowned back at her. “You think we want to just stand by and not protest what’s happening around us? Mreia, practically every contact in the First Attorney’s Office is gone! People we’ve worked with for years are missing from their homes! No one is going to be stirring up trouble now for your ex-husband!”

She leaned forward, her hackles raised. “Then what in the Seven Hells are we good for? I’ve had to tell my son he can’t go out and protest what’s happening, but maybe I should be out there with him!”

The older female frowned. “Mreia... don’t say things like that in an open call.”

Mreia began to demand what she meant, when she heard an unfamiliar female voice from the living room, one that wasn’t one of Shau’s student friends. “I have to go. And I’m continuing my leave of absence until this matter is resolved.”

R’Nus nodded gravely. “Please be careful, Mreia. You and your son.”

Mreia nodded back and ended the call, before rising and exiting her bedroom. She had given Shau and his friends space in the living room, in lieu of his being allowed out.

But now she saw Shau and his friends missing... and a stranger in a jet-black cloak and hood stood there in the foyer. “Ms Furore?”

Mreia glanced around, her heart racing. “Where’s my son? Who are you? What have you done with him?”

“I’m sorry, Ms Furore, I don’t know where your son is.” As the stranger reached up to draw back the hood, Mreia saw the furless, pale-skinned hands, and realised this was a human. Seconds later, the hood was drawn back to reveal the face of a young, narrow-nosed woman with striking blue eyes and hair that was dark to strawberry blonde in colour. “My name is Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle. I believe you spoke with my kin-mother Kami earlier about Jhess?”

Mreia started, recognising her from the description Jhess had given of her before he had been detained: the human raised as Caitian, the granddaughter of the late Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall, and an alleged member of the Kaetini Order, a company that few have ever met in the fur, though they possess certain legal powers and immunities dating back almost a thousand years. She had never met a human before; the scent was strange, but not as unappealing as she imagined. “How did you get into my home uninvited?”

“I beamed in directly from my flyer; I’m sorry, Ma’am, but the situation being what it is, it’s safer for someone like myself to minimise being seen in public.” She opened her cloak more to reveal loose-fitting black clothes, but with boots and padded, armoured sections around the joints and vulnerable areas. “I’d come to reassure you and Shau that my father and I are about to help Jhess and the other Militia being detained at Agana Mount.”

Mreia’s heart raced that much faster. “You are? How? What will you do-”

“It’s better if you maintain plausible deniability, Ma’am. Excuse me, Ma’am, but you sounded as if you were expecting your son to be here.”

Mention of Shau snapped her back. “Yes! He was planning on going to a student demonstration in Liberty Plaza this afternoon! I told him he couldn’t go, it was too dangerous, but...” Panic began to rise within her. “I have to go get him-”

She moved to the door, but Sasha raised a hand to stop her. “No. You stay here. I’ll collect him.”

Mreia narrowed her gaze at her. “You? No! He’s my son! Didn’t you just say it was dangerous for you to be seen in public?”

“Yes... but I’m also more capable of getting myself out of trouble if I need to.  Have you a recent picture of him?”

Mreia stared at her. She didn’t seem that many years older than Shau... and yet, she looked like she had decades’ worth of experience behind her.

“Ma’am?” she prompted.

“Oh- Oh yes.” She moved to the living room table, retrieving the image she’d taken of him three weeks before when he was participating in the Hsova Run, and brought it to Sasha. “Here.”

Sasha took it, regarded it with a slight smile. “He has his father’s eyes.” She produced a small device from her belt and passed it over the image.

Mreia frowned. “Why are you helping us? I’d have thought you would have been trying to leave Cait, and get help.”

The human returned the image to Mreia and her device to her own belt. “We’re not likely to safely escape the system, given the forces we’ve already detected. And I think Starfleet is aware already of what’s going on; if there’s help to send, they’ll send it.” She removed something else from her belt, a thin silver cylinder.

“The Provisional First Minister says that Starfleet, the Federation, has fallen.”

Sasha adjusted some bands on the pen-like cylinder, muttering, “The Provisional First Minister can take his lying lips and kiss my furless ass.” She handed the cylinder to her. “Hold onto this for a second.”

Mreia complied; the device beeped. “What is it?”

“Well, now that it has been keyed to your DNA signature, if anyone else holds it, it’s a music player. If you hold it, it’s a secure audio communicator to me-” She frowned to herself, and reached up and pressed the fore- and middle finger of her right hand to her temple. “I know, Dad. Stand by.”

She looked to Mreia again, her expression serious. “You asked me why we’re helping you. Jhess has been wonderful for my brother and sister. He’s been gentle, kind, loving, patient, protective, has saved my family’s lives more than once... and he helped me personally, at a time when I was seriously in need of help. We all owe him. Big time. I’ll send back Shau, and let you know when we’ve got Jhess and the others out of detention.” In Old Caitian, she ended with, “Wish us luck.”

Then she touched her temple again and ordered, “Let’s go, Dad.”

She offered one final wave as she vanished in a transporter beam.

*

Mirow removed his helmet and commgear and rushed out of the Landing Bay, determined to see his wife as soon as possible-

-Until he ran into a Ferasan, one of several, waiting for him. He took in their strange scents, their weapons, and how they looked at him, and forced down his initial disgust – and fear – to offer, “Excuse me-”

“Mr Mirow Mroara-Lnee?” the Ferasan in the centre of the group asked.

He started. “Yes?”

“You are the son of Kami Hrelle, the Starfleet war criminal?”

Mirow bristled, swallowing down his anger at his words but still declaring, “She’s no criminal!”

The Ferasan made an amused sound at his response. “Regardless, you are her son. You are required to come with us for questioning about her whereabouts.”

“Wha- she’s not even on Cait! She’s in space, I don’t know where-”

The Ferasan grabbed his arm quickly, the others raising their weapons-

“What do you think you’re doing?”

All heads turned to Ptera, holding her belly as she marched with as much dignity and authority as she could muster under the circumstances. Mirow’s fear at his own safety now vanished, replaced by one for his wife. “Ptera, no! Stay back!”

The Ferasan sneered at her. “Yes, Caitian, stay back, and do not interfere.”

Ptera scowled up at him, stabbing a finger. “Release my husband, now!”

“Ptera, please!”

The Ferasan ground his sabreteeth in amusement. “And what will you do if I do not, you mouthy little kussik?”

She drew closer. “Then I’ll tell my mother.”

That made them laugh.

Until she clarified, “And she’ll tell the Ferasan Pridemaster whom she’s working with, building ships for your people. Ubar-Sin, I believe his name is, of the Evercrest Fur Pride.” She motioned down the direction of the corridor. “Well? Shall I go and have her inform him that you’re harassing her bond-son?”

That made the Ferasan bristle, and appear clearly conflicted over being practically scolded by a mere female, while also acknowledging the potential truth behind her warnings. He pointed at Mirow. “His mother and her husband have been reported on Cait! They are-”

“-Of no consequence anymore,” Ptera informed them archly. “Under Caitian tradition, Mirow renounced any affiliation with his old clan when we married, and became part of mine, taking our name as his. His mother has had cubs of her own with her new husband, and is a thousand light years away from here, fighting your Dominion masters.

Now, I’m going home, and I expect my husband to take me there. If he’s not walking away with me in the next ten seconds, I’ll be calling my mother in twenty seconds, and in an hour’s time you’ll be facing the leader of your people on Cait, and probably counting the last minutes of your life on the fingers of one mangy paw. Your future’s up to you.”

Ten seconds later, Mirow was walking away with her, his arm around hers, his heart still racing; he had known her long enough to know how steeled she could get, but seeing her stand up to three Ferasans... “That was amazing, Sugartail-”

“Shut up and take me home. I’m on Maternity Leave now. And I don’t know if I’ll be coming back.”

*

Agana Mount Aeroport, Militia Terminal:

Something changed.

Jhess had been in a timeless, chaotic state for the longest time... until he devised a means of time measurement: the healing process of his injuries. For instance he focused on the deep bruises on his right thigh, confirming that a minimum of ten hours had passed from when the Ferasan Pridemaster tormenting him had driven his boot there until now. The easing ache on his ribs confirmed that he had been fed eight hours ago. And the stabbing pain in his kidneys told him that he hadn’t tried peeing in about a day... that definitely worried him.

But now something changed. They were changing their routine.

This was it, he decided. He was going to be taken elsewhere, or he was going to be killed. Or taken elsewhere to be killed.

None of those options were appealing.

And so he decided to go down now, fighting, in control of his own destiny.

He had already resigned himself to never seeing his family, or the Hrelles, or any other Caitian again.

So be it. They would all move on after he was gone... and, Mother Willing, drive these bastards off their world.

The door slid open; he leapt up into a crouch, ignoring his pain – it will all be over soon enough – and launched himself, claws bared, at the large silhouette filling the doorway.

The silhouette deftly stepped aside, reaching out and grabbing Jhess by his scruff of his furry neck, swinging him around and slamming his naked body into the wall, before pinning him there.

The Ferasan who restrained him leaned in, gnashing his sabreteeth. “Oooh, the broken cat still has some bite in him, does he? Well, too little, too late. I’ve come for you and the other Militia scum.” He drew in even closer and taunted, “Maybe you can sing me a few verses of The Hills of Tau’Maree, or Hnall and His Crooked Tail, while we take you to your just rewards? How about it, Spots?”

Jhess tensed to fight back- until the mention of those song titles, and the nickname he had on the Surefoot, made him freeze.

And catch the scent of the so-called Ferasan holding him in place.

Mother’s Cubs... the Ferasan was Esek!

*

Liberty Plaza, Shanos Minor:

Shau had watched with growing excitement as his group converged with others his age and older from the different districts, all of them flowing like a river towards the Plaza, their banners raised high, declaring their rights and liberties, proclamations that have enshrined Shanos Minor as a beacon of civil rights.

It was heady, both their collective scents and their collective sounds of excitement and determination. He looked to his girlfriend Noma, who raised their own banner high, chanting... and he smiled with pleasure at sharing this time with her. This would be something to tell their cubs someday...

Liberty Plaza was a wide hexagonal open meeting place, with white columns at each point, rising up thirty metres, each representing the six original colony ships that had made it to Cait a millennium ago, and representing the Six Inviolable Rights as detailed in the First Affirmation. It was traditionally open to all, to come and meet and speak on any subject, had always been.

Until today. Today, a ring of Constables blocked entry.

“What’s going on?” he asked aloud.

“They can’t do that!” Noma declared, pushing forward, Shau following, until they reached the perimeter, and the line of black-uniformed adults. “You can’t do this!”

One of the Constables raised a gloved paw, and his voice, through an amplifier at his collar. “Go home! Public Assembly has been temporarily suspended under the Protection Act-”

Another student called out, “You can’t suspend our rights! What are we without them?”

The Constable glanced at his comrades, and now raised both paws. “Please! Go home! This is an Emergency situation! You will face criminal charges if you do not disperse!”

Shau glanced around nervously, fighting the instinctive desire to obey, unable and unwilling to be meek about it all. They were holding his Dad somewhere, out of contact with the rest of the world! It wasn’t fair! And none of what was going on now was fair!

His righteous anger made him shout around him, “They can’t arrest us all! Seven Hells, No! We Won’t Go!”

His declaration was picked up by Noma and those around him. “SEVEN HELLS, NO! WE WON’T GO! SEVEN HELLS, NO! WE WON’T GO! SEVEN HELLS, NO! WE WON’T GO-”

A series of disruptor blasts made the crowd shriek and drop into crouches, and Shau noticed that even the Constables reacted with alarm- they didn’t fire their weapons!

He looked past the Constables to the centre of the Plaza... where six tall, armed Ferasans suddenly stood, one of them holding a wicked-looking black weapon in one paw, aimed into the cloudless blue sky.

The crowd raised wary heads to see the armed Ferasan step forward, the Constables parting like curtains as he sneered at the surrounding crowd, raising his own voice without the need of an amplifier as he paced about, contempt dripping from him. “Oooh, look at the little kittens, trying to roar! Strutting through the streets, chests and tails puffed out! Such mighty warriors!” He and his males laughed at that.

His laughter melted into a sneer. “I am Enam-Bel of the Black Pelt Pride, Second Son to the Master Governor himself! And you Little Kittens need to scurry home! Back to your mothers’ teats! Because I have no patience for your mewling!”

He lowered the disruptor to the level of the crowds. “No patience whatsoever.”

“Wait!” That came from one of the Constables, a young male from what Shau could see. “You can’t threaten them with lethal weapons! They’re just cubs! They mean no harm!”

Enam-Bel turned his glare – and his disruptor – in the Constable’s direction. “And yet, they’re still here! Risking death from us! They have no business being here!”

“They have every business,” came a new, female voice from the crowds.

The Ferasan turned in that direction. “Who said that? Show yourself!”

Behind Shau, the protestors began to part, as a black-cloaked figured came into view, striding forward almost casually... and when she was close enough, Shau saw that she was human: furless, pale-skinned, blue-eyed, strands of red-honey hair revealed as she threw back the hood, and then shucked off the cloak, revealing black-padded outfit with boots and padded sections on her body... and a sidearm and sword.

Shau recognised her: the human his Dad talked about, Sasha Hrelle... the Kaetini!

She strode up to the edge of the Plaza, anger and determination in her expression, repeating, “They have every business defying your orders. This is our world. Not yours.”

Enam-Bel bared his teeth. “An alien! Starfleet scum! Constables! Disarm her! We’ll bring her back with us, a prize for my father!”

Shau and the other protestors made noise, as the Constables drew closer to Sasha... and then stopped, as the one who had spoken up before noted the symbol on the hilt of her blade with astonishment. “Is that... is that a Kaetini sword?”

The question sent rumbles through the crowd, continued as Sasha nodded in confirmation.

“B-But- you’re human,” the Constable observed, eyes wide with wonder.

Sasha replied loudly, in Old Caitian, “I am a Warrior of the Great Mother. I am Her Eyes and I am Her Ears. I am her Teeth and I am her Claws. I am Her Purr, and I am 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.”

The Caitians’ excitement grew as they heard the human speak. Shau knew Old Caitian, having studied it as an Optional course at school, and he knew the Oath from the historical texts given him. It was true, not just legend. Mother’s Cubs...

“What are you doing?” Enam-Bel demanded. “Fools! Take her weapons off her!”

The Constables hesitated, before looking back at the Ferasans. “We can’t! We can’t disarm a Kaetini, can’t even touch or impede them! It’s one of our oldest laws!”

“A Kaetini?” The Ferasan looked around him. “What the fuck is a Kaetini?”

Sasha stepped closer, looking utterly unafraid. “A Kaetini is a Warrior of the Great Mother, a Protector of Her people…” She indicated the crowds now. “And these cubs, these Constables, all fellow Caitians here, are under my protection.”

Enam-Bel stared with abject confusion. “‘Fellow’? You- You’re no Caitian! Who the fuck are you?”

The human raised her chin. “Oh, I am Caitian. And I’m Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle of Starfleet. I am the Tailless Cub who singlehandedly slaughtered the Black Talon Pride on their own starship. And you mangy, rat-tailed, snaggletoothed kussiks need to scurry home. Back to your mothers’ teats. Because I have no patience for your mewling. NO patience whatsoever.”

She pointed a gloved finger at them. “Get off our world.”

Enam-Bel bared his teeth now. “‘Your world’? ‘YOUR WORLD’? This is OUR world now! We own it! We own ALL OF YOU! And you’ll all die today for your defiance!”

He raised his disruptor to her. “And you’ll be the first.”

She kept her right arm raised… but twisted her hand to raise her middle finger at the Ferasans.

Enam-Bel snarled and fired.

Or tried to.

Shau and the other students gasped and flinched, but nothing happened. Enam-Bel kept trying, then checked the status of his weapon, before motioning to the other Ferasans, who drew their weapons and tried firing as well. And failed as well.

Sasha lowered her arm. “What’s wrong, kussiks? Having performance issues?”

Enam-Bel threw aside his useless weapon and pointed back at her, roaring, “RIP HER APART!”

Two of his males holstered their weapons and charged at her.

Shau almost called out to warn her, despite the sheer needlessness of the action. Everyone knew that Ferasans were genetically superior to Caitians: bigger, stronger, faster. And Caitians were genetically superior to Humans. She had to get away, get away now-

She stepped to her right, shifting onto her right boot and driving her left leg up until the tip of her left boot connected with one Ferasan’s groin, doubling him over and making the breath evacuate from his lungs. With fluid ease she then crouched and charged low into the second Ferasan, using his own momentum against him as she flipped him over her – and drove her boot down onto his muzzle like a hammer, shattering the bones with a sickening sound that could be heard by those closest to the fight.

The other four Ferasans joined the fray.

Sasha drew out her sword, a black blade that reflected the afternoon light as she swung out in wide, smooth vertical and horizontal arcs, pirouetting like a dancer as she sliced open the belly of one, turning her back to him as she impaled the second one through the chest, the tip of the blade appearing from the Ferasan’s back.

Shau gasped. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more: how easily the blade seemed to penetrate Ferasan flesh and uniform, or how easily the young human, someone seemingly not much older than he was, fought… and killed them.

Before he could think any further on it, the third Ferasan caught a glancing blow across her head, sending her staggering back as Enam-Bel tried to take advantage, raising a paw up, claws exposed-

A sharp sonic shock made everyone yelp, and Enam-Bel cry out and stumble backwards. Shau’s gaze moved to the source of the shock: one of the Constables, the one who had protested disarming Sasha, had his Yap, his sonic stun pistol, drawn and aimed in Enam-Bel’s direction, his arm shakign as if not believing what he had just done.

The distraction gave Sasha the opportunity to take the left arm off the third Ferasan, making him drop to his knees, shrieking and clutching the stump where she had cut off his limb, before she drove her blade once more into his chest, sending him dead to the ground.

Then there was only Enam-Bel, unable to stand up following the blast he took from the Yap. He was trying to crawl away from the slowly-approaching Sasha, slapping a device on his uniform. “Emergency transport! Emergency transport! BEAM ME AWAY!” Then he looked up at her, terror in his expression. “Please! No! Please don’t kill me! PLEASE!”

She stopped in place, never taking her glare from him as she reached for something on her belt. “There. You can beam away now.”

Enam-Bel took it. “Emergency Transport! NOW!”

And then he, and the dead and dying Ferasans and their fallen disruptors, vanished.

Shau watched Sasha from behind, her sword still dripping with red-black Ferasan blood, the drops hitting the slate-grey plaza pavement, the only evidence remaining of what had just happened.

Dead. Shau gasped, and he felt the same feeling from everyone around him. He had never seen anyone die before, let alone get killed...

Then Sasha drew her hand down the length of the blade, wiping the blood from it, sheathed the sword and turned around, walking up to the Constable who had intervened. “What’s your name?”

The male swallowed, still holding his weapon. “Constable Ssesil... Ma’am.”

She nodded. “Thank you for your help just now, Constable Ssesil.” She glanced around, saw how many students were recording the encounter on their minicoms. “You and your people need to get these students broken up and heading home right away; the Ferasans will very likely come back looking for someone to blame.” As the male nodded and began coordinating with his men, she looked out at the group and announced, “Does anyone know Shau Furore?”

Shau started, swallowed, looking to Noma before raising my paw and answering, “Here! I’m here!”

Sasha looked in his direction. “We’ve rescued your father and the other prisoners. They’ve been through the Seven Hells, but they’ll recover. Now get home and take care of your mother. Now. Is that understood?”

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you!” he nodded, gratitude filling him up. His Dad was alive, and free!

But then Sasha turned around, seeing the throngs of students and the Constables remaining, her expression taut as she pointed to where the Ferasans had beamed away. “They are not your friends! They are not your benefactors! THEY ARE YOUR ENEMY!

AND THEY ARE NOT INVINCIBLE!”

Then she touched something on her collar and transported away.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M'Mirl Province:

“They are not your friends! They are not your benefactors! THEY ARE YOUR ENEMY! AND THEY ARE NOT INVINCIBLE!”

Master Governor Melem-Adu stood before the huge screen in his Operations Centre, watching the recordings uploaded to the Caitian Cynet from multiple sources present at Liberty Plaza. He watched his offspring publicly declare the Ferasans’ ownership of Cait, watched him and his males humiliated by a furless human with a sword. He saw the attempts by his people here to delete the uploads, even as it was being re-uploaded by other sources. “Report!”

One of his aides approached... though not too closely. “We have been unable to trace the transporter beam the human used, or where she might have gone-”

“We know where she’s gone,” Melem-Adu growled. “With the ones who snuck into Agana Mount in the same city and liberated our Militia prisoners. Why have we not traced the vessel they employed?”

“It... is proving difficult, Master Governor. They employed advanced holographic technology to disguise themselves as our people when they beamed into Agana Mount and freed the prisoners, and had co-opted the local security computers to provide false security-”

He pointed a finger at the image of Sasha. “I want all intelligence on that ape and her associates.”

“Do you require our assistance?”

Melem-Adu turned to Welros, standing nearby, as simpering and killable as ever. He forced down his instinctive response to say instead, “No... thank you, Vorta. We can manage this on our own.”

Welros smiled. “Of course you can.”

The Ferasan grunted, imagining what Vorta flesh might taste like. Probably sickeningly sweet and disgusting. “Has my Second Son finally arrived?”

“He is approaching now, Master Governor.”

On cue, the door behind him slid open, and he caught the scent and sound of Enam-Bel drawing up from behind. “Father... we were attacked in Shanos Minor! Outnumbered! We-”

Melem-Adu heard the cub stop behind him, obviously now looking up at all the screens detailing the events of the day. He let him absorb it.

Then Melem-Adu spun around and swiped the claws of his right paw across Enam-Bel’s muzzle, catching him off-guard... and allowing his father to grab him, clamp his teeth into Enam-Bel’s throat and rip the flesh away.

All around them watched as Melam-Adu continued to consume the flesh of his offspring on the floor of the Operations Centre, blood and gore spurting around them. A few had reports to deliver, but thought it best not to interrupt, or even move, at this time.

*

Mroara-Lnee Industries, M'Restir Province:

K’Misil stopped at the doorway into his office, waiting for the lights to start, before reaching for the manual override.

“Leave it,” ordered Jnill, sitting in the darkness.

The Operations Manager for Mroara-Lnee Industries stepped in slowly, drawing his greying tail in as the door slid shut, the wariness in his scent matching that in his voice. “Madame, is there- is there a reason we’re meeting like this?”

“Yes.”

The old male’s breathing quickened. “I- I don’t want to trip in here-”

“Then stay still,” Shikor, making her presence known now, ordered with a growl.

“For the last twelve years,” Jnill continued casually, “You’ve been running an illegal operation with accomplices in our annexes in Everwell, Stonebay, Elderrun and elsewhere, falsifying or exaggerating reports on damaged equipment and parts, and reselling them to my rivals.”

K’Misil gasped. “M-Madame, I- I can assure you-”

“And I can assure you, old friend, that I’ve known what you have been up to for a long time. And I’ve allowed it, because you’ve never been greedy, and it’s never had a significant effect on the completion of any contracts.” She leaned back in her chair until it creaked. “I must admire your expertise; no law enforcement agencies uncovered it, and it took Ms Shikor months of intensive investigation to turn up how you communicated with the others.”

“I- I-” He gasped, his breath faltering.

“There’s a chair immediately to your left,” Jnill offered. “Take it. We’re going to be here for a while.”

K’Misil reached out, found the chair, and took it. “I- I’ll stop what I’m doing immediately, of course- return what I’ve taken-”

“You’ll do neither,” Jnill told him. “I’m not interested in what you’ve collected to supplement your Retirement Fund. We have bigger things to worry about.

You’ll keep your network up and running. Only now you’ll turn your efforts towards sabotage.”

“Sabotage?”

“K’Misil... we can’t allow the Ferasans to use these vessels we’re building for them. But we can’t openly refuse them, either; they’ll simply take over the operations directly. So, we continue... but there will be complications. Accidents, incidents, delays, errors. Use your imagination, and your resources. But it stays between the three of us; not even my brother is to know. And anything more you or your accomplices learn about the Ferasans’ plans are to brought to me personally.”

He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Madame... Jnill... I’m not a soldier, I’m just an old cat-”

“As am I. But we’re still Caitians. Today my daughter came home and told me how many of her colleagues at her hospital have disappeared, and how her husband, my bond-son, was almost shot down by a Ferasan fighter. 

We may not have plasma rifles in our paws, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be part of the fight...”

*

In the Shall Clanhouse, Misha was doing his best to remain silent and sullen as he sat in the living room minding his little sister, while the adults were busy preparing for departure.

In her chair, Sreen frowned at Misha, raising her stubby paw towards a plush shuris toy. “Meesh! Meesh! Shis! Shis!”

With a huff Misha set aside his playPADD and hopped off the couch, kneeling in front of Sreen’s chair, lifting up the toy and making it dance and hop around the infant’s head, playfully keeping it out of her grasp and making her giggle.

Kami poked her head in the doorway of the living room. “Awww, that’s a good big brother there! Best one on the Motherworld!”

Misha ignored her.

She set aside the clothes she had been gathering for the journey to enter, kneeling behind her son and laying her paws on his shoulders, sending purrs through him. “Sweetheart, I was sorry before, and I’m sorry still. I explained why I had to do it, and I understand why you’re still angry... but don’t be angry with me for too much longer, okay?”

Misha continued to ignore her, pretending to be focused on playing with his sister.

Kami titled her head to see her daughter, sticking a tongue out before adding, “It’d be a shame if you were still angry when we get to Kaijushima Island. All those dinosaurs living there might think you were being angry with them.”

Now he twisted to look up at her, his eyes wide with wonder. “Dinosaurs?”

Sreen used his distraction to grab the toy from him and shove one of its legs into her mouth to let her chew away, purring happily to herself at her victory.

 

In the kitchens, Mi’Tree was removing pots hanging over the preparation island, when S’Graow entered. “Need any help?”

He grunted, never turning. “No thank you.”

“Are you sure? When are Bneea, Esek and the others landing?”

“Soon.”

The older female regarded the back of Mi’Tree’s head, before entering and standing opposite him at the island. “I never apologised to you, for the way I treated Ma’Sala all those years ago.”

His expression was dour, his voice curt. “Don’t bother. Your sister was the one deserving of apology.”

“I know. But it’s too late for that. I can at least apologise to you.”

Mi’Tree harrumphed, moving away to collect fresh ninshoots from the cooler.

“You know I’ll be remaining behind when the rest of you go off to...” She paused, waiting for him to finish. When he didn’t, she continued. “I know, I know, it’s safer for me not to know. Well, wherever you’re going, I promise to keep the place safe, and keep silent.”

He was chopping the ninshoots on a wooden board with a large kitchen knife, but now he stopped and looked up at her, his gaze narrowing and his voice taking on a melodious... and menacing... tone. “Yes. But that’s hardly fair on you, is it? What if the damned Ferasans come back? They might question you. Torture you, even.” Something like a smile lifted the corners of his muzzle. “Nobody would want to see that happen. Nobody. Maybe you should just come with us?”

“What? No, that won’t be necessary-”

He pointed the knife at her, seemingly without malice. “Oh, I think it will, my dear. In fact, I insist. It’s the least I can do for my bond-sister.”

S’Graow stared back at him, before relenting. “Maybe I should pack a bag and be ready?”

“Yes. Maybe you should.”

She smiled and departed, returning to her own room, and retrieving a minicom from her bag and opening a channel. “It’s me.”

A gruff male voice responded. “Are they all there yet?”

“Not yet, but they’re coming. And we’ll all be leaving together. They haven’t told me where yet.”

“Let us know when they arrive.”

She grunted, and then asked, “You’ll keep our agreement? I’ll be free, and keep everything?”

The voice chuckled. “Why not? You’ll be the last survivor of your clan before we’re done...”

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN... THE THOUSAND SCARS