Chapter 9: Three... Two... One...

 

(Warning: Profanity, sexual situations, scenes of graphic violence, sexual violence and physical and emotional trauma)

 

THREE HOURS, FOUR MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS... TWENTY-NINE... TWENTY-EIGHT...

Classified Location, Planet Cait:

R’Taara Aris did her best to keep calm for her cub Srira. Her own mother had always seemed to make it easy, whenever the younger R’Taara had been upset over a storm or a missing pet or an unrequited love, offering soothing purrs and soothing words, and R’Taara had striven in the years since then to emulate her strength and composure.

Now, however, all of that had fled her, and all she could do is grasp Srira’s paw and hold onto it.

She had received the notification that her eight-year-old son and she had been identified as infected with Metremia, and were due to be collected for treatment. Yes, she had heard the transmissions from Mi’Tree Shall that accused the Ferasans of lying, but she didn’t believe him; he had always been a bit of an egocentric windbag, and she suspected it might even have been some publicity stunt for a new Vivid. So she had had no problem with packing a bag for herself and Srira, terrified about the disease. Still, some doubt lingered.

On the other paw, the Ferasans who appeared, though they looked intimidating with their height and sabreteeth, were courteous enough, seating them with everyone else in the Crescent district of Shanos Major who were similarly infected, taking them to the local park, where a large transport vehicle awaited them.

“Mama,” Srira had mewled, picking up the scents of fear and uncertainty in the females and other cubs around them.

“It’ll be okay,” she had assured him.

The transport had been windowless, but they played soothing music in the background, and the front of the seats had entertainment centres, and Srira distracted himself with playing games. They travelled for some time; the Ferasans onboard offered water and snacks, but no clue as to where the treatment camp was, or how long it would take to get there, or how long they might be.

They arrived in a blinding light and hot, dry air that blasted through the opening doors of the transport, as the passengers filed out into an wide open clearing of many square tathes in area, surrounded by high wire fences topped in places with dark towers – and weapons mounted on them. Buildings of various sizes sat within the area, and there was a bustle of activity, unchecked by the strong bright light of the sun in the cloudless blue sky.

R’Taara looked beyond, trying to find some clue as to where they were: southern Ujanaka Province, or even Ravath. Did they really have to be so far from home? And it felt more like a military camp than anything medical, but she supposed the scope of the emergency did not allow for niceties.

“Mama?” Srira called, over the strange sounds and scents, his tail twitching.

“It’ll be okay,” she assured him.

Then a Ferasan male in a decorated uniform approached, flanked by armed guards, and he smiled and held out his arms, raising his voice over the surrounding noises of activity. “Welcome, Cousins! Welcome one and all! I am Ubara-Tul, Commander of Camp Navron! Here you’ll receive all the care and attention and treatment required! I know it’s all been very rushed and I’m sure you’re all anxious and tired and hungry, but I promise you, we will take care of your every need here! Now, we have more transports due in shortly, so you need to be quick tailed and follow me to the Processing Centre!”

R’Taara took her son’s paw and led him with the others towards the nearest building, a drab, windowless structure. Around her, the fellow new arrivals spoke to each other, some voicing the same thoughts she had, others anxious to finally get treated for the horrible disease inflicted upon them by the Starfleet terrorists.

In the distance, a smaller, black building rose up, with tall, narrow chimneys, belching smoke and ash high into the sky. What was the purpose of that?

Before she could ponder it further, they arrived at the entrance, where more Ferasans were running checks on their datapads as to the identities of the new arrivals, while Ubara-Tul caught their attention, smiling once more. “Well, Cousins, now here we’ll begin! Some of you will be berthed here in the Main Medical Labs, others we have alternative arrangements. And for all those lovely cubs, we have a very special surprise! We have an Entertainment Centre, where you’ll get to eat and play and have all sorts of fun! You’ll even get to meet Faro the Ferasan and have a great time! But you need to be good and obedient and follow our instructions!”

Tension rose among the new arrivals, sparked by the cubs not wishing to be separated from their families, and vice versa – she understood that feeling. When Ferasans came to collect the cubs, Caitians began protesting, asking to escort the cubs to the Entertainment Centre, or to bring them in the Labs to ensure that everything was going to be fine. Cubs began wailing.

“Please, Cousins!” Ubara-Tul called out, “You need to stay calm! All is as it is meant to be!”

A Ferasan swept up Srira, as he cried out, “MAMA!”

That did it. R’Taara went to retrieve him, but another Ferasan roughly shoved her backwards. Horrified at being treated like that, driven by his cries, driven by her own fear and outrage, she turned to Ubara-Tul, striding up to him and demanding, “Give me my son back!”

The Camp Commander offered an open paw and a confident, mollifying tone. “Please, Ma’am, you need to stay calm... you need to follow instructions-“

“DAMN IT, I WANT MY CUB-”

The rest of her protest was lost as he drove his fist into her stomach. She doubled over, her pain blocking the sounds of horror from the other Caitians who witnessed it... but not the cries of Srira being taken away.

Or the growl of the Ferasan who now dropped to one knee beside R’Taara, grasping a pawful of her blonde mane and lifting up her head to face him, as he intoned, “You need to shut your bitch mouth, and do as you’re told. Assuming you don’t want to see any harm come to your whiny little cub.” Louder now, he added, “Technicians! Get the Breeders inside and out of this heat! Take the rest to the Factory!”

R’Taara wanted to struggle, to protest, to cry out, to call for help from the other, equally-terrified Caitians. They couldn’t do this. They had rights! They couldn’t do this!

She still thought this as she was lifted up and dragged inside.

*

THREE HOURS, TWO MINUTES, FIFTY-NINE SECONDS, FIFTY-EIGHT, FIFTY-SEVEN...

Ferasan Occupational Headquarters, Capitol, First City, M’Mirl Province:

When he was a cub, Nusum-Adu would stay in the background and study his father as he dealt with others: other Pride members, subordinates, potential allies and definite enemies. He may have been the quietest, most unassuming of his father’s three sons, but he also knew that he had been the most intelligent, the most observant. And, as he was the only one to have survived the Caitian Campaign, that must have meant something. He learned his father’s many moods, his many scents and expressions and tone of voice.

Today, as he conducted the latest Status meeting, Nusum-Adu kept studying his father, seeing a concealed expectation, an anticipation. He had something planned, and he was keeping it to himself. And Nusum-Adu didn’t like being kept out of the proverbial loop; especially not as he was now shouldering the burden of administering to the occupation of an entire planet, while his father took the glory.

They sat on opposite ends of the conference table, with the Pridemasters serving in various capacities here sat on one side of the table, providing their respective reports. The other side of the table was occupied by only two figures: Welros, the Vorta representative of the Dominion, silently observing the proceedings, and the Caitian Renthri Lessade, a former minor Governor here, whom Melem-Adu elevated to the symbolic post of First Minister in order to act as a mouthpiece, but who had since proved to be about as useful as a glove for a snake.

Then Nusum-Adu commenced. “Before we begin, Pridemaster Lu-Shalim has demanded an audience with the Master Governor on what he claims is urgent business.”

The elderly bone-furred male grunted. “There is no ‘claim’ about it, cub! I am here to protest the killing of my second born male, Warad-Elil, today, by the Hunter Prime. He came to the Shall Clanlands where my son led a Pack lying in wait for the return of the Hrelles, and callously murdered him! For no damn reason!”

Nusum-Adu tensed at the sound of the name; he had his own humiliating encounter with Valtiri, the newly-arrived Hunter Prime sent by the Patriarch to find and kill the Hrelles, though he had managed to recover and ensure no one learned about it. The gargantuan Ferasan was a low-born peasant as rough-hewn as a canvas game sack... but his strength, his savagery – and his personal connections to the Patriarch – were best not dismissed too easily.

“Indeed?” Melem-Adu answered simply, insouciantly, never looking up from his drink.

“Yes!” Lu-Shalim declared angrily, claws extending from his paws to rake the table. “It is an insult! Not just to my Pride, but to you as well! To all of us, working and sacrificing here for the good of our race! And I demand that something is done about it!”

Nusum-Adu tensed; you old fool, master of a minor Pride, demanding anything of my father will only ever earn you a scar or two at best...

But the Master Governor looked unoffended. “I concur wholeheartedly. You have my permission.”

“Permission?”

“Yes, my permission: for you to challenge the Master Hunter in personal combat. You will then be able to avenge not only your second son’s killing, but the insult to myself, to all of us. We thank you for your sacrifice.”

The Pridemaster hesitated now... fear shining in his copper eyes. “M-Master Governor, I- I thought that- that you would-“

“-That I would stop you from claiming this privilege for yourself? No, Lu-Shalim. I could not be so cruel as to deny you this. Contact the Master Hunter and make the necessary arrangements. Give my regards to your successor.” Now Melem-Adu met his gaze. “Now go, we have actual urgent business to attend to.”

“B-But...” Lu-Shalim froze, looking around the table, seeking support, receiving none. Then he rose, turned and departed, tail drooping.

Melem-Adu looked to his son once more. “Continue.”

Nusum-Adu nodded, indulging in a heartbeat of satisfaction at how Lu-Shalim had been dealt with, before returning to his duties. “Pridemaster Ubar-Sin, how is the progress on the construction of the transport ships?”

The older Ferasan glanced at Nusum-Adu with barely-contained disdain, clearly not happy with being prompted to speak by a subordinate. Or perhaps it was, as Nusum-Adu already knew, that he had less than positive news. Whichever the case, he looked to Melem-Adu to give the response. “Regrettably, Master Governor, it is falling behind.

It is due to a combination of equipment malfunctions, supply and personnel shortages. The Caitians depended much on parts and alloys imported from other worlds; now that we have cut them off from the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, they are having to improvise, manufacturing directly or taking from other vessels.”

“Indeed?” Melem-Adu nodded in acknowledgement... but said nothing further.

That didn’t stop Ishme-Dagan, Pridemaster of the Umber Tail Pride, sitting next to Ubar-Sin, to speak up. “You need to crack the whip, make them work!”

“Fool! This isn’t some small group of prisoners we’re trying to make dig a ditch! This is an operation being taken in over twenty-five locations around Cait, involving thousands of workers! We don’t have the personnel to perform such an act!”

“Give me the chance and I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Fail, perhaps? You had one task, to find the Hrelles! One fat Caitian and his little human cub! And he ended up wiping out the Thousand Scars Pride singlepawedly! Because of you!”

“You miserable little-“

“Enough,” Melem-Adu interrupted, looking to the second Ferasan. “Ishme-Dagan, have you made any progress in finding the Hrelles? Or their Rebel base? Or the source of the mysterious attack on the Jem’Hadar on the Free Seas?”

The other Ferasan blanched, his hackles rising as he stammered, “I- I- There have been difficulties with our scanning algorithms-“

“So, it’s a No to all of that, then?”

“M-Master Governor-“

Melem-Adu raised a paw to silence him.

Then, out of nowhere, Lessade spoke up, albeit in a slurred fashion from heavy, frequent intoxication as he looked to Melem-Adu. “Perhaps I could speak with the workers? Offer an appeal to the Caitian sense of cooperation? I have been a most successful representative.”

“Yes, as all the images I have seen of the Caitians burning you in effigy confirm. Stay quiet; if I want to hear your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.”

Lessade’s mouth opened as if to respond, but in a rare moment of common sense shut it again, leaving Nusum-Adu to continue the meeting. “Pridemaster Awil-Aya, you are in charge of security in Nashea Province in general... and Shanos Minor in particular.”

The slate-furred Ferasan male, Master of the Shadow Muzzle Pride, with a broken sabretooth and a nicked left ear, bristled. “We are maintaining Lockdown on the city, and a communications blackout. We are controlling the food supply and distribution; the Caitians are mostly compliant as a result.”

“Mostly,” Nusum-Adu pointed out. “The cubs, the students there, are still holding public demonstrations... and they are somehow managing to smuggle out broadcasts of these to the rest of the planet. They are being very vocal.”

“Yes,” Awil-Aya admitted reluctantly. “And I confess that I have been lenient, as many of the students are females of childbearing age, who could in future be employed in the service of the salvation of our race.”

Now he looked to Melem-Adu. “But I promise you, Master Governor, on my own cubs’ lives, that will end today. The mewling Caitian brats will be marching again as they have done every day... but this time I have arranged a special reception for them. The Shadow Muzzle Pride has invited our cousin allies the Iron Whisper, Blood Brow and Grey Halfcrest Prides, to join us in Shanos Minor, and teach them a lesson they cannot learn in University.”

“A Great Hunt?”

Awil-Aya nodded, smiling. “You are more than welcome to join us, Master Governor.”

“Thank you, but affairs of state must take precedence; enjoy yourselves. Next?”

Nusum-Adu looked to the next Ferasan. “Pridemaster Bikku-Dam, your report on the Breeding Program?”

An ink-furred, broad-framed Ferasan leaned forward, clutching a datapad in his paws like a talisman against evil. “At the risk of sounding like an echo here, there have been complications. Of the thousands of female Caitians we have taken to the various camps around the planet, 62% of their ova has proven 100% resistant to enforced fertilisation by Ferasan sperm.

Of the remaining 38%, half fail at the blastocyst development stage, even with external biochemical and nanotechnological assistance. The other half... well, no embryo has survived past the development of amnion at 26 days, when the Ferasan introns appear to code themselves into various types of malignant sequencing. Then the embryo becomes something more akin to a tumour, attacking the mother until either her body successfully rejects it... or it kills her.

At the latest count, despite our best efforts, we’ve lost 8,400 Caitian females to Embryonic Malignancy, and almost as many have been damaged and rendered useless to our needs.”

“Why is it so difficult?” Ubar-Sin demanded. “All over the Quadrant, Terrans are breeding with Vulcans, Klingons with Romulans, Bajorans with Cardassians, all running about! Caitians and Ferasans are from the same stock! Why are you failing us?”

Bikku-Dam turned to him. “I, and my fellow scientists, are not failing us. Our ancestors did. Their efforts to Augment our race were primitive by our standards, and focused on making significant changes to our very natures in a relatively short time, favouring strength and swiftness over surety.

In the generations since, further Augmentations were attempted, to produce continued increased strength, speed, endurance and resistance to disease, with no thought as to the long-term consequences. In some instances, certain Prides have attempted secret, selective Augmentation of their own lines, in their ambition to gain power and wealth, and these variant strains and mutagenic elements have spread into and polluted our genome.

Those other races you mentioned having hybrids share a confirmed genetic commonality dating back to the humanoid species code-named The Ancients; in some cases, members of those different races can successfully breed even without medical intervention. We, and the Caitians, are not part of that commonality.

As it stands now, our people’s actions over the last millennium has left our genome in a state of degradation, while also treating any foreign elements introduced, such as Caitian genes, as potential threats and attacking them.”

He set down his datapad and fixed his gaze on Melem-Adu. “Master Governor, what little progress we have made has been with the assistance of the Caitian geneticists, obstetricians and reproductive endocrinologists we have collected and press-ganged into serving us. They have benefitted from a historical association with other specialists like them throughout the Federation, an association we have never possessed.

If we... if we declare a cessation of hostilities now, relinquish our claim and our hold on Cait, and explain the reasons behind our actions to the Federation, given their philanthropic nature, perhaps they would be willing-“

“Pridemaster,” Melem-Adu interrupted evenly. “In recognition of your service to date to our cause, I am going to give you the opportunity to not finish your treasonous suggestion, and thus save yourself from being eviscerated on this table.”

Bikku-Dam... and everyone else... froze. Except for Welros, who simpered with some amusement, as Melem-Adu turned in place, set down his cup and addressed them. “All of you: I am well aware that our operations here have not gone as smoothly as planned... mostly because of the Caitians, who are proving to be more rebellious than expected. One can’t blame them, I suppose; we certainly would not just lie back and show our belly to invaders.

But neither can we allow this to continue.

But soon, soon they’ll understand. And then I expect everything else will fall into place.”

Nusum-Adu blinked, waiting for more, but was left nonplussed... and judging from the scents and expressions of the other Ferasans present, he was not singular with such a reaction. But his position left him with the unenviable task of responding. “May one ask what you have planned that will make everything else... fall into place?”

His father lifted up his cup again and raise it in salute. “One may ask.” Then he drank again.

Still no one reacted – until Welros clapped his small, pale, oatmeal-hued hands in applause and smiled. “Lovely! How very dramatic! I do hope that whatever you have planned will live up to our expectations, Master Governor!”

Melem-Adu drained his cup and threw it away, seemingly pausing to listen to it bounce with a clang on the polished marble floor and roll away. “I’m still working out the details, Vorta, but... I don’t think you, or your Dominion masters, will be disappointed.”

Nusum-Adu managed to catch his father’s eyeline, hold it as long as he could, silently entreating him to let his son in on what he had planned. But nothing was forthcoming.

“Well,” Lessade announced with a slur. “This has been most productive. Shall we have some drinks to celebrate?”

Melem-Adu frowned. “Who keeps inviting this kussik to the meetings?”

*

TWO HOURS, FORTY-SIX MINUTES, EIGHTEEN SECONDS... SEVENTEEN... SIXTEEN...

Syshen Market Square, Tamera District, Port of Sekuro, Mnara Province:

Gamal Ashen stayed still beneath the canvas and recited a calming mantra in his mind as he listened to the Ferasan shuttle descend from the sky to land in the square, waiting until he knew they couldn’t see him before emerging.

He signalled to the others in hiding to do the same, staying low but observant as they watched the shuttle’s gull-wing doors opened on either side, and Ferasans emerged, wielding disruptor rifles, their Pack Leader ordering groups of them together.

Ashen looked to his left, as one of his comrades in rebellion, a young Constable, growled at the sight of the Enemy. Ashen caught his attention and raised a finger to his snout, remaining silent and urging the younger male to do the same. He understood their anger all too well, felt the same, but knew that they still had to stay calm, if they wanted to save their people, and themselves.

The Constable complied, demonstrating his respect for Ashen as the local Kaetini, leading the resistance efforts in Sekuro; the Constables were eager, but inexperienced, more accustomed to dealing with burglars and drunken sailors on shore leave than an armed military force.

Things had escalated since days before, when the Jem’Hadar had been here, looking for the Hrelles. But those aliens had since left, leaving the Rat-Tails to continue their hideous work here. But not anymore-

Something above them caught his eye, and Ashen glanced upwards to see a shadow swoop past quickly. But where they were, hidden in a storage alley between warehouses, they could barely see the sky, though much of the light had begun reflecting off the high, weather-beaten sandstone buildings around them.

He shook his head; he must have been imagining things. Eyes on the Prize, as his father used to tell him, so long ago. Of course, that had been a lifetime past, when Ashen had been younger than that Constable, learning the merchant trade from Papa. For Papa, the Prize had been some customer From Up North, looking to overspend on some local trinkets to take back home.

Many years had passed since then. In that time, Ashen had served in the Militia during the Third Ferasan War, in Demolitions and Counterterrorism, had earned medals and helped save their colony on Azure Aura... and had come to the attention of the Kaetini Order. They had sought him out, trained him... and then sent him back to what appeared to be an ordinary life.

And it had been, for many years afterwards, only occasionally bringing his sword and his status into public, whenever there were crimes and injustices too great to be handled by the local Constabulary.

Now the greatest crimes and injustices were being committed now, by their ancestral enemy.

But they would not go unchallenged.

“Mr Ashen,” another Constable whispered, prompting.

He made a sound of acknowledgement, as he watched the Ferasan Pack Leader send each group down one alley, towards the apartment buildings. Their orders were known to Ashen: collect young, fertile-looking females and cubs from nearby, bring them back, pack them into the shuttle and send them off to the Camps... and kill anyone who got in their way.

But not today. Not in Ashen’s city.

Another shadow caught his attention, and this time he looked up to see a huge bird, of a species he did not recognise, glide easily overhead, before orbiting slowly over the Square, as if seeing the shuttle as a rival to his domination of the sky... or here as an observer to the imminent engagement.

“What in the Seven Hells-“ another muttered. “Where’d that come from?”

“Never mind,” Ashen told her. They didn’t have much time; the locals had already been prepared for this morning raid, having been moved out of their homes and into the adjacent warehouse... allowing Ashen and the Constables to boobytrap their front doors. And once the Rat-Tails started kicking them in-

Multiple unseen explosions from many directions made the Pack Leader and his Second, who had remained behind at the shuttle, start, raising their rifles and aiming in the direction of their comrades.

Ashen took his cue, signalling to the others to rise and charge towards the two remaining Ferasans, the Constables firing their Yaps, their nonlethal sonic pistols now reconfigured to work more effectively on the Enemy’s inner ears.

Ashen chose to use his Kaetini sword, drawing out the black blade as he led the others forward, expecting the Ferasans to-

They turned at the sound of the Caitians’ footfalls, immediately firing, though they were already affected by the sonic bursts, ruining their aim. One disruptor beam almost struck the Constable to Ashen’s immediate left, but he managed to block it with his blade, the Arakanium alloy proving indestructible once again.

With decades of muscle memory, despite his age, Ashen moved to duck and swoop in to the Pack Leader who had fired in his direction, swinging up and down to take off the weapon arm of the Ferasan at the elbow, letting the weapon, and the forearm still holding onto it, drop to the floor of the Square. The Pack Leader staggered back in naked disbelief, staring at the stump that remained of his right arm, before his attention returned to his attacker, as Ashen impaled him in the centre of his chest.

Ashen’s eyes met the Pack Leader’s, as the latter dropped to his knees, collapsing backwards and sliding off Ashen’s blade as he died, but then he focused on the second Ferasan, being struck repeatedly and needlessly by the Yaps from the Constables. “Enough of that! There’ll be survivors-“

Almost on cue, there were staggered footfalls from heavy boots, and the Constables spread out in practised fashion, bringing down the remaining Ferasans who were stumbling back, injured from the traps set.

Ashen knelt and cleaned his blade on the uniform of the Pack Leader. “Strip them of their weapons and equipment, then load them up on the shuttle, we’ll get it programmed to crash dive into-“

“STOP!”

All Caitians looked up to see a final Ferasan, bloodied and wounded but still standing... and crouching behind a Caitian cub, maybe eight or nine, someone who obviously had missed being moved out of the area. The muzzle of the Ferasan’s disruptor pistol was jammed hard against the side of the terrified cub’s head as the equally-terrified Ferasan looked around, gasping as he repeated, “Stop!” He shifted around, ensuring none of the Caitians could approach or shoot him from another angle. “You- All of you- you drop your- your weapons and- and surrender!”

Ashen’s heart raced, and he lowered his sword as he looked to the Constables. “No one fire! Take no action!” Then he focused on the Ferasan, making no aggressive moves towards him, adopting a calming tone. “It’s okay, lad, no one’s going to hurt you-“

“LIES! S-SURRENDER, OR I’LL KILL HIM! I MEAN IT! I MEAN-“

Before he could finished his panicked threat, there was a sound from the rooftops, and immediately the Ferasan’s head jutted backwards, a large hole appearing in the front of his skull, as the wall behind him was instantly splattered with ruby-black blood, brains and grey fragments of skull.

Ashen launched himself towards the cub, scooping him up and away from the body and the bloody mess left by- who? None of the Constables with him had a weapon that could do that. He dove behind the shuttle, shouting to the other Caitians, “TAKE COVER!”

Unseen, one of the Constables asked, “What- What happened?”

He wasn’t sure, but he knew that it had come from above, and he glanced around... seeing that bird again, perched on the edge of one roof, staring down at them meaningfully. “Someone has a high-velocity ballistic rifle, on one of the surrounding rooftops! They might be on our side, or they might not! Get ready-“

No.

Ashen paused, glancing around. That deep male voice- where did it come from- He started to call out-

Say nothing aloud, Gamal Ashen.

“Mr Ashen, what should we do?” one of the Constables asked.

Ashen froze, glancing down at the cub, who had obviously heard nothing. But the voice was definitely there, so close it could be from a bug in his ear-

I am no bug, Mr Ashen. I am projecting my thoughts into your mind. Proceed with your operation, pass the cub to your comrades, and then meet me alone. I will await you on the roof of a building with a water tower two streets south from where you are now. Tell no one about me or where you’re going. If you fail to comply with my instructions, I will begin killing the Constables the way I did the Ferasan coward who threatened that cub now in your arms.

Ashen stared ahead, his hear racing. Projecting thoughts... telepathy? He had read about some races out in the Galaxy who were mind readers, but he never imagined experiencing it himself-

You haven’t much time; the Pack’s superiors will be expecting an update soon.

He started again. His unseen telepathic voyeur, whoever he was, was correct. He rose, taking the cub by the paw. “All right, let’s move!”

“What about the sniper?”

“Never mind him. Get those bodies onboard! Lushik! Get into the cockpit, program its death flight into the Sea of Rhun! Tono, get this cub back to his family, and check for any injured civilians down the streets!”

“Where are you going, Mr Ashen?”

He barely glanced at the Constables, as he stared up at the surrounding rooftops... seeing that strange bird again, staring back boldly.

No, it couldn’t have been the sniper. “Something’s come up, Lushik. Proceed with everything as planned.”

*

TWO HOURS, FIFTEEN MINUTES, FORTY-TWO SECONDS... FORTY-ONE... FORTY...

Lnoro Gesh University Dormitory, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

Mreia Furore loved her own bed. It had been an expensive, indulgent purchase six years before to celebrate her last promotion, and after that first night of exquisite, sublime bliss from its holistic impeller modules and delta-wave harmonisers, she never regretted it. It even made up for the relative scarcity of partners to share it with since her divorce.

The cot she now lay in was not her bed. Seven Hells, the crate that her bed at home had come in would probably be more comfortable.

Still, she slept, despite the cot, despite the rationed meals available to them since Shanos Minor had been cut off from the outside world... and despite the fears that, at any time, the Ferasans would locate and take them both away to an uncertain fate.

But something shook her awake now, and she lay there in the dark, not wanting to stir the others sleeping in the room, fellow refugees in their own city but listed on the records as students from other parts of Cait, all on staggered sleep patterns depending upon where they came from and how long they had been there. Instead she scented and listened for Shau, who should have been sleeping beside her.

She reached out and found his cot empty.

Mreia bolted up, easing herself out of her own cot and striding to the door, not caring if anyone else was awakened. The original excuses of the Metremia Threat and the Security Measures were no longer even held up as a facade by the Enemy... especially after Mi’Tree Shall’s broadcast of the truth had reached across the planet. Now it was simply the Ferasans coming and taking what they want, leaving the Caitians to keep their tails down and hope not attract attention, or to fight, or to run.

Mreia was up for running. She didn’t have a violent, aggressive bone in her body, couldn’t stomach the very notion of harming others, no matter the provocation, which was one of the reasons her marriage with Jhess had fallen apart after he joined the Militia and became a Sabrecat. And no doubt her association with him, and her own initial vocal opposition to the Occupation, would inevitably doom her... especially if she was still fertile, and judged fit for the Ferasans’ vile purposes.

The people she had met, who had arranged for Shau and her to pack up their most valued possessions and escape capture, had promised to get them smuggled out of Shanos Minor tonight or tomorrow, but didn’t go into much more detail than that. It maddened and saddened her, this uncertainty, not just about their own lives, but the lives of everyone else around them.

They were sequestered in the dormitory of Shau’s college; the corridor was quiet, with many having gone home before the Lockdown, but there were sounds from the common room nearby, and Mreia made her way there, her anxiety about leaving her son out of sight until they were safe making her tail twitch.

There was a scent of alcohol, snacks and snuff, all suffused with the heady musk of adolescents in Season, illustrated by the young cubs paired up on the couches and settees, pawing and nuzzling each other, illuminated by a Vivid screen in the corner broadcasting some music program.

Then Mreia spotted Shau in the far corner, half on top of his girlfriend Noma, his tongue licking her ear and his paw under her top. “SHAU!”

The collection of cubs jolted as if electrocuted, some almost falling off their perches in their scramble to get to their feet, though Mreia remained fixed on her son, who was straightening out his clothes, eyes wide with shock and humiliation. “Mom! Seven Hells-”

“Do you think this is some holiday we’re on, Mister?” She looked around them. “Do any of you? You’re all in here, drinking and sniffing and slobbering over each other and having a good time, when the Ferasans could show up at our door and take us all to one of their camps? Come with me, this instant!”

She barely kept in control as he reluctantly complied, wincing as she grabbed him by the scruff of his leather jacket and led him away, not back towards the bunk rooms but the kitchens, where the smell of breakfast continued. He tried to shake off his mother’s hold. “Mother’s Cubs, Mom, did you have to embarrass me in front of Noma and all my friends like that?”

Now she faced him, holding him by his upper arms as if he might try to escape, feeling her own anxiety threatening to burst from her. “I don’t give a damn if I’ve embarrassed you or not! Do you understand the danger you, all of us, are under? We’re in the midst of a nightmare! Thanks to our association with your father, we’ve become targets of the Occupational Government!”

Even as she said it, she regretted it, for the reaction on Shau’s face... and calmed herself down, though anger still laced her subsequent scolding. “You don’t have time to be fooling around with her! We could be leaving the city at any time!”

His bronze eyes widened. “We can’t go before the next protest today!”

Her jaw dropped, aghast. “You don’t think you’re going out with your friends again, do you?”

Now Shau’s expression mirrored hers. “We have to! If we don’t, they’ll think they’ve won!”

“They have won! They’re in control! All we can do now is stay alive until-“

“Until when, Mom?” He straightened up, taking on a maturity she had only ever seen in him once or twice before. “You told me once that those who don’t raise a voice to injustice become a part of it. That’s what we’re doing here. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Despite herself, and the anxieties twisting her insides like she was on some amusement park gravity ride, Mreia couldn’t help but feel pride for her son, knowing what a strong, principled male he’d become when he grew up.

If he grew up. “Shau... as much as I admire your tenacity, as your mother I have to think about your safety first. We can’t stay in Shanos Minor. We barely escaped being taken by the Ferasans from our apartment.

I’m not saying we don’t respond to injustice. I’m saying we do it from a place of safety. You’re not going to the demonstration. Is that understood?”

Shau looked ready to protest further... but then seemed to deflate before her. “Yes.”

She didn’t need her nose to smell how resentful he was, as she guided him back to the bunk room. She didn’t care if he ended up hating her.

As long as it was a long and healthy hate.

*

TWO HOURS, NINE MINUTES, FIFTY-NINE SECONDS... FIFTY-EIGHT... FIFTY-SEVEN...

Silvercup Studios, Port of Sekuro, Mnara Province:

Ashen had instantly recognised the building from the Voice’s description, and gained access to the interior, climbing the stairs to the roof – checking and rechecking the plasma pistol at his side, sitting next to the scabbard holding his sword, his heart racing from more than the exertion of ascension. A thousand possibilities as to what he would find up there crossed his mind.

He knew that he was walking into certain danger, and considered returning to his home, contacting his fellow Kaetini and warning them of the telepathic entity... but guessed that such a tactic would be detected. Whoever this was, he could be reading his mind now, awaiting treachery – and Ashen couldn’t afford to risk the lives of the people in his care.

The sky remained a rose pink of morning, and the sun stayed hidden behind a bank of clouds in the south-eastern horizon, but Ashen kept his back to it as he emerged onto the rooftop, momentarily distracted by the sight of the Ferasan shuttle from the Square, launching itself into the sky, presumably with the dead or unconscious bodies of the Ferasan Pack to meet a watery end thousands of kilospans away-

“Thank you.”

Ashen’s attention returned to the other side of the roof, dominated by a huge round metal water drum sitting on several fat legs, as from behind one of the legs emerged – Mother’s Cubs! – one of the largest males Ashen had ever seen: a Ferasan with blonde fur and gleaming sabreteeth, dressed from neck to foot in generic black, but lacking any Ferasan Pride markings or uniform insignia.

He carried a long black scoped rifle in one paw, aimed downwards, and a heavy-looking swirl of thick, dirty canvas sail. He regarded Ashen as he spoke aloud, his voice deep and gravelly. “Thank you for coming, Mr Ashen. I knew you would, but... thank you, just the same. You have spared many Caitian lives in complying with my invitation.”

Ashen’s free paw rested on the hilt of the sword at his side, as the strange-looking bird from before, perched nearby on a roof railing, fluttered its huge, black-tipped wings. “You... You have the advantage of me, Sir.”

The Ferasan nodded, showing none of the typical arrogance or contempt of his people. “My sincere apologies. My name is Valtiri, the Hunter Prime to the Patriarch of our Fatherworld.” He bowed slightly, and then indicated the huge bird. “This is Nyx, a Ferasan dragonhawk; I rescued her as a chick when her nest was attacked by a Husco Snake. Please, say hello to my little friend.”

The bird made a hissing sound at Ashen.

“Hello.” Ashen made a show of loosening the sleeves and belts on his robes, making it appear casual instead of a deliberate move to prepare himself to fight, as he focused on Valtiri. “I want to thank you for saving the cub’s life in the Square below- but still, what if you had accidentally hit him? Or if the Ferasan had been bluffing-“

Valtiri shook his head. “The cub was never in any danger, not from me; I always hit what I aim at. Always. And I heard the thoughts of the coward who threatened his life. His panic-driven intent was clear, and imminent.”

Ashen frowned; what kind of Ferasan would be willing to shoot one of his own people just to save a Caitian? “I didn’t know Ferasans were telepathic.”

“We are rare,” he admitted soberly.... still approaching slowly. “Few of us survive into adulthood, either because we are aborted as Defective, or we are driven mad from the stress. I was fortunate to have been found and raised properly from an early age.”

Ashen nodded at that, still fully alert; no matter what this Ferasan had done to help Ashen and the others just now, he was still the Enemy. “So... can I assume you called me up here because you wish to formally surrender yourself to me?”

Valtiri smiled, with what seemed like genuine, good-natured appreciation. “Not today.” He rested his rifle against a stubby, rusted exhaust pipe, and motioned in Ashen’s direction. “May I see your sword, please?”

“Sure.” You’ll get my pistol first-

Before Ashen got even halfway to his sidearm, however, Valtiri moved, moved so fast Ashen never even registered it, pulling something from a black baldric crossing his huge chest and flinging it with phenomenal strength and speed.

Ashen barely had time to dodge to the left, avoiding a palm-sized, crescent-shaped steel blade as it struck the frame of the door behind him, burying itself deep into the wood as if hammered there.

He looked back to see the Hunter Prime had now drawn a pistol of his own. “Unbuckle your belt – slowly – and toss it between us.”

Ashen complied, and Valtiri promptly shot the Caitian weapon in its holster, leaving it smouldering.

Then he threw his own pistol away, to land back near where he left his rifle.

Ashen blinked, not expecting that. His furred brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Valtiri raised his huge paw towards the Caitian, beckoning. “The sword. Draw it out. Please. I dearly wish to see it.”

The Kaetini slowly, deliberately did so, raising the black blade in the direction of the giant Ferasan.

Valtiri offered him a look of pure... adoration. “It’s true... the secrets of making Arakanium alloy were lost by my ancestors, but not yours, when yours left to settle here. It’s beautiful, resplendent. It looks like it could cleave a star in two.” He breathed in, before speaking aloud now, as if enunciating to an audience, “'My Ebon Blade upon my thigh / To guard the Prideland’s ancient fame / Its champion in this age am I / The Blood Brow Pride, Rihal-Den my name.'”

He smiled at Ashen. “From an epic Ferasan poem called The Ebon Blade; my Mentor raised me on the Classics. I never thought I would see an actual Arakanium weapon in my lifetime...” Now he sighed, as if recognising he could no longer engage in self-indulgence. “Mr Ashen, I respect you, and your strength and skills, enough to be honest with you: I was sent to your world to track down and kill Captain Esek Hrelle and his human cub Sasha, and I need two things from you to make this so. One is your thoughts as to their location.”

Mention of the names made Ashen start. The Hrelles? The memories of when he last met them, last thought of them, the communications traffic on the Network about them this morning- NO NO NO DON’T THINK ABOUT THEM DON’T GIVE HIM ANYTHING-

“It is too late for that,” Valtiri informed him, his own brow furrowing. “A necessary intrusion to fulfil my mission.”

Ashen felt his stomach twist into knots. Mother’s Cubs, what had he done? He just betrayed his fellow Kaetini to this monster!

“Feel no guilt, Mr Ashen,” Valtiri tried to assure him. “This close to me, you could not keep out my mind, not by any means. I told you I need two things from you: the location of the Hrelles, which you have now provided... and now I need that sword.”

Ashen tightened his grip on the hilt, forcing his alarm down inside him. “My sword? Why?”

“My Quarry have weapons like yours: indestructible, incorruptible, thinner than fur and maintaining a perpetual sharpness that lets the blades cut through almost any material as easily as if through the air. I will need such a weapon of my own if I am to fight them.”

Ashen’s heart triphammered now. “Fight them? But- But with that rifle- your obvious abilities- you could kill them without their ever even seeing you!“

Now Valtiri scowled, looking offended. “I would sooner leap off this roof, than show such disrespect to Quarry as worthy as they.

Or you.”

Ashen stared back. Of course he was going to die today, here on this rooftop, at the paws of this behemoth.

As he entered his advanced years, Gamal Ashen had stopped thinking too much about death. He had seen plenty of it in the War, and it had rattled him to his core. But his induction into the Kaetini Order, and the philosophy and meditative practices it had taught him, helped him find a peace as well as a purpose.

And the years since then had been rewarding. Lonely, sometimes, but always rewarding. Even with the Occupation increasing his Kaetini activities and responsibilities exponentially, with an equivalent risk to his life... he was content to continue doing what he did, in the service of his people and his planet. And if he died along the way... so be it.

But he wasn’t dead yet.

He raised his sword to the Ferasan. “You’ll get this when you pry it from my cold, dead paws.”

Valtiri smiled, nodding with what seemed like sincere admiration. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ashen charged towards him, staying focused, waiting for his opponent to make a move. But the Ferasan was just standing there, watching-

Until Valtiri side-stepped, unfurling the canvas draped over his arm and flinging it over Ashen’s sword when Ashen was almost upon him. The blade, as expected, began slicing through the thick, weatherworn material... but it still offered some resistance, and much unexpected weight, onto Ashen’s sword arm. Clever.

Ashen ducked, barely avoiding Valtiri’s swipe at his head, but couldn’t escape the latter’s kick to his shin. The older Caitian staggered back, but used the opportunity to ignore the pain in his leg, regain his balance, and return the attack, swinging his sword in a cutting arc high, at the Ferasan’s neck level.

Now it was Valtiri’s turn to duck, and this time, Ashen’s sword nicked the tip of his left ear and some of his braided mane, sending fur and drops of blood flying. The Ferasan rolled away to recover, but Ashen couldn’t pause, not for a second; his opponent had age, size, strength, speed, skill – telepathy, for Mother’s sake! – on his side. He charged again, ready to impale the bastard-

Until Valtiri lifted up the shredded remains of the canvas and flung it at Ashen’s legs like a gladiator’s net, almost tripping him up.

Ashen had to keep from falling on his own sword, literally, its blade able to kill him just as easily as any opponent, but he grunted in pain as he rolled, swiping blindly to keep back the Hunter Prime while he sought options. Escape? No. He couldn’t make it to the stairwell, and besides, he had to do everything he could to keep Valtiri from leaving and threatening the Hrelles.

Then he saw the Ferasans’ weapons, still near the water tower.

Valtiri lunged at him again, but Ashen caught him again, more successfully this time, stabbing him in the right thigh. Ashen was ready to twist the blade to open the wound fully, maybe reach the vital arteries and leave a gaping wound that would not close up easily, but Valtiri was ready for that, pulling himself backwards with a snarl of pain.

Ashen took the opportunity to scramble to the rifle and pistol, but he cried out as another of Valtiri’s crescent throwing blades struck his left forearm, and he heard the Ferasan launch himself in his direction, too quick for Ashen to bring up his sword in defence.

He lost his grip on his sword as Valtiri landed upon him, and they ended up grappling on the rooftop, claws bared, teeth bared, souls bared as tactics and thought gave way to instinct. Ashen could barely draw breath as he struggled with his opponent. This couldn’t go on for much longer. But he could still win this. He could. He-

*

Some distance above it all, Valtiri’s shuttle hovered silently, its sole occupant and operator, Pilot of the Umber Tail Pride, watching the scene below on a scanner, utterly mesmerised by the display. He did not expect the fight to last as long as it had; the Hunter Prime was larger, faster, more skilled and experienced, and though he had heard much about the Caitian Kaetini and their special weapons, still it seemed an obvious mismatch in favour of Valtiri.

But no, the Caitian had proved to possess fire and strength. It was a further erosion of everything he had been taught about their racial cousins: that they were weak, decadent, easily-dominated. Control here should have been easy.

There was nothing easy about being here.

Then he watched as Valtiri suddenly pounced upon the Caitian, and Pilot couldn’t see what was specifically happening... but moments later, Valtiri rose to his feet, limping over to the Kaetini sword, retrieving it, holding it in one paw, testing its weight and balance. Then he activated his communicator. “Land please, Pilot.”

“Yes, Sire!” The younger Ferasan quickly obeyed, eager to serve his benefactor, who had befriended him and awarded him a better Name than Runt, the horrible and humiliating one foisted upon him by his father. Closer now, he saw blood on the Hunter Prime’s leg, and his head, and he had barely landed and was out from under the rising gull wing door of the shuttle. “Sire! You’re injured! I’ll get the medikit-“

“Thank you, Pilot, but no, not yet.” He crouched beside Ashen’s body, resting the Caitian’s paws on his chest and closing the eyes, murmering something, before looking to his avian friend Nyx. Immediately the dragonhawk launched itself from its perch and swooped into the shuttle, not caring that Pilot almost fell in his effort to avoid the bird crashing into him.

Then Pilot saw Valtiri rise, retrieve the sword and scabbard, and then his own guns, and limp to the shuttle, announcing as he passed the other Ferasan. “We are done here.”

Inside, Valtiri set down the weapons and slumped into his seat, as Pilot collected the medikit. “Here, Sire, I’ll help-“

“No need, my squire.” He took the medikit, rested it on an adjacent seat and opened it, selecting fabric cutters, disinfectants and autosutures. “I will deal with it. Every wound we collect in life is a lesson to us, Pilot, and an opportunity to reflect on what we can learn from them, and then perhaps in future we will not receive similar wounds.” 

He exposed his furred, bloodied thigh, and began cleaning it, pressing the flesh together to keep it from bleeding more. “These wounds have taught me that I must compensate more for this world’s gravity, because it threw me off my more practised moves. And they have also taught me that the respect the Caitians display for their Kaetini is well-deserved. I have no doubt that the rest of that stalwart Order is as brave and skilled as the one I slew.”

Now he looked up at the younger Ferasan. “At this moment, my quarry are travelling to a place called the Mithram Valley, in the Nashea Province, near a city called Shanos Minor. They are assisting the Kaetini Resistance in smuggling Caitians out of the city... and weapons and supplies in.”

Pilot started at that. “Should- Should we alert the Master Governor at our Headquarters about it?”

“No.” He began re-stitching the thigh wound.

“B-But- he could order a strike on the Valley now, wipe everything out within it in seconds!”

“Yes, he could. But the Hrelles deserve a better fate than what that ambitious mountebank would offer.”

Pilot frowned in confusion at Valtiri’s attitude, working up the courage to express his feelings. “Sire – and with the greatest of respect to you – there is more at stake here than your personal mission, and your feelings about the Enemy.”

Valtiri never looked up. “Indeed? Pray, tell.”

Pilot paused, wondering if he had gone too far in protesting. Maybe I should just shut up-

“And maybe you should just continue,” Valtiri prompted aloud, having read his thoughts, his gaze fixed, his voice and words cordial... but the threat behind them unignorable. “Artifice ill-suits you, my squire. Speak.”

Pilot swallowed... well, if you’re going to be killed, at least be killed for what you really are. “Sire... our race’s very survival is at stake. Without the Caitians, we’ll be dead in five generations! The Patriarch has commanded all the Prides to forget past and present rivalries, and work together for our mutual survival!“

Now Valtiri sighed wearily, looking up. “The Patriarch is as much a victim of our race’s genetic decrepitude as the rest of us; he hasn’t issued a command on his own initiative in years. Not a coherent one, at any rate.”

“What?”

Valtiri reached up to the tip of his ear, which had only stopped bleeding, as he cleaned and sterilised the wound. “Decisions are now made by an unseen cabal of his Pride’s senior males; any official speeches or communications from the Patriarch are provided by computer-generated holograms.” His expression and scent was mournful. “The Patriarch is no longer the sagacious, formidable male I knew when I was first appointed Hunter Prime. He is now a husk, his mind submerged, inhumed, as petrified as a fossil.”

Pilot stepped back, numbed. The Patriarch, no longer of sound mind? This truth, hidden from the Ferasan people? “B-But- our race is still in jeopardy... we may die-“

“Everything dies, Pilot.” Valtiri returned the instruments to the medikit. “Everything and everyone. Persons, Prides, Empires. Planets, stars, galaxies. The Universe itself will collapse upon itself someday, perhaps to begin again in another form. Perhaps not. That we will die is as indisputable, and inconsequential, as it is inescapable, and it is beyond any notions of fairness or unfairness.

True meaning lies in how we choose to spend the time we are allotted. I choose to spend my time hunting and fighting worthy Quarry. I set my own standards for excellence.” Now he reached for a water bottle from a nearby dispenser. “Take us to the Mithram Valley, Pilot, and don’t spare the engines. The Hunt is Still Afoot.”

Pilot stared back for a moment, still stunned by the revelations imparted to him by Valtiri. Their Patriarch, enfeebled? Their people, doomed?

He wanted cubs of his own, someday. Cubs he could raise, support, be a better father to them than his own had been, set a better example for.

That was how he would choose to spend the time he was allotted.

What if Valtiri’s selfish obsessions jeopardised those dreams?

He returned to the cockpit, plotted a course for the Mithram Valley, in the Northern Hemisphere of Cait. As they ascended once more, he kept glancing at the communications board. He could secretly send a message back to First City, to warn them of the Caitian activity outside of Shanos Minor. He could.

He could betray the male who had Named him, befriended and supported him. The male he had sworn to himself to serve and protect.

He focused on the journey, choosing to spend his time maintaining his own sense of honour. Hoping he was making the right decision.

Never realising that, with Valtiri secretly monitoring his troubled thoughts, he had just saved his own life.

*

ONE HOUR, TWENTY-NINE MINUTES, FORTY-ONE SECONDS... FORTY... THIRTY-NINE...

Mithram Valley, Nashea Province:

The black and gold Caitian flyer Tailless had landed on a flat, grassy clearing, at the foot of a high, steep wall of mountains, capped with pristine snow glazed with a cold mist that was burning away slowly with the rising sun.

Captain Hrelle took a moment as he stepped outside, the cool air ghosting from his snout, to admire the beauty, a stark, open contrast to the teeming, stifling jungles on Kaijushima Island. As per the Caitian calendar, they were deep in the month of Frostmoot, and though the planet was mostly tropical and temperate, this far up north, wintery conditions were persistent.

He was told that on the other side of these mountains, where Shanos Minor sat facing the Sea of C’Mau, with its winds and waters coming up straight from the Equator, things were much more pleasant. He looked forward to someday visiting the Radiance, as the city was nicknamed, because of the reflections from its many glass-fronted buildings.

It was peaceful here. He could do with some peace... when all this madness was over.

Sounds from the flyer drew him back, as Sasha and Lt Mori helped carry out crates of weapons, rations and communications and security equipment, to meet members of the Kaetini, who were descending from an upper slope near a half-hidden tunnel leading deep into the nearest mountain.

Then he saw his cubs’ nanny and friend Jhess Furore emerge, dressed in an approximation of his dark Militia field uniform, with a plasma rifle slung over one shoulder, and a sober expression on his spotted face.

Hrelle breathed out again. It had been a tense journey here; the normally lively and affable male had become intense and anxious since he had lost contact with his ex-wife and son in Shanos Minor, before finally retiring to one of the guest cabins on the Tailless to await their arrival. Now he was marching up the slope, ignoring everyone.

Hrelle caught up with him. “Jhess, wait- are you sure you want to go in uniform? Wouldn’t it be better to get into the city in civilian clothes? In case you’re spotted?”

Jhess never stopped or slowed down. “I’m already spotted, Captain. I thought you would have noticed that by now.”

“You know what I mean, Jhess!”

“Yes I do, Captain. And I’ll remind you of my Sabrecat training. Once I leave these tunnels, I’ll make my way into the city via the sewer system, and the only people who’ll see me are fellow Caitians... and any unlucky Ferasans-”

“Hey, Jhess, wait up!”

Both males turned as Sasha rushed up the slope towards them, Jhess tensing, and Hrelle sensing it; Jhess’ anxieties over the fate of his missing family had seemed to become directed at Sasha and her recent relationship with Lt Mori, though little of that showed during their flight here. Now, however, the spotted male made an impatient sound. “Sash, I have a long way to go-“

“I know, I know!” She stopped before them, reaching into an inner pocket of her jacket. “And you’ve already got the transponder frequency of the communicator I gave your wife, but-“ She paused, before finally producing a small, thin black device. “Here, something more.”

He frowned at it without accepting it. “What is it?”

“A short-range tracker, one of Grandma’s gifts from the Mother’s Claws. With it you can pinpoint them both directly, rather than just via the communicator. It’s only good if you’re within about two hundred metres of them, but if you need to find them in a building or a crowd-“

He took it, examining the controls, still looking confused. “How can it track them?”

Now the human’s skin flushed from more than the cold or the exertion. “When I last met them I, ah, might have secretly infected them with nanoprobes carrying viridium tracking cores. The nanoprobes were, ah, programmed to work their way under skin without being detected or causing any damage, and remain dormant but active for up to twelve weeks.”

Jhess exchanged an incredulous glance with Hrelle, before focusing on Sasha again. “Let me get this straight: you infected my wife and son with illegal spy tracking technology without their knowledge? Or mine?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

He frowned some more... but then pocketed the nanoprobe tracker. “Good work. Thank you, Sasha.” Something of the more jocular Jhess returned to his expression, and looked between father and daughter. “As soon as I have them, I’ll send the signal for transport. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Hrelle nodded back to him; unspoken in this agreement was: if the Enemy discovered the flyer here and had to leave, Jhess and his family were on their own. He clasped him by the shoulder. “Good luck, Brother.”

“Thanks, Esek. For everything.” Then he turned without further ado and ascended to the tunnel, moving with an enviable speed.

“I wish we were going with him,” Sasha muttered.

“We’d only slow him down; I couldn’t move that fast if Weynik lit my tail on fire. Again.” He motioned her to follow him down the slope back to the flyer. “He’ll manage. We do amazing things when our families are under threat.” He paused, before venturing with, “And how are you doing? I heard you had a swim with Doc Wheelie.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did.”

She grunted, tensing. “Really? So much for medical confidentiality.”

“He didn’t say anything about what you two might have talked about. He did joke that you flirted with him.” After a pause, he asked, “It was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Of course; I’d never mess around with someone who was married. So, what’s it like being a Grandpa? Feeling old and decrepit now?”

He smiled. “Feeling new and invigorated, actually; I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Really?”

“Seven Hells, yes! It’s an opportunity to explore a new side of myself. Like the old saying goes: ‘It’s the divine duty of parents to be responsible, but the divine privilege of grandparents to be irresponsible’.” He chuckled. “I hope to infuriate Grandma Jnill over the gauche presents I’ll be bringing Baby Jnill.” Then he sensed her change of mood, reached out and took her by the hand, stopping her in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

She was frowning at the ground, more to avoid eye contact with him than anything else. “I hope you’re not expecting me to start popping out grandcubs for you any time soon.”

“What? No! Why would-“

“Because I have plans, and they don’t involve children! Not now, maybe not ever!”

“Sasha,” He took both her hands in his huge paws now, until she met his loving gaze. “You’re under absolutely no obligation whatsoever, to anyone at anytime, to produce children. In fact, I agree with you, you should focus on your career, it’s not like you live in primitive times where you only have a narrow window of fertility. It’s entirely your decision, you can do whatever you like.“

“Oh, thank you, Bubulah, for granting me autonomy over my own body.” Her tone was sarcastic, but there was some relief in her scent and expression. “And you’d better believe that if I do decide to get pregnant, it will be after much careful consideration, a long, long time from now.”

“Absolutely.”

She pulled out of his hold and continued down, where Mori had stopped by the flyer and was chugging down some water from a bottle, and announced loudly, “Hey, Stud, you wanna have a cub with me?”

Mori did a spit take, choking.

She guffawed until she snorted as she entered the flyer.

Hrelle chuckled... then was distracted by the sight of a large bird overhead, its species one he didn’t recognise, its wide wingspan giving it a sleek, streamlined silhouette in a sky of puffy clouds as it circled overhead.

*

ONE HOUR, TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS... TWENTY-NINE... TWENTY-EIGHT...

Mroara-Lnee Industries, Deepmere Annex, Hsova Province:

Ubar-Sin held the long black metal bar in one paw, raising it up high like a sceptre to the elderly, fearful Caitian male trembling before him. “This is a warp nacelle catwalk secondary support strut. It’s made of cast rodinium: one of the hardest, most durable alloys known.”

He glared at the Caitian for a moment longer.

Then, with a snarl, he brought the bar down on the Caitian’s head.

K’Misil, the Operations Manager for the company’s current construction project, had managed to raise an arm to help take the brunt of the blow, yelping as the bar struck... and turned to dust and flakes, scattering onto the Caitian’s workclothes and head, making him cough and sputter as he breathed in some of the metal fragments.

Ubar-Sin threw away what was left of the bar in his paw, turning to look out of the booth window at the huge, twin-nacelled personnel transport ship sitting on the assembly ground, with construction drones and workers milling around and over it like scavengers around the corpse of a mighty beast. “And all it takes to reduce one of the hardest, most durable alloys known to dust is an infection from a microbe too small to be seen or smelled.”

K’Misil recovered as best he could, remaining deferential to the Ferasan who had been overseeing the assembly of the transport ship outside, and all the others at all the company’s construction yards around Cait. Not that he thought it would save him, given the steady erosion of the Pridemaster’s patience, as more and more problems surfaced: with the ships, the frameworks, the systems and the thousand other elements and factors necessary to successfully complete a project as massive as this. “Sire, Shiprot is a ubiquitous problem throughout the Quadrant, and not just on Cait.”

Ubar-Sin turned back to face him, snarling, his sabreteeth grinding against the sides of his muzzle. “You should have precautions against infection! What kind of fools are you?”

“We have precautions, Sire... but they’re only as good as the conditions under which we apply them. Or not: we’re missing diagnostic platforms, and more importantly, qualified personnel to operate them, because they’ve either been diverted to more urgent tasks, or they’ve... disappeared.”

“EXCUSES!” the Pridemaster bellowed. “That’s all I’ve received from you miserable, lazy, woman-worshipping weaklings! Delays, shortages, malfunctions, computer viruses, accidents, thefts- and now this! You’ll have to run deep scan and quarantine operations, replacing the parts infected with Shiprot!”

“Yes, Sire... though perhaps Luck will grace us with a smile, and the infection will not be too severe.”

Ubar-Sin grunted, popping out the claws in his paws. “Luck? Luck on this misbegotten world is an ugly and bitter bitch! Do you really believe things will turn for the better for me?”

“I... couldn’t say, Sire.” In fact K’Misil could say... as so much of the Ferasans’ bad luck has been at his paws, working under the direction of Jnill Mroar-Lnee, unable to refuse the Ferasans’ demands for transport ships to take their Caitian captives back to their own world, but also unwilling to just blindly obey and let them get away with it.

And in the weeks since they had begun conducting this covert sabotage, K’Misil’s initial reluctance to get involved in anything this risky had been eclipsed with a growing satisfaction at seeing this Rat-Tail writhe and gnash his teeth. “But I promise you, we will do our utmost to keep any further disruption to a minimum.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Both Caitian and Ferasan turned at the sound of the new voice at the open booth doorway, K’Misil frowning at the sight of Hrulish Mroara-Lnee, Jnill’s scapegrace brother. The last he had heard, Jnill had banished him from all the grounds days ago. What was he doing here now?

Ubar-Sin snarled in the direction of the newcomer. “Oh, the Drunkard. Why aren’t you back with your sister in the Head Office in Mrestir? Has she been foolish enough to grant you some small measure of responsibility here, or have you simply got lost while in your cups?”

The ash-furred Caitian male didn’t look very inebriated, as he straightened up. “Neither, Pridemaster. I’m here to make you a very profitable offer.”

The Ferasan bared his teeth. “I’m far too busy to bandy words with a miserable sot! Begone!”

“No.”

K’Misil saw Ubar-Sin’s hackles rise as he turned to the other Caitian. “What did you say to me, you wretch?”

But Hrulish stood up to him, sticking out his muzzle to the taller male. “I said No. And now I’m saying shut up and listen to me-“

Ubar-Sin’s arm shot up, his paw clamping around Hrulish’s throat as he leaned in and growled, “Make your last words memorable ones, Caitian...”

Hrulish gasped, struggled in the iron grip, but still forced the words out. “Okay... you’re... being deceived... by Jnill...” He then pointed a trembling finger in K’Misil. “And by him...”

K’Misil took an involuntary step backwards, as the Ferasan released his hold on Hrulish’s throat, and faced the older Caitian. “Deceived?”

“Yes.” Hrulish recovered quickly; he even straightened the lapels and dusted off the sleeves of his jacket, as if he had merely stumbled on his way into the country club. “My treacherous sister has been in league with her Operations Manager here, along with others, to purposefully delay the completion of your transport ships.”

K’Misil swallowed under Ubar-Sin’s terrible, unrelenting scrutiny, as the latter took a step forward. “Is this true?”

K’Misil managed a weak shake of his head. “No, Sire. Ms Mrora-Lnee renounced all affiliation with her brother. This is his pathetic attempt to get revenge upon her. Everyone knows it!”

Ubar-Sin stepped closer, and K’Misil kept backing away until he felt his tail and rear end press against a table. The Ferasan drew in even closer, so slowly, until K’Misil felt the hot, mephitic breath on the side of his snout, as Ubar-Sin whispered, “I... don’t... believe... you.”

Then he drew back quickly, seemingly done with him, and facing Hrulish again. “Let me guess: you’re telling me this in order to gain control of your clan’s company, is that right?”

The Caitian straightened up even more. “Put me, a male, in charge, Pridemaster, and I promise you, you’ll get your ships with no more delays, no more lies.”

Ubar-Sin seemed to regard him.

K’Misil, meanwhile, was quite happy to remain in the background, quiet, forgotten. He had spent much of his lifetime being largely ignored by everyone around him: family, teachers, constables, supervisors... which suited him fine, as it allowed him to get away with so much, at least until Jnill had caught him and press-ganged him into performing sabotage.

And he would get away again, warn Jnill about her brother’s treachery-

Then Ubar-Sin declared, “Alright, Drunkard: you’ll have your chance. And if you fail me, you’ll end up like him.”

K’Misil looked up again.

He had just enough time to see Ubar-Sin drawing his disruptor pistol, aiming at K’Misil’s head and firing, to realise who the ‘him’ was-

*

ONE HOUR, TWENTY-THREE MINUTES, FORTY-FOUR SECONDS... FORTY-THREE... FORTY-TWO...

Caitian Assault Carrier Deep Keep, Free Seas:

Commander Shen K’Row tried not to keep glancing over his shoulder, or let his tail smack against the wall of the narrow corridor he was marching. He had to act as normal as possible, despite being in the midst of doing something completely abnormal.

He didn’t have time for this- where was she-

Chief Bnol strode up to him from the opposite end, her grey fur rising, her scent and expression grave. K’Row looked back, before opening the door to an adjacent battery room, entering and expecting her to follow. Their chief engineer complied, and he waited until the door slid shut behind before speaking. “What’s wrong? We shouldn’t be meeting like this, it’ll raise suspicions.”

“And rightly so. Shen... are you sure about this?”

K’Row bristled. “I’ve never been more sure! You can’t be doubting what we’re doing now!”

“And yet, I am. At best, this is Insubordination. At worst-“

“We’re already at our worst now!” He bared his teeth in frustration. “The Ferasans are slaughtering us! Breeding with us! Plundering our world and our people! And the Captain’s doing nothing about it! She’s listening to those Starfleet cowards, telling her to just stand by and take no action!”

Bnol drew back. “You said that they’re running Intelligence and Tactical reports, to maximise damage to the Enemy-“

“It’s an excuse, that’s all! If Starfleet was that vested in us, they would have arrived in force long before now! Maybe they’ve even sold us off to the Ferasans and the Dominion in some sort of deal, and they’re holding us off as part of it!”

The Chief Engineer frowned. “That’s- That’s absurd!”

“Is it? We’ve heard the news reports over the past year! The losses they’ve suffered out there in the War! You think they wouldn’t see us as just pawns to be sacrificed?” He drew in closer. “And if that doesn’t sway you, consider this: in exposing ourselves the other day – to save members of Starfleet, I might add – we have become potential targets. The longer we wait before we take action, the bigger the chances that the Ferasans or the Jem’Hadar will finally discover us and strike first!”

Now he reached out and took her by the shoulders. “You and I have lost so much. So have many others. We need to do this! Strike at the heart of the Ferasans, take them out, and the rest’ll scurry back to their world like the vermin they are!”

Bnol breathed in and out, staring back hard with ambivalent amber eyes. “Csara will never forgive us, Shen.”

“I know.” And his regret was genuine; Captain Mrorr was a fine CO, and a fine friend. And this would sever the years of friendship they had built up together. But he couldn’t escape the images of his parents, his brother, dead on the front lawn of their home, with his brother’s wife and cubs taken Mother Knows Where.

“We’ve served with her for years,” Bnol continued. “Maybe if I speak to her-”

He shook his head. “No. Once she realises we’ve done so much already behind her back, there’ll be no convincing her. Once action is taken, however, she’ll have no choice but to bring the fight to the Rat-Tails, All Claws Out.” He paused, before concluding, “Are you still with me?”

Bnol drew back. “I’ll make the appropriate security bypasses myself; I won’t involve anyone else in this. Give me another hour.”

He nodded in gratitude. “I’ll plan a launch drill for then, so as not to arouse suspicion. Thank you, Bnol.”

But she shook her head, her agitation clear. “Don’t thank me. Nothing good’s going to come out of this.

Nothing.”

*

ONE HOUR, TWENTY MINUTES, FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS, FIFTY-SIX... FIFTY-FIVE...

Living Quarters, Rebel Facility, Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

Standing on a box, Misha rose up further on his toes and informed his big brother, “That’s right, Mirow, use the wipes... no, wipe towards the tail... yeah, you do good...”

Beside him at the table, leaning over his newborn daughter as he carefully cleaned and changed her nappy, Mirow bit back some laughter as he replied, “Thank you, Uncle Misha. I know you’re a dab paw at all this changing business, so I appreciate your input.”

Sitting nearby with the still-weary mother Ptera, Kami smiled too at the scene. “My second cub has been wonderful in learning how to take care of his little sister; I’m sure he’ll be happy to mind Baby Jnill when he’s a little older.”

“I mind her now!” Misha declared. “I protect her!”

Ptera smiled as well. “I think your sister Sreen will be needing you around for a few years to come.” She looked up at her husband. “Isn’t Baby Jnill ready yet?”

“One moment, Wife of Mine,” Mirow secured the nappy. “This is my first.”

“But not your last,” Kami assured him. “Far from it.”

Misha nodded sagely. “Baby cubs poop and pee a lot. They stinky.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” With an exaggerated caution, he lifted up his tiny newborn daughter in both paws and brought her over to her mother, who accepted her, the half-sleeping infant purring as she smelled and felt Ptera’s scent and fur. As she adjusted the cub, she looked to Kami. “Thank you again, Kam, for being here. Any more tips I should know in the coming weeks?”

The older female looked at the infant with loving bronze eyes. “When you’re ready to feed her, tickle the base of her muzzle to get her to open up wide and have a deep latch on you, so she gets enough milk and doesn’t leave your nipples damaged and sore, though you’ll still need salve afterwards.

Remember to alternate what side she sleeps on when you put her in her crib, and to have some clawing mittens ready in the first few months to keep her from scratching herself in her sleep. You’ll develop your own routines as to when you’re active and not, but remember to keep it as consistent as you can, so she learns to anticipate what will come next.”

Ptera nodded, staring down into her cub’s eyes as they drooped shut. “Thank you. And I thank you on behalf of my mother.” Now she looked up again. “Do you think she’s okay? Do you think she got the message we sent?”

Kami smiled. “Yes, to both; the Syphers who prepared and sent the message confirmed she opened and read it, Mother knows how they managed that. And who knows? Maybe soon we can send another, or even arrange a two-way transmission?”

Mirow disposed of the used nappy and squatted down beside his wife and daughter. “That would be wonderful! And when all of this is finally over, we have to get both clans together.”

“And,” Ptera promised. “We’ll help get the Shall Clanlands House rebuilt. Mother will assemble whatever resources and connections are necessary to get it done in record time.”

“Thank you, my dear.” The reminder of the destruction of the old house, the one she had grown up in, and everything lost within it, hit her again. Then she shook it off; those were just things, and she’d gladly give them all away, again and again, to have her loved ones safe and sound.

Then the announcement over the facility’s intercom caught their attention. “Commander Hrelle, please report to the Command Bay.”

Kami rose to her feet and unfurled her tail behind her. “Duty calls; you three get some rest, and I’ll see you all for dinner later, and maybe by then Esek and Sasha will be back with Jhess and his family. Misha, return to the Crèche and be with your sister.”

Her younger son harrumphed like his Grandpa Mi’Tree. “I wanna go up top again and play with Doc Wheelie!”

“No play, Uncle Misha. Get going.”

Kami’s positive mood dampened as she entered the Command Bay and noted the tension in the scents in the room. Lieutenant Commander Tshal (Retired) had been serving well in Esek’s absence, having the experience and confidence to manage the disparate group of active and former Starfleet and Militia personnel and civilians they had gathered here.

But now it looked like he had his hands full, chiefly keeping apart Agent Nenjo, the last surviving member of the Mother’s Claws, the Caitian Secret Service, and Lieutenant Commander H’Nille, Second Officer to Captain Mrorr of the Deep Keep, acting as liaison. He was in Nenjo’s muzzle now, snarling, “You’re stalling! Don’t try and hide it!”

Nenjo, for her part, wasn’t backing down. “Stalling? Why would I be stalling? You think I don’t want the Rat-Tails off our world?”

“Who knows what your kind really want? Motherdamned spies never tell the truth! You could even be in league with the Ferasans!”

Nenjo hissed and bared her teeth. “Say that again, you kussik! I dare you!”

“Not another word, either of you!” Tshal ordered, looking at Kami with some relief. “Commander, apologies for disturbing you in your downtime, but-“

“No need to apologise, Lieutenant Commander; I’m clearly needed here. You two: take two steps away from each other.” She blinked when no one responded, and added, “That wasn’t a suggestion; I’ll have confined whomever doesn’t immediately comply with my orders, in three... two...”

They stepped back in unison, mirroring each other like it was some dance, making Kami smirk, before she suppressed it again. She focused on H’Nille. “Lieutenant Commander, Agent Nenjo has sacrificed more than you can ever know in the fight against the Ferasans, and you insult her, and all of us, in suggesting otherwise. An officer of your calibre should realise that, and respond appropriately.”

H’Nille breathed in, bristling as he understood what she was asking of him. “My... apologies, Agent Nenjo.”

The coal-furred female’s tail still snapped behind her in anger, but grunted an acknowledgement.

“Now,” Kami continued, crossing her arms as she looked to Tshal. “What’s happened?”

The older male tugged at the sleeves of his Starfleet jacket. “Lt Cmdr H’Nille has been demanding updated intelligence on the defences of the Ferasan Headquarters in First City. In his defence, however, I believe he’s been receiving insistent transmissions from the Deep Keep.”

H’Nille glared at him. “You’ve been monitoring my communications?”

“No, your tail.”

The other male started, and was making an obvious attempt to regain control of his tail, which even now was giving away his anger and frustration as he turned towards Kami. “Commander, you were present when Captain Mrorr had been here. You know how imperative she believed an immediate attack on the Enemy was, despite your husband’s reasoning.”

Kami nodded. “Which puts you in an unenviable position, as the link between your vessel and ourselves.” She turned to Nenjo. “What can you tell us about your intelligence gathering operations, Agent?”

The coal-furred female straightened up, making a show of focusing on Kami rather than look in H’Nille’s direction. “We’ve compiled a list of viable targets that will maximise Enemy death and damage and minimise the same to our own side... but something’s come up regarding their Headquarters.

Our contacts there reported that after the appearance of the Deep Keep and the rescue of Captain and Lieutenant Hrelle, there’s been increased communications between the Master Governor and his Engineers, with talk about a project he’s ordered... and some powerful field generators have just been installed in the Capitol. I have people around the Motherworld analysing what they might be using them for, but our contacts within the Capitol can’t tell us much more right now.”

“That’s not good enough!” H’Nille snapped. “They need to understand what’s at stake here!”

Now Kami faced him again, her expression and tone calm... but taut. “Lieutenant Commander, these are females who have chosen to willingly remain in an environment where the Ferasans abuse them on a daily basis, and can kill them with no more regard than you might swat a fly. I think they understand all too well what’s at stake here.

Captain Hrelle is expected back in under four hours; unless something happens before then, he’ll assess the situation and make the final decision as to whether or not the intelligence we’ve gathered will suffice for Captain Mrorr. My impression of your Commanding Officer is that she is very capable, and very astute, and I’m certain she will continue to err on the side of prudence.

Just a little more time, Mr H’Nille. You’d be amazed what can happen...”

*

FIFTY-NINE MINUTES, FIFTY-FOUR SECONDS... FIFTY-THREE... FIFTY-TWO...

Mroara-Lnee Shipbuilding Industries Head Office, M'Restir Province:

“Take care. Stay safe.

We love you.”

Jnill Mroara-Lnee sat at her desk, replaying the message for the twenty-third time since it arrived, hidden inside a seemingly-innocuous corporate message; only the fact that the name on the Sender Line was a former business partner who she knew had died nine years before of heart failure told her there was something more waiting for her than market challenges and potential IPO projections.

She’d been right. Her heart raced like a starship at warp as she gazed at the image of her beloved daughter and son... and her granddaughter! Look at her, so soft and tiny and adorable!

And bearing Jnill’s name. It had been most gracious of Kami to support that choice.

They lived. They all lived, and were watching out for each other. The Hrelles would see to that. She had the utmost confidence in them.

The clan would be safe, and live on.

Thank you for this...

She finished her glass of wine as she heard the weapons fire outside her office door. Such timing, receiving this wonderful news.

It would make the coming moments that much more bearable.

Seconds later, her door lock was blown way, the door physically slid aside as a body was flung in to roll to a stop.

Jnill bolted to her feet, noting with genuine regret that the body was her loyal Security Chief Shikor, with several disruptor burns in her chest. Forgive me, my friend...

Then Ubar-Sin stepped in with several of his fellows... and, unexpectedly, Hrulish.

Unexpected, but it explained everything. If anyone might have spurred Ubar-Sin into suspecting she had been secretly arranging for the construction project to be delayed through sabotage, it would be her miscreant, perfidious brother. And when she received the Security Alert moments ago from the shipyard below, and couldn’t reach her Ops Manager K’Misil, she knew they were onto her. And that there would be no escape.

At least, not in the way these mongrels would define it.

Ubar-Sin strode up to her, one paw resting on the disruptor pistol holstered at his side, the anger thick in his scent. “There you are, ‘Milady’.” He glanced around, grinding his sabreteeth with barely-contained rage as he noticed the recently-added devices to the room. “Transporter inhibitors? Not very trusting. And here I thought we were all friends, working together for a common cause.”

Jnill looked up at him, seeking some fear within her at the inevitable finally coming out... but finding none. She had been prepared for this eventuality... and seeing Ptera, Mirow and her new granddaughter in the message had only bolstered her. “We were never working together, Ferasan. We are at War.”

She moved around him to her desk, casually reached for the small, elaborately-crafted silver pillbox beside her wineglass, opening it and retrieving one of the small white pills within. “None of us here were ever friends, only adversaries.” She looked over at Hrulish, who kept in the background, never quite managing to work up the courage to look back directly. “Or traitors.”

She swallowed the pill quickly, ignoring its bitter taste as Ubar-Sin drew up and spun her around, clutching her forearm and baring his teeth, hot breath on her muzzle as he growled, “You’re finished, Old Cat. Your brother is taking over.”

Jnill smirked. “Knowing him, I daresay your troubles will only be beginning, though in his case, they will stem more from ineptitude than fortitude.” She looked to her brother. “The company is yours, Hrulish. Enjoy it while you can... you will only possess it for as long as you live.”

Hrulish looked away again.

Ubar-Sin shook her now, his bared teeth widened. “You should be trembling in terror now, bitch!”

She raised her muzzle defiantly to him, feeling a numbness quickly suffuse her from within. “I am a Mroar-Lnee. We are Highborn. We can trace our ancestry directly back to the First Landing over a thousand years ago. You’ll get no trembling, no cowering or pleading, no tears – not from me, at least.”

Now his other paw clamped around her throat. “I will tear your rotted flesh from your ancient bones! I will make an example of you, and your end will be long and excruciating!”

Her vision, her breathing, was quickly fading... though she had the lingering presence of mind to recognise it wasn’t from Ubar-Sin’s actions. “My life... is mine... it is not... the property... of some Ferasan trash... to give... or take...”

He growled and squeezed tighter.

But Jnill was already gone.

She wasn’t there to see or feel Ubar-Sin fling her body in the direction of her brother, who stepped back, horrified at the display to the point of looking away and almost retching.

A reaction which filled the Ferasan with disgust. “Pathetic creature! You crawled to me, promising full cooperation if we gave you power and dealt with your sister!”

Hrulish was still heaving, and still couldn’t look at her body, but between gasps protested, “You- You didn’t have to just kill her!”

But the Pridemaster drew up to the desk, lifted up the pill box and sniffed at it, before tossing it aside. “It seems I did not. She prepared for this end.” He looked to Hrulish, snarling. “And if you do not wish to join her-“

A beeping alert from the desk computer drew their attention, and Ubar-Sin stared at a series of announcements appearing. “What is this? COME HERE, DRUNKARD!”

Hrulish shook as he carefully stepped over Jnill’s body, staring at the display as well. “What’s going on?”

As if in response, the computer calmly announced, “Alert received from biomedical implant in CEO Jnill Mroar-Lnee – Lethal amounts of cyalodin detected in bloodstream. Initiating Emergency Protocols.”

Ubar-Sin laughed harshly. “You’re a little late to help the wizened old bitch, you mechanised moron!”

But the computer responded evenly, “Emergency Protocols Initiated. Ferasan designated Ubar-Sin of the Evercrest Fur Pride detected in room. Detonation commencing...”

The Ferasan blinked. “What?” Instinctively he smacked his Emergency Transport control, only too late remembering the inhibitors in the room.

Hrulish had time to spare one final glance at Jnill, wanting to speak a lifetime of apologies, recriminations, pleas and accusations, but having only the time and wit to think: Oh, nice one, Sis-

Outside, the employees of Mroar-Lnee Industries who had not yet abandoned their work in protest at the Occupation looked up to see the top of the building envelop in a plasma explosion, making windows rattle throughout the expansive grounds.

*

THIRTY-EIGHT MINUTES, FOURTEEN SECONDS... THIRTEEN... TWELVE...

Lnoro Gesh University Dormitory, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

Mreia’s heart was racing, and her footfalls echoed in the corridor as she checked every room she passed, shouting, “SHAU! SHAU! ANSWER ME!”

Behind her, her unnamed contact tried to keep up. “Mrs Furore, we have to go!”

But she barely listened to his entreaty, cursing herself. She should never have left her son alone, not for a second! He was too damned stubborn, like his father! “SHAU!”

But every room was empty. Not only Shau, but all the students.

And she knew why.

She stopped at the common room to catch her breath, as her contact caught up with her. “Mrs Furore, we’re on a schedule- if we’re to get you and your son out of Shanos Minor-“

“I’m aware of that!” she snapped, her claws extending in a rare display of temper. She looked up at the screens, seeing images of growing crowds with banners and placards and noisemakers; she knew the students had set up closed-circuit cameras around Freedom Plaza to record today’s demonstration, to later smuggle the footage out to the rest of the Motherworld.

And she knew that, despite her warnings, Shau would have gone with them. “MOTHER DAMN HIM!”

“Mrs Furore,” her contact entreated. “We need to leave in an hour, there’s others we’re smuggling out...”

Mreia forced herself to calm down again. She was no savage... no matter the provocations from her teenage cub. “I know. But I have to get my son back. And then I – and what little I’ll leave of him after I’m pummelled him – will be ready to go.”

*

THIRTY-THREE MINUTES, FIFTY-NINE SECONDS... FIFTY-EIGHT... FIFTY-SEVEN...

Command Bay, Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

“Shields,” Nenjo announced.

Kami, Tshal and H’Nille looked over to her as one, Kami echoing, “Shields?”

The Mother’s Claws agent nodded, indicating text on her screen. “I’ve had it confirmed from three different analysts. The Ferasans have set up a local refractive shield network around their Headquarters in the Capitol Building, designed to activate at the detection of any incoming hostile vehicle or missile.”

The others drew closer, H’Nille asking, “You’re saying we can’t launch an attack on it? There must be some way to bring it down.”

Nenjo shrugged. “A sustained phaser beam from a Starfleet vessel in orbit could overload it... or we could arrange for sabotage to ensure it doesn’t come online, but that’ll take time... and timing, to match it with any attack your Captain might launch. But if you launched a missile at it now, you’ll cause more damage to the surrounding area, with most of your casualties the Caitians outside the immediate shields.”

Kami looked to the Commander. “You should contact the Deep Keep, and let them know. At the very least, they’ll have more information now than they did before, and that might sate their impatience to take action.”

*

THIRTY-THREE MINUTES, FIFTY-SIX SECONDS... FIFTY-FIVE... FIFTY-FOUR...

Deep Keep, Free Seas:

Captain Mrorr had been updating her logs in her Ready Room when she felt the shudder. She had spent too long onboard her ship to not know every noise, every vibration of the hull, the engines, the thrusters.

And the missile launchers.

She was on her feet and out onto the Bridge before the shudder had ebbed. Her crew were silent, stunned... and all looking in the direction of her First Officer, who sat at the Tactical Station. “Mr K’Row?”

Commander K’Row rose to his feet, his posture as stiff as his tail as he faced her. “Captain, I must inform you for the record that the actions I have taken, I have taken without any collaboration from any other member of our crew-”

“What have you done?” Mrorr didn’t wait for an answer, turning to another officer. “Lt M’Trasha, report!”

Her Helm Officer snapped out of her stunned state and turned in her chair to check her readings. “We’ve launched a missile, Captain! Moving north by northeast, projected destination-“

Mrorr’s stomach twisted into knots. “I know where it’s going.” She turned back to K’Row, taut with disbelief. “You’ve defied my orders!”

He raised his muzzle to her. “I did what was necessary in the face of your reluctance to take action-“

“STAND DOWN!” She bolted towards him, shoving him aside to get to the Tactical station, checking the readings: moving at hypersonic speed, already in the upper atmosphere, its self-defence systems online. “You armed the tricobalt warhead- set for Maximum- Mother’s Cubs-“ Her paws moved over the controls. “Computer: Abort Missile, Command Priority Mrorr-One-One!”

“Unable to comply. New Security Lockouts in place.”

K’Row folded his paws behind him. “I’ve locked out the Abort option, Captain. As your First Officer, I recommend we go to Red Alert and take advantage of this strike to select-“

“You’re not my First Officer any longer! Mr Ashita, escort Commander K’Row to the Brig! NOW!” As her Third Engineer complied, she turned to the rest of her Bridge crew. “Red Alert! Helm, take evasive action! The Enemy will retrace the arc of the missile back here! Tactical, bring the transphasic cloak to Maximum, and break the communications link with the Island, we don’t want to expose them if we get detected!”

*

THIRTY-ONE MINUTES, TWELVE SECONDS... ELEVEN... TEN...

Northern District, Shanos Minor:

Pridemaster Awil-Aya sat perched on the upper steps of one of these pathetic Caitian monuments that seem to litter this miserable world, espousing their so-called Great Mother. Just you wait, you mewling cubs; you’ll be cursing your whore goddess for letting us finally deal with you on this day...

He and his sons and brothers and nephews and cousins, and the males of the Iron Whisper, Blood Brow and Grey Halfcrest Prides he had invited to join his own in this little exercise, had gathered, some divesting themselves to just trousers or kilts, their fur daubed with war paint, in deference to the traditions of the Great Hunt.

In the wide clearing of Freedom Plaza before them, hundreds of Caitian students were marching in from various points in the city, no longer impeded. There was a heady collective scent of triumph and anticipation coming from them.

His First Son ascended the steps to where Awil-Aya sat, the younger male’s own scent of anticipation as strong as the other Ferasans. “Father, the majority of the crowds appear to have arrived, but there’s a few stragglers still coming.”

Awil-Aya smiled. “Give them time; we don’t want anyone left behind and missing out when we switch on the security fields. What about the projectors?”

The younger male turned, pointing to various places around the Plaza. “Fixed and ready, and so far not spotted by any of the Caitians. But there are a number of the local Constables there. They are armed with their sonic Yaps, and will no doubt side with their own people when the Hunt begins.”

“Keep our own weapons trained on them. When we begin, they should be the first to be brought down.” He listened as the chants began among the protestors.

Yes, get those voices warmed up. You’ll need it when you’re screaming later.

*

THIRTY MINUTES, TWENTY-NINE SECONDS... TWENTY-EIGHT... TWENTY-SEVEN...

Command Bay, Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

“Commander!” Tshal barked suddenly. “Missile detected!”

Kami’s heart skipped a beat. “Targeted at us?”

“Negative – it’s on a wide arc trajectory, moving at 40,000 kilometres per hour from the general direction of the last location of the Deep Keep!”

All eyes turned to the screens above them, but Kami looked to H’Nille. “Lieutenant Commander-“

But the Deep Keep’s Second Officer was as astonished as the rest of them, as he sat down at his station and obviously tried to contact his Captain. Had Mrror changed her mind? Kami didn’t get that impression from the other female. “What’s the missile’s probable target?” She suspected the answer.

Her suspicions were confirmed as Tshal responded, “The Capitol Building in First City! It’ll strike in two minutes!”

Kami looked To Nenjo, who was frantically attempting to reach her contacts in the surrounding area. So she returned to Tshal. “Raise the Tailless, we need to alert my husband!”

*

THIRTY MINUTES, FOUR SECONDS... THREE... TWO...

Lnoro Gesh University Dormitory, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

There were a few people left behind in the building at the entrance, startled at the appearance of the spotted, black-clad Caitian wielding a plasma rifle and bursting through the doors, ignoring them and racing further inside, following the tracker now mounted to the barrel of the rifle.

Jhess controlled himself as best he could, not trying to sort out his family’s scents among the scores lingering in the air around him. He had barely stopped as he moved from the maintenance tunnels cutting through the mountains, before descending into the sewers to get here, the name outside marking it as Shau’s University. Please be here, please be here...

He found a bunkroom, and their bags, and the communicator he had tracked to here. Quickly he tagged their bags, clicking the activators on each, not watching them become enveloped in the quantum swirl of automatic transporter beams back to the Tailless, before he raced back out into the corridor. “MREIA! SHAU!”

Back at Reception, he found one civilian, an elderly male behind the Reception desk, and roared, “WHERE ARE THEY?”

The grey-furred male was shaking, unable to take his eyes off the black plasma rifle in Jhess’ paws, its barrel pointed downwards but still appearing threatening, but managed to stammer, “D-Demonstration- F-Freedom P-Pl-“

Jhess didn’t stick around, retrieving Sasha’s nanoprobe tracer as he burst outside into the light of morning, subterfuge be damned.

*

TWENTY-NINE MINUTES, FIFTY-NINE SECONDS... FIFTY-EIGHT... FIFTY-SEVEN...

Capitol, First City, M’Mirl Province:

“TACTICAL ALERT! INCOMING MISSILE STRIKE! IMPACT IN SIXTY SECONDS!”

Melem-Adu strolled casually to the balcony overlooking the Southern part of the city centre, seemingly oblivious to the klaxons sounding above him, and the panic ensuing around him. He motioned to one Caitian slave. “Wine.”

Of the others, only three seemed as collected as he was: his son Nusum-Adu, still coordinating the response efforts of their people; Welros, whose innate Vorta blandness would probably protect him from a supernova blast; and Lessade, who was probably too drunk or drugged to understand what was going on.

The three of them followed him out into the open air, where Nusum-Adu was the first to speak. “Father, perhaps we should seek shelter in the substations, just in case-“

Melem-Adu stared out at the spires of buildings beyond the Capitol, many ancient, dated back centuries to when the Caitians first landed here. “We are Ferasans. We are not cowards. We are not weak. You may go, if you wish. All of you.”

Welros simpered. “My Jem’Hadar have studied the defences you have established here, Master Governor, and have faith in their efficacy. This will be most illuminating.”

“Is there a parade?” Lessade asked. “Shall I make a speech?”

“Leave us!” Nusum-Adu snapped at him.

“No, wait.” Melem-Adu set his wine on the balcony ledge and turned to face the Caitian, beckoning. “Come here, Provisional First Minister. I do have an important job for you.”

Lessade approached, eyes bleary but wide. “What can I do for you, Master Governor?”

Melem-Adu took him by the arm. “You can count how long it takes for a useless, intoxicated collaborator to reach the ground from this height.”

Then he secured a firmer grasp on Lessade, lifted him up and flung him over the balcony railing.

Lessade flailed before disappearing from view, but screamed all the way down, until the scream abruptly ended.

Melem-Adu nodded to himself. “Six and a half seconds.”

“MISSILE IMPACT IN TEN SECONDS,” the computer announced. “NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN...”

Melem-Adu retrieved his wine and looked up into the sky, imagining seeing the swathe of the missile as its speed and heat broke the cloud cover. Despite his bravado, there was still an instinctive desire within him, to run and hide. After all, he couldn’t see the shielding up in place- it might not even be there-

He squinted as the sky turned white... its blinding, terrible blast, heat and noise buffered by a crimson energy webbing, its matrix protesting at the impact upon it... but still holding.

The trio seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, though none of them would admit to it, though Welros made a subsequent sound. “An impressive demonstration of your shielding technology, Master Governor. Now, what will you do in response?”

Maybe I’ll throw you over the edge to join that broken Caitian puppet in the courtyard below. “You shall soon see, Vorta.” He turned to his son. “What’s with the face like a smacked arse? You haven’t wet yourself, have you?”

Nusum-Adu was peering outwards; the shield remained in place, but without being tested it was invisible again, and they could all see the cluster of buildings that had borne the brunt of the blast: windows were shattered, walls cracked, rubble was falling in place... and dead or injured Caitians lay in the streets below. “We should keep the shields up, keep out the smoke and dust...”

“Of course, of course. So, what’s really wrong with you?”

His son looked to him. “I thought we had utterly destroyed the Caitian’s military might.”

“Clearly not... but then you should have realised that days ago, with those reports of the loss of the Jem’Hadar ships at the Equator. They could only have been brought down by sophisticated hardware, not just a couple of rebel Caitians with some plasma rifles and firebombs. Have our people trace the trajectory of the missile to its source – though I suspect it will have come from the general area where the Jem’Hadar were brought down.

And then contact Pridemaster Tasak-Sil.”

Nusum-Adu frowned. “Of the Steel Crown Pride? The Engineers? What for?”

Melem-Adu looked between his son and Welros, as if sharing his response between them. “I tasked him with the construction of a special present for the Caitians... and promised to kill his firstborn if it wasn’t ready when we needed it.

I think everyone will agree that now... we need it.”

*

TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES, FOURTEEN SECONDS... THIRTEEN... TWELVE...

Mithram Valley, Nashea Province:

Hrelle leaned back in the cockpit seat of the Tailless. “A missile? What in the Seven Hells- What about Mrorr?“

“No word yet,” Kami’s voice replied. “Lt Cmdr H’Nille believes they’re running silent and getting out of the area before they’re tracked down. Esek, I don’t think this was planned. Could it have been an accident?”

He shook his head, though it was an audio transmission and she couldn’t see it. “More than likely an action taken by one of her senior officers. What about the Capitol?”

“Nenjo’s inside contacts haven’t responded yet, but we’ve tapped into security cameras in the immediate area – those still functioning, that is. The Ferasans’ shields protected them completely, at the expense of the surrounding buildings. There have been obvious casualties- Esek, when are you all coming back? The Ferasans are going to retaliate.”

“I know.” He glanced towards the rear, seeing a number of bags with transporter tags that had beamed in while he was outside with Sasha and Mori and the others. “We’re still waiting on Jhess beaming back with his family. I don’t want to leave just yet, or send a signal into the city... but we need to get home as soon as possible.”

“Stay safe, Husband of Mine. And hurry back.”

Hrelle rose, adjusting his sword and scabbard; it looked and felt strange against his Starfleet uniform, a seeming incongruity... but as he was the senior Starfleet representative on Cait, he would allow it for himself and his daughter.

He stepped outside, seeing Sasha and the others on the upper slope, near the entrance to the tunnels to Shanos Minor.

He was about to call up to Sasha, when he froze, his hackles rising and his ears twitching as he looked around. He had grown used to the stillness here, to the distant sounds of the wind in the bordering trees, the chitter of maribods and hut-huts-

And something else. He could hear it. Smell it.

He stepped away, making sure he had his phaser as well as his sword, he peered out. Searching. Searching-

That large bird appeared again. Looking down on him directly.

*

On an upper slope, nestled behind a clump of rocks and shrubbery that had been his cover for some time now, Valtiri peered at Hrelle through the scope of his rifle, occasionally reaching out to look at him through Nyx’s eyes, though the distance made such levels of contact difficult. He certainly couldn’t reach the Captain’s mind from this far up, or the others. He could only watch.

Or shoot.

No. Maybe the others. But not his Quarry.

But he watched, watched as Hrelle directed the others to do what they had come here for. He watched and saw a male with obvious authority, obvious ease of command: fat, yes, but with muscle under that. And he saw his first human female: a tailless, furless figure, looking bizarre and alien... but one who moved with confidence, assurance. She had learned from her father. She was a killer.

And now he saw Hrelle standing there. Looking around. Did he- Did he sense Valtiri’s presence? Seven Hells, he did!

Oh, this would be an immensely enjoyable battle.

“Sire!”

Valtiri flinched, squatting down, his paw over the communicator pouch on his harness, snarling. “What did I say about interrupting-“ But then he acknowledged the urgency in the voice. “What is it?”

Pilot’s voice seemed loud, even with the communicator volume turned down. “Sire, we just received a report from Headquarters! They’ve come under missile attack from the Caitians! But our forces were ready, and had shields erected! The Master Governor and the rest of our people there still live!”

“I don’t care,” Valtiri declared... until he frowned and realised that he did care, though not for the safety of the Master Governor and his preening cronies. He turned back and peered over the rocks, without the use of his rifle scope. Hrelle was obviously in command of the Caitian Resistance; he wouldn’t be here if he was involved in the attack on the Capitol.

He would be alerted to it. He might even leave, to return and coordinate his people in the event of a counterstrike from the Ferasans.

And Valtiri would lose a precious opportunity here. “Thank you, Pilot. Maintain communicator silence until you hear from me again.”

“Yes, Sire- I’ll- I’ll just-“

But Valtiri had switched off the communicator as he looked over the rocks and down into the Valley, gauging the distance and adjusting his scope. Besides Father and Daughter Hrelle, there were three others, one male in a Starfleet uniform, the other two civilians.

He had definite reservations about just shooting the Hrelles; there was no honour, no pleasure or achievement in that.

The others, on the other paw, meant nothing to him, except potential pawns or distractions...

*

Down below, Sasha moved the sword on her belt to one side as she knelt and ran tests on the field generator. “Check the connections.”

On the other side of the tunnel entrance, Mori squatted by a diagnostic unit. “Checking, Lieutenant... Security fields, Okay... communication relay, Okay... plasma weapon rechargers, Okay... all Okay, Lieutenant.”

She made a sound. “‘Lieutenant’? Being a little formal, are we?” Then she looked over at him, smirking. “You didn’t think I was being serious about us having a cub together, did you?”

“What? No, of course not!”

His tail told a different story.

“Not that we wouldn’t produce a great cub,” she teased, “Your parents certainly thought so when I contacted them after we shagged.”

Now he grunted. “You went a little too far there with your bullshit. You should have just kept it simpler.”

“Oh, Now I’m definitely gonna have to call-“ She stopped, glancing down to see the two Kaetini colleagues were climbing up the hill with more boxes- one of them seemingly tripped and fell.

Then the second went down... with the side of his head opening up, spattering blood and brain matter out as if a miniature bomb had detonated in his skull.

“SNIPER!” She dove towards the tunnel entrance, hearing the snap of a large-calibre ballistic bullet strike the rock surface directly behind her. She slapped her combadge. “Dad! Sniper! Take cover!” She looked up. “Mru!”

But Mori was lying there, barely shielded by a large boulder, wrapped in a foetal position, his paws gripped around a nasty bullet wound in his right thigh, cursing and breathing rapidly. “Mru! Are you alright?”

The young male’s teeth were bared in pain. “What do you think! Shit, that hurts!”

“Sasha!” her father’s voice returned over the combadge. “Are you okay?”

“I am, but the other Kaetini are dead, and Mori’s wounded, pinned down behind a rock! I’m gonna try to get to him and drag him into better cover and treat him!”

“No you won’t, Lieutenant,” came a new, unrecognised male voice over the channel.

She froze, listening as she heard her father ask, “Who’s this?”

The deep baritone voice responded readily. “I am Valtiri, the Hunter Prime of the Ferasan people. And I have been sent by the Patriarch to kill you and your daughter. I am challenging you both to face me in honourable combat.”

“Honourable?” Sasha echoed angrily, watching the dark blood seep out from Mori’s wound despite his efforts to keep applying pressure; he wasn’t going to stay conscious for much longer without treatment, and then he’d bleed to death. “What’s honourable about picking off people from a distance, you fucking prick?”

“Please, Lieutenant, I don’t believe in profanity.”

“I do – come face me, dickhead, and I’ll cut off your head and shit down your fucking neckhole!”

*

In the Valley below, Hrelle squatted behind a boulder, unable to leave without having the ground around him spit bullets and pebbles. The Tailless was only about twenty metres away.... but it might as well have been a light year’s distance. “Sasha, don’t-“

Something like a sound of amusement returned from their unseen opponent. “I have every intention of fighting you face to face, Lieutenant, you and your father; you both deserve no less. But I would rather keep interference from others to a minimum, hence my actions just now.”

Hrelle leaned out carefully from behind the side of the boulder, peering up to try and find the most likely perch of the sniper, along the treeline-

He ducked back as a bullet struck his boulder, sending shards of murinite slate spraying... but Hrelle thought he had pinpointed their attacker. He drew out his phaser, checking the setting; the distance would make this tricky, but he had to give it a shot, give Sasha a chance to break cover and save Lt Mori-

“Captain,” Valtiri said now over the channel. “Before you risk your life any further, please speak with your daughter, and ask her what she sees on the back of her companion’s head.”

Hrelle froze, frowning at the odd request. “Sash?”

*

Up at the tunnel, Sasha, having heard the exchange, looked over at Mori and spotted- “It’s- it looks like a red laser dot.”

Mori heard her, forgetting his pain for a moment to look at her with wide, pleading eyes. “What?”

*

“Shit,” Hrelle muttered. “A targeting beam.”

“Yes, Captain; I don’t normally employ it, but do so now for illustrative purposes. The Caitian remains completely exposed and at my mercy. I could have finished him at any stage. I have chosen not to... for now. If your daughter attempts to approach him, or if you and she do not throw away your energy weapons and step out into view, he will be dead before she gets within arm’s length.”

Mori looked back at her again. “No! Don’t do it!”

*

Hrelle breathed in. “Just throw away our phasers and step out, just like that? And I suppose you won’t just pick us off neat you please, huh, Bubulah?”

“Captain, I have been observing your party for at least an hour. I watched you and the Lieutenant interact with that spotted male before he disappeared into the tunnels. I watched you walking around, admiring this... stunning landscape, and watched you interact with your daughter, and bear witness to the obvious love you two share. I could have killed you both from a distance a thousand times over.

But I would sooner set fire to a Nash-Aka oil painting than do such a thing.

Unless of course I was left with no other choice.

Throw away your phaser and step into view, Captain. You too, Lieutenant; descend and join your father. But please bring your swords with you.”

“Dad?” Sasha asked.

Hrelle swallowed. The Ferasan had a point; from up there, he could have killed them already, but wanted to make it up close and personal. He grunted, recognising that he wouldn’t be the first Ferasan to seek him out and gain some apparent glory at fighting the former Beast of the Orion Deathmatches. He didn’t want to indulge yet another bloodthirsty Rat-tail.

On the other paw, they really had no choice. He could keep them both pinned down until he called in reinforcements. He tapped his combadge again. “Do as he says, Sasha.”

Now Mori joined the channel. “No, Sir! Don’t do it! I’m not worth it!”

“Put a sock in it, Mru,” Sasha told him. “Before I put my boot in it!”

“I echo my daughter’s feelings on the matter, Lieutenant Mori,” Hrelle assured him. “Sasha?”

“I’m coming,” she declared. “But I’m bringing Mori over a medikit and stabilising him first! And if you don’t like that, Mr Sniper, you can kiss the fattest part of my ass!”

Hrelle tensed again, until the Ferasan – what was his name again? Valtiri – chuckled. “Go right ahead, Lt Hrelle, though any attempt by him to move from where he is will cost him dearly.”

Hrelle looked back, seeing Sasha step out into view from the tunnel, flinging aside her phaser but walking towards where Mori lay. Now Hrelle stepped out, throwing his own phaser to one side and looking up where he suspected the Ferasan watched them. He tapped his combadge again. “Valtiri... face me alone. You don’t have to involve my daughter, she’s innocent. There will be no honour to be gained in fighting her.”

“I understand your desire to protect her, Captain. But we both know that she is not innocent. She has slain many in her young life, here and out in space. Perhaps not as many as you, but she is definitely her father’s daughter. And she has earned the attention of the Patriarch... and thus, the Patriarch’s Assassin.”

Valtiri’s words struck him like a fist. That he had been a major influence in Sasha’s life had been obvious to him, chiefly in her joining Starfleet and wanting to be a Captain like himself, a champion for life. But to think that he might have also led her on a path of bloodshed as well... “Valtiri... I beg of you... leave her alone. I’ll do anything you say, anything you want. She means the Universe to me.”

There was a pause, and then Valtiri responded, “I believe you, Captain. And I genuinely envy your daughter for having a father with such a fierce love and devotion for her. But I’m afraid I cannot make an exception with her. But I do promise to fight both of you fairly, on equal terms, so my inevitable victory will be justly earned.”

Hrelle tensed, staring hard up at the slope. “And I promise you, Mister, that you will regret threatening my daughter or myself. You will regret it to your dying day.

And that day is today.”

“I’m on my way.”

*

On the slope, Sasha knelt beside Mori and ripped away his trouser leg to reveal his furred thigh, quickly cleaning and treating the wound. “Keep still, I’ll get this sorted right away.”

Mori gasped, grimacing until she paused to inject him a painkiller. “N-No, Sasha, you can’t go down there- you and your father are risking your lives.”

She ran the autosuture over the wound, stemming the flow of blood. “Risk is Our Business. Don’t you remember that quote from the wall in the Academy’s James T Kirk Building?”

He shook his head. “I attended the Annex at Rigel. You can’t expect me to just lie here while you two face the Enemy?”

She kept herself from looking out into the gulley below, making sure she closed the channel on her combadge and his, before responding. “I don’t- especially as I should get you fixed up enough to make you at least partially ambulatory. While Dad and I are keeping Snagglepuss busy, you sneak into the tunnel, stay out of the line of fire until we’re done.”

“B-But Valtiri said-“

“Valtiri can eat a sack of balls. I think he’s bluffing about someone shooting you while he’s with us. Get yourself to safety.”

“I- I should be helping you-”

“You will be, by leaving me assured that you’re safe, so I’m not distracted worrying about you.”

He winced, grimacing again as he took the autosuture from her. “Fine, I’ll do that. And you’d better stay safe down there.”

“Oh? I hadn’t thought about doing that.”

“I mean it, Sash. I- I want to spend more time with you. Can’t do that if you’re dead. That’d just be illegal and weird.”

Sasha looked into his eyes, before rubbing the side of her face against his muzzle, rising and adjusting the sword at her side as she strode down the hill to join her father, the sight of the two dead Kaetini a reminder of the fate that threatened the rest of them.

*

TWENTY-SIX MINUTES, FORTY-FOUR SECONDS... FORTY-THREE... FORTY-TWO...

Freedom Plaza, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

“Seven Hells, No! We Won’t Go! Seven Hells, No! We Won’t Go!”

Mreia forced her way blindly through the crowds, her senses assaulted by the sea of bodies around her, their scents and sounds of yelling and chanting and blaring noisemakers and even attempts at protest songs, some more aggressive than others, but all aimed in the direction of the Ferasans at the southern end of the Plaza. Most were students, but they had been joined by older people, similarly incensed by the Occupation and driven to protest.

Mreia didn’t care anymore. All she wanted was her son. But what could she do? The numbers here made it almost imposs-

The banners! She recognised the ones that Shau’s University friends had been making in the last couple of days since they had been hiding on campus! She pushed aside cubs and snaked her way closer to the group, her ears and eyes focused on finding- “SHAU!”

The young male turned, startled into almost dropping the banner pole he was holding. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

Relief at finding her son was rapidly eclipsed by anger at his actions, and she grabbed his arm, barely giving him the chance to pass his pole to a friend, snarling over the surrounding din. “I’m going to smack the fur off your hide for this!”

“Mom! I’ve got to do this!”

“No, you’ve got to do what I say and come back to-“

The rest of her response was lost, as a long, loud, continuous klaxon, from speakers mounted high up around the Plaza. It made the hundreds of protestors stop their chanting, their singing, and look up and around, stunned.

Mreia tightened her hold on Shau as she looked around. “Is that- is that part of the protest?”

“No,” he murmured, confused.

Rockets arced almost lazily up from the borders, converging and detonating over the centre of the Plaza and making the crowds, including Mreia and Shau, duck instinctively, all looking up to see, not fireworks, but billows of thick, slate-grey smoke, that began to drift down.

“Mom? What’s going on?” Shau asked.

She didn’t know. She just knew they had to get away. She pulled on his arm to follow as she led them back, noting how most of the others around them were still stunned or confused about what to do... but some began to follow the two of them, as if suspecting Mreia knew something they didn’t.

She went for the nearest boulevard to make their way back to the campus, slowing down as the crowds ahead of them increased, mulling, shouting- what were they doing?

Then she saw the flare of a force field, an energy wall stretched across the boulevard, keeping the protestors penned within.

Confusion turned to fear and anger, and then panic. Crowds surged forward, as if they could bring down the force field by sheer numbers.

They couldn’t. Mreia heard the cries of help from those at the front, being crushed to death, unable to escape.

She turned around and shoved aside those trying to join the others at the force field, not knowing or caring about the futility of it all. The smoke was drifting down, cutting off visibility.

Chaos was in season now.

And from the north side of the Plaza, a collective roar sounded over the shouts and cries. And the rapid pounding of boots on pavement, like an avalanche.

Mreia’s heart was racing as she sought an alternative escape route. She stepped around overturned benches and trash cans and discarded banners and terrified protestors now huddled together, not knowing to do anything else but crouch down and hope not to be noticed.

Mother and son stumbled and staggered across the park, Mreia trying to work out where they were, and where the next potential exit could be... suspecting even as she did this, that it would be blocked too. All of the ways out would be blocked. And that was why the Ferasans offered no resistance to the protestors congregating here today. They wanted them here.

The protestors were scrambling in and out of the smoke, appearing like ghosts before disappearing again.

And then a black stampede emerged from the north, as Ferasan males, many bare chested but marked with stripes of war paint, swarmed out, moving like predators, attacking any Caitians who caught their attention or interest, swiping them down with their claws. Assaulting them. Raping them. Killing them.

Screams filled the air, even over the roars of the killers.

“Mom!” Shau screamed.

She turned, seeing what he saw: a half-dozen or more Ferasan males charging towards them. She tugged on her son’s arm to have him follow her, hoping to get to the trees in the gardened sections, to find some cover, to-

She was tackled, going down hard and feeling her head ring. She struggled, as paws grabbed her limbs and twisted her around but keeping her pinned down as three or four of them surrounded her, their scents thick with zeal and bloodlust.

Shau’s cry made her look to one side, seeing more Ferasans swiping and shoving her smaller, younger son between them like a game, before smacking him fully to the pavement.

Above her, one male sneered, “She’s an old one- hardly worth opening up!”

“Not like that anyway,” another joked.

They began ripping at her clothes.

Mreia struggled in raw panic, her own claws out but unable to get any purchase, to deliver any blows to her attackers, the scent of lust now thick from them as they continued to undress her. She roared and cursed. They laughed at her efforts, at her integrity and value as a sentient being.

She looked across at Shau again... seeing them pinning him down now on the pavement, one Ferasan pressing his knee hard against her son’s neck, his whole weight upon him. Shau bucked, writhed futilely. It was obvious that he couldn’t breathe.

“N-no-” she pleaded, even as she felt one of her attackers move above her. “P-Please- you’ll kill him-”

The Ferasan above her laughed as he opened his trousers. “Think of it as a mercy killing, so he doesn’t have to see us taking turns with his little Momm-”

The rest of his taunt was lost with a sudden whine that cut through the air, before a bright blue bolt of plasma struck the head of the Ferasan holding onto her right arm, instantly superheating and evaporating the contents of his skull along the way as it exited through the other side.

The Ferasans still around her barely had time to react, before another bolt from out of the smoke struck the one holding her left arm.

The one directly above her seemed totally confused about what was happening.

Mreia took advantage of that, and swiped up at his muzzle drawing blood.

He stumbled backwards, turning to locate the source of the plasma bolts- only to be propelled back as a third bolt struck him in the chest, setting his fur on fire as he dropped, already dead before he struck the pavement.

Mreia twisted around, staying low, focusing on the Ferasans still slowly killing Shau, though now they were reacting to their fallen comrades. Mreia began to rise to rescue her son-

Before Jhess raced into view, plasma rifle in his grip, moving as fast as Mreia had ever seen him do, swinging out with the butt of his rifle and savagely catching one Ferasan across the skull while still shooting another who was rising to attack him.

Mreia crawled to Shau, who was gasping and coughing as he caught his breath again, and clung to him as she watched her ex-husband, clad in black paramilitary gear, fight back. He had dropped his rifle, but he didn’t need it now, dodging blows and delivering bone-breaking kicks and punches, making his opponents scream and bleed and fall to pieces as he tore through them.

And all her years of embracing a nonviolent stance, in hating Jhess’ decision to join the military and train to be a killer, had evaporated in an instant of knowing what they had tried to do to her, what they had tried to do to her beloved cub.

And she clung to Shau and roared out, “KILL THEM, JHESS! KILL THEM!”

And he did.

Three more Ferasans, aware of the carnage here, raced up from behind.

“Jhess! Behind you!”

When he didn’t seem to hear her, she picked up his rifle, without knowing a thing about them, aimed and pressed on the trigger, almost dropping it from the recoil as a blue bolt struck one of the Ferasans on his left shoulder- removing most of the limb from below where the bolt struck, sending the Ferasan tumbling over himself, looking almost comically as if his own dismembered limb somehow knocked him down.

She froze in place, not believing what she had just done.

Jhess had turned, registering her actions but focused on the others continuing on towards him, as he extended his claws and ripped open one Ferasan’s belly, then slashed another’s throat, before turning back to his family, crouching beside them – and carefully removing the rifle from her paws – while looking them over. “Are you two okay? Are you hurt?”

Mreia was breathed hard now, looking down at her torn clothes, but shook her head, as Shau copied her.

Jhess helped them both up, affixing them with gold badges and then tapping onto himself. And then again, clearly expecting some response.

He glanced around. “Transporter tag’s aren’t working, might be interference from the Rat-Tails’ transporter remotes.” He looked back at her, lifting up the rifle again. “I’ll get us all out of here safely. I promise.”

“I believe you,” she declared, as fervently and genuinely as anything she had ever said in her life.

*

TWELVE MINUTES, NINE SECONDS... SEVEN...

Mithram Valley:

Father and Daughter stood at the edge of the gulley, not straying too far from the Tailless, but without making any attempt to get to it, instead focused on standing and watching as the largest Ferasan Hrelle had ever seen in his life descend from the opposite end and approach.

“He’s a big bastard, isn’t it?” Sasha muttered. “Built like a brick starbase.”

“He’s not carrying any firearms I can see,” Hrelle whispered. “Certainly not the rifle he was obviously using before- wait, has he got a sword too?”

“Looks like it, You know, we can make a break for my ship-”

“No, Lieutenant,” the Ferasan called out, still ten metres away but quickly closing the distance. “My associates have their weapons trained on you, and your lover on the slope.” At five metres he stopped, regarding them both, breathing in deeply. “This is a genuine honour to finally meet both of you, to scent you and look into your eyes.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Hrelle informed him. “You really came all this way just to face us in personal combat? You’re not the first Rat-Tail to seek me out, Bubulah, to want to win a name and glory from your people for facing me-”

“I have a name already,” Valtiri informed him. “One I gave myself. And I haven’t an iota of interest in what my people might have to offer me; they have given me nothing of value that I haven’t earned or taken for myself. I may have been sent here by the Patriarch on this assignment, but ultimately... it is for my own self-fulfilment.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve considered another outlet?” Sasha quipped. “Like tennis, maybe, or ballroom dancing, or sticking your head in a antimatter chamber-” She stopped, frowning at him. “That scabbard-” She looked to her father. “The hilt of his sword- it’s Caitian!”

Hrelle frowned too, pointing at Valtiri. “That’s not a Ferasan sword.”

Valtiri raised his muzzle. “No. It’s not.” He grasped the hilt and drew out the thin black blade, raising it up to the midday light. “None of my people could forge something as beautiful as this.”

“That’s Kaetini!” Hrelle accused angrily, his tail snapping. “Where did you get it?”

Their opponent twirled and rotated the sword in his grip almost experimentally, admiringly. “This was the sword of Gamal Ashen, of Sekuro.”

Sasha paled. “Ashen? I know him! You stole his sword?”

“I earned it, Lieutenant.”

“He killed him for it,” Hrelle clarified darkly, his paw moving to the hilt of his own sword. “Like he killed the other Kaetini on the slope.”

“No, Captain,” the Hunter Prime declared. “The ones on the slope were mere obstacles to be cleared. Gamal Ashen was a worthy opponent, an honour for me to despatch.” He pointed the sword in their direction, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “You two will be a much greater honour.”

Hrelle and Sasha drew their own swords simultaneously, Hrelle declaring, “You’re not worthy of that. Drop it now and surrender, and I swear you’ll be treated with mercy.”

Valtiri smiled. “That’s not what your daughter is thinking. She wants to take my head off. ‘The only good Ferasan is a dead one’. Am I right, cub?”

Sasha flinched, quickly recovering and tightening her grip on her own sword. “Enough of this bullshit! Dad?”

Hrelle narrowed his gaze on Valtiri and replied, in Old Caitian, “Circle Eclipse.”

Father and Daughter parted, each raising their sword and roaring as they attacked Valtiri on either side of him, Hrelle aiming high, Sasha aiming low.

The Ferasan seemed to anticipate the classic Kaetini combat move, dodging Hrelle’s swipe while knocking Sasha’s sword away with a loud clash, even as he returned to thrust at Hrelle, making the other male dodge.

“Storm Wave!” Sasha suggested, still using Old Caitian.

Hrelle grunted with approval, the pair of them charging, swiping high and low, alternating in an attempt to drive Valtiri back, make him falter, if only for a second.

But the huge figure refused to falter, refused to be budged. He moved with astonishing fluidity for such a behemoth, his scent thick with what Hrelle could only describe as... elation. He really did live for this.

What was more, he appeared as proficient with a blade as any Ferasan he had ever encountered before, able to anticipate and counter their moves – and wielding a blade as strong as theirs. “Mist Snake!”

He charged ahead, roaring, with a savage series of strikes, keeping Valtiri as off-balance as he could, while Sasha moved around, taking advantage to-

Something big and fast swooped down from the sky, making Hrelle flinch – but not his opponent – as it descended onto Sasha. It was the big bird, the bird Hrelle had seen before, with golden white-tipped feathers and a hook-shaped beak... but it hissed like no bird on Cait ever did as it brought Sasha down, its huge talons trying to claw at her face.

The distraction almost cost Hrelle his life, as Valtiri took advantage and drew blood along Hrelle’s left bicep, cutting through the padding of his Starfleet jacket like it wasn’t there. Hrelle cursed, forcing down the pain as he went on the defensive, unable to help his daughter.

Suddenly there was a horrible screech, and both Hrelle and Valtiri paused and turned, to see the huge bird spurt black blood as Sasha stabbed it with her sword, drawing the blade up to nearly bisect it, sending entrails and feathers flying. Sasha half-staggered to her feet, covered in the bird’s blood, her clawed face looking horrified, both from the attack, and from her own response to it.

“Nyx...” Valtiri mourned, and Hrelle heard the anguish in the Ferasan’s voice.

Then swiftly, more swiftly than Hrelle expected, Valtiri reached for something on his bandana with his free paw, drawing out a crescent-shaped throwing blade and flinging it with a roar in Sasha’s direction.

The throwing blade struck her firmly in the chest, the impact sending her sprawling to the grass, losing her grip on her sword, before lying still. Lifeless.

“SASHA!” Hrelle cried out, rage suffusing him as he stampeded towards Valtiri, the Ferasan turning and meeting him with equal rage, their blades clashing and reflecting the sunlight as they struck, again and again and again, Hrelle trying to drive his opponent to one side so he could get to Sasha and see if she was still alive-

“She still lives, Captain,” Valtiri suddenly declared hoarsely, his breath ragged. “But not- Not for long, once- once I get to her-”

Hrelle hissed through clenched teeth, his confusion at how the Ferasan knew what he was thinking overwhelmed by pain and fury. “Murdering bastard-”

“She killed my friend!”

“Fuck your friend! AND FUCK YOU!”

He arced back and brought his sword down with all his might.

Valtiri met him with equal, opposite force.

The Arakanium blades couldn’t break, and couldn’t cut through each other.

But they could protest at this treatment, and they did, the earsplitting noise of the impact eclipsed by the feedback delivered through the hilts to the combatants like electricity, making them lose their respective grips on their weapons and drop to the grass.

Hrelle didn’t waste time trying to retrieve his sword, leaping at the Ferasan, claws and teeth bared, landing his full weight onto Valtiri, his opponent falling backwards and howling as his tail broke under him.

Valtiri snarled and punched Hrelle repeatedly in the side of his head, even as Hrelle dug his claws into the Ferasan’s throat, trying to get under the armoured collar. His opponent’s musk, his breath, was hot and pungent.

Then Valtiri used his size and strength to throw Hrelle off, before scrambling to get to one of the fallen swords.

Hrelle was back up and tackling him again, driving his boot hard into Valtiri’s side. He had to finish him off, and get Sasha into the Tailless to revive her-

“NO!” Valtiri declared, kicking high, catching Hrelle in the gut. “She dies, today! As do you! I will not be defeated!”

Hrelle’s insides twisted, and he nearly threw up, but regained his stance, his head still spinning from the earlier blows to his skull. “You’re- You’re- telepath-”

Valtiri spat out teeth and blood, the latter staining his muzzle and clothes. “You’re- You’re an open book to me, Captain- And that book’s final chapter will be written today- in this valley-”

He struck out again.

Gouging Hrelle’s left eye.

*

FOUR MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS, TWENTY-NINE, TWENTY-EIGHT...

Ferasan Occupational Headquarters, Capitol, First City, M’Mirl Province:

Nusum-Adu drew up to his father again, who had been sitting at a table, ripping into a freshly-killed shuris pup, tossing the flesh-stripped bones to the floor. “Master Governor, Pridemaster Tasak-Sil reports your... present for the Caitians is primed and ready. He just needs to know where to deliver it.”

Melem-Adu nodded, wiping his muzzle with his sleeve. “Good, good.”

His son paused, glanced at Welros as if seeking support, but the Vorta remained as bland and enigmatic as ever. So he turned back to his father. “So... are you finally going to enlighten us?”

Melem-Adu leaned back, belched loudly, and stretched out his arms languidly as he rose back to his feet and looked around him. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Welros raised an eyebrow. “One hopes it will match the anticipation you have raised. Based on your past performances, that’s not entirely guaranteed, is it?”

The Master Governor glared at him, his tail twitching... before relaxing and finally laughing softly. “You know, Vorta, ever since you joined us here as the Dominion’s representative, you have been a persistent, incurable itch on my balls. You have constantly belittled my efforts here in front of my son and my subordinates, and I have lost track of the number of times I’ve thought of forgetting our potential alliance with the Dominion and just gutting you from belly to brisket.”

Welros grinned, apparently unoffended. “Indeed?”

“Yes. But now I will be gracious and admit to my own failings.

I assumed that with the elimination of the Caitian Militia and Planetary Navy, that the natural predilection among the passive civilian sheep for compliance and cooperation would keep them in line. Clearly it has not turned out that way, and the Caitians’ insurrectionist acts have cost us dearly, both on a collective and a personal level. And any doubts I might have had on that were wiped away with their failed missile attack on us.

Now, however, the prey will be reminded that we are the predators here.

And the target of this reminder will be the city of Shanos Minor, the loudest nest of mealy-mouthed rebels.

As I speak, Awil-Aya and his males are having fun with the protesting cubs. The Caitians there might think this the acme of their suffering. But they will be wrong.

For our campaign here, we equipped our orbital carriers with tricobalt warheads, capable of delivering thirty isoton yields to cleanly eliminate the Militia bases throughout Cait. But such tactical weapons are insufficient for what I want to inflict upon an entire city.

So the Engineers have gone Old School, and obtained appropriate materials to construct what I am told is commonly called a Hydrogen Bomb.”

Nusum-Adu reacted sharply, but Welros was more curious. “I am unfamiliar with that term, Master Governor.”

Melem-Adu smiled. “It is a weapon, one developed by many races throughout Galactic History; some have even been unfortunate enough to deploy them on their own soil, and to their cost underestimate their destructive potential. It is a weapon that uses a nuclear fission reaction to trigger a much more powerful nuclear fusion reaction, releasing tremendous amounts of energy and radiation. 

It is a Weapon of Mass Destruction worthy of the title, primitive by our standards but frighteningly effective, a weapon capable of producing a blast that will destroy everything in a minimal radius of ten sestares, extreme heat that can spark firestorms, and intense white light that can induce blindness.

And as if the initial destruction was not enough to do the terible rjob, such weapons infuse particles of debris hurled into the atmosphere by the explosion with lethal amounts of radioactivity, that can travel thousands of sestares away, poisoning living creatures and contaminating air, water and soil, the effects lasting generations.”

Nusum-Adu gasped, appalled by the notion. “B-But... But that same poison will affect the rest of the planet! Affect us!”

Melem-Adu looked to his son. “Not to any appreciable, untreatable degree; I’m told that with the mountains circling the city, only the Caitian communities surrounding Shanos Minor will receive the substantial majority of the fallout. 

But what is far more important is the message it will deliver to the Caitians, when they see the price of resistance to their masters.”

His son continued to stare back at him. “There’s... there’s over three million Caitians there.”

He nodded. “One city, one sacrifice, to ensure the compliance of all the others. I consider that a worthwhile sacrifice.” He looked back at Welros. “Well? Any snide remarks to make?”

The Vorta just smiled again. “I am intrigued. I would be interested in witnessing the effects of your Hydrogen Bomb.”

“Then you’re in the right place: I will be addressing the planet immediately prior to its employment, with remote cameras broadcasting the effects, so the Caitians fully understand the threat the rest of them face. Unless you’d care to be closer, say, at Ground Zero? I can certainly arrange it.”

Welros laughed softly. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” Melem-Adu turned back to his son. “Contact the Engineers, confirm the target is Shanos Minor and have them ready to launch the weapon. Then activate the Transporter Network, and mass recall all of our people from the city and surrounding area.”

Nusum-Adu never responded, just continued to stare at him in sheer disbelief. He drew up to him, lowering his voice. “Father... three million people. Wiping out their military was one thing. But these are mostly civilians, some mewling cubs and sympathisers, making noise and nothing more. 

If you do this... there’ll be no turning back. They’ll never forgive you for this.”

Melem-Adu stared back, with a different flavour of disbelief. “I don’t need their forgiveness. And I don’t need your approval.” He stepped closer, baring his teeth. “You stood up to me once, and earned yourself a Name for it. Don’t be greedy. Go away and do as you’re told... or just go away and don’t come back. I have to prepare what I shall tell the Prey.”

His son glared back, hackles raised... but then turned and proceed to the stations in Ops.

Melem-Adu breathed in. Good Cub.

*

THREE MINUTES, FORTY-SIX SECONDS, FORTY-FIVE, FORTY-FOUR...

Mithram Valley:

Something was wrong.

Valtiri’s blood had boiled with anticipation for the inevitable clash with the Hrelles. It was the pinnacle of his career; he would never meet their like again, and he would remember and honour them for decades to come.

And as he stood in their presence and read their thoughts and feelings, he was enriched by what he found: Captain Esek Hrelle, the veteran Starfleet Captain, former gladiator in the Orion Deathmatches, at his best on his Bridge, saving lives, but equally fulfilled as a doting husband and father.

Then there was Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle, his first human, young and fierce and dynamic, hurt time and again but still striving to carry on, a stalwart Warrior Maiden- well, maybe not a Maiden any longer. But one who knew how to live life to the fullest.

And the love these two had for each other was almost palpable. It left Valtiri... humbled. Envious. Even his own Mentor, who had found him and raised him in the wilderness as a cub to train him to control his telepathy, as loving and caring as he was, was as a shadow compared with what he felt between Father and Daughter Hrelle.

He couldn’t wait for the fight.

At least, until it began. And their numbers, their experience, was almost overwhelming.

So he cheated, and used his psychic skills to listen in on their thoughts, and decipher the tactics that they were employing in Old Caitian. Still, the fight was hard and brutal.

And then Nyx intervened and attacked Lt Hrelle, who killed her in self-defence.

He knew, objectively, that the Lieutenant had only did what he would have done under the circumstances. She had every right to do so, and Nyx had no business getting involved. Valtiri should have just dismissed it and continued with his fight.

Except it didn’t.

As he felt his only friend’s death scream in his head, as he thought of the years he had shared with her, building a psychic rapport, knowing he could count on her to watch out for him, he couldn’t help but let hate suffuse his limbs, to reach up and fling a crescent dart at the human, bringing her down.

Little wonder Captain Hrelle doubled his attack upon Valtiri. But even when they lost their swords and grappled with tooth and claw, he still felt it was a fight he could win. For all his skills, Hrelle was an older male, less fit, and Valtiri was younger, larger, stronger, faster. This should have ended quickly now.

Except it didn’t.

Still, Valtiri could hear Hrelle’s mind was still fixed on getting to his daughter. And Valtiri used that, and when it came, he drove his fist hard into Hrelle’s left eye, breaking the socket and leaving his eye a bloody pulp. The shock should have killed Hrelle, or at least put him in deep trauma, leaving Valtiri to finish him off.

Except it didn’t.

His one eye filled with blood and fixed on Valtiri, he roared, “MEAT!”

Valtiri reached into his opponent’s mind, seeking Hrelle.

And finding... someone else.

Something was definitely wrong.

“KILL!”

Valtiri crawled back, fighting his own pain... and something new, something unfamiliar and unwanted: fear.

He raised an open palm to the Caitian. “Captain- your daughter- she needs you-”

“FUCK HER!”

And the Beast now in control of Hrelle charged again at him, roaring.

*

ONE MINUTE, TWENTY-NINE SECONDS, TWENTY-EIGHT, TWENTY-SEVEN...

“Remote cameras in place,” Nusum-Adu reported. “Commencing Transporter Evacuation Protocols from Shanos Minor.”

“Better hurry,” Melem-Adu noted, staring up at the main screen, displaying a high, wide view of the sun-soaked, metropolis, sprawled out over a long peninsula surrounded by high mountains. It looked most appealing, all that glass reflecting the midday sunlight. “I’m tired of waiting.”

*

SIXTY SECONDS, FIFTY-NINE, FIFTY-EIGHT...

In Shanos Minor’s Freedom Plaza, the packs of Ferasan males, sated with the hunt, the rapes, the kills, without warning were enveloped in red transporter beams, vanishing like a nightmare.

The surviving Caitians, those conscious and coherent, gasped, looking around, wondering if it was some sort of trap, some deception. But why would they do that now?

“W-Where did they go?” someone asked, the question spreading like the plague. “Why did they leave?”

Then someone suggested, “M-Maybe they’ve left the Motherworld? Maybe Starfleet have chased them away?”

That hope spread even faster. Some even began cheering, despite the carnage around them.

FIFTY SECONDS, FORTY-NINE, FORTY-EIGHT...

“All Ferasans transported from the Target Area,” Nusum-Adu updated.

Melem-Adu nodded and began his address to the world. “Attention, Citizens of Cait: your Masters have something to say to you.

Despite our efforts to make this transition to your lives with the minimum of inconvenience, you continue to resist. Many innocents have been killed because of the selfish, short-sighted malcontents among you. And today, this inexplicable desire to fight the inevitable has culminated in an attempted missile strike on our Headquarters in First City.”

FORTY-TWO SECONDS, FORTY-ONE, FORTY...

On Kaijushima Island, Kami and the others stared up at their own viewscreen, staring at an aerial view of a Caitian city she recognised as Shanos Minor, and listening to the global broadcast from the Ferasan.

“Should we feed this to the rest of the facility?” one of the younger volunteers asked.

“Absolutely not. Not until we know what this is about.” She looked over at Tshal, her heart racing now. “Open a direct channel to my husband’s combadge! I don’t care if we break radio silence or not!”

TWENTY SECONDS, NINETEEN, EIGHTEEN...

“This we cannot allow,” Melem-Adu continued. “It genuinely saddens us that an example must be made. And with a city that has been most vocal in its opposition to our rightful rule here.”

He paused, turning to his son, silently mouthing the word Launch.

“The city I speak of,” he continued. “The city on your screens right now, is Shanos Minor, in Nashea Province, a city renowned for its beauty, and its affirmation of equal rights for all. At your last census, 3,220,000 Caitians live here. Males, females, cubs, the young, the old. So many precious lives.

Say Goodbye to them.”

ELEVEN SECONDS, TEN, NINE...

Hrelle pounded his fists against Valtiri’s muzzle, roaring still.

Until he heard Kami’s voice over his combadge. “Esek? Are you there? Answer me! We need you!”

He froze in place, gasping at the sound of his wife, blood dripping from his muzzle.

He drew back, away from the prostrate Valtiri. He lowered his fist, unclenched it, turning away, trying to focus with only one good eye.

He... He had to find Sasha... Help her...

EIGHT SECONDS, SEVEN, SIX...

From a spearhead-shaped Ferasan vessel in low orbit over the target, a missile launched, aimed at the planet below. It cut through the upper atmosphere, its trail noticed by many in the outlying parts of the city.

FIVE...

Its descent accelerated, the whistling sound barely catching up with the missile itself.

FOUR...

A twelve-year-old cub standing on the balcony of his apartment pointed up, seeing the object would land in the Bay next to the Esvista Suspension Bridge connecting the city to Agana Mount Aeroport.

Cool.

 

THREE...

 

TWO...

 

ONE...

 

 

White light filled the sky.

Nearly everyone in the city instinctively closed their eyes. Those unfortunate enough on the outer edges to be facing towards the centre of the light were instantly blinded, their retinas burned away as atoms were split and then fused together, Creation and Destruction, as a miniature star appeared in Shanos Minor Bay.

The brick-red Esvista Bridge, which had connected the city to the mainland for over four hundred years, melted. The three high main towers of the Bridge took nearly three seconds to transform into slag and drop into the boiling water, but the main and suspender cables, the deck, and every vehicle and every Caitian upon it, vaporised instantly.

The unbelievable forces generated spread out in all directions, heat and winds propelled at many times greater than the strongest storms ever recorded on Cait. Across the Bay and towards the open sea, there was little in its path, apart from several freighters that overturned as the winds struck and the sea beneath them instantly boiled into steam.

Towards the city, it met a little more resistance – for all the good it did. The outlying parks and boulevards were swept away by the winds. The buildings, some having stood for centuries, crumbled like tissue beneath the rapid change of air pressure. Every window touched shattered, becoming bullets, billions of them, hurled ahead of the wavefront, followed closely behind by larger chunks of debris.

Anything that was combustible, combusted.

Males and females, adults and cubs, the old and the young, the sick and the healthy stood in shock, or dropped to the ground, or raced for the illusion of protection indoors, or into the arms of loved ones, trying to pray to the Great Mother or just deny what was happening.

None were spared.

Only those watching via the remote cameras lived to bear witness to the ball of energy ionising and heating the surrounding air into a fireball, the hot air quickly rising and expanding upwards, the powerful updraft picking up irradiated dust and debris and forming the stem of what evolved into a thick mushroom cloud.

The shockwave continued onward, reaching the surrounding ring of mountains.

*

“This is the price of continued defiance,” Melem-Adu concluded to the Motherworld. “Now, as you understand the price you might pay. you must ask yourselves: are you the smart, sensible Caitians I hope you are? Or are you Shanos Minor?

Choose wisely.”

*

Twenty seconds before, Hrelle and Valtiri had both stopped and shielded their eyes at the blinding flash from over the tall, snow-capped peaks of the Mithram Mountains, separating them from Shanos Minor.

Then Valtiri clutched the sides of his head and let loose a bloodcurdling scream of agony, dropping to his knees. The scream, and the horrified look on the Ferasan’s face was one that snapped Hrelle fully out of... whatever had happened to him... and for a heartbeat forget everything else.

Then there was a rumble from the mountains.

A roar of pain.

They trembled and cracked as the shockwave struck from the other side.

And a million tons of snow and ice cascaded down from the steep slopes into the Valley...

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN... WE ARE SHANOS MINOR