Chapter 10: We Are Shanos Minor

“USS Surefoot-A, Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 51487.11, Captain T’Varik Recording: We continue to engage with the Thirteenth, Second and Tenth Fleets against the Dominion forces occupying the Betazed Sector. Our efforts to retake this strategically-vital territory, and thus move on to other required fronts such as the Caitian Sector, have to date proved... less than successful. 

Starfleet has suffered significant losses throughout the War, and like other vessels, we have had to redeploy many experienced crewmembers to replacement ships for ours and our sister fleets, and compensate with recent graduates from the Enlisted Schools, with their abbreviated training schedules.

The new recruits, serving in the Support Crew, are less experienced than I would prefer for this ship, some possessing issues that would normally be addressed and managed under the normal, longer schedule. However, as the human phrase goes, Needs Must.

On a personal level, in the absence of Captain Hrelle, I have adapted to my temporary promotion as expected, and the crew have continued to perform in an exemplary fashion, also as expected. And we all remain eager for confirmation of the safety of the Captain and his family on Cait, and of course on the situation on their Motherworld... and I will admit to a purely selfish desire to be an active part in helping to liberate it.

I do not believe that we live in a Universe with a deity with the propensity to grant desires. But I do believe that the Universe will unfold in the manner it is meant to. Therefore I can only trust in the Universe... and trust that,  occasionally, it unfolds in the direction I desire.”

*

T’Varik leaned back in the Captain’s Chair, once more acknowledging the hole in the back where a Caitian might slip his or her tail though to make themselves more comfortable. It did not affect her on an ergonomic level – she had of course sat here many times before – but now, since her promotion, it proved more perceptible... prompting the expected jokes from her spouse about where T’Varik kept her brains.

Of some small interest to T’Varik was why she continued to acknowledge it now every time she sat down, when she could easily have had the chair modified; it could always be returned to its original configuration if – when – Captain Hrelle returns. She had no logical reason not to adapt the chair.

She had no obligation to explain her decision to anyone, either. Not even to herself. “Status, Mr Murphy?”

To her right, the Surefoot’s temporary Executive Officer, Commander Dominic Murphy, a rugged, swarthy humanoid male assigned to the ship and role while waiting to take command of his own vessel, the USS Messenger, studied his display once more. “Puget Sound’s concentrating her fighters against the Scarabs, Triton’s ordered the Minotaur and Oregon to press their attack on the first Battlecruiser, and the Bannockburn and Argonaut have finished off the Galor, but are now under heavy fire from the second Battlecruiser. The Pollux is moving in to support them.”

T’Varik nodded and looked up at the viewscreen before them, seeing quick flashes like novae amidst the starfield. They were not in the midst of battle; as one of the Thirteenth Fleet’s ambulance ships, it was not their role to fight, but to save lives... though, when necessary, this ship and crew could prove to have the teeth and claws required to protect themselves and those in their care. “Lt Arrington, plot a course for the immediate vicinity of the Bannockburn and Argonaut, but do not engage until ordered.”

“Course already plotted and standing by, Ma’am.” Sitting ahead of the Captain and XO, Chief Helmsman Giles Arrington moved with a mature efficiency that T’Varik had grown to appreciate, an ineffable improvement from his first days as a volatile cadet with Sasha Hrelle and the original Alpha Squad.

Murphy glanced at her. “They haven’t called for assistance from us yet, Ma’am.”

She did not meet his gaze, choosing to appear to distract herself with a report on her PADD, a complaint regarding the Terracentric attitudes from one of the new Support Crew. “I’m aware of that, Commander.”

He offered a slight smile she caught from the corner of her eye. “Vulcan Intuition?”

“Vulcans have no need for intuition; we have a transparency of logical reasoning behind all of our decisions. Both vessels are Miranda-class, older, and the Pollux is one of the original Constitution refits reinstated from the Starfleet Museum for active service. They are facing a Dominion Battlecruiser.”

She did not finish her elucidation. She had no need to, and she sensed his change of mood at her response, which was not meant to dampen his attempt at levity amidst the crisis, but to remind him of the cold truth: the Thirteenth Fleet was valiant, tenacious... but they had already suffered heavy losses in the Battle of Khavak, and the replacement vessels and crew demonstrated how Starfleet struggled to compensate for the significant casualties in this War. Privately she had estimated a 93.5% probability that the outcome would manifest within the next 4.9 seconds-

Behind them, Chief Operations Officer Lieutenant Sextilis Magna Bellator, a non-binary native of the Nova Roma Colony in the Ficus Sector, spoke up, their voice carrying over the cacophony. “Captain, the Bannockburn reports they are abandoning ship and- By the Gods!”

Murphy turned in his seat, unaccustomed to the outburst from the usually taciturn Bellator. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

The pale, purple-haired figure glanced to their left, to the Tactical Officer, the Caitian Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, who obviously knew what had triggered the response, looked equally shaken, and nodded back in agreement. “Show them.”

The viewscreen ahead of them altered, the starfield conjuring another, more active part of nearby space, dominated by a Dominion Battlecruiser, an arrowhead-shaped vessel twice the size of a Galaxy-class starship, dwarfing the smaller Miranda and Constitution ships that had been attacking it.

But one of the Mirandas, the Bannockburn, was diving towards the Battlecruiser. Deliberately.

It struck the enemy’s central-starboard section near its main drive, erupting into a blossom of white energy that ate at the surrounding sections of the larger vessel, sending it reeling backwards, out of control.

The Bridge crew watched, rapt, the silence broken as T’Varik heard Bellator whisper, “Ave Bannockburn, Morituri Te Salutant...” before clarifying more loudly and officially, “The Captain and their Bridge crew stayed at their posts, to buy time for the others.” Then the Nova Roman returned to their duties. “The Argonaut is damaged, is being tractored away by the Pollux. But I’m detecting lifepods from the Bannockburn-“

“Helm, take us in, now!” T’Varik snapped, raising her voice as their ship shot forward at warp speed. “Medical Alert!” As the White Alert strip appeared on the upper ceiling around them, she continued. “All Hands, prepare for Incoming Casualties and Evacuees! Bellator, alert the Triton, request support from Captain Weynik and the Ajax!”

“Captain,” C’Rash cut in, “I’m picking up Cardassian lifepods in the area as well, approximately 20-30!”

“Send an additional Security Team to the Shuttlebay, I want force field posts set up to keep them confined and as far away as possible from our people.”

The viewscreen switched to the familiar dilated starfield of warp drive, but the image of the Bannockburn making a suicide run onto the Battlecruiser remained in T’Varik’s mind, as she recalled a similar manoeuvre employed by the Jem’Hadar to destroy the Odyssey years ago, before the War had even officially started.

It had been a logical decision on the part of the Bannockburn’s Captain: the vessel was disabled and unlikely to escape, and its sacrifice caused damage to the Enemy and bought time for her sister ships to escape.

Nevertheless, it remained disconcerting. Such tactics were considered exceedingly rare – in the past. Was their situation that precarious now, that suicide runs might become commonplace with Starfleet?

She was pulled from her thoughts by a familiar subsonic vibration, and she tilted her head slightly to her left, catching C’Rash from the corner of her eye, as the black-furred Caitian, obviously sensing her spouse’s consternation, was purring, on a frequency inaudible to the others around them.

T’Varik nodded silently in unspoken gratitude, and focused on the activity around her, as they appeared on the battlefield, and performed their duties: scanning the lifepods around them, transporting those onboard them with the more serious injuries first into the Triage Unit in the Shuttlebay, where their Horta crewman Ensign Stalac used his phenomenal silicon-based brain to assign the wounded to the most appropriate of the three Sickbays on the Surefoot. Meanwhile the Ajax appeared alongside, keeping an eye on the crippled Battlecruiser, in case they launched any Scarabs against them.

She focused on the minutiae of command – making mental notes to commend Mr Murphy for his strong, understated style of command with the surrounding junior officers, and Lt Bellator for balancing their Ops duties with a continued gathering of intelligence from the Dominion communications traffic, as befitted their prior expertise in Cryptography.

And T’Varik sat and waited for the right time. And when it came, she rose. “Mr Murphy, you have the Conn.”

He nodded, though despite the seriousness of the work, he seemingly couldn’t help but offer a smirk and, “On The Papa Cat Prowl again, Captain?”

She paused to let the other Bridge officers indulge in a moment of amusement, a brief but necessary respite from the stress of their situation... and one that she encouraged, in her own style. “Commander, I will remind you, once again, that there is no official ship duty designated ‘The Papa Cat Prowl’. Is that clear?”

“Of course, Ma’am, of course. But you are going on it now?”

“Yes. I will return shortly.”

*

When Captain Hrelle had begun his habit of leaving the Bridge to supervise Triage operations, T’Varik had dismissed it as a personal need of the Caitian to be ‘doing something’ when his crew were performing their primary duties, such as now.

But quickly she understood that his presence proved to be both professionally and emotionally reassuring, not just for the younger crewmembers and cadets, but for the incoming wounded and non-wounded rescued from the battlefield. It also offered a convenient authority figure who could respond to the unexpected there more quickly than by relaying messages to and from the Bridge.

And in taking over the duty, nicknamed ‘The Papa Cat Prowl’ among the crew in honour of the individual who had started it, she could see the logical merit behind it... even if it generated an emotional melancholy within her at the thought of the Caitian, his wife and their cubs still trapped on their Motherworld while under the Occupation of the Ferasans and their Dominion allies, their situation unknown... as well as a discernible frustration that Starfleet could not yet devote any resources towards helping Cait.

None of these emotions were logical... but as she had long ago accepted, her logic failed where these people – her adopted family – was concerned-

“Captain! Come here, please!”

She stopped and turned at the sound of the voice, approaching to a figure lying on one of the mats, and another kneeling beside her, passing a medical tricorder sensor wand. T’Varik identified the kneeling figure immediately as Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, the coffee-skinned woman who had recently completed her initial medical qualifications. “What is it, Nurse?”

The young Capellan never looked up from her scans. “Our automatic systems detected this individual on the battlefield and beamed him onboard... but he’s not Starfleet, Cardassian or Dominion.” Now she looked up. “But you will obviously recognise the race.”

The Vulcan drew up, peering down at the prone, insensate figure of a stone-furred Caitian male in the tattered red and black uniform of his people’s Planetary Navy.

“Indeed,” she agreed, allowing her pulse to quicken. 

Perhaps the Universe could unfold in the desired direction after all...

*

Planet Cait, Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

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.

*

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 Mithrim 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 at this assault upon it.

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.

Hrelle nearly passed out from the overwhelming roar of the avalanche, but he forced himself to race towards Sasha, needing to get to her, shield her from the frozen deluge about to engulf them all.

But he couldn’t. She would be killed. They all would.

His only possible defence was to curl up into a ball; if his paws were near his feet, he could minimise the chance of breaking a limb, and then slowly unfold and burrow himself out.

He kept his focus on his daughter, only metres away. Was she even alive-

Yes! He saw her struggle to right herself!

He tried calling out to her, to tell her to follow suit and do what he was doing, but his voice was lost in the deafening cacophony of the avalanche.

Then the sky fell upon them all.

*

And twenty seconds before that, in Sasha’s flyer the Tailless, parked nearby, three transporter beams filled the interior with a quantum glow, bringing into existence once more a trio of Caitians, two males and a female, the adults supporting the younger, injured one between them.

Jhess Furore glanced around, calling out, “Sasha! Captain Hrelle!” He sniffed, scenting no one present, before guiding his wife Mreia to move behind them, towards the aft end of the flyer. “Computer: Activate Holographic Hospital Mode.”

As they entered the open area, the features began shifting and shaping into a biobed and several scanners and instrument trays. Jhess lifted Shau up and rested him gently onto the biobed, checking the readings above and already reaching for a hypospray and medical replicator. “Concussion, some fractures here and there, bruising to his windpipe from where those bastards were pressing on it- he’ll be fine. Here, give me your arm.”

Mreia reached out, fully expecting him to hand her one of the instruments... instead, he injected her. She pulled back. “What was in that?”

“Ambizine, a mild sedative, to compensate for the shock you’re slipping into.”

“I’m not- I’m not in- in shock-“

He set down the instruments, and guided her gently but firmly to an adjacent chair. “Yes, you are; you were the victim of a vicious assault, you saw things you weren’t prepared to see. Lean forward, breathe slowly and deeply.” He returned to his son, administered a stronger dose of inaprovaline, and began placing local autosuture pads around Shau’s head and throat, preparing to step outside and find Esek and Sasha-

A flash from the direction of the cockpit made him turn, and an alert made him set down his instruments and rush forward, ignoring his wife’s confused plea for clarification. He checked the readings, which were practically about some nearby detonation, which would explain the flash-

Mother’s Cubs.

Mother’s Cubs, no...

He glanced up through the cockpit window to see Esek, injured, staggering, leaving behind some blonde-furred Ferasan, rolling on the ground in obvious excruciating pain.

Then the flyer shook as the shockwave ran through the mountain range, and seconds later, the roar of an avalanche of snow and ice came down upon everyone and everything, sending him crashing to the floor of the cockpit as the ship was buried.

*

Ferasan Occupation Headquarters, Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

“This is the price of continued defiance,” Melem-Adu, the Ferasan Master Governor who had just ordered the nuclear attack on the city, concluded to the Motherworld, from his shielded sanctuary in the Capitol, half a planet away. “Now, as you understand the price you might pay, you must ask yourselves: who are you? Are you the smart, sensible Caitians I hope you are? Or are you Shanos Minor?

Choose wisely.”

As the transmission ended, Melem-Adu raised the paw holding the wine cup, fully expecting one of the Caitian slaves to appear in three seconds to refill it... or end up on tonight’s menu. Three, two- One of them was now at his side, as he looked to his erstwhile allies. “So, what do you say to that?”

Welros, the Vorta representative of the Dominion, allowed his bland features to crease with a polite smile. “A visually arresting display of power, Master Governor. I hope it bears better fruit than the radioactive fallout your bomb will have produced.”

You miserable, insipid homunculus... “As I have already explained, Vorta, the mountains surrounding the city – the former city – will shield the rest of the planet from the majority of the fallout.” He drank deeply before continuing. “But the real fallout will be the message sent to these woman-worshipping weaklings.” In illustration, he turned to his son, standing near the bank of stations monitoring activity across the planet. “Well?”

Nusum-Adu kept glancing at his datapad, then up at the screens. “The... population appears in shock at what they’ve witnessed... the demonstrations in cities such as Deepmere, Stonebay, Illehul, Kamar-Taj and elsewhere all seem to have lost momentum...“

Melem-Adu frowned; his son appeared to be in a similar state of shock, but his father chose to embrace the news. “Excellent! The Sheep have stopped bleating, and will soon return to their fields to await slaughter!” He looked back at Welros. “This time tomorrow, we will have regained full control here...”

*

Command Bay, Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

The assembled Caitians stared up in abject horror at the transmission provided by the Ferasans of the destruction of Shanos Minor, though the views from the various cameras were being obscured by the growing cloud of radioactive dust and debris within the basin of surrounding mountains where the city, once one of the resplendent Jewels of Cait, had once sat.

In command, Counselor Kami Hrelle swallowed down her gut-wrenching revulsion. She had just seen over three million of her people killed. She- She-

She had to take command again. She swallowed, forcing down her instinct to find her cubs and wrap them up in her arms and drink in their scent and know they were still alive, and found her voice. Somewhere. “Agent Nenjo, keep hailing the Tailless. Mr Tshal, raise our security alert. Mr H’Nille, continue to try and reach Captain Mrorr and the Deep Keep; they will have witnessed this... atrocity... like the rest of the Motherworld.”

“Commander,” Nenjo breathed, the jet-furred female visibly trembling. “Will you... will you be informing the rest of the facility of- of-?”

“Yes. But not yet.” She raised her voice, for the benefit of the others. “Focus on your immediate tasks. We can’t help the people of Shanos Minor now. But I promise you that we won’t forget them... or allow their murders to go unpunished...”

*

Caitian Assault Carrier Deep Keep, Unknown Location:

Commander Shen K’Row, former First Officer, sat on the bunk in the tiny Brig cell, his tail hanging over the edge, swaying slightly as he caught the scent of the visitor, having expected her long before now. He rose to his feet, prepared to be professional and gracious regardless of the passage of time since she had sent him here. “Hello again, Captain.”

Captain Csara Mrorr stood behind the horizontal rows of tritanium bars filling the doorway between K’Row’s cell and the rest of the ship. She was stiff, her tail twitching behind her, matching the anger he picked up in her scent, in her narrowed bronze eyes as she regarded him.

He supposed he should have anticipated this; no commanding officer could ever be expected to simply accept when their most senior officer takes action as he had. He looked up at the ceiling, as if his senses could perceive through the many layers of hull. “Based on the alerts and the pressure shifts on the hull, we’ve descended below the ocean surface, into one of the Mordor Trenches perhaps? I would have recommended that course of action until we organised a further attack on the Enemy.”

She said nothing. Made no move to have him released.

K’Row straightened his posture just a little more. She was still angry at him, he accepted and understood that. She didn’t understand; she had no living relatives out there, victims of the Ferasans, the way he and others onboard had. “Captain, I recognise that there may be difficulties in trusting me in the days to come, but I can assure you, what I did, I did for the good of the Motherworld, and all our people.”

Now she was growling.

He took an involuntary step backward, though the bars still separated them. She was really going to be stubborn about this, wasn’t she? “Captain... Csara... your feelings right now are understandable, but you need to put them aside. We’re on our own here. No Planetary Navy, no Militia... and certainly no Starfleet, they’re as useless as my nipples. You need all the help you can get.”

Her breathing quickened.

“Captain, we can discuss my disposition when the Ferasans are driven from Cait. I’m wasted being kept in here. Let me do something.”

That brought a reaction from her. She stopped growling... and reached into the folds of her Planetary Navy jacket, producing a slim datapad, passing it between the bars. “Okay, Commander. There is something you can do.”

He accepted the datapad, holding it in his paws as he brought it to life, curious as to what she expected him to do. Then he frowned, seeing what looked like a long list of names, dates of birth and addresses, before looking up again. “What’s this?”

Mrorr’s face tightened. “Those are the details of all the Caitians registered to be living in Shanos Minor: 3,220,000 at the last count. There’ll no doubt be more, plus those who had been elsewhere, or those didn’t live there but were caught there today, but you’ll have to make do with what we’ve got-”

He Held out the datapad, thoroughly confused. “Captain, what’s going on? Why do I have a list of the residents of Shanos Minor?”

“Because following your unauthorised attack on the Capitol Building – your failed unauthorised attack, by the way – the Ferasans retaliated by launching an atomic weapon on the city of Shanos Minor. The city and everyone and everything in it was consumed in radioactive fire.”

K’Row’s heart stopped. “W-What?“

She fastened up her jacket again. “And from what I’ve read about the effects of such weapons, there will be additional deaths in the coming weeks, months and years from radioactive fallout.

But you should have enough in front of you to keep yourself busy. Just read all those names. Look at the birthdates and see how old they are. Imagine their lives, the hopes and dreams they might have held. The families, the cubs, the infants. The scar that has been left on our people, our Motherworld.

Have a good, long think about the consequences of your actions today. And put out of your mind here and now any thought about serving on my ship again. When this madness is over, there’ll be a court martial, headed by the senior surviving member of the Militia...

And Mother help you if that senior surviving member is me...”

*

First Landing Memorial Site, Zingara Province:

Nvell R’Sharin, Mistress of the Kaetini Order, sat beneath the decaying remains of what was left of one of the first Space Arks to land on Cait over a millennia ago, but now looked more like the skeletal carcass of some ancient leviathan.

When she was of clear mind, Nvelle could easily recall visiting the site as a cub with her family, hearing the stories of the Exodus, how their ancestors had fled the Ferasans and forged their own, new identity here. When she was of clear mind, she could easily recall the chill she felt through her young fur from the Sea of Garal, north of here, and watching the flocks of flitters nesting in the sectioned, sheltered areas of the archways. When she was of clear mind, she could easily recall her parents calling for her and her siblings to follow them back to the maglev train to return to their holiday cottage in Winterwane overlooking Saraya Bay.

Nvell R’Sharin was not of clear mind now. Not from the ravages of age, but from what she had witnessed moments before.

Her aide emerged from a hidden doorway leading to subsurface facilities beneath the ruins of First Landing. “Mistress?”

Three million people... snuffed out, like a candle flame... “Yes, Wserin?”

The younger male approached, his scent and voice as shaken as Nvell felt. “Mistress, we... we haven’t yet reached the Syphers, but we’ve... we’ve re-established contact with Commander Kami Hrelle on the Island... apparently Captain and Lieutenant Hrelle were near Shanos Minor when... when the bomb detonated...”

Mention of the Hrelles made Nvell rise to her feet, grunting in discomfort; she was getting on in years, she should have been relaxing somewhere warm and peaceful, not caught up in a savage War with these rat-tailed fleabags. “She will need our guidance.”

“Do we have any?”

She looked to him.

He was trembling. “Facing foes willing to... to do what they’ve just done... what can we do?”

Nvell regarded him, setting aside her own thoughts, her own shock. No, this was not how you had expected to be living your twilight years. But it is what it is. She patted him on the shoulder as she guided him through the doorway back underground. “We will do what we can. Knowing that now, none of our people can have any doubt as to the nature of the Enemy.

And, I suspect, before long the Enemy will see for themselves what they have awakened today...”

*

At that moment, in a small garden in the Sunward District of the town of Everwell, in the Northern Province of Halase, a young, amber-furred Caitian female named San M’Grala stood and stared up at the public display viewscreen, as had everyone else present, and witnessed the destruction of Shanos Minor. The images had struck her, as they had struck everyone else.

But for M’Grala, it meant far, far more. She had been living and working as a fitness therapist in Everwell for the past two years on a lucrative contract, and had been thoroughly enjoying herself, though whenever she could, she tried to go back home to visit her family... in Shanos Minor.

And now it, and her parents, her brother and sister, her grandparents and nephews and nieces and cousins... her betrothed... were all gone. Snuffed out like candles. She was the last of her family, her clan.

And the words of the Ferasan’s Master Governor still rang in her ears: “Now, as you understand the price you might pay, you must ask yourselves: who are you? Are you the smart, sensible Caitians I hope you are? Or are you Shanos Minor? Choose wisely.”

She stood there, unable to move or speak, as if afraid that by doing so, it would make what she had just witnessed irrevocably real.

Distantly she heard and scented the Ferasan Patrol Pack move through the park, their leader snapping, “Right, break this up! No more public assembly allowed! Return to your workplaces!”

M’Grala felt him approach her from behind, reaching out to grasp her by the shoulder. “You too, bitch-“

She spun in place, leaping up onto him and sending him to the ground, demonstrating the fitness and limberness required in her job as she clawed at the Ferasan’s eyes and screamed at him, “I AM SHANOS MINOR! I AM SHANOS MINOR!“

She never saw the Caitians around her, recording her attack on their comms and transmitting them to friends and family at other points on the planet.

She never heard the other Ferasans racing up to her.

She never felt the disruptor bolt from one of the Pack Leader’s associates strike the side of her head, killing her instantly.

And she would never know that her outburst, and the phrase that had seemingly driven her to take this action, would not be an isolated incident.

That indeed, it was only the first.

*

Mithrim Valley, Nashea Province:

Hrelle shivered, cocooned by snow and ice, his body feeling frozen but his head feeling like it was on fire from the pain of his injuries. He had to move, had to begin trying to dig his way towards Sasha, and then the Tailless, tend to their injuries and look for Lt Mori and let the Island know they were alive and get the Seven Hells out of there.

But he couldn’t even move.

And the air he had trapped in his self-created cocoon would quickly run out.

It couldn’t end like this. He had to survive. His family and his people and his world had to survive. Come on, Esek, you old fat bastard, you’ve survived far worse than this.

Damned if he could remember when, but he knew he must have-

His fur stood on end as he felt a change in temperature to his left, as the ice and snow began to crack and melt, streaming down over him... and he could swear on his cubs’ lives that he could hear the whine of a Starfleet phaser! Yes, yes! It’s true! Sasha, or maybe Lt Mori, had located him, and they were cutting their way to get to him now!

The snow and ice overhead him began to shift and crack, and he twisted as much as he could to brace himself further, not wanting to get crushed by the weight above him. His eyes pierced the darkness to see a crimson red glow, growing larger, stronger, as the beam cut relentlessly towards him, the melting water pooling beneath him.

Umm, I hope his rescuer knows to turn off the phaser beam before it reaches him...

Then, as if on cue, it ended, and a furred fist smashed through the remaining millimetres of ice and snow... as Valtiri announced hoarsely from the other side, “Captain...”

Hrelle extended his claws and tried to strike out within his confined space at his opponent – until the Ferasan pointed the phaser in his direction. “Captain, stop! We don’t have time! Your daughter, we have to get to her!”

Hrelle peered at him with his one good eye, the tiny status lights on the phaser illuminating the two felinoids as the Caitian lay in a wet icy cocoon, and the Ferasan lay in a tunnel he had obviously carved out with the phaser. Hrelle remained fixed, alert, not even taking some selfish satisfaction in seeing that his opponent had taken just as brutal a beating as Hrelle had. He bared his teeth, to keep from letting them chatter as much as a display of aggression. “Go on, then, kill me. Fulfil your pathetic little assignment.”

Valtiri looked to him, wincing in pain. “Captain... that time has passed... things have changed, irrevocably... I am no longer on that path... and Sasha needs your help...” He pointed past Hrelle and slightly down and to the left. “I sense her thoughts, she’s awake but beginning to panic... I’m trying to reach her mind but... but it’s difficult now. I... I was overwhelmed by the deaths of everyone in Shanos Minor.”

Hrelle started at the mention of the name. That flash, that shockwave... it couldn’t have been anything else but the destruction of the city by some horrible weapon. But this Ferasan, who had been trying to kill Sasha and he only minutes ago, had already killed two of their Kaetini allies- why- why would he now-

Then Valtiri handed the phaser over. “I surrender to you, as a demonstration of my genuine intentions.”

Hrelle immediately grasped it and aimed it at him, checking the power levels, expecting some trick-

“No trick, Captain,” Valtiri assured him, coughing but pointing again past Hrelle. “She’s- She’s trying to stay calm, reciting her Kaetini Oath in her head and conserving her oxygen. Please hurry, Captain, I’ll guide you, tell you when you’re close enough.”

Hrelle stared back... but could find no deception, no reason for the Ferasan to be tricking him in any way.

He turned and began phasering a tunnel through the ice and snow, the steam of the evaporating debris warming and drying him, even as the residual moisture compensated by soaking his uniform and fur.

*

Jhess moved his fingers over the comm panel in the cockpit, trying to reach the Island, or Esek and Sasha’s combadges, failing on every count; a quick diagnostic check confirmed the subspace interference from the nuclear blast. Mother’s Cubs, he couldn’t believe what just happened-

“Jhess?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Mreia, standing at the doorway. “Is Shau alright?”

“He’s lying back there, resting.” She nodded to the cockpit windows, covered in snow that only let some light shine through. “Jhess, what’s happened?”

He swallowed. How can he tell her that their city, the place where they lived, where Shau was born and raised, was now a radioactive heap? That everyone they knew there as now most likely dead? He turned and drew up to her. “Shanos Minor... it’s gone...”

She blinked, frowning. “What?”

“It’s- It’s gone. Just seconds after I beamed us out of the Plaza sewers to the Tailless, the Ferasans... destroyed it... with a nuclear device...”

His ex-wife stared at him, and he could see the same emotions on her that he had felt when he first learned of the truth. She shook her head numbly. “N-No... my colleagues in the firm... our neighbours... Shau’s friends, his teachers, his girlfriend and her family... you’re wrong... you’re wrong, Jhess...”

He drew closer to her, reaching out tentatively, taking her in his arms. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”

Suddenly both were startled at the sound of the hatchway to the outside opening up, Jhess pulling Mreia behind him as he saw Hrelle, badly injured but cradling Sasha in his arms, enter. “Esek! You’re alive! You’re both alive-”

Then he saw the huge, tan-furred Ferasan enter from behind.

Mreia cried out in alarm, and Jhess immediately reached for a plasma pistol on the adjacent weapons rack in the cockpit, aiming it. “STOP!”

The Ferasan complied, making no moves. Hrelle looked to Jhess. “Lower it, he’s no threat. Not at the moment.”

Behind him, Mreia began panicking. Jhess couldn’t blame her, after the trauma she and their son had undergone in Shanos Minor from the Rat-tails, and kept his weapon raised on the intruder as he continued to shield his wife.

“Jhess,” Hrelle repeated hoarsely, sounding exhausted, in pain... “Sasha needs your help, and we need to locate Lt Mori and get out of here before the fallout reaches us-”

“My Pilot,” the Ferasan interrupted. “We need to collect him as well.” As Hrelle glared at him, he clarified calmly, “He is young, guileless, and has never raised his voice let alone a weapon against your people... but if you need a more pragmatic reason to include him: you’ll not want him free to report back our status.”

Hrelle nodded curtly, moving to Jhess, holding out Sasha. “Take her to the back, and your wife, too. Stay back there, I’ll take care of things here.”

“Esek... Shanos Minor... they destroyed it. Three million of our people-“

“I know. But we can’t help them. We have to focus on us for the moment. Go. Now. We need to get away. The radiation...”

The other Caitian male regarded him warily, noting his injuries, and still glancing at the Ferasan, before accepting Sasha’s unconscious body and looking to his wife. “Help me, Mreia. And trust in Captain Hrelle, he’ll watch over this... individual.”

*

Hrelle watched as Valtiri made an effort to appear non-aggressive and keep back from the Caitians as they departed for the aft of the flyer, before looking to Hrelle, who was moving to the pilot’s seat, pointing to the one beside him as he looked over the readings of the surrounding area. “Sit there. Touch nothing, make no sudden moves. My left eye still works... and I’m keeping my phaser on my lap.” Shanos Minor... all those people...

Valtiri obeyed, keeping his paws on his lap. “I didn’t know they were going to do that to the city, Captain-”

“Shut up. Stay out of my head.”

“I’m not in your head, Captain. Your thoughts are obvious.”

“I said shut up.” He tried the comlinks, still finding residual interference, and focused on lifting the ship out of the avalanche, and then locating and beaming onboard Lt Mori... and Valtiri’s pilot. There had been enough needless deaths today.

*

Mroara-Lnee Industrial Compound, Mrestir Province:

The Ferasan Pack beamed back onto the grounds, weapons drawn as they looked up at the smouldering top of the main building here, while the fire suppression trucks sat around, their crews, along with the workers, stood together in a crowd, watching the repeated broadcast of the destruction of Shanos Minor on a giant viewscreen set up for corporate announcements.

The Pack Leader had watched it, of course, along with everyone else, when it was a live broadcast an hour ago, and as far as he was concerned, the Caitians had gotten off lightly.

But now he had other, more pressing duties. He drew out his blaster, aimed it upwards and fired a shot.

The Caitians started, cried out, turning to face the Pack, as the Leader stepped forward, raising his voice. “Pay attention, Sheep! I am Puzur-Sin, the new Pridemaster of the Evercrest Fur Pride, following the callous murder of my father Ubar-Sin!” He pointed the blaster at the top of the Main Building. “I should be mourning his loss! But instead I will focus on my duty here!” Then he lowered his blaster to the crowd, making them draw back several steps. “As you Sheep will focus on your duties! You will return to your work, and double your efforts!

And unlike my father, I will not be so lenient with poor performance! There will be true deadlines...” He pointed the blaster at each of the Caitians in turn. “As in those of you who fail us will die! You, and your loved ones!” He chuckled at their reactions as he aimed at the viewscreen. “You heard the Master Governor up there: are you gonna be smart, sensible Caitians? Or are you gonna be like Shanos Minor?”

He fired at the screen, shattering it and banishing the view of the destroyed city.

Puzur-Sin holstered his blaster and pointed at the fire suppression trucks. “Now! Get those out of here!” As he watched Caitians hurriedly move to the cabs of the vehicles, he turned to the remaining Caitians, resting his hands on his hips. “And as for the rest of you: I want the supervisors of every department of this misbegotten company in my presence in the next ten minutes, with status reports on the construction efforts of the transport ships.”

He raised his voice as he heard the trucks starting up in the background. “And I promise you, here and now, that for every hour of delay caused by you lazy, ungrateful Sheep, one hundred of you will be selected at random and slaughtered before the rest! You’ll wish you had been in Shanos Minor when we turned it to shit-“

Puzur-Sin turned as he saw the trucks drive up, accelerating hard and fast as they slammed straight into the Ferasan Pack, sending some tumbling like tenpins, others ground beneath the huge wheels. The Pack Leader was one of the former, sent sprawling, bones breaking as he tumbled along the pavement, lying there, looking up into the sky, not at all certain what had just happened.

He was certain of the crowd of Caitians swarming around him, blocking out the light, various tools in paw, finishing the job of the trucks as they screamed at him, “WE ARE SHANOS MINOR! WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!”

*

USS Surefoot, Sickbay 1:

Murphy stood back from the biobed, from all the rest of the activity in this part of the ship. He never liked being here, especially at times like this, when the medical staff here were still dealing with the wounded. It always brought back memories from his own serious injuries on the Sherwood, not that long ago.

But it was better now. The memories were still there, but he had grown and healed enough to recall just the memories, and not the traumatic feelings that those memories used to trigger within him. He was moving past that... and, soon he hoped, this temporary assignment would end and he could finally assume command of the Messenger, maybe in time to help contribute directly to the War effort.

He was drawn from his reverie, as Doctor Masterson left the nearest biobed and approached, the rugged, square-jawed human male’s accent like something out of an old Terran movie about the American Wild West. “Well, our Caitian friend here won’t be line dancing anytime soon, but he’s not ready for a dirt nap, either. No idea how an officer of the Caitian Planetary Navy got so far out here from his home territory?”

“No, Doctor, though we suspect he came looking for our ship, maybe in a small warp pod to avoid detection, got caught up in the battle, and we automatically detected his fading lifesigns and beamed him onboard.”

Masterson nodded at that. “Based on his radiation damage, malnutrition and respiratory depreciation, I reckon he might have been travelling alone, in something cramped, for ten to twelve days.” He held up a small transparent vial, which held a tiny black object. “We found this embedded under the fur and skin on his right paw. I think it’s a data memory device.”

Murphy accepted it. “I’ll get it examined, thanks-”

An alert from the biobed, and Nurse Eydiir’s call, brought Masterson and Murphy back to the patient, who was coughing and sputtering as he returned to consciousness, trying to sit up until Masterson pushed him back down again. “Anything y’all want to say, Pardner, you can say on your back, y’hear?”

Murphy stepped closer. “I’m Commander Dominic Murphy, XO to the Federation starship Surefoot-”

The mention of the ship’s name made the Caitian’s golden eyes widen as he gasped, “I- I made it? I- I had- I had hoped-” He began coughing again.

Masterson looked to Eydiir. “Prepare a sedative, Kayolane, 10cc-”

“No! I must- I must speak!” The Caitian focused on Murphy, the desperation thick in the young male’s eyes and voice. “Is your Chief of Security still Lieutenant C’Rash Shall?”

Murphy held back responding instinctively. “How about you answer a couple of my questions first? Like, for instance, identifying who you are, and where you come from?”

The patient coughed again, nodding in weak acquiescence. “I am Petty Officer C’Ria Ctuuri, of the Caitian flagship Mother’s Fury, commanded by Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall.”

Murphy nodded back in recognition. He had no personal connection to that world or its people, but its identity, its nature was suffused into nearly everyone and everything onboard the Surefoot, from the Caitian representatives still onboard, to the ubiquities of the Red Paw emblem, one of the recognised symbols of a vessel operating under the Interstellar Aid Registry.

Even T’Varik, seemingly as composed and implacable as any other Vulcan he had known, was under its influence, due to her marriage to the Caitian Chief Security Officer, and her working relationship with the esteemed Captain Hrelle. He hadn’t met the officer – yet – but he hoped to have the opportunity to do so, if only to let him know how superbly his ship and crew have performed in his absence. But he was certainly aware of Fleet Captain Shall. “You have my condolences as to the loss of your CO and ship. Did you escape its destruction to come here-”

But Ctuuri shook his head. “You don’t understand. Fleet Captain Shall and the Mother’s Fury survived the Ferasan assault. But they – we – need your help.

The Motherworld needs your help...”

*

At that moment, in a cafe on the outskirts of Illehull, a beautiful seafaring town in Hria Province, a small group of Ferasans sat at one of the outdoor tables, sampling the coffee that made the region famous, as they looked out on Illehull Bay, and watched the waters roll in lazily from the Sea of Hetash, as if still half-asleep.

The Ferasan Pack Leader, Psi-Naches of the Iron Winter Pride, liked this posting; it was quiet, the locals were friendly, and accommodating – with some persuasion – and the coffee was as satisfying as the cliffside view the cafe offered.

He and the others had awakened to the news of the Shanos Minor bombing, and had worried about the response from the Caitians around them... but they all seemed in shock, moving silently, sullenly. He supposed that was an understandable reaction, under the circumstances, and he did have some sympathy, at least for the people of Illehull, who might have grumbled here and there over some of the changes his people had imposed, but who otherwise were nowhere near as vocal or rebellious as those cubs in Shanos Minor. Still, he was sure it was ultimately for the best that an example had been made

He turned in his chair to call into the cafe. “S’Irina! How about a refill? Make it a hot one!” He looked back to his friends as he heard the middle-aged female owner of the cafe approach, the scent of the coffee in the pot she carried travelling ahead of it. “So what do you think? Reassignment?”

His Pack cousin FourthSon grunted, wiping his muzzle with his leather wristband. “They’ll move us on to Camp work in the East. No point in keeping us here, nothing ever happens.”

Psi-Naches made a sound of agreement. This was too good an assignment to last. He lifted up his emptied cup and turned, ready to let S’Irina refill it-

He wasn’t ready for the contents of the pot of scalding black coffee to be flung in his face. Agony shot through him as he fell backwards to the cobblestone street, his pain blocking him from seeing the other staff of the cafe appear behind his friends and slit their throats with bread knives.

He was coherent enough to be aware of S’Irina, a slight female who had never been anything but completely subservient and affable to him, leap upon him, driving her own knife into his chest over and over and over, screaming, “WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!”

*

“Personal Log, Captain Esek Hrelle, Recording: I’ve collected Lt Mori and the Hunter Prime’s assistant, and have locked up both Ferasans in one of the spare cabins onboard; Valtiri appears correct, at least about his pilot, who doesn’t have the stink of cruelty about him that others of his kind possess.

Sasha has recovered, as has Mori and Jhess’ son, and we’ve made contact with the Island, and hope to land shortly, where we will confine our prisoners, tend to my own injuries from my fight with Valtiri, and arrange to converse with the rest of our allies about our response to what’s happened to Shanos Minor.

And, as if we haven’t had enough tragedy today, Agent Nanjo has informed me of the loss of the Matriarch Jnill Mroara-Lnee, Ptera’s mother, betrayed by her brother to the Ferasans, but who still obtained revenge, albeit at the cost of own life. I may not have been a fan of her haughty aristocratic airs, but she had been invaluable in the fight against the Enemy, delaying their plans to leave with our people. I wish I could say that she would be the last to fall, but I know better.

I’m tired of this nightmare. So damn tired...”

*

In the Medical Bay, Dr T’Ana passed a sensor wand over Mori’s leg, grunting. “Yeah, it’ll itch for a few more hours, but it’s pretty much repaired.” She made an ostentatious show of sniffing the air between the young male and Sasha. “Just take it easy for the rest of the day. Let Queen Kong ride on top for a change.”

As the Caitian doctor walked away, Sasha made a sound. “Yeah, Doc, I get it, I’m an ape; I’m glad you’re a decent doctor because you’re a shit comedian.” She helped Mori back onto his feet, making a show of dusting him off and straightening out his jacket and Starfleet insignia... letting her touch linger. “And I’m also glad you’re safe and sound, Mru.”

The hazel-furred male shrugged. “Me? What about you? I was only shot! You fought that meshuggeneh Ferasan giant, you had a throwing blade stuck in your chest-”

“All in a day’s work.” Then something like a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Wait, ‘Meshuggeneh’? Did you look up Yiddish just for me?”

He smiled back, his fur shifting above the parts of the skin beneath that were now blushing. “Maybe.”

Sasha laughed, leaning in to rub the side of her face against his in the Caitian manner, whispering, “Damn it, I wish medicine wasn’t so advanced, and we could get some bed rest together...”

He purred... until from the far corner of the Medical Bay, T’Ana called back, “I’d say give her a banana, but I’d worry about where she’d stick it!”

*

In their temporary quarters, Ptera Mroara-Lnee clung to her newborn infant, breathing out heavily, the tears welling in her brass eyes, as her husband Mirow held onto her, and Mi’Tree and Bneea, the latter holding Hrelle’s infant daughter Sreen as he looked up at Hrelle. “You’re certain, Esek? Absolutely certain that there was no mistake?”

Hrelle swallowed; his eye, the whole right side of his head ached from the newly-regenerated eye, skull and tissue... but he suspected it would be aching regardless. “I’m sorry, Bneea, I wish there was a mistake. Nenjo had arranged a link with Jnill’s company network to obtain additional intelligence while Jnill was deceiving the Ferasans; it confirmed the final moments.” He looked to his bond-daughter. “It would have been very quick, and very painless-”

Ptera nodded hurriedly. “Mama would have made sure to choose the right poison for herself. Nothing but the best.” She looked down at her mother’s namesake, who was beginning to make sounds of reaction to the grief around her. “I’m sorry you couldn’t know her scent, Little One, her voice and touch. She was a good mother.” She brushed her muzzle against Baby Jnill’s, before looking up again at Hrelle. “Esek, I’ll need to contact the rest of the Clan, inform them of our own status, let them know that we’re still alive. As the new Matriarch, I have responsibilities now.”

He tightened his expression. “If you can select one particular relative and prepare a message for them, one they can forward onto others, I’ll see what can be done.”

“Thank you.” She smiled down at Misha, as the cub drew up to her side and placed a paw on her and began purring. “I feel guilty, mourning one person in the midst of the terrible loss we have all faced with Shanos Minor...”

“No need for guilt, my dear,” Mi’Tree assured her soothingly. “And I am certain that Jnill, and that poor metropolis, will soon be avenged.” He looked up at Hrelle. “Will they not, my kin-son?”

Hrelle felt his, and other’s, eyes upon him, as he had felt since returning to the Island. Everyone wanted a response, and wanted it from him, and now.

All he could do at this stage was nod and affirm, “Yes. Soon. Bneea, if you could arrange to record Ptera’s message and get the details of the recipient, please? Please excuse me.”

Hrelle left his family, but he found no refuge from the grief elsewhere, as word of Shanos Minor spread among the refugees here, though he was relieved that in the dearth of professional Counselors present, people were doing what they can to help and comfort each other-

“Captain?”

Hrelle stopped and turned, nodding politely at the approach of Captain Majes Biggleshen, the leader of the Caitian Aerobatics Squadron Hrelle’s bond-father Bneea had recruited to assist them with ferrying refugees here from various parts of Cait. “Captain?”

The older, ginger-furred male raised a paw, his accent crisp and clear, reminding Hrelle of some Terrans of British origin. “Please, call me Biggles, Captain Hrelle. I’m sorry to disturb you, I know you’re extremely busy with this crisis-”

“That’s okay... Biggles. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to meet you and your fellow Skycats, and thank you properly for your service to date-”

“No need for that, Captain. And it’s about that service that I wish to speak with you. I know that my crew and I are old, that we’ve never really been in battle, that the crates we normally fly are hopelessly slow and out of date compared with Starfleet shuttles and starfighters... but we’re relevant. We can fight, just as fiercely as anyone else here. Just give us the chance.”

Hrelle was prepared to argue, to dissuade Biggles, and convince him and his people to be content with just surviving all this... a better fate than the people of Shanos Minor have received. Hrelle was prepared to agree that, yes, he was extremely busy, and had no time to consider the request on top of everything else he had on his proverbial plate. Hrelle was prepared to find some excuse to be called away and not have to address this.

Instead, he made a decision. “You’ll get your chance, Biggles, you and your people. Your Aerofighters back in Pakui, I know it’s been months since you’ve flown them, but can they still fly?”

Biggles frowned. “Our crates? Absolutely, every bit as well as the originals from the Second Age.”

“And can they be fitted with modern weaponry?”

“Yes, with our help, but... Captain, surely our Aerofighters will be no challenge against any of the Enemy’s vessels?”

“Don’t sell yourself short; under the circumstances I’ll be placing you and your people in, I think you’ll find you might have a vital advantage. Report to the Tailless uptop in one hour, you and your people; you’ll receive further orders after you get back home to Pakui.” He paused and added, “Please warn the rest of the Skycats: I can’t promise that all of you will survive this. I can’t promise that any of you will survive this, truth be told.”

The ginger Caitian male bristled. “Captain Hrelle, I’ve spent a long lifetime recreating the heroic exploits of our ancestors... always yearning for the opportunity to know if I could rise to the challenge, if given the chance. I’ve witnessed young, stalwart cubs like your daughter, Lt Mori and others face Death, in the defence of the Motherworld. And if Death must have her due in this conflict, she is better to claim it from those closer to the end of their allotted time than the beginning.” He held out a paw. “Thank you, Captain. The Skycats won’t let you down.”

Hrelle accepted it. “I’m sure you won’t. Please brief your people and be ready to leave on time.”

Biggles clicked the heels of his leather boots, turned and strode away. Hrelle watched him depart, before tapping his combadge. “Capt Hrelle to Lt Hrelle: Sasha, you, Lt Mori and Ensign Osha will collect a dozen plasma cannons, railgun turrets, appropriate power and ammunition packs, and the fittings necessary to be able to mount them on the Skycats’ Aerofighters and connect the control systems to their cockpits.”

“Dad?”

“Then you’ll take them, and the Skycats, to their Aerodrome down in Pakui and help them modify their aircraft. Be ready to leave within the hour; more orders to follow. Acknowledge.”

“...Acknowledged, Sir. Lt Hrelle out.”

He began walking again, his mind looking ahead, planning, calculating, he needed a few minutes of uninterrupted-

“Captain?”

He stopped again, counted to Three, and turned. “Jhess? How is your family?”

Jhess drew up to him, still clad in his Militia uniform... and worryingly enough, still carrying his plasma rifle slung over one shoulder. “They’re trying to come to terms with what’s happened. It’s going to be difficult in the coming days and weeks... not just for them, but for more than a few others here.”

“And in the rest of the Motherworld, too. Thankfully, your wife and son have you at their side now-”

“Captain, what about those prisoners?”

“They’re locked up in the Security Bay in the lower levels, so you don’t have to worry about them-“

“Why are they still alive?” Jhess suddenly demanded angrily. “That vicious Rat-tail killed two of your Kaetini friends!”

“Three,” Hrelle corrected. “He killed a third in Sekuro. And he wounded Lt Mori, and nearly killed Sasha and me.”

Jhess drew closer, the anger in his scent as clear as it was in his expression. “I’ve seen you kill with less provocation!”

“Not from someone who stopped fighting and surrendered willingly. He then saved me, and helped me save Sasha and Mori. He’s telepathic, and it looks like he was as affected by Shanos Minor’s destruction as the rest of us. He might end up on our side.”

Now the spotted male sneered. “And you believe him? How do we know this isn’t some elaborate plot to infiltrate our organisation, to learn more about us and then signal the rest of the Rat-tails to take out all of us?”

“Both prisoners were relieved of all their possessions, including any communicators. And the telepath won’t be able to communicate with anyone where he is now. As for their intentions, our best interrogator is assessing them even as we speak...”

*

In the lowest part of the facility, Valtiri sat on the floor of a white-lit, windowless, featureless room, adopting a meditative pose, attempting to continue to reach out, out beyond the walls of his cell. When he had found Captain Hrelle hours before, he had promised not to use his telepathy. Then when they reached this fascinating tropical island, with its gigantic prehistoric lifeforms, and took Pilot and him down to his sublevel, placing them in separate cells and offering nothing in the way of information about their fate.

Valtiri understood that, as he understood the reactions of fear and hatred he felt from the Caitians upon seeing the Ferasan prisoners. Even discounting the prior war crimes, the destruction of Shanos Minor would have irrevocably branded the likes of him as a monster in their eyes. And he wouldn’t blame them for a moment.

Focus. Focus, as his Mentor had taught him. Find his balance. Test his strength. Reach out. Perhaps seek Pilot’s mind, assure him that, whatever happens, Captain Hrelle was too honourable a warrior to simply butcher them out of a hunger for retribution against their people... however much they might deserve it.

And yet, now, somehow, he couldn’t hear any minds, sense any presence nearby. It was bizarre; normally such silence could only be achieved naturally, by being hundreds of sestares away from others. It was-

He was startled from his thoughts by the crimson column of a transporter beam at the other end of the room, as his eyes and nose took in the scent of a middle-aged Caitian female with sepia fur and a blue-themed Starfleet uniform, sitting in an armless chair facing him. Her voice echoed as she ordered him, “Stay where you are.”

He stayed silent... trying to catch some thoughts, some clue. He suspected he knew who she was, based on what he had picked up from Hrelle, but really, he should have been discerning something from her at this close a range-

Then, as if reading his thoughts, she finally continued. “I’m Commander Kami Hrelle, Chief Counselor of the USS Surefoot, currently second in command of this facility. If you’re trying to read my mind and wondering why you can’t, it’s because this cell is surrounded by an energy field that inhibits telepathic activity. That surprised me when I first heard that this was possible; I was trained to believe that there was no technology capable of doing that, but then I’ve since learned that some advances are kept classified.”

Valtiri nodded; that explained his lack of success in reaching out, even to her mind. “I wish I had possessed such devices growing up; I would have slept better.” He focused on her. “I recognise you. I caught fleeting glimpses of your husband’s thoughts about you as we fought.”

Her expression tightened. “You mean, as you tried to murder him, don’t you? Him, and my kin-daughter?”

Her accusations stung. “I am no hired thug, Counselor. I am the Hunter Prime of Ferasa, a Warrior. If I had just wanted Captain and Lieutenant Hrelle dead, I could have killed them both many times over, without their ever knowing it. By facing them as I did, I offered them an honourable and worthy means of dying: with swords in paw.”

“How noble of you,” Kami commented dryly. “You gave them a better fate than the Kaetini you killed. Have you killed anyone else since coming here?”

“Yes: two Ferasans.”

“Oh? And what did they do to earn your wrath?”

He raised his muzzle to her, determined to accept her anger towards him, under the circumstances... as long as the truth was still embraced. “One Ferasan assaulted your son Misha’s teacher as I was questioning her, despite my promise to her that she would not be harmed if she cooperated with me. The other Ferasan held a gun to a Caitian cub’s head in Sekuro in an attempt to save his own worthless, cowardly life. Both offended my code of honour.”

Her bronze eyes narrowed on him. “You believe you have a code of honour?”

“I do not believe it, Counselor. I know it.”

“And where does a man with a code of honour stand on an act of mass murder of the innocent civilians of Shanos Minor?”

The question stung him again, as the memories of his reaction flooded him, and he looked away. “It... does not. I felt the deaths of those innocent civilians, as surely as if I had been among them, consumed by the fire and the blast. I swear to you that I did not know that my people would commit such a heinous act, nor would I have ever supported it.” He looked up at her again. “Please believe me, I am ineffably ashamed of what has happened, and I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to recompense your people.”

But the Caitian remained unimpressed. “I am not prepared to believe or disbelieve you at this stage, Mr Valtiri. That’s why I’m here: to assess you, to confirm the veracity of what you’re saying. Fortunately, I don’t rely on telepathy to glean the truth; instead I have over thirty years’ experience in reading people of many races, detecting the most subtle signs of deception from them, signs they never even know they’re displaying. And of late, for obvious reasons, I’ve been focusing on reading Ferasans.

So we’re going to spend the next few hours together, Mr Valtiri. Here, I will question, and you will answer. I’m going to know you better than anyone else in the Universe.

Let me establish the ground rules, so you understand the gravity of the situation. In addition to the psionic inhibitors in the walls, ceiling and floor of this cell, there are also transporter units. They brought you, and then me, in here, and when required they will bring in food, water, clothing and hygiene, sleeping and other units.

But... if you make any aggressive moves towards me while I’m here, you’ll be transported... into nothingness.

If you attempt to escape, or damage any of the cell’s infrastructure, you’ll be transported into nothingness.

If you attempt to lie to me, or refuse to answer any of my questions to my satisfaction, I’ll leave here, give the word, and you’ll be transported into nothingness.

And this interrogation ends when I say it ends.”

She shifted in place. “Well... shall we begin?”

*

USS Surefoot, Conference Room:

Crewman Malala Jain, a short, slate-grey Malurian female, moved around the conference table with a tray of coffee and other requested beverages, setting the correct ones before each individual, T’Varik noting her attention to detail... as well as her obvious interest in Petty Officer C’Ria Ctuuri and what he might have to say about the status of the Hrelles.

T’Varik understood her acute curiosity: the young member of the Support Crew had met the Captain and Sasha Hrelle on the previous incarnation of the Surefoot, when she had been abducted along with other refugee Malurian children to serve as slave labour by the Bel-Zon, until the Hrelles had discovered and rescued them. Malala had met them years later, at Sasha’s graduation, formally thanking them and promising to pay back their selfless acts by joining Starfleet... which she had obviously done by enlisting when she became a legal adult.

T’Varik appreciated her desire for further information... but now was not the time. “Thank you, Crewman Jain, you may resume your scheduled duties.”

She looked across at the Vulcan, the disappointment clear in her large reflective eyes. “Are you certain I can’t prepare some snacks as well, Captain? Some shuris strips for our guest, or maybe those Vulcan pastries you always enjoy-”

T’Varik ignored the smirks that produced from some of the others in the room. “Dismissed, Crewman.”

Jain pursed her lipless mouth, but to her credit simply replied, “Yes, Ma’am,” and departed.

T’Varik focused now on Ctuuri, who looked healthier than when T’Varik had last seen him; he was dressed in a plain black utilitarian jumpsuit, and sat formally at one end of the table in the Captain’s Conference Room, holding himself with a confidence belying his youth as he addressed the officers assembled, including Commander Murphy, Lieutenants Shall and Bellator, Captain Weynik from the Ajax... and onscreen, Admiral Tattok from the Triton, everyone rapt as Ctuuri commenced. “It was the largest Ferasan fleet ever assembled. Scores of them. Every Pride with a starship came. They swept over us, shut down our major defences, moved into orbit over Cait and bombed our Militia bases. They met little to no resistance; they had our security access codes.”

“How in the Seven Hells did they get their paws on them?” C’Rash asked, bristling.

He looked to her. “Fleet Captain Shall believes they received stolen classified data from a Starfleet Admiral, Ian Trenagen, as part of some act of vengeance.”

T’Varik looked over at Weynik, who glanced up at the screen at Tattok, his father, none of them saying anything. T’Varik understood their silence, aware of the late Admiral Trenagen’s association with the illegal organisation Section 31, and of his bitter feud with Fleet Captain Shall, culminating in an attack on Captain Hrelle on this very ship, followed by an official announcement about Trenagen’s death from natural causes... precisely the obfuscation she had expected. She herself had encountered Trenagen directly more than once, but would never have suspected he be capable of such treachery.

“Nearly all of our fleet was destroyed,” Ctuuri continued. “The Mother’s Fury was sent on a death dive into Kuburan, the outer dwarf planet in our system... or at least, what appeared to the Enemy to be a death dive. A warp charge was launched and detonated from our aft, simulating an explosion while we entered a hidden base beneath Kuburan, damaged but intact. We have been there since, tending to our wounded, repairing our damage... and learning what we can about the Enemy’s plans.”

“She’s alive,” C’Rash breathed out, looking more animated than T’Varik had seen in a long while as she focused on the male. “Mother’s Cubs, Ma’Sala’s alive?”

“She needed a cybernetic right eye and right arm fitted until she can get to a cloning facility, but yes, she is.”

“What are the Ferasans doing on your planet?” Tattok asked from the viewscreen. “It’s more than just planting their flag on your territory, I take it?”

Ctuuri looked up at him now. “Yes, Sir. The Ferasan genome has suffered irreparable damage from generations of Augmentation and experimentation, something they discovered in recent years and kept to themselves. They believe that they can overcome this through... forced breeding with Caitian females, and the abduction and... modification of our cubs to more resemble Ferasans.”

He shuddered. “They’ve set up camps all over Cait, deceiving our people with a story about a medical emergency triggered by a conspiracy of Militia and Starfleet terrorists. And they’re building vessels to transport thousands of suitable Caitians to their world.”

C’Rash hissed, as T’Varik picked up a PADD and looked to Tattok. “Warrant Officer Ctuuri has provided a datadot with intelligence, news, and video footage transmitted from Cait. It corroborates his account, and Lieutenant Bellator has examined and confirmed its authenticity.” She nodded to Bellator. “We are transmitting it to you now.”

“Thank you. Any word about resistance efforts on the planet?”

Ctuuri nodded. “There are demonstrations by the public, and more aggressive efforts, among the Kaetini, the only organised paramilitary structure available with the destruction of the planetbound Militia forces... and I can confirm that, at least as of twelve days ago, these efforts were being led by Captain Esek Hrelle.”

Weynik made a sound. “I knew Wide Load wouldn’t be spending his time sitting around eating shuris snacks.” Then he looked back at the Caitian curiously. “Your name, ‘Ctuuri’, sounds familiar, but I’m not sure how.”

The young male nodded again. “My father was Major Tan Ctuuri, Sir. You and Lt Hrelle met him two years ago on your ship, on a mission involving the Ferasans.” His eyes went downcast. “I signed up for the Militia after he died, and Fleet Captain Shall took me under her mentorship.”

Now he looked around them, and then at Tattok. “When it became clear that help from Starfleet wasn’t forthcoming, and that the Ferasans were preparing to move thousands of our fertile female and our cubs to their planet, I volunteered to leave Kuburan in a modified warp-capable probe, fitted with a life-support system and recyclers, to find the Surefoot and inform them of what was happening, so that you can take action to prevent further atrocities.” He remained focused on Tattok as he added, “Assuming you wish to... Sir.”

The Admiral’s race wasn’t physically given to expressive faces, at least in comparison with most humanoid’s. But T’Varik had learned to discern the nuanced shifts in her commanding officer, and she saw it now as he replied, “We haven’t willingly withheld our support for Cait, Mr Ctuuri, I can assure you. Without our efforts to try and retake Betazed, all the other neighbouring sectors, including your people’s own, would fall irrevocably into the Dominion’s hands.”

“And now we just bash our heads against the Dominion’s brick wall, over and over,” Weynik groused. “Seeing our numbers diminish with each battle. Losing good people, good ships.” Now he looked up at his father. “I want to start winning something for a change. Especially if Cait only fell because of help from one of our own.”

Tattok ignored him, continuing. “Mr Ctuuri, the information you have provided is to say the least disturbing... especially this news about Caitian civilians being transported en masse to Ferasan territory. Is there any indication of the timeline involved?”

“No, Admiral. Our intelligence is highly limited, only what has been leaked from the Motherworld. Only... soon.”

Tattok looked to T’Varik now. “Captain, how long will it take for the Surefoot to complete the transfer all of your wounded and evacuees to the Samaritan?”

The Vulcan looked up. “We should be completed in 4.63 hours, Admiral.”

Tattok nodded at that. “Proceed as normal. I’ll be in touch.“

Weynik sat up. “Wait, we haven’t-”

But the Admiral ended the transmission.

“I hate when he does that,” Weynik muttered.

T’Varik turned to the others. “We will proceed, as instructed.”

“That’s it?” Ctuuri looked around in disbelief, and a growing desperation. “Was I not clear enough? They’re taking our people! Using us for breeding stock! They’ve killed hundreds of thousands of us!” He held up his paws pleadingly. “What is wrong with you people?”

Now C’Rash, sitting beside him, reached out and took his paw in hers. “Claws in, Cub. Nobody here is more eager than me to get back to rescue my Matriarch, and chase those filthy Rat-tailed kussiks off our world. But we can’t just drop what we’re doing here and take off.”

T’Varik regarded her spouse, before turning to Murphy. “Commander, please see to guest quarters for Mr Ctuuri. Lt Shall, take the Conn until my return. Captain Weynik and I have to discuss something.”

The ebon-furred Caitian female glared at her spouse, but rose, along with the others, and departed- except for Murphy, who looked at T’Varik with a mixture of cordiality and suspicion. “Nothing I should stay and oversee, Ma’am?”

T’Varik looked back, recognising the underlying nuances behind his question. It had been an unspoken reason of Tattok’s to assign Murphy, an outsider to the Surefoot family, to act as second in command... and to curb any potential temptation to take impulsive action. T’Varik had almost been insulted by the notion... until she began overhearing talk among some of the younger, more impetuous crewmembers about ‘accidentally’ taking one of the runabouts to Cait.

She said nothing about it, attributing it to bravado... but had Bellator and C’Rash implement hidden additional encryption protocols, anyway. “Nothing, Commander. This is just... Captain’s Talk.”

He offered a smile. “I’ll be a Captain soon, too.”

“Then you can join us... soon,” Weynik quipped, shooing him towards the door.

Murphy shrugged good-naturedly, and departed with the others.

T’Varik rose and moved to the shelves near the desk, retrieving a curved bottle of amber liquid and two tumblers, returning them to the table and pouring. “Your assessment, Weynik?”

The Roylan leaned across the table, making noises until T’Varik took the hint and pushed one tumbler closer to him. He accepted it, sitting down again. “You handled yourself well, stayed mostly quiet and let my Dad take on the anger from Mr Ctuuri-”

“I was in fact asking for an assessment of your father, not my own performance,” she corrected him dryly, taking a tumbler for herself and sitting down again.

He smiled. “Sorry. I’ve gotten used to mentoring you in Wide Load’s absence.” He sipped at the spirits. “My Dad’s made his decision: we’re going. It’s just a matter of how, and how soon, and how many favours he’s gonna have to call him or how many secrets he’s gonna have to threaten to release to get it authroised.”

She cradled the glass in her hands, idly calculating the amount in millimetres she can drink without triggering a depreciation in her mental faculties. She indulged in a measure of reassurance in having Weynik present; as assured as she was at commanding now, she found it advantageous to confide in someone of her own temporary rank, outside of her own command structure. “I will not deny experiencing satisfaction when the order is finally given. I worry for the Captain and his family.”

“Anything in that data in particular about them?”

She nodded and tapped on her PADD; on the main screen, video footage of Sasha wielding her sword against a  group of Ferasan soldiers, graphically cutting through them. “This was Lt Hrelle defending a group of Caitian student protestors in a city called Shanos Minor. She has apparently inspired many to continue to protest and rebel.”

Then there was a dark, more distant image, computer-enhanced to compensate for the night-time surroundings, of a single figure wading through literally dozens of others... at one point, flame shot out from a handheld weapon from the single figure, enveloping the mob, sending them sprawling. “And this was identified as Captain Hrelle, attacking Ferasans who had occupied the Shall Clanlands.”

Weynik watched the carnage. “Bloody Hemra...”

She switched off the link. “Moments later, the Shall Clanhouse was destroyed by aerial fire. There was a subsequent broadcast from Mi’Tree Shall, indicating that Captain Hrelle and Sreen were fugitives, being pursued by the Jem’Hadar, who apparently until now have been allowing the Ferasans to dominate the Occupation activities.”

Weynik nodded sagely, drinking again. “That makes sense. When Sasha and I worked with Major Ctuuri, the negotiations between the Ferasans and the Dominion were very tentative. Maybe it’s still that way, otherwise we’ve be hearing Dominion propaganda throughout the Quadrant about their alliance with the Ferasan Patriarchy, we will dominate the Galaxy, yadda yadda.” He regarded the Vulcan. “They’ll be fine. Esek is a survivor, and he’s passed that trait onto Kami, Sasha and the cubs. Maybe we should talk about you now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There is nothing to talk about, Captain.”

“I disagree. Soon we’ll be kicking those fleabag Ferasans off of Cait, and getting Captain Hrelle and Family back onboard. Are you willing to go back to being his second in command, now that you have had an extended taste of the Captain’s Chair?”

“Given my vegetarian preferences, and knowing the posteriors that have sat there, I have no intention of tasting it.”

“You know what I mean.” He drank again before continuing. “You deserve your own command. I’ve watched you, not just during your temporary command but throughout the time you’ve spent as Esek’s First Officer. You’re more than capable of taking the Centre Seat permanently.”

“I agree.” She drank as well, ignoring his smirk at her candour, before continuing herself. “I initially took ship duty to serve as a Liaison for the Academy cadets we had onboard as part of the Advanced Work Experience program. The War has suspended further cadets from embarking on duty in potentially hazardous areas. But I am fully confident it will resume when the War ends.”

“When the War ends, we’re going to be significantly short on experienced command level personnel,” he pointed out soberly. “Look at how many we’ve lost today. When we return to exploration and scientific missions, they’ll begin fast-tracking gifted cadets back out here, and you can still Liaise for the Academy... but as Captain of your own ship.”

T’Varik did not reply immediately. The idea had occurred to her. And perhaps in the near future, if the opportunity arose, she would accept such a responsibility again, though of course such a decision would impact on so many others in her life, not least of which C’Rash.

But such thoughts were for another day. “Perhaps we should focus on more immediate goals, such as the liberation of Cait?”

*

Kamar-Taj, Meru Province:

Thunder rolled as the thickening clouds above gathered and grew, the occasional lightning flash complementing the soft street lights that began to come to life as afternoon gave way to evening.

The Caitian in the heavy overcoat emerged from his apartment building and walked down the street. He was an elderly, stone-furred male, his wrinkles beginning to affect the flow of the fur on his head, his tail drooping behind him, a slight limp developing in his stride.

Above and around him, the white-walled, domed buildings of Kamar-Taj rose like cathedral spires from between the crescent arms of Meru Bay, framed by the surrounding lush green jungle plateau. It had a colourful history, once haven to corsairs who prowled the Sea of Hetash during the Second Age of Cait, before evolving into a playground for the wealthy of the planet, their yachts, sailboats and hydrofoils crowding the fingers of the harbour. The Caitian had spent much of his life here, a veteran marine maintenance engineer, had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the crowds, especially in the Highsun Season.

There weren’t many people in the streets tonight; since the broadcast about Shanos Minor, people had stayed indoors, and many of the restaurants and bars that would be open now awaiting the night crowd, remained shuttered. No one was present to notice or question why he might have been wearing an overcoat, normally needed only during the rainy season in Frostmoot.

The Caitian moved with a steady pace towards his destination: the Ferasan shuttle that always parked next to the city’s First Landing Memorial, the stone circle representing the beacon established by the original colonisers of Cait to guide the rest of the Exodus Fleet here. The pack of Ferasans assigned to patrol here hung about, drinking and laughing, throwing their containers around and generally being as disrespectful and triumphant as they had been since first arriving here. People had learned to avoid them whenever possible... especially females who were young and attractive.

The Caitian didn’t avoid them. He strode right up to them, standing a few paces away. Glaring at them. Waiting.

Waiting for one of them to notice him, and then approach, his swagger thick as he ground his sabreteeth. “Lost, Old Cat? Missing your keeper?”

The Caitian said nothing.

The Ferasan glanced back at the rest of his Pack, sharing in their amusement and encouragement, before drawing even closer. “You should scurry along, Old Cat, before you piss yourself.”

The Caitian said nothing. He took a moment to breathe in the salt air, still feeling the aftereffects of his afternoon meal of battered kydrae rings, a foolish indulgence at his age given the acid reflux it always triggered in him. But that didn’t matter.

Amusement boiled into indignation. “Are you deaf, Old Cat? Run along before I grind you into the gutter with the rest of the shit!”

The Caitian continued to ignore him, but saw past him to the rest of his Pack, as they began gathering around. Nothing much mattered anymore, not after what he had seen today-

The Ferasan harassing him smacked him across the snout. “Don’t ignore me, you stinking old sack of bones! Who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?”

Now the Caitian met his gaze, even as his shaking paws moved to open his overcoat, his mind filled with the images of a murdered city. He had no family there, knew no one in that city, held no kinship to anyone there except as fellow Caitians, who hours before had been alive and well, and were now... ash.

And since then, his paws were driven by those images, to go to his workshop and take the tools of his trade, the spare electronics – and the sarium krellide power cells for sea vessel thrusters – and fashion together a response.

He opened his overcoat to the Ferasans, ensuring they had a good look at the interconnected network of power cells hanging from the equipment harness he wore underneath, wrapped in hundreds of tritanium nails, hooks and rings.

And then he finally replied in a fractured whisper, “I am Shanos Minor-”

No one saw him activate the detonator hidden in his right paw.

The blast killed the Caitian instantly; the Pack fared less mercifully, as the directed blast sent a wave of metal to shred the Ferasans, and what wasn’t spattered with metal was set on fire. Some survived, screaming raggedly for help from the Caitians who emerged to view the carnage, to loot the bodies and the shuttle of weapons, and record the event to transmit it onto the Cynet.

*

Kaijushima Island, Security Bay:

Kami leaned forward in her chair, her senses fully focused, and not a little unsure about the course of this interrogation. She must have been slipping somewhere, missing something. It wasn’t an impossible notion; she had certainly missed spotting her late aunt S’Graow’s deception when they were still back on their Clanlands.

But still she should have found the hidden traits in this Ferasan on the floor before her. Despite his actions on Cait, she couldn’t help but find him a fascinating individual: a mutant Ferasan, his telepathy switched on and uncontrollable from before birth, forced to be raised alone in the wilderness, educated on classical literature, adopting a singular code of honour that raised him above the usual class of Ferasans that she had encountered. The empathy he obviously possessed was perhaps a result of his gifts, perhaps a result of his upbringing, perhaps a mix of the two.

But still... She swallowed; her voice was growing hoarse from the questioning. “When the Bomb detonated in Shanos Minor... what did you experience? How did it really affect you?”

The stone-furred male ground his sabreteeth against the sides of his muzzle, his own voice equally low and raspy. “You have asked me this twice already, Counselor.”

“And now I ask a third time. There’s something more. You were overwhelmed by the deaths, their fear, their terror-”

“No.” He stared down at the stark white floor, his paws flat on the cool surface, claws retracted but the tension clear in his stance. “No, Counselor. It was not their fear, their terror that overwhelmed me. Yes, those emotions were there, of course, those that were aware of something happening; most mercifully died almost instantly, without any awareness.

It was not their fear, their terror that overwhelmed me. It was the love.

I felt parents, grandparents, older siblings, teachers and doctors and minders diving onto cubs, their own safety cast aside in a futile effort to protect the innocents from the blast and the heat. I felt Constables and managers and ordinary people sacrifice themselves to try and get others into shelters as the wavefront rolled towards them.

His eyes welled with tears. “I felt an old couple, who had lived and loved for longer than I had been alive, unable and unwilling to run or duck, knowing they were about to die, but not afraid either, knowing that their last moments were in each other’s arms.”

Now he looked up at her, naked emotion etched into him as if in stone as the tears ran down either side of his muzzle. “Love. Compassion. Generosity. Mercy. Selflessness. Those were the emotions that were a part of so many of the minds that touched mine.

I’d seen it before with your people: the captives working in the Capitol, supporting each other in the face of constant threat of death; your neighbours, banding together and cleaning up the remains of your property, not out of any self-serving motive, but just out of decency. It suffuses your spirits.

And in the face of Death, it stood strong, resolute. It couldn’t stop what was to come, but that was not where its true power lies. And for all our swagger and bluster and hubris, my race cannot begin to match yours. We are small, and we are petty and selfish, and we mewl in the dark, seeing ourselves as greater than you, greater than anyone.

But we are not... and we deserve the genetic Oblivion that awaits us...”

*

Caitian Flyer Tailless, over the Free Seas:

Biggles sat at the table in the aft section, sipping at his tea as he perused the PADD. “There’s a 0.4 second cyclic recharge on the plasma cannons; we’ll need to keep that in mind in combat.”

Around him, the rest of his Skycat Squadron sat with their own PADDs... but all seemingly more focused on their drinks, saying nothing in reply.

He looked up at them. “What’s wrong?”

They glanced at each other, the fat, tabby-furred Jinjer taking the lead with the reply, “What’s wrong? Seven Hells, Majes, what are we doing here? We’re performers, we’re clowns! We’re not actual combatants! How could you rope us into an actual military operation?”

He looked to the others – the thin, quiet Smithi, the taciturn, coal-furred female Bertti, the fat tabby JInjer, the jocular sepia-furred Alje – his friends, people he’d known and worked with for decades, a family they had forged together for lack of any blood-kin. “What is wrong with all of you? All this time you were grousing about playing a more active role in the War against the bloody Rat-tails! I offer a golden opportunity to you now, and you act like I’ve pissed on your shuris strips!”

“We talk crap,” Bertti informed him, growling. “Jinjer especially, he has a tongue that wags at both ends.”

“Steady on,” he chided, harrumphing.

She ignored him. “We were fine ferrying people and supplies from here to there, but-”

“But when it comes to doing something with some actual risk,” Biggles interrupted, “That’s when you scurry back under the sink and hide, is that right?”

“That’s not fair, Dear Cat,” Smithi finally protested.

Biggles pointed a finger at him. “No, what’s not fair is that we’ve allowed others, like those young people up in the cockpit, to bear the burden of the fight against the Enemy. This is our world as well. And we all have some considerable skills and experience to bring to bear.”

“We could die,” Bertti growled.

Biggles smiled and leaned forward, his voice dropping into a confidential tone. “I have some bad news for you, old girl: you will die. We all will.”

He looked to each of them in turn. “I think of all the mundane ways we can all leave this mortal coil: myocardial disease, choking on some undercooked chops, slipping in the shower, or just dying in bed. Do any of you really want to go in any of those ways?”

“The one in bed sounds good,” Alje quipped. “Preferably with a couple of prettytails servicing me.”

Bertti grunted. “The last prettytail you had servicing you was the last time Jinjer saw his piece without shifting his belly aside.”

He slapped her arm. “I don’t recall hearing any action coming from your quarters lately, you old bag of rats!”

Smithi looked to their leader. “You really think we’re gonna make a difference in this War?”

Biggles smiled at them all. “I think we’re going to do proud the motto of the Skycats: ‘Live Fast, Fight Well, and Have a Beautiful Ending’.” Then he picked up the PADD again. “Now, about these rail guns...”

*

Back on the Island, Hrelle sat on the lagoon beach, breathing in the hot, scent-rich air as he worked furiously on his PADD, double-checking his facts on adjacent PADDs, feeling like he was back at the Academy, desperate to finish and submit a paper on history or culture or science before the deadline. His stomach growled, reflecting the  but he ignored it.

He heard the hidden lift doors open behind him, and smiled a little as he heard the familiar patter of tiny feet, and an exclamation, “Papa!”

He set aside his PADD and turned, grabbing Misha and planting him on his lap. “How are you, Son of Mine?” He cuddled him, even as he looked to see who else had accompanied him to the surface. “And you, Wife and Daughter of Mine?”

Kami, with Sreen in a harness on her chest, joined him on the soft, warm sand. “Tired and hungry. Well, I am; these two tail chasers have had meals and naps.”

Hrelle reached out and tickled his purring infant cub under her chin. “You should go, I’ll be a while longer here. Too much to do...”

“Then you’ll need to know what I’ve learned.”

“What you doing, Papa?” Misha asked.

He looked down at the cub. “I’m working out a plan to send the Ferasans back home.”

Misha scowled. “I no like the Fearies. They hurt you and Sasha. They kill Gramma Ma’Sala, and Gramma Jnill. They kill everyone. I wanna kill them back.”

Hrelle reached up, stroking Misha’s head. “No, don’t be like that.”

“Why not? They bad! They kill us! You kill them! Sasha kill them!”

Hrelle stared back at him, frowning. “I have a mission for you: go back down, find one of your Grandpas, and get them to put together a snack box for your Mama and me. And something for yourself.”

The cub’s eyes brightened, and he hopped off his father’s lap to rush back to the elevator.”

“You didn’t tell him why he shouldn’t be like that,” Kami observed.

He stared out at the lagoon, watching the setting sun peek through the foliage. “Maybe because it would be the height of hypocrisy to tell him that thoughts of killing was wrong, given what I’m working on now.”

In her harness, Sreen looked to him. “Papa? Gabbadoo doo da?”

He offered her a reassuring smile back, stroking her muzzle. “I’m fine, thank you Sweetheart. What have you learned about Valtiri?”

“Are you asking me, or my Warrior Princess?” Kami purred against Sreen, before continuing. “In his own way, he has been as shaken to his core about Shanos Minor as the rest of us. Before his arrival here, his life had been focused strictly on his Romantic notions of the Hunt, of tracking and fighting his quarry, to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. But the Bomb has changed all that. He empathises, identifies more with us now than with his own people. I’m not saying he should be forgiven for his crimes, but I think he’ll be willing to help make up for them.”

“Are you sure?”

He looked up to see her rub her eyes. “I was with him for nearly three hours, Esek, used every trick in the Interrogation Handbook... even the nasty ones I hate using, like lying about killing him if he didn’t cooperate. You and Sasha impressed him. It would certainly please his sense of honour to team up with an honoured foe.”

Hrelle nodded. “What about his Pilot?”

She grunted. “Him? I had him figured out in thirty seconds, without him ever saying a word to me. He hasn’t been an active combatant in this War. I don’t think he’s ever fired a weapon, for that matter. But he’s not like Valtiri; he’ll be more reluctant to work against his people.”

He grunted back, picking up his PADD again. “Won’t need him anyway. But someone with the Hunter Prime’s skill set is another matter.”

She regarded him further. “He also mentioned something that, frankly, unnerved him: when you two fought, and he damaged your eye, he stopped being able to read your thoughts.”

He tensed.

“He said it was like you had become another person,” she added knowingly.

He breathed out, wishing he didn’t have to admit it, admit that his fight with Valtiri might have brought back his Beast, in some form or another. “Yes. We both know what. And we both know we don’t have time to deal with it right now.”

Kami reached out and patted his paw, squeezing it reassuringly. “Yes, of course, first things first: save our planet. No pressure there.”

Hrelle stared out again; looking outward was as bad as looking inward. “I can manage a ship and crew, get them through the Seven Hells. I can oversee a task force of ships, plan battles. But this... thousands of our own people, ordinary people, not Starfleet or Militia, will be involved... with no guarantee of success...” Then he looked at her again. “And yet I also know that there’s never any guarantee of success, and only that we have to do something. And it feels like the time to do something is almost upon us.”

Kami offered him a supportive smile. “No one is expecting you to work miracles, Esek.”

“No? You should have seen Ptera and the others. Everyone here. We can no longer just hide here and hope for help from the outside.”

Before she could respond, his combadge chirped, and he tapped it. “Hrelle here.”

Agent Nenjo’s voice replied. “Captain Hrelle, we’ve had confirmed contacts for the meeting tonight from the Deep Keep, the Kaetini Order and the Syphers. We’ve reinforced the comlinks, rerouting and cloaking the frequencies.”

He nodded at that. “Have you been able to tap into the satellites over Shanos Minor?”

“Yes, Sir, and some of the transmissions from the Ferasan ships that have passed over the area following the bombing. The radiation levels remain lethally high, with fallout detected in the troposphere and stratosphere, spreading on the winds and into the clouds north by north-east, towards the farmlands in central Nashea. There are reports of self-triggered evacuations of the villages in that region, and efforts being raised by the Caitian authorities in Shanos Major to send ships and flyers across the Sea of C’Mau to look for survivors.”

Now he frowned. “They mustn’t do that! They won’t be equipped to  protect themselves from the radiation! They could potentially return and contaminate other areas, other people! We have to warn them!”

Then Kami leaned in. “Nenjo, what about the public response in general to the bombing? Have there been any incidents like I’d described to you?”

“Yes, Counselor, as a matter of fact. There’s been a growing number of incidents of Ferasans being attacked, singularly or in small groups, by Caitians.”

Hrelle and Kami looked at each other again, before he asked, “You mean further Resistance attacks organised by the Kaetini?”

“No, Captain. These seem to be spontaneous incidents, outbursts, from ordinary people with no connection to the Kaetini, the Militia or anyone else. And many of these incidents are being recorded by others and distributed on the Cynet.”

He was about to reply, when Kami then asked, “Nenjo, are there any statements being made by these Caitians at the time?”

“Yes, Counselor: declarations of... being Shanos Minor. Whatever that means.”

Kami nodded at that. “Please collate the data and have it ready for me at a workstation.”

“What has been the Ferasan response to these incidents?” Hrelle asked.

“In many instances, the Caitians have been killed on the spot. With others, the Ferasans have beamed in reinforcements, without much success in finding the perpetrators.”

“Thank you, Agent. We’ll be down shortly. Hrelle out.” He regarded Kami. “What’s happening to our people? A PTSD response to witnessing the Bombing of Shanos Minor?”

She drew Sreen closer to her, breathing in her scent as if for comfort. “It’s to be expected; in any large number of people, there will be those who react in murderous fashion to seeing something as traumatic as what has happened, especially with social media feeding those responses to others in different locations and inspiring people into behaving in a similar fashion.”

“It sounds more like a contagion.”

She didn’t look at him as she replied, “Yes. It does.”

*

At that moment, at the Shanos Major Aeroport, Mayor Des P’Rarash stood on the back of the pickup truck, the better to let him see what was going on around him and coordinate the efforts. He had a voice amplifier on paw, but as many of his detractors – and allies – noted, he was loud enough to be heard in R’Trerah. It was a holdover from his prior career as an operatic star, but it served him well today. “Get those medical kits onto the first flyer! No, don’t let those volunteers onboard, not until they’ve been cleared with their hyronalin shots! Sh’esint, keep the media crew back, I don’t want them getting in the way!“

The people moved with urgent efficiency, and P’Rarash indulged himself with civic pride. He, his people and his city, had keep relatively quiet, trying not to stir up trouble or attract attention since the Occupation began... even when the truth about the Ferasan activities had emerged, and the Enemy had increased their security measures. All rewards are within reach with enough patience, as his Mama used to tell him.

Today, however, patience was swept away. Shanos Minor had been the sister city to Shanos Major since their mutual founding, though they sat on separate continents and were separated by the Sea of C’Mau. It had been a friendly rivalry over the centuries, always competing in the arts, in sciences, even when their teams inevitably competed in the Rollerball Cup.

Today, their sister city had been destroyed, callously, brutally obliterated. But there had to be survivors. And nothing was going to stop Shanos Major from finding and helping them-

He stopped at the low swoop of the Ferasan shuttle overhead, making deliberate dives as if threatening to fire upon the large flyers readying to take off.

Concern grew among the Caitians as the shuttle landed, and P’Rarash’s aide Sh’esint approached him. “Sir, perhaps we- we should-”

P’Rarash raised a paw to cut him off, glaring as the shuttle’s bay doors rose and armed Ferasans poured out. He hopped off the back of the truck and parted the Caitians around him to approach the Enemy. His shame at not having stood up more visibly and vocally to these Rat-tails until now gnawed at him like an acute hunger. But as his Mama also used to tell him, There is always time to do right. He focused on the highest-ranking Ferasan drawing up, recognising him from past encounters. “Pridemaster Har-Bai, can I help you?”

The leader of the Blackcrest Pride sneered. “What do you think you’re doing here, Mayor P’Rarash? All air traffic has been suspended!”

P’Rarash steeled himself, suppressing a shudder at the intimidating size, scent and sound of the Ferasan, letting his anger at what their people had done to their sister city galvanising him. “We’re sending flyers to find and treat survivors at Shanos Minor. Please let us continue-”

Har-Bai guffawed, his sabreteeth gnashing against the sides of his muzzle. “Survivors? Are you delusional? We turned that mewling metropolis of whiney cubs to rubble and ash! Did you not watch the broadcast?”

P’Rarash bared his teeth, feeling the growing rage from his people behind him. A rage he shared, now that he stood face to face with one of those responsible. “Yes. We watched. We all watched; you made us watch. But there will almost certainly be survivors there. If not in the underground portions of the city, in the surrounding areas, and my experts tell me they will be in danger from radioactive fallout-”

He stopped talking when Har-Bai smacked him across the snout, the Ferasan grimacing in contempt. “If there are survivors, then a slow, painful death is a fate they deserve, for standing up to their betters. You and your city, in comparison, have been smart and compliant... up until now, at least. But I’m willing to forgive and forget if you-”

Now it was his turn to stop talking, as P’Rarash roared and launched himself onto the Pridemaster, his bulky frame and surprise attack compensating for the Ferasan’s greater size and strength, as the Mayor of Shanos Major clamped his jaw around Har-Bai’s throat and tore away flesh, ignoring the bitter taste of the blood, ignoring the cacophony of the mob of Caitians sweeping over him as they attacked the rest of the Ferasans, some falling from disruptor fire, others taking their place as they poured over the Pack, clawing and literally ripping them to pieces, as the air filled with the cry, “WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!”

*

In the Capitol Building’s Operations Centre, Melem-Adu’s nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of the cleaning fluids from the buckets of the mop-wielding female servants nearby as he entered, striding up to his son. “Well? Presumably you have good reason to interrupt my sleep?”

Nusum-Adu turned to him, obviously smelling the scents of the Caitian females forced to join his father in bed that night, but not commenting on it. “Yes. There are a growing number of violent incidents against our forces throughout Cait.”

“Incidents?”

“Yes: random, impulsive attacks by civilians of all ages and sizes, using improvised weapons, or even just tooth and claw, occurring in both the major metropolitan centres and the smaller villages where we might have patrols. It’s not an organised attack as far as the analysts can determine, though the Caitian Cynet’s social media platform is being dominated by recordings made of these incidents as and when they occur.”

“What?” He looked up at the main viewscreen, seeing a world map of Cait, and the many white dots appearing... everywhere. “You told me their protests were ebbing away after we destroyed Shanos Minor!”

“They did!” Nusum-Adu insisted, absently waving away the cleaners who were drawing closer with their mops and buckets. “But it’s more like the shock of what they had witnessed is now beginning to wear off!”

“Oh dear,” noted a familiar, simpering voice behind the Ferasans. “It seems the Caitians are not going to be as compliant now as you had hoped, Master Governor.”

Melem-Adu spun in place, teeth bared as he faced Weylos, before storming towards him. “I have had it with you-”

Then he stopped – not because of the Jem’Hadar soldiers flanking the Vorta and raising their weapons to the Ferasan, but because of the Caitian cleaners, lifting up their buckets and drenching Melem-Adu and his son with the sharp, flammable contents, as one of them drew out an igniter and flung it at the Ferasans, screaming, “WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!”

Fire engulfed the Master Governor and his son.

*

Hrelle stepped into the Command Bay of the Island Facility, looking up at several screens displaying images from around Cait: Captain Mrorr on the Deep Keep, Mistress Nvell from the Kaetini’s current hidden base of operations; the computer-cloaked image of the leader of the cyberterrorist Syphers, who until now had been content to work strictly through Nvell or Nenjo; and Sasha and Biggles, still on the Tailless but almost at the Skycats’ Aerodrome at Pakui.

Hrelle put on his best Command Face, leaving behind all lingering doubt and apprehension about his suitability for the role to lead their people, their planet, out of Occupation. The time for hesitation and uncertainty had passed.

He stood in the centre of the Bay, facing them, speaking as much to them as to his own people. “Thank you all for attending, and your continued efforts in this War. The news about Shanos Minor has struck all of us, and I promise you, we will mourn the dead, and attend to the living. But not now. If we do not act now, there will surely be more cities that will suffer the same fate.

Now, let me brief you on Operation: Uproar...”

*

T’Varik entered the Bridge and took her seat, having seen off Weynik and confirmed that all wounded, evacuees and prisoners had been transported to the Samaritan, and the usual clean-up operations on the Surefoot were commencing. She lifted up her PADD and continued her more mundane duties.

Beside her, Murphy glanced in her direction. “So... nothing to report?”

She never looked back. “Yes: please schedule a meeting with Crewman Dellaport on his next duty shift, to discuss comments he has been overhead making regarding certain non-human members of the crew. And remind Chief Sakai that the performance reviews for his Engineering crew are overdue-”

“I’m pretty sure you know I’m talking about what we’re going to do regarding the Ferasans,” he chided, offering a slight smile.

Now she looked at him. “I have no more information on that subject than anyone else onboard, Commander. All I can comfortably assure you is that the news we are all awaiting can arrive at any time.”

“Sounds like it just an excuse for you and Weynik to get drunk together,” C’Rash muttered form behind them.

T’Varik turned and looked over her shoulder at her spouse. “I do not get intoxicated, Lieutenant. You will know better than anyone else when I do-”

Then a signal from the Ops station made the adjacent Bellator respond. “There’s a transmission from Admiral Tattok to the rest of the Fleet.”

T’Varik turned around again, casting aside her attempts at lightening the mood. If the Admiral was broadcasting to the entire Fleet, and not just the Surefoot... “Onscreen, Bellator.”

The starfield was replaced by the image of Tattok, his black beady eyes fixed ahead at the unseen crews under his command. “To the Captains and Crew of the Thirteenth Fleet: 147 years ago, the people and planet of Cait formally joined the United Federation of Planets. And since that time, we have been enriched by the Caitians’ presence and participation, especially in Starfleet. Time and again, their reputation for cooperation, for perception, for tenacity and loyalty and love of family, has been proven.

Some months ago, their ancestral enemies the Ferasans took advantage of our current vulnerability to launch a hideous and brutal attack on Cait, conquering it for the purposes of using the Caitians as breeding stock to save themselves from extinction. And, to our shame, circumstances have prevented us from coming to their aid.

Until now.

As we pause in our continued battle in the Betazed Sector, I am leading a task force of Fleet vessels not undergoing repair to the Caitian Sector. In addition to my flagship the Triton, the following vessels will accompany us: the Ajax, the Essex, the Featherwind, the Minotaur, the Thunderbolt, the Redemption... and the Surefoot. Orders are being transmitted to each ship as I speak.

We leave with immediate effect. This atrocity in our own territory will no longer stand.”

The transmission ended.

Cheers erupted on the Bridge.

T’Varik rose to her feet, allowing her crew to indulge... and illogically desiring to join in. Instead she waited for the celebration to die down before finally speaking up. “You heard the Admiral, Mr Arrington. Plot a course for the Caitian system.

Our family needs us...”

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN... UPROAR