Chapter 11: Uproar

 

“USS Surefoot-A, Chief of Security’s Personal Log, Stardate 57375.28, Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, Recording: We, and a task force made up of the Thirteen Fleet’s most capable starships, are heading to the Caitian Sector to take on the rat-tailed Ferasans who have attacked my planet.

And about ****ing time.”

*

Gymnasium/Training Room, Deck 3 Fore:

C’Rash stood before the assembled crew, her eyes always darting back to the chronometer on the wall, despite the sheer naked futility of it having any effect on their getting to where she wanted to go any sooner. They were still many, many hours away even at high warp, and repeatedly looking at the clock wouldn’t have any effect on that. She may as well focus on the immediate task at hand.

The ebony-furred female cleared her throat, letting her tail, swishing impatiently behind her, to do all the fidgeting for her as she raised her voice to the group. “During what will inevitably be combat with the Ferasans in the Caitian sector, the possibility exists that, given their warrior ethos, some may board in order to seek personal combat. Because of this, Captain T’Varik has asked me to go through a few moves you might need if you come face to face with one. But first, let’s warm up. Standard Routine, on my mark.”

She adopted a pose copied by those facing her, letting her body work on muscle memory of a thousand previous warm-up sessions, while her eyes, ears and nose scanned the group who copied her, studying them, getting a sense of which of them would actually be useful in a fight, which had potential, and which would be as useless as a toothless fur comb.

Not that she was genuinely critical – they might have all received at least the minimum of training in unarmed combat, but not everyone could be natural fighters, nor should they expected to be – but in her role, C’Rash needed to know who she could count on outside of her own Security team if things got tasty.

Many of them she knew and trusted already: veterans like Nurse Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, Giles Arrington, Engineering Petty Officer Arid Maf. And the younger, former cadets like Zir Dassene, Peter Boone and Tori Emoto, who had been bloodied by the Cardassians and Jem’Hadar in the Battle of Khavak, were dependable too.

It was these new recruits she was wary of. With Starfleet Academy temporarily stopping any further cadets working and studying in space, and with Starfleet Enlisted Training time cut in half to get more replacements for those fallen in battle, beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers with regards to who was assigned.

Not that these six were all bad. Yes, the humans Valentine Dellaport and Alison Pagan seemed soft, with Dellaport further hampered by some stick up his ass about anyone not Terran, and the Aquan female Hylore Waro moved like she was afraid she would accidentally puncture the environmental suit she constantly wore, and that all the water she carried within would leak out.

But the grey-skinned Malurian female Malala Jain, though small, was fast and enthusiastic enough and a quick learner, and Kevin O’Reilly, the Gorn male raised from a hatchling by human foster parents – Mother’s Cubs, she never expected to meet a Gorn named Kevin – looked strong and tough, but his actual demeanour was far more easy-going and pacific than one might expect from initial impressions.

And as for the Paladel male, Gyver Timbrel, a black-skinned, black-maned, long-muzzled equinoid, whose race joined the Federation quicker than C’Rash changed underwear? If anything, he was the opposite of Kevin: beneath his unassuming mien lay an obvious level of combat training that, for whatever personal reasons, he chose to keep to himself. Keep your secrets, Mr Timbrel. I have better things to worry about.

She twisted her neck around to work out the cricks as she reached for the holopad controls. “Now, onto the Ferasans themselves.” She conjured a holographic image of a grey-furred Ferasan male in body armour on the adjacent holopad, letting her jaw tighten at the sight of him, despite having created the image herself and tested it numerous times. “For those not in the know, Caitians originally came from Ferasa, but a faction fled when a group of Ferasans genetically Augmented themselves and took over, instituting a brutal eugenics program.

And as you can see, in comparison to myself and other Caitians he’s taller, with superior strength and speed, and in addition to claws they sport sabreteeth and a thinner, furless tail. If you just accept the word of their propaganda machine, they are invincible. Well, if you believe that, check out my page on the ship’s Message Board, I’m selling Starbase One... all reasonable offers considered.”

As titters ran through the group, she drew closer to the hologram, pointing here and there as she orbited slowly around it. “But they’re not. With their concentrated musculature comes liabilities: decreased flexibility around the neck and shoulders, and nerve clusters on the outer ends of the knees and elbows. In addition, their heightened sense acuity can be used against them: high-pitched noise, flashbeams-”

From the group, one of the Support Crew – the human male Dellaport – muttered, “Ball of string?”

C’Rash spun in place and stormed right up to him, teeth and claws bared, tail snapping behind her as she got into his face. He was a typically young, slim, pale-skinned narrow-jawed cub with truculent tawny hair... and his scent was now tinted with shock as she hissed, “Say that again.”

He trembled in place, swallowing as he stammered, “M-Ma’am?”

“Say that to my face, Crewman. Go on. I dare you.”

From the corners of her eyes, she saw the crewman flanking either side of him shift, ever so slightly, away from him. Dellaport swallowed again, wanting to look away but unable to. “I-I didn’t-”

“Yes you did, you lying little kussik,” she growled, nostrils flaring, feeling her rage boil up, and for once doing nothing to put a lid on it. “The Rat-tails are slaughtering my people in the hundreds of thousands! You think it’s a joke, do you? Do you? You think-”

“Lieutenant?”

C’Rash’s head snapped up as she watched Giles Arrington step forward. “What?”

The human, who was just a few years older than Dellaport but light years ahead of him in maturity, faced her. “I was just recalling the time a few years back when Eydiir, Kit and I had fought a Ferasan Pride on one of their own ships in order to rescue Captain Hrelle. I thought perhaps we could put in our own two credits’ worth on the subject?”

And give me a chance to calm down, C’Rash told herself, and not face a court martial for chewing out a subordinate. Literally. Thanks, Cub. “Good idea, Mr Arrington. Maybe you, Kit and Nurse Eydiir can demonstrate some of those moves on a live rather than a holographic opponent? Do we have any volunteers?” She nodded to Dellaport. “You, Crewman? Well done.”

She indulged in a heartbeat of satisfaction at the young crewman’s reaction, before her combadge chirped, and T’Varik’s voice requested, “Lt Shall, please report to the Captain’s Ready Room.”

She smacked her combadge. “I’m on my way.”

*

C’Rash caught the scent of the others in the room – Commander Murphy, Lt Bellator, the young Caitian Petty Officer C’Ria Ctuuri – almost as quickly saw it matched what she found in their faces. Especially Ctuuri; the cub looked as if he had been flung off a precipice.

Her spouse T’Varik, sitting behind her desk, rose to her feet and looked to the others, her voice low, and laced with emotion. “Thank you. If you could leave us, please?”

The three officers rose as well, filing out of the side door onto the Bridge. T’Varik walked around to draw closer; C’Rash opened up her senses, trying to tap into the psychic marital rapport they shared... only to find the Vulcan had raised her mental shields, something which to C’Rash usually indicated her partner making an extra effort to regain emotional balance. “What’s happened?”

T’Varik breathed in, her skin flushed. “We intercepted a coded transmission from the Caitian system to Ferasa: an update from Melem-Adu, the Pridemaster placed in charge of the Occupation. Lt Bellator successfully decrypted it and confirmed the authenticity of the visual recording included with it.

In retaliation for an attempted missile attack on the Capitol Building in First City, the Ferasans detonated a nuclear device in the city of Shanos Minor. The... explosive yield of the device was enough to sweep through the metropolitan area. It is estimated that 3.2 million Caitians resident in the city were killed.”

C’Rash blinked, waiting. Waiting to be told that it was all some ghastly error. Waiting to learn it was just some terrible attempt at a joke by her Beloved. Waiting for the tell-tale signs that this was all some nightmare. Waiting for anything.

No escape was forthcoming. “They- They destroyed a city?”

T’Varik stepped closer, and then C’Rash could feel the Vulcan open up her mind, and refresh their link, even as the news overwhelmed her. The Ferasans used a nuclear bomb on Cait? They wiped out a whole city of innocent males, females? Cubs? It was... it was too much... too much to take in...

Beloved... let me in... let me calm you...

C’Rash snapped back. “NO! I don’t want you to calm me!”

The Vulcan reached out. “It’s okay-”

“NO IT’S NOT!” She spun around, picked up a chair and flung it against the wall, watching it strike and drop to the carpet, tumbling away. Claws extended, she paced around, as if looking for something to kill. “It’s not okay! Millions of my people are dead! Wiped out by some horrible weapon! And if we hadn’t been wasting our time and resources around Betazed all these months, then maybe we could have helped my world before the Rat-tails killed everyone in Shanos Minor! And all the others before them!”

She stopped, facing her spouse, eyes wide, breath quickened. “How- How in the Seven Hells can I – how can any of us? – face my people now? How can we justify not coming sooner?”

T’Varik regarded her. “C’Rash... I could keep reminding you of our strategic priorities and limited resources, of our obligation to follow orders and our wider responsibilities to the Federation... but I fear that will be of little comfort to the Caitian people. It is certainly of little comfort to us. And no amount of attempted justification, to ourselves or to others, will assuage that guilt.”

C’Rash felt the tears of shock, of grief and guilt and anguish, stream down unchecked on either side of her muzzle. “We- We should have known-”

“We could never have known,” T’Varik told her gently, finally embracing her, body and mind, her voice a whisper. “We are not omniscient. But we are on our way now, to end this, once and for all.”

The Caitian felt the emotion haemorrhage from her, felt her beloved hold her together, body and mind.

Please: Esek, Kami, Sasha, Misha, Sreen, all of you... please still be alive.

She wasn’t sure if that thought was hers, or T’Varik’s, or if it even mattered at this point.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

Master Governor Melem-Adu ignored the pain. He ignored the smell of his own burned flesh. He ignored the bleating of subordinates around him. He ignored everything but the image of his son, his last surviving son, lying on a biobed wrapped in regenerative gauze, looking like some mummified figure.

Nusum-Adu had taken the brunt of the Caitians’ cowardly attack in the Command Centre, had suffered horrible burns. But he would survive. He was Melem-Adu’s offspring. He was strong. He was young and he was strong. And someday he would succeed his father, and rule over this new colony of the Patriarchy.

And he would make these Caitian scum pay. In blood-

“Master Governor?” It was Bikku-Lum, his Pride’s Chief Physician, a grey-furred bag of bones that Melem-Adu never gave two shits about... until now. “We should see to your wounds as well-”

“Later. When will you get my son back on his feet?”

Bikku-Lim blanched. “Master Governor- his injuries- they’re extensive- I must be honest, his chances of survival are slim-”

Melem-Adu shot a paw out, clasping around the older male’s throat, slamming him into the nearest wall as he spat, “If he dies, I promise you and your sons will follow. Slowly, and very, very painfully.” He released his grip, letting his own pain galvanise him as he added, “I trust you’ll take what I say seriously.”

He turned and departed, never looking back, needing to return to the thick of it and re-establish his dominance. If the other Pridemasters thought that he become weak, lost control, then they would quickly jockey to try and take over... and then what little command they had of Cait would fall apart.

He triggered startled looks from those who remained in the Operations Room cleaning up from the attack; the blood of the three Caitian terrorists still stained the floor and the air. But he ignored them to focus on the aliens in the room: the Vorta Welros and his Jem’Hadar guards, the former standing there with his default simpering expression. “Your men shot down the Caitian scum who assaulted us. Thank you for your assistance. You may leave now.”

Welros held out his hands generously. “We were happy to have offered some small service to you, Master Governor... but are you sure our leaving would be wise? Your own security protocols here do not seem up to the task of protecting you or your offspring.”

The Ferasan bared his teeth, feeling his burnt skin tighten from the effort. Soon, very soon, you and your mass-bred militia will be on my dinner table, filling my belly. “Watch and learn, then.” He turned to face his hesitant kin, pointing to one. “You! Har-User, my brother’s second son! You are my son’s Chief Aide; you will serve me directly now.”

The young slate-furred male drew up formally. “Sire, all our thoughts are directed to the swift recovery of Nusum-Adu and his return to-”

“Your thoughts should be directed towards the success of our work here!” Melem-Adu spat. “I want the building cleared of all Caitians and I want the entrances sealed! We will transport in Ferasans as auxiliary staff from the Dominus Prideships and wherever else they can be spared! And order a planet-wide curfew, effective immediately! All businesses are to be shut down except those serving our needs! Any Caitian outside and not on official business will be subject to summary execution!”

Har-User blanched. “Sire... how will... how will the Caitians obtain food? Seek medical attention when required-”

“That is something they should have thought about before defying my will! And when you’re done with all that, contact Pridemaster Tasak-Sil of the Steel Crown Pride. We will need more of what they have already supplied us. Many more.”

The younger male began to question that, until Melem-Adu saw the comprehension on his expression.

The Steel Crown Pride, master engineers, built the nuclear device that destroyed Shanos Minor.

*

Command Bay, Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

Hrelle looked up at several screens displaying images from around Cait: Captain Mrorr on the Deep Keep, Mistress Nvell from the Kaetinis’ current base of operations, wherever that was; 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 Captain 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, but speaking as much to the people around him. “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.

So, let me brief you on Operation: Uproar...” At a nod to Nenjo, sitting nearby, a global holomap appeared on all their screens, with animations as Hrelle continued to address them. “Here is a tactical overview of the Occupation Forces on Cait.

We have Ferasan Slithus-class Warships, which took out the Planetary Navy, and the larger Dominus-class Prideships, which serve as mobile bases for the Prides, carrying their supplies... along with the metreon bombs which destroyed our planetside Militia bases. In addition, there are the Jem’Hadar Scarab attack ships, though these have kept their involvement in the Occupation to a minimum.”

The holomap zoomed in on the Western Hemisphere, where dots popped up in small clusters. “The Ferasans have also set up ground base installations chiefly in the more temperate areas of the Hria, Mrell and Bahru Provinces; these spots are heavily armed, fortified, with facilities for billeting, supply, repair and maintenance of their ground and air vehicles, all of them equipped with weaponry that can overcome any civilian weapons we have left on Cait.”

The holomap shifted to the Eastern Hemisphere, with its own clusters of dots. “Meanwhile, the Ferasans have chosen to build their prisoner and experimentation camps in the more remote, less-habited regions of the Ravath, Nashea and Halase Provinces. In contrast to the Ferasan military bases, the majority of Ferasans here are medical and research staff, relying on their isolated locations to maintain security.

In addition, the Ferasans set up their Global Transporter Network, allowing them to move large numbers of their people and equipment to any point on Cait, either to provide reinforcements or evacuation. And everything is controlled and monitored at the Capitol Building in First City by the Master Governor and his staff, who have erected shields and have instituted a lockdown of the facilities. It is because of these that they have held dominion over us.

That dominion ends today.” He looked up at the first screen. “Captain Mrorr: what is your current status?”

The female Caitian looked to have aged a decade since he last saw her. “We running underwater, moving eastward through the trenches; we’re currently in the Strait of Grieve, 420 leagues west by southeast of Shanos Major.” She paused, swallowing. “Captain, I can assure you that my First Officer and Chief Engineer acted of their own volition in the attempted attack on the Capitol-”

“I believe you, Captain Mrorr,” Hrelle interrupted her hurriedly. “But we need to move on. Speaking of which,” He paused and tapped some commands into the station before him. “How long will it take you to get to the coordinates I’ve just sent you?”

She paused and glanced down. “At maximum safe velocity underwater, 5.5 hours. Why?”

“Please give the order to proceed with immediate effect, and I’ll explain along the way. Mistress Nvell, what’s the status of your Kaetini operatives?”

On the second screen, the elderly female leaned back in her chair. “We’ve lost contact with those who were in Shanos Minor, of course... but we remain connected with the rest of us around the world. Many want to know what they’re going to do now... what we’re going to do now.”

“I know. And I’m going to tell you. And they’re going to need the help of any local Constabulary, anyone really, willing to join them.” He looked to distorted image on the third screen. “We haven’t spoken before now. What can I call you?”

“Address me as Nimeni, Captain.”

Hrelle grunted – ‘Nimeni’, meaning ‘Nobody’ in Old Caitian – as he continued. “Nimeni, Agent Nenjo has sent you all available intelligence on the Ferasan and Dominion networks. How successful have you been in accessing the respective infrastructures?”

“We’ve had... limited success, Captain; the Occupational Headquarters is on Full Lockdown now following the missile attack, preventing any outside intrusion. And the Dominion systems are too alien, too isolated from ours, and more than once, they’ve managed to backtrack us, almost catching us. If we could get onboard one of their ships, maybe, but-”

“Three years ago,” Hrelle interrupted. “The Syphers accessed the Caitian Outer Perimeter Network in order to assist in a Ferengi theft of pergium from our colony on Azure Aura.”

The image on the screen wavered. “Nothing was proven, Captain- why are you dredging up some past crime at a time like this?”

“Because if it did happen, then you might be able to access it again... and fake a Starfleet invasion, one that will send the Ferasans and Jem’Hadar now in orbit around Cait out to confront them.”

Nimeni’s facade seemed to freeze, before he or she finally responded. “I’m not saying that the Syphers have ever engaged in any criminal activity, Captain... but we can do what you ask.”

Hrelle grunted at that. Most Caitians who knew about the Syphers dismissed them as publicity-seeking pranksters: anti-authoritarian anarchists, probably University students. He knew of their more overtly criminal acts... and of the leeway they’ve been given by the Caitian Secret Service, in return for the use of their specialised talents. “My people are sending you appropriate technical data to help support the illusion – be ready for the signal. It needs to be convincing, but elusive enough to fool any Enemy vessels that might be patrolling on the outer skirts of the system.”

Now he turned to the screen displaying Sasha and Biggles. “Captain, Lieutenant, what’s the status of the Skycats’ Squadron?”

Sasha looked to Biggles and nodded, allowing the older male to answer. “The weapons you provided have been mounted and tested, Captain. We’re good to go; we just need a target.”

“We all do,” Mrorr added.

Hrelle offered a slight smile. “And you’ll all have one... as I’ll explain now.

When the Syphers fake the invasion, I expect to see a substantial number of Enemy ships deployed to the outer edges of the system. There’s no guarantee of an exact number, but they’ll want to make an ostentatious display of power, as well as jockey for a chance at gaining glory by destroying a Starfleet vessel.

By the time they’re distant enough to realise they’ve been duped, the Skycats will be flying low, in tight formation and shielded from sensors by the Prowl unit on Lt Hrelle’s flyer the Tailless, north by northwest over Pakui and Hsova towards Ravath, and this camp.”

He called up a satellite image of a fortification dominated within by a circular structure. “This is Navron, the largest of the prisoner camps with almost eight thousand captives. It was constructed around the Caitian Weather Modification Station already on location; because of the sophisticated global network already in place at the Station, the Ferasans co-opted it for their Transporter system.”

“The Deep Keep could take that out with one of our missiles, Captain,” Mrorr reminded him.

“Yes, Captain... and potentially kill thousands of our people held in Navron. And I want the facility kept intact, not just because of its environmental importance, but its links to the main Ferasan network.

The Skycats’ Aerofighters and the Tailless, on the other paw, are specialised vehicles, and can fly in and perform a surgical strike against the facility, taking down the Transporter system and giving the Syphers that access to the Enemy’s network... and shut it all down.”

He focused on Sasha and Biggles again. “Captain, Lieutenant Hrelle will be in overall command of your mission; this is not a reflection on your own rank, but on her specific experience.”

Biggles smiled and nodded. “Understood, Captain. I have witnessed the esteemed Lieutenant in action. We have complete faith in her.”

Hrelle nodded back, looking to Sasha. “Think you can handle it?”

“Does a chicken have a pecker?”

Hrelle smiled and looked back at Nvell. “When the Transporter Network is disabled, the Ferasans scattered in individuals or small numbers throughout Cait will be vulnerable, unable to escape or send for help. I need as many Kaetini and civilians to find their local Ferasans... and be ready to take advantage of the situation.”

The Kaetini Mistress nodded soberly. “There has been a growing number of incidents, attacks and even riots throughout the cities and towns. We’re already trying to assist, getting the wounded and vulnerable to safety, but it’s keeping the Ferasans on alert.”

Hrelle nodded, aware of the continuing unrest. “My wife calls it a Pandemic of Rage, a collective reaction to Shanos Minor. It won’t make your jobs any easier, I know.”

The elderly female regarded him... but then bared her teeth. “We’ll take care of things, Big Balls. And the Rat-tails will find their jobs far more difficult than we will.”

Hrelle turned back to Mrorr. “Captain: the Deep Keep is the last surviving military force on Cait. You have missiles, helijets, dropships, groundcars, mobile infantry and troops. At the appointed time you’ll surface from under the water to launch a simultaneous missile attack on every military base in the Western Hemisphere, while employing your equipment and troops to mop up the survivors. You have the intelligence we sent you; you choose how to deploy your people.”

Mrorr frowned, seeing her expression, and her reply confirmed her concerns. “You’re stretching us out pretty damn thin, Captain.”

He knew that; they were alone, taking on a superior force. But there was no choice. “I know. But we’re all going to be in the same proverbial boat.”

“Will we? What will you be doing, Hrelle?” Nimeni asked. “Sitting there sipping Rula Punch while the rest of us deal with the Rat-tails?”

“Excuse me?” Sasha interjected angrily. “My Dad’s been doing more than the rest of us combined to fight these bastards, you little prick!”

Hrelle raised a paw to cut them off. “When the Enemy realises that the Starfleet invasion is faked, they’ll be coming back. By then I’m hoping that their planetbound forces and networks will be disabled by all of your efforts... and that I will have infiltrated the Capitol to capture or kill Master Governor Melem-Adu.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Nvell asked. “They’re on Lockdown now.”

“Our prisoner, Valtiri, the Ferasan’s Hunter Prime, will get me in, pretending to have captured me. They won’t refuse him entry, especially if he offers the Master Governor my hide for a public execution. And I have a few other surprises on paw for them as well.”

Nvell’s face creased with anger. “You’ve left the Ferasan assassin alive? You do remember he killed three Kaetini! Murdered them in cold blood!”

Hrelle nodded in agreement. “And then he surrendered, without a fight. And spared my life, and helped me save Sasha’s and Lt Mori’s lives.”

“What would make a Ferasan turn against his own people?“ Mrorr asked.

“Being a telepath, and being close enough to Shanos Minor to hear and feel the death screams of over three million Caitian minds. My wife has interrogated him thoroughly. Psychologically, Valtiri had never held much loyalty to his own people to begin with, never bought into their propaganda; what happened in Shanos Minor has apparently made him mentally sever all connections with the Ferasans.”

He looked back at Nvell. “I understand your anger, Mistress. But we need him on our side; his telepathy, authority and fighting skills will aid Agent Nenjo and me in assuming control of the Capitol, and ordering the remaining forces to stand down. We can decide Valtiri’s fate later.”

He stepped back, looking across at them all. “Zero Hour is creeping up fast, and I have a date to cut off the Master Governor’s head. I’ll be in touch with each of you individually before then. Good luck to all of you.”

“Good luck to all of us,” Nvell amended.

*

Tailless, Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Province:

Sasha could taste the hot dry desert even inside the controlled environment of her flyer, and decided not to keep looking up at the aerofighters in the open hangar, now equipped with modern weapons... but which still looked to her like they could barely get off the ground. What her father was thinking giving the Skycats such a prominent role in Operation: Uproar... Oy, what he was thinking giving her command of such a prominent role...

Instead she focused on the plethora of details to the operation that may have no significance... or which may be the key to winning this damned War-

“Sasha?”

She glanced up distractedly from her seat. “Mru, come closer and look at this, would you? The base of the antenna array at the Navron Weather Station- is that shielding from energy weapons? Something the Ferasans added when they took over?”

The Caitian male drew up to her, leaning in and peering with his bronze eyes. “No, it’s shielding from solar activity. The flares get pretty heavy every 14-16 years, which can also affect natural weather patterns-” Then he glanced at her, smiling. “You just wanted me closer so you can sniff me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Then she buried her nose into the furred nape of his neck above his Starfleet uniform collar, giving him a nip before drawing back. “Has Ensign Osha finished the modifications to the controls on the fighters?”

“Yes. Now she’s free to gush over her heroes, though they’re busy readying their wills, preparing final messages for family-”

She made a sound, returning to her work legitimately. “At their age, you’d think they’d have all that prepared long ago.”

“Oh? And have you prepared for yourself?”

She keyed up a pattern analysis of the Prowl’s cloaking field required to cover the flyer and the five Aerofighters. “I’ve set all that up a long time ago, after I died the first time.”

Mori looked to her. “What? The first time? How many times have you died?”

Sasha felt her skin flush a little, and her stomach churned like a cub restless to get playing. “Two, confirmed. Maybe three, but I think more. Sometimes I’m sure I got close, but it was never medically verified.”

“Mother’s Cubs... why didn’t you mention any of this before?”

“It doesn’t make for great pillow talk or casual conversation, Stud.”

He breathed out. “How do you... how do you just go on, with all that hanging over your head? With the idea that you can die again, and this time maybe not-” He stopped himself.

She finished it. “-With maybe not coming back?” She entered a few tentative changes to the pattern, testing for a greater efficiency. “There’s an wise old Earth saying: ‘Get busy living, or get busy dying’. After everything I’ve gone through, I’ve decided not to waste time pondering it, or questioning the course my life is taking. I do good. Doing good takes risks. Risk is our Business, as Kirk used to say.”

She checked her chroniker, then rose, setting aside the belt and scabbard containing her Kaetini sword, rescued from Mithrim Valley before their return to the Island. “Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

*

In the Aerodrome’s Main Building, Biggles sat behind the desk, clearing his throat for the fifteenth time, before finally opening the channel again, waiting, wondering if it would be better not to make a connection, just to leave a message-

A young, blonde-furred male appeared onscreen, looking startled. “Dad?”

Biggles’ heart raced at the image of his son. “Hello, Illyan. Sorry, I know it’s early there in Everwell, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Illyan recovered. “Oh, uh, no, Dad, you didn’t.”

His father frowned at the sounds he could hear in the background. “Are you outside? Who’s that with you? What about the curfew? You promised to stay out of trouble!”

His son smiled. “I am, Dad, I promise; we’re in the atrium of the University Dorms, out of sight. Studying under the moonslight.”

Biggles smiled back. “‘Studying’, eh? Be sure to eat something to minimise the studying hangover in the morning.” He dropped his smile. “Is everyone safe there? Is there enough food, supplies? You’re not being harassed by the Ferasans?”

“No, of course, it’s very quiet here. Dad, are you okay? Why did you call?”

He almost responded with the truth... until he remembered the warnings about revealing intelligence across open channels like this, as opposed to the more secure lines with Captain Hrelle and the Island. Damn it... still, this might ultimately be for the best. He offered a smile. “Oh, no reason really, just your Old Dad being maudlin, thinking about when you were still a tail-high cub, sitting with me in the cockpit, learning to fly.

Illyan, I... I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. Of the remarkable young male you’ve become, who will go on to do wonderful, wonderful things. And if your mother was still alive, she would feel the same.”

His son leaned closer into the viewscreen. “Dad... are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. I’ve just been feeling a little tethered here, grounded and all, what with the Skycat Air Shows being cancelled.” He reached up with his paw and touched the screen. “I love you, Son.”

Illyan smiled back. “I love you too, Dad. And I promise I’ll come up to visit when this Occupation is over, and show you my latest Project.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Take care, son.”

“You too, Dad.”

*

Everwell Museum, Halase Province:

“You too, Dad.” Illyan Biggleshen closed the channel and put away the pocket comm.

Nearby, his friends crouched in the alley, Maris muttering, “Are you quite done now talking with Daddy?”

Illyan straightened the flight controls on his gloves, fighting down his growing anxiety. “Only if you’re quite done being a vexing little boil on the base of my tail.” He looked up at the distant sound of a crashing wall. “What’s that?”

C’Nasha, closest to the opening of the alley, clutched her plasma rifle as she peered out. “The Fleabags have brought down the wall. They’re rushing in now to see for themselves.”

Despite his fears, Illyan indulged in a smirk, glad the Ferasans took the bait with the false story his little group of troublemakers planted about the crates of gold-pressed latinum hidden in Everwell’s Museum. He rechecked the power feeds to the harness strapped to his vest. “Pity we didn’t have time to booby-trap the crates. Still, we can do them some damage, eh?”

“If you don’t plummet to the ground and blow us all up,” Merl noted.

Illyan ignored him, turning to the last member of their band. “Hnoi?”

The ashen-furred female frowned at her PADD display. “Coordinating... they’re not sending out any transmissions... evidently this little field trip of theirs is being done on the QT... I’m setting up the jamming frequencies.”

Illyan smiled more broadly now. If the Ferasans had any sense in their skulls, they would never have let a group of brilliant freedom-loving Engineering students remain together; the Troublemakers had used their wits and resources to cause as much disruption as possible, tricking and trapping the Enemy. And now, after Shanos Minor, the stakes had risen considerably.

“Are you sure about that damned thing, Illyan?” Merl asked, for what seemed the thousand time.

Illyan looked to his white-furred lover. Merl Rrori was born of high stock, his clan prominent back in the Mrestir Province. His older brother Meow had been in Starfleet, and died in battle over a year ago, and though Merl had been eager to sign up and avenge his death, his mother and Matriarch had insisted on his at least finishing his Engineering degree at Everwell before even considering such an action – though Illyan suspected it was just as likely they were simply doing everything in their power to keep him out of danger. Now, however, the Ferasans had literally brought the danger to the Motherworld.

“Yes,” he replied finally... refusing to speak of his fears aloud. Yes, all the simulations he had run checked out, but he knew from experience growing up working on his Dad’s aircraft that simulations could not fully replace practical tests.

But it surely couldn’t be any more risk than what the rest of the Troublemakers were doing. He just had to keep it from his father, who would just worry about him needlessly-

“Wait,” Hnoi suddenly announced. “I think they’ve opened up one of the crates! They’ll know it’s a trap!”

Illyan pushed aside further thoughts, reached up and slipped his goggles over his eyes. “Time to Fly.”

“Assuming you don’t just blow up where you stand,” Merl corrected.

“I’m expecting an apology shag from you when we get back to the Dorms. Good luck everyone.” He stepped back from the others, straightened up, and activated his glove controls... hoping his boyfriend wasn’t right for once. He didn’t have time or opportunity to properly test this rig he had built-

Seconds later, he was propelled like a rocket up into the air with a silent whoosh, the miniature antigrav units on his harness reducing his weight and letting the main quaratum-powered thrusters jets do the rest. He gasped, not expecting to ascend so quickly, but he forced down his shock and let his instincts, and a cubhood growing up learning not to fear heights or flying from his father, do the rest.

Bloody Hell, it... it was exhilerating!

At least his tail, sheathed in the same fireproof material as the rest of his worksuit, won’t get burned off.

He adjusted his flight, finding his simple guidance and control system better than expected as he took a wide arc over the Ferasan shuttle parked outside of the Museum, as he drew his own plasma pistol from its holster on his hip, aimed and fired downward, repeatedly, not caring if he hit any of the Ferasan pack below... just wanting to draw their attention overhead.

And he did, disruptor bolts flying upwards like angry birds. He dove and swooped, avoiding the wild shots, suddenly exhilarated, knowing better than ever now how his father felt whenever his flew his Aerofighter. Oh Dad, I’m glad you’re safe and out of the way of the War down in Pakui... because I’ll have some stories to tell you when all this is over...

*

Tailless, Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Province:

Biggles emerged from his quarters, finding the rest of his Squadron, his dear friends, together, Bertti noting, “So you finally managed it. Good lad.”

“You remembered the public lines are monitored?” Alje reminded him tensely.

“Of course, I said nothing, treated it like a normal call.” He spied the tray of glasses and bottle on a tray carried by Jinjer. “The Venimia? You got our best bubbly out?”

“It seemed appropriate for the occasion.” Smithi picked up the bottle and popped out the cork, nodding. “Bottled in 1024; I am told it was an exquisite year.” He poured the dark contents into each of the glasses.

Jinjer made a sound. “Not so sure about this. We’re flying, after all. We might need our wits about us.” Still, he accepted a glass for himself as he set the tray and bottle aside.

“Those with wits, that is,” Smithi quipped.

“It’s wine, not Still Hooch.” Biggles stared into the contents of his own glass, before looking up again at the circle of people who have become his family. He had a million, million things to say to them all. Instead, he raised his glass. “‘Live Fast, Fight Well, and Have a Beautiful Ending’.”

They mirrored him.

*

Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

Hrelle couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Valtiri, even as he tried to focus on his family as they said their goodbyes and good lucks to him. But the Ferasan stood apart from them, staring out through the jungle toward a family of gigantic Megalons, the sauropods munching on some leaves from an opalaleaf tree, or feeding them to their smaller offspring... as Agent Nenjo kept an eye on Valtiri, one paw always near her blaster holster.

“Hey,” Kami prompted him, drawing him into a tight embrace, rubbing the side of her muzzle against his. “You stay safe.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

He felt her sigh, in that way that told him instantly that she thought he was off-course about something. Again. Her murmur in his ear confirmed this. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about Valtiri.”

Then Misha came up, leaping into his father’s arms. “I come with you, Papa! I fight the Fearies!”

Hrelle hugged his son tightly. “Thanks, Warrior Prince, but we all have our orders. You’ve been assigned to protect the family here.” Then he set him down again and embrace Bneea and Mi’Tree, the latter passing Sreen over to her mother to do so. “Watch the family.”

The two older males nodded, Bneea adding, “Come back safe and soon, Kin-Son.”

Hrelle nodded, motioning to Nenjo to escort Valtiri back. Hrelle sensed the tension rising within his family at the Ferasan’s approach... the tension increasing as Kami deliberately strode up to the Hunter Prime, infant in her arms. “Please watch over my husband, Mr Valtiri.”

He straightened up, keeping deliberately composed and non-threatening, clearly aware of the surrounding aggression. He didn’t even try to wave away the insects buzzing around all of them. “I give you my word, Milady: I will protect his life over my own.”

“I believe you,” she declared, with deliberate clarity for the others. Then she held up Sreen. “Would you like to hold her for a moment?”

“What?” Mi’Tree started to protest and step forward, but Bneea took him by the elbow and held him back. Hrelle tensed, aware of what his wife was doing to further demonstrate her own trust in the Hunter Prime... but Hrelle was also aware of how his paw tightened around the hilt of the black Kaetini blade at his side.

Valtiri glanced at the males, before carefully accepting Sreen... who did not hiss or protest, as Hrelle had seen her do with threats in the past, but instead babbled up at him, pointing with her stubby finger, “Gabba dee capodo hawt feesh food Papa donnaboo!”

He gently cradled the tiny bundle, looking down at her, frowning slightly and nodding. “Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll tell them.” He looked up, handing Sreen back. “She doesn’t have the words for it, but her memories are strong about what I believe is a spicy fish curry she had with her Papa when they were on a big boat recently. She is most demanding about having that again soon.”

Kami looked down quizzically at her daughter, then at Hrelle, who explained, “On the Free Fleet fishing trawler we were hiding out on, we had pureed curried scybdils.” At her reproving reaction, he clarified, “It wasn’t that spicy, just a little alurica added. Maybe a bit of icregrass as well.”

“Hmph.”

Then Valtiri looked to Misha. “I know you.”

Misha scowled up at him, arms crossed. “You Fearie! You bad man! You watch yourself, Mister, or Papa will beat you up!”

“Misha,” Bneea warned, looking warily at the Ferasan.

But Valtiri nodded to Misha. “I will watch myself, Young Cub. I met your teacher in Mnara Province, Ms Praow. She hopes you’ll come back to school when this is over and be one of her Student Helpers.”

The mention of his teacher startled the cub, but Valtiri stepped back and looked to Kami once more. “My Pilot, down in your cells... I ask that you protect him until he faces whatever legal process you put in place for us.”

“I assured you he’d be safe.”

“Perhaps. But you haven’t felt the anger of the people here.”

“And do you blame them?” Mi’Tree demanded. “After all your misbegotten kind have done to us? You deserve everything you have coming to you!”

“Papa...” Kami cautioned.

The Hunter Prime drew up. “Condemn us for what we do, Mr Shall... not what we are.”

“We have to go,” Hrelle announced, needing to cut this off. “Zero Hour is almost upon us, and we have a schedule to keep.”

*

Several levels below, a group of Caitian refugees were assembled in one of the meeting rooms, most of them connected, physically or emotionally, to Shanos Minor, trying to offer each other information, or at least comfort.

Mreia Furore sat with her son Shau, seeking both, and finding little of either. The city had been her home since she was a cub. Her friends and colleagues at the law firm, her neighbours in the apartment building, her clients, her opponents in court, the couple who ran the corner coffee shop she always visited on her way to work, her doctor, the lazy bastard engineer who delayed fixing her home replicator until she threatened legal action, the plethora of strangers who filled in the spaces in the sea of lives in their city and who she now would never know.

Like everyone else here, she was still coming to terms with what happened... especially her son, who still acted as if he was sedated from when his father rescued them both, literally moments before the Shanos Minor Bomb.

Still, he seemed to be paying attention to Jhess, who stood before them, using his psychological training to offer coping mechanisms. “We’re now in the midst of collective grief, which happens when a community, society, village, or planet all experience a shared extreme change or loss. And like individual grief, there is a feeling of lack of control that comes with collective grief. We feel unable to prevent the loss or change, and we feel powerless in its wake.”

Mreia listened to him, her feelings for him from long ago, before they separated after he returned from the last War, still there. His warmth, his compassion and empathy... all the things she had fallen in love with years before... were still there.

And his strength, his ferocity... all the things she had rejected in him... had helped save Shau’s and her life.

“And not only do we experience this collective grief,” Jhess continued. “But we can also feel what is known as anticipatory grief as the crisis continues on. Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get when we are, in a way, pre-emptively mourning and grieving. We see the loss around us, and we see that the problems have not been fixed, so we know more is coming down the line.

And when whole communities start to experience collective and anticipatory grief, that feeling of being out of control can become stronger than ever. When usually we are only in tune with our own grieving and mourning processes, we’re now linked and connected and in tune with the grief and mourning processes of others.

It can feel overwhelming, and we don’t know what we can do-”

“I know where we can start,” someone in the group said. “We can start with that Ferasan bastard down below.”

Others made noises of agreement, and Mreia felt the scent of tension and anger flare up... even as she understood the anger.

She watched Jhess nod in acknowledgement. “Yes, those feelings are natural. But they are also misplaced. The prisoner had nothing to do with the bombing of Shanos Minor.”

“He’s a Ferasan, isn’t he?” another countered. “If he hasn’t done this, he’ll have done something else!”

“None of them have any business being on our world!” a third declared.

“Why are you defending him?” a fourth accused angrily.

“I’m not defending him,” Jhess assured them. “Believe me, I’ve fought them, plenty of times!”

Mreia swallowed, hating seeing Jhess ganged up on like this, but not wanting to draw attention to herself while Shau was here-

Then her cub seemed to awaken, as if the teenager was reacting to the argument, and for a second she feared he might join in, in defence of his father. Instead, he offered, “I’m tired. Gonna go to bed.”

“Do you want me to come along?”

“No. Keep an eye on Dad.”

She nodded, grateful for his decision, squeezing his paw as he rose and departed, letting her focus on the growing tension in the room, with the others drawing closer to Jhess, making him step back.

Now she rose as well, speaking up over the protestors. “Wait! We can’t let our emotions get the better of us!” She gently pushed her way through the others to join Jhess and face them. “We can’t descend into mob thinking, mob violence!”

“We have a right to justice!” someone snarled into her face, teeth bared.

Jhess stepped forward, his protective instincts rising. “Justice, or vengeance? Because believe me, there’s a big difference between the two.”

*

Shau walked numbly towards the quarters assigned to him and his family, quickening his pace as he entered the stark enclosure, glancing around before finding his father’s bag under the bed. He knelt and drew it out, opening it to find his father’s Militia gear... and his father’s plasma pistol.

*

Bridge, USS Surefoot, Thirteenth Fleet Caitian Task Force, Caitian Sector:

Captain T’Varik leaned forward in her chair. “Long range sensors?”

Behind her, C’Rash moved her paws over her console, her voice spicing her report. “Scanning... Caitian colonies on Alchemy, Azure Aura, Havelind... extensive damage... no lifesigns detected. But... long-range sensors are not 100% reliable for something that precise.”

T’Varik felt the eyes of her First Officer Commander Murphy and others on her. She kept her composure, stared ahead at the warp speed-dilated starscape on the viewscreen, and silently mourned the loss of the hundreds of Caitians on those geoforming colony planets in the system neighbouring Cait. So many more deaths. “Raise Admiral Tattok on the Triton.”

Seconds later, the starscape was replaced by the aquamarine, ossified face of the Roylan Admiral. “Captain T’Varik?”

“Admiral, no doubt you and the rest of the Task Force will have scanned the Caitian colonies, and come to the same conclusion. However, given the problems of fidelity of long-range sensors towards detecting individual lifeforms at this extreme range-”

“You wish one of our ships to remain to perform more thorough scans for survivors?”

“I... would perhaps recommend launching probes. The Surefoot’s own probes are specialised for search and rescue missions.”

“Good idea, Captain, make it so.”

“Understood, Sir. Surefoot out.” As the viewscreen restored the starfield, she added, “Lt Bellator, if you would do the honours?”

“Already programmed and ready to launch, Captain.”

“Then I suggest you haul ass and get it done.”

The Bridge seemed to pause, before the Nova Roman Operations Officer responded with, “Aye, Ma’am.”

T’Varik continued to stare ahead, fully aware of Murphy’s attention on her, waiting for him to finally respond with, “Excuse me, Captain? ‘Haul ass’? Not very Vulcan, is it?”

“No,” she admitted. “But it is typical of Captain Hrelle’s singular style of command, which favours posterior-related dialogue. I am merely preparing those crewmembers who have not worked with him for when he inevitably returns.”

Murphy nodded dryly. “Ah, I see. Very logical, Captain.”

She nodded sagely. “You bet your ass it is.”

*

Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

“Master Governor! Security Alert from the Perimeter Network!”

Melem-Adu strode up to the station. “Report!”

The male pointed to the display. “Starfleet vessels detected! Six, just beyond the outer orbit of Kuburan! Galaxy-class, Intrepid-class, Nebula-”

The Master Governor leaned in, gnashing his sabreteeth. “Are there any of our outer patrols in that area who can verify?”

“No, Sire! Shall we alert the nearest?”

Melem-Adu drew back. Privately, he had wondered why it had taken so long for the Federation to respond to such a brazen intrusion into their space, even with the enormous burden they already faced in their war with the Dominion... and he knew they weren’t all toothless cowards.

Speaking of the Dominion... he looked over at Welros, who was conversing intently with his Jem’Hadar minions, no doubt their own vessels having detected the Starfleet vessels, but otherwise withholding the information from their so-called allies.

We don’t need you simpering jackals, not this time... He looked back at the male. “No, we cannot waste time, they will be upon us by the time one of our vessels is in sensor range! Alert the Warships in orbit! Have them break orbit and meet the Starfleet ships, with Pridemaster Eshtar-Muti in overall command! We will overwhelm them, leave a field of debris and corpses floating out there in the cold and dark of space!”

Fuck the Dominion, he thought. And fuck the Patriarch, too. When Starfleet has been swatted away, and the Caitian Sheep have learned their lessons and finally begin cooperating, then the destiny of the Ferasan race will be fully in my paws.

*

Ferasan Shuttle, over Gulf of Ujanka:

“Captain, the Ferasans have taken the bait! They’ve broken orbit and are heading towards the direction of the false sensor images!”

Hrelle, sitting in the pilot’s seat, felt his pulse quicken. “All of them? What about the Jem’Hadar?”

Commander Tshal’s voice over the comm showed some disappointment now. “Only their Slithus Warship ships. And none of the Jem’Hadar Scarabs have accompanied them.”

He frowned at that, but then nodded. “Acknowledged. Inform all parties to proceed on schedule. We’ll be arriving at the Capitol in thirty minutes’ time; if anything changes before then, let us know. Hrelle out.” He closed the channel.

Behind him, Nenjo was adjusting her holosuit to project the image of a Ferasan male around herself, but now stopped. “Proceed? Are you sure about that, Captain?”

Beside him in the co-pilot’s seat, Valtiri sat, silent and motionless but obviously aware of the updated situation. Finally Hrelle responded, “The only thing I’m really sure about, Agent Nenjo, is that when you leap off the rocks to dive into the water, it’s too late to think about going back.” Now he looked to the Ferasan. “Well, Hunter Prime? Anything to say on the subject?”

Now the giant blonde-furred male looked back. “I agree with you, Captain. The diversion should last long enough for us to take full advantage of the situation.”

Hrelle grunted. “‘We’, huh? Part of the team now?”

“It seems wise, given the alternatives.” Valtiri looked ahead, staring out at the blanket of white clouds passing quickly beneath them. “I accept that I will never see Ferasa, or my home again. Maybe I will be killed here by my own people helping you. Maybe I will be executed here by your people for my crimes, or simply just imprisoned somewhere for life...” He breathed in. “And it is no less than I deserve. But at least I can try and make up for my past sins.”

Hrelle regarded him.... wondering if he was keeping his word and not probing their minds without permission. Hrelle had developed some instincts about telepathic activity, though it wasn’t perfect, he had the impression that Valtiri was keeping his word... and the fact that Sreen let herself be held by him without reacting spoke volumes That didn’t make this little speech of his anymore genuine.

Still, he also acknowledged that his own past was hardly pristine... and he had no intention of going into the Valley of the Shadow of Death with hatred in his heart... especially towards someone he might depend upon. “Thank you for your help. And I promise I will speak on your behalf for what you’ve done. And what you have yet to do.”

Valtiri looked at him, as if seeking some level of sarcasm from the Caitian. Then he nodded. “Now is the time to apply your cosmetic damage, Captain. Unless you wish my people to believe that you were taken without a fight?”

“You’re right.... but you’d better get some as well. I’m not easy to capture alive.”

*

Detention Hub, Resistance Facility, Kaijushima Island:

The young Ferasan male lay on the bunk in the cell, his back to the vertical bars separating him from the rest of the Hub, trying to ignore the sounds of the transmission that was deliberately played, over and over, for him. The sounds of a city being annihilated.

Back in Mithrim Valley, Pilot of the Umber Tail Pride had no idea what had happened to Shanos Minor on the other side of the mountains, only that the tops of the mountains separating him from the city came down and buried them. Then he had been beamed aboard the Caitian flyer and imprisoned, the Hunter Prime seemingly and inexplicably collaborating with the Enemy, before being taken to this place and deposited here, the scent of hatred from the Caitians almost overwhelming.

Pilot accepted that under the circumstances, with the Ferasans taking over their planet, the Caitians had a right to see him as an opponent. But their revulsion to him on a personal level seemed so disproportionate, considering he hadn’t done anything to them.

Then his guard here showed him the recording of the bombing of Shanos Minor.

And kept playing it, over and over and over. Even after he turned his back to it, and put a pillow over his head to try and block out the sounds, the voice of the Master Governor, so triumphant, so taunting.

Pilot had flown over the city before landing Valtiri down in the adjacent Valley, had been amazed by the scintillating beauty of Shanos Minor. To see it all flattened and burned and turned to dust and debris, millions dead... and by the paws of his own people. How... How could this have happened? No matter how desperate his people were to survive? What could they possibly have done to deserve that?

It was too much to absorb.

He wept. Wept for people who weren’t his own, people he never met and had no history with.

He wept until the guard finally showed him mercy and turned off the recording.

He lay there, exhausted, wanting to die, wanting to be anything but alive and awake and feeling as he did-

“Who are you?”

Pilot froze, hearing and smelling a newcomer into the Hub.

“Shau Furore. Do you know my Dad, Lt Furore?”

The Ferasan turned in his bunk, looking over his shoulder to see a young brown-furred Caitian near the Guard’s workstation, as the Guard rose to his feet. “You’re Jhess’ cub? Yeah, he talked about you. But why are you here?”

The cub looked casual, even bored, but never glanced over at the cells as he replied, “I’ve been looking to help out around here, he said to come down to give you a break. He’ll be down in a minute to take over.”

Pilot was about to turn back and replace the pillow over his head... but stopped at the suspicious response from the Guard. “Thanks, but maybe I’ll just wait until your father gets here-”

Pilot started as the Caitian cub drew a plasma pistol into view, pointing it at the Guard’s stomach. “Get out.”

Now Pilot rose to his feet, paws clutching the bars of his cell as he watched, his own fear and confusion matching the Guard’s, who raised his paws up slightly. “What are you doing, Cub?”

The cub called Shau stepped aside, as if to reveal the only door out. “I said get out. Give me a minute alone in here with him.”

The Guard glanced over at Pilot... and Pilot saw, for the first time, the underlying concern for him, a concern that butted heads with the hostility. “Shau... don’t do this-”

“I SAID GET OUT!” His roar echoed around the confined space. The pistol, raised in punctuation, did the rest.

The Guard backed out. As the door slid shut, the cub moved to the workstation, his free paw frantically looking for the door lock.

Pilot watched him silently. Not certain if he wanted the Caitian to succeed or not.

Then Shau stepped out into view, his tail twitching behind him, the pistol in his paw trembling. He stared at Pilot.

Pilot stared back at him.

An eternity later, Shau seemed to snap back into awareness. “Noma.”

“Ex-Excuse me?”

The Ferasan’s voice galvanised the Caitian, and he raised the pistol higher, struggling to control the shaking, his teeth bared. “Her name was Noma. She was seventeen. Her parents sold fresh fruit and vegetables in Crescent Market. She had a battered brown shuris leather jacket that was two sizes too big for her and the fastener was broken and it didn’t matter to her. She loved ninshoot soup. She loved freedom. She loved me.

And now she’s dead.

They’re all dead.

All my friends.

All my teachers.

All my neighbours.

All of my people.

Because of your people.”

Pilot stared back at him, and found fonts of sorrow and self-hatred he thought he had long ago exhausted. The tears returned. “Yes.”

“She didn’t do anything to you to deserve that,” Shau continued bitterly, matching him tear for tear.

“No.”

“None of us did.”

“No.”

Shau drew up to him, until the muzzle of the pistol was pressed against Pilot’s forehead. “WHY? WHY DID THEY HAVE TO KILL HER?”

Pilot made no move to step aside, or take the weapon from him, not caring at that moment if he was killed. “I don’t know.”

There was a frantic pounding on the door from those on the other side.

It went unheeded.

Shau fell to his knees, losing his grip on the pistol, sobbing and wailing.

Pilot mirrored him, neither of them aware of the door lock mechanism being overridden, and Jhess and his wife and others rushing in.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

“Sire?”

Melem-Adu spun in place, baring his teeth at the interruption to his monitoring of the fleet deployment to meet the Starfleet fools. “Who are you?”

The young, coal-furred male stiffened, his tail twitching with agitation. “S-Sire, I- I am ThirdSon of Nabi-Enlil-”

“And I should be interested in this for what reason?”

The younger male swallowed. “Sire, I was assigned by your son Nusum-Adu to investigate anomalous signals riding on our own networks, as they might be related to the Caitian terrorists hampering our efforts-”

“AND?” the Master Governor bellowed impatiently.

“W-We’ve noticed an increase in these signals, and we’re beginning to triangulate them to their source.” He offered a datapad. “This source. We suspect they’re originating from this location: an island in the Southern Hemisphere, listed as some sort of nature reserve, uninhabited and ungoverned... however, there are further anomalous energy fields there that prevent us from scanning more deeply, or sending Ferasans there by the Transporter Network.”

The Master Governor looked up. “Sensor and Anti-Transporter scramblers?”

“Very possibly, Sire.”

Melem-Adu stared at it... and then smiled with satisfaction. “My son has shown his cunning in assigning this to you. And you have done well with this work. Send a couple of Packs by shuttles to launch an attack. And if they are successful, you will have earned yourself a Name before this day is out.”

The young male brightened. “Yes, Sire!”

The Master Governor turned back to the display. His fleet will rout the Starfleet scum, and the forces here will soon track down the terrorists. The day could not get better-

“Sire!” It was another lackey. “There’s a signal from the Hunter Prime’s shuttle! He is about to land... and he has captured Captain Hrelle alive, and wishes to deliver him to you!”

Melem-Adu bared his teeth. He had forgotten about that interloper. I guess I could be wrong about the day getting better... “Then by all means, let us welcome them. And perhaps we’ll have the esteemed Captain Hrelle for dinner tonight.”

*

Caitian Flyer Tailless, over Ravath Province:

Sasha stayed focused on rechecking her equipment harness, rather than keep looking up at the cockpit window to see how low they were flying, or to make sure that Mru wasn’t about to accidentally fly them into a high slope. “Did I mention before about keeping me updated?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Mori glanced over the pilot’s display. “Five minutes to target, no Enemy sightings, the Skycats are maintaining formation. They’re really quite accomplished.”

Beside him, Ensign Osha, a short, snow-furred female with slight spots that reminded her of Jhess, and who had been a bundle of nervous energy since being assigned by Sasha’s father to assist in this mission, kept fidgeting in her seat, her tail, sticking out of the hole in back, practically wearing out the bulkhead below it. “The weapons are all online, so are transporter systems and shields and communications and Engineering and-”

“-And Uncle Tom Cobley and all.”

She turned in her seat, confused and agitated. “Who’s that?”

“Never mind.” Sasha strapped her sword on her back, using a variation of her usual position to give her more flexibility, while providing her access to all her other little gadgets and gimmicks, feeling more Borg than organic. “Hope you’re ready to give Mr Mori a paw, Ensign. He’ll be in command when I beam down to dance with the Fleabags.”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

Sasha regarded her, before drawing up to the front seats and setting a reassuring hand on the female’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Nrina. You’ll do that uniform, and your family, your people and your planet, proud today.”

The snub-muzzled cub offered a nod and a slight smile; she remained nervous, but pushed it down. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Sasha gave her a grin. “And when this is all over, the three of us will all get cosmically hammered and spend the weekend together in bed.”

“What?” both of them exclaimed in unison.

Sasha winked – then returned to business at the sound of the alert on the dashboard. “Zero Hour.” She leaned in and opened a channel. “Tailless to HQ: we’re here.” She switched to another channel. “Tailless to Squadron: Good luck.”

“Good luck to us all, Lieutenant,” Biggles voice replied.

She looked ahead, already seeing structures popping over the quickly-approaching sand dune.

She swallowed, wishing she hadn’t given all her bravado to Ensign Osha.

*

Deep Keep, Sea of Rhun:

“Two minutes to Zero Hour, Captain.”

Mrorr nodded, choosing to stand on the Bridge rather than sit in her chair, keeping perfectly still, as if restrained by the tension in the air, the scent of anxiety thick among her crew. She measured her verbal response. “Continue ascent to the surface.”

So this was it, Csara. The battle to reclaim the Motherworld. And you won’t be part of the Fleet. You are the Fleet. And though you can’t find fault with Hrelle’s plan, you and your crew will probably still fall today.

So be it... “Status, Commander M’Trasha?”

His newly-promoted First Officer glanced up from his station. “All missiles armed, programmed and ready for launch. All helijets, dropships and personnel in an identical state. One minute to Zero Hour.”

“Open a shipwide channel.” A moment later, she cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Attention All Crew: we’re about to surface, and begin our attack. At the proper times you will receive the signals to launch to your designated targets.

Have no illusions: the Enemy will outnumber us, and outgun us. Most of us will not survive.

But none of us have any contracts that guaranteed survival... myself included. And we have one advantage the Enemy does not. They will be fighting for their lives.

We will be fighting for our world. Something far more important.

Make those rat-tailed bastards regret coming here. Let the Righteous Fury of the Great Mother fill your heart and galvanise your limbs. Use your weapons until they’re spent. And when they’re spent, use your blades until they’re dulled. And when they’re dulled, use your teeth and claws.

Show No Mercy.

Good luck.”

At her nod, the channel closed, as M’Trasha announced, “Breaking the surface!”

*

Outside, the churning, agitated waters of the Sea of Rhun parted rudely as a two-thousand metre long weapon of war emerged and banked sharply upwards. In the near distance, Caitians living a humble, pristine life on the shores of the Mrelle Province, relatively untouched by the Occupation, watched in astonishment as the vessel ascended, wave-motion cannons rising like spikes along the black-hulled port and starboard sides of the Deep Keep, and missile ports opened along the top decks.

*

“Three hundred metres,” M’Trasha updated. “Five hundred... we’re moving too fast for the transphasic cloak to function properly, Captain-”

“The time for hiding is past, Lieutenant Commander. Contact the Island, inform them we’re on the War Path.”

*

Navron Camp, Ravath Province:

“Again! Tell us again, Ms Aris!”

R’Taara Aris sat on the yellowed grass with the cubs, her eight-year-old son Srira at the forefront, as rapt as the others to hear the story from her. To hear more lies.

Around them, the huge camp continued with its dark deception, its labyrinth of wire fences offering filtered glimpses of the steppes beyond, but penning them all in like shuris, the dominant conical structure of what was once the Caitian Weather Modification Array blocking the afternoon sunlight, the armed guard towers placed here and there blaring music from mounted loudspeakers, interspersed with announcements from the Camp Commandant, the Ferasan Pridemaster Ubara-Tal, assuring the captives that all was well.

More lies. The whole system was built on lies, lies about the Metremia Threat prompting all the thousands of females and cubs to be brought here for ‘treatment’. Lies about how they would all soon be sent home. Lies about the good intentions of their Ferasan ‘benefactors’. Lies about all the captives who entered the Treatment Centres... and never returned.

R’Taara Aris knew the truth behind the lies. She had been separated from Srira a lifetime ago, locked up, had been drugged and probed and forced to have her eggs removed and restored to her, fertilised with Ferasan sperm, to see if any would survive to term.

None did... and she felt each loss.

And the experiments they performed on her left her sick beyond belief, scarred and sterilised, before they finally gave up on her, leaving her to do manual work in the camp during the way... and servicing the Ferasan guards during the night.

Communication with the outside world was forbidden. The hygiene was appalling. The food was minimal, and its source was one she dared not contemplate. And any attempts at defiance were punished. Brutally.

She wanted to die, if only to end the pain, the despair, the fatigue and the sorrow.

Only her cub kept her going. They let her see him now for an hour each day as part of her daily duties, along with many of the other cubs who had been separated from their families. The cubs who had still survived the efforts to genetically modify them into looking more Ferasan. Not many survived. She was assigned to keep them happy, keep them distracted.

Until all efforts to make them more Ferasan either killed them, or until the Ferasans decided to kill them more directly.

So she lied to them, a reluctant accomplice to their captors’ deception. But she also knew that there was nothing else she could do. They – she – desperately needed the hope, however false, that it was worth living one more day. Just one more day.

“Again! Tell us again, Ms Aris!”

She looked out at the crescent collection of cubs, many displaying the side effects of the Ferasans’ assault on their genetic integrity: missing fur, missing teeth, blindness, muscular and neurological impairment. Her own cub was emaciated, losing his vision, and sometimes had mild seizures when the sun above was at its strongest. She wanted to roar and howl at the Great Mother for letting this travesty happen to them all.

But she didn’t have the strength for it. She breathed in the hot, dry air and forced a smile. “I was in the Commandant’s office this very morning, and I overheard a report: there’s a whole fleet of airships coming here, this very day!”

The cubs gasped in wonder, one asking, “How many?”

“Oh, too many to count! There’s dropships and helijets from the Caitian Militia, and starships from the Caitian Planetary Navy, and Starfleet, and the Vulcans and the Andorians and the Klingons-”

“And the Skycats?” Srira asked eagerly. “Are they coming too?”

R’Taara looked down at him; she had taken him to Pakui earlier that year, before all this Season of the Seven Hells, to see one of the Skycats’ shows, and he hadn’t stopped talking about them since, learning everything about them, wanting models of their aerofighters for his birthday, and having posters of them on the walls of his bedroom. “Yes, Cub of Mine. They’ll come too.”

Srira nodded sagely. “They’re the best.”

“Yes. They are. And they’ll all come, and they’ll rescue us, and we’ll all go home to our families and eat and get better.”

“When?” another asked, prompting echoes from the rest.

She drew her son close to her, wanting to take them all into her arms and carry them away from this endless nightmare, as she forced back the tears. “Soon. Very soon. I’m sure of it.”

From the guard towers, the music stopped, and a familiar Ferasan voice sounded over the activity below. “Attention my Caitian guests: I have been informed that we have had a full ten days without any acts of insubordination from you! For your good behaviour, there will be an extra half-ration of ottuquila beans portioned out tomorrow-”

Then his voice unexpectedly cut off.

Everyone waited for it continue.

Then Srira sat up in her arms, his ears twitching, his near-sightless eyes narrowing as if he was actually looking at something. “Engines...”

She stroked the remaining patches of fur on his head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart-”

But he straightened up further, gasping. “It’s them! Mama, you said they’d come!”

R’Taara frowned.

Then she heard the engines too.

The loudspeaker now began blaring an alarm usually reserved for Security Alerts.

Around then, the hundreds of captives on the grounds of Navron Camp stopped, glancing around, ignoring the guards’ orders to return inside.

Then something darted overhead, the whistle of its flight higher than the sound of the alarms, striking the top of one of the guard towers, enveloping it in flame.

A half-second later, another something – a missile of some sort – struck and destroyed the next tower. And a third missile destroyed another. And then a fourth tower came crashing down.

The klaxons were silenced, replaced by the roar of engines of ancient design, as captives nearest the perimeter fence pointed towards the south, one of them declaring loudly, “Look! LOOK!”

R’Taara rose, somehow finding the strength to keep Srira in her arms as he peered in the same direction.

The cub beamed, his remaining vision confirming what his ears had already told him. “IT’S THE SKYCATS!”

Overhead, six aircraft – a black and gold Caitian flyer, and five grey Caitian Aerofighters from another era – flew overhead in tight formation overhead.

And for the first time in a lifetime, R’Taara Aris indulged in hope. Genuine hope.

*

Inside the Tailless, Moru glanced down. “There’s anti-aircraft guns around the Navron Array! Taking evasive action!”

Near the transporter station, Sasha clutched a handhold on the wall as they banked hard to port, avoiding disruptor bolts flying upwards around them. “Osha! Send a message to Biggles and his Squad! Make sure they keep the Fleabags off us!”

*

Iron Whisper Military Camp, Rhun Jungle, Mrell Province:

The skies had opened up like it was the Last Day of the World, as walls of water slammed down from the dark twilight skies, drenching the jungle surrounding the campgrounds.

Beneath a canopy that thundered beneath the relentless onslaught, Pridemaster Illusha-Hegel leaned back in his chair until he balanced on its rear legs, his tail swishing behind him, a bottle of beer in one paw, letting the evening meal digest in his belly some more.

It was a good life here. His Pride stayed based in this part of Cait for the most part, called out every so often for special assignments, like collecting females and cubs for the camps, or more recently, assisting their Brother Prides in punishing the noisome students at Shanos Minor before the Master Governor blew their city to shit.

But damn, it could be boring.

His vantage point, higher than the rest of the camp, overlooked the main field where their shuttles and their Prideship sat, and his Pride sat under their own shelters, out of the rain. They had burned away this part of the jungle when they first arrived, letting the surrounding foliage act as a natural fence; occasionally, his males would venture out to hunt some local animals for fresh meat, keeping themselves amused.

Illusha-Hegel had other ways of keeping himself amused. He touched his wrist communicator. “Have you got another one ready, Tor-Hegel?”

“Yes, Father.”

He leaned forward until his chair was back on all four legs, and set down his beer bottle. “I hope the next one offers more sport.”

“He’s younger, looks fitter. His... boyfriend... was the one we released just before the last.”

Illusha-Hegel grunted in disgust; that the Caitians not only allowed such aberrant behaviour, but practically encouraged it, only reinforced their inferiority to his own race. “Make sure he knows what he has to do to have a chance at surviving, and then let him go.”

Then he reached for the disruptor rifle at his side, rising to his feet and checking the settings, and then adjusting the scope. He had owned this weapon for decades, having been a gift from his father, upon Illusha-Hegel earning a name for himself following a successful battle with a Kzinti raider. He knew it like he knew his own tail.

Down below, from one of the shuttles, a figure fled out into the rain from the open gull-wing door, feet pounding into the muddying ground, racing as if to escape the rain instead of imminent death.

But he could no more avoid the second than he could the first. He must have known that. Still, what could he do?

The Pridemaster raised his rifle instinctively and aimed in the direction of the fleeing figure, peering with his good eye through the scope. Waiting. Waiting for the Caitian to follow the same path as the others did, the quickest path to the jungle. His son had been correct; this one was faster than the others.

But still, he stopped in his tracks when he saw the bodies of the Caitians Illusha-Hegel had shot before... one of them no doubt being his lover. And now the Pridemaster saw him drop to examine the bodies.

You utter fool, stopping like that. Not that any of you had any chance at surviving my little Game-

He was about to fire, when a red flash caught his left eye, distracting him.

Illusha-Hegel turned slightly in place, looking out into the jungle, raising the rifle again to see through the scope, its sensors confirming that there was some sort of lightbeam- a targeting beam- aimed at him-

The armour-piercing bullet that followed the beam struck his forehead, penetrating the skull as if it were tissue and exploding within, sending bone and brain and fur flying in all directions, as the now-headless body and the rifle dropped unceremoniously.

On the field below, the other Ferasans emerged, ignoring the rain as they looked up, and then out into the jungle at the mechanised sounds. Some rushed inside the shuttles, re-emerging with pistols and rifles in paw, seeking answers.

Answers came as Caitian Militia dropships from the Deep Keep appeared from over the treetops, firing plasma beams down upon the shuttles, attacking them before they could launch a response. And the trees themselves toppled beneath the feet of the Mobile Guns: remote-controlled bipedal walkers with plasma cannons and plasma grenade launchers.

And finally the Caitians themselves emerged: armoured from head to foot, plasma rifles in gloved paws, attacking the Enemy.

And following the parting orders of their Commanding Officer:

Show No Mercy.

*

Caitian System, Outer Belt:

Pridemaster Eshtar-Muti glared at the empty space on the viewscreen.

Beside him, his Tactical Officer grunted. “Nothing on any of our ships’ sensors... but the perimeter network says they’re right in front of us!”

The Helm Officer’s tail twitched. “Could they... could they be cloaked?”

Eshtar-Muti reached out and smacked the young male across the back of the head. “Tailchaser! It is a Caitian trick, to lure us away from their planet! Order all ships to turn around! Hurry!”

As they did so, the Pridemaster returned to his seat. “Send a message back to Melem-Adu, inform him of our status.”

Moments later, the fleet was on a reverse course. Then his Tactical Officer responded to an alert at his station. “Starfleet vessels on rapid approach to the system’s edge! Eight starships now: Defiant class, Sabre, Nebula-”

“Ignore it.”

“Pridemaster?”

“Ignore it! It’s obviously another trick! Inform the rest of the Fleet to continue our return! I will not be made a fool again!”

*

Bridge, USS Surefoot:

The planet was a small, dark spectre at the edge of the Cait system: airless, lifeless, littered with the wreckage of vessels from a dozen different starfaring powers going back centuries.

On the Bridge, the crew stared at the dwarf planet, their guest – Caitian Planetary Navy Petty Officer C’Ria Ctuuri, of the Caitian flagship Mother’s Fury, who had risked his life to reach the Surefoot and alert them as to the situation here – speaking aloud. “Kuburan: named after one of the ancient Seven Hells, specifically the one for marauders and invaders. We have used the planetoid as a trash heap for the ships of those who have tried to attack us over the centuries.”

“And you’re saying the Planetary Navy has a secret underground base there?” C’Rash asked, sounding dubious, her black tail twitching behind her. “Grandma Ma’Sala never mentioned it.”

“No. Hence the adjective ‘secret’.”

“Nobody likes a smart ass, Cub.”

Beside T’Varik, Commander Murphy glanced at his station. “We have an incoming signal from Admiral Tattok on the Triton.”

The Vulcan nodded. “Onscreen.”

Seconds later, the aquamarine visage of the Roylan Admiral replaced the view of Kuburan. “Well, Petty Officer Ctuuri, we’re here, and as instructed we’ve not attempted to make contact and give away the hidden location. What now?”

The young Caitian raised his muzzle to the viewscreen, frowning. “I... We’ve reached the point where I know the hidden sensors will have detected us, Admiral. Fleet Captain Shall should know we’re here by now. Perhaps a malfunction, or-”

An Alert interrupted the exchange, as C’Rash glanced down at her board. “Shields have just snapped on! We have Slithus Warships coming in fast! Eighty or more!”

“Yellow Alert.” As the appropriate klaxon sounded, T’Varik looked to Tattok. “Will we be performing our usual ambulance work, Sir?”

“Not this time. Sharpen your claws. You’ll be drawing First Blood in the attack.” Tattok ended the transmission.

Then T’Varik tightened her hold on the arms of her chair. “All Hands: Battle Stations.”

Behind her, she heard C’Rash mutter, “Seven Hells, yeah...”

*

Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province:

Hrelle tensed, and not from the electronic manacles he pretended to have bound around his wrists, nor from being visibly unarmed and with Valtiri, walking one step behind him, carrying his Kaetini sword like a prize won in combat. No, it was the very idea of walking into the Heart of the Enemy like this. It was a terrible plan. Insane.

On his other side, Nenjo kept in line, her holosuit making her appear like a Ferasan male, cradling a disruptor rifle in her paws, ever watchful, trying not to draw attention to herself as they emerged from the landing pad on one of the Capitol Building’s upper floors to a selection of Ferasan soldiers, who regarded Hrelle with a mix of fear and contempt. Their Pack Leader drew up to the new arrivals, glaring at Hrelle. “You did it, Hunter Prime. You really caught the scum!”

“Yes. And now we present him to the Master Governor. Now step aside, he is expect-”

But the Pack Leader tensed, shifting to rush up to Hrelle-

-Until Valtiri reached out and caught him by the throat, lifting him up off the ground and letting him struggle in the air. “No, Cur. You have not earned the right to try and claim some petty punishment upon him.”

Then he threw the other Ferasan back towards his fellows, letting him tumble to the floor.

Inside Hrelle’s head, he heard Valtiri’s thoughts: he was about to strike you.

Mother’s Cubs, I don’t care about that! He thought back angrily.

I would not have allowed that, Captain, even if I had captured you for real. My Code-

-Doesn’t mean a damn thing if we make them suspicious! Rein it in, Valtiri!

Yes, Captain. Valtiri stepped forward, speaking aloud. “Pack Leader: Forgive me, but the Master Governor ordered that the Caitian be brought to him undamaged. I wanted to protect you from his wrath. But I promise you can have whatever Melem-Adu doesn’t finish.”

The Ferasan shook off the help of the others, sneering at the arrivals. “Looking at all the meat on the Caitian, I doubt if even the Master Governor has that big an appetite.”

That made him and his friends chuckle, as Valtiri shoved Hrelle forward. “Move, you fat fool!”

Hrelle walked. There’s always some opinionated asshole... he waited until they entered the next section and were alone before muttering, “Nenjo, find us a suitable workstation on this level so we can open the links for the Syphers.”

“We’re not going down to face the Master Governor, Captain?” Valtiri asked.

Hrelle grunted to himself; glad he could still surprise the telepath. “Not yet. Securing control is more important than killing him.”

They stopped when they heard the alarms overhead.

*

Many levels below in the Operations Centre, Melem-Adu turned to the Tactical Station. “What is it?”

Har-User had been hunched over one station, but now straightened up. “Sire, we have reports of multiple attacks on our groundbases in Bahari, Mrell, Hria, Meru, Ravath- military-grade vehicles, troops- identified as Caitian Militia-”

“What? How? Where?”

The younger male pointed to a place on the holomap. “The majority of the attacks in the Western Hemisphere appear to be originating from a large vessel here. We’re having difficulty locking onto it from a distance, however-”

“Get our ships in orbit TO THAT LOCATION!” Melem-Adu roared. “BURN EVERYTHING IN THE SKIES!”

*

“Target the fakakta array!” Sasha ordered, clutching onto handholds for dear life as the flyer banked and dropped yet again under a continued onslaught from the Guns of Navron.

Even as she knew it was futile; it was more armed and shielded than the intelligence had told them.

*

Kaijushima Island:

Kami looked down at her daughter, watching as Sreen turned her head away from her mother’s breast. “So... you’ve stopped wanting feeding from me, huh?” She tucked her breast away under her uniform’s undershirt again. “Fussy little thing.”

Sitting with them and the rest of the family around the lagoon, Bneea flung another pebble out, making it skip across the waters. “It’s inevitable at her age now. Unless you start producing curry-flavoured milk.”

Nearby, Misha was building a sandcastle with his older brother Mirow, when he looked up, eyes wide with wonder at the notion. “You can do that, Mama? I want some!”

Mirow chuckled. “Me, too. All I ever got at that age was plain milk.”

“Me too!” Misha agreed.

Kami smirked. “I don’t remember hearing any complaints from either of you at the time with what I had to offer.”

On the other side of the family, Mi’Tree sat with Ptera and the newborn Baby Jnill, laughing at the exchange, even as he leaned in to tickle under the infant’s chin, his baritone voice becoming soft and soothing. “They all grow up so quickly. Cherish these moments, my dear. They can be as fleeting as snow in the month of Firemoot.”

Kami sighed and helped herself back to her feet, with her father’s help. “Breaktime’s over, I have to get back and monitor the progress of the Operation.”

“Oh, just another few minutes, surely?” Mi’Tree protested.

Then her combadge chirped, and she handed over Sreen to Bneea and tapped her insignia. “Kami here, don’t worry, I’m on my way down-”

Tshal’s voice sounded thick on the hot, heavy air. “Commander, we’re picking up aircraft coming in fast and low from the West, direct for the Island-”

Her heart raced. “Put the Facility on Alert!” Around her, she raised her voice. “Everybody! We have to get back down below, now-”

“INCOMING MISSILES DETECTED!”

Kami looked up towards the west, to the thick, hanging clumps of jungle sheltering the lagoon from the ocean.

Just in time to see them erupt in flame.

 

TO BE CONCLUDED IN... THE END

.