In Winterwane, Thohlis, an Andorian Sypher, turned a lighter shade of blue, his antennae curling upwards as he declared breathlessly, “We have the Link!”
Nimeni turned his
chair to him and the others. “All Stations Connect! Feed them the Chaos Codes!”
*
On levels unseen
by living things, swarms of code reached out across subspace channels, given
unrestricted access, breaking down firewalls as they grasped Ferasan
communications and transporter modules, tearing into them like razorfish on
wounded prey; several hundred Ferasans unfortunate enough to have been in
mid-transport at that moment had their transporter signals destabilised en
route... re-appearing in states that left them... unrecognisable as anything
that might have lived.
And the Chaos
Codes continued onward and upward, seeking out and infecting all Ferasan
systems that could be reached.
*
Mrorr nearly
went over the rail as another blastwave struck the Deep Keep, her First
Officer declaring, “Starboard shields down entirely! Starboard and Central
Impulse Engine gone! We’re losing altitude!”
“Stabilise!”
Mrorr ordered. The klaxons filled the cold, smoke-filled air on the Bridge, as
her crew struggled to stay in their seats or at their posts and continue to do
their duty, no matter what.
This was it.
Their cloak was gone, their shields and propulsion systems failing, their
weapons depleted. She looked up to the barely-functioning viewscreen, seeing
the Ferasan Prideships converging on their position. If they had any more of
those basebuster bombs, or worse, atomic weapons like what had been used on
Shanos Minor.
This was it, Csara. We’ve done all we could. Time to
evacuate. She
swallowed and breathed in. “All Hands-”
“LOOK!”
Mrorr paused,
wondering what the Helm Officer was shouting about. All she saw was twelve or
fifteen Prideships...
Exploding.
From the looks
of it, they somehow had simultaneous failures in their antimatter containment
systems, the ships erupting from within, the debris now arcing downwards in
ever-sharpening curves and ever-increasing speeds into the atmosphere of Cait,
an obvious uncontrolled descent. They began burning up.
She stared in
naked disbelief.
*
In Shanos Major,
bodies lay strewn about the park, bleeding and burning.
The remains of
the Ferasan Pack that had finished off the Resistance stayed in close circular
formation, the eight of them watching in every direction for any more still
alive.
“Is that it?”
one finally murmured.
“I think so,”
another replied beside him.
“Good. I emptied
my gun.”
“Me, too.”
“And me.”
Their Pack
Leader drew in a sharp breath as he glanced around, the park illuminated by the
lingering fires of combat. “Then let’s get out of here. Maybe Melem-Adu will
make an example of this city as well, and blow it to shit.” He tapped his
compatch. “Pack Leader Reda-Irn to Central: Transport Pack back to base.”
Nothing.
He tried again,
and again, and then turned to his remaining Pack. “Activate your Emergency
Beamouts.”
They tried.
Nothing.
“What’s going
on?”
“Reda-Irn,
what’s happening?”
The Pack Leader
glanced around in confusion, as if the answers lay in the darkness beyond.
“Some- Some local interference perhaps. Cast aside your fears. This means
nothing.”
“This means everything.”
They turned as
one to the sound of the female Caitian voice, raising their weapons despite
their depleted status.
Mistress Nvell,
Leader of the Kaetini Order, rose to her feet from among the bodies strewn about
her, twin swords in her paws. Her grey fur was drenched in blood, both the
Enemy’s and her own, her tail hung broken behind her, and there was a slight
limp in her walk as she approached. “This means you’ve lost. No ammunition, no
transport, no communication, no evacuation, no reinforcement.” She pointed the
tip of the sword in her right paw towards them. “No future.”
Reda-Irn bared
his teeth. “You before us, old bitch.” He threw aside his now-useless disruptor
and drawing out his claws. “RIP HER APART!”
They spread out,
claws bared, charging, a wave upon her.
Nvell ducked and
swung out in moves practised for over half a century, slicing open bellies,
hacking off limbs, stabbing, gouging, sending them snarling and screaming to
the Seven Hells as she pirouetted about like a female a third her real age.
Some managed a few lucky strikes, dislodging her grip on one of her swords. But
ultimately they fell, too.
It was the last
of them, the Pack Leader, who had picked up her second sword and drove it into
her back from behind.
Something like
pain suffused her, deadened with shock and fatigue, but Nvell still managed to
turn and mirror the action, sending him sprawling to the ground, pulling the
blade out of her as he did so, blood spurting from him, eyes wide with
astonishment.
She assessed her
chances at survival. They were as thin as a strand of fur.
She considered
calling for help, but decided that others would have more need, and a better
chance to recover.
Nvell staggered
back, away from the Ferasans and their body parts, not wanting her final
seconds to be with their scent in her nostrils. I am a Warrior of the Great Mother. I am Her Eyes and I am Her Ears. I
am her Teeth and I am her Claws. I am Her Purr, and I am Her Roar. I will
defend the Living, and I will avenge the Dead. And I will give my life to
protect the Motherworld and her people...
She didn’t do
too badly tonight.
She limped to a
patch of grass and shrubbery with fresh blossoms – eishottows, a favourite of
hers – and settled down, distantly hearing the chirp of her comm unit. She
reached for it before she lost all control of her limbs. “Yes, Wserin?”
“Mistress, they’ve done it! And it’s even more
successful than we could have hoped! The Syphers’ work hasn’t just affected the
Ferasans’ transporters and communications, but their ships’ systems! They’re
blowing up! Falling from the sky!”
Nvell looked up.
In the absence of city lights, the evening sky was unobstructed, offering some
beautiful starscapes. Not as beautiful as back home, but it would do.
Especially as
she began seeing the streaks of lights above.
Beautiful.
“Mistress, what’s the situation in Shanos Major?
Mistress Nvell? Are you still there?
Mistress?”
*
In the skies
around Cait, on both the day and night side, those outside who took notice and
could take the time to stop and stare, did so, affording themselves the sight
of a lifetime: the debris of scores of Ferasan vessels raining down in an
artificial meteor shower, most of the remains ultimately burning up, the larger
pieces crashing into the oceans or on land, with thankfully none of them
striking any populated areas.
*
“This- This is
wrong.”
The Ferasan
technician in the Operations Centre of the Capitol Building muttered it under
his breath, then immediately regretted it, not wanting to attract attention
from the Master Governor. He frantically tried to re-establish the
communication links with their bases... with no success. It had to be a
localised failure. It had to be. Don’t
draw attention to yourself-
“WHAT’S GOING
ON?”
All heads turned
to Melem-Adu in the centre of the room, staring up at the many screens now
going to static, or just blackness. He drew his disruptor out, moving around in
place, daring someone to answer, or not answer.
Finally Har-User
ventured closer. “Master Governor, we’ve- we’ve lost contact with our forces,
on the ground and in orbit. The Transporter Network is down, and- and our
security networks are being compromised by some computer virus- the Caitian
systems within the building are still operating, at least partially, and we are
attempting to bypass our compromised systems to use those to contact our forces
around the rest of the planet, but...”
Melem-Adu bared
his teeth, raising the disruptor higher. “But... what?”
His aide, to his
credit, stood his ground. “They may no longer be alive out there.”
“Look!”
All turned to
the balcony, overlooking First City, and the Master Governor pushed past the
others to stride up to it, looking up at the sky... and seeing the unscheduled
meteor showe.
He looked down
at the streets, at the hundreds of Caitians below who saw the same thing.
And now they
were all starting to look up. At him.
No. No no no no... He re-entered the room. “My own Prideship is up
there... contact it. And go to the Medical Bay and prepare my son for transport
up.”
“Sire, we cannot
make contact, we cannot beam away, and
there are no more ships up there! We are trapped here, alone!”
Before Melem-Adu
could respond, another aide called out, “We have weapons fire in the upper
sections! Patrol Packs report they’re being attacked by- by-”
“By what?”
“By... talking
fish.”
The Master
Governor stared. And then shot the one who delivered such utter nonsense.
*
Wheelie and his
family raced through the air down the corridors, harness phasers firing ahead
of them, their own natural ultrasonic pulses, normally used to stun fish, still
effective in the air with the hypersensitive hearing of the Ferasans.
Behind them,
Hrelle, Valtiri and Nenjo mopped up as they struggled to keep up with the
Delphines, Hrelle calling out, “Slow down, Doctor! We have to stay together!”
“Whatever you
say, Big Boy!” he called back, his voder always making his voice sound happy.
“Remarkable
warriors,” Valtiri noted, clutching an appropriated Ferasan disruptor rifle.
“Their minds are as fluid as the medium they live in.”
“And I want them
to survive to swim again.” He pictured their current location against where the
Master Governor was going to be. They weren’t far, not far now-
“Captain!”
Valtiri shouted. “To your left, behind that door-”
The door was
sliding open quickly, but Hrelle was ready for it, turning and firing multiple
phaser bolts at the Ferasans who tried to ambush them. They went down in
showers of sparks, and he fired several more times in the room to be certain.
He stopped and
looked to the Hunter Prime. “Thank you.”
Valtiri nodded.
“I promised your wife and infant daughter to protect you. I do not wish to get
on the bad side of either of them-”
Suddenly more
Ferasans swarmed in, their numbers overwhelming Hrelle, Valtiri and Nenjo, the
majority focusing on Hrelle. He lost his grip on his weapons, but roared in
defiance and raked his claws, tearing open furred flesh.
They pinned him
down, one of his opponents raising the muzzle of his disruptor to Hrelle’s
forehead-
Another roar to
the left made many turn, to see Valtiri snap the neck of an opponent, flinging
the body into another, before launching himself upon the Ferasans trying to kill
Hrelle, one of them shooting the Hunter Prime as they rolled away.
Hrelle picked up
his sword, ready to return the favour and save his ally, when he saw Nenjo
struggling with her own opponents, and went after them to even up the odds
against her.
There was the
sound of more phaser fire, and the remaining Ferasan attackers falling, as the
Delphines returned to render assistance, Wheelie squeaking, “Sorry, Captain,
you’re right, we should have stayed with you!”
“Never mind,
keep watch! Nenjo! Are you alright?”
The female
gasped and nodded in the affirmative, leaving Hrelle to return to Valtiri. “And
you?”
The Ferasan
gasped, gripping his side as blood ran out from between the digits of the paw
he pressed on his wound. “I- I will live- your phaser, please-”
Hrelle
understood, setting the level to Burn and handing it over, watching as Valtiri
pointed it at his wound and began cauterising it shut, even as he looked down
the corridor ahead of them, fighting back his pain to let him concentrate on
his telepathic abilities. “The Operations Centre... is ahead. Melem-Adu... is
within, along with...” He frowned in concentration. “Fifteen others. All... All
are armed. Afraid of the situation. Of Melem-Adu.”
Hrelle glanced
at Nenjo. “Access the systems, prevent any more Ferasans coming up here, and
then get ready to open those doors. Wheelie, you and your family watch her
back.” As the female and the Delphines complied, Hrelle looked to Valtiri
again. “Thank you. You saved me, again.”
The Hunter Prime
smiled, gritting his teeth from pain. “I- I told you before, Captain... I keep
my word.”
“I believe you. Can
you reach Melem-Adu’s mind?”
“From this
proximity? Yes, Captain.”
“Contact him.
Tell him his people have lost. Tell him he has nowhere else to go... but if he
and his people surrender without a fight, they’ll be treated fairly.”
The Hunter Prime
regarded him in confusion. “You... would still offer mercy? After all they...
after all we’ve done to you and your
people?”
Hrelle paused
before responding. “Maybe I’m following Starfleet policy, for the mountains of
reports I’ll end up writing when this is over. Maybe I’m tired. I’m very, very
tired of killing. There’s been so much of it, and I’m sick of it.”
“Yes, you are,”
Valtiri conceded softly. “But it’s not all. Is it?”
“No.” Hrelle breathed
in. “I’m also driven by one of the Truths from the Great Mother: ‘Mercy is at
its most valuable when offered to those you least wish to accept it.’”
Valtiri grunted.
“On Ferasa Prime, everything, every word of history, every work of art from
before the Eugenics Era, was destroyed, replaced with propaganda. None of the
wisdom of your Great Mother survives. Perhaps, when I am imprisoned again, I
might have access to her words?” He paused. “Assuming I am not executed by your
people?”
“I’ll see you
get a copy of the Book of Truths... and you won’t
be executed. I’ll see to that, too. Send the message to Melem-Adu, before I
change my mind.”
*
Caitian System:
“Admiral! We’re
detecting Jem’Hadar vessels! Eighty or more Scarabs, en route from Cait!”
Tattok rose to
his feet. “Alert the Task Force.” The battle with the Ferasans had been rough.
Despite their inferior weaponry and shields, the Ferasans superior numbers
meant the fight was fierce... and the Task Force was not exactly at its best,
having been fighting for months now in Betazed.
And now, the
Jem’Hadar were coming to join their allies.
Tactically,
every instinct told him to order a retreat.
Emotionally,
every instinct told him to forge on ahead.
I do not believe in deities, but if there are any Q or
other cosmic beings who are currently manipulating the events of mere mortals
like us for their own amusement, then might I suggest a twist in the tale? This
is the part of the story when the Good Guys could use some good luck... “Alert Starfleet Command of the situation, we’re
going to need reinforcements-”
“Wait, Admiral!
The Jem’Hadar are veering away! Moving in a parabolic arc out towards the Archanis
Sector, not us!”
The Roylan
turned to his First Officer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir!”
Well, it’s nice of even having the illusion of being listened
to every now and again... “And the status of the remaining Ferasans?”
“About twelve
ships, now departing for deep space rather than remaining to fight, tractoring
another six damaged ships along with them. Should we pursue?”
“Negative; alert
Starfleet Command instead, of both the Ferasans and the Jem’Hadar, and tell
them the battle is over, and the Task Force is proceeding to Cait to render
whatever additional assistance we can.”
*
In the
Transporter Room of the Mother’s Fury, a figure coalesced into view and stepped
forward. “Petty Officer Ctuuri, reporting as ordered, Ma’am.”
Ma’Sala
straightened up formally. “Incorrect.”
The young male
blinked. “Ma’am?”
She smiled. “It’s
Ensign now, Cub. I received a report from Captain T’Varik and my niece on what
you underwent to get to the Surefoot. A field promotion is the least I
can do. Your father would be proud of you.” She held out her paw.
The young male
stiffened with shock, his tail unable to hide his emotions as he accepted her paw.
“T-Thank you, Ma’am. I won’t let you down.”
Overhead, the
intercom interrupted, “Fleet Captain,
please report to the Bridge at once.”
“I’m on my way.”
To Ctuuri she added, “Report to Lieutenant Mleen. You don’t get a promotion
without additional responsibilities.”
On the Bridge,
First Officer Commander Ksara turned to her. “Fleet Captain, we’re thirty
minutes from the Motherworld, but we’ve intercepted a transmission to Melem-Adu
from Ferasa Prime, from the Patriarch himself.”
Ma’Sala glanced
around her, seeing the others trying not to be seen eavesdropping. “In my Ready
Room.”
They were barely
alone before Ksara reported, “The Ferasans are preparing a Second Fleet of
ships to come here and take over from Melem-Adu.”
Ma’Sala
stiffened. “Who else onboard knows?”
“Who else? No
one. I decrypted it myself.”
She nodded at
that. Well, that makes it easier... “Delete
the transmission, any data on it. Tell no one about this.”
Ksara’s tail
swished rapidly behind her. “Ma’Sala? They’re sending a Second Fleet! Starfleet
and we barely managed what was already here!”
“I know... but
we can’t focus on that now, or let our people be distracted by that. Our main
priority is re-securing the Motherworld. I’ll contact Tattok now and inform
him.” She stared at her. “You have your orders.”
Ksara frowned,
but nodded and departed.
Ma’Sala sat down
behind her desk, staring at nothing. Then she announced, “Computer: open a secure
channel to Kuburan Automated Station. Priority Zero-One-Zero.”
“Channel opened.”
Ma’Sala’s jaw
tightened. She was wrong. She thought that such news as this would have made
her decision easier.
It didn’t.
“Computer: this is Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall, Authorisation Code 177-55-8809.
Launch the Seven Hells to Prime Target with immediate effect. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged.”
And that was it.
A simple word to confirm the genocide of an entire race. She had a lifetime of
death... but always against those who were fighting back, or who had directly
committed acts of terror and threatened more. But this... this was almost
inconceivable.
Her cybernetic
paw closed into a fist, and she slammed it down onto the desk, adding more
damage to what had already been inflicted in the first attack. Mother Damn You All! Why did you have to
force my paw? Did you think I wanted this?
*
Unnoticed by
anyone now, the surface of Kuburan opened up, and a small, dark missile shot
upwards and outwards, quickly accelerating to warp speed as it made its way
towards the Ferasan Sector.
*
Melem-Adu.
The Master
Governor spun in place, looking around. “Who spoke?”
His aides looked
to each other, Har-User voicing the response for the others. “No one, Sire.”
Melem-Adu, they cannot hear me. I am speaking directly
to your mind.
The Ferasan
glanced up at the ceiling, then the floor, his tail twitching in agitation.
“Who are you? Show yourself, Ghost!”
I am no Ghost. This is Valtiri, the former Hunter
Prime to the Patriarch. I am a Telepath. I am reaching out to your mind to
appeal to you to do the wise thing and surrender.
Melem-Adu raised
his pistol, aiming it randomly and making those around him dodge and duck away.
“Lies! This is a trick!” He fired upwards, striking the ceiling. “I won’t
surrender!”
The aides moved
to Har-User. “He’s gone mad! Talking to no one!”
Melem-Adu, our people are in jeopardy. We have taken
the wrong steps in trying to solve it. So much blood, so much suffering, has
been inflicted unnecessarily upon these people. But it’s still not too late to
end it, and still save us.
“SHUT UP!
TRAITOR!”
The doors
opened, and Hrelle, Valtiri and Nenjo entered, weapons drawn, while the
Delphines brought up the rear, Hrelle announcing, “Drop your weapons! All of
you! It’s over! Your Fleet is gone! Your forces are decimated! Surrender and
you’ll live, I promise you!”
The Ferasans
drew their disruptors.
“Captain Hrelle
tells the truth!” Valtiri shouted now, limping, hiding his wound as best he
could. “It’s all over! This madness must end!”
Melem-Adu looked
around his side. “Open fire! I command you!”
Hrelle kept his
weapon on Melem-Adu, but glanced around, watched the other Ferasans.
Watched them
drop their weapons as ordered, and raise their paws.
The Master
Governor spun about in disbelief. “Traitors! COWARDS!”
He raised his
own gun to Hrelle.
Hrelle shot it
from his grip, sending it spinning away.
Melem-Adu
clutched his gun paw, baring his teeth.
Hrelle stepped
forward. “Melem-Adu, on my authority as an officer with Starfleet, I am
arresting you on the charges of Genocide, Terrorism, Mass Torture-”
Melem-Adu roared
and charged at him.
Hrelle could
have stunned him, ended this quickly and cleanly.
Instead he
tossed his phaser to Nenjo, bared his claws and charged back.
The two
combatants grappled on the floor of the Operations Centre, Hrelle feeling the
recent injuries the Ferasan had obviously experienced, now eclipsed by
Melem-Adu’s adrenaline-fuelled rage. Claws and teeth connected with flesh and
fur, hot breath and blood thick, and the Galaxy faded into grey as the fighters
seemed to personify their respective peoples
Hrelle cursed as
Melem-Adu got lucky and cracked several of his ribs, and pain shot through him.
Hrelle forced down his pain... and his anger. This was a stupid, stupid
indulgence! Risking his life with this kussik!
With another
roar he swung out, again and again, striking down Melem-Adu, drawing blood and fur
and leaving him in an agonised heap.
“An honourable
duel, Captain,” Valtiri commented with admiration.
Hrelle breathed
in, pushing down the pain. “A foolish and unnecessary one. Don’t let my wife
know, she’ll leave me in a worse state than this. ” He looked to Nenjo. “Re-establish
the Emergency Global Network, I need to broadcast to the planet. And get me
status reports on Operation Uproar. Hurry.” To Valtiri, he ordered, “Disarm the
Ferasans and round them up; stun anyone who even thinks of resisting.” To the
Delphines he pointed to the workstations. “I want control of this building
again, we’re going to need it to coordinate the relief and security efforts.
And keep a watch on the other Ferasans in the building, I don’t want them
working their way here.”
As they moved to
action, he looked down on Melem-Adu, who struggled to raise his bloodied,
broken muzzle, one good eye still working, as he glowered up contemptuously at
Hrelle and spat, “F-Finish me- c-c-coward-”
“No. You don’t
get to avoid facing your crimes.”
“Captain,” Nenjo
reported, looking more astonished and delighted than he had ever seen her.
“The Navron Team was successful! The Syphers loaded up the Codes! They did more
than just bring down the Enemy’s Transporters and Communications, it destroyed
their Prideships! They’re burning up in the atmosphere! The Deep Keep is
still intact, and are now coordinating efforts to contain the Enemy military
camps! There’s no sign of the Jem’Hadar, and we now have Starfleet vessels in
orbit!”
Hrelle’s heart
raced. Thank you, thank you thank you...
“What about the Emergency Network?”
“I have access
to it. I can even do it from where you’re standing; the cameras are just above
you.”
He nodded. “Do
it. Now.”
She frowned. “Do
you- Do you want to clean yourself up first, Sir?”
He glanced down
at his bloodied, torn uniform. “I’m not running for office, Agent. Just do it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Hrelle cleared
his throat. He hated public speaking.
“You’re on the
air, Sir.”
He swallowed and
raised his voice. “To the surviving Ferasans still on Cait: this is Captain
Esek Hrelle of the Starfleet vessel Surefoot, representing the United
Federation of Planets, broadcasting from the Capital Building you once
controlled.
Your Occupation
is at an end. Your vessels have either been destroyed or driven off, your
military bases have been neutralised, and Starfleet has now arrived. You have
lost the ability to transport away or communicate with each other. And in case
you might doubt the veracity of my declaration, have a look at your former
Master Governor...” He reached down and lifted up the near-unconscious form of
Melem-Adu, before dropping him again.
“I call upon you
now to take the honourable path,” Hrelle continued. “Lay down your arms and
surrender to the nearest Caitian authorities. If you do, you will be subject to
protection under Interstellar Law regarding the treatment of Prisoners of War.
If you do not...
you will receive as much mercy as you have shown us.
To all Caitian
civilian, police and military authorities watching and listening: on my
authority as a senior officer of Starfleet and a member of the Kaetini Order, I am declaring a Class 1 Disaster,
and will remain in command until the re-establishment of appropriate civilian or Starfleet authority.
Efforts must be
taken with immediate effect to secure your districts, detain and confine Enemy
personnel pending legal proceedings, and seek out and provide aid to the civilian population. Starfleet
personnel will soon be transporting to areas in most need to restore power,
food, medical aid and communications... but we will first be focusing on the
Ferasan prisoner camps-”
He paused as he
heard the whine of a Starfleet transporter behind him, and seconds later,
picked up a familiar scent, before he concluded, “I call on all our people to
work together and help each other. The immediate crisis has only just ended,
but our struggles to recover will continue for some time. I thank all of you,
everywhere, for your cooperation, your support, and in too many instances, your
sacrifice.
May the Great
Mother watch over all of us. End Transmission.”
Nenjo signalled
the closing of the transmission, and Hrelle turned to see T’Varik and a
Security team, some he recognised, others he didn’t, their phasers drawn, the
Vulcan signalling to her Team to assist Valtiri in guarding the Ferasans here.
He strode up, his heart racing and his tail wagging. “Commander... welcome to
Cait.”
She reached up
and tapped near the Captain’s pips on her collar. “I was promoted in your
absence.”
“It suits you.”
He smiled, unable and unwilling to hide his emotion. “You know you’re not going
to get away without a massive embarrassing hug from me, don’t you?”
T’Varik raised
an eyebrow. “I would be insulted if I did not receive one. We are family, after all.”
He embraced her,
taking in her scent more fully. She embraced him back with equal strength.
Then he pulled
back, as he saw the Security approach Valtiri warily. “He’s on our side! And
he’s been wounded! Ensign Ree-Taan, get him onboard ship, make sure he gets the
best treatment-”
“Uh, Captain?”
Nenjo interrupted. “Sorry, but I’m trying to reach the Island. They’re not
responding.”
*
Sasha emerged
blinking into the strong light of the camp, moving in the direction of the
flyer, looking for remaining Ferasans that hadn’t heard or believed her
father’s speech, broadcast over the camp’s communications. Part of the fence
had been brought down by a falling guard tower, and prisoners were struggling
to escape, without knowing where they were.
Disruptor fire
made her quicken her pace, seeing Moru and Osha pinned down, trying to fire
back. “Report!”
Moru looked to
her. “There’s about half a dozen Rat-Tails holed up in a bunker!”
The top of the
half-wall they were all crouching behind blew up into dust and debris from a
disruptor bolt.
She nodded at
that. “Get back to the Tailless, lock onto them, beam them out into the
area beside us! The Security protocols will disable their weapons before they
rematerialise!”
Moru nodded and
half-crawled, half-ran to the flyer, as Osha stared at Sasha. “Wouldn’t it be better
for all concerned to simply beam them into energy patterns?”
The human stared
back. Not agreeing to the notion. Not disagreeing to the notion.
She heard the
sound of a transporter beam, and then the firing stopped. She rose and raised
her rifle. “Follow, set your weapon to Heavy Stun.”
Seconds after
Osha complied, six transporter beams brought into existence before them Ferasan
males, all of them attempting to fire their own weapons, without effect.
Sasha stepped
forward. “They won’t work. Throw them to the right, get down on your knees and lock
your paws behind the back of your head.”
The Lead
Ferasan, with Pridemaster insignia, stepped forward – until Sasha aimed her
rifle directly at him. Still he sneered, “You have no right to be here! This is
Ferasan territory!”
“You can argue
that at your trial. Now stop moving, or-”
“Or what? You’ll
kill us?! He laughed contemptuously, arms wide. “We welcome it! Kill us!”
“No... I’ll stun you. I’ll stun you all. Not
heavily; just enough to paralyse your limbs but still leave you wide awake.”
She pointed around them. “And at their
paws.”
The Pridemaster’s
smile dropped as he followed where she pointed.
And saw the
former prisoners: females, cubs... beaten, starved, fatigued, tortured,
mutilated. All silent and staring unblinkingly at their former captors. Their
former tormenters.
And then she saw
the fear grow in the Ferasans’ eyes.
They threw aside
their disruptors and dropped to their knees, paws behind their heads.
“KILL THEM!”
someone shouted hoarsely.
Sasha turned at
the voice, suffused with pain and hate. Her heart was racing.
“They raped us!”
another screamed. “Butchered us! Experimented on our cubs!”
“If you won’t do
it, we will!”
She could turn
and look the other way.
Yes, she could.
More transporter
beams appeared, and Captain Weynik and a Security squad appeared, the
diminutive Roylan striding up to her. “Lieutenant, are you alright?”
She swallowed,
pleased to see her old commanding officer more than she could say aloud. “Sir! Please
tell me you didn’t come alone!”
“We have a few
ships in orbit.” He glanced around. “What have we got here, Lieutenant?”
“A... nightmare,
Sir. We need Security to apprehend the Ferasans like these... and Medical teams
to help the people they’ve harmed. Here...” She looked around. “Everywhere...”
He looked to
her, seeing the wounds and bloodstains, the signs of injury on her body and on
her expression. “Are you okay, Sasha?”
“I’m fine, Sir,”
she lied.
*
Kami crouched,
controlling her breathing, recalling her Holodeck Combat Training she completed
towards obtaining her Command qualifications, the rifle feeling heavy in her
paws, and wishing there had been a canteen of water with the weapons. Something
to suggest in a memo... if she survived.
Beside her, her
father Bneea was shucking off his jacket, revealing a padded vest and muscular
furred arms that held his own rifle as he peered over the foliage. They had
been maintaining a good pace, leading the Ferasans away from the others, while
staying away from the larger prehistoric animals that inhabited the surface of
the island.
Kami had no idea
how this was going to end. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
Bneea had heard
her whisper, and looked to her. “For what?”
“For including
you. I couldn’t do this alone, but Papa Mi’Tree is still recovering from his
wounds, Mirow’s my firstborn, a new Papa
himself-”
“Hush. You made
the right choice.” He nodded to their left. “If we circle around that outcrop
of rocks, we can double back to their shuttles, cause a little mayhem.”
She swallowed.
“You know where we are?”
He nodded,
pointing around. “I’ve been out here a couple of times to check on the sonic repellents
set up to keep the more dangerous animals away from the entrances and airfields.”
Suddenly a
wellspring of emotion rose up within her. “Thank you, Papa.”
He smiled...
then stiffened, as did she, as she caught a scent, and then a sound, and she
spun in place in her crouched position, raising her rifle, even as Bneea copied
her, firing first, over her head into a collection of greenery, making those
hidden within react and try to dodge – only to be caught by a phaser pulse from
Kami, bringing one of their pursuers down.
She snapped back
into action. “Move!”
They were
continuing onward, still glancing behind them, trying not to trip or get their
tails caught in the undergrowth. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting
some of the basic rule of her training – never remain in one place too long
unless you have overwhelming odds in your favour or you have no choice – as she
focused ahead. Papa Bneea was right, they should be taking the fight back to
the Enemy-
An explosion
blew apart a nearby tree, sending the upper half crashing down, and the two
Caitians tumbling over from the concussion.
*
At the other end
of the emergency entrance to the underground facility, Jhess and others had met
the Caitians descending the vertical shaft, Jhess asking, “What’s happened?”
Mirow guided
Ptera and the infants she carried down, explaining, “Ferasans attacked! Mama
and Grandpa Bneea are leading them away from the entrance so they don’t find
it!”
Mi’Tree helped
Misha down and turned to them. “We can’t leave them up there to fight alone!”
“No, we can’t.”
Jhess picked up a plasma rifle, but still he stopped, looking to his wife,
hesitating.
Until she nodded
to him. “Go. Do what you have to.”
“I’m coming
too,” Mirow declared.
“The Seven Hells
you are!” Mi’Tree declared. “You have a wife and cub to care for! I’m going
back up-”
“Misha!” Ptera cried.
All turned to
see the cub scrambling back up the shaft.
*
Kami twisted to
keep from getting grabbed, kicking out and rolling to try and find her phaser-
until she froze when the muzzle of a disruptor rifle was shoved against the
side of her head. She listened to Bneea struggle, then winced as she heard him
cry out in pain.
They were
dragged up to their knees at the edge of a large clearing, the Ferasan pack
covering them in a semi-circle, looking around as the Pack Leader gnashed his
sabreteeth at them. “You give a good chase; my compliments.” He made a show of
sniffing between them. “Father and daughter? How sweet. Tell me where the
others are, and I’ll be merciful.”
Kami licked the
blood from the side of her muzzle. “There’s- There’s no one else here- we’re alone-”
The Pack leader
chuckled mirthlessly. “Liar. Well, why not lie? I lied about being merciful.” He
looked around, walked over and picked up a large, charred branch, testing its
weight and strength. “The only question is: which do I do first? Do I beat the
old male to death while you watch, before we rape you? Or the other way around,
so he gets to watch?”
“No! Bneea
growled. “Leave her alone! Kill me if you must!”
“No, Papa!” Kami
pleaded.
“No, Papa! No,
Papa!” the Pack Leader mocked, laughing and pointing the stick at him. “I know,
let’s mix it up: you get to watch your daughter get her head split open.”
“No!” Bneea
struggled, but was struck in the back and sent to the ground.
The Pack Leader returned
to Kami, who braced herself to leap up and attack, unwilling to die on her
knees-
Something with a
familiar sound struck the Pack Leader in the back, sending him hurtling towards
Kami. She dodged to one side, recognising the sound of a phaser rifle.
Her phaser rifle... now held by Misha, the six-year-old cub looking smaller
than the weapon and barely able to keep it raised, but still standing his
ground, eyes wide, focused on the Ferasan he had shot.
The other
Ferasans turned, ready to fire back.
Then more phaser
and plasma bolts shot out from the undergrowth, as Jhess charged out beside Mirow
and Mi’Tree, bringing down the remaining Ferasans.
Kami moved to
her son, who now looked stunned at what he had just done. Quickly she took the
rifle from him and set it aside, holding him tightly. “Baby! My beautiful baby!
Are you okay?”
He made a fearful
sound. “Did I- Did I... kill the Fearie?”
“No, Sweetheart;
the phaser was set on Stun. It’s okay, everything’s-”
Then she turned
at the sound of another Ferasan charging out of the foliage, and she lifted up
her son and moved to evade the new attacker-
Until a new roar
filled the air, and a large female figure appeared, catching the new Ferasan in
mid-leap, both of them tumbling out of view. Kami dropped to where her phaser
rifle had fallen, lifting it up with one paw and ready to fire.
But then
stopping as the female Caitian broke the Ferasan and rose, clad in a Planetary
Navy uniform, with a cybernetic right arm and right eye.
“GRAMMA!” Misha
shouted.
“Mama?” Kami
whispered in naked disbelief.
The others
looked to the new arrival, Bneea and Mi’Tree stepping forward, lowering their
weapons and both exclaimed simultaneously. “Ma’Sala?”
Ma’Sala stepped
forward, limping slightly, and for the first time in Kami’s memory, looked
self-conscious, even vulnerable. But her scent, her sound... it was her! She was alive!
Misha leapt out
of his mother’s arms and raced up unafraid and unapologetic into his
grandmother’s. Kami followed, and then Bneea and Mi’Tree.
*
Jinjer winced as
he limped up over the rise on the steppes of Ravath, using a piece of fuselage
as a crutch. His leg didn’t feel broken, it just shot a world of pain through
him with every step he took. Any landing
you can walk away from is a good one, my furry rear end.
They were gone,
all but him. Biggles, Aljinon, Bertti,
Smithi... you beautiful, beautiful people. Why did I have to survive when none
of you did? Biggles, you fool, you have a son out there! And Alji and Bertti?
You should have married long ago? Smithi? Where was that book you almost
promised to finish writing?
But me? I’m nothing. Useless. No good to anyone. A
worthless old cat who should have just stayed with the other wreckage.
Finding Navron
Camp was easy enough: follow the smoke. And it was a pleasure to see the
remains of the Ferasans they had brought down first. Of course, he was risking
that his side hadn’t been successful after all, and he could be walking – okay,
limping – into capture. He supposed it beat starving to death out here in the
middle of-
He stopped as he
heard the whimpering, dropping to a pained crouch and peering ahead, over the
top of the rise.
There were cubs.
They varied in age from five to ten, and they looked thin as twigs, the clothes
hanging off them. But they were helping each other to keep moving, moving away
from the camp.
Jinjer rose up,
doubling his efforts to catch up with them, waving in their direction as he
shouted, “Hey there!”
The cubs
stopped, drew together fearfully, some of the older cubs crowding around the
younger ones protectively. The tallest of them, a female, stepped forward, paws
raised, shouting out, “Who are you? Stay back! I hurt you!”
Jinjer slowed
down as he drew closer, raising his free paw in conciliation. “It’s okay! I’m
not one of the Ferasans!” He indicated his leather jacket. “See?”
Then he realised
the young cub couldn’t. She was blind. She was using her other senses, and
sheer bravado, to defend the rest of them.
Mother’s Cubs... He had been told about what the Ferasans were doing
in the camps, but seeing the actual effects of what those bastards had done to
these poor cubs...
He took another
step forward, ignoring his own pain as he dropped down to one knee before the
tallest cub until they were at the same level, his voice soft and reassuring.
“My name is Jinjer Barin, with the 409th Aerobatics Squadron. I’m a
Skycat.” He reached out, took the cub’s right paw and guided it to his own
muzzle. “See? No sabreteeth. I’m Caitian, just like you.”
The cub was
crying now. “Please help us.”
Jinjer was
crying too, but ignored his own tears to wipe away the cub’s. “Of course I’ll
help you. All of you.” He took the cub’s paw in his own and rose. “Come along
now. We’ve taken care of those horrid Ferasans. Now we’ll see about getting you
fed and fixed up and back to your families before you know it.”
The cub clung to
his paw as if for dear life, as the others huddled around him.
*
“...May the Great Mother watch over all of us. End
Transmission.”
The Ferasan
barely listened to the announcement over the Navron Camp loudspeaker, bending
over the station console, rapidly erasing the internal memory while setting the
explosives. It had been ages since he had taught himself how to handle these,
only wanting to make himself more useful to his Pride, never thinking for a
moment that he would have to use such knowledge for real.
Everything had
been running as smoothly as it could here, or so he imagined. Now, in the space
of an hour, it had all fallen apart, the Caitian garbage had somehow found
aircraft and attacked, leaving him to follow the Pridemaster’s orders and cover
up what had happened here before making his escape with the rest of his Pride-
those that still survived-
The door opened,
and a human female in armour and wielding a phaser rifle burst in and aimed at
him. He ducked and reached for his disruptor-
Sasha stunned
him and stepped over his unconscious form, before moving to the explosive
charge, examining and deactivating it. She glanced at him, before checking the
computer. “A little overreaction, Bubulah. Why would you want to blow this
particular building up?” She had entered this building, a reinforced structure
at the edge of camp, assuming it was an armoury or a storehouse.
Until she opened
a reinforced metal door at the end with a control panel built into it, and
coughed at the face full of dust she received. She cleared her throat and
peered inside: a stark, windowless room empty of everything but several
centimetres of dust. The interior was lined from floor to wall to ceiling with
vents and energy conduits designed to handle substantial amount of energy. It
reminded her of the transkinetic chambers onboard starships, used to break down
residual antimatter on the subatomic level-
She spun in place,
rifle raised up, when she felt the presence behind her, immediately lowering it
on seeing the Caitian female standing outside. She coughed again from the dust.
“Sorry, Ma’am, didn’t mean to frighten you... I’m Starfleet- I...”
She stopped when
she realised the female, a honey-furred, emaciated looking thing in her
twenties, wasn’t listening, seemed hypnotised by the interior of the room where
Sasha stood. Her chocolate brown eyes fixed on the floor, seemingly on the
footprints on the dust-covered floor. “They put Nrina in here.”
“Excuse me? Who-
Who’s...” She looked down again.
“They put them
all in here. When... When they died... They put my sister Nrina in here. And my
friend Jel. And Dori. And Shaf. They put them all in here. And just like
that... they’re dust.”
And then it hit
Sasha like a meteor.
Oh God. Oh God, she was walking on the remains of
bodies. She was breathing their remains into her lungs.
Her hand reached instinctively up to her neck, where underneath her uniform she wore the Chai pendant her mother gave her years ago, after they had visited the camp at Auschwitz on Earth, and the young Sasha remained traumatised with the realisation of what had happened there to their ancestors.
This means Life. Not just Life Itself, but the Will to Live. They tried to destroy us, but Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live.
Trying to hold
it together, trying to keep from folding into herself in horror, she walked
out, irrationally stepping in the same footsteps she had already made, in order
to not disturb it any more.
She stepped back
out with the Caitian, who continued to stare. “And just like that... they’re
dust. Like they never existed.”
*
“NOW! RIP INTO
THEM, STEELCROWNS!”
Pridemaster Warad-Enlil,
of the Steel Crown Pride would not give up. He had believed from cubhood in the
general superiority of his people... and the particular superiority of his
Pride. Others might have looked down on them as inferior. But who had the
Master Governor turned to when he wanted an atomic bomb created at short
notice? They had more than claws and teeth and muscle and machinery; they had
brains. They built and improved systems, and kept these innovations to
themselves. And that made the
difference.
So, when the
cowardly Caitians had somehow infected the Prideships in orbit with an
insidious virus, and others blew up, crashed and burned around the planet, he
and his males had minimised the damage to their systems, managing to guide
their vessel down to a relatively safe landing, here in the Port of Sekuro in
Mnara Province.
And now they
fought their way across the city to get to the nearest Aeroport, where they
would commandeer a private flyer, or board a Subshuttle and hide out on another
part of this miserable planet.
Warad-Enlil took
twenty of his best males and left their Pride’s females and less valuable males
behind, and cut through the narrow, winding streets of Sekuro, firing at anyone
who got in their way... and even the ones who didn’t, their screams drowning
out the snarl of the Ferasan disruptors. Keep them off-balance and cowering.
They would rise again. Their Pride, their people, would still triumph!
The streets
opened up into a wider plaza whose pavement was a colourful tiled mural around
a gurgling fountain whose water was conjuring rainbow arcs in the sunlight. He paused,
checking his datapad and pointing to a passage on the right. “That way, Steel Crown!
That way!”
They swarmed
ahead in the direction he indicated... before almost tripping over themselves
as a half-dozen transporter columns appeared before them, quickly amalgamating
into Starfleet personnel of various races, but all with Security armour and
phasers.
Except for one:
the largest of the six, and a monster,
a huge mammoth pachydermoid with a thick grey hide, a broad muzzle with round
open nostrils, and hands that balled into massive fists as he charged straight
into them like a juggernaut, bellowing, “SCOUNDRELS! MEET YOUR GODS!”
Then Warad-Enlil
stared in astonishment as the Monster punched ThirdSon so hard, the younger
male literally soared into the air.
The Pridemaster
called out to the rest of his males, “Burn them all!”
But the
Starfleet Security team, led by a black-furred Caitian female, was not only not
intimidated, but responded with equal ferocity. “Open fire! Do not let them leave this plaza! Thykrill!
Watch the ones in back! Urad! Leave some for the rest of us!”
The Monster was
holding two of Warad-Enlil’s males in the air like they were dolls when it
responded to the Caitian, but now just banged their heads together and threw them aside
like rejected toys. Disruptor bolts shot around, but the Starfleet team dodged
or took the blasts in their armour, and responded with phaser fire.
Warad-Enlil realised
they weren’t getting out of here.
Not all of them
anyway.
He turned and
fled the way they had come.
Only to find another
Starfleet Security team blocking the way, led by a bald blue Bolian female,
phaser arm raised. “Drop it, Dickhead!”
The Pridemaster
turned around again- there had to be another way out-
The Caitian
female had raced up to him, leaping and kicking him across the side of his
head, sending him down.
He twisted and
returned to his feet, losing his weapon but baring his claws and teeth. The
Caitian did the same.
“Lieutenant
Shall!” the Bolian shouted. “We can stun him-”
“Stand down,
Neraxis!” the Caitian snarled, eyes locked on Warad-Enlil. “He’s mine!”
The Pridemaster
struck out. No. No, he wouldn’t fall. Not to a Caitian. And especially not to a
Caitian female.
She dodged his
swings, ducked and kicked back, roaring with fury as she connected with
astounding speed, and continuing to strike back.
And as more and
more of his bones cracked and teeth flew, the pain suffusing his body was
carried along by an unprecedented fear.
A final kick to
his stomach sent him flying backwards, breaking his tail as he finally hit the
pavement.
He spat up blood,
splattering his fur.
No. No, it
couldn’t end like this.
It couldn’t.
Then, as the
Caitian crouched over him, snarled, “This is for Shanos Minor!”, and delivered
a last punch to send him into oblivion, he accepted that it could end like this.
And did.
*
Across the
Bahari grasslands, a thousand-head herd of wild shurises poured westward like a
wave, as if driven by the shadow cast from overhead, the shadow of the Deep
Keep, as it descended to a thousand metre height, driving onward towards a
large Ferasan encampment.
From the fenced
enclosure, disruptor cannons fired upward. The Caitian vessel responded with
the launch of several Lightpaw gyrohops, dodging the disruptor bolts and
returning fire with their plasma cannons, taking out the weapons and guard
towers.
Moments later,
they landed within the enclosure, the troops within sweeping out, plasma rifles
raised but not firing. Then, once the area was secured, Captain Mrorr beamed
down, regarding what they had found... which had definitely not been what she
had expected.
It was Ferasans.
But no warriors. Females. Young cubs, too, though precious few of them.
“Lieutenant Commander?”
Her Second
Officer H’Nille approached. “Ma’am, from what we’ve been able to gather, this
appears to be a residence for many of the non-combatants from the Prideships,
giving them a chance to acclimate to our climate and gravity, and to
immediately benefit from whatever medical advances their people could come up
with here to overcome their genetic issues.”
So most of the Prideships that came raining down today
were mostly combatant males, Mrorr thought, because of course
females were only good for one thing in their minds. She took in the looks
of fear and anger and confusion in their faces, uncertain as to their fates.
Mrorr wasn’t all that certain, either.
“What are we
going to do with them?” H’Nille asked.
You must have seen your ships raining down from the
sky. You know your males, your Prides, are all dead, and your cause lost. How
many of you would raise arms against us now to try and exact vengeance? You may
be non-combatants, but you’re all still Ferasan.
“Captain?”
H’Nille prompted.
Mrorr breathed
out. No. Being Ferasan is not reason
enough to hate you. “Disarm and confine any guards you find, and check
their infrastructure for the status of their supplies of food, water and
medicine. Otherwise, they can stay here until someone can decide what to do
with them.” She looked up at the Deep Keep: it, like their people, their
world, was damaged, but still functioning. “I have to get to the Capitol to
meet with Fleet Captain Shall.”
*
The convoy moved
through south-west through the Kaigi Mountains to the Safe House, Nimeni’s
Security detail covering the front and rear.
In the armoured
limousine, Nimeni sat in the rear, glad once more to have had his useless tail
amputated long ago, making moving in and out of his hovercar that much easier. All tails are ever good for anyway is
balance and emotional display, and I have no need for either.
He cradled a
tumbler of Glenfiddich, watching the gentle swirl of the amber liquid with the
movement of the vehicle. “When we arrive I want Rafael and Mesh clearing out
any residual Chaos Codes from the systems, and get Khimpaq to track down
reports of any fugitive Ferasans to forward to the Capitol.
I also want a
collation of the prisoner data; the people will need to know who was sent
where... and who won’t be returning home after this.” He looked up at Shona,
sitting across from him, working on her PADD and ignoring her own drink. “The
whiskey is Terran, over two centuries old... and costs a small fortune.”
“I told you when
you were opening it that it would be wasted on me.”
“I hope you at
least avail yourself of one of the escorts awaiting us at the safe house?”
“If I do, I’ll
never tell you.” She paused. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the
opportunity to do something better than selling arms.”
“My pleasure.”
He raised his tumbler to her. “Please, indulge me.”
Now she set
aside her PADD and raised her own.
“To Victory.” he
toasted.
“To Victory.”
They drank...
Shona choking a little on it and setting the glass down again in disgust. “Yuck.”
“Barbarian.”
“You should be
proud. They couldn’t have won this War without your efforts, Tarim.”
He allowed
himself a slight smile at her infrequent use of his real name. “I know. And
I’ll make sure they don’t forget it. Reconstruction will afford us many new
opportunities to expand our business. And our influence.”
“But what about
the Ferasans? What if they try to invade again?”
“They won’t.”
Now she looked
up. “You seem very confident about that.”
Nimeni stared
out, his cybereyes re-reading the intercepted data on Ma’Sala Shall and her secret
weapon, the Seven Hells Device she had employed today. Well played, Fleet Captain, my compliments. And the knowledge of what
you have done may prove very valuable to me someday. “I have faith
in the future.”
*
Ensign Zir
Dassene had seen much, not just in her burgeoning Starfleet career but her
burgeoning life. She was no Squab. She had shed blood, and spilt it.
Still, as she
beamed into the square of one of Cait’s towns with her Security team to collect
the Ferasan POWs reported there, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of
the mob, a hundred or more Caitians, howling and baying, flowing towards a set
of wooden circles on a raised dais in the centre of the plaza.
“Ensign?”
Crewman Virem Vahn asked over the noise, his bald blue Bolian forehead creasing
in confusion.
Beside him, Crewman
Tsath pointed to the centre of the mob, the Vulcan’s calm demeanour belying the
content of his observation. “They appear to have the Ferasan prisoners. The
prisoners have suffered fresh injuries.”
Zir looked to
her left, to the Caitian Constabulary Station, where several uniformed
Constables stood, watching, doing nothing to stop what was happening. The young
Orion woman motioned to her team and raced up the steps to them. “What’s going
on here? We’re here for the prisoners!”
One of the
Constables was leaning casually against the doorway, his blonde tail swishing
behind him as if nothing untoward was happening. “You’re late. The mob got to
them first.”
Zir looked back,
seeing from her elevated position the Ferasans being secured to points on the
circles. Her stomach was churning. “What are those?”
“Martyr’s
Wheels.” The Constable shrugged. “Not that these kussiks are martyrs, except to
their own cause.”
“What the Hell
are Martyr’s Wheels?”
“Ensign,” Tsath
interrupted, pointing to the area near the centre of the mob, where torches
were being lit.
Zir’s heart was
racing, and she turned back to the Constables. “They’re going to burn them
alive?”
“That is how martyrs die.”
“And you’re
letting this happen?”
Now he looked to her angrily, his tail twitching.
“Don’t shed any tears for them,
Starfleet! They killed almost a third of the people here! They stole our cubs!
I lost a sister to them!”
She looked to the others. “But you’re Constables! You still
have to uphold the law!”
The one who was talking to her shrugged again. “We
also have to live here after you’re gone.”
She looked back again, the mob’s rage building to a
crescendo, as they backed away from the Ferasans on the Wheels, while some
stepped forward, carrying the torches.
No. No matter what these Ferasans had done, this
shouldn’t happen to them. To be burned alive... She smacked her combadge.
“Ensign Dassene to Surefoot: can you lock onto the Ferasans in the area
and beam them out?”
“Negative, Ensign, the bioreading similarities between Ferasans and
Caitians are too close, that’s why you’ve been sent there in person-”
Then one of the Ferasans was set alight.
The mob roared. The Ferasan screamed.
“Security Alert One! Send backup!” She looked to her
Team. “Phasers on Stun, Wide Setting, Security Pattern Alpha Three!” She drew
her phaser as her Team complied and took positions, double checked the setting on
her weapon and charged forward.
“Don’t get involved, Starfleet!” the Constable called
after her.
She ignored him, firing ahead into the crowd, stunning
Caitians and literally leaping over the falling figures as she cut a path
forward to get to the centre of the square, where the first Ferasan captive was
almost fully alight, flames eating at fur and uniform as he frantically
struggled to free himself, and his comrades were begging for help, for mercy,
for anyone to save them.
Zir didn’t allow herself the indulgence of even
contemplating whether or not these people might have deserved their fates, as
she fired at one of the support struts of the Wheel, her Academy lesson on
Structural Geometry coming back to her and being useful for a change.
The Wheel collapsed, as did the Ferasan held onto it,
and as her Team formed a circle and continued firing, stunning more Caitians
and driving the rest back several metres, she holstered her phaser and slipped
out of her jacket to quickly smother the flames, ignoring the desire to retch
at the smell of burnt fur and flesh. She activated her combadge, setting it on
the Ferasan. “Dassene to Surefoot: Medical Emergency! One to beam
directly to Sickbay! Lock onto my combadge!”
She stepped back, drawing out her phaser again as she
watched the Ferasan disappear in a quantum shroud, before joining her team
again. “Mr Wilder! Cut those prisoners down! Ms Wilson, keep watch on them!” To
the crowd she shouted, “This is over! No one’s being executed today! Go home!”
“Get out of here, Starfleet!” one of the Caitians
roared, eyes red, spitting venom. “This is nothing to do with you!”
“Where were you when they were killing and raping us?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“You go home, Starfleet! Or you’ll be put on the Wheels!”
Zir felt the rage from them, a palpable force. She had
never met a Caitian before joining the Surefoot as a cadet, had seen
their paternal and maternal sides in Captain Hrelle and Counselor Hrelle, had
seen their adorable sides in their son Misha, had seen their combative sides in
Lt Shall. She knew that there was a savage part of them, but had only caught
glimpses of this, and only ever in defence of others. This... this was a mass
of venomous hate seeking to be sated, by any means necessary.
It frightened her. But she forced down that fear and stood
her ground, shouting over them, “Return to your homes! That’s an order! Don’t
make us stun any more of you!”
Suddenly there was the sound of phaser fire... not
from her Security team. The crowd began moving to Zir’s right, a wave that were
stumbling over the stunned Caitians but still continued backwards, as a
half-dozen Starfleet officers and crew with phaser pistols and rifles took
their place, their leader, a blonde, middle-aged woman with blonde hair and
sporting Captain’s pips striding up to Zir. “Are you okay, Ensign? We
intercepted your distress signal and offered to lend assistance.”
Zir lowered her phaser, relief washing over her,
though she maintained the expected Starfleet decorum. “Yes, Ma’am, thank you,
it’s much appreciated.” She didn’t recognise the superior officer, though she
seemed familiar, but then most humans looked alike.
The human nodded, tapping her combadge. “Arrington to Redemption:
area secure, will beam back with Ferasan POWs but send down a medical team, we
have Caitians stunned from phaser fire that need checking.”
Zir frowned at the name. Arrington? Like the Surefoot’s
Chief Helmsman Lt Giles Arrington? She had no idea how common the name was
among humans, and didn’t think it appropriate to question the older woman about
it.
Then Arrington was regarding Zir and her team. “The
five of you, standing up to a mob of over a hundred who could have still
overwhelmed you? To save a pack of murderers who probably deserved everything
they might have got? Why would you do something like that, Ensign?”
Zir holstered her phaser, wondering if Captain
Arrington was testing or rebuking her. She chose to believe the former.
“Because it was the duty we were assigned, Ma’am.”
The human regarded her. “You and your team are from
the Surefoot?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You’re one of Hrelle’s Cubs?”
Zir felt her olive skin darken a little at the
nickname that seemed to have gone around the Fleet, for those cadets and former
cadets that have served and trained under Captain Hrelle. Some used the term
derisively, and it was possible that this officer did the same. But Zir raised
her chin and replied, respectfully but resolutely, “Yes, Ma’am. And, if I may
say so, proud to be.”
Arrington nodded at that, offering a smile. “That
explains it. Any other shavetail Ensign wouldn’t have had the balls to do what
you just did.”
*
“Well, Captain,”
Tattok was saying, “You’ve outdone yourself, if such a thing were possible. You
have my deepest respect for what you’ve done for your world.”
They stood in
the First Minister’s offices in the Capitol Building, after Ma’Sala beamed
herself and the family here following their reunion on the Island, not prepared
to leave them again anytime soon, after so long apart. Hrelle couldn’t blame
her for that. “Thank you, Admiral. But I only did what anyone else would have
done under the circumstances.”
“In lieu of your
wife’s presence in order to provide you with much-needed wisdom, I’ll have to
tell you myself to drop the false modesty, it’s unbecoming. You’ve been sorely
missed with the Thirteenth Fleet. Captain T’Varik has been exemplary, however;
I might have to offer her a permanent command of her own.”
“I... I would
have to agree, as much as I would miss her as my Right Paw on the Surefoot.”
He breathed out; he wanted to rest, but he knew there was so much work still
ahead of them all here. “How long have we got here, Sir?”
“Three, four weeks
at most; the ships that couldn’t accompany us are still undergoing repairs and
refits, and we’re waiting on replacements. Hopefully what we brought will be
enough... and I did arrange for a scout ship to have a quiet check on the Ferasan
system, to keep an eye for any response from them. Oh, and we have a new
addition to the Fleet: the Redemption, a Steamrunner-class, commanded by
Captain Lucille Arrington.”
“Lucille?”
Hrelle remembered her: a former adversary, one who made his life an ordeal back
at the Academy decades ago, albeit at the behest of her bastard of a Admiral
father, but one who became a victim herself under the influence of the criminal
Bel-Zon. “I thought she had resigned.”
“Reactivated
Service. We’re running out of experienced line officers because of the War. She
passed the physical and psychological fitness tests.”
He nodded. “We
could do with her experience and nerve...”
The office door
slid open, and Kami and Misha rushed in, the youngster ignoring his father to go
to Tattok and announce formally, in the Roylan Tongue, “Welcome to my planet, Sir.”
Tattok
straightened up. “That’s impressive, Young Captain Hrelle. I’m glad my son Weynik
is good for more than getting your Papa and himself into trouble.”
Hrelle came up
and tousled his son’s furry head as he looked to his wife. “And how are you
doing? And Ma’Sala?”
Kami drew up to
him, rubbing the side of her muzzle against his. “I’m better, once I recovered
from my mild heart attack at finding her still alive, even if she’s looking
like a Borg drone.”
Misha shook a
finger at her. “It don’t matter how she looks, Mama! She’s alive!”
“Your son is
wiser than all of us,” Tattok noted. “But we should decide on a plan of action
now.” He looked to Hrelle. “Knowing you, Captain, I suspect you have plans
already.”
“I do... subject
to approval by the Provisional First Minister, of course. Let’s discuss it with her.”
“Yeah!” Misha
agreed. “Let’s go!”
The cub started
back out, leading the way, but Kami took a hold of his collar and stopped him. “Not
you, Quick Draw. You’re babysitting Sreen in the guest quarters here.”
“No! You need
me! I protect you!”
“Dr Wheelie’s
wife is outside, she’ll babysit you. They have replicators in the quarters. You
can have another tavaberry sundae when you get there.”
Misha’s eyes widened, and his stubby tail quickened at the idea. “I go protect Sreen.”
*
Moments later,
the adults returned to the Operations Room, where Ma’Sala awaited with her
senior officers, Captain Mrorr, Agent Nenjo, T’Varik, Weynik and other
Starfleet Captains from the Task Force... and Valtiri, his wounds repaired, and
now standing apart from everyone else. Hrelle was cognisant of the suspicion,
even the hostility, he was experiencing from some of the others.
And Kami noticed
it too, squeezing Hrelle’s paw supportively before moving to stand next to the
Ferasan, as Hrelle stood before the group; he felt strange taking control of
the briefing, what with Ma’Sala, now the de facto authority on Cait, staying
quiet on the sidelines. But the female, once he had greeted her, consented to
his leading it for now.
And he couldn’t
waste any more time thinking about that. “I want to thank Admiral Tattok and my
other fellow Starfleet officers for their assistance in confronting the Ferasan
Space Fleet to get here, and the continued support from you and your crews. I
wish I could say that was the end of it, but we have a lot of work to do in the
coming days and weeks... if not longer.
Our immediate
priorities are-”
“Excuse me,
Captain,” one of Ma’Sala’s officers, some male Hrelle didn’t know, spoke up.
“We know what our immediate
priorities are: the apprehension of the Enemy on our world!” Then he pointed in
Valtiri’s direction. “Is there a reason one of them is still here?”
Hrelle was about
to respond, when Kami beat him to it. “You’re labouring under a misunderstanding,
Lieutenant. Mr Valtiri may be a Ferasan, but he is not the Enemy. He has risked
his life repeatedly to save and protect my husband and kin-daughter, and was
crucial in our retaking the Capitol Building and apprehending Melem-Adu and his
senior staff.”
“Counselor
Hrelle, I don’t think you understand-”
“That’s Commander Hrelle, Lieutenant,” she corrected him firmly. “Please do not try and tell
me what you think I do or do not understand, as you’ll only end up embarrassing
yourself. And I would trust Mr Valtiri with the lives of my cubs. And if you
still question that, and therefore my fitness as a mother, then I invite you to
take it up with my mother.”
The young male
looked from her to Ma’Sala, who kept her face steely, and never looked in Kami
or Valtiri’s direction, but crossed her arms and opined, “If my daughter is
vouching for him... I will not object to his presence.”
“I understand
some here might have misgivings about Valtiri,” Hrelle added, recapturing
everyone’s attention. “But as far as I’m concerned, he’s proved himself, and
his assistance and unique skills will be needed by us.
Our immediate
priorities will be providing food and medical aid to the Caitians in the camps,
and to repatriate them as soon as possible to their families, or at the very
least to let their families know they’re alive... and to inform the families of
those who aren’t. The Starfleet Task Force vessels have transporters, of
course, but we may be able to employ the Transport Network the Ferasans set up;
the Syphers’ Chaos Codes only disabled it, not destroyed it. Admiral Tattok,
can we organise our ships to provide the
medical teams?”
The Roylan,
standing forward, nodded. “Your own medical personnel has the most experience
among us of dealing with large numbers of casualties efficiently; they have
full authority from me to take whatever personnel, supplies or replicator
energy is required.”
“Thank you.
Another major priority is the continued apprehension, disarming and collection
of Ferasan combatants for eventual identification and trial.”
“We can clear
out one of the more isolated prisoner camps in north Ravath,” Nenjo suggested.
“It would be fitting that they get put in one of the places they made for our own
people.”
“Captain,” a
familiar voice spoke up: Captain Arrington, as Tattok had informed him earlier.
“I might suggest that such a camp be run by our
people for the time being. I had to help break up a mob in one of the towns
that were ready to burn alive their Ferasan prisoners... and were prepared to
go through one of your own Ensigns to do it. Given the understandable hatred
the Caitians are feeling right now...”
Hrelle nodded in
agreement... and gratitude; he had been seeing the reports about such incidents
around Cait, and was about to suggest it himself, but was glad it came from a
non-Caitian. “Thanks, Lucille. Admiral Tattok, I’d like your own Security
Officer to manage that, and the Security teams, to watch over the POWs, as well
as gather the necessary forensic and computer evidence to detail their crimes.”
“It will be
done, Captain.”
“Thank you, Sir.
There is also the ecological damage caused. Most of the debris of the
Prideships that didn’t burn up falling from orbit fell into the oceans, and there
may be residual theta radiation; the USS Essex is best equipped to
locate and safely dispose of these. But of more immediate concern is the
radiation from the site of Shanos Minor; the nuclear device used on the city is
spreading radioactive fallout into the upper atmosphere and surrounding
inhabited areas.”
“Captain,”
T’Varik spoke up. “The Surefoot’s Chief Engineer, David Sakai, has been
in conference with other Engineers in the Task Force about the problem.
Lieutenant Jonas Ostrow has conceived of an intriguing potential solution.”
Hrelle allowed
himself a slight smile at the namedrop of their former gifted cadet. “I have no
doubt, Captain. If you would supervise their actions, please?” At her nod of
acquiescence, he continued. “We also have the needs of the general population:
energy, transportation, food and essential supply production. The entire
infrastructure has been damaged, though I expect many Caitians will return to
work towards this and help restore order. It’s in our nature.”
“Captain,” Kami interrupted,
the use of his formal title sounding strange coming from his wife, though
appropriate under the circumstances. “I would also like to emphasise the
psychological and emotional crises we’ll be facing. Many thousands have
suffered profoundly during the Occupation: loss of family members, rape,
torture, intimidation, terror, uncertainty. Our own Counselors throughout the
planet will not be equipped to handle them on their own, not without proper
training and support.
I’d like to
organise our own Counselors, including the Delphines from the USS Kanaloa
that have been stranded here, to provide the requisite training... as well to
offer Counseling to the Counselors, who will be overwhelmed by the task they
face.”
He nodded. “Do
it. And following on that, I would also like to warn the Starfleet personnel who
will be assisting us that you may not always get positive responses from the
Caitian people you encounter. Partly due to the trauma they have undergone,
partly due to a general lack of experience of dealing with non-Caitians, and partly
due to resentment that Starfleet hadn’t come sooner... however unreasonable
such resentment is. Please be understanding.”
He looked to the
former Hunter Prime. “Mr Valtiri: I understand there is a base in Bahari Province
where Ferasan non-combatants have been billeted.”
The Ferasan
looked to him. “Yes, Captain: those females and cubs whose Prides did not want
to risk their safety remaining onboard the Prideships, or were awaiting to
benefit from any discoveries that might have been made to treat the genetic and
fertility issues my people are suffering from.”
“I want you to go
there, and look for anyone who shouldn’t be part of that group: combatants
hiding out among the civilians. Then I want you to remain and act as Liaison
between us and them, learn what needs they might have that we can fulfil.
Assure them that those who have not committed any acts of hostility towards
Cait or Caitians will not face prosecution, and that in time, they will be
returned to Ferasa.”
Something made
Valtiri turn sharply and look in Ma’Sala’s direction, an expression of shock,
even horror, in his eyes. Hrelle frowned in confusion; did he pick up some
stray thought from her? Perhaps some hostile emotion? Hrelle looked to Kami,
who seemed equally bemused. “Mr Valtiri?”
It took the
Ferasan some visible effort to take his stare away from Ma’Sala, facing Hrelle
again, appearing as stunned as when he had been overwhelmed by the destruction
of Shanos Minor, before recovering. “I... I will relay that to them, Captain. And
on behalf of them, I will offer my gratitude at your gesture of mercy and
charity. It...” He took another glance in Ma’Sala’s direction, before returning
to the conversation. “Sorry, Captain. Yes, I will take this task on.”
Now Hrelle
looked to Ma’Sala. “Madame First Minister, you’ve heard my recommendations. Do
you have any amendments or objections to make on my proposed course of action?”
His kin-mother still
seemed distracted, looking to the chroniker on the wall – with Valtiri still
glancing in her direction once or twice – before shaking her head. “No,
Captain. Your suggestions, and your attitude, do your uniform, and our people,
credit.”
*
At that time, 102
light years away, an object dropped out of high warp midway into a system of
six planets, one of which was Class-M and heavily industrialised. The
inhabitants of the system were sophisticated enough, and paranoid enough, to
have an extensive security system in place, and detected the appearance of the
object.
Unfortunately, the
automated bureaucracy in place, once it detected the uncrewed nature of the
object, initially deemed it of low priority. Besides, the people inhabiting the
planet were busy, recalling Prideships from throughout the Quadrant to join in
the Second Fleet to retake the planet of their weakling cousins.
By the time the
object had drawn greater attention, it had locked onto its target more closely,
and aimed directly for it. Fighters and warships had been ordered to intercept
and destroy it. One warship, desperate to make a name for itself, had pushed
its engines to the limit to be able to deliver the killing blow. Its
Shipmaster’s head filled with visions of fortune and glory from the Patriarch
as he ordered his gunners to fire all disruptor cannons on the object. They hit
their target.
The Shipmaster’s
triumph lasted almost one second.
The object did
not have to be anywhere near its intended target to be lethally effective.
The isomagnetics
cages within the Seven Hells dropped, for the first time in over ten millennia, as the particles within reverted to their
naturally unstable state, collided with each other, and released ineffable
amounts of energy.
The wave spread
outward at faster than light speeds, consuming space and subspace, enveloping
and annihilating the attacking vessels, and the burgeoning Second Ferasan
Fleet. And the planet beyond it, and its moons.
Such was the
velocity of the Omega Wave, that none of the hundreds of millions of Ferasans
on their world were even aware that they were being consumed by energies that
echoed the Big Bang.
The Omega Wave
continued onward, seemingly influenced by the intense gravity well of the
nearby sun, turning into it, and attempting to swallow its immense stellar
energies as well.
It was partly
successful; the resulting imbalance triggered a premature supernova, causing
the star to detonate billions of years before it might otherwise have done,
enveloping the uninhabited inner worlds and one of the outer worlds.
Some starships
that had been on their way into the system stopped, then retreated as quickly
as they could. A few were caught by the conflagration. Others were distant
enough to safely observe in utter disbelief about what was happening. Later,
attempts to approach the area around where Ferasa once orbited failed when the
local subspace proved to have been rendered unstable, preventing warp travel.
The light from
the explosion would reach stations in the nearest systems in the following
decade.
A century or so
later, the light from the blast would reach the skies of the planet whose
people had triggered it.
Confirmation of the disaster reached Cait, and the rest of the Federation, far sooner.
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