The End - Part 3 of 4: Where There Is Hatred...

In a cell in the lower levels of the Capitol, Nusum-Adu stirred painfully from the receding effects of the sedatives he had been under for days. He woke, blinking into the light, sniffing and catching the scent of- “Father?”

Melem-Adu sat with his back to the opposite wall, his voice like a dead thing. “You’re awake. Better I’d killed you while you still slept.”

The words, the tone, were enough to force the younger male to half-sit up, wincing at his injuries, and the constriction from the regenerative bandages wrapped around his torso and parts of his limbs. He glanced around, blinking in the light of the tiny enclosure. “What- What has happened?”

Melem-Adu laughed caustically. “Much.”

His son looked out, seeing the red strip around the seemingly-open doorway, indicating an invisible force field blocking egress: a cell. “What has happened?”

“We have been betrayed. While you were recovering from your injuries, the Caitians somehow managed to bewitch the Hunter Prime into escorting that bastard Hrelle in to strike at our very heart.” He grunted. “Hrelle’s wife is a witch, like all the females, using their bodies and their wiles to try and twist males into doing their bidding.”

“You do her an injustice.”

Both captives looked up at the voice of the arrival in the corridor beyond their cell, as Valtiri approached, looking down at them as he continued. “But then, you are kith and kin to injustice, are you not? Injustice, cruelty, savagery, chaos. They are suffused in your very essence, like our toxic genes.”

Melem-Adu snarled up at him. “Traitor! You will burn for this perfidy!”

“Perhaps, Former Master Governor. But I daresay you’ll go before me. I have looked into the mind of the Caitian who will pronounce judgement on you; her call will be swift, and final.”

Nusum-Adu tried to help himself to his feet, staring in a confusion that was quickly eclipsed by fear. “We- We did what we did to save our race!”

Valtiri regarded him with what looked like genuine pity. “You may argue that point... but it will do you no good. Better to accept your fate with whatever dignity you can scrape together.”

“Mutant mongrel!” Melem-Adu spat. “So what if we die? The Patriarch will just send more like us! He told me as much! We will occupy this world again!”

Now Valtiri looked to him. Mournfully. “No. We won’t.”

*

Hrelle had been in the midst of collating the initial efforts around Cait when the news came through; minutes later, the principal parties involved had returned to the Operations Room of the Capitol for the briefing.

The image on the main viewscreen looked as if some omnipotent child-god had taken a star and ripped it open like a fruit, leaving the innards spilt out over space, as Hrelle reported. “This was recorded by Captain Nola Brice of the USS Harken, on a long-range reconnaissance mission to the Ferasan Sector, sent by Admiral Tattok to monitor what their response might be to our victory here. They had just confirmed the arrival of over eighty-six Ferasan Prideships to form a new fleet... and then this happened.”

“Bloody Hemra...” Weynik breathed out. “Did the star go supernova?”

“No. The explosion occurred within the vicinity of Ferasa Prime, affecting both space and subspace. The Harken’s sensors detected Omega Particles.”

The other Starfleet senior officers reacted. Captain Mrorr, however, saw this reaction and looked around. “What are those?”

“Very exotic, very powerful, very unstable particles of energy, banned throughout the Federation, the Klingon and Romulan Empires because of their potential to destroy large sections of both space and subspace, wiping out planets and making warp drive there impossible.” He indicated the screen. “As we can see here.”

Ma’Sala stepped forward, as Tattok asked, “So what happened?”

“I believe I have the answer to that, Admiral.”

The group turned to Valtiri, who had spoken as he entered, looking up gravely at the images of destruction, his emotions clear. “The Patriarch’s Chief Scientists have been experimenting with producing Omega Particles for years, to employ as weapons. Before I left the Fatherworld on my mission to hunt Captain Hrelle and his daughter, I learned that the Patriarch had been repeatedly warned by his Scientists about the volatile and dangerous nature of Omega, but he insisted on their being employed with the ships being gathered to form a Second Fleet and come here.” He raised an open paw to the screen. “This is the price my people have paid, for a self-deluded despot’s conceit... and for our blind devotion to him.”

Hrelle looked to the Hunter Prime... and to Ma’Sala, seeing some sort of reaction from her at Valtiri’s announcement, without his being able to define what.

“A tragedy,” Tattok declared. “And under Starfleet Regulations, one that cannot be revealed to the Galaxy. We have standing orders, not only to suppress any parties attempting to generate or employ Omega Particles, but to suppress their very existence. As far as anyone else will ever know, this was a devastating but thankfully rare subspace phenomenon.”

“I don’t understand,” Kami admitted. “Why cover it up, Admiral?”

“Because, Counselor, as dangerous as Omega is, the temptation to attempt to synthesise them, for use as either a power source or a weapon, is very potent, especially with the Dominion threat still looming over us. And to officially, publicly confirm the existence of Omega, even with Ferasa as a graphic example of their danger, would not deter some Federation member worlds from still secretly making the attempt. The resulting devastation could dwarf anything done to us by the Dominion.”

Now Tattok faced the Ferasan. “Mr Valtiri, regardless of your acts, as an individual and as a people, you have my condolences. I cannot imagine what you might be feeling now, seeing your world destroyed like this. I will be in consultation with Starfleet Command and the Federation Council about finding a new planet for your people... those that aren’t facing trial, anyway.”

Valtiri had dropped his arm, but continued to stare upwards. “Thank you, Admiral. You are most gracious, under the circumstances.” Now he turned to Hrelle. “Captain, I have a shuttle scheduled to take me to the civilian Ferasan camp. With your permission, I’d like to go now, and inform them of what has happened to our world... and to help them prepare for whatever new life we might find for ourselves.”

*

Later in quarters in the Capitol Building set aside for the Shall Clan, T’Varik sat on a couch with Sreen in her arms, the infant looking up at her and singing softly while clutching the Vulcan’s forefinger. “My goddaughter has developed considerably since I last saw her.”

Kami allowed herself a smile, standing nearby cradling a hot cup of scented tea and walking towards the window. “Do you really think so? Jhess was suggesting that the use of the new models of exoframe have been stimulating her neural connections. Not enough to let her do things without it, but he thinks she’ll start crawling in the next few weeks.”

She stared up at the night sky, sobering. “An entire world, snuffed out like a candle. I know that there must be an infinite number of worlds in the Universe that live and die, without our never knowing their names or peoples or histories.”

Her friend nodded in understanding. “But we know this one. We know its name, its people, its history.”

“Yes... Imagine being one of the Ferasans here tonight, looking up and seeing the starlight from your home system, and knowing that right now, it wasn’t there anymore. That this light that they see here tonight was only an echo from a century ago. Under different circumstances, it could have been Cait that was wiped out.”

T’Varik nodded. “Or Vulcan... though I cannot conceive of any scenario where Vulcan would be destroyed. How is the rest of the family?”

“Papas Mi’Tree and Bneea are still in shock that Mama is still alive. Ptera, Baby Jnill and Mirow have returned to her family’s Clanlands to speak with the rest of them about the future, specifically her new responsibilities as Matriarch, and how much time she’ll spend managing the company instead of being a surgeon.

Sasha... she hasn’t been in contact since Navron; I suspect she’s somewhere in her flyer having a celebratory rut with Lt Mori. Esek and Mama will be working their tails off in the coming days... but I need to get some private time soon to help Mama cope with what she’s gone through: her injuries, her isolation, her guilt. Knowing her, she’ll say No.”

“Knowing her daughter, I doubt if she will take No for an answer.”

Sreen shook T’Varik’s finger, babbling tiredly, “Gadmama, gabadoo me feesh a beeg feesh! Kapoo a ship and da... Foom!”

“Indeed, Goddaughter; your anecdotes remain most illuminating.” The Vulcan looked up at the infant’s mother. “And my Godson?”

“Settled down, with the help of a mild sedative and one of my shirts with my scent on it.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he actually lifted up a phaser rifle to protect me... A thousand times he was told never to touch one, not even a holographic one. And yet he grabbed it without hesitation and fired to save his grandfather and me. How did he even know how to use it?”

“He is a most observant cub... and a charismatic one.”

Kami shuddered. “Cubs his age, no matter how observant or charismatic, shouldn’t be doing that. They should be out crimping their tails and scraping their knees in the playground, or complaining about homework.”

The Vulcan idly stroked the downy fur behind Sreen’s ears, inducing the infant to settle down and fall asleep. “I daresay many cubs his age on Cait have experienced things they should otherwise have been spared, because of the Occupation. Misha is highly fortunate to have the strong support of family around him to help him cope with his actions... and for his family to have the support of each other.”

Kami joined her on the couch, drawing in to sniff her daughter while trying not to wake her, before whispering, “Enough of this serious talk for a while. I know we all have so much work ahead of us, but I’ll still want to get all the Surefoot gossip while I have you here for myself. Purely for professional reasons, of course.”

T’Varik raised a eyebrow. “Then perhaps you should be speaking with my wife. As a Vulcan I could not possibly be an adequate source of irrelevant social information.”

Kami continued to look at her expectantly.

T’Varik sighed. “Of late, Nurse Eydiir has been attending social gatherings with Assistant Engineer Arid Maf, following what I am told was an amicable separation from her former paramour Ensign Falok. Chief Sakai’s latest practical joke involved infecting C’Rash’s fur with itch-inducing Nanites; she was not amused, though I privately admired the creativity of her profanity. Lieutenant Kitirik has taken up the hobby of cooking, with mixed results for those who are not insectivorous...”

*

Hrelle beamed into the darkened interior of the Tailless, sniffing and listening, concern still high since Sasha had failed to respond to his hails, and his queries with Lt Mori informed him that Sasha had taken off without warning from Navron. He glanced out through the cockpit window at the empty plains where his daughter had chosen to park instead of coming home. “Sash?”

He heard a sound from the after section, and ventured there, peering around the corner, smelling the alcohol.

She was slumped on the couch, head and upper half of her face covered by a cowboy hat pulled down over her eyes like she was napping, boots up on the table, almost threatening to knock over the emptied bottle and glass there. Seven Hells, Sash, please don’t tell me you finished an entire Aldebaran whiskey on your own... “Hello, Runt of the Litter.”

She reacted with a little delay, leaning her back, pushing the rim of the hat up from her eyes, focusing with some difficulty on him, before offering a smile and a slurred, “Hello, Papa Cat! Welcome to Casha Sasha- I mean, Casa Sasasha! Ahh, you know what I mean! Pull up a chair and I’ll see if we can find another bottle so you can catch up with me!”

“Thank you, no. Did you really finish that yourself?”

She frowned in drunken confusion at him, before seemingly noticing the bottle. “Oh, that. No, no, no, I tapped into it a couple of days ago with Mru after a particularly good screw we had.” She chuckled to herself. “He has the most delicious piece you can imagine! And the way I can feel his balls slap when he’s losing-”

He raised a paw to her. “Why don’t you stop right there, before you say something more that you’ll definitely regret when you’re sober?” He drew closer and took a seat beside her, noticing something else on the table: the Hebrew Chai pendant her mother gave her. “I was expecting you to come to the Capitol after Navron. Everyone wanted to congratulate you on your achievement. We couldn’t have had a victory without you.”

“Or the Skycats,” she noted, her expression growing mournful. “Only one survived. We couldn’t have done it without them.”

“So I heard. My limited time with them was fascinating. They will be remembered.”

“And they said Mistress Nvell was killed in Shanos Major. Another one to remember.”

Hrelle nodded; that news struck him too, even amidst all the momentous changes that had occurred this day. All the Kaetini warriors, all the planet, would sorely miss her. “But I’m guessing you’re not hiding out here getting drunk alone out of mourning for them.”

Sasha tried to whistle, and failed. “Clever Papa Cat. You always know everything, don’t you?”

“It never feels that way to me. What is it that’s making you feel like this?”

“Failure.”

He frowned. “Failure? Why do you think you’re a failure?”

“Me? Not me. I killed. Again. Killed dozens and dozens. I am a Killing Machine. And I am very, very good at it.” She looked away, wiping nothing from her hands on her trousers. “I meant the ‘Failures’ in Navron. It’s what the Ferasans classified those Caitian females and cubs who didn’t respond to their attempts to carry Ferasan embryos, or their attempts to genetically adapt the cubs to appear Ferasan. Like it was their fault, like they weren’t trying hard enough to be what the Rat-Tails wanted them to be. 

Those ‘Failures’ were disposed of in disintegration chambers: high-tech crematoria, barely leaving any residue, only dust. Most of them who were put in the chambers were dead.

But not all. Those not worth putting out of their misery. They got to spend their final moments being pulled apart like some transporter malfunction nightmare.”

Hrelle’s stomach twisted into knots. Knowing the dry facts of the Ferasan atrocities was bad enough; hearing them from his daughter was something else. And Sasha, for all her previous combat experience, to have seen it directly... “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

She shrugged, lowering her feet to sit up and reach for the bottle. “Feel more sorry for the Caitians imprisoned there. Raped there. Experimented on there. Disposed of with the garbage there. I saw them, heard their stories.” She lifted the bottle, tilted it backwards over her open mouth as if to catch any lingering drops, before slamming the bottle down again in disgust... as if daring it to break and cut her hand to ribbons.

Hrelle reached out and took her free hand in his paw, squeezing gently. “Sasha... what’s happened in Navron, and the other camps, was terrible, horrific... and what you’re feeling now will be felt by others as more learn the full truth... and as much as we might want to ignore it, to put behind us, we must remember it, to make sure it never again happens...”

“‘Never Again’,” she echoed bitterly. “On Earth, in 1945, when the survivors of the concentration camp at Buchenwald were liberated, they hung up handwritten signs everywhere that said ‘Never Again’. Later, they mounted those same words in many languages in stone when they opened the camp to visitors.

And the world agreed, that there would Never Again be another Holocaust. And there wasn’t.

Until the Cambodian Killing Fields. And the Chechyen Pogrom. And the Eugenics Purges. And the Green Massacres. And the Post-Atomic Horrors. And then outwards to other worlds: Tarsus IV. And Tralestra. And other races joined in on the fun, at Khitomer. And Setlik III. And Vorsprun. Over and over and over, a never ending cycle of death and destruction. Which means that all our fighting, all our killing and sacrifice, means... absolutely nothing.”

“Sasha,” he said gently. “Yes, there are terrible things that happen in life, throughout the Universe. But they’re not the only things. There are so many wonderful things too. Acts of kindness and compassion and mercy. There can’t be the darkness without the light. You can’t allow yourself to be blinded by the darkness. Do you understand?”

She seemed to focus on him fully as he spoke. She made a sound.

Then she leaned in closer, dipped her head between them and copiously threw up, most of the vomit splattering the floor, chair, and Hrelle’s trousers and boots.

He caught her before she fell into her own sick, lifting her up in his arms, carrying her into her quarters and resting her on her side, getting a basin for the side of her bunk, before cleaning everything up, and leaving some water, and her pendant, near her. Then he returned to the cockpit to pilot them back to the Capitol.

*

They were going to finally die.

Trapped beneath the surface, all exits blocked when the city seemed to come down upon them, caught in an eternal darkness, the air growing stale, their stomachs twisted into knots from hunger and thirst, they felt the ceiling finally rumble with imminent collapse upon them. And they welcomed it, absolutely certain without a doubt that the planet had been destroyed in some horrible cataclysm caused by the Ferasans.

They huddled together, holding onto the cubs as tightly as they could. Please, please, just let the end finally be quick and as painless as possible-

A red glow from the ceiling filled the chamber with crimson light, making the survivors shield their eyes and try and reassure the crying cubs. The red glow seemed to spread outward, eating away the ceiling. This was it, this was definitely the end-

Then the red glow was replaced by a column of bright, dust-flecked sunlight that streamed down from the new hole in the ceiling. And seconds later, a short, lithe humanoid figure dropped the two-metre height to land and roll like an acrobat, before rising again.

The survivors blinked in fear and confusion at the humanoid, an olive-skinned reptoid in a Starfleet uniform, clutching a tricorder in one webbed hand as it dusted itself off with the other hand, his large round eyes blinking as he looked up at the height he had just leapt. “I am pleased not to have injured myself, otherwise Best Friend Eydiir would have simultaneously healed me and threatened further injury for my bravado. A most amusing talent of hers.”

He looked to the huddled survivors, aiming the tricorder in their direction, and bowed. “Greetings. I am Lieutenant Kitirik Abyss Zuinthinem Emijiz, Chief Science Officer of the USS Surefoot, but you may call me Kit. I am most pleased to have discovered you alive.”

The survivors looked to each other, the oldest struggling to stammer, “Y-You’re-”

The reptoid looked at its tricorder and tapped its combadge. “Kitirik to Surefoot: I have found another fourteen survivors at my location, with the expected physical ailments of radiation poisoning, malnutrition and dehydration.”

“Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Do you require Ensign Stalac to come and dig an escape tunnel?”

“No thank you, Respected Commander Murphy; I am activating the transporter enhancer in my tricorder. Please beam all of us onboard at your earliest convenience, as I will also require a hyrolin booster for the radiation exposure. Kitirik out.” He looked to them. “We will be momentarily beaming you to our ship in orbit to treat you, before returning you to the surface of Cait.”

“Our world,” another spoke up weakly. “Did- Did the Ferasans destroy Cait?”

“Most assuredly not, Respected Survivor. Though Shanos Minor has... suffered... your world has prevailed, and your people have defeated the Most Unrespected Enemy.”

“My Mom and Dad are alive?” an older cub asked.

The reptoid looked to her. “I... cannot answer that, Respected Youngster. All I can say with certainty is that you are alive, and that if your parents knew, they would be most pleased.” As a signal chirped on his combadge, and crimson transporter energy began to fill the chamber, he smiled reassuringly at them. “We will take care of you now.”

*

On a high slope in the Mithrim Mountains circling what remained of Shanos Minor, the sky was dotted with swarms of metre-long manta-shaped drones, moving like sea life up and down in height, through the still-smouldering ruins of the devastated city, as a team of Starfleet engineers monitored the progress of their creations.

A chill ran through Professor C’Tosin as he stood there, paws deep in the pockets of his coat, tail tucked inside and refusing to go out into the mountain air, his breath ghosting from his muzzle as he let the Starfleet people, mostly the furless humans who seemed to dominate the Galaxy, continue congratulating themselves over their ingenuity in treating the radioactive particles around what was left of the metropolis below.

His bones ached. A day before, he had been sequestered in his home like everyone else, forbidden by the Ferasans from going outside – a fate that admittedly didn’t bother C’Tosin all that much, retired and content to spend his remaining days puttering about in his library and listening to his classical frettercast recordings for the thousandth time.

And then, just like that, it was over, Caitians were back in charge, and then he was being visited by a young Caitian Starfleet officer, stating that C’Tosin’s expertise, as one of their people’s oldest and most experienced biologists and ecologists, was required here, to supervise the efforts to clean up this site. And before he knew it, he was whisked away from his tropical retirement home to this... freezing graveyard.

And, he had to admit, they had devised an ingenious method: drones, seeking out areas where radioactive particles were detected, and then employing onboard radiometric converters to absorb the contaminants, recycling the energy to its own batteries. The drones would eventually move out from the central area and follow the wind patterns to where fallout might have reached, and though the process might take years, it would get the job done, at least to acceptable levels.

“Professor?”

C’Tosin reached up to pull down his wool cap over his pointed ears, as if he could pretend to not hear his name, before cupping his paws and breathing into them, seeing his grey fur rise on the backs of them.

The human, who had identified himself as a ‘Chief Sakai’ from the Surefoot, approached him, smiling. “Professor, we were wondering if you had any suggestions for improving the drone system?”

The elderly Caitian looked to him for a moment, before turning back to stare out at Shanos Minor’s ruins. In his long life, he had never visited here before today. But, like many other instances, he promised himself to do it someday. The elusive sleekfish Someday: always in sight, but never caught.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be away from his house and books and music and doralmint tea. He didn’t want to be reminded that there were over three million ghosts down there, in that scar the Ferasans left on his world. He didn’t want to be in the company of these smug, superior, furless aliens who didn’t bother to come around when the Ferasans were butchering his race, but who now expected him to kiss their nonexistant tails because of their precious little toys.

So, he said nothing in reply, and hoped that the apes were smart enough to take the hint, and let him go home.

But Sakai stood beside him, looking down as well, his prior geniality tempered with sobriety and his voice lower, more confidential, as he continued to speak. “My ancestry is from a nation on Earth called Japan. There were two cities in Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Four centuries ago, during a world war, the cities had been devastated by atomic weapons; my family’s ancestors had lived in Nagasaki, and it was only pure dumb luck that they had been out of the city on the day the bomb was dropped there, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking here today.

And then, a hundred years later, in another world war, our dumb luck ran out when Portland was one of many more cities destroyed in that conflict. My family line barely survived.

I’m sorry, Professor. I am so sorry that this has happened to your people. That all of this has happened, and we could only come here and make some small effort to help your people and your planet heal. If I could twist time and reality and make it not so-”

“Then you’d be a God.” C’Tosin looked to him. “I take it you’re not a God?”

Sakai shrugged. “In name only. In Starfleet my propensity for practical jokes towards my Engineering crew earned me the nickname of ‘Monkey’, after the Monkey Trickster God of Terran myth. Those without a sense of humour usually settle for labelling me something more profane.”

Despite himself, C’Tosin smiled, recalling a few tricks he himself played on his students in the past. Then he frowned as he watched some of the drones struggle with the cross-winds. “Keserties.”

“Excuse me, Professor?”

The Caitian pointed at what he was looking at. “Keserties are Caitian raptors with wide wingspans. They have problems with the more volatile air currents in this region, like your drones are experiencing. They group together closely to offer stability as they traverse the rougher patches. You might want to program your drones to do something similar, or you’ll end up losing a good number of them before their job is done.”

Sakai nodded and smiled. “Good idea; thank you, Professor. Would you care for tea? I have some freshly-made from non-replicated leaves imported from Earth.”

C’Tosin regarded him again. “It’s not spiked with something, is it? One of your practical jokes?”

The human offered a look of mock indignation. “Some things should always be treated seriously. Tea is definitely one of them.”

*

“Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 52618.14, Captain Esek Hrelle, Recording: Post-Occupation Recovery work continues on Cait, with the assistance of Admiral Tattok and the ships from the Thirteenth Fleet. In the days since our victory, the Ferasan combatants have been apprehended, identified, confined and are awaiting trial, which will be presided over by Ma’Sala herself... who has confirmed that because of the current Emergency Status, they will not be subject to due process under Federation Law.

What this means in practice, she’s keeping to herself. Like many things now. I suppose it is to be expected; whatever heavy burden of responsibility she faced as Fleet Captain must pale in comparison to her current temporary role as Acting First Minister. And my wife has reminded me that her mother is no doubt also facing the trauma over her past injuries, and guilt over not having stopped the invasion and Occupation, however irrational such guilt might be. I can certainly empathise with these reasons, having experienced similar situations, albeit on a smaller scale.

Starfleet Engineers, working with local Caitian specialists, have completed the reactivation of planetary infrastructure services; power, food, healthcare, education and transport is resuming, though many roles need to be refilled, either because those who previously occupied their positions have not yet recovered... or they never will.

They have also begun work with cleaning up the radioactive fallout around Shanos Minor, and the less obvious dangers threatened by the wreckage of the Ferasan Prideships and other vessels around the planet. We should recover fairly quickly... ecologically speaking.

Our psychological recovery, as individuals, families and a people, will take longer. Especially as more and more is revealed about the details of what the Ferasans did, about those who would not be coming home and what had happened to those who did come home, the trauma is growing.

Kami is keeping busy, organising briefings and sessions with senior Starfleet and civilian Counselors around the planet on how to best help those in need. As for my cubs: Sreen is as bright and lovely as always, although her adventures with me have helped her develop a taste for spicy foods. Misha has recovered from having to use a real weapon to defend his family, once he accepted that he didn’t actually kill anyone, and though I’m very proud of what he did, I have also had to chastise him for not following directions and remaining underground as he was told, and not risking himself and others. He promised not to do that again... but then he once promised never to touch any phaser he ever came across.

As for Sasha... Kami and I have taken her off active duty pending appropriate Counseling. She responded by leaving again in her flyer, ‘to take a break’, visiting various cities and towns, camps and battlefields. I’ve secretly kept track of her, though that hasn’t been difficult; unlike many of the Starfleet officers now on Cait, Caitians are fully aware of her activities against the Ferasans, and her affiliation with the Kaetini, and don’t see her as an outsider.

I’d sooner have her back here, undergoing her therapy, but Kami assures me that my daughter will return to it in her own time, and that these actions are part of her trying to find order amidst the chaos of the recent past.

Inevitably, the Task Force will be recalled to the front lines. I think I’m prepared for that. I think. What will change – who will follow, who will remain, what role each of us will take as a result of that – is unknown. But then, there’s nothing new in that, I guess.”

*

Melem-Adu and his son were on their feet when they heard the guard approaching, standing outside of their cell and announcing formally, “Melem-Adu, Nusum-Adu, you are about to be transported to a facility where you and others facing war crimes will attend trial. Legal counsel will not be required.”

Melem-Adu lifted up his muzzle and declared, “We refuse to recognise your authority.”

Moments later, they beamed away, finding themselves standing in an open area, in the dead of night in a bitterly cold landscape, along with hundreds of other Ferasan males. They were surrounded by high wire fences, dotted with guard towers that shone blinding spotlights down on the assembled prisoners. The air was thick with the scent of musk and fear.

Melem-Adu recognised the layout as being one of their own prisoner camps in some remote part of Cait, now employed by the weakling Caitians.

“Father,” Nusum-Adu whispered, glancing around him nervously. “What are we going to do?”

Melem-Adu continued to stare up defiantly at the spotlight. “We are going to remember that we’re better than this trash.” As the din around him grew, he stepped forward and raised his voice. “Stop this mewling! We are Ferasans! We are superior to this! Remember we are Masters!”

“You are Masters of Nothing,” announced a familiar female voice from a loudspeaker above.

The former Master Governor turned to it, refusing to squint into the light beaming down onto him. He sneered and laughed, speaking as much for his males as for her. “I know that voice! The Caitian bitch Ma’Sala Shall! I heard you were left more machine than alive after our forces dealt with you in space!” As some of the surrounding males laughed at that, he was encouraged to continue. “Come down and show us your pretty face! We’ll give you a warm welcome! We know how to treat Caitian bitches, even ones as ugly as you!”

When the laughter at that died down, she continued, as if she had never heard him. “Melem-Adu, you and the others have been transported here because the evidence has been collated and confirmed about your crimes against the Caitian people and planet. There are others whose guilt, if any, has yet to be determined. But yours, and the guilt of your son and those around you right now, is both capital and incontrovertible.”

He stabbed a clawed finger up at her. “We don’t recognise your authority! We will not participate in any trial!” Many around him cheered at that declaration of defiance.

Until she confirmed, “You’ve just had your trial, all of you; it came and went with my confirmation of the evidence. There is no defence for your actions, and I will not subject my people to your presence any longer with any protracted discussion of your crimes and attempted delays of the inevitable.

Sentence has been passed on all of you. One sentence.”

Melem-Adu ground his teeth, his heart triphammering in his chest, rage... and fear... suffusing his very bones. “YOU CAN’T KILL US! WE ARE FERASANS! WE ARE SUPERIOR! WE ARE SU-”

From every one of the surrounding guard towers, the illumination of the spotlights was eclipsed by the rapid-fire flash of plasma cannons, raining down superheated plasma on the assembled prisoners.

Screams filled the dark empty night, mingling with the roar of the executioners’ weapons.

*

Bneea, Mi’Tree, Kami, Misha, Mirow and Ptera stood on the front path of the Shall Clanlands, looking over the ruins of the family’s grand house, now piles of rubble and shards of wood, dotted here and there with bits of glass and metal.

Kami shivered. “Seven Hells...” She had a wealth of memories of life here: running around the halls, leaping off the balcony playing the Crooked Tailed Cub, marrying Rmorra, bringing an infant Mirow from the hospital to see his grandparents, Rmorra’s memorial, Mirow’s marriage to Ptera, Misha and Sreen’s arrival... “It’s all-” She stopped and looked to her fathers. “Great Aunt S’Graow?”

Bneea shook his head gently. “I checked; her body was taken away after we escaped.”

“So much gone,” Mirow murmured, holding onto Ptera’s paw.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mi’Tree informed them all. “None of it. Bricks and mortar, that is all. Family is all that matters. We survive. Our people survive. The rest can be rebuilt.”

“And it will,” Ptera promised them. “I’ve made arrangements for my company’s contractors to arrive from tomorrow and begin clearing out the debris, and then they’ll begin rebuilding, per the original specifications... with the modifications Ma’Sala ordered.”

“Modifications?” Kami asked her curiously.

Ptera nodded. “Additional underground facilities, much like what we had on the Island, as well as security features. She does not want the family to endure a repeat of what happened here.”

“That’s very kind of your company to do, Ptera.”

The younger female smiled. “Not after all you’ve done for us in my mother’s absence, Kami. Besides, Ma’Sala is finalising a contract with us to begin the reconstruction of the Planetary Navy. We’ll be busy for years to come.”

Kami frowned, wondering how it would look, her mother awarding such a lucrative contract to a relation, once the civilian government took over after Recovery. Then she wondered just when Mama would relinquish her authority.

Before she could consider that further, Misha turned to the right and beamed. “Ms Praow!”

He rushed to meet his teacher, who was leading a procession of neighbours, cubs Misha’s age and friends from the area, all of them carrying various possessions: clothes, framed images, awards, mementos. And as they drew up to the Clanland gates, Kami recognised many of the items they were bringing. She led the way to catch up with her son. “Ms Praow?”

The young female smiled, as Misha practically bounced around his schoolfriends, regaling them with stories about the battles he had allegedly fought. “Welcome back, Mrs Hrelle. Welcome back, all of you. We saved and protected what we could until your return. And if you need somewhere to stay nearby while you rebuild, we’re all ready to open our homes to you.”

Kami felt the friendship and generosity from her, from them all, and couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you. Thank you all.”

*

Hrelle watched Ma’Sala closely as she went through her duties in the Capitol, seeing her taking on the political side of the work with more facility and confidence than he thought he would have done under the circumstances. Or perhaps her role as the head of the Planetary Navy of Cait was as much political as military, having to answer to the First Minister and the Matriarchy Council. And now she was the First Minister, though as far as he was aware, this was only meant to be very temporary.

That notion changed on observing her meeting with Governor Nel K’Trierr from Meru Province, a middle-aged, mocha-furred female with a snub muzzle and expensive taste in clothes. She ignored him when he greeted her, focusing instead on Ma’Sala, presenting a pleasant, almost ingratiating expression and voice, holding her arms out wide. “Madame First Minister, it is such a sincere pleasure to finally meet you in person! The Heroine of the Resistance!”

Ma’Sala stood before her desk, her one good eye narrowing. “I believe you’ll find the Hero of the Resistance was my kin-son, Captain Hrelle. The one who has been risking his life constantly to protect all of you. The male you just cold-tailed strutting in here.”

K’Trierr looked to him, all smiles. “Please forgive me, Captain, I thought you were the First Minister’s servant. No offence was intended, I can assure you.”

He didn’t believe her for an instant – she was obviously one of those First Landing traditionalist types with little regard for males, but instead nodded politely. “Of course not, Madame Governor.”

“Governor,” Ma’Sala continued. “You were most insistent on meeting me before the first session of the New Matriarchy Council next week, so perhaps we could get to the point? As you can imagine, I’m quite busy with the Recovery operations, so...”

K’Trierr smiled again. “Of course, Madame First Minister, of course, you must be extremely busy here, with hardly sufficient time to adequately consider some of the decisions you have made of late.”

Ma’Sala leaned back against her desk, arms crossed. “Oh? Care to elucidate?”

The Governor reined up, accepting the challenge while remaining as buttery as Stonebay sweetbread. “Well, for one thing, your appointment of Mayor Des P’Rarash to the Council?”

“Yes, and?”

She fixed her smile, as if believing Ma’Sala was being deliberately obtuse. “A male, to the Matriarchy Council? And a male who spent his life as an entertainer?”

The other female shrugged. “Despite the name, there’s nothing barring males from being members of the Council, though the role has traditional been seen as for females only... but usually among those from older generations with sticks up their asses.”

K’Trierr bristled. Hrelle could smell the animosity rising in the room between the two females.

“It’s good to have a male perspective around,” Ma’Sala continued. “And Mayor P’Rarash has proven himself in resisting the Enemy during the Occupation. And I’ll remind you that one of my husbands is also an entertainer... and a damn good one too. Anything else?”

“Well, there’s also the significant rearmament program you have instigated among the construction industries on Cait.”

“Our Planetary Navy and Militia were all but wiped out. What would you have me do? Hire Kzinti mercenaries?”

“Oh, of course not. But the Ferasans have managed to wipe themselves out. They are no longer a threat to us.”

“If you studied your history, you would know that there are many other threats out there. And, no offence to Starfleet, but as has been proven now by this crisis, their forces are limited, and we cannot totally depend upon them to protect us.

And as our monitoring of the Cynet social platforms has confirmed, there is a very strong interest among the younger population to enlist in both the Militia and the Navy, and in retired members of said organisations to be reactivated.”

K’Trierr smirked. “And the construction contract awarded to the company run by your granddaughter? Who I understand is also rebuilding your destroyed house, free of charge?”

Hrelle frowned; as far as he was aware, neither fact was public knowledge.

Ma’Sala remained unfazed by the revelation, however. “Ptera Mroara-Lnee is married to my kin-grandson, but she is the Matriarch to her own clan now. Her company is most prepared now to restore our Navy to an acceptable level in record time, as confirmed by an independent assessment I had run; her familial connection is immaterial, as is her offer of having our Clanhouse rebuilt as a gift. I intend to pay her anyway, and of course I’ll detail all of this on the Public Interest Registry. Anything else?”

“What about the Ferasans you still allow to remain on our planet?”

Ma’Sala shrugged. “The combatants with incontrovertible evidence against them have already been tried and executed. Those whose guilt is more questionable are being examined more carefully, and will face appropriate terms of incarceration. The non-combatants who took no action against our people will be repatriated, once the Federation finds them a suitable world to call their own.”

“But why let any of them live now? To go to another world, be given a chance to rebuild their forces and try to attack us again in the future? They should be punished.”

The Acting First Minister’s jaw tightened. “Two billion Ferasans died, and their world was destroyed. Is that not enough punishment for you? There is nothing to be gained by adding to that number now. Especially not innocents.”

The other female raised her muzzle, her smarm set aside to be replaced by righteous indignation. “Innocents? There are no innocent Ferasans! I find the presence of any of their kind on Cait an offence. We have sacrificed too many of our people in the fight to drive them off; to leave any of their murderous kind alive here, even for one more day, is nothing less than an insult to the memory of the fallen! Anyone with a sense of duty would understand that.”

Ma’Sala straightened up again, displaying her superior height, letting the crimson red glow of her cybernetic eye distract her opponent as she growled, “Don’t lecture me on duty; I was in space defending the Motherworld when you were still latched onto your mother’s diamond-encrusted teats.

You know, my resources have looked into what everyone on the New Council was doing here during the Occupation: just about every one of them took active roles in the Resistance efforts, from covert diversion of local resources and rescue of vulnerable parties, to open combat. Just about every one of them, an inspiration to the people.

Except for you. When the Ferasans invaded, you spent your time holed up in your villa outside of Kamar-Taj, doing nothing but securing your financial holdings, working the fat off your ass playing Sorcrosse on your private court, and hosting parties for your socialite friends... waiting for all this to be taken care of by others. I guess the Rat-tails weren’t that much of an offence to you.” She leaned in closer. “Anything else?”

K’Trierr, to her credit, made an effort not to take a step back. “Your position as First Minister is temporary, until the end of the emergency. When do you intend to step down, and allow someone more qualified to replace you?”

“I don’t. I’m staying in the role indefinitely.”

That announcement made Hrelle react. As far as he, Kami and anyone else was aware, Ma’Sala was only meant to be in the role until the crisis abated, before passing it over to someone elected by the Matriarchy Council. When had she changed her mind? Or had she thought of this all along?

K’Trierr bristled. “That’s unconstitutional! Autocracy!”

Ma’Sala shook her head. “Actually, the Constitution stipulates I can stay in the office for the maximum of a standard term, except in the event of a Qualified Majority Council vote against it. And if I like it, after my term ends I’ll run formally for re-election.”

“And what about the Constitutional rules preventing one individual or organisation to hold multiple offices of authority? You’re already Fleet Captain of the Planetary Navy, and Head of the Caitian Secret Service. To retain the office of First Minister as well-”

“I’m well aware of that prohibition. That’s why I’ve already resigned from both offices. I’ve promoted Captain Mrorr of the Deep Keep to the rank of Fleet Captain, and Agent Nenjo Canri to the Head of the Mother’s Claws; both of them will be focusing on rebuilding their respective organisations, leaving me to take on this new responsibility full time.”

The Governor’s tail twitched with indignation. “I believe the New Council will take steps to challenge your ambition, Shall.”

“I believe they won’t, K’Trierr... even with your inevitable attempts to manipulate them to feed your own ambitions. And I also believe we’re done here. You know the way out, Madame Governor.”

She left, ignoring Hrelle once more, leaving him to look at her as she muttered, “Well, there’s someone that needs to get her kussik cleaned out more often.” Then she noticed his expression. “What is it, Esek?”

“When did you decide to retire from military service to take up politics permanently?”

Ma’Sala regarded him for a moment, before replying, “It’s been on my mind for some time now. I’m in my nineties, for Mother’s sake; I’ve spent more time out in space than on solid ground..” She raised her cybernetic arm. “People my age shouldn’t end up looking like this. I want to come home to a non-replicated meal, and see the cubs and grandcubs, and sleep with my husbands.

But meeting Governor K’Trierr face to face just now, breathing in the scent of her privilege and ambition, clinched it for me; I don’t intend to let the likes of her use our current vulnerable state to take power for her and her cronies. The Navy and the Mother’s Claws will be in good paws, don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him. “What is it, Esek? Something else bothering you?”

Hrelle considered lying and saying No. Instead he ventured with, “How did you feel, when you heard about the destruction of the Ferasan homeworld?”

Her expression tightened. “It was... tragic. Deeply tragic. The loss of so much life. I wish...”

She paused, looking ready to say something further. She looked... guilty?

“What do you wish?” he prompted.

Then she recovered. “I wish... Esek, I wish with all my heart that circumstances had been different. I wish that I had known Ian Trenagen had sent the Ferasans the security codes to sneak attack us, so I could take precautions. I wish the Dominion War hadn’t diverted Starfleet to the degree that they couldn’t come to our aid sooner. I wish that the Ferasans had swallowed their pride and aggression and their delusions of superiority and just asked for help.

But wishes are for cubs, Esek.

I am sorry for many things... but not that they were destroyed before they could launch the Second Fleet they had threatened.” She breathed out, before asking, “Esek, that Ferasan of yours. Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”

“Valtiri? Yes. I – and Kami – believe he changed after Shanos Minor. I believe he’s made up for his crimes. I believe that if you intended to imprison, even execute him, he wouldn’t argue it. And I believe that now, in the absence of the Patriarchy and the Master Governor and the other Pridemasters, the surviving Ferasans need someone like him, wherever they end up. I know that has to be difficult to believe, but-”

“No. Actually not.”

“Of course.” He nodded to her cybernetic implants. “Are you going to get an arm and eye cloned for yourself?”

“Yes... once everyone else is taken care of. I won’t use my influence to move myself up in the line for medical treatment.”

He nodded again. “And... it’s a potent visual reminder to the Council and public about what you’ve gone through during the Occupation?”

She glared at him, albeit good-naturedly. “Is it that obvious?”

He smiled. “Well, you’re new to the Politics Game.”

*

Sasha was preparing her dress uniform in her flyer’s quarters when she heard the voice. “Sash?”

She turned, both pleased and displeased to see Mori. “Mru? What’s up?”

The male was in uniform too... and had a bag slung over one shoulder. “Uh... sorry to spring this on you without warning, I know you’re getting ready for the Kaetini Memorial and all but... I’ve got my orders.”

“Orders?”

He dropped his bag at his feet. “Yeah. I’ve been reassigned to one of the Task Force ships in orbit. Effective immediately.”

Her stomach plummeted. “Shit.” She dropped her cleaning tool and rushed into his arms. “Goddammit! You can’t go! I’ll call my Dad, call Admiral Tattok, order them both to give you more time with me!”

Rubbing his muzzle against the side of her neck, he murmured, “I don’t think that’s how Starfleet works, Tailless. Probably not how anything works.”

“I’m owed it!” She clutched him tightly.

“Shush.” He purred against her.

She accepted it, needing these precious few moments with him, his scent and warmth and voice and presence. She had only been half-kidding about using her influence, as selfish as it would be.

Fuck this life.

*

“Hello?”

Jinjer had been slumped in one of the offices of the Skycats Aerodrome back in Pakui. He had been fixed up, lauded by others for the sacrifice he and his friends and squadmates had made to save the planet, received a medal, and promised that the Skycats would be remembered, always.

But he had sneaked away and returned here, to grieve in private... and with the help of the odd bottle of spirits, while he tried to force himself to face the task of packing up and selling everything around here: the spare planes, the parts and tools, the hangars and Museum, the snack and souvenir shops-

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

He rubbed his eye sockets and stepped out. He was certain he had made it clear on the Cynet pages that the Aerodrome was closed, and that there would be no further shows. “Excuse me, but...”

He breathed in as he saw the young, muscular, chestnut-furred male with the prominent muzzle, standing there surrounded by a set of luggage. Jinjer frowned, blinking in the strong desert light as he recognised- “Illyan?”

Illyan Biggleshen lifted the shades from his eyes and smiled slightly. “Hiya, Uncle Jinj.”

The older male drew up and embraced him, delight pushing away his grief. “Mother’s Cubs, look at you! You were barely chest high when you were last here, sitting up with Biggles in the cockpit of his crate!”

They hugged again. “I’m glad to see you again, Uncle Jinj. I’m glad you made it.”

When they faced each other, Jinjer’s delight dropped again. “Oh Dear Cub, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that your father didn’t make it.” He raised a leather-gloved finger to him. “He fought valiantly. Never doubt that! Brought down an entire warship himself! They all fought with such distinction! Without them, we’d still be under the thumb of the damned Ferasans!”

The younger male nodded and smiled. “So I’ve learned. I was visited by the human Kaetini.”

Jinjer beamed. “Oh, Lieutenant Hrelle! We’ve worked with her often during the Occupation. Quite a little wildfire, isn’t she?” Then he sobered again. “Illyan... I would do anything to take your father’s place. A day never passed when he didn’t speak proudly about his son, who would be Cait’s greatest aerospace engineer.”

He looked around. He used to like the quiet, between the shows. Now, it was just... desolate. A graveyard of memories. He had to leave... once he worked out where he could go, what he could do. Maybe go on the circuit, making money telling stories about the Skycats...

Living off the memories of his friends? No. No, he couldn’t do that. “Illyan... the Squadron had a tontine, to leave everything that’s here to whomever survived. Admittedly, we expected old age to take us rather than open warfare. But Biggles- I mean, your father Majes – insisted you be included. I’m going to make sure that once I pay off the support staff who worked here, you’ll get an equal share in whatever we make out of the sales-”

But Illyan frowned. “Sales? You mean ticket sales?”

“What? No, I’m selling the place, everything in it.”

“But why?”

Jinjer blinked. “Illyan... the Squadron is gone. I’m all that’s left.”

The younger male smiled, reaching out and clasping the older male’s shoulder. “No, you’re not. You’ve got another pilot. Someone’s whose flown these crates with his father.” He started walking around the centre of the collection of buildings, noting the open areas. “You’ve got enough spare parts to get at least three planes back in the air, we can build on the interest in the aerofighters that Dad, you and the others have raised with your war activities, and there’s a few friends back at University who have some practical experience with flyers and repair...”

The last Skycat watched the display in confusion. “Illyan, what are you talking about? You can’t be thinking about quitting University to take up aerobatics?”

Illyan was grinning now, growing more animated. “Oh, I’ll keep studying... in my spare time! And I can use the tools here to perfect my own little project.” He rushed back to his belongings.

Jinjer watched, wanting to say something, anything. “Illyan, lad... if you’re doing this out of some sort of obligation to your father... I can assure you he wouldn’t want you to waste your life out here, following in his footsteps.”

But the younger male was slipping something onto his back, a pair of twin metal cylinders, strapping it around him tightly, before including some gloves and goggles. “Uncle Jinj... I’ve wanted to do this since I was a cub. I know every part of these wonderful aircraft, every rivet and bolt and tera-wire. And if you’re right, then I have a stake in this business too, and I have no intention of shutting it down.”

He fitted the goggles over his eyes, reached behind and slipped his tail through some hoops on the right side of his trousers, and stepped away from the Skycat and his possessions. “And for the record: I don’t intend to follow in Dad’s footsteps.

I intend to leap over them.”

He touched something on one of the gloves.

Near-invisible jets propelled downward from the cylinders, kicking up clouds of dust and sending Illyan into the clear blue sky.

Jinjer watched with astonishment as the young male banked and circled and swooped, before slowly, carefully descending near where had first launched, albeit landing again a little faster than he probably would have liked. It looked... exciting! Exciting just to watch! Imagine the thrill of actually flying like that!

The older male drew up to him, giving him a chance to shut down his... whatever the Seven Hells that contraption was called. “Are you- Did you build that?”

Illyan nodded, laughing, giddy and breathing hard. “After some inspiration from similar designs from other worlds... it came in most useful fighting the Ferasans.” Then he lifted up the goggles to his forehead, his eyes lit with opportunity... and with an expression that was eerily reminiscent of his father. “I have a stupendous idea! An air battle, between you with the Aerofighter and me with my jetpack! We could build up a rivalry, the adults in the audience cheering you on, the cubs supporting me! I’ll still fly one of the crates during the rest of the new show, of course- and I had an idea for merchandising: Build Your Own Model Aerofighters...”

Jinjer reached out and grabbed him by the arm, stopping his spiel and his pacing. “Illyan...”

He was ready to try and deflate him. He was a bright, enthusiastic young cub, but he shouldn’t be hanging out with all the wrecks... living and otherwise. He should get a nice, safe, secure job somewhere far from here. He owed it to Biggles to dissuade his son from this foolish course. To protect him.

But all he could manage was, “Illyan... you’ll not go up in the air in that homemade deathtrap again without a helmet. Not if you’re going to be a Skycat.”

*

Jhess Furore looked around the apartment with approval: it had defensible accessways, reinforced windows overlooking the largest park in Shanos Major, near the ground floor for easy egress... and then he realised how much his thinking was geared towards his militant side, and not simply appreciating that it was a place his family could call a new home. No, almost everything in it was already here, that they hardly had anything left of their own before they evacuated Shanos Minor. But they had each other, and could rebuild from there.

He stopped and stared at nothing in particular. Mother’s Cubs, Jhess, you’re presuming a lot. You and Mreia were divorced long before the Occupation had pulled you back together, out of absolute necessity. What makes you assume that, now the crisis was over, that she would feel any different about you and what you did in the past... and what you can potentially do in the future?

“Jhess? Are you okay?”

He turned, smiling and nodding. “Well? Will it do?”

Mreia drew up, standing beside him, looking out the window. “Certainly better than the underground shelter on the Island. Not that I’m not grateful for being there... but the ventilation down there wasn’t up to much. All that teenage musk.”

Jhess chuckled. “How come we never noticed it when we were teenagers?”

“We were probably too busy emitting it, hating our parents and trying to rut.” She nodded out towards the other side of the park. “I have an interview with a law firm over there.”

“Already? That was quick.”

“You know me, always hitting the ground running. I have high hopes, too; I’ve fought them in court on a couple of occasions... and beat them every time, so they’ll know how good I am.”

“I have no doubt. What about Shau?”

She sobered. “Shanos Major University has a place for him. When he’s ready.” She looked to him. “He’ll be alright, won’t he?”

He looked back confidently. “Yes, he will. He needs time to mourn, to heal. Like the rest of us. But he has support. He has us.”

Mreia’s eyes widened. “Do I have you as well?”

“Of course you do. However long you need me.”

“And what if I said I need you for the rest of our lives?”

He frowned, his heart quickening. “What do you mean?”

She turned, so they faced each other. “When we broke up – no, that’s not accurate, I mean when I broke us up – I was so arrogant, so self-assured about the Militia and war and the ethics of killing. I saw what the last War had done to you psychologically, and I was afraid of it affecting Shau. I wanted him and me to live... free of the ugliness that you had seen. I convinced myself that could never wish violence, pain, death, on anyone.”

Her gaze dropped. “And then there I was, in Shanos Minor, with those Ferasans trying to kill Shau, trying to... hurt me.” She shuddered. “And suddenly you appeared and saved us. And I was screaming at you to kill them. Kill them all. I- I-Jhess-”

Her trembling increased, until Jhess drew in and held her, confessing, “I never stopped loving you, you know.”

“Neither did I.” She clung to him fiercely, murmuring, “Come home. Please. Don’t go back into space. Be my husband again. I know I have no right to ask, after all I’ve done to you, but-”

“Yes. Of course.” He stroked her mane, purring reassuringly to her, tears of relief streaming from him.

*

The Kaetini had assembled once more, for only the second time in recent memory, at the Temple of T’Grerish-Nein in the jungles of Mrell Province, to honour the sacrifice of Mistress Nvell and those other warriors of their Order who had fallen during the Occupation, and to announce Nvell’s successor.

Hrelle had come alone, after Sasha sent him a short message stating that she had changed her mind, and wouldn’t accompany him. He appeared on behalf of both of them, delivering a speech giving his own account of his meetings with Mistress Nvell, and of some of those he had met who had died... though he found himself not going into too much detail about the Kaetini whom Valtiri had killed, given his own actions towards having him pardoned.

He let his speech get lost among the others. It was easy. Hrelle had heard many such speeches in the days since their victory, both in person and on broadcasts, all over the Motherworld.

The numbers had been gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching: in addition to the three million killed in Shanos Minor, another hundred thousand had died in the camps, and just as many in countless incidents with the Ferasans throughout the planet. So many more have been wounded, physically and psychologically.

And perhaps worse, the genetic tampering caused by the Ferasan experimentation could trigger a spike in incurable birth defects, including Neurodystraxia, Sreen’s own disorder.

Will their people recover? He wanted to believe so. They wouldn’t be the same as they were before, of course. But then he knew from personal experience that this was the nature of things.

He had returned to contact Sasha, only to find she wasn’t answering. And attempts to track her down proved fruitless... and, per Nenjo, it was due to the stealth features of the Prowl unit on the Tailless. “She’s getting any messages we’re sending,” she explained. “But it’s up to her to show herself, and respond.”

She responded at last, two fretful hours later, her onscreen image looking haggard... and drunk again. “What do you want?”

Hrelle started at her curt response as much as her appearance. “Drop your Prowl, and let us pilot you home remotely. Don’t try piloting yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He tightened his jaw. “No, you’re not. You shouldn’t be alone at this time. You need your family. We need you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Now he faced her. “That’s not you talking, that’s your grief, your anger and trauma-”

She leaned into the viewscreen. “Yes. I know. Because that’s what we are in the end: grief and anger and trauma. From the day we’re born, it fills us up and binds itself to our bones.”

“Sasha, please- your grandparents, your brother and sister, Kami and I want you back-”

“I’m not ready to come back. I’m not ready for Starfleet. I’m not ever gonna be ready for anything. This fucking Universe just throws shit at us, at all of us, all the fucking time. We fight, we don’t fight. We kill, we don’t kill. And for all we do, or want to do, in the end, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. The Universe will do what it wants to us. Blind us. Brutalise us. Atomise us. Turn us into dust for others to step on-”

“Sasha, don’t-”

“Go away, Dad.” She ended the transmission.

He stared at the screen, but then looked to Nenjo. “Agent, I know you have a tremendous road ahead of you rebuilding the Mother’s Claws, but-”

The female nodded sympathetically. “But I’ll keep looking for Sasha, Sir. I promise.”

*

Ma’Sala smelled the fear in the air as she beamed into the camp, startling several Caitian guards, at least until they recognised her, one of them drawing up, his tail twitching behind him with nervousness. “Fleet Captain- I mean, Madame First Minister- I mean-”

“At ease, Sergeant. Fleet Captain Mrorr put Lieutenant Commander Nelul in charge here. Where is she?”

The Sergeant pointed towards a group of buildings. “They’ve taken over the Ferasan Commander’s former office there, but she’s actually outside the perimeter fence, trying to arrange for soldiers to hunt some of the wild shurises, to supplement the limited rations Starfleet provided.”

She nodded and looked around again. “I’m looking for a Ferasan male... he will have authorisation to move about-”

“Oh, him.” He pointed in the opposite direction, towards a set of barracks. “Just follow the wailing.”

“Wailing?”

The Sergeant smirked. “He’s been telling them about Ferasa Prime. Poor little Rat-tails don’t have a home to go to now. Let’s cry an ocean for them to drown in, eh, Ma’am?”

Ma’Sala glowered at him, before turning and moving to the barracks... activating the recording unit on her uniform, still wondering why she was bothering. Around her, females and young cubs stepped away in fear. Perhaps it was her cybernetic parts. Or her reputation. Or maybe it was just her being Caitian.

As she continued her impromptu tour, it quickly became obvious that these were hardly warriors. The Ferasan Patriarchy barely allowed their females any education or training; they existed to breed and pleasure and care for the cubs. Perhaps some of the reaction she was getting was also the confusion of seeing a female in authority?

Finding Valtiri was easy enough, even without him being the only adult male in the area; he towered at least a head over everyone around him, appearing to try and console the frightened, confused crowd.

She wasn’t that far away before he looked up and seemingly noticed her, and gently parted the crowd and bade them stay where they while he approached her.

Ma’Sala tensed. He was still strong, fast. He could attack her, away from anyone else, get his revenge for the destruction of-

No. His scent, his stance, his expression... none of it was threatening. He stopped a few paces from her. “Fleet Captain.”

She reached into her jacket and produced a small black cylinder. “The reason you’re not reading my mind right now is because of this telepathic inhibitor unit developed by the Mother’s Claws.”

He grunted. “The reason I’m not reading your mind right now, Madame, is because I haven’t tried to do so.”

She sneered. “I’m supposed to believe you?”

Valtiri folded his paws behind his back. “Does it matter? You have your device to protect you now, and I could tell you to switch it off and test me, but then you still wouldn’t know if I was reading it.”

“I know when you did, when we last met.”

Now he nodded. “Given the enormity of what I learned from you, I could hardly hide my reaction at the time.”

Her face tightened. “You admit it?”

He nodded. “Yes; please accept my apologies. The news of my homeworld’s destruction shook my self-control, and the terrible weight of your thoughts did the rest.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper “Why?”

“Why what?”

She bared her teeth... surreptitiously extending a weapon from her sleeve. She could kill him quickly, easily with it, without anything being connected to her. Indeed, it was one of the reasons she had come here, to complete the cover-up of the origin and nature of the Seven Hells Weapon. “Why did you lie? About it having been caused by your own people? Answer me.”

Valtiri breathed in deeply as he seemed to consider the question. “I understand the dilemma you faced, better than anyone else can. If it was a choice between wiping out your enemies, innocents and all, or allowing them to resume their assault upon your people and your planet, then it was really no choice at all.

And despite that, despite your hatred for us and what we have done to Cait and its people, you still felt sorrow for the act. Better that those few in the know about the artificial nature of the cataclysm believe it an act on our part, than one involving you.”

“And what will buy your continued silence?”

“It is not for sale.”

She stared hard, before taking yet another step, as if daring him to give in to his instincts and finally lash out. She was close enough to ensure his death, and could always say later he attacked her first. “My kin-son trusts you. My daughter trusts you. I should still kill you.”

“If you wish.”

“You want to die?”

Sadness seemed to deflate him now. “My world is gone. My people face extinction. We will undoubtedly face our final days on some barren rock in the Galactic Wilderness, as pariahs. Perhaps we deserve such a fate, after all we’ve done.” He glanced, where some cubs played. “Or at least, what some of us have done.”

Ma’Sala looked to them too, but turned away quickly. “Be thankful for whatever barren rock you’ll be given; it will be a most generous gift. You drove us away from our world a thousand years ago, have attacked us repeatedly since... and now... the things you’ve done... the horrors inflicted upon us... you don’t know-”

She stopped when she saw the tears in his eyes.

And Ma’Sala saw that, contrary to her accusation, he did know.

She turned and departed.

Part 4 of 4: Where There Is Despair...