Heroes' Race

Known Space:

It was a large open section in the centre of the Prideship, so large that others might have questioned the wisdom of such a seeming waste of space. But what Prey thought mattered for nothing to the Heroes who lived and worked onboard.

The section was designed to resembled the Pride’s Arena Room back home: circular, thirty allots in diameter, with a sunken gilded floor framed by a raised level, the walls lined at equidistant points with burgundy- and gold-painted columns holding crackling torches. The rest of the walls were covered with swords, axes, knives and all the other recognised weapons of the Heroes’ Race, weapons mounted but still trembling, as if in fear of the warriors in the centre of the room.

Sixty tall, muscular felinoid males with golden- and black-striped fur stood in a classic circular formation to best fill out the dimensions of the room, the males equally spaced out, all facing forward. They were all clad in gleaming metal scaled armour plates, gauntlets and neck, elbow and knee guards, and with short, double-edged swords in leather scabbards at their sides.

At the forefront of the formation, their Pridemaster, an older male, in fact the oldest male among them, stared ahead at one section of the wall that bore no weapons, but instead displayed the symbol of the Heroes’ Race: a tan circle bordered in green, scarred with four parallel claw marks. “Keras!”

As one, their paws moved to the hilt of their swords, drawing the weapons out, raising them high against their chests.

“Aro!” the older male continued.

As one, they stepped forward, their boots stamping simultaneously, blades raised in a forty-five degree angle.

“Seydor!”

As one, they grasped their swords with both paws and turned to the right, arms lowered.

“Ivit!”

As one, they mirrored the previous pose from the left.

They repeated the exercise, again and again, as they always did, their harmony a reaffirmation of their unity, an assurance of their power and superiority over Prey.

And through the course of the exercise, the song rose from them naturally, like a sun over the hills:

“Mhuri dzedu dzinotsvaira nyeredzi.
Tiri Mujaho weMagamba.
Tiri Vana vaShrerrikii.
Isu tiri Zvikara.
Isu tiri vaKzinti.
Titye isu!
Titye isu!
TITYE ISU!”

And their leader moved and sang as easily as the younger, fitter males, his body knowing the drill instinctively. He ignored the aches and pains that had crept up on him with the inevitable dread of an unloved season. He ignored the fatigue that came so quickly to him of late. Aches and pains did not matter. Fatigue did not matter. He had to show strength to his Pride. From his strength, they gained strength. Strength and hope in these uncertain times.

He let himself be suffused by the words of the ages-old song they kept singing, and the meaning behind them…

“Our Prides sweep across the stars.
We are the Heroes' Race.
We are the Sons of the Patriarch.
We are the Predators.
We are the Kzinti.
Fear us!
Fear us!
FEAR US!”

*

Station Salem One, Deck 12, Hangar Bay:

The runabout sat patiently on the landing pad, allowing Starfleet technicians to run some final maintenance checks on it… or in the case of some of the cadets involved, to peer at it admiringly, some even venturing peeks inside through the raised gull-wing door on the starboard side.

The mahogany-furred Caitian female in civilian clothing stood nearby, adjusting her shoulder bag and looking less impressed as she noted aloud, “So that’s the Big Commode’s Yacht?”

Nearby, Esek Hrelle diverted his attention from the PADD still in his paws long enough to respond. “The Commodore’s Yacht has a name: the José Mendez. Named after an actual Commodore, who commanded Starbase 11 and was instrumental in leading the Starfleet task force during the Archanis Incident in 2271.”

Kami made an exaggerated yawn. “Fascinating.” She looked to her husband. “I’m waiting.”

“I know.”

“I’m still waiting. Our leave started an hour ago. Nepenthe isn’t getting any younger. Neither are we.”

Hrelle looked up at his Adjutant, Lt Zir Dassene, the young Orion woman’s green skin darkening as she offered, “Sorry about this, Sir, I should have had you authorise all this sooner.”

“That’s okay, Lieutenant. If anything unexpected turns up, just call-”

“Or,” Kami interrupted loudly, “If anything unexpected turns up, don’t call, and instead just turn to any of the other dozens of fully qualified people here who aren’t on a long-deserved break. The Commodore is going to be busy enjoying himself. Several times, at least. With stops to catch his breath.”

Hrelle smirked as he saw Zir’s face darken even further, before handing her back the PADD. “My wife, as always, is right. Professor Tallus will keep an eye on Srithik and the Cubs, T’Varik and the Surefoot should be back from the Uklass Shipyards next week with the new Klingon transport ships, and Commissioner Nam-Seon might need additional support with administering the approved Zorin sector projects. Oh, and for the record: Misha does not have the authority to take command of the station, regardless of what he tells you. Sreen does, however-”

Kami roared at him, making people around them jump.

Hrelle shooed his Adjutant away, turning and walking past his wife towards the Mendez. “What are you hanging around here for? Our second honeymoon awaits!”

*

USS Katana, Deck 2 Conference Room:

Command Cadet Rachel Nash remained as stiff as her shock of copper hair, as she stood at attention with the rest of Macbeth Squad against the wall, the six of them staring ahead as if entranced by the starscape outside the windows, or waiting for someone to make the first move.

Or, or more simply, to ignore the small, chubby, brown and white English bulldog curled up on the chair in front of them, watching them intently and drooling obliviously onto its front paws.

Bur Nash stayed still. Unlike many Academy cadets, she understood the purpose behind the interminable periods when they were required to do nothing but remain silent and motionless: it was an exercise in, and a demonstration of, discipline. And it made perfect sense to her: if a cadet couldn’t exhibit the strength to do something this safe, simple and straightforward, then how could they be trusted in moments of crisis after they graduate and join Starfleet for real?

So she kept that in mind at times like this, where they had been led in here after boarding and then seemingly forgotten… and she had tried to instil a similar drive in the other five members of her squad.

With varying degrees of success, the worst being Flight Ops Cadet Janusz Spychalski, a lanky, sandy-haired Terran male with an aquiline nose standing at Nash’s right, who finally broke ranks and stepped forward, rolling his neck to relieve his aching muscles, his European accent thick. “This is pointless! How long will they keep us waiting?“

“Back in line, Cadet,” Nash ordered.

“Why bother, Rachel?” He stepped forward. “There’s no one here but this bloody slobbery dog-”

Then the dog rose up on the seat and barked at him. The cadet immediately returned to his position at attention.

On Nash’s left, Engineering Cadet Gela, a short, salmon-pink Ferengi, chuckled. “The dog is wearing Captain’s pips on his collar. The rank might be genuine. Who knows what sort of insanity is afoot when hyoo-mans are in charge?” He then swallowed at Nash’s reaction. “No offence, Ma’am.”

Beside him, Science Cadet C’Riir, a tall, slim, sepia-furred Caitian male, shook his head and tail. “Class act as always, Fun Size.”

“No one asked you, Furball.”

“Enough,” Nash warned them, remembering the chagrin she felt when those two were called up the previous week for talking during an inspection of the Cadet Quarters by Commodore Hrelle and Commander Haluk.

Beside C’Rirr, Medical Cadet Denek, a slim Vulcan female with tanned olive skin and a sable ponytail, raised an eyebrow. “I should remind you, Mr Gela, that only the First Officer of the Katana is human. The Commanding Officer is Roylan, and the Second Officer is Caitian.”

Gela snorted. “Hellcat Hrelle isn’t fully human; haven’t you seen her Dad?”

“Commodore Hrelle is her stepfather, not her biological father.”

“That’s not what I heard. Cadet Roundtree saw her in the Katana’s gym showers when Othello Squad was onboard. He said she had the remains of a tail that she keeps hidden, after most of it had been cut off when she was fighting the Ferasans on Cait.”

Denek sighed. “There is far too much evidence to support her incaudate state… but experience suggests you are merely being typically salacious and obstreperous.”

Gela made a show of mock indignation, before the Ferengi turned to the cadet on his left. “Ange, I’ll give you two slips of latinum to back me up on this!”

At the far end of the line of six, Security Cadet Ange Boladede, a tall, muscular, chocolate-skinned Terran male, gave no response, no reaction, his hairless head reflecting the lights from above as he stood perfectly still.

“You’d better scan him, Denek,” Gela teased. “Make sure he hasn’t been ossified by some alien virus.”

“Leave him alone, Cadet,” Nash warned. “At least he can practise discipline.”

“As opposed to you?”

“Everyone shut up!” Nash shouted now-

-Just as the conference door slid open, and Lt Cmdr Sasha Hrelle entered, her posture formal, her expression stern as she eyed Macbeth Squad, sparing a curious final stare at Nash.

Nash swallowed, feeling her face redden, wondering if the older woman had heard her outburst. All the cadets talked about Sasha Hrelle, had heard a hundred stories about her exploits, rising through the ranks so quickly, and she had only graduated a few years ago! Nash so wanted to be like her… though maybe without all the trauma she had also heard about.

Then she shook her thoughts away as she watched Sasha move to the dog in the chair, scratching behind his floppy right ear and inducing growls of pleasure from the canine. “There you go, Ajax! Good boy, good boy!” The young blonde woman crouched down beside the chair and asked confidentially, “So… which one was it? Go! Go!”

The dog dutifully poured himself off the chair and waddled over to Spychalski, sitting down in front of him and barking once.

Sasha nodded at Ajax’s choice. “So, you broke rank first, huh? Guess we know who’s on Dog Poop Collection Duty this week.”

The young Polish man’s jaw dropped. “H-How could he tell you that?”

Sasha straightened up. “He couldn’t; you did, just now. Honesty is one thing, but next time try to play your cards closer to your chest and not give away too much.

Macbeth Squad: welcome onboard the Katana. I’m Lieutenant Commander Sasha Hrelle, First Officer. Captain Weynik is currently engaged in a security meeting with some of the other COs of Sabre Squadron One, so I’m providing your welcome briefing. At ease.”

The squad relaxed – except for Boladede, who continued to stare ahead.

Nash noticed it, and noticed that Sasha noticed it too, but the latter didn’t comment on it as she continued. “You’ll be spending the next seven days onboard, dividing your on-duty time between continuing with your Academy studies remotely, and getting a taste of the duties expected of Starfleet Ensigns in your respective fields of study and expertise.

But before we go into further detail, let’s get the questions out of the way.”

The cadets reacted to varying degrees, leaving Nash to respond first. “Questions, Ma’am?”

Sasha nodded. “Every other cadet squad that’s come onboard the Katana so far – Hamlet, Othello, Romeo, Titania – has had questions for ‘Hellcat Hrelle’.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a fan of the nickname, or the fame that brought it, but I gotta deal with it. So here’s my deal: you get only one question each, here and now, but nothing’s off limits, so don’t waste it, or my time.”

The squad looked at each other, no one speaking up.

Sasha breathed out. “So much for not wasting my time-”

“Did you really pilot a Defiant Warhead Module into a Dominion Battleship and blow it up at the Battle of Cardassia?” Spychalski blurted out.

Sasha grunted. “Yes. Barely escaped alive, and couldn’t stop shaking for days afterwards, but yes. I also amputated my Captain’s leg and stepped over the burned, broken bodies of crewmembers to get the survivors to safety… it was a hell of a day…” She waved off the rest of it, and looked to Denek.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “Lieutenant Commander, would you please confirm for the puerile among us that you are not part-Caitian?”

Sasha rolled her eyes again. “The fricking Tail Rumour again? Oy vey… No, I have no tail, claws or actual fur, though I’m not big on personal grooming below the neckline. Otherwise, biologically I am fully human. Culturally and legally, however, I am very much a Caitian.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander.” Denek looked at Gela.

The Ferengi ignored her, indicating C’Riir, “Fuzzy here says you have a sword. Is that true? Is it really indestructible? Is it made of neutronium? How much do you think you could get for it? And have you really chopped off heads with it, because that could increase its overall value on the open market-”

“Gela!” C’Riir growled, appalled at his brashness, looking to Sasha now, his tail drooping in embarrassment. “Sorry about him, Ma’am. He’s… really ignorant.”

Sasha nodded, her expression tightening as she drew closer to Gela. “I said one question, Cadet; for a Ferengi, you’re shit at counting. Still, you have balls…

Yes, I have a sword. It’s a gift from the Order of the Kaetini, a cadre of honoured Caitian warriors. It’s made of an alloy called arakanium; it’s not indestructible, just super sharp and super strong. And it’s definitely not for sale, at any price.

And yes. I have chopped off heads with it. Chopped off heads, limbs, ripped open bellies, stabbed, sliced and diced…” As the Ferengi seemed to pale and shrink back at her graphic answer, she continued mercilessly. “I’ve smelled the flesh, tasted the blood, slipped on guts spilt on the floor, heard the screams of those I maimed and killed, woken up at night in a sweat at the memory of it all…” 

She finally stopped herself, stepping back and looking to C’Riir again. “And what would a fellow Cub of the Motherworld like to ask me?”

The young male paused, looking momentarily overwhelmed at being the full focus of her attention, looking to the rest of his squad, before finally speaking… but in a language that didn’t translate for Nash… and judging from the reactions of most of the others, didn’t translate for them either. Only Gela muttered indignantly as he recognised it, “Old Caitian again.”

Sasha clearly understood, however, and responded soberly in Federation Standard. “Yes, of course. Later. You, me and Lt Mori.” Now she looked to Boladede, who continued to stare ahead. “How about you, Cadet?”

The Nigerian male shifted as he replied stiffly, “I already know everything I need to know about you, Lieutenant Commander, thank you.”

Sasha shrugged. Now she focused on Nash.

The younger woman swallowed, her curiosity over Lt Cmdr Hrelle and Cadet C’Riir’s private conversation set aside. “So… no question is off limits, Ma’am?”

“None.” Sasha shook her head. “I can’t believe you wasted your one question asking that.” She smirked. “Just kidding. What is it?”

Nash hesitated, but then finally asked, “Ma’am, as you’ve probably gathered, we’ve all read and heard about you, all you’ve gone through, what you just told us now… and there’s probably a lot more than we’ll ever know… you’ve gone through so much already, and you’re not that old-”

“Thanks, Bubulah.”

“Is it… Is it worth it?”

Sasha regarded her. Then she pursed her lips in thought before finally responding, “Yeah, it’s worth it. If you’re strong enough… strong enough to admit when you’re not strong, when you need help. The worst thing you, any of you, can do when you’re feeling the pain is to keep it to yourself. That won’t help you, or anyone else, I promise.”

Sasha blinked, looked around them again. “Wow, I got off easy with you bunch; Falstaff Squad had me go into graphic detail about my wildest sexual escapades.” She glanced down at the carpet. “Ajax! Naughty boy! Stop that!”

The cadets looked down as well, seeing the dog trying to chew on Spychalski’s right boot. Now he stopped and turned, making regretful noises.

Sasha straightened up again. “Fun Time’s over. Alpha Shift starts in one hour, and you’re all on it. I’m taking you to your quarters, where you can access your duty and study rosters for the week… and you will not neglect your education for the thrill of doing actual grown-up stuff, or Commander Haluk will have your hides, and mine.

Of particular note are some additional sessions all of you will be participating in while on the Katana. It’s called SAUCE: Specialised Armed and Unarmed Combat Expertise.”

The announcement provoked reactions from the Squad, and prompted Nash to ask, “Ma’am, isn’t that training usually reserved for those in Tactical and Security?”

“Normally, yes, and even then only for those assigned to border patrol duties and special mission teams, designed for race-specific threats. But Commodore Hrelle has ordered all Starfleet personnel serving on Salem One or onboard one of the Squadron ships to receive training specific to the most likely threat we’ll be facing in this sector: the Kzinti.

The Kzinti use disruptors and other energy weapons, but they prefer swords, daggers and their own claws and teeth, and will often employ energy dampening technology like what you face recently with the Klingons, in order to gain an advantage.

So your training will focus on bladed and ballistic weapons, courtesy of Captain Weynik and Security Chief Lt Jor-Dakk, and the felinoid style of fighting, courtesy of myself and our Caitian Second Officer, Lt Mru Mori-”

Boladede made a sound.

Nash turned to him; it was a sound that, from anyone else, would have been barely perceptible. From Boladede, however, it might as well have been a shout.

And Sasha seemed to recognise it, as she looked to him as well. “Comment, Cadet?”

The young man stiffened, seemingly aware of his lapse of discipline. “No, Ma’am. No comment.” He left it at that.

She didn’t. “As your Squad’s Security Cadet, I expect you’ll be excited to pick up some additional skills?”

Boladede looked hesitant, before asking, “Permission to speak freely, Ma’am?”

“Granted.”

He turned to her. “The training will of course be necessary for the others, but not for me.”

“Don’t hold back, Boladede, tell us how you really feel,” Spychalski quipped.

Nash felt her face go Nova. She had known Boladede for over a year, and he had always been a model of laconic efficiency, without a seeming iota of personal warmth. In fact, more than once she wondered if he was an android in disguise. This interruption was unprecedented. “You’re out of line, Mister-”

Sasha raised a hand to cut her off, approaching and standing directly in front of Boladede, to meet his gaze. “You’re a Third Year Cadet, Mister. The training we’re offering you here is normally something you wouldn’t expect to receive until after graduation, and even then only dependant on your posting. Enlighten me as to why you think it’s not necessary for you.”

The Nigerian stuck out his chin proudly. “My family owns and operates a very successful private security firm, with offices on many worlds. From a very early age I was trained in numerous disciplines of the martial arts, as well as both historical and modern melee and ranged weapons, all to a high degree of proficiency. The redoubtable praise I have received from my Academy instructors is a testament to that. I am more than prepared to deal with any threat I face.”

Nash felt her stomach plummet at the cadet’s sheer audacity, and didn’t know how to respond.

Sasha, however, did, her expression tight as a wire. “No, Mr Boladede. You’re not prepared. None of you are. And anyone going into Starfleet with that mindset is guaranteed at the very least sorrow, at the very most a posthumous medal and message of condolence delivered to your next of kin… and probably the same for everyone else unlucky enough to depend upon you.”

She looked at the rest of them. “The best you can do, now and always, is to learn, and keep learning… and keep remembering that the Universe can be very unforgiving. It still won’t guarantee that you live to a ripe old age, but it’s better than nothing.”

She offered a final look at Nash. “But what I said before still stands. It is worth it. If you’re smart enough, as well as strong enough.”

Then she stepped back and headed to the door, Ajax following. “All of you, grab your gear and keep up.”

Nash wanted to say something, to apologise for Boladede, for all of them, to assure the older woman that they were there to learn and grow and be a vital part of Starfleet, and to try and recapture some of the connection she felt they had been making in the introduction.

Now, all she could do is follow the Second Officer out.

And promise herself to rip fresh strips into her Squad later.

*

“Hey.”

Hrelle was in the cockpit of the Mendez, running some additional checks on the navigation console. The runabout was a leftover from before Salem One was temporarily evacuated during the War, so he was glad it was relatively up to date… though he also noted some improvements that could be made, by adopting the algorithms from the Caitian navigation and sensor systems on Sasha’s private flyer the Tailless.

Now the voice – and a scent in the air – caught his attention, and he turned in his chair, his ears pricking up and his tail swishing through the air in the back of his seat, and his smile widening. “Hello there.”

Kami was leaning against the door to the sleeping quarters, clad in a diaphanous thigh-high crimson nightdress, filling it in all the right places, her tail dancing behind her as she smiled. “Do you like what you see?”

“See, scent, hear… looking forward to touch and taste.”

“Then why are you just sitting there?”

He rose and approached, breathing in more of her musk, his gaze narrowing. “Are you- Are you back in Season?”

Her bronze eyes glowed with amusement. “With some pharmaceutical help. I’m long past my natural Seasons, thankfully.”

“‘Thankfully’?” He drew closer, raising a paw to gently stroke her forearm, his voice low. “You don’t miss them?”

“No. Natural Seasons may have heightened my pleasure, but they also brought cramps, headaches and itchy skin. I like to think I’ve grown old gracefully… but I don’t mind reliving my younger days, every now and then.” She drew in closer, purring against his neck. “How soon ’til we get to Nepenthe?”

His head spun from her musk. “Twelve hours, more or less.”

She nipped his skin. “Good. It’s been ages since we’ve rutted. You might have forgotten your way around. Care to try to prove me wrong?”

His arms moved around to her back, drifting down to her rear, feeling himself very overdressed. He mentally kicked himself for initially resisting this suggestion of hers of a break, citing too many responsibilities as Commander of Salem Sector, especially at this early stage of his new appointment.

But now, away from the family, the station and the constant stress, and heading towards Nepenthe, a pristine world of startling beauty, much like Cait, he could feel his stress bleed away… or at least, redirected towards more productive pursuits. “One thing you can count on me for, Sugartail: if I’m going to the Seven Hells, it won’t be for not trying-”

A Proximity Alert sounded loudly from the cockpit.

Hrelle tensed, drawing back and cursing as he made his way forward. Kami followed. “If Salem One is calling us after all the warnings I gave-”

“It’s not.” He sat down again, checking the readings, even as he felt his hackles rise and his tail twitch. “Multiple incoming vessels, on an intercept course at high warp- sit down, try and get a distress signal out.” As Kami took the opposite seat, he focused on Navigation and Weapons, keying in an evasive pattern while arming the microtorpedoes and phasers. Mother damn it, I should never have agreed to this- I knew what they were like, had fought them enough times-

“Focus on keeping us alive,” she advised him.

Hrelle didn’t even bother questioning how his wife knew his thoughts, as they dropped hard to starboard, and then out of warp altogether, giving them a slightly better chance at survival. They were between systems, no place to hide- and with three vessels, runabout-sized, still officially unidentified but drawing close in a familiar pattern. 

He recognised them from how they looked and moved – Kzinti Slasher-class fighters: compact, crescent-shaped, tough and overpowered but short-range, so obviously a battlecruiser or even a Prideship nearby – and made a note about having all Tactical systems under his command updated to incorporate his own ideas. Assuming we survive.

“Heavy subspace interference,” Kami reported. “I can’t raise anyone.”

He expected as much, saying nothing as he fixed weapons on the lead vessel and firing microtorpedoes aftward.

Kami looked at him in alarm. “You’re not even going to try and hail them? Warn them off?”

He veered the Mendez hard to port now, as a disruptor burst filled part of the screen at starboard, while he re-armed the torpedoes. “They want us alive… but our not firing back at them, our treating them as anything less than dangerous, will be insulting; the pilots might forget their orders and try to destroy us in anger. I used to win more than one engagement exploiting that particular weakness of theirs.” His paws moved quickly over the controls. “Put some clothes on, take some musk suppressant.”

“What? No, you need my help-”

“We can’t escape, or fight, or call for help; I can only buy us time and keep us alive until we enter their trap.” He looked at her, his anger and fear naked as he roared, “GO!”

Kami rose, nearly stumbling as they banked sharply to starboard to avoid another disruptor burst, while Hrelle fired back again, just enough to let them think they were intimidating him, as he then keyed in a new set of commands that would surely make his wife question his sanity. Sorry, Beloved, but on this occasion I know what I’m doing.

Then he saw the Prideship: huge, brick-red, elongated, tri-nacelled, with atmospheric-ready wings laden with weapons pods. The last time he saw one of these, he was in the Furyk, a Steamrunner-class starship, and the equal of that monstrosity. The Mendez was like a mosquito in comparison.

He slowed down, as naturally as he could without drawing suspicion, and reached for a phaser from the adjacent locker to fix to his belt. The Kzinti would beam them away, after the fighters caught up and began- there they were, more disruptors, pounding away against the Mendez’s shields. “KAMI! WHERE ARE YOU?”

He didn’t take his eyes away from the controls, or the huge vessel dead ahead. This would be a tricky manoeuvre for anyone; if their weapons were too strong, or if the Mendez’s own shields failed sooner than expected, the Caitians could end up dead rather than captured.

He refused to contemplate which might be preferable. The Kzinti had been among the less frequent but the more persistent of the threats he faced in Salem Sector when he commanded the Furyk. Yes, more often than not, the huge striped felinoids were the victims of their own independent natures, of their short tempers and overwhelming desire to win names for themselves. But, on those few occasions when the Prides united on a single objective, when they were suffused by their hunger for the Hunt, for their prey… Seven Hells…

Kami returned, like him in uniform, clinging to his upper arm as the shields finally failed. He looked up at her. “Survive. Don’t worry about me. Do whatever it takes to stay alive until-”

A purple transporter beam swaddled them.

Seconds later, the Mendez erupted in a miniature nova.

*

“It’s sex, isn’t it? It has to be. It’s a Caitian threesome. You, Lt Mori and Hrelle. I want recordings. Strictly for educational purposes.”

Beside the Ferengi on the exercise mat, C’Riir ignored him, watching the other Caitian male onboard the Katana, Lt Mori, adopt a new fighting pose as part of everyone’s additional training, and copying it, before moving onto another. His erstwhile friend hadn’t stopped talking about C’Riir’s request to Lt Cmdr Hrelle, a subject C’Riir refused to elaborate upon.

Nearby, Macbeth Squad Leader Nash kept glancing over at him, still looking furious over how they behaved in front of Lt Cmdr Hrelle. It wasn’t fair! She was lumping C’Riir in with Gela, Boladede and Spychalski, as if C’Riir had somehow encouraged them, when all he wanted was something… private… from the Lieutenant Commander, the one who had been so instrumental in liberating the Motherworld.

“A secret mission,” Gela opined. “For Starfleet Intelligence.”

C’Rirr struggled to stay focused, desperate to prove himself before his fellow Caitian, and everyone else present. Though he was slightly stronger, faster and more agile than many humanoids, he never considered himself a natural warrior. He was a lover of science! Would he have risen to the challenge if he had been back on Cait when the Ferasans invaded? He liked to think so… even as he was privately glad that the opportunity never came.

In front of him, Cadet Boladede moved like a machine, perfectly matching Lt Mori’s moves with an enviable ease. Prick.

“You’re going to help her conceive a cub!” Gela suggested loudly.

At the far end of the gym, Sasha and Weynik were warming up, and watching and appraising the crew’s reaction, the Roylan rolling out the ache from his neck. “Mr Boladede is promising.”

Sasha grunted. “Don’t let him know it, his ego is already fit to break through the hull.”

He smiled, picking up one of the training swords as he moved in place, getting a feel for it. “Is it ego if he really is as good as he thinks he is?”

She lifted up her own sword. “No one is as good as he thinks he is.”

Weynik chuckled now. “Well, let’s see if we can temper him, rather than break him, okay? We’re out here to mentor and guide the Next Generation, not eat them for breakfast… no matter what your Dad might think otherwise.” He regarded the cadets. “I wish they’d had the Advanced Work Experience program when your father and I were in the Academy. We’d have been away from the likes of the Arringtons.”

Sasha frowned. “I knew Dad was getting hassled by them, but I didn’t know you were as well. Why didn’t you tell your father? Who was going to pick on the offspring of Admiral Tattok?”

“The offspring of Admiral Arrington?” Weynik made a sound. “I wanted to solve my own problems. Besides, for most of my time in the Academy my father had been on an extended classified mission at the edge of the Galaxy.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

“Terrifying, I’m told.” His combadge beeped before he could elaborate, assuming he would. “Weynik here.”

“Lt Grel here, Captain. Another update from Salem One: the Hrelles are still underway to Nepenthe, long distance scans remain clear.”

“So we remain on Standby. Don’t fall asleep up there, Mr Grel. Weynik out.” He looked up at his First Officer. “There, see? Kami and Wide Load will make it safely to Nepenthe and a long-overdue vacation for the two of them.” He smiled. “I heard it’s a beautiful, unspoiled planet. I bet in a little while, they’ll be lying on a blanket under a sky full of stars, letting the stresses of the past year melt away.”

*

Hrelle tensed as he let his eyes adjust the heavier gravity and dimmer light of the starship, shoving Kami behind him as he drew out his phaser-

-And discovered, as he expected, the phaser was useless, the victim of a local dampening field.

He took in the strident scents and sounds of a dozen Kzinti males surrounding them, standing in shadow, roaring and beating their armoured chests with naked intimidation. He returned the phaser to his belt and roared back defiantly, claws bared.

One of the shadows in front of him raised an arm up, and the others immediately went silent. Then he stepped into the light: standing a head taller than Hrelle and most other humanoids and felinoids, as powerful-looking as any of his people, with the distinctive Kzinti stripes, and battle scars – his fur was faded, greying, more than Hrelle had ever seen in one of their kind – and armour bearing the insignia of a Pridemaster.

His left paw rested on the hilt of a sword at his side as he drew closer, his voice a growl that nevertheless was laced with respect. “Commodore Esek Hrelle: welcome onboard the Night Stalker, the Prideship of the Southern Black Claw Pride. Thank you; that was a most enjoyable hunt.”

Hrelle didn’t break his protective pose. “You’re welcome. What name have you earned for yourself?”

The Kzin rose up, acknowledging the Caitian’s deliberate wording of the question. “My name is Saga-Var, Master of my Pride.” He indicated two younger males on his right. “My brave, beloved sons, Ullor-Var and Gerdur-Var.”

Hrelle noticed a third male, on Saga-Var’s left, with a similar, familial scent, reacting to the introduction, but otherwise saying nothing, as Hrelle kept his own expression unchanged, trying to recall ever meeting this bastard, or his kin, from his Furyk days. Nope. “You have the advantage of me, Pridemaster.”

Saga-Var drew up to him, reaching out and confiscating his phaser and their combadges. “I certainly do, especially after you destroyed your own vessel.”

Hrelle heard and felt Kami react to that, but he kept focused on the Kzin. “Would you do any less, to keep your technology out of the paws of a dangerous enemy?”

“Of course not, and I thank you again for that display of respect.”

“So why are we here? What did I do in the past to you or your Pride?”

“Nothing.”

That answer made him pause. “Nothing? You mean you just hunted us for shits and giggles? Some drunken whim of yours?”

The males growled, until their leader raised a paw to them, his expression sobering. “No, Commodore. Everything we do is with purpose; do not spoil a promising introduction by suggesting otherwise. You do deserve to know… but such talk is not for females.” He nodded to a shorter, younger male with darker fur and eyes nearby. “ThirdSon, secure the Commodore’s Mate and watch over her.”

The male started. “What? That is slave’s work! Beneath me! I demand to remain and bear witness-”

Further protest was cut off as the back of Saga-Var’s right paw swung out with uncanny speed across his son’s muzzle. “I decide what work is beneath you, Nameless. And you demand nothing of me. Go.” 

ThirdSon bristled, especially as his peers made sounds of amusement at his being chastised, but then he moved to Kami, angrily grabbing her by the forearm and ignoring Hrelle – and thus ending up unprepared for Hrelle striking out hard against the Kzin’s muzzle, sending him to the floor as Hrelle growled, “Don’t touch her!”

All of the Kzinti reacted, but Hrelle stayed focused on the one he struck, who bared his teeth and claws as he rose up, ready to attack-

-Only for Saga-Var to step between them, facing his youngest son. “No. You’re not fit to fight the Caitian. You’re not fit to stand downwind of his scent, or put paws on his property. He was brought here to combat me, none other.”

Hrelle turned and looked at Kami, who remained wary but observant, finally whispering to him, in Old Caitian, “Combat? As in Personal Combat? A duel?”

The surrounding Kzinti males reacted, though Hrelle wasn’t sure if it was because she spoke at all, or because the ancient dialect wasn’t readily extricable by their Universal Translators. “I think so. And there’s something about their leader’s scent-”

“Commodore!” Saga-Var snapped at him now. “I will be open and honest with you… and I will expect the same in return. Do not speak in your people’s language again to hide things from us. You earned a reputation for yourself, carved out of the rock of this space: the Lion of Salem Sector. And your reputation grew within the Orion Imperial Deathmatches, as the champion Beast, and most recently, defeating the Ferasans who occupied your world.

And now you have returned, to stand at the borders of the Patriarchy and dare us to step forward and challenge you. And I will accept that challenge. The strakh, the honour, I will gain in facing and defeating you will be immeasurable.”

“No,” Kami responded. “He won’t fight you.”

That simple, naked defiance, and from a female, produced another shocked reaction from the younger Kzinti, leaving Hrelle to follow it up. “My wife is right. I have better things to do with my time than accept challenges from every loser looking to earn himself some strakh, or bragging rights or gold badges, or whatever else they’re after.”

Growls erupted from the males, and Hrelle tensed.

But Saga-Var appeared almost nonchalant. “It is naturally your choice, Commodore. We are continuing on the course you were taking to Nepenthe. I will leave your female – your wife – there, after I’ve defeated you.”

“Assuming you do,” Hrelle corrected darkly.

Saga-Var chuckled and nodded good naturedly, seemingly appreciative of the Caitian’s reaction. “Assuming I do. If I don’t, then I will assure my successor that both of you will be left on Nepenthe. 

However, should you choose not to accept the challenge, we will leave you both exactly where we collected you… in the space between worlds. Of course, you no longer have a ship, or an escape pod, or indeed anything to return to, but that’s a problem you’ll have to face yourselves… for as long as you both shall live.”

Hrelle’s stomach twisted. Seven Hells, he thought he had left this macho nonsense behind him with the Ferasans and all the other losers that used to pursue him to have a tussle.

And the Kzinti weren’t Ferasans; as dangerous as they were when they were still a race and not just a pawful of survivors, the Ferasans still paled in comparison with the Kzinti.

And Hrelle wasn’t the warrior he once was.

He felt Kami’s paw tighten on his forearm, scented her fear. Damn it, the best he could do now was ensure that at least she survived… “My wife will not be threatened or harmed in any way?”

“Esek, don’t-” she warned.

Saga-Var nodded.

“Swear on your name,” Hrelle insisted. “Before your Pride.”

The Kzin grunted, but relented with, “I swear it.”

Kami made her husband face her, anger and fear and disbelief vying for dominance in her scent and voice. “No! Esek-”

“Remember what I told you before we came here,” he reminded her softly, quietly, rubbing the side of his muzzle against hers. “I love you. I always will. Go.”

“ThirdSon,” Saga-Var prompted again.

Hrelle reluctantly removed Kami’s paw as the young Kzin approached again, appearing more wary than he had before… and definitely not putting his paws on her again. Then, thankfully, Kami steeled herself, shooting daggers at Saga-Var as she let his cub lead her away.

“There,” the older Kzin concluded, “Come with me, Commodore. There is a tradition among the Heroes’ Race, where the warriors in a duel meet in private beforepaw, and learn more about each other, to honour the one who is destined to fall. We shall do the same; we owe each other that much.”

“I… would appreciate that, Pridemaster,” Hrelle admitted slowly. “I must confess, my duties with Starfleet mean too many fights end quickly, anonymously. Yes, I would know more of an opponent like you. However long it takes.”

The longer, the better…

*

Station Salem One, Deck R2, Command Centre:

Captain Sternhagen frowned as she sipped at her mug of raktajino. “This is fricking awful.” She kept drinking, and staring up at the Sector Status Board, a large display of the surrounding systems, registered vessels and other points of interest.

Beside her, Lt Zir Dassene and Federation Commissioner Ryo Nam-Seon stood, both young women glancing at each other before the Commissioner asked patiently, “Captain, the Commodore’s Adjutant here assured me that one of the Sabres would be made available to go to Thasara and run checks on the installations being set up there by Zorin Interstellar.”

“Yeah,” Sternhagen conceded distractedly, still staring up. “There’s a slight delay.”

She left it at it, prompting Zir to ask, studying the display as well now. “What’s happening?”

“We picked up some Paserak traffic about a single Kzinti vessel, a Prideship, crossing the Border from the Patriarchy. I’ve ordered the Prospero away from the Thasara mission to join the Katana and al-Razi at the Border in a quiet sweep.”

“‘Quiet’?” Nam-Seon frowned. “Why would they not be more obvious? If the Kzinti have invaded our territory-”

“It’s a dance with those striped bastards,” Sternhagen replied, pausing to drink more raktajino and grimace again. “A dance where your partner might tear your throat out if you step on their toes. Not that we couldn’t take them on, if it came down to it, but Commodore Hrelle is keen not to get into any unnecessary fights, not while we’re still re-establishing ourselves.”

“Have you alerted him about this?” Zir asked.

“We’re trying to.” Sternhagen left it, and the anxiety in her voice, at that. 

An alert drew all their attention before Zir could press her further, Sternhagen setting aside her mug on an adjacent table as she stored forward, raising her voice. “Report!”

Commander Haluk was first to respond, the older bearded Vulcan male looking stern and saturnine in the lights from the surrounding displays. “Explosion detected on our long-range sensors, outside the Nepenthe system.”

“An explosion?” Zir breathed out, trying to contain her panic. “Was it the Commodore’s Yacht? Can we contact them?”

“I told you we’ve tried; localised subspace interference appeared around their registered flightpath moments before the explosion, preventing communications or more detailed scanning… but the explosion possessed an isolytic element that cut through the interference, making it stand out like a supernova.”

“Yeah. Just what Hrelle feared…” Sternhagen stepped forward. “Alert Sabre Squadron One! Put them on Red Alert! Order the Katana to effect a rescue, they’re closest, leave the Prospero and al-Razi at the Border! And take the station to Yellow Alert!” Then she turned away, reaching for her mug, and trying to ignore the eyes of the women on the back of her head.

But Zir refused to be ignored. “Rescue? You think the Commodore and Counselor might have survived the explosion?”

“There was an isolytic charge built into the Yacht’s self-destruct system,” the older woman informed her, staring absently into the contents of her mug… or intently not at the others. “On orders from the Commodore. Had it just been some accidental warp core breach, we might not have picked it up in all that interference. Hrelle deliberately triggered the charge, to catch our attention. If he had time to do that, he would have had time to plan some sort of escape for the Counselor and himself.”

Zir frowned in shock and disbelief. “Plan? You mean the Commodore knew that this could have happened? And he went off alone with his wife anyway?”

Now Sternhagen faced her, the Terran’s voice lowering, and her expression even more sober than before, if such a thing were possible. “No, he didn’t know. But Esek Hrelle didn’t survive to his current age by not planning for the worst… because more often than not, the worst came looking for him.

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to spend the rest of his life buried in a hole, real or metaphorical, afraid to live. Something you might want to keep in mind, if you want to live as long as him.”

*

Kami felt the anger from the young Kzin as he practically shoved her ahead of him.

His anger… and his arousal. She had managed to take a musk suppressant to counter her earlier medication, but it hadn’t fully taken hold yet. She had no idea if Caitian pheromones would affect Kzinti, but obviously Esek had feared it, hence his frantic plea for her to take the suppressant. And from what she understood about Kzinti mating habits, they weren’t exactly the gentle, tender loving types.

Stupid, stupid bitch! Her husband didn’t want to take this break, and had claimed he still had too much work ahead of him in this sector to indulge. She knew that, but she practically twisted his arm to give in. If she had known that the Kzinti would take such a bold move against Esek- against both of them-

“Stop,” the Kzin – ThirdSon was his name? – growled.

She turned, seeing him activate a side door, watching it slide open as he glared inside. “Get out. Go somewhere.”

Kami heard the mad scramble of bodies inside, before two young Kzin males appeared at the doorway, looking at her curiously, until ThirdSon growled at them, and they scurried in the opposite direction down the corridor. Then ThirdSon looked at her again. “Get in there.”

She caught the male scent in there, thicker than elsewhere, probably personal quarters. “What are you-”

He reached out and clasped her forearm, and she felt the strength in his grip, keeping herself from instinctively fighting back as he practically flung her inside, letting her see a dark, stark space, with beds and other furniture.

She backed away, keeping her eyes on him when he followed her inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. His hungry gaze confirmed what his scent told her, and she fought to control her rising panic over the growing threat.

He was stripping off his armour.

Kami had studied the Kzinti, like everyone else in Salem Sector. She knew they were stronger, faster, more ferocious than Caitians or Ferasans, that their females were bred to be little more than mute animals fit only to be kept in harims, such harims the possession of those Kzin who earn the privilege. That they had to earn names for themselves. 

That they ate their enemies.

That they called themselves the ‘Heroes’ Race’, placing an exigent, unignorable premium on honour, even employing it as a form of currency.

But of course, she had dealt with enough “honourable” cultures to know how flexible the definition can get. 

Rape of a prisoner, for instance… “Your father… he promised my husband I would not be threatened or harmed!”

ThirdSon paused… but only for a heartbeat. “Yes. He promised. I didn’t.” He drew closer.

She glanced around surreptitiously, looking for a weapon, defence, escape-

Nothing. “If my husband finds out what you’re doing-”

“Your mate will be digesting in my father’s belly before the day has passed,” ThirdSon promised.

Kami felt the side of one of the beds in the quarters against the back of her legs. Kami was an experienced Starfleet officer, trained in self-defence, unarmed combat. If she could strike at his eyes-

His huge paw shot out, clasping around her throat, lifting her up effortlessly from the bulkhead. She struggled to breathe, clawed futilely at his furred paw, feeling his crushing, suffocating power behind him.

He leaned in, informing her, “Resist me, and I’ll break your arm first.”

And then ThirdSon threw her onto the hard mattress of the nearest bed. He was on her, turning her onto her stomach, working at ripping the clothes from her with his claws.

Kami gasped for breath, his weight full upon her, her panic rising.

Survive. Don’t worry about me. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.

“Why- Why is he so blind?” she asked hoarsely.

The question made him pause, his voice ragged and guttural and his breath hot against her. “What?”

“Your- Your father…” She turned her head, looking up over her shoulder at him. “Why is he so blind to you? To what you can offer him, your Pride?”

ThirdSon growled, his eyes narrowing like phaser beams. “Don’t you insult him!”

“I’m not!” she insisted. “But still, it’s obvious how unfair it is. You come from the same litter as your brothers, you’re clearly just as good as them, if not better. And yet… they have names. Your father has never given you the opportunity to earn yours.”

Now he bared his teeth, his hackles rising and his tail snapping. “Be silent! You are female! You are a dumb animal!”

Kami shook her head, trying to keep calm. “Don’t let our similarities fool you. I’m not one of your females. I have a mind. I have senses and speech. I have training in observation. I have a perspective that males, both Caitian and Kzinti, lack.”

ThirdSon tensed again, looking ready to bark at her for silence again, perhaps even strike her. But there was something else…

And she reached for it. “For instance… I knew that you didn’t really want to hurt me. All that talk before was just anger… anger at once again being disrespected by your father, in front of your brothers, and this time in front of aliens like my husband and myself.”

She rose, slowly, carefully, allowing him to draw back off him, while also letting him think he was doing it of his own volition.

Kami rose further, meeting him on a more equal footing, while still giving him the ostensible physical advantage over her. “I recognise potential, and guide males; that’s how I’ve helped my husband rise to the rank of Commodore.

But he’s getting old now. Old and fat. You saw him. He can’t protect me the way he used to; how else could we have been captured so easily?”

And as she kept speaking, she focused, focused on every little reaction, reading more and more of him.

And taking him exactly where she wanted him to go.

*

Sasha raised the training sword up, speaking for the benefit of her current opponent, as well as those watching and learning. “This is a replica of a standard Kzinti broadsword: flat, double-edged, with a wide cross guard.” She let the sword swivel and dance in her grip as if it was alive, to display the other parts of it. “It’s heavy, and the grip is long, allowing both hands – or paws – to be employed… but, don’t let that fool you. The Kzinti will quite easily use the sword with one paw while striking out at their opponents with the claws of their other paw.” 

She moved into a series of slashing motions. “Also, although the Kzinti swords have pointed tips, they almost always prefer wide, sweeping movements, rather than attempts at stabbing, as that can throw them off balance.”

Opposite her on the central mat, Cadet Boladede stood ramrod straight, holding onto his own training sword… but his eyes followed Sasha’s every motion, she noticed, studying, assessing.

She continued. “Lieutenant Mori has shown you the basic moves, the crouches and lunges and pounces that felinoids favour in unarmed combat, and how you can effectively counter those moves. I will show you the moves they’ll make with their swords. And although the Kzinti are stronger, tougher and more ferocious than most of us, and have more experience with melee weapons, that doesn’t make them invincible.”

Sasha turned to face the cadet, raising her sword and pointing it in his direction. “We’ll go through a few simple moves and counter-moves first, Mr Boladede, to get a sense of each other’s skill level.”

He mirrored her stance, confidently assuring her, “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant Commander. I don’t want to waste your valuable-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, as Sasha launched herself at him, striking out, Boladede barely having the chance to parry.

The sound of metal on metal rang out, echoing through the gym, as Sasha kept on the offensive, not giving him a chance to do more than stay on the defensive, employing her Kaetini training to get a real assessment of the young man’s skills.

He was good.

“Never let your opponent take control of the fight,” she instructed the group as she did all this. “The longer they have control, the harder it gets to take it back.”

They kept circling each other, Boladede starting to dodge her slashes and thrusts more easily, and even knocking her blade aside once or twice.

“Always be on the lookout for a weakness,” she added.

Then she saw his weakness, in the look in his eyes: confidence, boiling into arrogance. He was showing off now.

Thanks, Bubulah, just what I was waiting for… She initiated another furious exchange of thrusts and parries between them, each opponent searching for an opening, Sasha losing control – or at least, appearing to. Boladede began forcing Sasha backwards, to the corner of the mat. The blades rang against each other, the clashes almost forming a rhythmical sequence which begged for other instruments to join in.

Meanwhile, she continued to lecture the group, making a show of sounding breathless, of slowing down her moves from fatigue. “Few- few battles- are evenly matched- it’s- it’s not fair- but the most- most important rule-”

Boladede knocked the sword from her grip, smiling now, the spectators gasping as Sasha fell back onto her ass-

-Giving her the chance to draw a black ballistic pistol from a hidden holster inside her jacket and point it up at her opponent.

The room held its breath… and Boladede stood, frozen with shock.

She motioned with her weapon at his sword, until he took the hint and dropped it, as she helped herself back to her feet, wincing in pain from her tailbone.

Still keeping her eye on him, still keeping her weapon pointed at him, she concluded, “The most important rule is that in a real fight, there are no rules. Fight dirty. Cheat. Kick your opponent in the balls if they have them… or even if they don’t. 

Take every advantage to win, to survive, because I want all of you to live long, happy lives… and because I’m sick of attending funerals.” She nodded to Boladede. “As for you, Cadet… this is where you get liquidated.”

Then she squeezed the trigger… and a thin stream of water shot out from the barrel and struck Boladede square in the face.

The room erupted with startled laughter.

Sasha holstered her weapon and approached, picking up the training swords and handing Boladede his. “Good workout, Cadet.”

The young Nigerian accepted it brusquely, allowing the water to bead down his face like sweat as he glared at her with taut indignation, his voice crisp. “Technically, I still disarmed you, Ma’am.”

Sasha grunted, wiping her forearm across her forehead. “Or, I let you disarm me, to get myself into a position where I could draw a more effective weapon against you. Or even just a bluff. You’d be amazed at how many fights are won with just a bluff.” She caught the look from Weynik, and turned to Mori, handing him her sword. “Take over for me, Lieutenant.” Then she approached her Captain. “Sir?”

The Roylan looked up at her. “What was that all about, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Sir?”

“Was it necessary to humiliate him?”

She shrugged, taking out her water pistol. “Better that than having him face an enemy with something more than this.” She pointed it towards her open mouth and squirted some shots of water into it.

Before he could respond, the Red Alert klaxon sounded, and all banter was forgotten as everyone assembled raced out to their assigned stations, the senior officers moving as one to the Bridge, which was bathed in apple-red light from above, and Lt Grel rose from the Captain’s Chair, the young Tellarite appearing grave. “Sir! Alert from Salem One! The Commodore’s Yacht just blew up outside Nepenthe!”

Sasha felt her heart stop, but her body continued to move of its own volition as she joined Weynik, Mori and Lt Jor-Dakk at Tactical, the Captain reading the report. “A Kzinti Prideship- the Isolytic Protocols-” He looked up at Sasha. “Your Dad and Kami will still be alive. Helm! Nepenthe system, last known position of the Commodore’s Yacht, Maximum Warp! Burn out our engines if you have to, but get us there!”

*

The room where Hrelle was taken was a hexagonal chamber of wooden-slatted walls, floors and benches, surrounding a stone pit of charcoal coals that attendants were now lighting up. It reminded him of a sauna, or a sweat lodge.

As the other Kzinti departed and the door slid shut, Saga-Var began stripping off his armour, looking to the Caitian. “Make yourself comfortable, Commodore.”

Hrelle watched him for a moment, before removing his jacket, feeling the heat, and the weight around his belly in comparison with the Pridemaster. “What is this place?”

“A Private Room, for meditation, or for speaking in confidence, and candour. We will not be disturbed until we are ready.” He removed the loose black bodice he wore beneath, revealing a muscled, scarred, stripe-furred torso, his tail swishing behind him as he took a seat opposite.

Hrelle drew up the sleeves of his undershirt. “I like it. I might have to get one installed on the station when I return.”

“Assuming you do,” Saga-Var added.

He regarded him, grunting. “Assuming I do.” He sat down, breathing in as the fire between them began to crackle and rise. “Well, how does this sort of work? I’ll tell you about my cubhood, my hobbies, my star sign?”

Saga-Var leaned back, breathing in deeply – and with a barely-audible wheeze, Hrelle noted – as his gaze narrowed. “Have you always hid behind facetiousness, Commodore?”

Hrelle almost responded instinctively, before checking himself; if he didn’t cooperate with his captor, delay this as long as possible, then the Kzin might just decide to fight now. “No. For a good portion of my life, I was a humourless bastard, determined to prove myself; I am no longer driven by that need, but of course now I annoy all and sundry with my Dad Jokes. But it beats dying of hypertension. How did you know my wife and I were travelling to Nepenthe?”

“Does it matter?”

“I thought this was a place of confidence, and candour.”

Saga-Var leaned forward and breathed out. “As I want you to trust me, and as I do not believe you will survive our duel, there is no harm in answering you: on your return to Salem Sector, we hired a Yridian to tap into one of your perimeter sensor and communication networks, to keep track of your movements. On learning of your sojourn to Nepenthe, I knew I could not let this opportunity pass unexploited, and crossed the border from the Patriarchy to intercept you.”

“Thank you. ‘Saga-Var’ is a very strong, distinctive name. There must be a fine tale behind how you earned it.”

The Kzin leaned back again, stretching out his arms to rest them on the ledge behind his bench. “Thirty-two seasons ago, when I was only known as Pack Leader to my father Thelrad-Var, I led a raiding party on the Klingon outpost on Kharessa to steal a consignment of disruptor cannons for our own ships. They did not give them up easily.”

Thirty-two seasons ago? That’s a long, long time for a Kzin to still be alive… “I imagine not.” 

The Kzinti grunted with satisfaction. “The campaign had been vicious, bloody… glorious. At one point, I had been blinded by the flash of a disruptor grenade. The Klingons I was fighting at the time thought I was helpless.” He bared gleaming pointed teeth. “They didn’t understand how wrong they were. Not until I feasted on them and sent their spirits to their Sto-Vo-Kor.”

Then his version of a smile faded, and his voice dropped to a private murmur, despite their seclusion. “But here, Commodore, in this place of confidence, and candour, I can tell you as I can tell no other: deep within me, I was terrified. Yes, I had my other senses to let me continue to fight my opponents, at least in the short term. But afterwards? What if my sight did not return?”

Hrelle frowned. “Your medical technology-”

“-Would not have been allowed, not for this. My father, my brothers, would have seen my disability as weakness, and finished me off.”

It was not an unexpected response, but it still sent chills down the Starfleet flag officer’s spine. “A cold blooded attitude to take.”

“Perhaps. But only in this way are we kept strong, invincible.”

The Caitian crossed his arms now. “‘Invincible’? Really? I stopped counting all the races roaring that they’re the Masters of the Universe… from their own tiny little corners of it, after having been beaten back to it by superior forces.

Or aren’t you taught about your own history? Like the time you came to Cait almost a hundred years ago and tried to claim it? Or is the truth about your actual limitations buried because it’s too frightening for you?”

Saga-Var regarded him, his hackles rising and his teeth almost bared… before he relaxed again. “Perhaps we should just agree to disagree, eh, Commodore? I have no doubt there are many differences in our peoples and philosophies, but we are not here to settle them, are we?”

“No,” Hrelle conceded. “And I am sorry if my words offended you.”

The Kzin waved off the apology. “I am no cub. It will take more than words to harm me.” 

“I'll have to test that for myself later.”

Saga-Var laughed and leaned back. “We were destined to meet today, I believe.” 

“Destined? Really?”

“Yes. We Kzinti see our destinies before us like prey. Even as a cub, I knew I was destined to one day lead my Pride, and strove to make it a reality. Did you not feel something similar, when you stood on your father’s fishing boat on the oceans of Cait, dreaming of a life of war and glory in Starfleet?”

Hrelle started at the mention of his cubhood, but accepted that Saga-Var had done his proverbial homework. “I don’t believe in destiny. More times than that, the Universe Has Other Plans, and that true strength is defined by how we adapt when those Other Plans are revealed to us.”

Then he leaned back as well, relaxing some himself as he continued. “If you had asked my Papa, he would have said my destiny was to continue with the family line, bringing in netfuls of sleekfish and scybdils, marrying a local female and raising cubs to succeed me.

Yes, I wanted more. And yes, I too strove to make it a reality. It cost me my father, my clan. I felt isolated during my time at Starfleet Academy, made bearable by my bonding with a man of another race. A man who became my Brother…”

*

Weynik briskly drew the oilcloth for the hundredth time over the strong, thin blades of his twin short swords, always checking on the chronometer on the wall of his Ready Room, always checking on the status board he had set up, connected to the Tactical Display on the adjacent Bridge. There was a subliminal shudder to his ship; as ordered, his crew was pushing the Katana to its limits, Chief Maryk having overridden the safety protocols. They would need a major overhaul after this.

It didn’t matter.

The doorchime pulled him from his thoughts. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

The door slid open, and Sasha stepped inside, just enough to let the door shut behind her.

“I said-”

“I heard, Sir.”

He looked up, noting she was clad in black combat armour, with her Kaetini sword strapped to one hip, a bandoleer of sonic stun grenades crossing down from her right shoulder, and a large ballistic pistol to the other hip. He nodded to the latter. “I’m assuming that’s not filled with water?”

Sasha shook her head. “Just 6.66mm armour-piercing slugs of Death. I have Security assigned to all critical areas, and Lt Jor-Dakk is preparing a detail to board the Kzinti ship, all with phaser, ballistic and melee weaponry.” After a pause, she added, “I’ve included Cadet Boladede in that detail.”

“What about Cadet C’Riir? He’s Caitian, fast, strong-”

“And inexperienced. And according to his Counselor reports, still dealing with guilt over not being on Cait to help fight during the Occupation; I don’t want him getting reckless trying to prove himself.”

The Roylan nodded in agreement from behind his desk, rising up and walking around with his swords. “I’ll keep an eye on the cadet when I go over.”

The tall blonde human frowned. “The Seven Hells you are, Sir! I’m going. You have more tactical experience than me, you can hold your own ship to ship. I’m your First Officer, it’s my job to lead any Away Team, and I’ve had more experience fighting felinoids.”

“You fought Ferasans, not Kzinti. Your Dad used to tell me that Ferasans may have been inspired to emulate the Kzinti, but remained a pale imitation of them.”

Sasha nodded, her hand, clad in fingerless leather gloves fitted with Caitian Pummels that could deliver neuroleptic shocks, resting on the hilt of her sword. “Same here. Did he tell you those bedtime stories, too, after tucking you in?”

“What happens at the Academy dorms, stays at the Academy dorms. And you’re staying here.”

She stuck out her chin. “Captain, I need to go.”

“Because this involves family?”

“No. Because I’m female.”

Weynik’s black eyestalks tilted towards her chest. “Do those things have special powers I don’t know about?”

She raised a rebuking finger at him. “Don’t disrespect the Girls. As for the Kzinti: for all their strengths, they have just as many weaknesses, which have helped keep them as little more than a collection of loosely-allied Prides in their Patriarchy, despite having been spaceborne for centuries.”

He nodded. “Toxic, self-destructive arrogance, predatory instincts overriding common sense, lack of scientific advancement, tribal competition-”

She nodded as well. “And an ingrained dismissive attitude towards the females of any species, since the Kzinti have bred intelligence out of their own females, making them little better than animals, and because many Kzinti remain isolated within their own territories and don’t interact much with outsiders. 

Did Dad ever tell you about the one time the Kzinti tried to invade Cait? It was 85 years ago, just after the Klingon moon Praxis blew up, and a Kzinti invasion force used the chaos at the time to cross through Federation space to the Caitian sector, and demand the Motherworld surrender to them as a satellite world of the Patriarchy. Being led by females, the Caitians were, to them, obviously weak, and in need of their masculine authority.

The Caitians destroyed them, left the wreckage of their fleet in the outer world of Kuburan, allowing one survivor to go back and warn the others. Warn them about the planet where females thought and spoke and, most terrifying of all to them, could fight and kill.

They would never admit to being scared. But they never came back, either.

I intend to rescue Dad and Kami, and then to send their abductors – those that survive me – back behind their borders, to tell the rest of them that the Lion of Salem Sector has a cub, a female cub, just as fierce as her father.”

He looked up at her, reminding himself of how far the young woman had come since he first met her, when she was a snot-nosed cadet with a mouth like a Marine. “You stay safe over there, Lieutenant Commander.”

*

Kami sat on the backless chair, keeping her head low and subservient, as ThirdSon sat on the bed, glaring, but at something unseen rather than her.

She kept cool, calculating every question, and the tone she used. “So the naming is a three-stage process with the Heroes’ Race? You start out with a designation based on your relation to your Pridemaster, like ThirdSon of Saga-Var. Then, on entering maturity and active service to your Pride, you take on a designation based on your job, like Second Engineer or Pack Leader. It’s only upon achieving some great feat of courage or honour that you are given an actual name?”

The Kzin ground his teeth with indignation. “Oh, no; if you are part of the Patriarch’s Pride, you get a name from birth! How disgusting is that, to have something as valuable as that just… given to you… without earning it?”

Kami suppressed her urge to remind him of how the majority of races in the Galaxy do just that, and guided the talk back towards the Kzin’s favourite subject: himself. “You are the same age as your brothers, you have the same strength, the same courage and skills. But your father keeps denying you the opportunity to prove yourself.”

She saw the agreement on his expression, in his scent, though he tried to cover it with his default anger. “He is no fool!”

“I would never imply otherwise, ThirdSon; his strength and honour is obvious, as is your love for him. But as I told you before, I observe. I saw how your brothers reacted when your father disrespected you, saw the looks they exchanged.

They have his ear. But what are they whispering about you in his ear? Poisoning your chances at being Named? At being noticed at all?”

ThirdSon glared at her, as if she was the one responsible for the revelations she knew were already in the back of his mind.

“It hurts more for you,” she ventured softly. “Because you love him so much. You want him to see how much you care for him, more than your brothers, who are clearly only out to fulfil their own selfish ambitions.”

As he pondered her words, she added, “What illness does he have?”

*

“And your… Beast…” Saga-Var continued, “It really died when you underwent surgery?”

Hrelle leaned forward, exhausted from the amount of private information he had unloaded, more than he had expected to do. But despite himself, his reservations, he had felt a certain kinship to Saga-Var, a leader close to his own age. “A part of him. An iteration. But he came back to another form of life, when I was critically injured on Cait fighting a Ferasan assassin.”

The Kzin smiled. “Then perhaps we shall awaken him again today?”

“No. NO. You don’t want that. I certainly don’t want that.” He felt his hackles rise, regretting revealing so much to an enemy, even if it did stretch out this time in captivity. “The Beast represents everything my people find reprehensible.”

“But he’s a part of you. He’s a part of all of your people.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s welcome. He’s like a disease…” He frowned. The Kzin seemed to have opened up as well, had been true to his promise to learn about each other. But there was something Saga-Var had been holding back, something that Hrelle felt confident enough to raise now… especially if he could use it later. “Speaking of diseases… the Kzinti sense of smell… how strong is it?”

Saga-Var leaned back curiously. “Why do you ask, Esek?”

“Caitians’ olfactory senses are particularly keen, though most of us tune it towards keeping track of our family members… in particular illnesses that might arise with them.” He tapped the tip of his snout. “What illness am I getting from you, Saga-Var?”

The Pridemaster stiffened, almost snarling… but then relaxing and relenting, his expression, tone and scent sobering. “Among the Heroes’ Race, it is known as the Black Shakes. It is a degenerative neuromuscular disease focused on my spine, still in its early stages with me… and incurable to our sciences.” 

He made a grudging sound. “I must compliment you on your abilities, Esek. They are indeed superior to ours, which we have focused on tracking prey. Only my sons are fully aware of my condition, and will keep it between ourselves, until one of them is ready to assume mastery of our Pride, and kill me.”

Hrelle breathed in. “‘Fully aware’? You mean there are others who suspect? Other rival Prides, maybe? That’s why you’re really challenging me, isn’t it? To visibly affirm your strength to continue to lead, until you have a worthy successor?”

Saga-Var grunted, flexing the claws of his right paw in and out as he seemed to consider his response, before doing so. “The strakh, the honour, I will gain in defeating you will reaffirm my Pride’s standing.”

Hrelle nodded in understanding. “And if I defeat you, you get to die honourably, as a Hero. A Win-Win for you. My compliments.”

The Kzin nodded. “Thank you, Esek.” He rose, stretching out his arms and rolling his neck. “And on that revelation, I think we’re ready.”

Hrelle tensed. No, no, they needed more time, time for help to get here. “Wait… I hardly know anything about your homeworld… I’ve learned more in just a few hours-”

Saga-Var raised an open paw to him, offering a slight, knowing smile. “You’ve cooperated with my desire only to delay our duel, Commodore. You delivered some sort of signal to your comrades at Salem One, expecting a response on their part by now.”

The Caitian started.

“I take no offence, Commodore,” the Kzin assured him at his reaction. “I wouldn’t have done anything differently in your place. But clearly you’ve forgotten that we retain the Yridian hack on your sensor and communication network. Before we entered this room, I received confirmation that a Starfleet vessel, the Katana I believe it was called, was ordered to intercept us.

They will not intercept us. Instead, my son Ullor-Var has departed in our sister ship, the battleship Dawn Treader, which we brought undetected across the Border. He will intercept them… and they will destroy them. So, now you can fully focus on the business at paw.”

*

Weynik leaned forward in the Captain’s Chair; the tension on the Bridge could have been cut by Sasha’s indestructible sword. His First Officer beside him was like a statue, as his Second Officer stood behind them at Tactical, offering updates. “Approaching the site of the Yacht’s destruction, Captain… residual subspace disruption from the isolytic charge… debris… no organic material detected.”

Sasha made an almost inaudible sound. Weynik was more vocal. “Thank Bloody Hemra. What about the warp trail from the Prideship?”

“The trails are leading deeper into the system, towards Nepenthe.”

“Lt Grel, give the warp drive a rest and slow us to full impulse, and keep those beady Tellarite pinholes you call eyes open and continue on course to Nepenthe. Lt Holtzmann, have you finished your analysis of the system’s gas giant?”

The impossibly young-looking human turned in her chair at the Science station, icy blue eyes wide beneath her bob of honey-blonde hair as she looked to the centre of the Bridge, the image of a large world ribboned with pastel colours behind her. “Yes, Captain; the planet is currently in the apex of a cyclic polar reversal, producing isomagnetic bursts affecting our long-range sensors.”

Weynik nodded at that, glancing at Sasha, who confirmed, “I’d pounce from there if I were them.”

“Phasers and torpedoes are primed and ready,” Mori reported with a growl. “I’ll aim by sight if necessary.”

“It won’t be,” Weynik replied. “We’re following the warp trail they left us, towards Nepenthe, and let them think we’re falling into their trap. Keep your eyes on the giant. Engineering, I want Auxiliary power ready to divert to the transporters when ready.”

The Bridge went silent as they proceeded further into the system, Weynik going over the tactical data provided in the last Squadron security briefing about known Kzinti vessels, weapons, tactics, strengths, weaknesses, how they compare and contrast with what Esek had taught him in the past-

He rose to his feet, still staring ahead at the viewscreen. “Mr Mori, direct scans ahead of us.”

“Sir?”

He felt Sasha’s eyes on him. “Captain?”

The Roylan stayed focused on the starfield, his heart quickening. “They know we’ll be watching the gas giant, that’s the obvious place for them to hide and pounce on us. The last briefing indicated they had obtained improved cloaking devices; run subspace echograms. They’re ahead of us!” He looked at her now. “Get your team to the Transporter Room, be ready to beam over at a moment’s notice!”

As she nodded and rose to depart, he felt himself straighten up. “Battle Stations!”

The klaxon sounded… just in time for a vessel to shake off its cloak and appear dead ahead: not the huge Kzini Prideship he expected, but a more compact Battleship, with bright war stripes across the nacelles and dorsal hull. It fired disruptor beams at the Katana, the Sabre-class vessel rocking in response, her shields holding, as Weynik ordered, “Evasive Pattern Alpha-Two, avoid their disruptors! Ms Holtzmann, scan the vessel for Caitians! Mr Mori, focus your attack on their shield emitter arrays, I want our team beamed over as soon as possible! Ms Carter, hail the Kzinti, order them to stand down and return their prisoners!”

“They won’t respond to that, Sir!” Mori informed him.

I know, Weynik admitted silently to himself as he watched them swoop under the much larger ship, phasers striking along the array strips, the beams producing orange-red energy feedback, but I still have to make the effort, if only for the official record. He sat down again, so as not to end up flying down like a rag doll if the manoeuvres got more tricky. “Grel, keep us close to them, inside their weapons bubble! Mori, keep attacking their ventral array, if we can bring their shields down there locally-”

“Captain!” the Caitian shouted. “We have Kzinti fighters! Emerging from the battleship!”

Weynik watched the swarm of tiny, overpowered wasps sweep out and begin firing. The Katana shuddered.

Her Captain persisted. “Get those shields down, Mr Mori! Your girlfriend has some Kzinti blood to spill!”

*

The Arena was large and circular, with a sunken golden floor bordered with a raised level, the walls sectioned with red and gold columns fitted with old-fashioned fire torches, and the rest of the walls festooned with bladed weapons. Kzinti males lined the raised dais, their excitement thick in the air.

All that Hrelle could think about was the Katana, his friend’s ship, his daughter’s ship, heading into a trap… and there was nothing he could do about it. “Pridemaster! Saga-Var!”

The Kzin, bereft of his armour and holding a heavy-looking double-edged sword, stood in the centre of the room with him, turning and facing him once more, the informality of before cast aside now. “Commodore?”

“The Starfleet vessel… there’s no need to involve them… leave them alone.”

Saga-Var looked at him curiously. “I didn’t involve them; you did. And I can hardly allow them to interfere in our business, after all my preparation for this moment, can I?” He regarded him more closely, suspiciously. “You’re a veteran senior officer, not given to weak-minded sentimentality. You have sent warriors to risk their lives, to die, many times before. Why are you concerned about this vessel?”

Hrelle gauged his response, before replying, “My daughter is serving onboard it.”

Saga-Var nodded in understanding. “You spoke of her with great love and admiration. I would have enjoyed meeting her alive.”

Now the Caitian stabbed a finger at him, his tail snapping behind him. “Call off the attack, or I won’t fight! All of this will have been for nothing!”

The Kzinti growled and snarled. But their Pridemaster remained unintimidated. “Then I will consider our agreement voided, and flush you and your mate into space, and still destroy the Starfleet vessel, and gain some small strakh from this venture.

Or… you can fight me, as you first agreed, and if you defeat me, my son will call off the attack. You will have my word on that.” He looked at one of the spectators. “Make my word happen.” He looked back at Hrelle. “Well, Commodore? The sooner you agree, the more likely your intrepid daughter will survive the day.” 

Hrelle started as one of the other Kzinti approached, carrying a naked sword on a black silk cloth, a sword identical to Saga-Var's.

He stared at it, as if expecting it to rise and attack him.

Then he grasped it, moved it about, measuring its weight in his paw, its balance. It was heavier than his Kaetini sword back at Salem One, but it had good balance, good heft. And he had no doubt that it would be just as good as his imminent opponent’s.

He looked at Saga-Var again. “How is this going to work?”

The Kzin moved in place, adopting poses Hrelle compared to those he had learned on Cait. “We stay within the circle. We accept no help, no weapons beyond what we have with us here now. We fight without stopping, until one of us is dead.”

Hrelle looked to the weapon in his paw, and then to the Kzin. “That’s it?”

“What more do we need?”

*

“I’m sorry to hear that, ThirdSon,” Kami confessed, with genuine sympathy… and some guilt over where she felt she had to steer this conversation to an end that will offer a hope of survival for Esek and herself. “What about a cure?”

The Kzin showed as much vulnerability now as she had yet seen in him. “There is none.”

She feigned a frown. “Among your people, perhaps… but your description of the Black Shakes sounds very much like a disease we discovered a cure for long ago.”

He raised his muzzle at her words. “You did? You are certain?”

She nodded. “When my daughter was born with a neurological issue, I began studying the field. Most Caitians who contract our version of the disease make a full recovery with the right treatment. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work the same for Kzinti, too.”

ThirdSon regarded her… and then snarled derisively. “And I suppose if I arrange to free you, you will just saunter back to your station and retrieve it, eh? You take me for a fool?”

“Hush.” She rose to her feet, began pacing the interior of the cabin, pretending to be deep in thought, though it was all just part of her larger plan as she continued to watch his reactions, and how she was guiding him. She kept glancing at him, as if in genuine, spontaneous conversation. “Your father… if he defeats my husband, would he be willing to keep me with him?”

The question made him straighten up. “Keep you?”

“Yes! You told me that when Kzinti fight each other in duels, the winner can claim the females in the harim of their defeated opponent. Would he be willing to do the same?”

ThirdSon frowned. “Females are for bearing cubs! You are old!”

Keep talking like that, you cheeky bastard, you’re only making this easier. “Not that old, for Caitians; you smelled my musk before. And we’re genetically compatible.

But even if I wasn’t, I could still serve him the way I serve my husband, as an advisor. I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”

Now he rose to his feet, his confusion and suspicion rising. “Why would you? You are in Starfleet, Hrelle is your mate.”

She crossed her arms. “Starfleet is limited in scope for females. And I have grown tired of my husband, tired of his belly and his laziness and his weakness.” She approached him, still studying him. “If Saga-Var wins the fight, and he takes me, I can obtain the medical expertise to have him cured… and I can also support you, make him aware of your worth, your deserving of a chance to earn a Name, a higher position within your Pride. All of us will benefit: you, me, and your father.”

ThirdSon studied her closely, and she could almost see the thoughts spinning around behind his coffee-coloured eyes. It could go either way: acceptance or rejection.

“My father will destroy him,” the Kzin assured her.

“Not necessarily,” Kami pointed out. “Esek Hrelle is wily, full of tricks; that’s how he’s survived all this time.” She glanced around, as if there could be others listening in on their conversation, before leaning in, resting a reassuring paw on his chest. “If you sneak me in there now, my presence, my musk, can silently distract him, throw him off, just enough for your father to take advantage.”

ThirdSon frowned now, shaking his head. “I- I was ordered to secure you-”

She began purring subliminally, wondering if Kzinti would respond to it the way Caitians and humans did. “And you did. But now you have a chance to save your father, something of far greater importance. Or do you want one of your brothers to take over the Pride?”

*

The Katana rocked once more under the continued assault, Weynik gripping the arms of his chair as he watched the view on the screen before them shift between various views of the Kzinti Battleship, and the Kzinti fighters, still eating away at the Sabre-class vessel’s shields. Something had to give.

“I’ve analysed the Kzinti shield cycle, Captain!” the Caitian reported over the chaos, “I can punch a temporary hole in it!”

“Then do it! Tie in with the Transporter!” He opened a channel. “Sasha! Stand ready!”

*

Sasha stood ready, at the forefront of the six-person Away Team, gloved hands resting on her Security tricorder on her equipment belt, her heart racing as she told the others, “Jor-Dakk, watch our backs. Ramirez, Jeeta, have ballistic weapons ready. Kastigel, Boladede, follow my lead with phasers, set them to Level 3.”

“Level 6 is a more effective setting for Kzinti, Ma’am,” the cadet reminded her crisply.

“Not if you accidentally hit one of the prisoners, or one of us; don’t argue with me, I’m not in the mood.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And everyone, double check your sonic filters, they-”

Suddenly the Transporter Chief looked up, but had no time to warn them that the transporter was being-

-Activated, the gravity stronger, the lighting darker and the atmosphere thinner and filled with familiar musk. They were in a main access corridor, three metres wide and tall, that appeared to run the length of the ship, Sasha’s mind recalling the anticipated interior layout as her tricorder checked, confirming, “Phaser dampening field confirmed! Holster phasers, draw pistols and blades!” She set the tricorder for bioscans, looking for some clues for Dad and Kami’s location-

A roar ahead drew her attention, as four Kzinti emerged from an opening side door, claws and teeth bared as they charged.

She holstered her tricorder to reach for her weapon, until Boladede shoved her to one side, making her drop her pistol while raising his own. Immediately she grabbed him and pulled him down with her, shouting, “RAMIREZ! JEETA!”

Before she finished shouting, the two Security crewmen fired repeatedly, efficiently striking each Kzinti square in their chests, sending them sprawling.

Sasha gritted her teeth from the noise, before rising, glaring angrily down at the cadet. “Do that again, and I’ll have you kicked out of the Academy and shipped home! Understood?”

Boladede, shaken, nodded up at her.

Then she helped him up, turning as she heard noise behind them, in time to see two more Kzinti appear, assaulting the hulking Brikari figure of Lt Jor-Dakk, forgoing weapons to attack his rock-hard skin with their bare claws and fangs. Yeah, good luck with that, Bubulahs. Still, she asked, “You need help, Lieutenant?”

Jor-Dakk seemed to have frozen for a moment, as if mocking the popular image of his people as ‘living statues’, before grabbing the Kzinti and slamming their heads together, casting them aside, turning and replying with typical taciturnity, “No.”

Beside him, Ramirez looked at her. “What now, Lieutenant Commander?”

Good question, Sash. This ship was not the one she had expected to encounter from the original data received. “We take over this ship from within, power it down to stop its attack on the Katana, secure the Kzinti and search it from stem to stern. Come on!” She pressed forward, stepping over the bodies of the Kzinti they had brought down, following her instincts and her tricorder readings.

They emerged into a larger intersection- then barely pulled back before sharp, needle-like projectiles, fired from weapons held by ambushing Kzinti struck the surrounding walls, shattering.

Sasha felt shrapnel strike her cheek, drawing blood, as she dropped, reaching for one of her sonic grenades, shouting to her team, “Fire in the Hole!” She activated the grenade and flung it, wiping blood from her face.

A sharp concussive wave burst upwards, making Sasha’s ears ache even with her sonic filters. She peered out again, seeing a dozen Kzinti sprawled across the floor like discarded dolls. “Come on, keep moving!”

They emerged from the corridor, stepping over the bodies-

-Until huge paws reached out simultaneously, the Kzinti rising, obviously more resistant to the effects of the grenade than she had hoped, and attacking, drawing swords.

Sasha drew her pistol and fired – her shots bouncing off the Kzinti’s armour. She dodged his lunge, her opponent raising his sword.

She drew her own. Yeah, Tiger Boy, let’s see the look on your face as I cut through your blade like melted butt-

Her Kaetini sword struck her opponent’s – and didn’t break it.

Oh, shit.

She stepped back, unable to take her eyes away from him to see how the rest of her team was doing. Her opponent wore colours and sigils she recognised as for someone high ranking. She pointed at him. “Surrender! Hand over your prisoners!”

He sneered at her. “I am Ullor-Var, Son of Saga-Var! I do not take orders from a female!”

She spat out blood. “You can take orders from a female, or you can take an ass-whooping from one! Which do you want, Tabby?”

The Kzin roared in defiance. “PREY! I WILL KILL AND EAT YOU!”

She roared back. “TRY IT!”

They clashed again.

*

The swords met and rang out in the Arena. 

Hrelle felt the force behind the Kzin’s blows, and it was all he could do to contain them, taking the sting out of their power by allowing the two blades to melt into one another. Saga-Var obviously saw that his adversary was surprised by the strength of his attack and followed up with two more hefty swings, but these were a little more clumsily delivered.

“You will fail, Caitian,” grunted Saga-Var. “I have taken the measure of you: old, fat, weak, sentimental-”

“-Sick,” Hrelle added. “No wait, that’s you, isn’t it?”

Both warriors knew the value of psychology. It was important to seem the more confident, the more knowing, the more technically skilled. Hrelle knew that his face should give nothing away. Impassive. Unyielding. Immovable. He must appear to have been there, where he stood, for centuries. To have weathered all storms; to have withstood all the elements; to have rebuffed all onslaughts. It was important that his body appeared strong, invulnerable. His strokes must be sure, confident, secure. 

He must put doubt in the other’s mind: doubt of his ability to breach this solid wall. Doubt of the superiority of his own skills. Any hairline crack of doubt must be widened to a gulf. His self-assurance must be the greater of the two. He must be both the irresistible force and the immovable object: two in one.

There was a brief exchange of thrusts and parries. 

Saga-Var said, “Your people taught you well.” It was a grudging compliment, almost as if to make up for the earlier taunts, but Hrelle knew he had surprised Saga-Var thus far.

He recalled his own sword, and the inscription in Old Caitian on its hilt. ‘One Crossing At a Time.’

He repeated it to himself to give himself spiritual strength. It meant that he had a task to do. A single task. It was necessary to put his whole mind, his whole being, into the execution of that single task. All other thoughts, missions, desires, needs, concerns, must be put out of his mind until he had crossed the proverbial river that now swirled about his ankles. 

The next river must be blanked from his mind. He could not think about Kami, or Sasha or Weynik or all the others, or the danger they were in. He had to think only of crossing the river of the moment. That river was Saga-Var. 

The swords clashed again, Saga-Var trying to force Hrelle to the edge of the circle. Around them, the Pride males cheered and roared in support of their Pridemaster, but Hrelle took no notice. He concentrated on stemming the flood of blows and returning some of his own, to worry the opponent and keep him on edge.

The swords locked. Parted. Saga-Var ducked and wove. Hrelle followed through, missing. There was another clash of blades, Saga-Var’s sword almost cutting Hrelle’s head, as the latter ducked… and stumbled.

Hrelle struggled back to his feet, in real danger of being pounced upon, before he raised his sword again. Each opponent circled the other, consuming or ignoring the roars of the spectators. 

Mother’s Cubs, I won’t survive this…

*

“Captain!” Mori called out. “Our shields are weakening!”

Weynik clutched the arms of his chair as they rocked under another volley. So what now, Captain? Retreat and leave the Hrelles and the Away team behind? Surrender to their tender mercies? Destroy the Kzinti ship and everyone onboard? Or let yourself be destroyed? Another Kobayashi Maru, another No-Win Scenario…

“Hail the Battleship,” he suddenly ordered, ignoring the reactions from those around him. “Kzinti Vessel: this is Captain Weynik of the Katana. You no longer amuse me. You are not worthy of my time. You are Weak Prey.” He turned to Mori, signalling him to close the hail, before adding, “Cease firing.” To Grel he finished with, “Take us back to Salem One, One Quarter Impulse.”

The reactions repeated, heightened, though only Mori spoke up. “Captain! The prisoners- Sasha, the Away Team-”

“I know. Helm, proceed.”

The ship banked sharply to starboard, as it drew away from the enemy vessel, the attack from the fighters ceasing as the Katana left them behind.

Then Weynik drew up to the Tactical station, the perplexed Caitian male manning it visibly struggling to maintain discipline in the face of inexplicable orders. The Roylan sympathised; Mori never let the relationship he shared with Sasha onboard affect his performance, but this was pushing it to the extreme. “We’re not leaving them behind. My insult will draw them to us, and they’ll have to recall their fighters to catch up with us, limiting their offensive capability. And it’ll buy time for the Away Team to kick some Kzinti ass.”

As if in illustration, the Tactical station chimed an alert, Mori glancing down to report, “The Battleship is in pursuit, Sir. Should we fire back?”

“No. Ignore them.” Oh Wide Load, I hope all your talk about how you spanked these striped bastards still holds water. And that you and Kami are still alive.

*

Saga-Var charged him again, Hrelle braced himself, raising his sword-

-And then both blades shattered.

The combatants fell down from the impact, shielding their heads from the splintered shards, Hrelle grunting as novae of pain shot up from his arm to the rest of his body. He was certain he had broken his tail and his left arm, but he had no time to do more than prepare, as the Kzin cast aside the remains of his sword and leapt upon him with a roar and bared teeth and claws. Hrelle swiped at Saga-Var’s blunt muzzle with his good paw and shifted to one side.

Their eyes locked. Saga-Var cried hoarsely, “You’re weakening! I can see you weakening, Caitian!”

Hrelle responded defiantly, painfully, through clenched teeth. “You see yourself, Kzin.”

Saga-Var responded with another attack.

They grappled, snapping and clawing. Saga-Var drew blood, as did Hrelle. Hrelle’s head spun as he felt blood soaking the inside of his uniform, his boots. He didn’t dare flinch, didn’t dare blink. The slightest sign of weakness would finish him off.

*

At the door to the Arena Room, ThirdSon led Kami inside, behind the spectators, the Caitian guiding them away from his Pride members to an open area, where they could see the fight, and the fighters could see them. ThirdSon leaned in to her, holding onto her forearm, his attention rapt on the combatants. “Well? How close must you be for your musk-”

Suddenly Kami dropped to her knees, twisting her body to make it look like the Kzin had forced her down, her face a mask of pain and terror as she cried out, “Esek! Please, help me! He said he’d kill me if you won!”

The fighters froze, as if caught in a transporter beam.

Hrelle looked to her in confusion and alarm, before turning back to Saga-Var, ready to condemn him for reneging on his word-

-Only to see an identical expression of confusion and alarm on the Pridemaster. Saga-Var swayed as he straightened up and stepped back, spitting out blood as he murmured in disbelief, “What have you done?”

ThirdSon’s attention darted erratically between the Caitian female, his father, and the spectators, the young Kzin nonplussed. “I- I- She- She said- I- we wanted to help you-”

Hrelle looked to Kami again… now seeing, not distress, but a grim resolve.

Saga-Var stepped forward, limping, ignoring his many open, seeping wounds, as if galvanised by the taut outrage in his eyes and voice. “I did not need your help, any help, to defeat this male!

I swore on my name that his mate would not be threatened! Now I cannot conclude this and never question if your actions did not play into it! Don’t you understand? You have robbed me of my victory! YOU STINKING NAMELESS OFFAL!” 

Then he calmed himself – a little – as he looked at one of the spectators. “Gerder-Var... contact your brother in the Dawn Treader, have him cease the attack on the Starfleet vessel, and arrange for them to meet with us to collect the Commodore and his mate, before we return home.” 

Now he turned back to Hrelle, the terrible look of unjust defeat in his eyes. “I… apologise for the actions of my son. I had no paw in it. This battle is over… today.”

Hrelle struggled to stay on his feet, as he looked to Kami, who extricated herself from ThirdSon’s grip, straightened up, no longer appearing afraid as she stepped down into the circle and rushed up to him, embracing him carefully.

*

Sasha roared as she punched Ullor-Var in the muzzle, again and again, the Pummels on her knuckles delivering heavy neuroleptic shocks to him. But it took much more than expected for him to finally stagger back, giving her a chance to pick up her fallen sword, giving her team a once over: Jor-Dakk was as implacable as ever, Ramirez and Kastigel sported wounds but remained standing, Jeeta looked ready to keep fighting despite everything… and Cadet Boladede was back to his stoic self. Good.

Suddenly a klaxon sounded overhead, and the Kzin drew back, still in defensive positions, watching warily, but no longer fighting.

Sasha turned back to Ullor-Var, who had risen again, recovering quickly. These fuckers are tough. Not that she was going to give up. She pointed her sword at him again “So, are you gonna give up your prisoners now, Tabby? Or do you want your ass whooped some more?”

The leader was pressing something near his right ear, which Sasha guessed was some form of communicator, before he addressed her, looking angry and disgusted by what he had just heard. “They are… on our Prideship. We are… We are to stop fighting, take you to them and release you.” He stabbed a claw in her direction. “But the Son of Saga-Var swears to you that we will meet again, and finish this!”

Sasha grunted, feeling one of her teeth finally loosen from its place in her mouth. She spat it and some more blood out before replying, “And the Daughter of Esek Hrelle swears the same to you, with brass knobs on… only I’ll take your balls with me as a souvenir!”

*

“USS Katana, Captain’s Log, Stardate 55487.05, Captain Weynik, Recording: We have retrieved Commodore and Counselor Hrelle, and my First Officer and her Away Team, and escorted the two Kzinti vessels back towards the Border, where our sister ships will ensure they do depart. Lt Cmdr Hrelle and the other members of the Team who had been injured have recovered and are already back on active duty, though they will face appointments with our ship’s Counselor, Dr Vestri; if I have to still see her, they have to suffer, too.

As for the senior Hrelles: my old friend looks like he was rolled down a mountain in a barrel full of rocks, but I know him, he'll live. His wife appears uninjured, but emotionally affected by her time in captivity. I know them both. They're survivors.

<BARK!>

Our Ship’s Mascot Ajax agrees with me. Or wants another treat.”

*

Once the Katana’s medical staff were through with their work, they left Hrelle and Kami alone in the private recovery bay. He rolled his neck and arm and flicked his tail, feeling the residual twinges expected from recently-healed bones and restitched tissue, but otherwise he felt as good as new.

It let him focus on Kami, sitting at a nearby desk, running through text on a datascreen, her scent and expression disturbing him. “Beloved?”

She never looked up, never even acknowledged him.

He hopped off the biobed and approached. “What happened? Don’t shut me out, please. Did Saga-Var’s son hurt you?”

She made a derisive sound. “Is that the first thing that comes to your mind, Esek? That I’m sitting here all traumatised like some flimsy melodramatic female over being assaulted? That I was the victim today?”

He dropped down to one knee beside her, taking her furred paw in his. “No. I saw you. You did what you had to do to survive-” 

Kami shook her head as she regarded him. “It’s more than that. I wasn’t using my teeth and claws and Starfleet self-defence training this time. I was using my gifts, my real gifts: my empathy, my perspicacity and patience. The gifts I use to heal the minds and bodies of those who have been hurt by life.

Instead, I used them to hurt someone. ThirdSon wasn’t evil. He was an angry, bitter cub who just wanted the recognition, the respect, that his father gave his brothers. And I used him, manipulated him, into reacting the way I wanted him to react, into doing what I wanted him to do. And that feels a thousand times worse than if I had clawed out his throat.” Her face tightened. “What will Saga-Var do to him? Will he kill him?”

Hrelle stared back, knowing he couldn’t lie to her, or avoid the inevitable. “He could. Or he could just banish him. I’ve encountered Kzinti Renegades: males rejected by their Prides, their very society, banding together for mutual support, scraping a living on the outskirts of their Patriarchy.

Kami, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were put in that position.”

“But you’re not sorry I did it.”

“Kam-”

“That’s not meant to be accusatory. I’m not sorry, either. That’s the worst of it, for me. That I would do it again, a hundred times over. I know you understand that feeling.”

He nodded sympathetically, purring and holding her tighter. “What can I do to help?”

She glanced back at the viewscreen. “When I learned from ThirdSon about the condition his father had, I had told half a truth about our having a similar disease.

As it turns out, there is one, or at least the closest thing to one: Forrester-Trent Syndrome. And there’s a neuro-stabilisation regimen that has worked very well for felinoids reported to have contracted it.”

“So?”

“The ships near the Border, will they still be able to track Saga-Var’s ships?”

He nodded, though he felt a growing unease as to where her line of thought was leading. “You really want to transmit the data on the treatment to them? To help the male who had abducted and threatened us? Who had nearly killed me?”

She looked back at him. “And what did you take away from your time with Saga-Var?”

He grunted as he shifted his position on the floor. “Me? That I’m too old and fat to keep fighting like I used to.” At her expression, he relented. “Yes, I related to him, on some level. And maybe he felt the same with me. That wasn’t going to stop him from killing and eating me.”

She said nothing in reply. She didn’t need to.

Now he ground his teeth. “Have Dr Jiyajh put together the necessary data package, and ask Weynik to bounce it to the al-Razi.”

She squeezed his paw back. “Thank you, Esek.”

“But next time you want to get away from it all, we go no further than the Holodeck, is that clear?”

“Oh absolutely, Big Commode,” she replied, offering him a mock salute.

He shook his head.

*

Ange Boladede sat at the desk in the common room of the guest quarters that Macbeth Squad shared on the Katana, focused on stripping and restoring a Security tricorder, listening to the activity around him without letting it distract him. His squadmates gave him much practice.

“Oh come on, Furball!” Gela was repeating in frustrated indignation. “Just own up already! It’s an orgy, right?”

The Caitian sighed, standing before the full-length mirror checking out the loose, informal black and gold Caitian civilian tunic and tripartite kilt, tugging nervously at his sleeves and adjusting the gold armbands and tailbands. “I’ve said it a hundred times already, there’s nothing sexual happening. It’s… cultural, that’s all.”

“Orgies can be cultural,” Gela continued, stroking his huge ears. “It’s not fair, going on a Bumper Call and not bringing your best friend! I’m not fussy! I don’t mind Sloppy Seconds!”

Nearby, Spychalski and Denek sat on either side of a kal-toh board, the human reaching out repeatedly as if to make the next move, before withdrawing pausing to comment, “You’re a class act, Ferengi.”

“Indeed,” Denek agreed, her Vulcan patience visibly tested by her opponent’s continued delays. “You are not helping to alleviate the popular perception of your people as being salacious.” She reached across the uneven stack of holographic bars to indicate one section near Spychalski’s side. “Perhaps if you chose that piece, we might conclude this game before tomorrow?”

“Don’t rush me, matches like this aren’t won quickly.”

“They are if you are one of the players, and do not delay the inevitable.”

Gela ignored them, drawing closer to C’Riir. “Five slips of latinum if you bring me along?” He rubbed his hands together with delight. “Or maybe just bring back some of the delectable Hellcat’s underwear as a souvenir?”

Suddenly Boladede bolted to his feet, turning to Gela, his hands baked into fists. “Stop talking about her in that manner, you miserable wretch!”

The rest of the occupants of the room looked over at him in shock, just as Squad Leader Nash entered from the bathroom, clad in scruffy off-duty wear, her scarlet hair frazzled from the sonic shower, and with a bemused look on her face. “What’s going on?”

Before anyone else could respond, Boladede turned to her now, while pointing at Gela. “This fool continues to speak in disrespectful terms about a decorated, superior officer! He brings disgrace to our Squad!”

Nash was nonplussed by the unexpected outburst, but quickly regained her composure, turning to Gela. “Enough of this crap! There’ll be no more disrespectful talk, and no more pestering C’Riir! Whatever he’s doing is his business! Is that understood?”

C’Riir turned to her, looking grateful. “Thank you, Squad Leader. If you’ll excuse me?” 

As he departed, Gela threw up his hands in mock defeat, before moving to the couch beside Spychalski and Denek, studying the match. “I lay odds of 500 to 1 that Janusz wins this match.”

“Hey!” Spychalski protested.

“Mr Gela is overestimating your skills,” Denek informed him.

Boladede quickly put away the tricorder pieces and rose to move to the sleeping quarters- only to be intercepted by Nash, appearing concerned, her voice lowered to a confidential whisper. “Ange, are you okay? I’d heard that it had been rough fighting over on the Kzinti ship. I know they patched you up, and you’ll have official Counseling sessions, but if you ever want to have a private, informal talk, I’m always available.”

He focused on regaining his composure. “Thank you, but I believe I will go to bed early. If you’ll excuse me?”

“What? Oh yes, yes, of course.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter the darkened room, dominated by the three bunk beds with individual lighting strips and privacy screens.

He undressed briskly, carefully folded and stored away his uniform and slid into one of the lower bunks, drawing the privacy screens shut. He lay there, staring up at the low ceiling of the upper bunk. The darkness and solitude helped him recover from the lengthy proximity he had to endure with the collection of idle, weak fools that comprised his squad. That comprised most of Starfleet, it seemed.

It had been a gnawing realisation since he had gone against his family’s wishes and joined this organisation. He had taken the oath with the best of intentions: to help support Starfleet following the losses it had suffered during the War. There had been so much.

And, looking at his fellow cadets, and more than a few officers and enlisted personnel, he could understand why. So very few were ready to face threats like the Kzinti.

He reached under his pillow and drew out his PADD, unlocking the multiple encryption locks he had established in order to access the contents: still images and videos, news articles, Starfleet logs, Caitian news programs. All centred around one subject: Sasha Eismann Hrelle, the exception to his derision.

He went to his favourite image, the first image he ever saw of her, one taken years before, on Stardate 49568.2, five years before, the day she graduated from Starfleet Academy… and led her fellow cadets in the rescue efforts around the campus following a Dominion terrorist attack.

He had been fourteen years old at the time, in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family on an assignment providing security upgrades to the Michel Shipping offices, when he watched the news after the attack, and saw Sasha Hrelle, someone who didn't look that much older than him, but moving, acting with such confidence, such maturity.

He kept track of her, even as he entered Starfleet Academy when he came of age, watching her many trials, her many triumphs. He had learned everything he could about her, and it was all he could do to control himself in her presence when he learned he would be part of the cadets continuing their education at Salem One... and then serving onboard Sasha Hrelle’s very own vessel!

Admittedly, he had erred during the training session. He had tried to show off, to impress her, to prove himself to her. He had been uncharacteristically impetuous and immature. One did not try to impress a supreme warrior like Sasha Hrelle, not in a training session.

No, it had to be in a real fight, with real foes.

It had been an honour to stand beside her, to see her fight in the flesh, to hear her grunt and smell her sweat... and, when no one was looking, taste the blood she had spilled on the deck of the Kzinti ship. She had been strong. She had been savage.

She had been utterly beautiful.

Yes, in his continued haste to impress her, he had made himself look foolish. Nevertheless, afterwards, he had demonstrated his worthiness to her.

And he would make sure that there would be another chance. And another. And another. He would force her to see him, to appreciate him.

And she would be his.

*

Sasha grunted as she tried not to rub or scratch her repaired face, before rolling her neck to work out the residual aches.

Mori drew up and placed his paws on her shoulders, working on her muscles until she purred and leaned back against him. “Oh, Stud, you’re definitely looking for some tonight.”

He purred back, drawing in to breathe in her scent. “As opposed to any other night?” He nuzzled against her neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“For worrying about you over there. I’ve heard horror stories about the Kzinti. I know how capable you are, Sash, but still-”

She nudged him. “Don’t ever apologise for worrying about me, okay? As for the Kzinti, they’re a Hell of a lot tougher than I expected... but nothing more than I can handle. ”

“I believe it.” Mori began purring against her. “It’s very good of you to do this for C’Riir.”

She closed her eyes, inwardly reciting her mantras to help continue accepting the events of the day… and what was still to come. “It’s nothing. I just imagine how I would have felt in his place during the Occupation.”

“Still, it won’t be easy. I’m still dealing with it.”

Sasha turned in place and embraced him, drinking in his scent. “We both are. Now I’m sorry. I planned this assuming you’d go along with it. You don’t have to be here for this.”

“Hush. It’ll be good for all of us.”

Their door chimed, and they parted, Sasha straightening out her own Caitian casuals and responding. “Enter.”

The door slid open, and C’Riir entered formally. “Ma’am, Cadet Nes C’Riir reporting-”

She raised a hand to him. “No need for that. Relax, come in.” She stepped aside, as Mori drew up, nodding to him.

Before Sasha led them to the centre of the room, and the display on the low round stone table: a circle of small unlit candles, surrounding a clay pot containing a tiny shrub of snow-white Caitian sablewood blossoms.

She watched as the young cadet drew closer, drinking in the scent of the flowers, smiling. “I didn’t know there were any plants from the Motherworld onboard!”

She smiled. “We brought some back with us, we have a small corner of the Arboretum onboard set aside. It’s good for meditation, or just a reminder of Home.” She indicated the table.

The males descended, Sasha joining them, all kneeling at equidistant points around the table, as she prepared the lighter. “You’re from the Mrestir Province, aren’t you?”

The cadet. “Yes, Lieutenant Commander.”

She shook her head, adjusting the ring of candles. “It’s ‘Sasha’ here tonight, Nes.”

Mori nodded. “And I’m Mru. No ranks in here. Not for this.”

“I almost invited Dad and Kami along,” Sasha added. “But they’re still recovering from their experience today.”

C’Riir breathed out in relief. “I’m glad you didn’t! I made a complete fool of myself the last time I met the Old Cat-” Then he gasped, his bronze eyes widening. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that!”

Sasha chuckled. “Forget it; you wouldn’t believe what I’ve called him.” Sasha broke off a twig, breathing in and out. “We are here to commemorate those we lost in the Season of the Seven Hells. We do this not to wallow in grief or anger or self-pity, but because we believe that no one ever truly dies, as long as all the good they have done, all the lives they have touched, live on. And so we share our memories of these spirits, to ensure they live on.”

She lit the end of the twig. “Tonight I commemorate Mistress Nvell, the Head of the Kaetini Order, who had brought me into their exalted ranks, and taught me, and led the members of our Order in reaching out across the planet, working in open and in secret to fight the Ferasans.” 

She smiled. “She was foul-mouthed and crotchety and never allowed things around her to get too serious, and she died exactly the way she wanted: in defence of the Motherworld.” She lit the candle nearest her, handing the burning twig to C’Riir.

The younger male stared at the flickering flame, his gaze narrowing as if hypnotised. “Tonight I commemorate Ssarin, my first boyfriend. We grew up together in Meregreen, and he had the most exquisite singing voice, able to croon the pants off of anyone... literally, in my case. Ssarin swore that when he was old enough he would go off to Shanos Major and join Frana Mhan’s Opera Company, and that I would come along and bask in his fame.

Instead, I left and joined Starfleet, and he stayed and joined the Militia. He was stationed at Syeya when the Ferasans dropped their bombs on all the bases on the Motherworld. I will always remember his songs.” He lit a candle nearest him, passing the twig to Mori. 

The other male let the twig move between thumb and forefinger, to keep it lit. “Tonight I commemorate Captain Majes Biggleshen, leader of the 40th Aerobatics Squadron, the Skycats. He was dashing, debonair, stalwart, humble, a paladin who embraced the ideals of our ancestors in keeping the ancient art of aerofighting alive, and led the Skycats to an incredible victory over Navron against odds that still stagger me to this day. We owe them a debt that can never paid.” He lit a candle of his own, and passed the twig back to Sasha.

She saw how little was left of the twig, and used it to light another, for another round. They would run out of twigs, run out of candles, before they ran out of people to commemorate tonight… but this was not a contest. It was a means of helping those who survived… survive. Survive, and move on to make precious use of the life they have left.

Sasha included. She had resisted participating in such a ceremony since leaving Cait. She wasn’t ready then. She was, now, and could fully move to address the challenges they would face in the Salem Sector. 

And if the worst they face here is the Kzinti, they’ll all be sitting pretty…

*

Unknown Space, Blockade Runner Green Death:

“Shipmaster!”

Nesrac Sur was in his quarters, finishing a roasted targ leg and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, when he belched and hit the intercom. “What is it?”

“An incoming transmission for you, Shipmaster.”

Nesrac dropped the leg bone on the plate on his desk, waited for more, and then prompted, “And will I be honoured to know at any time in the near future who is contacting me?”

“A… Surinh Dag, Shipmaster.”

The young Orion frowned, his olive brow creasing. That name... that name was familiar- “Put it through.”

Seconds later, a broader, older Orion with a thick nose and scars on his right temple appeared on the desk viewscreen. And then the recognition struck the younger Orion. “I know you!”

“Nesrac Sur, I am calling-”

The Shipmaster reached for his waiting bottle of Saurian brandy and uncorked it. “You used to be all Supernova on the Deathmatch Circuit!”

“Nesrac Sur, I am calling because I have-”

Nesrac chuckled as he poured the dark violet liquid into a glass. “I heard the Syndicate cleaned you like a pair of shit-covered boots!”

Surinh glared at him. “Nesrac Sur, I am calling because I have a proposal for you-”

He raised his glass to the screen in mock salute. “How long did it take after they stopped screwing you before you could sit down again without it hurting?”

The old Orion stopped speaking, and the screen went black.

Nesrac stared at the viewscreen for a moment, before shrugging to himself and downing the contents of his glass in one shot. That was one of the weirder calls he had ever taken, and from the last person he had ever expected. He remembered the Deathmatch shows, and seeing Surinh Dag, the High Lord of It All, showing off his wealth and power. Men looked up to him. But that was a long time ago.

“So where are you now, you misbegotten old bastard?” he asked himself aloud, ready to pour another glass.

“Behind you,” Surinh replied.

The younger Orion barely had a chance to react, before the older Orion grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket, twisting and pulling him out of his chair and slamming him into the nearest wall, driving a fist into Nesrac’s lower back, striking his kidneys and sending him to the floor.

Then the older Orion moved to the desk and poured himself a drink. “Oh, the arrogance of youth.” He downed it quickly, turning to see Nesrac struggle to help himself back up. “Seriously? You’re half my age. I’ve taken ten times the punishment I just gave you, and stayed on my feet.”

Nesrac gasped, trying not to be seen holding his side as he leaned against the wall… his eye on the disruptors and knives displayed on the nearby wall. “H-How- How did you get in here- I should have been told you beamed onboard-”

Surinh poured another drink. “Your crew doesn’t know. I came directly from my vessel, six light years away.”

The Shipmaster’s olive skin darkened, even as he braced himself to launch towards the weapons wall. “Six light years? You’re insane! That’s beyond the range of any transporter!”

“Not subspace transporters, something I thought only existed as space legends until I was given one – oh, and unless you want to see what the inside of your colon looks like after I shove your head up your ass, I suggest you stay where you are for the moment and try not to go for a weapon.” He walked up to the Shipmaster, holding out the glass. “Now, as I was starting to say in my transmission: I have a proposal for you, a very profitable assignment.”

Nesrac stared at the offering, emotions creasing his thin features. Then he accepted the glass and drank. “I’m listening.”

“Good. I’ve been hired to put together an organisation that will operate in Federation space, assigned with one mission in mind, but if successful could allow us to continue. It will be made up of a… diverse number of specialists of different races, but I want an Orion as my second-in-command, and with a ship and crew of his own.”

“Someone you can trust?” Nesrac asked, sneering.

Surinh grunted contemptuously. “I didn’t just drop out of my mother’s cuksir yesterday. I’m looking for someone who understands Lokkerc’s Law.”

Nesrac nodded, like any other of their people recognising the old adage: ‘Every Orion for himself, unless there are infidels to be fleeced’. “Who hired you?”

Surinh smiled. “Let’s just say it’s corporate sponsorship. Sponsorship with deep pockets… and access to advanced technology like subspace transporters.”

“Oh? And what do they want in exchange?”

The visitor picked up the bottle. “Well, now, that’s the best part, and another reason why I chose you. They want us to utterly destroy a man we’re both familiar with, one who ruined my life and left your father broken and humiliated beyond repair: Esek Hrelle, former Captain, now Commodore.”

Nesrac started at the name. “That fat furry bastard?”

“You know another?”

Nesrac regarded him further, and then held up his glass for a refill. “Well then, Sire, what shall we name this organisation of ours?”

Surinh poured him his drink. “Our sponsor and leader has already given us a name: the Bel-Zon…”

TO BE CONTINUED...