Sreenity

Planet Cait, Shall Clanlands, Stardate 67139.5:

The elderly Roylan leaned closer to his viewscreen, his black-tipped eyestalks focused intently at what he saw. “Bloody Hemra, Wide Load, is there something wrong with the transmission? All I’m seeing is… grey. Endless, bleak, ancient grey-”

Admiral Esek Hrelle flicked back the huge mane he had grown in recent years and fidgeted in his seat, wishing he’d set another cushion under him before he took this call. He raised his middle finger. “Let’s test it: how many digits do you see?”

“One: same as your IQ, Squab.”

“Me, a Squab? You’re the Squab!”

“No, YOU’RE-” Then Weynik caught himself. “Wait, I thought we’d called a moratorium on all that when Naida and Misha started together at the Academy?”

“We did, you senile old butt pimple. So how’s it going on the new Starsong? Not crashed it into an asteroid, I see.”

“No, I’m waiting for the Klingons to do that, so I can collect on the insurance.” Weynik grunted. “Which, the way things are going, won’t be very long.”

Hrelle ground his teeth in empathy. He may have been planetbound now, and not commanded a starship in a long time, but he still kept abreast of current events, and the Klingon aggression following the Hobus Supernova and the collapse of the Romulan Empire dominated the news. He reached for his teacup. “The Klingons haven’t been the same since Martok’s assassination. They’ve lost all sense of honour; even the Ferengi won’t deal with them now.”

“No,” Weynik agreed soberly. “I suppose we should be grateful that they’re more interested in taking Romulan territory than Federation, otherwise we might be back around Sherman’s Planet.” Something like a smile curled one corner of his lipless mouth. “You remember that battle, Brother?”

The old Caitian sipped at his drink, relishing the minty aroma and taste. It was a lifetime ago – one of many lifetimes, it felt like – but that period remained strong in his mind. “I remember the shore leave afterwards… somehow. Kami still won’t forgive me.”

His oldest surviving friend paused, but then quickly asked, “And the new Academy Annex there? How’s it going?”

Hrelle emptied his cup and cradled it. “Construction is complete, the infrastructure is taking longer, though we should be ready to open for business on the First of Sertober. Oh, and I’ve got high chairs built into the classrooms for when you come to guest lecture.”

“And knowing you, there’ll be a shuris grill on every corner of the campus.”

Hrelle shrugged. “After all the fuss I had, I earned a few perks.” He ground his teeth, more bitter and weary than he had expected to for his eventual victory. The idea of a Starfleet Academy Annex on Cait had been kicked around for decades, but previous attempts never bore fruit, mostly because of the historic contention between the Caitians and their Augmented racial cousins the Ferasans, culminating in the Occupation during the Dominion War. It had been a brutal time, with a brutal conclusion, and for years afterwards many on the Federation Council remained unforgiving of the Caitians’ own Final Solution to the Ferasan Problem.

But still, thanks to his efforts, the dream would finally see reality – with him as its first Superintendent. It still felt strange, though; once, the notion of a planetbound assignment would have been unthinkable.

As if reading his thoughts, Weynik smiled and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this, Esek? Once you get that bulk behind a desk permanently-”

Hrelle set aside the delicate china cup. “The Universe only needs one Captain Hrelle in command of a Surefoot. And we’ve got one of those out there already.”

The Roylan chuckled. “And she’s far better at it than you ever were.”

“I can’t argue that.”

“So get another ship. You can call it the USS Wideload. Come on, let’s team up again and kick some Klingon ass.”

The Caitian grunted. “I have the Annex, and this household, and a fishing boat at the docks; that’s enough for me to command. Besides, if I was away fighting the Klingons or the Kelvans, who’d mind the grandcubs?” His ears twitched as he heard a familiar cry from outside. “Speaking of which, there’s one of them now, gotten into mischief. Come back soon, Brother, we can go fishing again. And this time I won’t try and use you as bait.”

“You’d better not, you old Housecat. Starsong out… Squab.”

The screen went black before Hrelle could respond, and he rose from the chair, his back and tail protesting as he asked aloud, “What’s wrong with them now, Uatu?”

The voice of the house computer responded. “Shalom has scraped his knee climbing in the Memorial Garden. I’ve scanned him: no major injuries. Kamiera is with him, employing an imaginary tricorder. Her own prognosis of his condition is far more serious… or at least, far more dramatic.”

“Thanks,” he replied with genuine gratitude, his initial reluctance to employ automation in the house long since evaporated since he needed help keeping an eye on the grandcubs, who had long-since proved themselves to be a pawful for him. His footfalls echoed in the stone corridors, and once more he was aware of how huge and empty the clan’s house was when there was no Gathering. Maybe he could convince the new Matriarch to arrange something in the near future? Any excuse, really.

He blinked as he stepped out into the morning sunlight, listening and following the weeping to the rear of the house, where a six-year-old, honey-furred male cub in a tripartite kilt sat on the grass, dramatically holding his raised right knee with both hands, and an identically-dressed six-year-old female cub with darker, mahogany fur knelt beside him, comforting him, until she looked up at Hrelle’s approach. “Grandpa! Help Shalom! He’s hurt! I think he might lose his leg!”

Shalom looked at his cousin and wailed at the notion.

“Really? I thought your mother was the doctor, not you.” Hrelle knelt down, grunting with the effort as he examined the wound, extending a foreclaw to carefully pick away some of the particulates from the scrape. “Stop weeping, Grandcub of Mine, you’ll get to keep both legs. Now tell me what happened. Were you trying to keep up with your cousin?”

The stubby-snouted male nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes on his furry forearm, and looking thoroughly sorry for himself.

“Even though you know you’re half-human and not as fast or as agile as Kamiera?”

Shalom was less reluctant to admit to that, and the pout he employed, even with his Caitian muzzle, reminded Hrelle so much of the cub’s mother, when Sasha was his age and hurt herself but refused to admit that she had been wrong to get up to whatever shenanigans caused the injury in the first place.

“Grandpa,” Kamiera asked, “Can’t we make Shalom all Caitian? That’ll make him better, right?”

Hrelle smiled; the female cub, the daughter of Kami’s firstborn son Mirow and Mirow’s wife Ptera, was so earnest at times. “No, we can’t do that. His mother is human, she gave him half of her genes; if we changed that, he wouldn’t be who he is.

And anyway, there’s nothing wrong with Shalom being half-human, so we can’t make him ‘better’. In fact, being half-human makes him stronger than Caitians in some ways: he’ll live longer than us, have fewer heart problems, won’t be overwhelmed by loud sounds or scents...” He looked to each of them, aware of the time. “I think I know how to best treat this: some banana and tavaberry pancakes for Second Breakfast for all of us.”

They cheered at that, Shalom rising quickly, only afterwards remembering to still act injured.

*

Hrelle was a dab hand in the kitchen now, with his two helpers – so long as they didn’t try too hard, and he ended up doing more work trying to undo their own efforts. “Someone go upstairs and remind Sreen of the time, please?”

“No need, Daddy,” came a sweet voice from the top of the nearby stairs.

Hrelle frowned to himself – when he was younger, he could have heard his daughter leave her room and make her way along the corridor – but he suppressed his melancholy to brightly announce, “Perfect timing, Princess! Your pancakes are fresh and hot!”

“Pancakes?” The sound of servo motors was faint, but now he could pick them up. “Too heavy. Just some coffee.”

“Coffee? That’s not a breakfast.” He turned to view her arrival. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

Kamiera turned in her chair, syrup on her muzzle as she asked, “Do you want me to ‘zamin you, Aunt Sreen? Is it your nuro-dis- uh, nuro-dat-”

“Eat your pancakes, Doctor Grandcub.” Hrelle wiped his hands on his apron and approached, somehow still swept over by how beautiful Sreen had become in recent years, blossoming despite her disability, and now sporting a golden-brown mane, fur and figure so reminiscent of her mother.

She wore a light sepia summer dress that gave freedom of movement to the antigrav exoframe she still wore to overcome the disabilities caused by her neurodystraxia. Technological advances over the years had managed to miniaturise the components of the mobility aids she employed, so that they were now barely visible except here and there, as metal mesh peeking out from under her furry arms, legs and neck.

But they were still there... and may be for the rest of her life, he reminded himself soberly. But he would do everything he could to keep her safe, from her own limitations, and from the backward attitudes exhibited by some of their fellow Caitians towards Neurodystraxics. He rubbed his muzzle against hers – catching the change in her scent indicating her entering another Season – asking, “Are you okay, Princess? Do you want to take the day off?”

“No thanks, Daddy.”

“Are you sure? I’ll call in sick for you if you like.”

“I’m not in Cubschool, Daddy, I don’t need you calling in sick for me, I can do it myself… if I need to. Which I don’t. Besides, there’s a lecture on pre-Migration Caitian music today, and I’m not missing it for anything.”

“But you can’t go without food!” He patted her shoulder. “I’ll pack you something.”

“Excuse the interruption, Sir,” Uatu spoke up. “A vehicle has drawn up to the house. It is the young male friend of Miss Sreen’s. You know, the one you don’t like-”

“Yes, thank you,” Hrelle said hastily, under the glare of his daughter. “I never said I didn’t like Tonsil-”

“His name’s Hansl, Daddy! And you know it!” she chided, moving to the replicator unit on the kitchen counter. “Coffee, Caitian Rnoni Blend, black, no sugar, in a travel cup. Uatu, let him in, tell him I’m in the kitchen.”

“Yes, Miss Sreen.”

“That’s still not a breakfast,” Hrelle reminded her as he watched the cup materialise. “Let me whip you up a shuris sandwich to take with you to the city, you can eat it in Nozzle’s car.”

“Shuris is bad for you, Daddy.”

Kamiera nodded in agreement, saying to Shalom between bites of breakfast, “Too much shuris causes heart daisies.”

“There’s nothing wrong with shuris!” Hrelle protested mildly. “I’ve eaten it for decades!”

Sreen nodded as if genuinely considering his argument, before asking, “Remind me again: are you on your second heart, or your third?”

Before he could respond, a young black-furred male in casual clothing stepped into the doorway, beaming as he saw Sreen. “Good morning, Sexytail-” Then he reacted as he saw that Hrelle was in the room.

At the table, the cubs snickered at the word.

Hrelle felt his hackles rise, catching the definite scent of arousal from the male. “And good morning to you, Pencil.”

Hansl’s tail swished behind him in anxiety. “Sorry, Sir! I didn’t- I mean-”

Sreen sighed, left her father and moved up to the new arrival, rubbing her muzzle against his. “Ignore him, he’s always grumpy in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m always grumpy in the morning… and I simply adore people talking about me like I’m not here. Yeah, don’t you worry about me, Denzel.”

The male fidgeted, clearly wary of his closeness to Sreen in the presence of her father. “It’s, uh, Hansl, Sir.”

“Really, Bubulah? Wow, thanks, I never knew that.”

At the table, Kamiera leaned in closer to her cousin and commented in a whisper everyone heard, “I bet he did.”

Sreen sighed. “Wait, I need my bag.” As she turned away to leave the kitchen, she mouthed Be Nice to her father.

He affected an air of innocence as she departed, before he turned back to the male. “Would you like some pancakes while you’re here, Hustle? You can appreciate the importance of a hearty breakfast first thing in the morning better than my daughter, I’m sure.”

Hansl looked at the plates on the table. “Well, um, Sir-”

“Well, of course you do! Especially when you want to stay on my good side.” He pointed to the waiting plate and chair. “You do want to stay on my good side, don’t you, Dunsel?”

“Uh, yes, Sir.” Hansl sat down, quickly tucking into the pancakes. He chewed, making approving sounds. “Mmm, these are good, Sir. Sreen said you were an excellent cook, and she wasn’t wrong. You’re obviously a man of many talents. It takes skill, and patience, and, uh-”

Hrelle drew up and patted the male on the shoulder… sniffing for a change in the male’s scent indicating the level of his intimacy with his daughter. “Okay, eat up, cub, that’s enough tail kissing for now.”

Hrelle turned away as the grandcubs giggled. His sense of smell was declining. Once, he could have worked out everything one of his cubs had done for the last day or two, based on their scent alone: where they’d gone, what they’d eaten, what they’d done. Even his human daughter Sasha. Now, however, he had to rely on… trust. Which should be enough, he knew. But still…

Sreen was eighteen, a legal adult by Caitian standards, and part of a society that encouraged the young to explore their sexuality. He knew that. But he also knew that Sreen was different, both because of her disability, and because following the Occupation, Hrelle decided to take planetside assignments and raise his second daughter here, in a safer environment than space had proved. And Sreen had taken to it, growing up an innocent, natural, guileless and sweet cub, studying Music at the City University, earning praise from her teachers and a promising career ahead of her as a teacher herself-

“Daddy!” Sreen returned, her bag slung over her shoulder as she looked at Hansl at the table. “What are you doing?”

Hrelle affected bemusement at her reaction. “You didn’t want to eat. It was a waste of food. And Pretzel seems to like it. Don’t you?”

The young male looked up between father and daughter, not sure whose side to take.

Sreen sighed. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Then she looked at Hrelle again. “Oh, and I won’t be home tonight. Bye, Daddy, love you, have fun-”

He held up a hand to stop her hasty departure. “Wait a moment- what does that mean?”

The female stopped, her muzzle creasing. “We’re going to a music concert; the Terran Philharmonic Orchestra has arrived on Cait, as part of the Federation Cultural Exchange Program. And my teachers have arranged for me to meet some of the musicians at a formal function afterwards. It’ll be late by the time we’re done, so it’ll be easier to just stay over in the city rather than travel all the way back.”

He growled. “And by ‘in the city’, do you mean with Stencil here?”

“Yes. His parents will be there, they have a spare room-” Her expression shifted, and a pout creased her muzzle as she aimed those huge bronze eyes of hers at him. “Don’t you trust me, Daddy?” Her snout quivered, as if on the urge of crying at the idea that he might not.

He ground his teeth. Damn cub: she had been twisting him around her little tail since she was waist-high with That Look. And she knew it. “Of course, Princess. Just be careful at the concert, in case-”

Now she laughed. “In case, what? A fight breaks out between the Second and Third Oboist? In case a cello string snaps, flies out into the audience and decapitates someone?”

“It can happen,” he harrumphed.

She rose onto the toes of her sandals and rubbed his muzzle. “I’ll be fine. I’m not made of crystal.” She looked to Hansl, who was still eating. “I think you’re done.”

“Hmm?” The male quickly swallowed what was in his mouth, rose and moved towards the door with her-

-Until Hrelle grabbed him by the arm and stopped him, asking, “You’ll take care of my Princess tonight, won’t you, Cancel? Make sure she’s safe and sound?”

“Uh, yes, Mr Hrelle, of course!”

“Daddy,” Sreen prompted.

Hrelle ignored her. “And her exoframe needs periodic recharging. Do you think your parents will be able to accommodate her particular needs?”

Before the male could respond, Sreen interjected. “No, Daddy, his parents live in a mud hut in the centre of the city without any power charging facilities. Now can we go?”

Hrelle looked to her. “You have your comm? In case you need to call me?”

She indicated the button-sized object fastened on the low collar of her dress. “We’re going to be late to Uni, Daddy!”

“Fine, fine! Go! No one’s stopping you!”

But his eyes followed Sreen and Hansl out the door, the male warily looking back one final time to see Hrelle still glaring in their direction, until the door closed behind them.

Still at the table, Kamiera leaned into her cousin and declared, “Aunt Sreen’s in Season.”

Shalom nodded in agreement. “Her boobs are bigger now. Like my Mom’s.”

Hrelle shot a look at the six-year-olds. Of course they would know; Caitian cubs learned about such things from an early age. That didn’t mean he had to like it. His appetite lost, he announced, “Finish up, then clean up, then wash up, and then put some clothes on. We’re going to the city. But first, I need to have a word with your grandmother.”

*

Captain Kami Hrelle’s isomorphic projection looked at her husband with an expression of mock horror. “Esek… Mother’s Cubs… do you mean to say that in my absence, you allowed our daughter… to grow up? To become a young independent adult, with drives and feelings of her own? HOW COULD YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?”

Hrelle leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest, his tail tapping impatiently against the sablewood. “Are you quite done?”

Kami ran her fingers through her own greying mane. “Wait, let me see.” Then she dropped to her knees and raised her fists to the air. “NOOOOOOOO!!!!” She stopped and returned to her feet. “Now I’m done.”

Inside, he fell in love once more with his wife of over twenty years – and noted with some envy how the Captain's pips and Command Red of her uniform flattered her more than his ever had. Outside, he continued to grumble at her reaction to the reason for his call. “Hmph, I should have known-”

“Known what? That you called me to waste time stating the obvious?”

He straightened up. “She’s running around with some weedy little runt from University named... Hansl. Who names their cub Hansl? It sounds like something you’d get from Ikea!” He sneered. “I’ve taken bigger shits than him.”

Kami laughed. “Husband of Mine, we don’t control who we desire, or guarantee that our parents will approve of them – as I recall, my own mother was less than pleased with you when you two first met – and sexuality became a facet for Sreen when her first Season hit, years ago. She’s grown up.”

Hrelle ground his teeth. “Her Neurodystraxia-”

“-Doesn’t make her asexual. She’ll just have to get creative about the positions available to her.”

He winced. “I’m getting nowhere with you on this, am I?”

She faced him again, appearing more sympathetic. “A part of you knew you wouldn’t; you just wanted to vent your spleen. Hopefully, I've helped.”

He sighed. “You have, Wife of Mine.” Hrelle relaxed his posture. “I have to get the grandcubs ready. Sorry for disturbing you with my Old Cat drivel.”

“You know I’m always available for you, Esek, even at the edge of the Quadrant, mapping new systems. Especially when it comes to our cubs.”

He drew up and fiercely embraced the image, feeling it hug back with equal fervour and longing. Isomorphic projection technology was new, but a vast improvement over the old holocommunicators... though they still haven't worked out duplicating scent. But then, he knew, if there was scent to go with sight and sound and tactility, then he would probably never leave this room. “Tell me you’re coming home soon.”

“I’m coming home soon,” she promised. “Just do something about this mane of yours before that. What is it with old male cats growing their manes out, anyway? What are you compensating for?”

“Mother’s Cubs, just... shut up and hug me...”

*

The cubs had shucked off their clothes upon reaching the freshly-manicured lawns, and were now chasing the hovering sprinklers, to get wet and keep cool in the late summer heat. They squealed, enough to make Hrelle look up from his inspection of the grounds to call out, “Leave some water for the grass, you little tail chasers!”

“That looks like fun,” a familiar female voice noted. “Want to join them?”

Hrelle smiled, never taking his eyes off of his grandcubs to reply, “No one wants to see my flabby naked ass flopping about, Captain. I’ll save that for our first Graduation ceremony.”

“If you’re feeling self-conscious, Admiral, I’ll join you. It looks like fun.”

Now he looked to his imminent Deputy Superintendent. “I’m sure you’re better looking than me without your clothes on, Captain.”

“Only one way to prove it-”

“How about you report, instead?”

“Spoilsport.” Captain Csara Mrorr was a stocky female nearing his age, with ash-grey fur and scars on her forehead and muzzle, and a short, kinked tail broken and reset improperly long ago, and never repaired. She wore the standard Starfleet uniform, but also sported the sash and insignia of the Caitian Militia in which she previously served, as a sign of the Caitian influence that would make this latest Academy Annex distinctive from all others.

Mrorr had been his first choice in her role since he heard she had been available; her reputation, especially during the Occupation, carried almost as much weight with the public and the local government as his own. “The power, communication and environmental grids are online in the dormitories, the classrooms and lecture halls, the Holosuites and support buildings. They’re still making adjustments in the faculty support buildings… and the City Council is still mewling about the Bunkers.”

He grunted; part of his plans here involved having a permanent, secure, fully-equipped and fully-armed Starfleet facility under the Annex, in case of emergencies. There never had been one on Cait before, and he couldn’t help but think how things might have been different during the Occupation if there had been. “Let them mewl. Starfleet purchased this land, we can do what we want with it.”

“But they can still make a noise. Especially those pacifists on the Council who think it’s provocative and unnecessary, especially now that the Ferasans… no longer pose a credible threat.”

“Then they’re idiots. If it’s not the Ferasans, it could be the Klingons, or the Kelvans, or the Tholians-”

“You’re preaching to the perverted here, Admiral.”

He looked at her again, smirking at her mischievous grin, still surprising him after all these months working together by how light-hearted she was, despite her fierce badass reputation. She was... a pleasure to work with. “Inform them that if they continue to protest, then we’ll stop work on the Bunkers… if they’re willing to pay for the costs already incurred.”

“Ooh, you’re a nasty old cat- oh wait!” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew what looked like a folded dinner plate in shocking pink material. She let it unfold in her hand to reveal a hardened disc about fifteen centimetres in diameter, and called out, “Hey cubs! Something to play with!” Then she flicked it into the air in their direction. The disc arced upwards and caught a breeze to the left, making the cubs chase after it, squealing with delight.

“Thanks,” he noted, smiling. “That was nice of you to think of them.”

She smiled back. “I like cubs; they can be so life-affirming. How long will you be taking care of them?”

“Kamiera’s parents are at Claw Keep until the end of the month. Shalom’s parents are still keeping the Kelvans at bay at the Andromeda Gate. Who knows when that’ll be resolved?”

Mrorr watched the cubs play. “Sometimes I still wish I took the time to have some of my own, instead of devoting myself to the Militia and Starfleet.”

He nodded, knowing he could so easily have followed an identical path, never meeting Sasha or her mother… and for that matter, never meeting Kami. “Your personal loss is our people’s gain. And if it’s any consolation, all of this grey fur, wrinkles and arrhythmic heart comes from worrying about the cubs and grandcubs. I’m really only twenty-three.”

Mrorr laughed at that until she snorted, triggering laughter from himself, until she calmed down. “Ahh, well, I’m far too old for all that nonsense now anyway. Even if my Seasons hadn’t ended ten years ago, my kussik has fewer visitors these days than the Stembolt Museum in Naia Province.” She blinked and looked at him. “That’s probably more information than my commanding officer needed to know.”

He shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know, the Stembolt Museum sounds like fun.”

“It’s not; I grew up in Naia. Parents take their cubs to the Museum as punishment- hey!”

The adults dodged the incoming disc, as the cubs chased after it, Shalom retrieving the disc and saying, “Sorry.”

“No problem. Having fun?”

“Yes, thank you!”

“Are you talking about Aunt Sreen?” Kamiera asked jovially, looking to Mrorr. “She’s in Season!”

“Oh?” Mrorr asked, amused by the cub’s indiscretion as well as Hrelle’s reaction. “Anything else I should know about your aunt?”

“She has big boobs now!”

Shalom nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “My Mom has big boobs, too!”

The adults glanced at each other, before Hrelle gently chided, “It's rude to talk about other people’s bodies when they’re not around. Now, go get the rest of your things. I want you two to test out the Holosuites.”

“Yes, Grandpa!” the cubs said in unison, taking the disc and running off again.

Alone again, Mrorr asked, “So, does his mother have big boobs?”

“Sasha? Seven Hells, yes, she was definitely blessed.” He chuckled and asked, “What about the offworld faculty members?”

“They’ve begun arriving; we’re billeting them in the Starfleet facilities until the engineers get their heads out of their asses and finish the faculty support facilities, but at this rate we may end up leasing hotel space.”

He nodded, not surprised. “Maybe I’ll let some of them stay with me. The Clanhouse is big and mostly unoccupied right now. I miss having adults around, to do adult stuff.”

Mrorr smiled. “So when are you gonna invite me around for adult stuff?”

“What are you talking about? You’ve had dinner there.”

But she drew in closer. “I was thinking more about dessert.” Her subsequent words were carried with a purr as she took his hand in hers. “You've been alone for too long, Esek-”

He pulled his hand from hers, his pulse racing, as much from the unexpected action on her part… as from the unexpected reaction from himself. “No- please, don’t-”

Mrorr stepped back, confused. “B-But- with Kami-”

“My wife is not a topic for discussion!” Then he realised how confused she was, by the mixed signals and scents he was giving her... and how he sounded now. It wasn’t her fault.

He turned away, embarrassed by how he let himself slip so easily, motioning to the grandcubs. “Shalom! Kamiera! Stop dawdling!”

Mrorr’s expression chilled. “Esek, I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

He forced himself to push aside his anger and guilt. “Forget it, Csara. You didn’t say or do anything wrong. It’s me. I-” But he didn’t want to talk about his feelings now, as Shalom and Kamiera joined them. “Get onto the Engineering Team again, I want the faculty facilities online and habitable on time.”

The female officer swallowed, clearly wanting to say more, but instead reverting to protocol. “Aye, Sir.” She forced a smile up for the grandcubs. “Catch you later, Tail Chasers!”

Hrelle watched her turn and depart, wanting to say more himself, but not having the courage. Damn it, Esek, could you have made that more awkward for both of you?

*

Hrelle’s heart never failed to swell whenever he saw his son in his cadet’s uniform… even as he sensed that Misha had better things to do than to take another call from his old man, though he did his best to hide it. “...And Naida received a commendation for her report on quantum slipstream dynamics; she’s gonna be a top-flight designer.”

“And you? What about your Placement Requests? Did you put in for a post on one of the new Explorers like I told you?”

The dark-furred male’s brow furrowed. “Actually, Dad, I accepted a Security post on the Colossus.”

Hrelle started. “T’Varik and C’Rash’s ship? But they’re still supporting the Borg Republic against the Ascendancy! That’s too dangerous! They should know better! I’ll call them-”

“No, Dad! I want this post! I’m needed there! Don’t you think my Godmother and cousin will take care of me?”

Hrelle ground his teeth. He had tried to impress upon his son how much more sensible it would be to avoid non-combat assignments until he was older. Much older. He had been through too much in his young life already. “This is insane. Your mother-”

“Dad, please-”

Hrelle shook his head, not wanting to think about this now. “We’ll talk later. I’m having enough trouble with your little sister and this new... boyfriend of hers.” He grunted. “But at least she’s smart enough to stay on Cait and be a teacher.”

“...Yes.”

But Hrelle saw the reaction that his son tried to hide. “What? What do you know? Has she said something to you?”

Misha began to appear alarmed. “I have to go, Dad, it’s morning here in San Francisco, and I still have classes. Talk to her.”

“What has she said to you?”

“Bye, love you!” The transmission ended.

Hrelle stared at the blank screen. What did Misha mean? “Uatu, where are the grandcubs?”

“They have finished their dinners, and are currently watching the Taleteller on the living room Vivid. They promised to clean up after the show.”

Hrelle nodded absently, momentarily remembering when Mi’Tree was still alive, and was the Taleteller for Cait’s millions of cubs. Mi’Tree, B’Neea, Ma’Sala… all of the older generation were gone, mostly during the Occupation. Now he was the Older Generation. But he could do with their wisdom right now. He considered talking with Kami again, but knew that would get him nowhere… and she would almost certainly disapprove of his next course of action.

He rose and entered Sreen’s room, careful to leave things as she had left them as he began searching for clues to… what? He wasn’t sure. Clues as to what she was thinking, feeling, doing. Misha made him feel like Sreen was reconsidering being a teacher. If so, what was she going to do?

He turned to her desk computer. “Uatu, open her account.”

“Miss Sreen has explicitly asked that her account remain Private and Locked, Sir.”

“Priority Override Hrelle-One.”

Seconds later, her computer display lit up, and he began searching her files, her mail- there was a lot of music, of course, strange designs, pictures of musicians, ads for bands with strange names – who would name their band The Mangy Kussiks? – until he found some correspondence from the University… confirming her Study Break. Two weeks ago.

She left college two weeks ago? And had been pretending to continue to go there all this time? “Call her!”

“Unable to comply, Sir; her comm is turned off.”

“Track her location!”

“Again, I am unable to comply, Sir; I do not have access to those facilities with civilian communications devices.”

Hrelle ground his teeth; he didn’t often miss the convenience of a starship with all the facilities at his command, but this was one of those times. “Call the Police!”

Now Uatu sounded almost apologetic. “If I may be so bold, Sir, the local police are unlikely to respond to your request to locate Miss Sreen. She is a legal adult now, she has been out of contact for less than a day, and there is no indication of any potential threat to her life.”

Hrelle cursed and looked out of Sreen’s window, at the sky as it blushed with the dusk, before glancing around the interior of his daughter’s room. It was thick with her scent, he knew it as well as he knew his own, or Kami’s or Misha’s.

But now he felt like he didn’t know Sreen. Not really. Was she doing something stupid? To prove that she was as able as anyone without Neurodystraxia? He had sorted out many scraped knees and bruised pride on her through her cubhood. Now, however, she might get herself into a trouble he can't fix.

He turned back to the display. “Call Captain Mrorr.” As he waited, he extended his claws out, tapping on the desktop. Maybe he should talk to Kami again, before he did something rash-

Mrorr’s image appeared. “Admiral? Listen, about today, I just wanted to apolo-”

“Never mind that, Csara; I need your help with something. In all your civilian contacts, do you know anyone with authorisation to trace my daughter? She’s gone missing, turned off her comm… I’m worried for her safety...”

*

As the clan’s autocar drew up to a music club called the Furburn, where throngs of young cubs Sreen’s age were milling about the entrance, Hrelle made a note to get Mrorr a bottle of Spican flame whiskey. He owed her big, not only for finding someone who could locate Sreen’s comm even while switched off… but for her graciousness in agreeing to come over to the house to mind the grandcubs while he travelled to the city. He knew he could have easily left them in Uatu’s care, but the old-fashioned part of him preferred to have someone living keeping an ear and nose peeled… especially someone with Mrorr’s combat experience.

He sent the autocar to find a place to park and wait, while he gently but firmly snaked his way around the cubs outside the club to reach the entrance. There, a burly-looking short-maned male in a tight T-shirt bearing the club’s name grabbed Hrelle’s forearm as the Admiral passed. “Hold it, Gramps, this isn’t the Old Cats’ Home-”

Hrelle twisted the male’s arm behind him, before delivering a disabling tap to his spine, sending the male howling to the floor. “Thanks for letting me know, Sonny.” Then he ventured inside, his ears and nose assaulted by the wall of noise and scents that struck him within the hot, cramped interior.

There was a band at the front on a raised stage blaring out some awful music, while a sea of cubs bounced and bopped and gyrated to it beneath a swirl of lights, strobes and holobeams.

He recognised the style as Terran, Western, a subgenre called Punk. There were many, many music clubs on Cait, featuring styles emulated from dozens of different worlds and periods; their people’s appreciation for all varieties of music was well known.

This wasn’t to his tastes, not at his age. And it certainly wasn’t the concert Sreen implied she was attending tonight.

The thought that she was in here, somewhere, trying to pass herself off as normal, but still being vulnerable, at the mercy of a mercurial mob, on the cusp of being knocked down, injured, or someone taking advantage of her… she couldn’t possibly handle herself, even at her age!

The music stopped – thank you, Great Mother, Hrelle murmured in his head – and the band departed, taking their instruments with them, so he took the respite in the musical assault to move through the crowd, looking for his daughter, his eyes, ears and nose reaching out, finding- “YOU!”

Hansl was near the front and side, drinking beer with some other males, when he started at Hrelle’s appearance. “Mr Hrelle! What are you doing here?”

Hrelle drew up to him, relishing standing a head taller and fifty kilos heavier than the young male. “That’s Admiral Hrelle to you, Tinsel! Where’s Sreen?”

“Sreen?”

“Yeah! You remember her, don’t you? Sexytail? The daughter I left in your care? She was supposed to be going to a classical concert with you!”

“Sh- She’s not here-”

He grabbed him by his T-shirt, twisting the cotton in his grip. “You abandoned her? She’s Neurodystraxic, you little shit! She can’t be left alone!”

But before Hansl could respond, another band and had taken up places on the stage with guitars, frettercasts and thrumpers, as an unseen announcer declared, “Now, let’s give a Furburn welcome to the hottest band in New C’Mau City: The mewlers and old cats know them as the MKs, but we know them as… The Mangy Kussiks!”

Hrelle snarled and looked back at Hansl, having to raise his voice over the loud, raucous music from the band. “WHERE’S SREEN?”

The terrified male pointed to the stage. What was he-

“Are you here to rock?” came a familiar voice from the stage.

Hrelle turned back and looked up, to see Sreen there in front of the band. Her golden mane was shaved off on either side of her head, leaving a thin strip, and she wore a heavy black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and sleeves, along with tight blue jeans, leather boots and fingerless gloves.

She stood behind an old-fashioned steel microphone, gripping it as she looked out at the audience, repeating, “ARE YOU HERE TO ROCK?” As they cheered in response, she bared her teeth and taunted, “Or are you here to stroke yourselves off?” As they cheered again, she laughed raucously. “That’s okay, ’coz I’ll take either from you horny motherfuckers!”

Hrelle let go of Hansl and stepped back in horror. What in the Seven Hells…

Then she began singing:

“I don’t want your fucking love

Don’t give me your respect

I just want your Season scent

And to see you all erect

Don’t tell me what you’re studying

Don’t give me war stories

My kussik’s not here for your talk

It’s here for you to please!”

And then she launched into a chorus, joined in by the band members behind her.

“I just wanna fuck hard!

I just wanna fuck long!

I just wanna fuck loud!

I just wanna fuck strong!”

Hrelle continued to step away, watching open-mouthed as his daughter worked the stage, while the crowd went wild, bopping in place, fists punching the air.

And she continued, never seeing her father.

“Get my nethers hot and sweaty

Get me sticky sweet

My kussik’s burning for you

So drink in all that heat

Get that tongue inside me now

Leave me begging you for more

If you don’t give me Fluttertail

You’re out the fucking door!

I just wanna fuck hard!

I just wanna fuck long!

I just wanna fuck loud!

I just wanna fuck strong!”

Hrelle’s heart was racing. This was not his daughter! This creature had sworn more in the last minute than his little girl had done her whole life! She was under some sort of influence, he decided. Drugs, alcohol, telepathy, Nanites. Or she was a hologram, an android, a shapeshifter, a Mirror Universe counterpart-

She grabbed her crotch as she avowed, in a mock sympathetic croon,

“But if I’m too much for you baby

Tell me if it’s true

I’ll be all understanding...

But I’ll fuck your sister too!”

Someone next to Hrelle caught his attention, and he looked to see a male closer to his age than the cubs around them, staring up at Sreen with undisguised lust. He caught Hrelle looking at him and nodded, barely audible over the music. “She’s Nova, isn’t she? I’d like to get her bent over-”

Hrelle bared his teeth, growling loudly. “I’m her father!”

Seemingly oblivious to Hrelle’s rage, the other male chuckled and confessed, “Yeah, I’d like to hear her call me Daddy too-”

He never finished, as Hrelle’s fist connected with the male’s jaw, sending him into neighbouring dancers. Then Hrelle himself was attacked from behind, by the doorman and two of his friends. Hrelle fought back – it had been a few years since he had to exercise his combat skills, but they returned, even if the strength of his youth hadn’t – as he sent down one attacker, and dodged a punch from the second before driving a kick into the third.

He bared his claws… just as the music stopped, and Sreen’s voice filled the air with, “DAD! WHAT THE FUCK?”

*

The street outside the club was cooler. Not that this had an effect on Sreen’s temper. “Dad, what are you doing here? How did you find me? Why did you punch the club manager?”

He remained aching from the fight, embarrassed at having this argument with his daughter in front of a bunch of drunken young cubs, and angry at letting her dominate it. “He was being rude about you-”

“What did he say? That he wanted to fuck me? I knew that already! He’s had an erection for me since we first auditioned for a gig here! So fucking what? He wouldn’t have the balls to do anything about it anyway!”

His jaw dropped. “How can you talk this way? And how can you quit school? You threw away years of study-”

“I didn’t quit, Dad! I’m taking a break to focus on the band!”

“Focus on what? Swearing, grabbing your crotch, boasting about sex-”

“Oh, and I bet your old pal Bowie never did anything like that, did he?”

“He’s not my little girl! You are! And why did you cut your mane? Why would you do that? It was beautiful!”

“Is that what you want to talk about now?”

“No! I want to talk about you doing all of this, and without telling me anything! You lied to me!”

“Yes! Yes, I did! Because I wanted to avoid a scene like this!”

“Yeah? Well, we can see how that turned out, can’t we?”

Rage grew on Sreen’s face. “You know, you wouldn’t be behaving like this if it had been Misha up there on stage tonight! Or Sasha! You wouldn’t dare argue over what they wanted to do with their lives! They’d have your full support!”

“But you’re not like them! You’re different!”

“Yeah? No Shit, Dad! I’ve known I’m different since I first had to have this fitted on me just to crawl around!” She held up her right arm, displaying the thin mesh of the exoframe extending up along her forearm to her hand. “I’ve always felt different! Held back! Pitied, or looked down on as some poor little Lagger!” 

“Don’t use that word! It’s offensive!”

“Again, I say No Shit, Dad! You think I never heard it applied to me before? But I don’t get any of that when I’m up onstage. Up there, I’m powerful! People love us! We’ve got gigs in other cities coming up! And an album deal! And I even get fan mail, from fellow Neurodystraxics! They look up to me, someone who doesn’t hide what she is, or let anyone stop her from doing what she wants! Isn’t that what you and Mom taught me?”

“Don’t you bring your Mother into this! When I tell her what you’ve done-”

“MOM’S DEAD!”

Hrelle stepped back as if struck.

Sreen’s face was contorted in pain and anguish as she continued. “She’s been dead for two years! But you won’t let her go! You just stay in your study and talk to her fucking hologram, acting like she’s calling you long distance!”

Hrelle’s heart stopped. No. No, she couldn’t know. “That’s- That’s not true-”

“It is true, you fucking lunatic! Everyone knows it! Sasha, Misha, Uncle Weynik! And it’s pathetic! You sit in there stroking yourself off to some old program! The image of a dead woman! You sad, pitiable old bastard-”

He bared his teeth and claws at her and roared.

Sreen stepped back, fear in her eyes.

Immediately, Hrelle knew he had gone too far, and shifted gears. “Sreen- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” He reached for her.

She drew back. “Stay away from me! I hate you! I’m moving out! I’ll send for my things later!” Then she turned and stormed through the crowds.

“No! Sreen, please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything I said!”

He started after her, but then felt hands grab him. “Hold it, Sir!”

He turned, teeth and claws bared now to fight again… too late realising it wasn’t the club bouncers, but the local police, immediately responding to his aggression with an ultrasonic pulse from a handheld Yap, one designed by Caitians for Caitians. Hrelle dropped to his knees, no longer resisting as the police cuffed his wrists behind him.

Sreen… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…

*

They released him without charge, once he was identified and he offered the bare bones of his reason for being there causing trouble. Then he was back in the clan’s autocar returning home, his head still ringing from the Yap, leaving him numbed.

For which he was distantly grateful. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think.

He didn’t want to be alive.

A cool sea breeze caressed him as he crossed the path to the darkened house. Blankly he asked, “Uatu, where’s Captain Mrorr? She’ll need to be taken home.”

“Captain Mrorr is in your study, Sir, speaking with Captain Hrelle.”

He stopped at the doorway, his heart triphammering as he raced inside, panicking. “WHAT? Why did you let her in there?”

“Captain Hrelle called asking for you, I explained you were on your way home and that Captain Mrorr was supervising the cubs, and she wished to speak with her-”

He was confused. Kami called? That wasn’t possible-

He understood too late as he burst into his study, seeing Mrorr standing there, facing the isomorphic projection of- “Sasha!”

Captain Sasha Hrelle, Commanding Officer of the USS Surefoot-B, turned to look at him: she seemed taller, more full-framed with reaching her forties, her strawberry blonde hair ponytailed behind her, her freckles reduced, but her expression was so like her mother. “Dad.”

And it was with that one word, that one look, that she let him know that, somehow, she knew. Everything.

Sasha turned back to Mrorr. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, Captain. I hope we get to do so again in the future. Would you excuse us, please?”

“Of course, Captain.” The female turned, a wealth of emotion on her face, too.

She knew something as well. Mother’s Cubs… He said,  “Thank you for coming over, Captain. You can use one of the autocars to go home. Good night.”

Mrorr looked ready to respond, but instead nodded and departed.

Then he was alone with Sasha’s image again… and for the first time, Hrelle didn’t know how to respond to his daughter. “Sasha- I-”

She raised a hand to cut him off. “First things first: where’s my hug?” She held out her arms. “What? No Papa Cat Love for his Runt of the Litter?”

He rushed up and hugged the projection, gripping it with all his might, and feeling it hug back with equal ferocity.

He wanted to hold onto her forever.

And he wanted to not look into her eyes again.

But then she drew back, breathing out hard. “These projections really deliver on the tactile responses, don’t they? I’m glad Rrori’s onboard with me, or I’d have to see how far these interfaces work. And my son? He’s not causing any trouble?”

Hrelle breathed in, composing himself. “Shalom is an angel, like you were at his age.”

“Hmph, I’ll bet.”

“Shall I go wake him, get him to-”

Sasha straightened. “No; my communication time is limited, even for a family emergency, so I'll cut to the chase. I've been communicating with several parties over the last few weeks: Misha, Sreen, Weynik, T’Varik, Uatu-”

“About me?” he snapped, feeling his skin heat up under his fur.

“Yes.”

“You missed out on talking to the grandcubs. They see and hear alot.”

“No, I’ve been asking them, too.”

“And what business is it of you-”

But she raised an angry finger to cut him off. “Don’t you dare finish that, Esek. Apart from my being your daughter, I’m the Matriarch of our clan, so the welfare of its members is my business. Even here at the Andromeda Gate, fighting giant creatures with a hundred tentacles.

You remember when I inherited this responsibility, don’t you? With the passing of the previous Matriarch?”

“Sasha, don’t-”

Her expression was one of profound sympathy… but it wasn’t enough to deter her from what she had to say. “The rest of us can only guess at how much Kami’s death struck you. We all suffered and mourned… and we moved on. We thought you had too.”

“I have-”

“Then explain the Emergency Counseling Hologram you retrieved from Starfleet R & D. The one Kami worked on two months before she died, having her brain engrams copied.”

Hrelle started, feeling like a cub caught raiding the kitchen at midnight by his mother. He wanted to leave. He wanted to switch off the communications. He wanted…

He wanted to tell the truth for once. “You don’t understand... I was lost without her... I had relied on her for over twenty five years, as a Counselor and a wife! And the program had so many of her memories, her personality, her nuances- and most of all, she knew her own children, and me, better than any other Counselor assigned to me after her! It made sense!”

She considered his response, and finally nodded. “But then the Kami Program was too accurate. Not just in how it responded to you, but in how it saw how much you were depending on it for emotional support. It tried to counsel you to turn it off, to complete your mourning, and move on. You should have listened to it.

Instead, you had it reprogrammed, to not realise it was a hologram, but instead believe it was the real Kami, away on a mission. You could then call on her whenever you wanted advice on Sreen, Misha, the grandcubs, work. Any subject… but yourself.”

He stared hard… unable to deny any of it. It was all so eerily accurate: almost a year had passed since Kami’s death, when a chance memo about the Holographic Counselor Project crossed his path. He had almost refused to access it. How would he react to seeing a simulacrum of his wife of twenty years, standing before him?

But he still tried it, because the chance to interact with even a reproduction of her was too much to resist. And he could use it to finally say goodbye to her, and move on.

Except he didn’t.

Every time he brought up her program, he told himself This Was It. He would end this.

Except he didn’t.

It was harmless, he told himself. A bit of fun, like looking at old family albums or home vivid. He could stop this at any time.

Except he didn’t.

And when even the Kami Program recognised that this relationship they had was harmful, and became more vocal in her objections, Hrelle called in a favour with a local Starfleet programmer to… adjust her. Just a little.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “For not lying about it.”

He looked up at her, feeling as low and pathetic as he ever could be. “How did you work all that out?”

“I know you never believed that this was the real Kami. But you became so comfortable with this arrangement that sometimes you let it slip to family and friends. The first few times, it was put down to you speaking romantically, poetically. Then the Caitians around you started wondering why your scent was reverting to mark you as Unavailable, the way it did when Kami was still alive; your own body was instinctively acting as if you still had a living partner.

The rest was confirmed tonight, when I asked my Chief Engineer to remote access Uatu and the house systems and run diagnostics on the holoprogram he found. Jonas sends his regards, by the way. And his apologies.”

He nodded distantly, unable to meet her gaze any longer, as if weighed down by the tears in his eyes. “Your sister was right. I am pathetic. A pathetic old cat. Foolish. Cowardly-”

Now Sasha drew up to him, her own eyes welling with tears as she held him again, whispering, “Sreen said things out of anger; we all have. You are not pathetic, and you are certainly not cowardly. You are the bravest man I have ever known. My brave, wonderful father, who saves children from monsters, and whom I love so, so much.” She tightened her hold on him… but then whispered, “Will you do something brave for me now?”

She pulled back, reaching up to draw his tears away from his muzzle. “When this transmission ends, will you call up the Kami Program?”

He frowned, confused. “You… want me to do that? You think that’s brave?”

“Jonas has removed the additional programming you had installed… and she will be aware that she’s a hologram again, and aware of what you did; if she’s anything like the real Kami was, I think you’re going to need bravery to face her. Call up the program… and take whatever advice she gives.” She looked away at something at her end, then turned back to him. “My link is about to terminate. We’ll talk again in a couple of days.” She hugged him again. “Promise me you’ll do that. Promise your daughter… and your Matriarch.”

Hrelle hugged back, quickly adding, as the transmission began to shut down. “I promise.”

Sasha’s projection vanished, leaving him holding air.

He dropped his arms, leaned against his desk, contemplating pouring himself a whiskey, to- no. No, he didn’t deserve whatever false comfort or support or strength alcohol gave him.

So, what are you gonna do, Esek? he asked himself. Your own daughter, whose runny nose you used to wipe, is wiser than you. So listen to your Matriarch... “Computer: activate Program Kami One.”

She appeared before him… and he immediately saw from her expression that Sasha’s warning about the changes Jonas made to the programming were true. He swallowed, knowing instinctively that it was not his real wife, but still reacting otherwise. “Kami, I-”

She strode up to him and smacked him hard across the snout.

Pain rang through his head, and he tasted blood, but he stood his ground, knowing he deserved it, and a whole lot more.

Tight fury made her body shake and her tail swish madly behind her. “Tell me, Esek, if the real Kami was trying to give you advice you didn’t want to hear, how would you have shut her up? Would you have altered her memories telepathically? Drugged her? Locked her up? Or would you have simply smacked her in the mouth like I just did with you? What would be your preferred method of spousal abuse, you bastard?”

He swallowed, as stung by her words as by her actions. “I- I would never abuse the real-”

“No? You did it to me, and you were happy to treat me like the real Kami. You were happy to talk, and to take my advice about other things besides yourself, and to banter and to flirt, and I’ll bet if the isomorphic projection technology was sophisticated enough, we’d have gotten up to some shenanigans on your desk here!”

He shook his head. “N-No- please-”

But she continued, baring her teeth. “You could have tweaked my program even further, made me look young, and fit, and constantly in Season, on all fours, naked and panting for you to take me roughly from behind-”

“No! I don’t want that! I never wanted that!”

“No? Then what do you want, Esek? Tell me! WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“I WANT YOU TO BE ALIVE!” he sobbed, unable and unwilling to hold back any longer. “I WANT YOU TO BE HERE! WE PROMISED EACH OTHER THAT WE’D GROW OLD TOGETHER! THAT WE’D LIVE TOGETHER, AND RAISE OUR CHILDREN TOGETHER! THAT WE’D NEVER LEAVE EACH OTHER! WE PROMISED WE- WE PROMISED...”

He sank to his knees, hands tightening into fists so much his claws drew blood from his palms, tears pouring from him. “Y-You weren’t supposed to die out there! In some stupid accident! Alone! Without me!”

He looked up at the program, barely able to see through his own tears. “I miss you, Kami… I miss you so much… I miss your scent, I miss your purr and your warmth and your fur and your voice and your laugh and how you fit so perfectly against me when we held each other…

I miss making love with you…

I miss holding hands with you as we walked...

I miss my wife…

I miss my best friend…

I miss you so much… so much...”

The rest of his words dissolved into incoherent sobs.

Distantly he felt the program join him on the floor and hold him.

And distantly he heard her murmur softly, “And speaking for the real Kami… I miss you too, Esek.

We’ve both been here before, with the deaths of our first partners: Mirow’s father, Rmorra, and Sasha’s mother, Hannah.

You thought you’d moved on. You had Sreen to watch over, and the grandcubs. You had a new assignment here.

But grief isn’t a one-way path, Esek. We can be pulled back into any of its stages, including denial, so easily. And I know that if there had been something like this program available to me when Rmorra had been killed, I would have done what you’ve done. Anyone would have.

But if either of us had, we would never have moved on. We never would have found each other, and saved each other, and produced two beautiful cubs and had the years of love that had together.”

She drew back, still holding onto him but looking into his eyes. “You will always love Kami. She will always be a part of your life, as Hannah was before her. You moving on will not change or diminish that.

I’m dead. You’re alive. And so’s everyone around you: Sasha, Shalom, Misha, Sreen-”

He started at the mention of the last name. “Seven Hells- I had a terrible fight with Sreen tonight!” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “She left college without telling me, and secretly formed this band called... the Mangy Kussiks.”

Kami’s image laughed.

He frowned at her response, but persisted. “They were at some club in the city, playing-”

“Was she good?”

He stared. “What difference does that make?”

“Quite a lot of difference, if she wants to be successful at it.”

“Did you miss the bit where I said she dropped out of college to do this?”

“No. Was she good? She always had a lovely singing voice when she did the musicals in cubschool.”

He frowned in reluctant consideration, before finally replying, “Yes, actually. Very strong voice. I only heard the one song before I caused a scene, though. It was all about… fucking.”

She laughed again.

“Apparently… she likes it. A lot.”

She kept laughing. “Good for her!” At his reaction, she asked, “Would you rather she sang songs about hate or death?”

Hrelle’s expression sobered. “I was so angry with her tonight. I… I bared my teeth to her. Scared her. I never, ever did that to any of our cubs before. She’ll never forgive me.”

Kami’s image reached up and patted his muzzle gently. “I doubt that. Not if the memories of the real Kami about her daughter are anything to go by.”

“She didn’t come home. She said she was moving out.”

“If I had a credit for every instance when I said the same thing to my mother and fathers at that age… give it time, until cooler heads prevail.”

He nodded in acquiescence. “Makes sense.”

“When have I not made sense?” She paused, and then said, “Esek… delete my program.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Delete it. You don’t need it. You lived with the real Kami long enough to know what she would say to you when you need advice. And if you don’t, you have a great many good people around you who will listen, and help. Will you do this, Esek? For her?”

He breathed in. More quickly and easily than he would have expected, he replied, “I will. I promise.”

She hugged him again – and then pulled back, her snout twitching. “And cut the mane. Seriously. What is it with you old male cats who grow out a full mane? Definite compensation for a loss of other faculties.”

“I’ll bear it in mind... and... I will always love you.”

He hugged her one more time.

One last time.

“Computer: Delete Kami One.”

He closed his eyes, unable to bear seeing her vanish from his arms.

*

He wasn’t sure when he emerged from his study… but he knew he wasn’t prepared to find Mrorr still there. “Captain, what’s wrong? You didn’t have to stay.”

She was standing in the dark, leaning against a wall, regarding him. “I know.”

He waited for more, and when none was forthcoming asked, “So why are you here?”

Mrorr straightened up, her hands coming into view to display a thin bottle and two shotglasses. “In all my years of service, I’ve never left a wounded soldier behind. I’m not about to start now.” Then she paused and offered, “Unless you really want me to go, Esek?”

He looked at her. “No. I don’t want to be alone.”

Without further ado, she stepped into the living room and took a place on the couch, setting the glasses down and pulling the stopper from the bottle.

Hrelle entered, watching her before adding, “I- I should explain-”

“Sit down, Esek. Or do you want to go wake the grandcubs up and make a party of it?”

Hrelle stared, before breathing out and joining her, appreciating the soft, cool leather cushions, and the soothing, gentle tap of the brass and glass chroniker on the table in the far corner of the room, ticking the minutes away. He watched her pour the dark liquid, recognising the bottle from the house stock. “You have expensive taste, Csara.”

“You told me to make myself at home, Esek. Admittedly, when I tried to invite myself here earlier for some ‘adult stuff’, this wasn’t my first choice, but…” She handed him one glass, taking the other and raising it up, opening her mouth as if to offer a toast, before shrugging. “I can’t think of anything profound. I just like to drink.”

Hrelle was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to argue. He drank with her, the whiskey hot and peppery down his throat. It made his tongue buzz. “I… I should probably explain what’s been going on-”

“You loved Kami so much, so deeply, and for so long, that when a sophisticated replica of her image, memory and personality was available to you, you fell into the temptation of kidding yourself into the idea that she was still alive.” She poured another shot for each of them. “How’d I do?”

He regarded her, feeling his skin heat beneath his fur, from more than just the alcohol. “Not bad. Are you a Counselor in your spare time?”

“No, a Survivor. Like you.” Mrorr leaned back on her side of the couch. “His name was Hrasha. We came up through the ranks, watched each other’s backs through various wars… and paid some considerable attention to each other’s fronts on our off-duty hours, too.” She stared out into the shadows. “I lost him during the Occupation.” She grunted. “‘Lost him’. Sounds like he fell down the back of the couch. He was taken. I… went into a dark place. I grew a Monster inside me. Do you know what that’s like, Esek?”

“Yes.”

They went silent.

“And I’ve not felt anything for anyone else, until I met you,” she confessed. At his reaction, she shrugged. “I’m attracted to you. And unlike you, I haven’t been giving out any mixed signals.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Esek. And I won’t rush too quickly with you. I just want to know I’m not wasting my time with you.”

At first, there was only the ticking in the corner.

Then Hrelle replied, “You’re not. Just don’t expect me to jump you... at least, not tonight.”

Mrorr nodded in assent. “Glad to hear it.  At my age,  I need time to get my boots off...” 

*

Hrelle’s neck and tail ached, and he made sounds as he found himself in a strange position, and not in his bed, his snout twitching at the female scent, the heat and fur-

He shifted, blinking in the morning light beginning to peek through the living room windows, as he realised he had fallen asleep on the couch – curled up against Mrorr.

And with the grandcubs sitting on an adjacent settee, eating from cereal bowls as if up to watch episodes of Power Cat, but instead staring at the adults sleeping together.

Hrelle smacked his mouth, his head banging and his tongue feeling like the Militia had marched across it all night in their muddiest boots. The grandcubs were grinning.

And then he realised why, as he found he had fallen asleep against Mrorr’s chest, with her arm was around him. His attempts to extricate himself without waking her failed, and she jolted upright, cursing and making the cubs gasp and giggle.

The adults glanced at each other, momentarily confused, before Hrelle asked hoarsely, “What time is it?”

When no one else answered, Uatu replied, “0614, Sir.”

Mrorr moaned, rubbing her eyes. “0614? Can’t be. There’s no such time.” She grunted as she noticed the grandcubs. “What are they doing? They’re just sitting there, not saying anything. It’s weird.”

“They do that sort of thing.”

“And why are they grinning?”

Hrelle opened his eyes wider. “Well, Grandcubs of Mine? Why are you grinning?”

Kamiera looked to Shalom, and then pointed at the adults. “You two slept together. I’m telling everyone.”

“I’m liking them less,” Mrorr muttered.

“That’ll be the booze talking. You want a shower?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Are you gonna shower together?” Shalom asked.

“No,” Hrelle said flatly. “You’re gonna act as my First Officer, and escort our visitor to the shower facilities upstairs.”

The little male club beamed, set aside his cereal and stood up. “Aye, Aye, Sir!” He took Mrorr’s hand. “Come on, Captain.”

She offered Hrelle a final amused glance as she rose and followed the cub out.

Then Hrelle focused on Kamiera. “And you, as my Chief Medical Officer, will get me a prescription of Klingon coffee, black, no sugar.”

The cub frowned. “Coffee’s no breakfast. You said so yesterday.”

“I’ll eat something later for breakfast. Now get going. Uatu, let her use the replicator.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kamiera stood up, but stayed there, sniffing and frowning.

Until he asked, “What’s wrong?”

The female cub tilted her head. “You smell different, Grandpa.”

“Different?” He grunted, expecting it was his whiskey breath.

She nodded. “You smell happy.”

Then she departed.

He frowned to himself. Happy? Hmph. He didn’t feel it himself. Certainly not with Sreen still out there, furious with him. He had to find her. He had to find her and grovel, beg for forgiveness, promising unconditional love, devotion and support. He didn’t care how far he’d have to travel to find her- even off-world-

“Sir,” Uatu interrupted. “Miss Sreen is drawing up to the front gate, in her young friend’s vehicle.”

Hrelle bolted to his feet. “She’s here? SHE’S HERE?” His headache vanished, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he stumbled towards the front door. His Princess, his Beloved’s daughter-

Sreen was still in her band gear, but minus the jacket, and the anger of the night before, as she raced up the steps onto the veranda and into his arms.

He lifted her up as he held her, feeling her exoframe beneath her clothes. “I’m sorry, Sreen- I’m so sorry-”

“I didn’t mean what I said, Daddy- I didn’t- I’m sorry- you can put me down-”

“It’s okay, Princess- it’s okay-”

“No, Daddy, I can’t breathe, you have to put me down-”

“Shit!” He did so, but still held onto her as he looked into her eyes. “Listen, you do whatever you want to do with your life, Sreen!”

“I will, Daddy.”

“I mean it! You’re an intelligent, remarkable young adult, you can make whatever decisions you like!”

“I know, Daddy.”

“It doesn’t matter what this old cat thinks, you just go out there and make your mark on the world-”

She reached up and pressed her fingertips against his snout, silencing his further assurances. “Okay, Daddy, you’ve convinced me.”

But he drew back, still beaming, his eyes supernovaeing with idea after idea. “Bring your band to the house! You can rehearse here, even live here, all of you,  there’s plenty of room! And I’ll get my old buddy Bowie to come to Cait to give you some tips! Do you want to play at the Opening Ceremony to the Academy Annex? I’m assuming you have a bigger repertoire than the Fucking Song-”

Sreen smirked. “I’d like to say you’re overcompensating for being angry last night, but I know you’re like this all the time.”

Hrelle laughed, then saw Hansl standing by his autocar. “Hansl! Dear boy! Come on in, I’ll make you some pancakes! You need some more bulk on you, if you’re going to be taking care of my Princess when she’s out on tour!”

The male was hesitant at being there, but brightened considerably at the mention of pancakes.

His daughter folded her arms across her chest. “So, you can remember his name when you want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you doing still standing there, Fossil?” Hrelle beckoned to him- and then looked back at Sreen. “What?”

She was sniffing him. “Your scent’s changed. And you’ve got… a new female on you.”

He felt himself flush under his fur; did everyone have a stronger sense of smell than him? “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Princess. You’re not doing snuff, are you? I know how you rock and roll types get-”

The door opened, and the grandcubs rushed out to hug Sreen, Kamiera announcing loudly, “Aunt Sreen, Grandpa slept with Aunt Csara last night!”

Sreen looked up at her father again.

He started to explain, but then pouted. “I don’t have to explain myself. I’m a grown up.”

His daughter smiled. “Well, it had to happen sometime...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE WITH... MR & MRS OSTROW