Chapter 8: The Only Good Ferasan...

Planet Ferasa Prime, Forty Years Ago:

The newborn infant wouldn’t stop crying.

His parents, his Pride, tried everything: soothing music, massage, scented candles, doctors, even sedatives. They worried and argued and demanded and postured and fretted amongst themselves about what was wrong with him.

He was of course too young to understand, let alone tell them: that what was wrong was the constant discordant Noise from their thoughts and emotions, as they worried and argued and demanded and postured and fretted amongst themselves about what was wrong with him. And the more they did all that, the worse it got for him.

It had started when he was still in his mother’s womb, but at least in there, it was dark and warm and wet, and his brain and its near-unique abilities were still developing. By the time he emerged into the Outside, however, the Noise was louder, more defined, a relentless din that allowed him no respite.

And all he could do in response was cry. And all that the sedation did was prevent him from expressing his pain and despair.

He didn’t comprehend their talk of him being a Defective, like so many newborn Ferasans those days, and how it would be better to just euthanise him and try again.

He didn’t comprehend the intervention of another Ferasan, a stranger, who inexplicably found them and offered to take the infant away, never to be seen again.

He didn’t comprehend how readily they accepted, already having given up on him as they planned for another.

He didn’t comprehend anything... not until the Stranger had taken him out of the city, taken him far away into what remained of the Wilds, hundreds of sestares away from other Ferasans, other minds and emotions. It was only then that the Noise had subsided, leaving him swaddled in a blessed pacific silence, allowing him to focus and enjoy the new sights, scents and sounds of the forests and the animals.

And the comforting single voice of the Stranger somehow projected into his head: Rest easy now, Cub. I felt your pain, your anguish from far away; it was what drew me to you. But our solitude out here will give you a well-deserved peace, and allow me to teach you to shield the thoughts and emotions of others whenever you’re forced to be around them. And once armoured with such skills, I will teach you how to live and thrive here in the Wilds.

The newborn infant still didn’t comprehend anything. But he did sleep, truly sleep, in the Stranger’s arms, for the first time in his fragile little life.

*

Planet Cait, Capitol Building, First City, M’Mirl Province, Today:

Melem-Adu, Master Governor of the Occupied World of Cait, stood at one end of the Mission Table, feeling angry and helpless and angry and impotent and angry and confused. And angry some more. And as he looked and listened and argued with those around him, the only comfort he could take at this time is the knowledge that, despite his insufferably oily demeanour, the Vorta Welros was almost as frustrated as Melem-Adu.

Though Welros still continued to bleat from the same tired old Dominion propaganda sheet. “The Jem’Hadar are the finest warriors in all the Quadrants of the Galaxy. Perhaps even beyond.”

“Mmmm,” Melem-Adu moaned in apparent agreement, the Ferasan crossing his arms, ignoring the Jem’Hadar at the table who looked up at him, as if believing he might be mocking them. “Then there will be a reasonable explanation for how four of your attack ships blew up over the Free Seas of Cait?”

The oatmeal-coloured humanoid fixed his soft purple eyes from his side of the table at the Master Governor. “There will be one, of course. We ran very thorough scans of the area-”

“-And found nothing, I know, we’ve been over this often enough. Maybe it was some Caitian monster from the depths of the oceans that swallowed them whole?”

Welros’ gaze narrowed. “That is hardly a helpful attitude, Master Governor, if I may be so bold.”

No, you may not. All that you may do is scream your little lungs out while I eviscerate you and see if your insides are as grey and shapeless as your outsides. He looked to the Jem’Hadar First standing beside Welros. “Rurid’alok, the Caitian military employed a cloaking device they call a Prowl. The intelligence we were provided on them allowed us to overwhelm their Navy’s forces when we first arrived in their system, but the Caitians must have made improvements to counter us.”

The apple-green, pebble-skinned reptoid nodded curtly. “That is reasonable. The Caitian flyer which passed over the port of Sekuro on its way to sea dropped off our scanners, even with the compensatory improvements you supplied us.”

Melem-Adu nodded; he would much rather have been working directly with Rurid’alok from the start, then having to go through the shapeless bag of smarm that was his Vorta leader. “No cloak can be perfect; there was a leaked report some years ago about Starfleet employing a tachyon net to detect Romulan ships crossing the border. You can perhaps engineer something similar to-“

“No,” Welros interrupted.

Melem-Adu looked back at him. “What did you say?”

“I said No. Master Governor, the Dominion forces are meant to be present here in a minor capacity; maintaining a presence on the outer edge of the Caitian system to prevent incursion from Starfleet, while we watch and assess your performance as a measure of your suitability to join us. Yes, I indulged your desire for helping in tracking down Captain Hrelle, but our further direct involvement will only skew that measurement... and might cost us more ships and personnel in the process.” He paused and smiled. “I am terribly sorry, Master Governor, but I must respectfully refuse your request.”

Melem-Adu glared back in disbelief, slowly baring his teeth as his thin tail snapped behind him like a whip. It was all unravelling. He had lost two of three sons to this misbegotten rock, entire Prides were being slaughtered by the monstrous Caitians, the transport ships were behind schedule, the Caitian sheep were resisting in masses, and his own forces were stretched thinner than sinew.

And now this bland eunuch is denying him his Jem’Hadar soldiers and their advanced ships and equipment. If Rurid’alok was here alone, he would surely agree; they may have been clones as well, but the Jem’Hadar at least shared the desire to strike back, at making opponents pay for their deeds-

“Father?”

He spun in place, offering his last male offspring his full fury. “What do you want?”

ThirdSon drew back slightly, fear in his scent, but otherwise stood his ground. “Father, the courier vessel carrying the Hunter Prime has arrive, and they are prepared to beam him down-“

Melem-Adu drew up and swung out his fist, striking the younger male across the stunted snout. “Wretch! I am trying to maintain a hold on this paltry planet, with the very Universe against me, and you come to me with this triviality?” The contempt and hate he felt now, with being left this pale cub, something little better than the Vorta, while his more beloved sons were dead, bubbled over. “You miserable pile of afterbirth! Enam-Bel and Hap-Tek, two worthy sons, dead! And yet you still live?” He struck ThirdSon again. “Why, Wretch? Why can’t you manage this one little task without my participation? Come on! Tell me why, you worthless little bastard!”

He swung out a third time – but ThirdSon caught him by the wrist before he could connect, fury in his eyes and scent, teeth bared and hissing hot breath as he practically shook in place. “Because... I have not been Named... and for the Patriarch’s Hunter Prime to be met by a Nameless member of our Pride could be seen as a grave insult, and could bring us all down.” His nostrils flared. “Not that you’re not doing an effective job of that on your own, you pitiable old fool.”

Melem-Adu’s whole body tensed. His third son had always been a poor shadow of the first two. Never brave or reckless or even conniving or cowardly. Just... there, in the background. Even females made a better impression than him.

Now... now he openly insulted his own father, in public.

Melem-Adu smiled. “The Hunter Prime will be greeted by Nusum-Adu.”

ThirdSon reacted, with unexpected bemusement. “I- Who is... Nusum-Adu?”

“You are. You are no longer Nameless. Regrettably circumstances prevent us from holding a ceremony or celebration at this time, but perhaps later.”

The younger male frowned, still holding onto Melem-Adu by the forearm. “But it- a name is usually only awarded after an act of bravery.”

His father’s smile widened. “You finally stood up to me. No mean feat.” He shook off his son’s grip. “Don’t make a habit of it, though. Go, see to our guest, give him whatever he wants, just keep him out of my fur.”

The younger male straightened up, recovering from the shock of suddenly rising considerably within the hierarchy of their Pride, and nodded with gravitas. “Yes, Father. I will!”

As he departed, Melem-Adu returned to the Mission Table, looking out once more at all the red spots representing areas where the Caitians were causing difficulties: protesting, shutting down key facilities, blocking traffic, openly demonstrating. Their conquerors couldn’t run things as well without their compliance.

“Well, I must say,” Welros cooed, framed with a simpering smile. “Watching you take the time from your plethora of more important problems, to repair the damaged relationship with your remaining son like that, is unexpectedly heartwarming.”

The Ferasan never looked up from the board. He had to make a show, a demonstration of force. If the Caitians were determined not to live within the lies spun, then he’d give them the brutal truth. “Well, I must say, listening to the opinion on family from a sexless creature cloned and grown in a tube, is expectedly tail crinking. If you’re not going to assist us in our work, why are you still here?”

“I told you before, Master Governor, I am assessing your performance. How you manage the Occupation will determine whether or not the Ferasan Patriarchy becomes part of the Dominion.” He paused and added, “So much responsibility on your shoulders. Can you handle the burden?”

“Watch and learn,“ Melem-Adu ignored him now, feeling bolstered by his growing certainty over what his next action against these Caitian animals should be.

*

Nusum-Adu. Nusum-Adu. Nusum-Adu.

He kept running it through his head. He was Named. Just like that. Incredible.

As he strode back to the Operations Centre, a part of him acknowledged that his father had probably done it just because ThirdSon – Nusum-Adu – had been the last of Father’s male offspring, that he just wanted to get rid of him to deal with the new arrival, rather than face the humiliation directly.

It didn’t matter. He was Named... and with the same direct Patronymic Suffix, a particular honour! His personal authority, his personal power, had now risen considerably. And those males in their group, younger males who had been out there and won Names and responsibilities for themselves, and who had looked down on him... well, now they had to kiss his tail. And mean it.

He stepped into the open area, barking, “Pay attention!” As everyone turned toward him, he quickly adjusted the leather and armour plating of his clothes... conspicuously removing the Nameless sigil from his left shoulder plate and casting it aside. “From this moment forth, I am named Nusum-Adu, the Master Governor’s Second! Ensure all records, all personnel, acknowledge this!

The Hunter Prime, the Patriarch’s personal executioner, has arrived to assist us in dealing with the Caitian terrorist elements! And as much as I am certain we do not need him here, we will still offer him all the respect due to his stature!” He nodded to one technician. “Signal our readiness for his transport!”

Nearby, almost forgotten, the pathetic figure of Renthri Lessade, a cowardly Caitian male and former governor of some misbegotten part of this planet, whom the Ferasans has elevated to serve as the ostensible First Minister, though in reality he was nothing more than their puppet spokesman, and a piss-poor one at that, rose from his seat. “Is there- Is there something I can do, Sire?”

Nusum-Adu barely glanced at him. “Yes: crawl back into your wine bottle and stay silent.” As the technicians complied with his orders, Nusum-Adu ran through his head what to say and do. Ever since he was a cub, he had more than a little youthful hero worship for the Hunter Prime, reading all the stories about his superior strength and senses, his matchless skills and unparalleled success in tracking and killing not only the most ferocious beasts on Ferasa Prime, but the enemies of the Patriarch.

But that was a lifetime ago. Now, he had to be an adult.

A red quantum transporter cloud shimmered into existence in the centre of the room, coalescing into the largest Ferasan Nusum-Adu had ever encountered: standing two metres tall, at least a head higher than the tallest Ferasans present, broad-shouldered, tan-furred with sabreteeth longer and more prominent than most, parts of his mane braided behind him.

He wore a black unmarked utilitarian all-weather jumpsuit, boots and gloves, carried several black bags and cases in his right paw... and on his left forearm, perched on a padded surface, a large, rust-plumed dragonhawk opened its curved beak and hissed, looking ready to launch itself and fly around the enclosed space of the Centre.

Nusum-Adu swallowed as he focused on the new arrival, instantly feeling like he had been assessed and judged in a single glance from those ice-blue eyes. Wanting to regain his sense of authority, he stepped forward. “Hunter Prime, I am Nusum-Adu, son of Master Governor Melem-Adu. Welcome to the Ferasan Territory of Cait. I have prepared a briefing of the current security situation-“

“Window,” the visitor interrupted, his voice more a growl of warning than an announcement.

“Excuse me?”

The Hunter Prime looked around with mild annoyance, indicating the bird. “Nyx was confined for too long on the starship. She needs to fly. Take us to a window. Now.”

Nusum-Adu bristled, but bit back the urge to respond to the obvious disrespectful response from their guest. “There is an open balcony in your quarters in the upper levels.”

*

Nusum-Adu kept glancing at the bird as they proceeded into a lift to the upper levels. “A handsome pet. I thought they were extinct?”

The new arrival never answered, never even acknowledged the comment, having no desire to engage in small talk.

“Did you have a good journey from Ferasa Prime?”

“No.” He offered nothing more, silently hoping the fool would take the hint.

He didn’t, of course, making an amused sound, as if trying to show he was in on some sort of banter between them. “You know, I’ve heard a lot about your exploits, but very little about you; I was almost beginning to think you were more legend than real.”

He made no response.

They stepped out into a curved corridor, Nusum-Adu leading the way. “So... do they just call you ‘Hunter Prime’, or do you actually have a name?”

His guest breathed in, knowing where this would lead. “Valtiri.”

The curt response prompted Nusum-Adu to ask, “That’s... it? What about the rest? Your Patronymic Suffix? Your Pride Name?”

“I have neither.”

“That’s- That’s not possible! Surely someone must have Named you?”

“I Named myself. I am Prideless.”

The answer made the other male stop in his tracks and face him, frowning in indignation. “Is this some joke? You can’t be Prideless! Where are you from?”

“I was raised on the Tundra of Forochel, where I still reside.”

“Forochel? That’s... Peasant Country! No Ferasan from the likes of Forochel could rise to become the Hunter Prime! The Patriarch’s own Assassin!”

Now Valtiri bared his teeth, having expected this from the start. “I did. I have never possessed influence or connections, just merit and muscle... but this more than sufficed for me. A fact that seems too difficult for smaller minds to grasp.

Still, if my humble nomenclature offends your sensibilities, you may continue to address me as ‘Hunter Prime’. Or ‘Sire’.”

Nusum-Adu bristled at the suggestion, continuing down the corridor once more, thinking, I'll never call you Sire, you ignorant low-bred peon.

Never knowing that Valtiri heard the thought as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud.

The quarters were as Valtiri expected – spacious, soft, decadent, and therefore alien to him – but he approved of the open balcony, and the thick, balmy air that wafted in. He felt the eagerness of his companion to take flight, after being cooped up for so long in the starship that carried them to this new world, and set down the belongings carried in his other paw. Go, my friend, stretch your wings and explore.

The dragonhawk heard the thoughts he projected into her head and complied, launching herself out into a cobalt sky darkening into a golden fire with the setting sun. Valtiri followed out onto the balcony, drinking in the scents, sounds and sights of the city below. The gravity was slightly heavier here, the air tinted with more oxygen. But he would soon acclimate.

“Was that wise?” Nusum-Adu asked from further inside. “What if your pet can’t find its way back to you?”

Valtiri looked beyond the city, to the surrounding mountains, carpeted with lush dark green forests. He had read as much as he could on Cait to prepare for his assignment here; unlike Ferasa, much of this world remained pure, untouched, blessedly untarnished by the grubby paws of civilisation. “Nyx is my partner, not my pet. And dragonhawks have remarkable navigational abilities-”

No- Please don’t touch me-

The anxious thought had slipped unbidden into Valtiri’s mind, making him spin around to face a third figure in the guest quarters: an ink-furred Caitian female, short, petite, a cub barely out of her first Season, standing there wearing next to nothing, flinching as the other male stood closely behind her, pawing her as he asked, “Like her? Fresh off the farm, she is. No previous owners.”

Valtiri strengthened his psychic shields; the fear and shame he felt from her was almost palpable. “Who is she?”

“Part of your Welcome Package. She was marked for the Breeding Camps, but she’s all yours, for the duration of your stay. Split the little virgin open. Beat her to a pulp. You can even kill and eat her afterwards.” Nusum-Adu chuckled lecherously as she began weeping at his words, licking the side of her muzzle as he reached around to start undressing her. “Here, inspect her for yourself-”

Quickly, more quickly than anyone would expect for one of his size, Valtiri drew up, grasping the other Ferasan’s forearm to twist it away from the female, shoving her aside as he clamped his other huge paw around Nusum-Adu’s throat, lifting him up off the floor as if he weighed nothing and easily keeping him suspended.

Nusum-Adu hung there, dangling like a piece of meat, trying in vain to free himself, as the Hunter Prime leaned in closer and hissed through bared, gleaming teeth, “Never touch her again. Never touch any female on this world again. If you do, I’ll know, and I swear you’ll end up a doormat outside my cabin back in Peasant Country. Do you understand?”

Nusum-Adu snarled, eyes and scent filled with outrage... and fear, his words strangled out of him. “You- You can’t-”

“You’re not listening, you bullying little cur,” the Hunter Prime whispered, increasing the pressure. “I asked you if you understood.”

“Y-Yes!”

“Good.” Valtiri let him go.

Nusum-Adu collapsed with a cry and crawled backwards, coughing and sputtering as he caught his breath, before helping himself back to unsteady feet, tail drooping, clutching his throat and forearm, breath whooshing from his nostrils as he glared back. “How- How dare you? When- When my father hears of this, he’ll-”

“-He’ll do nothing, not if he’s wiser than you... which admittedly can’t be too challenging a feat.” His pointed to the door. “Leave. Leave and never cross my path again. It’s sickening that you breathe the same air as me. Don’t make me remedy that.”

Nusum-Adu glared at him some more, almost looking ready to ignore common sense and try something else. Instead he rose and departed, stumbling, sneering at the female, as if she was responsible for his humiliation.

Valtiri looked to her now, reaching into her mind and finding her name. “I am sorry for that, Cselas...”

She was wiping tears from her muzzle, but now started at her name spoken aloud. “How- How did you-”

“A secret gift of mine, one that has served me well, once harnessed and controlled.” He noticed a silk dressing gown hanging on a nearby wall hook, retrieved it and handed it to her, keeping his distance, keeping his voice soft and gentle and unthreatening. “Here, you look cold. Cselas, could you please be so kind as to fetch some tea?”

Cselas tightened the cord on the dressing gown, clearly grateful for the additional clothing, but now she paused. “You- You want... tea?”

He nodded. “A civilisation can be best judged on the quality of their tea; whatever is most popular among your people will be fine, I’m certain. Then I would like to share tea with you, and talk, and learn more from you about your people and your world.

The bed is yours tonight; I prefer the floor. And in the morning, I will ensure you are returned to your home safely, and not be troubled again.” He indicated the door. “The tea, please.”

“Y-Yes! Of course, Sire!” Hope and gratitude suffused Cselas’ scent and posture, her thoughts and emotions, as she practically raced out the door to fulfil his request.

Alone now, Valtiri lifted up one of his belongings, a long black case, and set it on the bed, flipping the lid open to reveal the components of his rifle, nestling in velvet compartments: the barrel, buttstock, forestock, grip, magazine well, multispectral scope, leather shoulder strap. He much preferred to use his teeth and claws to bring down his quarry, having been raised to believe it was a gesture of the highest respect a predator could show its prey, but there were times when needs must.

With a strong sense of ritual, he began to fit them all together, snapping each part into place, until the complete weapon was in his paws. Then he returned to the balcony, raising the rifle and aiming it towards the horizon... not to fire at anything, but to get a better look through the scope at the landscape beyond, in the dying light of the day, anticipation rising within him.

This was what he lived for. He had no interest in power or politics, in love or war. He didn’t care about the fate of his own race, or the Caitians, or anyone or anything else in the Galaxy. He lived for the Hunt.

And somewhere out there on this world, Esek Hrelle and his daughter Sasha awaited him.

They would be worthy prey...

*

“Personal Log, Stardate 53117.2, Captain Esek Hrelle, recording: My daughter Sreen and I have been rescued from the fishing vessel Highsun by the crew of a hitherto-unknown Caitian assault carrier, the Deep Keep, which I previously believed was a secret base set up by Ma’Sala Shall. As it turned out, the ship and the helijets launched from her possess an advanced cloaking device superior to even the Caitian Prowl systems, along with numerous weapons that, frankly, make me drool, and believe we might have a fighting chance against the Ferasans and the Jem’Hadar.

They have collected the crew of the Highsun, treating those injured and sending them on their way before Enemy reinforcements arrive. And my older daughter Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle has arrived as well with her associates in her own flyer, to take us back to the Island... along with an old friend and colleague, the Delphine Starfleet Counselor Dr Wheelie and his family, trapped on Cait while on shore leave when the Ferasans invaded.

Now we’re bringing the Commanding Officer of the Deep Keep and some of her senior officers to Kaijushima Island, to give them a tour and discuss the next steps to take to defeat the Enemy...”

*

Captain Csara Mrorr was a stocky female about Hrelle’s age, with ash-grey fur and scars on her forehead and muzzle, who wore her decorated red and black Planetary Navy uniform well as she sat at the table in the Conference Room, looking around in appreciation and nodding. “You’ve done well here, Captain Hrelle. You have secured the dependents of your fellow Starfleet personnel, as well as those of the surviving Caitian Militia and Planetary Navy, and have established an effective intelligence-gathering network to the Kaetini scattered among the rest of the Motherworld.

You’ve made the transition to my assuming command that much easier. Thank you.”

Hrelle, dressed once more in his Starfleet uniform after days disguised as a civilian, tensed- as, underneath the table, he felt his wife Kami’s paw on top of his, squeezing gently, her meaning clear: Stay Calm. Since their reunion, she had refused to leave his side, almost as much as she refused to put down their sleeping infant daughter in her arms. And he was doubly glad that she had, needing her Counselor’s gifts to help confirm his own suspicions about Mrorr’s ultimate intentions. “Captain, there appears to be a misunderstanding-“

She looked up to the young sepia-furred male on her left. “My Second Officer Lieutenant Commander H’Nille here will assume command of the Island, linking your communications network to the Deep Keep’s own.”

“Captain-“

“-And I’ll be taking the Militia and Planetary Navy personnel you have sequestered here into active duty. Of course I have no authority to conscript any Starfleet personnel, but you and your loved ones are free to continue remaining in hiding here until we’ve restored control-“

“Captain Mrorr,” Hrelle repeated, more forcefully now. When he had her attention and she stopped speaking, he continued. “As I was saying, there appears to be a misunderstanding. I didn’t bring you here to take command of our facilities. At best, this will be a joint command, with both of us working together.”

The female stared hard at him. “Starfleet has no authority here, Captain.”

“Actually, Captain,” Kami interjected evenly, adjusting the sleeping Sreen in her free arm. “The Federation Charter, which Cait signed when our world joined over a century ago, adjures the senior ranking Starfleet officer present to take command during global emergencies, in the absence of appropriate civilian authorities.”

Mrorr leaned back in her chair, resting her elbows on the arms and steepling her thick fingers as she focused on Hrelle. “Well, then... as the senior ranking Starfleet officer present, Captain, perhaps you can update my officers and myself as to the progress that Starfleet has made to date in liberating us?”

Hrelle tensed once more, knowing that he could hardly avoid the inevitable response. “There is a communications blackout beyond Cait. But it is my belief that Starfleet forces are currently caught up in more... strategic battles.”

 “‘More strategic’?” Mrorr echoed bitterly. “You mean, as in ‘More important’?”

“No, that is not what I mean, Captain. The Dominion has been targeting many worlds in the neighbouring sectors: Vulcan, Betazed, Andor, Earth. Starfleet resources are limited-“

“And were Starfleet resources limited during all those times since we joined the Federation, when the Ferasans invaded our space to attack us and our colonies? Or were those blatant invasions of our territory dismissed as ‘internal conflict’, given our shared history with the Ferasans?”

“Captain, I don’t intend for this to descend into a historical or political debate-”

He stopped as Sreen began stirring, sensing the growing unrest in the room even in her sleeping state. Kami shifted her hold on her cub once more, taking the opportunity in the break in the argument to ask, “Captain Mrorr, given your particular role, you must have known Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall – my late mother? Perhaps well?”

Mrorr nodded, her expression softening. “Yes, Counselor, I did. She was a fine warrior. The best. And she spoke of you, her family, with great love and affection. She will never be replaced.”

Kami nodded back affably. “Thank you, I certainly agree.”

“I think we can all agree on that,” Hrelle affirmed, recognising from experience his wife’s effort to de-escalate the tension. “It was Ma’Sala’s intention for the Deep Keep to be built and maintained Off the Grid, not on any official manifest, in the event of military catastrophe.

The other Captain wrinkled her muzzle. “Yes. We were designed not to officially exist. Everything about us – our construction, our crew, our specifications – was outside nearly all levels of official documentation. Our personnel were on an elaborate rota that made them appear at various Militia bases throughout Cait in order to maximise our secrecy, and we would be resupplied via tenders disguised as commercial vehicles. We were designed as a secret reinforcement for the Militia and Planetary Navy.” She paused and reached for her coffee. “Never in a million years did I expect that we would end up being the only military resource left standing, after the Day of Infamy.”

“And what were your orders in the event of such a Day?”

Mrorr looked distinctly uncomfortable at the line of questioning... but to her credit, didn’t shirk from it. “To stand by, stay hidden at the bottom of the Iranu Trench in the Sea of Mor, monitor and assess the situation, and await orders from authorised military or government authorities aware of our existence.

And so we did... until hours became days, and then weeks. Then we made tentative attempts to reach contacts on and beyond the Motherworld, have sent field agents to various locations to gain intelligence... with limited success. But lacking the contacts you possess among the Kaetini and other sources, our efforts pale beside your own.”

She glanced up at the Tactical Board on the wall, noting the various hotspots around Cait. “The global broadcast you arranged, and the subsequent search the Enemy undertook to find you in Sekuro and the Free Seas, convinced me to finally seek you out. And I’m glad we did. Now, combining your intelligence with our firepower, we can finally finish off the Enemy.” She pointed at the map, at First City in the M’Mirl Province. “By striking at the very heart of their operations.”

“The Capitol Building?” Hrelle prompted, frowning. “It’s over four thousand kilometres distant, in the Northern Hemisphere; your helijets haven’t the range, unless you move the Deep Keep closer, into the more crowded waters of the Gulf of Rhun.”

“We’re also equipped with a payload of hypersonic missiles,” she informed him. “With cloaks and variable-yield tricobalt warheads. We can target any point on the planet, with a Circular Error Probable of just under three metres.”

“With tricobalt warheads, that level of precision isn’t very necessary,” Hrelle pointed out soberly. “Even at your lowest yield, you’ll take out the Capitol Building and everything for half a kilometre surrounding. There are hundreds of Caitians there and in the immediate vicinity, captive and enslaved, who will be killed as well in such an attack.”

“Hundreds of thousands of Caitians have already been killed, Captain,” Mrorr pointed out archly. “We can’t abrogate the opportunity to take out the Enemy and end the Occupation because of the side effect of collateral damage.”

“Perhaps we could get advanced warning to the Caitians there?” Kami suggested. “To evacuate just before the strike?”

“Too risky, Counselor,” Mrorr replied. “If the Ferasans see the movement and question some of them, they could evacuate before the missile reached them.”

“I agree,” Hrelle responded, “But there are other factors making me reluctant to agree to this. The brief tour of your vessel impressed me with its firepower and other abilities... but it’s still one vessel.”

She half rose from her seat, paws on the table, looking ready to leap across in challenge as she raised her voice. “My ship and crew are more than a match for the Enemy! As we proved today, when we saved you and your daughter there!”

Sreen reacted to the sudden tension, waking up enough to make a tiny roar in defence, before Kami settled her again. Hrelle reached across to gently stroke the infant’s muzzle with the tips of his fingers, but kept his eyes fixed on Mrorr as he gently – but firmly – insisted, “Please sit down, Captain. I will remain grateful to you and your crew for your timely assistance. But that doesn’t detract from the fact that your chief strength lay in your invisibility – not only your cloak, but your anonymity.

Your intervention today will have inevitably raised suspicions; a further action on your part will undoubtedly divert all of their resources towards tracking you down. Especially the Jem’Hadar; their technology is in places superior to even Starfleet’s, and they have experience with penetrating cloaks and shields. If you are going to take action, I want it to mean something.”

“Captain Mrorr,” Kami added softly. “I will be eternally in your debt for saving my husband and daughter. The strength and courage you and your crew showed is a testament to the faith my mother put in you. I want all of you to survive to reap the benefits of your strength and courage. My daughter – all the cubs and people of Cait – need you to survive.”

Hrelle watched his wife’s words affect the other Captain – as intended – and she finally nodded, focusing on Hrelle again. “The Ferasans have been here long enough. What do you propose, Captain?”

He leaned forward, folding his paws on the table. “We have only just established a secure communications and intelligence gathering system with the Enemy network. I want our people to run a series of tactical assessments of other suitable targets, their numbers, strengths and weaknesses, in order for your ship to launch a simultaneous strike: not just their command centre, but the military installations they will have set up. I don’t intend to target the camps where our people are being held, just the ones purely held by the Enemy.”

Mrorr stared hard at him. “And how long will that take? How many more of our people have to die before we finally take action?”

Now Hrelle rose to his feet, feeling his patience erode despite his efforts. “We have already been ‘taking action’, Captain. I am as eager to drive the Enemy off our world as you are... but we may only get one good opportunity. I don’t intend us to waste it. Is that clear?”

Mrorr rose as well again. “Crystal, Captain. I will return to the Deep Keep with my fellow officers... but I would like to leave my Second Officer here to act as Liaison with you, if that’s acceptable.”

“It is; I’ll have Lieutenant Commander Tshal escort you back to your vehicle on the surface.” He walked around the table and offered his paw. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have encountered you... and that we’re working together towards saving our world and our people.”

Mrorr seemed to hesitate... before finally accepting the paw. “As am I, Captain. As am I. And when this is all finally over, I look forward to getting egregiously drunk with you.”

After the meeting, Hrelle stepped out into an adjacent corridor with Kami and Sreen, feeling relieved. “Mother’s Cubs, that was more tense than I had expected.” He reached out and gently teased Sreen’s tail sticking out of her onesie. “What is her problem?”

“The same as many of us, Esek: Trauma. So many Military people she knew are dead, so much destruction. And then there’s Guilt, the guilt of not taking action before now, even if it was the right thing to do.” She reached up and smacked his paw. “Stop that, she’s settled down again, I don’t want her waking up.”

“Sorry. Anything else you want me to do?”

“Yes, never go missing again. Where are you going now?”

Hrelle stopped at a junction. “To the Command Bay, to get things started on that Tactical Assessment for Mrorr. Then there’s some business arisen in Shanos Minor.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve left you a report on it. The city’s making the most vocal protests against the Occupation.”

He grunted. “I’m not surprised; it’s a big college town..., lots of idealistic cubs barely out of their first Season but still thinking they can shift the course of the Universe.”

She cooed mockingly. “Ooh, listen to the ancient wizened old cat; we’ll get you a rocking chair and a porch to sit on and grouse about the weather and the state of popular music.” Then she grew serious again. “The Ferasans are increasing their efforts to silence dissent. The more vulnerable are having to be smuggled out on the Shepherd’s Line.”

He nodded; the Kaetini helped set up the so-called Shepherd’s Line, clandestinely moving at-risk Caitians out of the locked-down city through the maintenance tunnels in the Mithram mountains surrounding Shanos Minor, to be ferried to the forests beyond and eventually under new identities to smaller villages in the rest of Nashea Province. “I might head over there with Sasha, the security needs to be strengthened at the checkpoints on the inland side of the mountains.”

“Take Jhess as well; he’s been trying to contact his ex-wife and son since all of you returned, without luck. Also, he’ll know the city, and maybe convince them to join us here.”

“Kami!” The figure of Mirow, Kami’s firstborn from her previous marriage, rushed up, his face and scent awash with excitement and anxiety, his tail practically slapping people he dodged around them to reach his mother. “It’s Ptera! She’s gone into labour! With her mother still back home-“

She smiled. “I understand, and I’ll be honoured to be with both of you for the birth.” Still cradling Sreen, Kami stroked the side of Mirow’s face quickly with her other paw, before looking to Hrelle. “You go on, do what you need to do.”

“Thanks.” He reached for Sreen. “Here. I’ll take her back-“

She smacked his paw away playfully again. “No you won’t! The last time you had her, you went off fishing for three days! We have a Crèche set up already here, plenty of cubs and carers!”

“Fine, I’m off, I’ll find Sasha and send her over-”

Kami shook her head. “She won’t appreciate being disturbed right now. She’s in her flyer up top debriefing Lt Mori.” Then she slipped an arm around her son’s and led him away.

Hrelle stood there for a moment, not getting why Sasha would be doing something like that there when there was a perfectly good conference room at she meant... until the proverbial penny dropped.

*

In her cabin in her flyer the Tailless, Sasha lay naked and entwined against the hot furry body of Mru Mori, aware of how little room there actually was for two people for any length of time to just lie there. She smiled to herself; it’s a good thing you like to be on top...

It was dark, at least by human standards, the only illumination from tiny lights on a nearby table, and the air was still and filled with the scents of sweat and sex. She had an arm draped over him, and his tail kept twitching against her groin as he made sleepy sounds.

She basked in the afterglow, not caring if she stank now from the exertion. After returning and ensuring Dad and Sreen were reunited with Kami and Misha and the rest of the family, and that Dr Wheelie and the rest of the Delphines, following them underwater in their aquashuttle, located the Island’s subdock beneath the lagoon, she returned to her flyer – but not before finding Mori, off duty, and offering to give him a tour of her ship.

A tour that started and ended in her cabin. She didn’t have a Caitian’s keen nose, but even she sensed his attraction to her, an attraction she shared to a certain degree. And now, with a little break between kicking Death’s ass, she needed a diversion. And Mru proved... eager... to help her out with that.

But soon, all too soon, the relief and satisfaction began to fade. And the dark thoughts returned.

Bollocks.

Then Mori seemed to sense her change of mood and stirred back to wakefulness, turning to look over his shoulder at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied hoarsely. Damn, she forgot how much of a screamer she could be...

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t... bad for you, was I?”

“What? No! Couldn’t you tell?” She smirked in the darkness. “Wait, I wasn’t your first, was I?”

“Well... my first human, anyway. Was I your first Caitian?”

“No. Well, the first male Caitian. And I hope I wasn’t bad for you either.”

“Oh, no! Not at all! I’ve been wanting to, ever since...”

Now she sat up. “Ever since when?” She poked him in the back. “Come on, Stud, no point in being coy now.”

He sat up as well, and even in the darkness, she could almost see the look of embarrassment he wore. “Well... I’ve heard a lot about you, read a lot about you, before I met you in the fur- sorry, flesh. I wasn’t sure what to believe. Then I saw that broadcast of you in Shanos Minor, defending the students against the Ferasans with your Kaetini sword... and then the other day in Sekuro, when you killed that Caitian traitor, chopped off his head as a warning-”

She tensed. “Does blood and violence turn you on, Mru?”

“No! Honestly, no! It’s just... at times like that, you seem so... confident! Strong! In control!”

She took in his head, wiping the seat from under her breasts and onto her crumpled sheets. “Believe me, Sport, at times like that, I feel many things... but in control is not one of them.”

He started to reply, but then both lovers started at a loud rapping on her cabin door, as behind it, the voice of her little brother Misha carried through. “Sasha! You and Mru stop having sex and come with me!”

That made Mru laugh out loud... until Sasha smacked him on his furry shoulder as she switched on the lights and hopped off the bed, nearly falling over as she reached for her clothes, feeling her skin flush, cursing under her breath. “Get dressed.” When she had enough on, she slid open the door, seeing her little brother standing there in shorts. “Misha, Mru and I were not having sex! We were... just having a nap!”

He frowned up at her, stuck his head in, sniffed, and drew back with a disgusted expression. “Lie!”

Mru burst out laughing. “No use denying it, Sash. Caitians learn about it from a very early age. We can’t help it; our senses are too keen to not pick up the signs and ask about it. I’m sure he’s heard his Mama and Papa plenty of times-”

Misha nodded in eager agreement. “Yep! Papa’s a Horncat!”

“Enough, from both of you!” Sasha looked down at Misha. “Baby Brother, I’ve had a long rough couple of days, I need to rest-”

“No rest! Doc Wheelie wants to see you!”

That made her start. “Doctor Wheelie?” She swallowed and glanced over at Mru. “See you Down Below... and no, that’s not a euphemism.”

The air outside was its usual hot and clammy, as she walked barefoot through the soft, uneven grass, following Misha towards the lagoon. “So... it must be pretty cool, talking with a Delphine for the first time, huh Baby Brother?”

He snorted as he led the way like an explorer, swatting aside huge lime-green tropical fronds. “I met him before! We’re friends!”

Sasha smiled. “Yes, but you were just an infant, no bigger than Sreen is now.”

“No, I ’member him! He help us! Even Mama! She was hurting, even hurt Papa ’cause of it, and it made me cry. But Doc Wheelie helped her.”

Her smile dropped at the memory of Kami’s initial denial of the level of trauma she had undergone, six years ago, when the serpentine Vlathi had invaded the Surefoot to kill them all. “Wait, who told you about that?”

He tapped the side of his head with his forefinger. “Told you, I ’member!” He looked back at her, shaking a finger. “You have too much sex, it clogs up your ears!” He pointed at her lower half. “And you’re walking funny too, like Mama does!”

Sasha felt herself flush. “Just get moving, Squirt. And you better believe I’ll be teasing you in a few years when you hit puberty.”

They left the undergrowth and entered a wide clearing surrounding a lagoon of gently-lapping waves, a portion of which was broken by an extension of low flat rocks laid out like a makeshift quay. People from the Facility below were up, dressed in little or nothing, sitting on the rocks or swimming and playing in the water, while several Delphines swam about them, playing... or, Sasha guessed, Counseling.

She knew Delphines worked as incredible navigators and stellar cartographers in Starfleet, but lesser known were their abilities as Counselors, because of their ability to generate a sort of communal telepathy while in the water. Sasha had certainly been astounded by Wheelie’s efforts to help her and her family and friends with their various forms of PTSD after the Vlathi Incident... and it might explain why Misha remembered his own encounter with Wheelie so vividly.

“Hey, the Hero!”

She had been walking along the narrow, white-sanded beach of the lagoon, when the voice came from the centre of the circle of water, and seconds later, a large familiar blue meteor launched itself in their direction, cutting through the water with enviable ease, before the bottlenose Delphine wearing a customised Starfleet harness equipped with a combadge, voder translator and other devices beached itself, kicking up water and sand as he slapped the sand with his fins and cackled, “About time, Leggie!”

Concern rose in Sasha. “Careful! You’ll beach yourself and not be able to get back into the water!”

Doctor Hwii’’!!’’li’!’iei, more colloquially known as Wheelie, cackled and shifted, his flat tail slapping the water. “Oooh, you’re right, whatever will I do? I’m only a sentient being evolved for a watery medium and equipped with various bits of technology! Oh save me, somebody, save me!”

Misha laughed, pointing at Sasha. “Yeah! Too much sex makes you dopey too!”

Wheelie laughed. “That’s right, Little Minnow! Why don’t you go down to the rocks and go swimming with my wife Haha? She might let you ride on her back!”

Misha made a sound of delight and rushed off, stripping as he went, as Sasha looked down at the Counselor, resting her hands on her hips. “Giving rides on her back? A bit demeaning for your people after centuries of exploitation on Earth, isn’t it, Doctor?”

Wheelie kept splashing water upon onto his exposed dorsal side, to ward off the strong sunlight drying off his smooth blue-grey hide. “Hallii’’Haha’!’ana’!’i isn’t exactly jumping through hoops for fish and applause, Lieutenant. Actually, she’ll be examining your little brother’s mental and emotional state, at the behest of your father, following the incident at your Clanlands with the Ferasans. Speaking of which... come on, Leggie, get your clothes off and hop in!”

She flushed – not out of embarrassment; she was the only human among Caitians and Delphines, neither race having any problem with nudity – but knowing what would happen if she entered the water with him. “Did Dad ask you to check on me as well? Or was it Kami or Jhess or Grandpa or-”

He blew a raspberry. “Or... maybe I’ve been keeping track of you since my family and I have been stranded, I’ve seen you in action... and I’m offering you the chance to speak with someone who isn’t a member of your family.” He paused, before adding, a little more soberly than usual, “I’m a Starfleet Counselor, Sasha. And your friend.”

She stood there for a moment, before breathing out and disrobing, as Wheelie manoeuvred himself backwards out of shallow water, chittering happily, “That’s it, Leggie! Get in and grab my fin and I’ll drag you out somewhere private! But if my wife asks, just say all you’re grabbing is my fin, you horny ape!”

Sasha tried to keep wearing a serious face – and failed – as she rushed quickly into the water, wanting to get deep enough to hide herself, before Wheelie sided up to her, and she took hold of his dorsal fin and let him carry her away from the others, before finally releasing her hold and letting herself float. Further away from shore, but not visible to the rest of the ocean, the water was blessedly cool, and the waves a gentle undulation.

The Delphine swam around her in a large lazy circle. “Well I must say, if my family and I have to be stuck behind enemy lines, we couldn’t have picked a better spot! I can see why the Caitians are so proud of this world of theirs!”

Sasha moved her limbs slowly, just enough to stay afloat, wishing she had taken some nanoprobes to minimise any potential skin burning from so much direct exposure. “Aren’t you worried for them? If the Enemy comes-”

“-Then they’ll have a fight on their hands. But then you know all about that. You’ve had to spill some blood here.”

She lifted up her head to face him. “I didn’t start all this!” She shut up, realising she sounded far more defensive than she had wanted.

“Never said you did, Sasha. I daresay none of the times you’ve shed blood – or spilled it – have been because of anything you started. You’re just doing the best you can under the circumstances. Fortunately your best can be pretty damn brilliant.”

She looked away.

He swam back into her eyeline, the voder-translated voice sounding more serious, confidential. “I told you when we last met that you were a Hero. And everything that’s happened to you since then has only reinforced that, with the Kaetini and your valour in battle with the Dominion at Khazak. You have a fierce love in your heart: for your father, your family and friends, for your adopted people the Caitians, and for justice and protection of the innocent. It’s amazing.

But now I’m seeing the hate grow in there. And it’s a Beast that can be just as fierce as your love. But just as destructive to yourself as to those at the Business End of your sword.”

Sasha turned away again, looking back at the shore, suddenly feeling very open and vulnerable. “Look, Doctor, maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all, this sun is a little too hot for me-”

He brushed up against her now, unwilling to let her ignore him or swim away. “You’re not alone, Sasha. You don’t have to carry the Galaxy on your shoulders – or, for that matter, the guilt and pain you feel. That’s just an excuse to let yourself get numb in alcohol or sex. Or in hurting yourself in reckless acts of alleged heroism... or just out-and-out self-harm.

Seek your father at such times. You’re not too old to do so. He has his Beast too.”

Now she looked to him again. “No he doesn’t, Doc, not anymore. He had been poisoned a couple of years ago, and needed corrective brain surgery. Those parts of him that were his Beast are gone.”

“Are they?” he asked. “I was swimming with him in the waters off that fishing boat he was on with your little sister. I saw something, still down there. Deep, yes, and maybe not in the same form or as neurologically developed as it once was after years of constant trauma. But it was there.

We all carry Beasts, Sasha; they’re the amalgamation of all the wrong paths we can take in response to the horrors we inevitably face. And they can evolve in different directions. Some of our Beasts can turn in on us, become our own worst enemy, and consume us.

Don’t let yours consume you...”

*

Later that evening, down in the Command Bay, Hrelle could feel the tension on all sides of him.

On his right, his nanny and friend Jhess Furore stood, tail twitching, none of his usual jocularity anywhere in evidence as the former Sabrecat soldier watched the recordings of the demonstrations in his home city of Shanos Minor, recordings secretly obtained, as there had been a communications blackout raised by the Ferasans in the last few hours.

Hrelle said nothing, having already learned that the male had tried without success to reach his ex-wife and son, still in the city.

On his left, Captain Mrorr’s Second Officer Lieutenant Commander H’Nille stood, watching and listening with a critical authority belying the young sepia-furred male’s years. Since his Captain had departed to return to the Deep Keep, H’Nille had clung to Hrelle like a sauce stain on his fur, making little judgemental sounds at just about everything he saw and heard.

And before them, Lt Mori sat, repeatedly attempting to override the increased interference despite their recent inroads into the Enemy’s communications network to get to the secret communicator Sasha had left with the Furores. And repeatedly failing, “Sorry, Captain, still nothing.”

“Try again,” Jhess snapped.

Hrelle glanced at him, but then asked, “What about the home communicator? Can we carry our own signal through to it?”

“No, Sir – the Ferasans dismantled the grid in an attempt to prevent the locals from organising more protests.”

“And their Transporter Network? Can we use it again, like when you beamed me to my Clanlands?”

The younger male shook his head. “Sorry, Sir, they’ve rerouted security protocols for the Transporter Network, and I’m not getting anywhere with it.“

“Maybe you would be,” Jhess growled. “If you and Sasha hadn’t been busy this afternoon rutting.”

Mori bristled in embarrassment, as did Hrelle, who looked to Jhess now. “Lieutenant Mori has worked above and beyond the call of duty here since our arrival, often doubling shifts in an effort to secure us. What he – and Lieutenant Hrelle – do in their well-deserved downtime is their business. Mr Mori, cease further attempts, and return to working with Agent Nenjo in compiling the list of viable targets for Captain Mrorr.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jhess drew closer. “Esek, my family-”

Hrelle faced him fully. “Your family had the opportunity to come here long before now, but chose not to. I know the situation has worsened, and they’re still welcome here, but I can’t risk our security to keep trying to reach them from here.”

“But-”

He reached out and rested a reassuring paw on the other male’s shoulders. “Sasha and I are leaving in six hours to get to the Mithrim Mountain Range to see what we can do to improve security and transport on the Shepherd’s Line; you’ll accompany us, and then use the tunnels to get into the city, and get them out.” He paused. “Get some sleep before then, you’re gonna need it to get through the tunnel system and find them.”

The spotted male stared hard, looking ready to challenge the order... until common sense reigned again, and he let his tension and guilt seep from him as he nodded. “Of course, Esek. My apologies.” He looked to Mori. “Please excuse my words before, Lieutenant.”

As Mori nodded back in acknowledgement and Jhess left the Command Bay, Hrelle heard H’Nille make another noise, and turned to face him now. “Lieutenant Commander, do you need to attend our Medical Bay?”

The younger male started. “Excuse me?”

“Our Medical Bay? You’ve been making tics and noises for the past hour, so I’m assuming you have something wrong with you. What is it, jungle allergies? Vsashi’s Syndrome, perhaps? Crotch Mange?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” He breathed out, looking around the Bay critically. “It’s just... well, you’re not running much of a military operation here. There’s no discipline on display. No offence, Hrelle, but I can’t understand why you think you shouldn’t turn over everything to Captain Mrorr.”

Hrelle grunted, drawing a little closer to H’Nille. “You’re right, Lieutenant Commander, this isn’t much of a military operation. That’s because we’re not just active service Starfleet or Militia or Planetary Navy here, we’re also retirees, and Kaetini, and Skycats, and civilians. Everyone is needed for this War. They may not all wear uniforms and follow your protocol, but I’ll value each and every one of them. Is that clear?”

H’Nille nodded. “Quite clear.”

“So maybe you’d like to take a seat beside Lt Mori and Agent Nenjo and assist them with your knowledge of the specs and capabilities of your ship, in order to help plan a more effective strike against the Enemy?”

“Very well, Hrelle.”

He started to turn away, but Hrelle took him by the arm and stopped him. “And in future you’ll address me as ‘Captain Hrelle’. Or ‘Sir’. I may only be a Starfleet officer in your eyes, but I’m still deserving of respect. Demonstrate some of that military discipline you critique us for lacking.”

H’Nille bristled at the touch... and almost looked ready to strike out.

And Hrelle was almost ready for that.

Instead the younger male nodded. “Yes, Sir. If you’ll excuse me, Sir?”

Hrelle released him, watching him return to the others, as Hrelle’s combadge chirped, and he tapped it. “Hrelle here.”

Kami’s welcome voice filled the air. “Hey there, Grandpa. Want to see the latest addition to the family?”

He smiled. “I’m on my way...”

*

Minutes later, he felt himself instinctively relax and smile in the Medibay, at the collective scents of his loved ones – Kami, Sasha, Misha, Bneea, Mi’Tree holding a portable recorder – surrounding a bed, where his bond-daughter Ptera sat up, looking exhausted but beatific as she held a swaddled bundle of brown-blonde fur in her arms, with her husband Mirow close beside her. His voice was soft and gentle as he purred, “Well, well, what have we here?”

“It’s a cub, Papa!” Misha informed him. “My niece!”

Nearby, Dr T’Ana, their resident CMO, was finishing sterilising her paws in a unit. “Nothing gets past your son there, Captain.”

“Is everything okay with the newborn, Doctor?”

“Of course it is. Do you see anything but shit-eating grins on everyone’s faces?”

Misha turned to her. “No Rude Words in front of baby cubs!”

Hrelle smiled. “Like you said, Doc, nothing gets past my son. Especially now he’s a big Uncle and has to watch out for the Little Ones.”

T’Ana grunted and left the family, as Ptera invited hoarsely, “Come see my daughter, Captain.”

He accepted, drawing up beside his wife and looking down at the soft, sleeping package. “Ooh, look at you...” He looked up at her glowing parents. “Well done. Well done to both of you.”

Mirow rubbed the side of Ptera’s muzzle. “I did nothing. My wonderful wife here did all the hard work.”

Standing back, but still recording everything, Mi’Tree chuckled, basking in the glow of joy around him. “Well, dear cub, at least you were there for the fun part.”

Beside him, Bneea nudged his husband. “Just record, Great Grandpa, don’t comment.”

Mi’Tree chuckled... and then dropped his smile. “Seven Hells, I’m a great grandfather now... wait ‘til my fan club hears about this...”

Ptera smirked, before looking up at Kami, bronze eyes wide. “Thank you for being with me in my mother’s absence, Kam. I know she’d thank you as well if she could.”

Kami smiled back and rubbed her muzzle against her bond-daughter’s. “It was my honour to stand in for her.” Now she looked to Hrelle. “Do you think it’ll be possible to get a message to Jnill?”

Hrelle smiled as well, taking in the scent of the newborn infant, triggering memories of his first times with Misha and Sreen. “Oh, not a problem, not at all. And it’ll be a very pleasant change to deliver messages of good tidings.”

“Thank you, Esek,” Ptera told him, looking to Mi’Tree. “Are you ready, Great Grandpa?”

Mi’Tree harrumphed... but brought the recorder closer. “When you are...”

Ptera smiled, looking up at Mirow. “Get closer, Little Papa, I want you in the picture.” When he complied, the new mother adjusted her hold on the infant to display her for the recorder, breathing in, her face a mosaic of emotions. “Mother... meet your granddaughter, born an hour ago, weighing in at a healthy 112 shemats. And she came into the world with a tiny little roar, as I would fully expect your granddaughter to do.

And I know that tradition suggests that the first offspring of a joining between clans should have a name that reflects the parents of each of the cub’s parents...” She paused and glanced at Kami with a smile. “But I’ve talked this over with Kami and Mirow, and they agree that, given the sacrifice you’ve made by staying to help save the Motherworld, that we wanted to honour you.”

The infant stirred, as if aware that she was the object of discussion, as Ptera continued. “Meet Jnill Mroara-Lnee the Second, the latest member of our clan... as beautiful and wonderful as her namesake. Mother... you told me once how you felt when you first held me. I never really understood what you meant... until now.

We’re all safe and well here. And soon, we’ll all be together again, alive and free. And you will hold your namesake, and take in her scent, and plan for all the days ahead that she will stand at your side, and learn, and if she’s a tenth as strong and smart and vibrant as you, she’ll be amazing.

Take care. Stay safe. We love you.”

*

Shall Clanlands, Mnara Province:

It was almost midday in this part of the planet, when the Ferasan shuttle swooped over the irregular coastline before slowing down, the sole pilot, a young pewter-furred Ferasan male sat trying his best to just act calmly and professionally and do what his Pridemaster had ordered him to do: fly the Hunter Prime wherever he wanted to go.

But as he initiated the descent sequence, his mind was rushing like a waterfall: okay, okay, you can do this, Runt, just ease it down, slowly, gently, you don’t have to disturb him or his pet, but by the All-Father, the male was so HUGE! He looked like he could kill me with one of his farts! And his bird! It was beautiful, so beautiful, never thought I’d see a live dragonhawk in my lifetime, but Father’s Claws, it could probably eat me for breakfast!

Sitting in the rear of the shuttle, occasionally dipping into the thoughts of the other male, Valtiri suppressed his telepathy, and his amusement. In contrast to the other Ferasans here he had met so far, Runt of the Umber Tail Pride was refreshingly straightforward and free of arrogance and disdain and obsession with power and ambition. He also knew that, from the thoughts of his fellow Pride members when Valtiri encountered them, Runt was given little if any respect... a fact that only raised him in Valtiri’s estimation.

Perched on the adjacent seat, sensing their imminent landing, Nyx fluttered her wings impatiently – and then squawked in anger as the shuttle lurched. Valtiri forwent reaching into the younger Ferasan’s mind to ask aloud, “What is it?”

“Sorry, Sire!” Runt answered back quickly, apologetically. “I startled one of our patrol packs on the Shall Clanlands! They locked their rifles’ targeting systems on us for a moment before I contacted them and told them who was onboard!”

He frowned. “Why are our people on the Shall Clanlands?”

“I believe the Master Governor wanted it monitored in case any of them came back-” He paused, listening to something in his earpiece. “They’ve apprehended some Caitians there, looting the ruins.”

Valtiri tensed. “Inform them of my arrival and land us, please.”

*

It was his first time, touching the actual ground of another planet. It felt good.

Nyx soared high, remaining at least partially linked to him, letting him enjoy her eager thrust into the thin air with all its many scents, and her hunger to sample more of the many tiny edible creatures to be found here.

Valtiri strode out, observing the pile of rubble that was once a large residence, the burnt, smouldering remains of many trees and bushes... the residual scents of Ferasan bodies. Many bodies, shot, hacked, burned. They had obviously been removed days ago, but still, as he walked through the remains, his experience and expertise let him mentally picture how the battle had unfolded, from one point to the next: one Caitian male, fighting and defeating many Ferasans, as he inexorably made his way to the main house, to save his family. It seemed the reputation that Captain Hrelle held had purchase...

With Runt remaining at the shuttle, Valtiri strode up to a pack of Ferasan soldiers, rifles and pistols in paw, surrounding several Caitian civilians near several large stacks of books, paintings, clothes, furniture, and other items obviously salvaged from the wreckage.

He could feel the aggression from the Ferasans, and the fear from the Caitians, even without his telepathy, and focused on the leader of the former, tapping into his mind for his name. “Pack Leader Warad-Elil of the Serpent River Pride: report.”

The other Ferasan, clearly nonplussed at Valtiri somehow knowing his name, recovered quickly, looking as respectful as he could while still demonstrating his elevated status in front of the other males in his Pride. “Hunter Prime, we found these Caitian scum looting the rubble. We were taking them in for questioning as possible terrorists.”

Valtiri glanced at the Caitians: a dozen males and females, some ancient, others no older than fourteen, seemingly led by a short, middle-aged female with shimmering stone-coloured fur and a bushy tail poking out from behind her sundress – and with bruises around her right eye socket and blood on the side of her muzzle. The fear was thick on her... but also anger and defiance.

Valtiri looked to Warad-Elil. “Terrorists? Really, Pack Leader? My, they do appear formidable, all these retirees, cubs, teachers and merchants; my congratulations to you on your triumph here.” He ignored the indignant thoughts of the other Ferasan as Valtiri beckoned to the Caitian. “Come closer, please. You won’t be hurt.” After a pause, he clarified, “Again.”

She drew up to him hesitantly, rubbing her paws together nervously. “What do you want with us?”

Warad-Elil growled. “We ask the questions here!”

“No, Pack Leader,” Valtiri clarified. “I do.” Then he focused fully on the female. “Who are you?”

She raised her muzzle to him. “Eshlinn Praow, a teacher at the local Cub’s School. We all live in this district.” She spared a glance at the Pack Leader. “And none of us are terrorists.”

Valtiri nodded, sensing the truth in her words. He indicated the stacks of possessions. “And what are you doing with these?”

“Salvaging what we can on behalf of the Shall Clan, after you people destroyed their home, since they can’t be here to do it themselves.”

“Why?”

Praow blinked, nonplussed. “Excuse me?”

He looked past her to the others, speaking as much to them as to her. “You know that the Shalls, and especially the Hrelles associated within their clan, are wanted by my people. You risk arrest – and worse – by coming here and potentially being associated as allies. Why, Teacher?”

“Why? Because they’re our neighbours! Our friends!” As the older Caitians behind her made sounds of agreement, she continued, incredulous at his apparent ignorance of their motivations. “Because they’re decent people! Heroes, all of them! They would do the same for us!”

Valtiri turned to the stacks of possessions, kneeling and examining several items, sniffing at them. Having grown up in solitude, his infrequent forays into civilisation on Ferasa Prime never impressed him overmuch. Prides abounded, constantly making and breaking alliances, constantly vying for power and position and wealth... with none of the genuine cordiality, the amity, that the Caitians seemed to display. 

Such community, with a willingness to band together for selfless purposes was with few exceptions alien to his people. “You’ve met the Hrelles, Teacher? Captain Esek Hrelle? His human offspring Sasha Hrelle?”

“No. I only know Captain Hrelle’s cub Misha, and his grandfathers. I’ve never met his father or sister.”

Her thoughts told him otherwise, but he said nothing, probing more subtly as he found a set of soft canvas bags, obviously packed for a quick escape, but left behind in the rush to get away. He opened one, found a Starfleet jacket in Command Red that smelled of Caitian male, taking it. “Are you sure, Teacher?”

“Yes.” No no I won’t say anything you won’t get anything out of me you bastards-

Valtiri moved to the next bag, reaching deeper into Praow’s mind and seeing images: memories of Captain and Lieutenant Hrelle visiting her school, speaking with the cubs, demonstrating their skills with a pair of black-bladed swords that could cut through duranium like it was water. “I have heard much about them, the father and daughter Starfleet soldiers. They are also members of a group of Caitian warriors known as the Kaetini. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, would you, Teacher?”

“No.” I hope they find out and cut off all your heads-

He found more clothes with a female Caitian scent, and then more with an unfamiliar racial odour; he had never met a human before, but the other items themselves confirmed it was Lt Hrelle’s scent. Good, good.

He commandeered one of the bags and stuffed his acquired clothes into it, rising and facing Praow once more. “Please, Teacher, satisfy my curiosity by answering one more question. Captain Hrelle is older, fatter, but he has strength and great experience. Lieutenant Hrelle is younger, fitter, but she is a human, and female, and therefore weaker. Now be honest with me, and on my honour I promise that you will not be harmed. Which do you think will prove a greater challenge for me in combat?”

The female stared, frowning, and he sensed her hesitancy, afraid she was somehow being tricked into saying the wrong thing and being punished. Then he felt her shift, her resolve returning – she was a brave thing indeed – as she looked at him and replied, “I think... I think you underestimate either of them at your peril. They’ve both been trained by Starfleet, by the Kaetini, they’ve fought in space, against the Dominion and Cardassians and Klingons and other threats you can’t even begin to imagine. And if you threaten one of them, you can guarantee the other will fight you with a savagery you will wish you had never awakened.

But if choosing one to fight is a problem for you, maybe you should just face both of them together? If you have the courage, that is?”

Warad-Elil drew up and smacked her across her muzzle, nearly sending her sprawling. “Mind your manners, bitch!”

Valtiri drew in a breath, remaining calm and letting the teacher recover before resuming. “You and your neighbours can continue your work here, without interruption or interference; the Shall Clan is fortunate to have you at their service. Pack Leader Warad-Elil, summon your males over to my shuttle, I have something important to show them.”

Valtiri turned and returned to the shuttle with the gathered clothes, throwing the bag to Runt, even as he reached up into the sky with his mind and called for Nyx. Runt looked to him. “We are leaving now, Sire?”

“Momentarily. I have a final task to complete here.”

Then he turned and faced Warad-Elil and his males as they approached, making a semi-circle around Valtiri, out of view of the Caitians, the Pack Leader smiling. “Hunter Prime, what have you got to show us-”

He had no time to react as Valtiri rushed up and grabbed the other Ferasan, pulling him in close enough to take him by the head and twist it fully around, breaking the neck with a sharp snap.

Around them, Warad-Elil’s Pride members started, making gasps and other noises of shock and horror, jaws dropping, eyes wide and tails snapping in confusion and fear, but none of them actually doing anything more than that.

Valtiri continued to hold up Warad-Elil’s body by the broken neck like a puppet, facing him towards the others. “I promised the Caitian that if she was honest with me, she would not be harmed. She fulfilled her side of the agreement.”

He shook the corpse, as if it was a freshly-caught fish trying to escape his grasp. “This waste of fur, on the other paw, ensured I could not fulfil my side of the agreement. He thought that striking her for her insult to me might please me.”

He let the body drop to the ground. “It didn’t.”

Valtiri flexed his fingers and claws as he looked to each of the fearful faces in turn, teeth fully bared. “Let the Caitians continue here unmolested. Leave this area. Immediately.” He pointed to the body. “Take that garbage with you. And if your Pridemaster wishes to seek vengeance for the killing of your Pack Leader, have him contact the Occupation Headquarters and make an appointment for me to come and skin him alive.”

Nyx swooped down and landed beside the body of Warad-Elil, her sharp beak stabbing at the lifeless eyes. He thought to her, Come, there is no time for that, Nyx.

As the bird obeyed, he followed her into the shuttle, where a stunned Runt was already sitting at the seat in the cockpit, his shock at what he had seen outside still affecting him. Please please please don’t kill me don’t hurt me I’m nothing but I’m not worth killing I promise you-

“Runt,” Valtiri said softly.

The younger male jumped and turned to face him. “Sorry- I’m sorry- oh, fuck-”

Valtiri raised an open paw to cut him off. “Profanity is unnecessary. And unseemly.”

“Sorry, Sire, please- please don’t-”

“As I was starting to say, you do not need to fear me... Pilot.”

“I- I-” He stopped, blinking. “P-Pilot? Forgive me, Sire, but I’m-”

“Yes, I know your Pridemaster and father and brothers call you Runt. It is not even a proper, more  appropriate pre-Naming designation for you like FifthSon. They call you Runt as a joke, a taunt, to belittle you because you are smaller than they... and because you do not share their cruelty, their bloodlust, or their thoroughly-undeserved airs of superiority. And in their minds, that constitutes weakness.

They are bullies. Be anything in this life. Be a liar, be a plunderer, be every shade a scoundrel. But do not be a bully. I cannot abide such as they; their very thoughts are execrable to me. Stay true to your own nature, because the opinions of others as to your worth is of no consequence.

I Name you ‘Pilot’, for your service to me. Yes, I know that legally your Pridemaster is normally the only one to award you a Name... but there are some advantages to being the Patriarch’s Hunter Prime. I will inform your Pride as to your Named status, and of the need to accord you with more respect... and of what will happen to them if they fail to take me seriously.” He paused and added, “Assuming that change of appellation meets with your approval?”

The other male gasped at the sudden declaration... but quickly recovered with a smile. “Yes... Yes it does, Sire! Thank you!”

Valtiri glanced at Nyx, who was nestling into her seat for a nap, as he took his own place. “Then, if you have regained your composure, please take us to the port city of Sekuro. The reports of the Hrelles there recently noted the presence of a member of the Kaetini Order in residence, though details were not forthcoming.” He breathed in, his excitement rising. “The Hunt is Afoot.”

*

Free Seas, Southern Hemisphere:

Captain Mrorr looked up from her PADD as she heard the alerts on the helijets, looking out of the cockpit window as they flew through an unseen perimeter, and the flat, empty plain of water seemingly shimmered, and a gargantuan black vessel appeared floating on the water.

An electric shudder ran through her, as it always did when entering or leaving the advanced cloaking shield surrounding the Caitian Assault Carrier Deep Keep, her ship, working on principles beyond cloaks she had worked with before, principles she could never quite comprehend. This advanced cloak not only affected the omnispectrum, but also phased levels of reality itself, making her feel like they were more ghosts than mortal.

She watched silently as they approached one of the open ports on the starboard side, her usual pride at seeing her ship form the outside eclipsed now with the changing situation... and what awaited her within.

She strode through the corridors and levels to the Bridge, taking in the activity in an instant... and then focusing on the one figure present who was staring directly at her. “Commander K’Row, if you’ll follow me?”

She entered her Ready Room and immediately moved to the replicator. “Sriia Tea, Hot, Two Cups.”

“None for me,” her First Officer declared sharply.

She turned and glanced at him: the male was tall, middle-aged, with trimmed tawny fur and a rugged body beneath his red and black Planetary Navy uniform. His posture was as stiff as his tail. But she said nothing as the two cups still materialised into existence in the replicator alcove, and she lifted them both and set them onto her desk as she continued to regard him. “I was hoping that you might have heard some good news.”

He grunted, his scent and expression taut with anger and grief. “Hope is for dreamers. No, Captain, our undercover operative in Illehull confirmed it from witnesses.”

“Shen-”

“They killed my parents, my brother Tsan,” he suddenly snapped, his voice breaking, his tail snapping against an adjacent shelf. “They took Tsan’s wife, his daughters, away for their filthy experiments in one of their camps, Mother knows where.”

Mrorr breathed in, her empathy for her colleague and friend’s personal loss deep. And though she had heard so many similar stories from other members of her crew who had sought out their families on the mainland. “I’m sorry for your loss, Shen-”

“With respect, Captain, spare me your sympathies. When are we dealing with these murderous bastards?”

She tensed, straightening up to match his formal stance. “Soon. Very soon. I’ve seen the facilities Captain Hrelle is running; his intelligence-gathering resources are considerable. As I stated in my transmission, he is preparing a report for us that will allow us to strike at as many targets at once-”

“I remember what you said, Captain,” K’Row declared. “We don’t need any damn report from some Starfleet apologist! If they were all that eager to wage war, they would be here in force by now! We know where the Capitol Building is! We know where the so-called Master Governor resides! We can cut off the head of the enemy with a single missile!”

“Shen-”

“Why aren’t we launching now?” he demanded, teeth bared.

Mrorr bristled, but refused to let her First Officer and friend control the conversation. “Commander... I understand your rage, and the rage felt by others onboard. Don’t you think I want those Ferasan scum off the Motherworld?

But as much as I hate to admit it, Captain Hrelle had a point: once we reveal ourselves via an attack on the Capitol, the remaining forces will mobilise to track us down, and despite our arsenal and crew, they can overwhelm us. It’s better for all of us to strike as many targets at once, eliminate not just the commanding infrastructure, but every Enemy military facility that we can.

All that Captain Hrelle is asking for is a couple of days. And I’m asking the same from you, and every other member of my crew... I wish I could spare you the time off to grieve-”

“No.” K’Row drew in a sharp breath, letting it out more slowly, before continuing. “No, Captain. We need all hands on deck in the coming days to prepare... and it’d be better to immerse myself in my duties.”

She nodded, grateful that she could count on him. “Thank you, Commander. Lieutenant Commander H’Nille should have a secure comlink established on Kaijushima by now. Make contact, then prepare a series of missile launch and helijets drills; when we get the report, I want to be able to strike without any further delay. Dismissed.”

*

K’Row straightened up again, nodded and departed, ignoring those he passed as he returned to the Bridge, taking his station and preparing the protocols for the first of the drills, confident of their necessity.

At least, in fulfilling his own agenda. He had known Mrorr for many years, was as closer to her than he had been to anyone else who wasn’t a relation; indeed, more than once, he had considered broaching the subject of taking their relationship to a physical level.

But now... now he had to accept that, for all her many strengths, in this instance, Csara was dead wrong. If she had lost family to the Rail-Tails the way he and other officers had done, she wouldn’t be forcing his paw now.

K’Row considered his next course of action, then opened up a secure channel to Engineering, slipping in an earpiece. “Chief Bnol.”

Seconds later, a gruff and tired-sounding female voice responded. “Commander? Why are you contacting me like this instead of the intercom?”

He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the rest of the Bridge crew were distracted by the commencement of his drill protocols. “What I have to say isn’t met for official channels, or other ears.”

Seconds later, Bnol replied. “I’m on a private earpiece now. What is it?”

“Any more word about your granddaughter?”

The Chief Engineer left it hanging for a few seconds. “No. She believed the Ferasan lies about the Metremia Threat and went with them weeks ago, and her parents haven’t heard from her since. Why are you asking this, Shen?”

“The Captain’s choosing not to take any military action.”

“What? Why not?”

“She’s listened to that Starfleet Captain about waiting until more intelligence can be gathered. She calls it caution. I call it cowardice. And with your help, and the help of a select few, I don’t intend to wait.”

“Shen... it’s treason.”

K’Row grunted. “As far as I’m concerned, Bnol, it’s a greater treason to take no immediate action against the Enemy when we can. Now, are you with me? Or do you wish to report me to Mrorr?”

Another pause, and then she answered, “What can I do?”

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN... THREE... TWO... ONE...