Surefoot 12: Caitian Holiday

C'Rash drew up onto the bed over her, her fine furred skin brushing against Sasha's own smooth, pale belly and breasts and making her gasp with how sensitive she felt. "You're an adult. You even have - gasp! - sex. No Caitian our age would let our parents talk to us like that."

"Oh, he's not that bad." She made a sound. "I'm buzzing. I don't wanna sleep."

C'Rash leered over her, tail swishing playfully over her. "I can think of other things we can do."

Sasha grinned. "Whatever you say."

"'Whatever I say'. I like your philosophy." And then C'Rash bent down and began licking and nipping around Sasha's throat, and purring heavily between nips.

Sasha gasped, feeling... feeling...

Sleeping...

*

Thoughts of visiting home had preyed on Hrelle almost from the moment he woke up the next day, and continued as he brought Kami and himself breakfast from the running buffet the house kept going through the day as people awoke and served themselves. There was activity; the younger cubs were out playing in the gardens, while many of the adults busied themselves for when members of Ptera's clan arrived throughout the day and evening, necessitating further shifts in accommodation and erections of shelters outside.

Still, he found excuses to not go, until he discovered Kami and Mirow sitting on the floor of the cub's room, beside a large open crate. He saw the distracted, pensive look on Kami's face. "What's wrong?"

She held a framed photograph, never taking her eyes off of it. "It's Rmorra's things. I had them shipped back here after he died. I haven't seen them in years."

Hrelle understood completely. He remembered what it was like being reunited with Hannah's possessions after they had been shipped back to Earth. He remembered weeping like a cub as he rediscovered and recalled some of the most mundane items that had been saved, sparking shards of memory to blossom.

He drew closer, looked over her shoulder at the image in the frame: an attractive n young male, looking remarkably like Mirow, but clad in the old-fashioned Starfleet uniform of brick-red jacket and black trousers, standing proudly beside a young Kami as she held an infant Mirow. "Very handsome."

"Yes," she agreed, setting aside the photograph and reaching inside the crate. "Yes, he was. With such broad shoulders, and..." Her words trailed away as she produced a vacuum-sealed plasnene case, whose transparent skin revealed a carefully-folded man's maroon shirt. "Mother's Cubs..."

Hrelle understood what it was immediately: a Paraquary, a memento of a deceased loved one kept hermetically contained to retain their scent; preserved properly, it could trigger an intense scent-memory in a Caitian, even after many years, even more intense than seeing or hearing the deceased on a recording. And obviously someone had made a Paraquary for one of Rmorra's belongings. Sadly no one had thought to do the same for Hannah, and he could find nothing among her saved things that properly caught her scent. But then, no one knew he was alive.

And as he looked, he could see that Kami was desperate to open it with her son and drink in Rmorra's scent - but she obviously wanted to do it alone with her cub, with Hrelle's own scent not getting in the way, though she was too polite to say anything.

"Listen," he said finally, "I'm heading out, gonna go get that visit to my clanlands out of the way. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

She looked up at him finally, if reluctantly. "Are you sure you're okay going alone? You don't want me with you?"

He smiled. "Thank you, no. You carry on, I'll see you later."

He closed the door behind him on his way out.

He found Mi'Tree and Bneea in the study, looking over a map of the house and surrounding areas. "Kami and Rmorra are going through Rmorra's things upstairs, I'm heading into town to get the transporter to visit my old stomping grounds. Can I borrow one of the cars?"

Bneea smiled. "Of course, your ID is keyed in, just tell it where you want to go and when you want picked up again."

"Can we expect you back tonight?" Mi'Tree asked.

"Mmm? Yes, definitely. I'm just gonna say a prayer for my mother at her Marker in our Gardens. I promised her I'd do it the next time I was back. I won't be long."

"Really? But you haven't been home in decades! Kami told us you had some issues with your father, but I'm sure once he sees you again, you'll have trouble getting him to let you go again."

Hrelle smiled politely at the male's optimism, and didn't have the heart to explain the full extent of the rift between him and his clan, though he was glad Kami had kept it to herself; it would have just been another reason for Ma'Sala to hate him. "To be honest, I don't think so. I'm frankly more than a bit intimidated by going."

"That doesn't surprise me," came a familiar female voice from the open balcony.

The males turned and watched as Ma'Sala entered, clad in an open dark-blue linen dressing gown and nothing else, and carrying a tall, thin glass with an orange-red sweet-smelling fruit juice. She glared at Hrelle with open contempt. "That doesn't surprise me in the least."

"Give it a rest already, Ma'Sala," Bneea groused.

"Yes, dear girl," Mi'Tree agreed, unconsciously or not stepping between her and Hrelle. "Captain Hrelle is our Little Nova's husband, and our guest-"

She sipped at her drink and continued to glare at Hrelle. "Well? Shouldn't you be going?"

Still confused by her attitude towards him - could it really just be his inability to measure up to Kami's first husband? - he looked to the males. "Thank you... for your hospitality."

*

As he departed the study, the males looked to her, Bneea frowning. "Ma'Sala, you have to stop this. You're not being fair to Esek. He can't help not being Rmorra."

"Quite right, my dear," Mi'Tree agreed, stepping closer. "Why has he raised your hackles so? Is it because Kami chose to take his surname when they married, instead of his more properly taking ours? I know it seems a bizarre custom-"

"No."

"Well, then... he is our Bond-son now, our Little Nova's husband-"

"He's a coward."

The males were stunned, Bneea gasping, "What? How can you say that? He has such an impressive record-"

The Matriarch drank from her glass and grimaced. "He had such an impressive record, when he commanded the Furyk, fighting the Tholians, the Cardassians, the Gorn. That is a man I would welcome into our clan. Not some clown in a dilapidated supply ship running ice cream and mail to scientists in the Leonis Sector and playing with cadets." She finished her drink. "The Bel-Zon broke him."

Mi'Tree frowned. "He's no coward! It's obvious, you just have to talk to him!"

"Well, as much as I appreciate your decades of experience playing a pretend hero and emptying buffet tables, I'll retain my own considered opinion."

"Ma'Sala," Bneea growled darkly. "Kami loves him dearly. And his daughter is simply a delight - even you have to admit that. Can any male who produced a cub like that be that bad? Whatever failings you might find in him, I expect you to treat him cordially."

"Agreed," Mi'Tree added.

"Of course," she assured her husbands - in a tone that did anything but assure them.

*

Sasha woke, her nose filled with musk, her limbs aching, her skin caked in sweat - and C'Rash clinging to her, snoring.

She lay there a while, staring up at the high stone ceiling, watching the white rays of the sun bridge the gap between the window and the opposite wall, as her mind desperately tried to piece together the memories of the night before.

The need to pee made her carefully, silently extricate herself from C'Rash's body, ignoring the bodies in the adjoining beds and padding her way out to the adjacent toilet, sitting there hunched over with her face in her hands.

Holy shit, what had she almost done?

She never had a problem with hangovers or memory loss. It was all coming back to her: the drinking, the dancing, the laughing, the drinking, the flirting, the drinking...

She hadn't thought about Giles even once in the last 24 hours, or whatever passes for a Caitian day. She rubbed her eyes, smelling sweaty, and used the showers while they were unoccupied, appreciating the air blowers built into the surrounding walls, to more quickly dry a Caitian's furry body.

Thoughts of C'Rash returned, but she literally shook her head clear of them and returned for her clothes, not wanting to feel naked and vulnerable right now.

Members of Kami's clan were up and about, everyone politely greeting her, and she returned it, though she was damned if she could remember many of their names. It was easier being the only human here, she guessed; she was unforgettable.

She grabbed some fruit and bread from the buffet and made her way outside onto the veranda, hoping to be left alone in the shade for a while - too late finding someone already there, looking up and smiling, "Afternoon, sweetheart." Kami patted the seat beside her. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Sasha grunted as she planted herself down. "I'll take your word for it." She tucked into the fruit, needing the food to settle the queasiness in her gut. "Where's Dad?"

"He went to his old clanlands up north, alone. I hope he can come to some understanding with his father." She looked at the girl. "And how are you feeling?"

Sasha grumbled.

Kami laughed. "You must be the most miserable-looking person ever to have slept with a beautiful woman."

"We just slept!" Sasha exclaimed, a little too forcefully. "Literally just that!"

Kami laughed again. "I know different."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course you know different. The amazing Caitian enhanced senses, that can track a mouse across the Alpha Quadrant, hear a microbe fart-"

"You don't need enhanced senses to see the bite marks on your neck."

Sasha's hand shot up to clasp her neck, as if an artery had suddenly opened up. "Shit! Then that's all that happened, nothing more!"

Kami regarded her. "Why does the notion of something more happening between you and C'Rash make you so anxious? She's a very desirable female, and to my knowledge has experience with humans as well as Caitians, male and female. And you're obviously attracted to her."

"I'm-" But she bit back her further protest and looked away.

"Thank you for not denying it."

"I was drinking!"

"True; Rula punch has a kick. And there's also the pheromones in the air at gatherings like this."

Sasha looked up. "Pheromones? Seven Hells, of course." She remembered how she reacted when Rrori first came onboard the Surefoot while in the grip of a hormonal resurgence, and Sasha discovered her sensitivity to Caitian pheromones when she became attracted to him. "That explains it anyway."

"What does?"

"Between the Rula punch and the pheromones, I wasn't in control-"

"That's a bucket of shit."

"What?"

"You were attracted to C'Rash before you touched any alcohol or had been around us long enough to absorb our pheromones. It was obvious." She tapped her muzzle for emphasis. "You say you didn't go any further than having C'Rash bite your neck. Why not? Did you have second thoughts? Guilt over Giles? Or..."

Sasha looked away again. "I... fell asleep." She blushed at Kami's laugh. "I'm assuming C'Rash didn't take advantage of me."

"If she had, you probably wouldn't be walking straight."

Sasha stared at the wooden floor of the veranda. "You knew all along what was happening... I can't believe you just let me-"

"Let you what? Be an adult? Make your own decisions about your body and who you fuck? I wouldn't interfere in the decisions of the cub I grew in my belly. I'm not going to do that to the one I let into my heart."

Sasha smiled at her words, but her guilt wouldn't be shaken. "I- I didn't think about Giles the whole time I was with her. It seemed so natural. And when we were out drinking and dancing, I just wanted to come back here and go to bed with her. What would Giles have said if he caught us?"

"Ask to join in?"

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I. Remember, I know him almost as well as I know you."

Sasha looked to her again. "Has he said something in one of his sessions with you?"

Kami looked back. "Are you really asking me to reveal confidential information? Even if he is your 'boyfriend', whatever that means."

"What are you saying?"

"Define your relationship with him. You're friends, crewmates, lovers. Have you taken any vows of fidelity, exclusivity? Are you engaged?"

"What? No! I mean, nothing formal has been declared! I..." Sasha stared out at some large-winged insects diving towards the veranda, only to be repelled by the sonic field surrounding the house. "I love him."

She was thankful that Kami didn't laugh at that, but instead assured her, "I believe you. I also believe that you're intensely attracted to C'Rash, so much so that you forgot Giles, at least temporarily. We've both discussed your sexuality, and your desire to explore it - something you can't do while bound to Giles."

"So, you think I should let C'Rash-"

"I think I'm your Counselor, not your morality coach. Your mental, emotional - and sexual - health and well-being is my purview. I think you love Giles - to a degree. Onboard the small, closed confines of the Surefoot, your relationship with him might seem larger, more important, than it really is.

If you decide to explore this side of you with C'Rash, or any other female, no one else will ever hear about it, not from me and not from your father. And none of us will judge you." She rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need some time with my future Bond-daughter to take in her scent."

Sasha nodded, but offered a, "Thank you," to the departing female.

*

The first thing Hrelle noticed on exiting the transporter station on the R'Trerah Archipelago's main island was how inappropriately he was dressed. The northern islands were on the other side of Cait, near the polar circle, and as the sun was beginning to set here, a bitter wind made his choice of shorts and T-shirt a bad one. No wonder the station operator gave him such a funny look.

He looked around. The town, after which the Archipelago was named, was the same as always: a collection of terraced stone cottages and shops stretched on along steep, winding streets matching the contours of this side of the island, and a smell of burning peat and drymoss hung in the airs from the surrounding chimneys. That smell... Mother's Cubs, he had forgotten was it was like!

He stood out and looked down at the large, rocky bay, expecting to see the great fishing vessels of the Archipelago clans, moored and ready to leave before dawn. Only now... there was nothing. Oh, there were sailing vessels, catamarans and small patrol ships. But it certainly didn't seem like the harbour he grew up looking at, watching his father set off.

A wind raced up one leg of his shorts and made his balls ascend: not a good feeling. But he did find one place with its lights on, that might have what he needed.

It was one of those old shops that offered a little of everything - mostly for the benefit of tourists with more credits than sense. It was cluttered, his belly nearly knocking over a rotating stand filled with engraved souvenir seashells, and there was a pleasing scent of spiced sweets in the air.

"What do you want?" barked a spindly, snow-furred male, motionless by a black iron stove with peat burning inside.

"Good afternoon," Hrelle offered in reply, certain he could remember the shopkeeper from his youth; if he was right, the male was immensely old even back then. "I was wondering if you had any cloaks?" He indicated his own clothes. "I didn't exactly come prepared for the season."

The old male grunted and pointed to the far wall. "Probably don't have any in your size, but you can look for yourself."

"Thank you." As he moved to a narrow rack of musty, pastel-coloured cloaks handwoven from local cardigrass, he decided to see if he could satisfy his curiosity. "Tell me, where are all the fishing vessels? Is there a new port on R'Trerah for them?"

"Fishing vessels? Where have you been in the last five years?"

Hrelle passed over the cloaks that were obviously too small for him, but soon realised that the rest would be useless to him, too. "Offworld. I haven't been home in decades. What's happened?"

"Those officious bureaucratic tail-lickers in the First Cabinet decided we'd overfished, and declared a moratorium for ten years."

"What? They really did that?" Hrelle gave up on the cloaks and returned to the old male. It was unthinkable; the Archipelago's fishing tradition had been in place for generations, and fed into the surrounding local industries. "Well... I suppose everyone was suitably compensated-"

The old male harrumphed. "No amount of credits can compensate for the loss of our history!"

Hrelle supposed that was true, though his experience with Starfleet helped him see the larger picture. "What did the fishing clans do?"

"Some moved to other regions. Some adapted their boats and took on contracts for buoy maintenance and repair. Others are running tours - Megafin Watching."

Hrelle nodded; it made sense. "They adapted. Good."

"Traitors!" the male declared, "We are fisherfolk! Better to die than give up what we are!"

Hrelle grunted; the old fart probably never set foot on a fishing boat in all his long, crochety life. "Tell me... do you know what happened to the Hrelles?"

"Hrelles? Now there's a cursed clan."

"What are you talking about?"

"Poor old Sherresek... after he was disgraced by his firstborn, he gave over control of his business to his nephew Prelish, and when the ban came, Prelish sold their ship and services to a company on the Stoll Coast! They moved south, neat as you please!"

Hrelle was stunned, almost as much by his cousin Prelish making such a decision, as by the notion that he could have convinced Papa to leave R'Trerah; the farthest his father had ever been from the island had been onboard their clan's vessel, and never for more than a day at most. "They're all gone?"

"All? No! Old Sherresek is still here! He refused to leave, refused to give up his clanlands! And he declared the R'Nesikith on them all!" The old male chuckled, leaning closer to Hrelle confidentially. "Just like he'd done to his miserable firstborn, an ungrateful whelp who'd left Cait-"

"Decades ago," Hrelle finished, deadpan.

The shopowner looked up at him with recognition, and then righteous indignation. "We don't serve Clan Traitors in here! Get out!

"Sure, no problem." Along the way, his belly managed to knock over the seashell stand. Purely accidentally.

Back in the chill air of the outside, he considered his options: return inside to the transporter station, and back to his loved ones, an extended family who welcomed him (with one exception), hot weather and decent food. Or proceed to his father.

He couldn't believe what he was doing, as he ascended the hill towards the Hrelle Clanlands. Such as they were.

*

Which was never much, and especially not much now. The house sat on a cliff overlooking the sea, and sheltered by trees - and to judge from the cracked, faded paint on the stone walls, was the victim of years of neglect. Weeds dominated nearly every square centimetre of ground, and the path from the road to the front door was barely recognisable; he felt like he was walking through a minefield as he approached.

Memories flashed back to him from another lifetime: hunting and playing with his cousins in the gardens; lighting beacons during the memorials for those lost at sea; nights around the fire, learning knots and signals and the shadow shapes of different schools of fish-