Surefoot 54: Big Star, Little Star

"There's legal and administrative issues to face before we can have people appear on the show. Especially minors. There are releases to be signed by their guardian-"

"Already taken care of," Mi'Tree assured him, nodding to Stori. "As I am Sreen's legal guardian in the absence of her parents."

Stori offered his manager the PADD. "Signed and forwarded to Legal, Sir, who've approved. See?"

Horash ignored the PADD and the P.A., creasing his muzzle in an increasingly frustrated manner. "Then what about the Health and Safety issues? What if your grandcub has a fit or something during the broadcast? Do you want that seen by all the cubs who'll be watching?"

"A 'fit'? She's not going to have a fit! Do you know anything about Neurodystraxia, Horash?"

The Production Manager ignored the indignant question. "Mi'Tree, every minute of the show is carefully planned over the coming days, weeks, months! Every word is scripted, we won't have time to have new material written for you!"

Mi'Tree continued to watch him, noting how much he avoided even looking at the cub in the chair facing him. "I was scheduled to speak about the changing seasons on Cait before reading today's story, but I think this is a far more important lesson.

And this is my grandcub; I don't need any of our very talented writers to prepare anything for me about her, thank you."

"But a change at the last minute now will reflect badly on the syndicated packaging-"

"Horash," Mi'Tree interrupted gently but firmly, rising to his feet, deliberately bringing to the fore his slight advantage in height over the other male. "Let's stop wasting each other's time, and cut to the pounce, for the benefit of all here."

Horash bristled, aware of the attention of everyone -- the Makeup and Costume crew, the writers, the camera crew, even the support crew in the rafters overhead -- listening in on the argument. "You want it spelled out for you, for all of them? Fine: the Board won't allow someone like your grandcub to be seen on the Taleteller show."

Mi'Tree's tail went still, and his hackles rose as his voice went taut, even as he tried to remain calm. "They have no reason to not allow her to join me."

"They have many reasons, actually. For one thing, it's their damn show! They can do what they want with it, have who they want on it, or not on it! And have you considered what will happen when your audience sees it-"

"Sreen," Mi'Tree growled. "Her name is Sreen. And you can look at her, you know; you won't catch Neurodystraxia through visual contact.

And yes, I have considered it. That is precisely why I want her seen."

"But the cubs out there will ask questions!" Horash accused.

"Of course they will! That's what cubs are supposed to do! How they learn!"

"And what if they're questions their parents might not want to answer?"

"There should be no questions a parent doesn't want to answer!"

Horash was growing increasingly agitated... especially when the mood of the crowd around them seemed to be on Mi'Tree's side. "The sponsors provide an immense amount of revenue to us, and they naturally don't want to have their products and services associated with Lag-"

He stopped himself as Mi'Tree bared his claws and raised himself up.

"With disabilities," Horash continued, "Mi'Tree, the Federation is at War! Every day, the News is terrifying all of us! Cubs, parents, families, they watch us to escape from the horrors of life, not to be reminded of them!"

Mi'Tree bared his teeth as he drew closer, practically in the other male's muzzle. "Let me make myself perfectly clear to you: my grandcub is not a horror. And the Taleteller is here for her, for all cubs like her, not just a select few, or for the Board, or the sponsors.

The Taleteller has never just been some escape, some opiate for the masses. The Taleteller brings truth. And the truth is that there are Caitians out there who are different from the rest. Different... but not less.

Not monsters.

Not figures of pity or revulsion.

Not horrors we should pretend don't exist.

People.

And cubs, people, will listen to the Taleteller, the way they might not to anyone else. That's what this show is about."

Horash scowled as he took a step back. "Don't presume to tell me about what this show is about, Mi'Tree! I've been running it for sixteen years! You've been here for just over a year!"

In her chair, Sreen hissed up at the male raising his voice to her grandfather.

"Horash... my granddaughter will be with me on today's broadcast."

The Production Manager glared back. "Then there will be no live broadcast. I'll make sure we have a repeat ready to show instead."

"You do that and I'll quit!"

Horash took a step back, eyes wide, pointed ears twitching on top of his head as he raised his voice, for the benefit of everyone around them as much as Mi'Tree. "You know... the sheer hubris that you old farts display when you take on this role never ceases to astound me. Never.

This program has been running for generations! It's bigger than you! Bigger than any of you! We've had dozens of Taletellers before you! Dozens of pathetic has-beens! Mangy old cats well past their prime but still desperate to suckle once more at the teat of fame and recognition! And there'll be dozens more like you, after you curl up in some forgotten corner and die in your sleep in a pool of your own piss!"

In her chair, Sreen gave a tiny roar and swiped her stubby clawed fingers in the direction of Horash.

The male ignored her, focusing on Mi'Tree. "Unless, of course, you want to prove me wrong, give all this up, hit me and walk away, to support your high and mighty principles? If so, now's the time..." He paused challengingly. "Well?"

Mi'Tree stood there.

Horash smirked. "I didn't think so. Now quit your mewling and do your job." He turned and walked away, shouting around him, "And the same goes for the rest of you! Remember, you're all as replaceable as the ceiling lights!"

Sreen roared again at the male's departure.

People resumed their duties, or made a show of doing so.

Mi'Tree stood there, swaddled in humiliation.

There was a horrible silence around him, as Stori drew up to him tentatively. "Um... Mi'Tree... I'll be happy to mind Sreen while you, ah..."

"I need a moment with my granddaughter, Stori, if you don't mind."

"Oh... ah, yeah, of course..."

Mi'Tree knelt down, removed Sreen from her chair and lifted her up, carrying her away, unable to look at anyone until he found an unoccupied wardrobe room. The smell of costumes and fur grooming products filled his nostrils as he sat down, feeling supremely old.

Supremely ashamed.

He held her up, facing the infant, the tears welling in hie eyes, his voice fragile. "I'm so sorry, Little Cub. I should have done what he said. I should have hit him and walked away with you, after those horrible things he said.

And... I can't pretend that I didn't because I need the work. Or because the work needs me. I- I hesitated... because he was right. This is my last grasp at being famous. Famous, and admired.

But there's nothing to admire about me. I'm a weak, pathetic, ego-driven wretch.

Forgive me, Little Cub. Please..."

Sreen looked up at him with her big bronze eyes... and reached out, grasping the sides of his snout, as she began singing to her grandfather.

Mi'Tree froze, listening with astonishment. She wasn't saying any specific words, just babbles, but the tune was an impressively recognisable rendition of Big Star, Little Star.

She even booped his nose at the end.

The tears flowed freely now from him as he hugged her. "I don't deserve you. I truly don't."

*

They left the room minutes later, returning to Stori. "We're leaving. You have been a remarkable, resourceful young male, and should you ever need any references or connections to anyone I know in the industry, you have but to ask."

The P.A. gasped. "You're going?"

He set Sreen back in her hoverchair. "Yes, and my only regret is that I didn't take that kussik up on his offer to let me strike him. Farewell..."

"No, wait!"

Mi'Tree turned. "Stori, normally I would love the attention of a Big Goodbye, but under the circumstances-"

"You can't just go like that!" the young male pleaded, and Mi'Tree noted he was joined by a few others on the crew. "If you do, then nothing changes!"

Mi'Tree looked to him, appreciating the support he and the others were showing, but still facing reality. "What can I do? He's right. I'm replaceable."

Stori smiled. "Then give him a good reason to replace you."

*

"Readying for transmission," said the voice from the booth, as everyone moved into position. "Thirty seconds. Final audio check, Mi'Tree?"

Mi'Tree made himself comfortable in his chair, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. "Sounds good, Nremma. And if I don't get a chance to tell you later: thank you, for all your hard work in making this old cat look good."

"It's... been an honour working with you, Sir. Ten seconds... nine... eight..."

Mi'Tree readied himself. He had been half-tempted to call home, to have a word with Bneea, or maybe even Ma'Sala, and make sure that he was doing the right thing, but decided against it. Ah well, what did they use to say in the theatre? 'Know your lines, enunciate for the people in the cheap seats, and give yourself a beautiful finale...'

He smiled for the cameras. "Good evening, Cubs of all Ages! Welcome to the Taleteller! Have you done your homework, your chores? Told your family and friends you love them? Good, good! We have a wonderful story for today, from an old Terran writer called Cyrano Jones, a story titled Too Many Tribbles! I think we're going to have a lot of fun with it!"

He paused, breathing in, his pulse racing. Here goes everything... "But first, I want to introduce you to a very special guest on today's broadcast." He looked off-camera, where Stori had appeared, holding Sreen. "My granddaughter, Sreen Hrelle."

*

In the control booth, Horash had been on the communicator with the restaurant he was trying to book a reservation with for later, when his ears twitched. "What was that?"

Everyone present pretended to be too busy to hear him.

*

On the stage, Mi'Tree chuckled as he reached out, and Stori drew in just enough to safely hand over the infant, resting her comfortably on his lap. "Yes, this is my granddaughter, Sreen. Her parents are very brave heroes in Starfleet, as is her sister and big brother." He stroked her, ensuring her exoframe wasn't pinching her anywhere... and that it remained visible. He looked up at the cameras again. "Now, as I'm sure you can see, Sreen is wearing something very special. It's called an exoframe. It's a medical device that helps her move about.

You see, Sreen has a condition called Neurodystraxia..."

*

"Seven Hells," Horash cursed, leaning forward to peer through the window, his tail slapping angrily against the flanking chairs. "That senile old cat! He's finished! When I'm done with him he'll be lucky to get a job selling mange cream on the late-night Cynet Shopping Channels!" He looked to the Director. "Nremma! Shut down the transmission!"

The ash-furred male kept his hands on the controls, but made no moves. "It's too late for that, Sir, the transmission links are already up. This is going out live to the three Zones, is locked in for the rest of the planet for their local broadcast times, and is being beamed out now to the colonies."

Horash gasped, looking around. "Do something! Substitute a repeat show!"

"Sir, this broadcast has already started. If we start a repeat now, it'll overrun past our scheduled time. There'll be legal repercussions."

"I don't give a damn about that! This is an emergency! Now load up a repeat, one of last week's standalone episodes! Now!"

Nremma's paws moved over his controls. "Sorry, Sir, the database has malfunctioned."

"What?"

The director looked up at him. "Probably needs replacing."

*

Mi'Tree drew out a pacifier from his pocket and fitted into the infant's snout, watching her chew greedily on it as he looked up again into the cameras. "She was born with it, it's not something that you can catch, like Kasaba Fever or Malague. And it affects people in different ways, and they may need different things to help them move around or talk or learn, like exoframes and chairs and implants. But even with this aids, they still might not be able to move or talk or respond as quickly or as easily as the rest of us.

Now, I know that it's natural to be a little afraid when you see someone like Sreen, because she seems different. But once you get to know her, to see that she eats and sleeps and cries and laughs and sings like any other infant, you'll see that there's more alike about her than different.

And maybe there's cubs in your family, or on your street or in your school, who are like Sreen here. They may not be able to run or climb or pounce like you can... but they still want to have fun. They still want to be your friend.

And I say, Why Not? We can never have too many friends! And there's many ways to have fun, and include those who might not be able to do everything that you can. And maybe there's also grown-ups who have special needs. They're people too. Don't treat them like they're not there. Say Hello. Visit. Call them or send them a message that you're thinking of them. The Great Mother Herself said, 'No one is worth more or less than anyone else because of how they look'."

He smiled and reached for the book, settling Sreen into a more comfortable position in the crook of his other arm. "Now, I don't know about all of you out there, but I'm desperate to find out more about all these silly tribbles!"

*

"Damn it!" He moved to the door, but it refused to open despite his banging on it. "What in the Seven Hells is wrong with this now?"

"The door mechanism jams," one of technicians informed him. "It needs replacing."

Frustration and disbelief welled up in him, and he turned back to the control booth communicator. "Get me Security- Hello? Hello? Operations! Maintenance! Hello? Anyone?" He slammed the receiver down.

"Internal network is down," another technician noted. "Needs replacing."

Horash stopped and stared suspiciously at the control booth crew, their backs to him. "Nremma! Somebody! Do something! Get that little Lagger off my show!"

Nremma bolted to his feet, knocking his chair back with such force that it almost hit Horash, before turning and facing the Production Manager, his tail twitching furiously behind him as he drew up to the other male and snarled, "Replace me."

The other members of the crew locked their stations and rose, all facing Horash, surrounding him, preventing him from taking any action.

"Replace me."

"Replace me."

"Replace me."

"Replace me..."

*

In the Shall Clanlands house, Misha and Naida were sprawled on the couch eating Claw Flakes and watching the Taleteller, when Misha called out, "Mama! Gramma! Grandpa! Come! Baby Sreen's on Grumpy's show!"

The adults appeared at the doorway individually, curiously, Kami entering and perching on the arm of the couch, watching the screen with fascination as Mi'Tree continued to read from the book, while Sreen lay in his arm, eyes closed. "She is, isn't she? Look at her! And is that a new dress on her?"

Beside Misha, his Roylan friend's eyestalks fixed on the Cynet screen image. "She looks like a pretty Princess!"

"She's still a stinky cub," Misha assured her, stuffing his face with Claw Flakes.

Bneea stared at the screen with less zeal. "He put our grandcub onto his show without asking permission first? I'll finish what the Dohlman started on him!"

Ma'Sala shook her head and moved to the drinks cabinet. "At least he didn't leave her in the autocar again."

"Hush, you two!" Kami chided, grinning as she stared. "That's my daughter up there. She's beautiful. Hundreds of millions are seeing her right now!"

On the screen, Mi'Tree continued to read: "And then the Angry Captain opened the overhead compartment... and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of tribbles poured down on him! Covering him from head to toe! 'It's Too Many Tribbles!' he cried-"

Then he paused and looked down at Sreen, whose pacifier had dropped out of her muzzle, and she was now snoring quite deeply. Mi'Tree chuckled and reached for the pacifier, looking up at the cameras again and smiling. "Her mother used to snore like this at her age!"

Kami's grin dropped. "No I didn't." As Misha and Naida guffawed at the revelation, she insisted, "I didn't!"

"Papa says you snore!" Misha countered. "Papa says they're mouth farts!"

The two children rolled about on the couch laughing at the notion, Kami scowling as Bneea snickered as well. "Your Papa and I are going to have words." She looked to two of her parents. "I never snored, right?"

Bneea and Ma'Sala glanced at each other hesitantly, before Bneea replied, "Any sounds you might have made were dainty, almost delicate-"

Ma'Sala, however, finished her whiskey and said, "You sounded like two shurises rutting."

"Mama!"

The children laughed again.

*

The camera crew signalled the final seconds of the broadcast. Mi'Tree set aside the storybook and adjusted Sreen in his arms as she awoke and looked around curiously. "That was a lovely story! And I had a wonderful time sharing it with my granddaughter, and with all of you.

And I want all of you to know that my time as your Taleteller has been the most amazing and rewarding part of my long career... and worth far more to me than all the awards I have ever won. It fills me with such joy to meet all of you cubs out there, to read your messages and to hear of all your awe-inspiring achievements.

And I know that when you grow up, and become adults yourselves and take on the custody of our Motherworld, she will be in good hands. So long as you love yourselves, and love each other." He raised a hand to the camera. "Good Night."

Sreen raised her own hand and made a noise.

"And that's a wrap," came the announcement, prompting the crew to gather, applauding and cheering.

Mi'Tree was both overcome by the response, and relieved that it was all finally over, and he hugged Sreen as he rose and left the set for what he guessed would be the last time, humbly accepting their compliments and backslapping.

But the enthusiasm dwindled and the crowd parted as Horash approached, sneering. "I hope you enjoyed that, Shall! I really do!"

Mi'Tree looked to him and beamed, replying genuinely, "Yes. Yes, I did, actually, thank you."

Horash frowned now, as if confused by the response, and by the support received from those around them. "You have no idea how many cubs you'll have psychologically damaged with your selfish, impulsive act today!"

Sreen hissed at him, making him stop and take a step back.

Mi'Tree raised his muzzle. "You underestimate the strength and understanding of cubs, Mr Horash. And maybe their parents, too."

"We'll see, after you're gone and we're dealing with the fallout of complaints." He looked to Stori, who was examining his PADD. "Well?"

The P.A. was frowning as he read the incoming stats. "There have been complaints... about 100-120-"

"I knew it!"

"-Which actually represents less than 2% of the total responses we've received so far," Stori continued, beaming now. "Which have been overwhelmingly positive. It's actually the highest response we've received from an initial broadcast in the last five years, and it's projected to continue with the local broadcasts in the rest of the zones across the planet."