Surefoot 60: Live In Infamy

"Captain's Log, Caitian Date Firemoot 7th, 1218 After Landing, Fleet Captain Ma'Sala Shall, Recording: The CAV Mother's Fury is completing the final tenday of its patrol at the edge of our system, before returning to the Motherworld and taking a well-deserved shore leave. Myself included, of course, albeit reluctantly-"

Ma'Sala heard the sound from her First Officer at the other end of Bridge as she shut down her logbook. "You have something to say, Commander Ksara?"

The ginger-furred female swivelled away from her station, the amusement in the swish of her tail through the hole in the back of the chair matched by her tone. "Me, Ma'am? No, Ma'am, not at all. What could I -- what could any of us -- possibly say in response?"

A relaxed scent wafted in the enclosure from the rest of the Bridge crew, one that Ma'Sala willingly encouraged. They deserved it; besides being the flagship of the Planetary Navy, this ship and crew had supported her along more personal lines: firstly, in helping to find and rescue the Surefoot when the latter ship had been trapped behind enemy lines at the Battle of Khavak, and then immediately afterwards, in her quest for vengeance against that kussik Admiral Ian Trenagen following his cowardly attack on her family to get to her. It had been rough... but also welcome, a chance for them to face a real challenge instead of yet another patrol, another drill.

The broad-framed, ash-furred female extended the claws on her right paw and tapped with mock impatience on the arm of her chair. "And here I was, hoping you'd show some initiative. Maybe I need to consider an organisational change, get some younger, hungrier tail chaser to step up into your role. Perhaps Solanj has stopped squeaking enough to be promoted-"

"But if I did want to say something," Ksara cut in, as expected, "I might be inclined to point out that you will probably be the first off the ship when we get back to the Motherworld. And five minutes after being back, you'll be in a comfy rocking chair on your veranda, holding your new grandcub and shedding tears of joy as she purrs to you."

Titters scurried through the Bridge, as Ma'Sala kept a straight face. "Commander... I am the Storm Bringer, the Scourge, the Eighth Hell. Ferasans and Orions and Nausicaans shit themselves in fear when they hear my name. You make me sound like some doddery old codger who melts with an infant in her arms."

Ksara crossed her arms. "But Ma'am, you're not suggesting that your granddaughter wouldn't have the power to reduce anyone to that state?"

Ma'Sala growled playfully. "Well played, Commander-" She stopped and turned to her Second Officer's station, where an alert had just beeped. "What is it, Solanj?"

Lt Cmdr Solanj, a slim, auburn-furred young male, was hunched over his station, his brow furrowing. "We've lost the signals from the Outer Belt stations near Kuburan. Attempting to regain a link..." He paused. "Still trying..."

Near Ksara, their Chief of Security Lieutenant Commander H'Murin, a beefy black-furred male veteran, turned. "Interference from Tail Chaser?"

Ma'Sala considered it. Cait's system was in fact a binary star, with the planets circling a large yellow giant star, and a smaller, younger yellow star, nicknamed Tail Chaser, circling beyond the system's Outer Belt of ice debris. There had been reports in recent years of infrequent bursts of cosmic radiation from Tail Chaser affecting the security and communications networks set up at the edge of the system, prompting heated debates about upgrading said networks with greater shielding. Ma'Sala continued to stare in the direction of her Second Officer. "Well, Solanj?"

"I- I can't tell!" the younger male squeaked, frowning and waiting for the usual teasing from the Fleet Captain about his voice's tendency to climb an octave when he got stressed.

Ma'Sala didn't feel like teasing now. "Anything on long range sensors, Mr H'Murin?"

He was his usual swift efficiency. "Nothing, Ma'am."

Ma'Sala tapped the arm of her chair. It was nothing, she told herself. A malfunction. It would right itself by the time they reached the area. She was only postponing getting her crew home... and her new granddaughter in her arms.

"Helm, plot a course towards Kuburan. Ksara, contact our other ships in the sector for an update... and then send a signal to Cait. Inform them we'll have a slight delay in coming home." She breathed out. "Very slight. The Seven Hells themselves won't stop us from getting home."

*

Planet Cait, Kurasowa Province, T'Grerish-Nein Temple:

The huge trapezoidal stone building was half-hidden in the endless dense foliage of the surrounding jungle, with the upper tiers affording a magnificent view to the horizon... and closer, to the curved tips of the ruins of the ancient spaceship, like the ribs of an ancient behemoth.

It was the few remaining sites of the landing of the great ships of the Exodus to this world, over twelve centuries ago, and its general remoteness in the surrounding jungles has mostly preserved it, and its hull of rare arakanium, from exploitation.

Captain Esek Hrelle approved of the historical tactical advantage of the temple; nothing could approach from the air without being seen, and there was only one viable route on the ground in or out, a route that could be closed off quickly and easily. Of course, there was no need to provide fortifications or other defences here; as far as the rest of the world was concerned, this was merely the centre of practice for the Caitian martial art of K'Gressir.

A noise from behind made him turn and approach another section, one that overlooked a courtyard of stone, where a series of armed figures in twos and threes fought each other, with swords, knives, staffs and shields.

His tail twitched, and he felt himself heat up under his fur despite his loose black civilian clothes, as he focused on one figure below, who stood out from all around her with her furless skin and tailless rear end. Her strawberry-blonde hair was ponytailed behind her, and sweat beaded her pale flesh, her vest and shorts as she thrust and parried against two opponents at once, grunting and cursing as they orbited each other.

She was fine, he reminded himself, feeling foolish at his protectiveness. None of them were really fighting, just exercising, an opportunity to secretly meet others of their kind, to share fighting techniques and stories... and general camaraderie. After all, it was rare for Kaetini to openly acknowledge their role, their responsibility, in this secret society.

It was a society Hrelle had once been a part of, for many years, even though he rarely advertised it, having spent so much time away from the Motherworld. Had life not thrown him the way it had, he might have been down there in the courtyard.

He was distracted by one of the elderly attendants to the temple sweeping the stone corridors, before focusing on Sasha below, hitting the stone floor. The fighting immediately stopped, as the others swarmed to her, concerned. But he watched his daughter shake off their concerns, laughing as she returned to her feet and retrieved her sword, before they broke for water.

Hrelle nodded to himself with approval; they had only been on Cait for a couple of days, and Sasha, for all her embracing of Caitian culture, still needed to acclimate to Caitian gravity, atmosphere and humidity, especially this close to the equator at this time of year. He was glad to see she was smart enough to know her limitations... and that the other Kaetini had welcomed her, the first and only non-Caitian Kaetini, so warmly-

"Excuse me," said the attendant, an elderly, grey-furred female in simple purple robes, her broom at his feet, waiting for him to move.

"Of course, sorry." Hrelle stepped back and let her continue, before asking, "Excuse me, but do you know where Mistress Nvell is?"

She stopped, turned and faced him again. "Yes."

Then she returned to her sweeping.

He breathed out. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt you at your work, but can you please direct me to where I can find Mistress Nvell?"

She regarded him for a moment, before repeating, "Yes."

And returning to her sweeping.

Hrelle watched her, tail twitching with excitement as his confusion bled away. "You're Mistress Nvell, aren't you?"

The female straightened up, tapping the broom on the stone floor to shake the dust from the bristles. "You took your time, Captain, but you got there in the end, once you know the right question to ask."

He nodded to the broom. "Why is the Head of the Kaetini sweeping the temple? Is it some sort of... lesson?"

"If you like." She strode up, handing the broom to him. "Dust doesn't care who holds the broom." She folded her paws into the billowy sleeves of her robe. "You wished to speak with me, Captain. Speak."

He straightened up. "I wanted to thank you personally for including Sasha in the Kaetini."

Nvell grunted. "I didn't do it for you, Captain. I did it for the Kaetini; her inclusion enriches us. But then, not being Kaetini anymore, you couldn't possibly understand that, could you?" Then she turned and began walking away, her tail slipping out from a slit in the back of her robes, though age meant it wasn't as lively as if it might have been when she was younger.

He stood there and watched her depart, stunned by her response.

Until she called back at him over her shoulder. "Are you going to follow, Captain, or are you going to stand there with a face like a smacked arse?"

Hrelle rushed up to her, following beside her down a set of labyrinthine steps into the centre of the temple, noting how quickly she moved despite her age. "Look, I know that you didn't induct Sasha for me, Mistress. But it always means something when your cub is recognised for her valour and strength."

"Well then, I guess 'You're Welcome' is apropos." She pushed open one of a set of huge, ancient, elaborately-carved sablewood doors, and entered a dark room with stone shelves, with square compartments of ten centimetres on each side, and black wooden covers fitted over each compartment and sealed with wax. "And perhaps we should thank you, Captain. Your influence upon Sasha is clear; she might not have been considered for affiliation with our body, were it not for what you learned under you, directly and otherwise."

She took the broom from him... and twirled it easily in one paw like a baton before setting it deftly into a nearby stand. Then she faced him again. "You know, Captain, you must possess an immense set of balls."

"Uh... excuse me, Mistress?"

She nodded sagely. "Big, dangly balls, that bruise your thighs as you walk. I hope your dick doesn't feel inadequate in comparison."

Hrelle blinked, not expecting such talk from the leader.

She folded her paws inside her sleeves again. "You are the only living Kaetini to have rejected affiliation with us. To come here, even with the excuse of accompanying your daughter..." She shrugged.

He flushed, his tail drooping with embarrassment. "I... I explained my reasons at the time when I returned my sword. I had been made into a killing machine by the Orions, had disgraced the Order, and didn't deserve the title. You should understand, you're so very wise and distinguished and-"

She cut him off with a loud fart that echoed around the chamber.

His jaw dropped, completely uncertain as to how to proceed.

Leaving her to continue. "Blah, blah, blah. It was crap almost a decade ago, and it's crap now." Her gaze narrowed. "But I suspect you've come to that conclusion since then. Am I right, Big Balls?"

He looked at her, seeing other females in his life in her now: Kami, Ma'Sala. "Yes, you're right."

"Of course I'm right! It's one of the few advantages of reaching this age; it almost makes up for the ache in the hips and the drooping tits." She tilted her head, a slightly amused smile widening her stubby muzzle. "So now you're back to plead to return to the Order, eh?" She paused, and clarified, "This is the part where you open your mouth and let words fly out instead of letting cake fly in."

Hrelle almost couldn't express his agreement. It had been in the back of his head since learning that Sasha had been accepted into the Order. And then, being here, in the midst of other members, of the rich history of the association that had existed almost since their Exodus to Cait, providing guardians and role models to the people, exemplifying the best traits of Caitians... but he held back, afraid of looking so arrogant and presumptuous, to want to take back what he had willingly given up.

Now, however, he knew he had nothing to lose by affirming, "Yes. I know I had been wrong to reject it. I wasn't in my right mind then."

Nvell snorted. "You're still not in your right mind, Shithead! But then, you'd be in good company again. We're all bonkers here." She drew closer. "And what will you do to be considered Kaetini again? To get your sword back?"

He straightened up formally. Before, it had been an errant, hopeful thought. Now, standing before her, any lingering doubts vanished like dew before the dawn. "I'll do whatever it takes."

The elderly female nodded gravely at that. "'Whatever it takes', eh? Fine, Captain. Your original decision was unprecedented; the actions required to reverse that decision should be equally unprecedented.

To regain your sword and your standing: you must swim naked across the Psana Channel in the dead of winter.

And if you survive that, you must journey to Shanos Major for the Sunlow Festival and join in the Running of the Shurises.

And if you survive that, you must trek to the caves of North Csosin and seek the legendary Dancing Stones of Shenan Egan, and return one to this temple."

Hrelle blinked, shocked at the requirements. "Oh."

She nodded. "Or, you can just turn around and get your sword from Compartment 47." She indicated the wall behind him. "I'd do that instead, if I were you. I just made up all that other crap. There aren't even any Dancing Stones!" She guffawed. "But I'd have pissed myself if you'd actually went out and tried to do it all!"

His jaw dropped in disbelief. Finally he turned, facing the wall, looking at the numbers on the compartment seals, before finding the one she indicated, breaking the wax seal and tugging the lid open, albeit with some difficulty.

He withdrew from within an old leather scabbard with a line of identical crimson diamond patterns running along the length of it, a long, narrow black and silver handle, and a narrow silver guard. Mother's Cubs, this was really it...

"Well, Big Balls?" Nvell prompted, still looking amused by his reaction. "Still remember which is the business end?"

Hrelle shot her a look, grasped the handle of the sword, and drew out the gleaming black blade, its weight and balance just as he remembered it, twirling it in his paw as he moved into the practice moves of the Kaetini: Roa, stepping forward, blade raised in a forty-five degree angle, before moving to Telo, Efatra, Dimy, Enina...

He stopped, sheathing his sword again and grinning broadly like a cub on Life Day. "Looks like I do."

*

Mrestir Province, Mroara-Lnee Clanlands:

Kami and Sreen Hrelle reclined beneath the welcoming shade of a honeythorn tree, the latter distracted from the biscuit in her paw by the tiny blue flitters that danced in the air above, moving from thorn blossom to thorn blossom. Kami glanced around once more, admiring the richness of the lands, the luxury of the decor and the main house, reflective of the high standing of its residents.

It almost made staying in her host's presence bearable.

She had no issue with her own firstborn son Mirow, of course, a pilot with the Caitian Rescue Services, who had joined the Mroara-Lnee Clan six years before when he married Ptera. Nor did she have anything but love for Ptera, a surgeon now six months pregnant, and, to judge from her expression and scent as Mirow sat beside her and fussed over her, ready to smack him across his snout (Kami reminded herself to talk to him about taking pheromone suppressants).

No, the object of her vexation remained with the Matriarch of the clan, Jnill. They had rubbed each other's fur the wrong way almost from when they first met, before Mirow and Ptera's wedding, the mothers ending up in a claws-bared catfight. And though Kami's mother Ma'Sala had compelled them to make up and play civilised for the sake of the young couple and both clans, Kami doubted that they would ever warm up to each other, even with their imminent mutual graduation into grandmotherhood.

And she was right, though through the course of the day since Kami and Sreen had arrived for their visit, Jnill had remained the quintessential aristocratic lady... serving her barbs in only the finest china. "I must compliment you on your efforts with your new cub, my dear. She seems most lively and alert despite her handicap."

On Kami's lap, Sreen sat up, the exoframe that helped compensate for her Neurodystraxia reflecting the sunlight, and began singing a ballad of her own creation to the remains of the biscuit in her paw.

Kami saw Mirow and especially Ptera melt at the sound - I know it might be the hormones you're feeling right now, Ptera, but you're clearly far superior to your withered old kussik of a mother -- but Jnill remained unmoved, cradling her expensive china cup and saucer in her bony paws. Kami smiled back. "Thank you for saying, Jnill, but I can't claim any credit for Sreen. She was born purring and singing."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, my dear," Jnill assured her saccharinely. "I was merely referring to the patience and fortitude required by yourself, your husband and nanny to deal with such an unfortunate cub."

"Mother!" Ptera snapped indignantly. "There's nothing 'unfortunate' about Sreen! I'm both delighted and honoured to be her Bond Sister!" She looked to Kami, embarrassment tainting her scent. "Please excuse her thoughtless words, Kam!"

"I don't need my kin daughter apologising on my behalf," Jnill informed her archly, sipping at her tea before continuing. "I'm certain Kami is aware that no offence was intended. Don't you, my dear?"

"Oh, don't worry, my dear," Kami assured her, scratching under Sreen's chin. "I know your intentions better than you do. In fact, I'm the one who must apologise to you, Jnill."

Jnill signalled to a nearby servant to take away her cup and saucer. "Apologise? Why, whatever for?"

Kami rose. "Well, I've been here on your palatial estate all day, and I haven't given you a chance to cuddle my daughter!" She rose to her feet and approached. "Please, honour me by letting Sreen know your scent and touch."

The other older female blanched. "Oh, my dear, I wouldn't want to-"

"You wouldn't want to insult a guest in your home by refusing a request?" Kami prompted, nodding sagely. "I know, such grace and decorum is what makes a High Born, one of the clans who can trace their ancestry back to the First Landing, stand out from the common herd."

Sreen looked at Jnill expectantly. "Nil?"

Jnill sniffed and rose, adjusting herself to accept the infant, gingerly adjusting to ignore the metal lattice of the exoframe, reacting more like she was taking a bundle of dirty laundry than a cub. Sreen, on the other paw, seemed animated to be in a new set of arms, reaching out and crushing the crumbs of her biscuit onto Jnill's expensive Tholian silk dress and purring.

"Well, Mother?" Ptera teased. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

Jnill glanced up; not even her breeding was able to help her fully resist the purrs of an infant. "She's... not unpleasant."