Surefoot 63: Red Flags

His kin-father and one of his wife's fathers, Bneea, looked up from the PADD in his paw. "Very well, Esek: I've confirmed there's basic replicator protein stores for a hundred people for three months, and pre-prepared rations in stasis crates for double that time. We have access to an unlimited supply of natural, filtered water, the medical bay remains fully stocked, and there are even kitchens, gyms and recreation facilities! This all seems far more than they would have needed for a scientific research facility."

"That's because it was always meant to be far more." This came from Nenjo, the female in their midst, middle-aged and with fur as black as Hrelle's niece C'Rash, but possessing a more refined accent from the M'Restir Province, and a taste for hand-tailored suits of purple Tholian silk. "This was designed as a secret wartime shelter by a certain government agency."

"Agency? You mean the Mother's Claws?" Hrelle prompted. "No point in being coy anymore."

The female didn't react, remaining as laconic as when she first approached Hrelle and the others two days ago, offering her services in the wake of the Occupation. Her reticence was initially frustrating, even taking into account that as a spy she was hardly going to have a Warp Ten Mouth... but then Kami pointed out, after a private talk, that Nenjo was very likely one of the last surviving members of the Caitian Secret Services, and had probably lost people she couldn't even talk about to others.

He looked to the other male in the room. "Lieutenant Commander?"

Lieutenant Commander Aris Tshal, Retired, former Second Engineer of the USS Calpurnia, drew up to him, the older, grey-furred, broad-framed male seemingly returning to Starfleet protocol after so many years. "Mr Shall is quite correct, Sir: the facility has a shielded fusion generator, more than equipped to provide power indefinitely, there's a sensor grid keeping watch over every part of the island, with concealed plasma cannons, an encrypted communications network, and an armoury of Militia hand weapons and military equipment! This will make an ideal base of operations for the Resistance!"

Hrelle breathed in, looking around again. "No."

"No?" Bneea echoed, bemused.

"No. This is going to be a refuge, a sanctuary for the Starfleet and Militia personnel and their families who don't feel secure living out in the open anymore. Those of us who'll be fighting will be better off knowing our loved ones are safe here." He looked to the other male. "Kami will be in charge here, hopefully supported by our cubs... and by you and Mi'Tree."

Bneea smiled. "We'll be honoured to, Kin-Son."

Hrelle looked back at Nenjo. "You have a problem with any of this, Agent?"

The female shrugged. "Not unless I hear from any senior operative or government official that hasn't been compromised. You remain the highest-ranking authority available."

"Thank you. If there's anyone you know who might benefit from coming here-"

"No," she declared flatly.

"Well, then, any ideas for a base for the Resistance efforts?"

Nenjo looked away now. "I'll make some enquiries when we finish here. I might have to go away for a few days to do it."

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Tshal asked. "We could still operate out from here-"

Hrelle shook his head. "That will risk drawing attention to this place." He walked around again. "We'll need a way to get the people here, quickly and quietly. Sasha's flyer can't do it all, we're going to need craft that can collect them from various points on the planet without attracting attention."

"Aircraft can be obtained," Nenjo noted. "But trustworthy pilots are less available. And the automated aircraft available for hire could be traced."

Bneea made a sound. "I might know some very qualified and experienced pilots who'd be willing to help, Esek."

*

Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

Mreia Furore struggled to keep her patience, in the face of the repeated proverbial walls she had been encountering this week. Patience is not only a virtue, her old Professor of Law would tell her when she was a student, but in the face of official bureaucracy, it's as necessary as oxygen.

On the other hand, in her years defending the rights of her agency's clients, it had never been as personal as it was now. "Look, Sergeant, three days ago my ex-husband was taken from my home by members of your Constabulary for questioning-"

The Desk Sergeant in the Constabulary Station, a fat ginger male whose expression seemed to alternate capriciously from boredom to harassed, barely acknowledged her. "His name?"

"Doctor Jhesster Furore." As he began accessing his desktop computer, she added, "I'll bet you won't find a record of his being arrested. The last four Stations I've visited couldn't, either."

He looked up, his slitted eyes narrowing at her. "Then you must be mistaken, Mrs Furore. If he had been arrested by the Constabulary, there'd be a record of it."

"That's just it," she snapped, "He wasn't being arrested, he was brought in for questioning because of his Militia background!"

"And where did these alleged Constables say they were taking your husband?"

"Jhess is my ex-husband! And they wouldn't say! They just quoted the new Protection Act!"

The Sergeant breathed out, as if the effort to continue discussing the matter was akin to completing the Hsova Run. "If it was a matter of the Protection Act, then you need to take any queries to the State Ministry."

Mreia bristled. "I did. They told me it was a Constabulary matter!"

"It can't be, Ma'am; we have no record of apprehending your husband. Perhaps you should go home and wait for him to return from wherever he's taken himself-"

She leaned forward, having heard almost the same thing from every other law enforcement official so far. "Now look, Sergeant, I happen to be a lawyer! And a pretty damn good one! I know my rights, and the rights of my ex-husband! And if you don't want my firm to file a complaint in the Courts-"

"I doubt they will."

"Excuse me?"

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, contempt thick in his scent and expression now. "In case you've not been watching the news, Mrs Furore, we're in a state of global emergency... thanks to Militia scum like your husband. They've poisoned us; people are being informed now that they may be dying... my sister included. Your rights don't mean a damn thing anymore." He indicated the Station entrance. "Now run along home and stop wasting my time. Unless you want to be seen as a Militia sympathiser?"

Mreia stared at him in naked disbelief... and felt the hostility from several others around her, a hostility from everyone who seemed to believe what was being said in the media about the Militia. But as much as she despised the military, and for what it did to Jhess, even she couldn't believe that their people would have commit such a heinous act.

"Ma'am?"

She turned; a younger Constable had drawn up to her. "You need to leave now. I'll escort you outside."

Mreia's muzzle screwed up indignantly. "I don't need an escort!"

The Sergeant made a contemptuous sound. "Ssesil, get her out of here before she gets herself into trouble."

She pulled away from the young Constable's proximity, turning and storming out of the precinct station and into the fresh air and strong light of the morning... and looking up at disgust at the red flag of the Ferasans, fluttering from a hastily-erected pole across the street. The new pro-tem First Minister, Renthri Lessade, claimed it was a necessary measure to afford them 'protection' from the Dominion, now that they had allegedly taken over the Quadrant-

"Wait! Ma'am, wait!"

She stopped and spun in place, tail twitching and claws popping out. "You and your cronies have made your position quite clear, Constable-"

"No, wait!" The young Constable raised his open paws to her, even as he glanced nervously around him before continuing, his voice lower. "Agana Mount."

"What?"

He drew closer, lowering his paws. "Agana Mount. All the Militia located and collected in Nashea Province were taken to Agana Mount."

"Agana Mount? The City Aeroport?"

He nodded. "They've co-opted the Militia Terminal there, prior to transporting their prisoners... somewhere. With all but essential air travel being suspended because of the security situation, they have so much of it to themselves now." He paused, adding, "Don't waste your time going up there to find him, or anyone willing to talk to you up there. They'll deny anyone's up there."

She regarded him, looking for deception, finding none, but still asking, "Why are you helping me, when everyone else isn't?"

His expression grew serious... and guilty. "We don't all think like the Sergeant and the others. But- But no one seems to want to listen to reason."

Mreia frowned at him. "If they're not listening, maybe you should be louder?" She sighed. "Thanks for your help, Constable Ssesil... but I think you're going to have to do more before this is done. A lot more."

She left him, determined to get home and make some further calls for help, and to get home to Shau. Many students throughout Cait had chosen to continue their schoolwork remotely from home, part of the overall recommendations for people to maintain social distance during the Metremia Threat.

She found him there....but with a half-dozen fellow students, standing or sitting around the kitchen table, PADDs and schedules laid out around them. Shau looked up at her arrival. "Mom! Did you find Dad? Is he coming home?"

She hesitated. "I'm- I'm getting closer-" She looked to the others. "Shau, maybe it's not a good time to have your friends around to do homework-"

Now he beamed proudly. "We're not! We're organising our part of the protest this afternoon!"

"Protest?"

"Yes! The Student Protest against the Occupation, the Protection Act, the detainments! All the Student Groups for all the city schools are meeting! We'll be holding protests in Liberty Plaza every day until things are back to normal!"

Mreia stared at him, her pulse quickening. "Shau... you can't." Then she looked to the others. "You can't protest."

One of his friends, a slim, smoke-furred female rose. "Mrs Furore, we have to! We can't let this go unchallenged!"

She caught the shift in the scent of her son at the sound of the young female's voice -- Is this the girlfriend you barely talk about, Shau? -- but she put it aside. "Have you read the details of the Protection Act? Because I have, and part of it involves the suspension of the Right of Assembly and Protest during the current Emergency! You could get into trouble!"

Shau shook his head. "No, Mom. They can't do that! Shanos Minor has always been renowned for the expression of our innate rights! You taught me that!"

She reached out and clasped his shoulders. "Shau... things are different now. Untold numbers of people have died, and they say many more will die in the days and weeks to come! What about your health? The Metremia Threat-"

"It doesn't exist, Ma'am!" another cub declared, holding up a PADD. "I'm studying Physics, we've run our own independent tests, there's barely any metreon particles out there! Certainly not enough to cause the expected deaths and illnesses of hundreds of thousands like they're claiming! It's just an excuse to oppress us!"

She gasped, stunned at the possibility. Could it be true? "Then why hasn't there been any qualified scientists or medical professionals refuting it?"

"They're being silenced! The Ferasans are controlling the media now! Only the official line is being heard out there!"

The other cubs made sounds of agreement, but she ignored them now, focusing on her son. "Shau, I must insist that you don't go out there. Even if your friends are correct and the Metremia Threat is... exaggerated... there's still the security measures. You could get arrested, get a criminal record! Something that could follow you for the rest of your career! Do you want that?"

Shau stared up at her. "Mom... I won't back down. If I have to have a criminal record for doing what's right, then I'll accept. If we don't stand up for what's right, who will? You taught me that, too."

"But I'm on the trail to get your father freed!"

He shook his head. "I'm not just doing this for Dad, but for all of us."

Mreia drew back, wanting to argue further... but unable to, and despite her fears, pride ran through her at her cub for his level of strength, commitment and maturity... even if he remained naive about the dangers. "I... I have some calls to make to my firm. I'm going to see about getting their help in raising a court injunction to get all the Militia personnel freed, or at least seen. I'll make the calls in my bedroom... don't go anywhere. I mean it!"

He smiled back gratefully. "I understand, Mom. Everything's going to be okay. You'll see."

As she departed for her bedroom, she wished she could share her son's optimism. She stared at her bedroom screen for a moment, before scanning the call history, looking for the number that Jhess had called the other night, to the human Starfleet officer he knew... but the number had somehow deleted itself without a trace. But that wasn't possible... was it?

She called up the messages Jhess had sent her over the years about his time with the Starfleet family, the Hrelles... but could find nothing of them either. Incredible... it was as if some agency had wiped away anything that might lead to mentions of Starfleet... or at least anything that might identify members of that organisation. Was that an action taken by the Ferasans, or Starfleet itself?

Fortunately she recalled some names from memory, and ran a directory search, finding a potential match, before taking a risk and calling it.

Moments later, an older, auburn-furred female appeared on her screen. "Hello?"

Mreia swallowed. "I'm sorry to bother you, but do you know someone named Doctor Jhess Furore?"

Now the other female smiled warmly. "You must be Mreia. I'm Kami."

*

Agana Mount Aeroport, Militia Terminal:

Pain.

Fear.

They produced the same reactions in Jhess now.

He couldn't recall a time when he wasn't feeling anything but both.

He could barely recall his own name.

He lost count of the number of times he was shocked awake by the Ferasans, stuffed naked in a leather cocoon, bound to immobility with straps, and dropped into ice water. He could feel it seep in, and each time, despite his attempts to keep control, he would panic as he was engulfed, almost drowning.

Then they would take him out, and beat him with clubs.

Then the Lead Ferasan would step forward, kick Jhess onto his back, plant his boot onto Jhess' chest and declare, "I am Enam-Bel, Second Son of the Master Governor of your shitty little planet. You are employed offworld by a Caitian Starfleet officer and his family. We want his name and location."

Jhess said nothing.

The Lead Ferasan would kick Jhess around the interrogation room, driving him into a corner where he would kick him some more, repeating himself, but never giving Jhess a chance to answer. Then he was dragged back to the cold, stark cell, where they'd alternate at random times between darkness and blinding light, silence and ultrasonic torment.

He could have been there for weeks. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much at all.

Except that he would never escape. That he would never see his son and former wife again.

*

Pinnacle Central Hospital, M'Restir Province:

Dr Ptera Mroara-Lnee stopped in the corridor, clutching her distended belly, waiting for the cub within to settle down inside. Don't be in such a hurry to get out here, Daughter of Mine; it's frightening.

"Doctor? Do you need help?"

She turned, straightening up, hating feeling so vulnerable this late in the term. "Thank you, Doctor Mispusha, I'm fine. But this cub of mine is eager to get out and roar some."

Dr Mlane Mispusha was an older female, caramel-furred, with a pair of octagonal spectacles propped onto the tip of her snout, and strode up with a strength belying her age, slipping an arm around the younger female's and nodding sympathetically as they continued down the corridor. "I'm glad you're still with us."

"Yes, well, my Maternity Leave is scheduled for another tenday-"

"I mean I'm glad you haven't been 'redeployed'."

Ptera frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Some of our best people in Haematology, Oncology, Pathology received orders for redeployment to the treatment camps our 'cousins' are setting up around the planet."

She stopped in her tracks and faced her. "What? Who has?"

"M'Tus, Prerow, Hmull, M'Tashar, Crille... coincidentally, they've all been the most vocal in disputing the declared dangers of the Metremia Threat."

She swallowed. "Where? Where were they sent?"

"No one knows. Not our Chief of Staff; not even their families. All hush-hush." Her expression told Ptera what she thought of that.

Ptera was aghast. Their world had turned upside down over the last tenday, with the loss of the Militia, the so-called conspiracy with the Eliminati, the anti-Starfleet paranoia, the alleged Metremia Crisis... "Have you heard about the growing number of cases of metreonic sickness being reported around Cait?"

"Of course. It's all the news is talking about."

"But has anyone shown up in our Emergency Department with signs of the disease?"

Mispusha shrugged. "Oh, plenty have come in thinking they had it. It's turned out to be everything from ulcers to Tail Crick to just plain hypochondria."

Ptera faced her fully. "Mlane... we have to speak up about this- there's no Metremia Threat!"

Now the older female tensed, glancing around fearfully, before taking her by the arm and leading her into an alcove off of the corridor. "Ptera... go home. Take your maternity leave now."

"What?"

"These are dangerous times. You can't voice your opposition openly and not expect a response." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Your husband's family have prominent members in both the Militia and Starfleet; I remember you mentioning that more than once in our staff meetings. Others might remember, too, and pass it on to the wrong people. Take you and your husband home; your mother is powerful and influential enough to protect you.

Hopefully."

*

Several kilometres west and above, a medical flyer was swinging over the perimeter of the First Landing Park, when the co-pilot S'Grus frowned and turned to the pilot. "Mirow! I'm picking up a news item! Starfleet have opened fire at the First Landing Memorial!"

"What?" Mirow glanced out of his cockpit window, banking the flyer sharply to port to give him a better view; he saw the patches of dark from the sablewood trees, the open stretches of grasslands, the silver shard of the Memorial reflecting midmorning light. He saw people below, many moving in groups to leave the park, herded quickly away by black-uniformed Constables.

He saw nothing. Nor did he expect to; ever since this madness started, he had heard plenty about the atrocities of the Caitian Militia and Starfleet, and immediately dismissed it for the crap that it was. His late grandmother Ma'Sala Shall had never been a dainty flower, but the idea that she was a war criminal was ludicrous. And his mother Kami, and his kith-father Esek and human kith-sister Sasha, all in Starfleet? They were the best! And now he couldn't even speak to them, for fear of giving them away, or himself, to the Ferasans...

And he didn't have time to think about that. "Something's going on down there." He reached out to his panel and scanned the ground below. "I'm not picking up any weapons fire-" He keyed in a signal. "Central Command, this is Flyer 9-Alpha-1! We're at First Landing Park, we've picked up the news about the attack, we're ready to lend assistance-"