Surefoot 63: Red Flags

A new, harsh voice, cut through the transmission. "Flyer! Depart the area with immediate effect, or be shot down!"

S'Grus looked to him with alarm. "What the Seven Hells-"

Mirow forced down his own fear and confusion to respond. "Who's on this channel? Identify yourself!"

"Flyer! We repeat: depart the area with immediate effect, or be shot down!"

"Damn it! This is a Municipal Rescue Services flyer! We have authorisation to respond to any-"

"MIROW!" S'Grus shouted, eyes wide.

Mirow looked up, seeing a sleek, silver-black vessel larger than their flyer, shaped roughly like an elongated skull, dropping down to hover several hundred metres in front of them.

Alerts sounded on the board. Mirow checked them. "Mother's Cubs, they're locking weapons onto us!"

"Get us out of here, Mirow!"

Mirow didn't argue, banking them sharply to starboard, dropping and swerving out of the area, checking the readings to ensure they weren't being followed. The Weapons Lock remained on them for a kilometre... but then dropped off.

S'Grus was breathing rapidly. "Seven Hells... They- They were ready to fire on us..."

Mirow struggled to keep himself and his voice from shaking, as he opened another channel. "Central Command, this is Flyer 9-Alpha-1. We're returning to home base... and I want to speak with the Shift Supervisor as soon as we land. 9-Alpha-1 out."

"They- They were gonna fire..."

"Not necessarily," Mirow muttered. "They might have just wanted to scare us off."

But even he couldn't believe that.

He just wanted to get back to his wife.

*

Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Desert Province:

There was a growing storm, obscuring the flat horizon as walls of dust rose, as if seeking to shield the collection of buildings here from the growing chaos on the rest of the planet.

It felt strange to Bneea, seeing the place as it was now, without any visitors or observers to the shows and displays offered here, like those times earlier in his life when he was a stuntman for the action Vivids, appearing in the studios early in the morning before the bulk of the cast and crew would show up.

But his attention had stayed focused not on the past, but the present, as he walked around the hangar with the man he had come to see, an older ginger- and blond-furred male in the leather longcoat and matching cap, his voice echoing as he responded to the request. "I don't believe this. A stranger drops out of the sky, unannounced in an unmarked aircraft, and tries to recruit my squadron, asking us to risk our lives in aiding and abetting people who have been declared enemies of the Motherworld by the Provisional Government..."

He smiled broadly. "That's the best offer we've had in ages, Good Sir."

Bneea couldn't help but let his tail wag; the other male had Mi'Tree's flair for the theatrical, no doubt about that. "Are you sure about this, Captain Biggleshen?"

The pilot raised a leather-gloved finger. "As I told you previously, my friends call me Biggles. And yes, the Caitian Historical Aerobatics Squadron stands ready to assist!" He turned in place, indicating the rest of the hangar, and the aerofighters, the vessels using ancient materials and design but still fully functional. "As we are a civilian organisation not officially affiliated with the any branch of the Militia, we have not been subject to detention under the so-called Protection Act... however, no one feels like coming to our shows these days."

Bneea drew up to him; ever since he was a cub, he had admired the Skycats, who for generations had kept these machines, and the spirits of the males and females who had flown the originals, alive. The chance to be working with them, and for something far more substantial than a Vivid production or an aerobatics show, was irresistible.

But it was for that very reason that it made him ask, "Biggles... none of your Squadron have ever been in actual combat, have you? I have no doubt about your aerobatic skills and experience, but if you're caught helping us, you'll-"

"We'll most likely be killed," Biggles finished, straightening up, his expression sober. "Mr Shall, at our age, all that death means is an end to drooping tails and the need to get up three times a night to pee." He looked up at the insignia on the fuselage of his own aerofighter, reaching up to touch it reverently. "Like you and so many others who come here, we too admired the stories of the first Skycats, the real ones, who fought centuries ago in the Moonfleet Wars, when our people needed them the most.

And now, our people need us again. If we don't answer that call, how can we ever look at ourselves in the mirror again?" He looked to Bneea once more. "I'll speak with my crew, spell out the dangers as clearly as you have. But I suspect we'll all be ready for you."

He removed his glove and extended his paw to Bneea.

Bneea gratefully accepted it.

*

Shall Clanlands House, Mnara Province:

Hrelle's concern etched his features on the viewscreen. "Jhess is at the Militia Aeroport's Agana Mount Aeroport? Is his ex-wife certain of that?"

Kami let her claws extend to dig at the arms of the chair in the study, as she nodded at her husband's image. "She seems very capable, as you would expect for someone in her position. And there was an indication that there were other Militia members being held there."

He nodded. "We've left the Skycats; they've agreed to join our efforts. And the base on Kaijushima will be ideal for our families... with you in command, in my absence."

She nodded back. "I'll begin to make arrangements for our move. What about Jhess?"

"I'll get Sasha to divert us to Shanos Minor, and work with Agent Nenjo on freeing him and the others. Send us her details; we'll contact her and do what we can." He paused. "How are you and the family doing? Is everyone okay with the new IDs?"

She retracted her claws and reached for her teacup. "The Clan Registry's updated, the false IDs you and Sasha set up for all us seem solid. Misha was confused, but I think he understands." Something like a smile lifted her a little. "Papa Mi'Tree, of course, will throw himself into any role offered him if the need arises... though he's still not happy that S'Graow is still here, and is now officially listed as the Matriarch instead of me."

Now Hrelle frowned. "Hopefully you'll be away before we need to test them. But how are you feeling having S'Graow around, after all that's happened between her and Ma'Sala?"

She finished her tea. "In the last couple of days, I've been keeping an eye on her, seeing her interact with myself and the cubs. And I've been interrogating her, in the guise of getting to know her and Mama more. She's... had a chequered past, with more than a little bitterness despite her causing so much of it herself. But there's something decent underneath all that, and though I know it's a cliché, but maybe something good will come out of all of our losses."

*

After his call, Hrelle turned in his seat in the cockpit of the Tailless to Sasha. "Plot a course for-"

She never looked away from her controls. "Done five minutes ago, and already on our way."

"Good work. And good work on finally having that shower."

"Ayin Kafin Yan."

He chuckled and rose, leaving her with Lt Mori in the co-pilot's seat, asking her, "What was that dialect you just used?"

"Yiddish. You'll be learning some of that before you're through with us, Bubulah..."

Hrelle entered the aft section of the flyer, where Nenjo sat at the table, with a set of enigmatic devices scattered around her, while she held one device in her paw, replacing a component. "What's that?"

She never looked up. "Personal holoprojector. Good for deceiving visual sensors and facial recognition technology, at least in the short term."

Hrelle made a sound, then picked up another item. "I've seen these before! Ma'Sala gave Sasha a pair: Pummels. Hand weapons, delivers neuroleptic shocks-"

"I know what they are, Sir," she informed him tightly.

"Sorry, of course you do. Such amazing spy toys..."

"They're not toys, Captain. They're tools. And they're not amazing. They give us a temporary advantage, but the Enemy, whoever they are, soon adapts." She passed her free paw over the devices. "Personal transporters, vaporisers, phase shifters, cloaks, weapons dampeners, exceivers... the Mother's Claws' Quartermaster would issue these for missions, and each time, she would tell us, 'None of these make you invincible'. We've lost too many Agents from overconfidence and overreliance on these things."

He nodded at that, studying her. "Who did you lose?"

She seemed to ignore his question... until she set down the projector, still not looking up at him, but displaying an open vulnerability that he hadn't seen in the female before now. "Naras, my brother. We were born twins; the clan gave us the nickname Twofer, as in Two For One, because if you wanted one of us, you always got the other as well. Our paths in life ran parallel... including being recruited by Fleet Captain Shall into the Caitian Secret Service.

We joked about retiring together and opening up a saloon in New Landing, keeping each other from getting drunk and rutting with anyone we'd regret later." She breathed in. "He died this week, gaining intelligence from one of the Ferasan camps."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Nenjo."

But she waved off his words and looked up at him. "None of us have time to mourn, Captain. With the Quartermaster, Ma'Sala and the rest of the Mother's Claws missing and presumed dead, I was hoping I could bypass the security features on some of these in order to mass produce them, but no such luck. Did I hear correctly that we're off risking our lives to rescue your nanny?"

He felt his own face tighten now, despite his sympathy for her recent loss. "Dr Furore was a Sabrecat, a highly-experienced fighter, as no doubt are the others being held with him right now. Right now the Resistance consists of a couple of active and retired Starfleet people, Kaetini civilians, a group of old Skycat pilots... and you. We need all the help we can get.

Now... help me work out a plan to get in and out of Agana Mount. And then I'll want to see that intelligence your brother gave his life for."

*

Kami looked around the study, seeing Ma'Sala's things -- Oh Mama, I'm going to go on missing you forever -- and emerged to hear voices. "You see that railing up there? Your grandmother was just a little older than you when she stood up on it."

Kami turned a corner to see S'Graow on one knee, at the foot of the grand staircase, pointing upwards where the staircase split and went to either wing of the house, while Misha stood beside her. "Gramma was up there? That's not safe!"

"No, it wasn't," S'Graow agreed, the grey-furred female nodded in agreement. "Our Mama told us not to play indoors, but Ma'Sala was sure she could leap out and grab the lighting fixture and swing from it." She now pointed to the black iron chandelier hanging overhead. "Just like the Crooked Tailed Cub."

Misha gasped. "I like the Crooked Tailed Cub stories!"

S'Graow smiled and nodded. "So did we. And Ma'Sala was going to do it. She crouched on the rail, tensed... and then leapt out!"

"Did she do it?"

S'Graow nodded. "She did... but she didn't know what to do then. She was hanging there, calling out for our Mama... and then she let go and fell. She broke her right leg."

Misha's jaw dropped. "Gramma was hurt? Did the docs fix her?"

"Oh, yes, they fixed her leg quickly... but she spent the month grounded in our room afterwards. Always remember, if grown-ups tell you to do something, it's usually for a good reason." She looked up at Kami and rose, smiling. "Hello again, Niece of Mine."

"Mama!" Misha raced up to leap into his mother's arms. "Gramma liked the Crooked Tailed Cub!"

Kami made a sound at the weight of her cub. "Well, who wouldn't? But you know what I want you to do? I want you to go down to the beach and collect me ten of the biggest shells you can find."

"I go sit in the boats?" He smiled, eyes wide, and his throat purring for emphasis.

She eyed him back. You're gonna charm the pants off every female you meet, Cub of Mine... "Did you hear what I asked you to do? Stay off the dock -- I repeat, stay off the dock -- and collect me those shells."

Misha grunted as she set him down again. "Okay. Bye, Aunt S'Graow! Thank you for minding me!"

The older female watched him rushed out through to the kitchens, smiling now. "What a delightful little cub you've got there, Kam."

"Thank you." She slipped an arm around S'Graow's. "Walk with me."

Then she began strolling away, assuming the older female will follow.

They stepped out through the front door and onto the veranda, Kami offering, "I hope Papa Mi'Tree is behaving himself now with you?"

S'Graow made a sound. "He's either warmed up to me a little, or he's a better actor than I ever gave him credit for. Having your other cub around him helps, no doubt." She regarded her. "What do you want to ask me? I've seen that expression from Ma'Sala often enough."

Kami led her to the veranda rail, looking out at the large, colourful gardens leading to the main road. She breathed in, welcoming the scents on the afternoon air. "Why are you staying here? Really?"

S'Graow was silent for a moment, except for unthreading her arm from her niece's, and resting her paws on the wooden rail, pretending to look out as well. "I... can't go back to my apartment. I have creditors looking for me. I was, ah, helping to broker an off-world mining deal with our colony on Alchemy, but the Occupation screwed that over." She reached into her jacket and produced a small silver box, flipping the lid open and holding it out to her. "You indulge? It's good stuff."

"No. And I don't want my cubs seeing you use that, is that understood?"

S'Graow. "Sure, sure, Just Say No and all that." She extended a claw on her forefinger and took a tiny amount of ash-grey snuff, bringing it to her nostrils and inhaling sharply. Seconds later, she put away the box. "No one knows of my connections here."

Kami tensed. "Are you in trouble with the law?"

"No!" S'Graow snapped, quickly calming down. "No. But I'd rather stay low until this business is blown over and things get back to normal... and my creditors aren't out looking for my tail." She tensed, leaning forward and shaking her head. "Oh, Ma'Sala, if you could see me now, you'd... well, you'd say the same things I've always heard from you. Your opinion of me never changed. And... with good reason."

She dipped her head down, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry, Sister. Sorry for trying to drag your good name through the mud all those years ago. Sorry for not righting things between us before it was too late."

She looked to Kami now, her bronze eyes welling with tears. "Our parents were right about me. I was never any good, never realised whatever potential others saw in me... and using my envy of my sister's successes as an excuse not to even try anymore. I kidded myself into thinking I was better off, being alone, responsible only to Number One, answering to no one... but my erstwhile partners. And the occasional court order for non-payment of bills."

She wiped away her eyes, breathing in sharply. "Then I'm standing here, eating here, telling my niece's cub all about the days when I was his age... being able to pretend like I was still a part of a family." The tears welled up again.

Kami regarded her... using her every instinct to find some level of deception.

And finding none.

She reached out, taking S'Graow's paws in her own. "There's no pretend here. You're still a part of this family."

She drew her aunt into an embrace-

-And then pulled back, at a preset alarm on a tiny sensor on her dress, S'Graow asking, "What's that?"

Kami glanced around worriedly. "Transporter sensor. Someone's beaming-"

She never had time to finish, as half a dozen transporter columns appeared on the veranda and in the gardens of the Shall clanhouse, quickly coalescing into tall, armed, thin-tailed figures.

Ferasans. Aiming weapons in the direction of the females, the most decorated member of the sextet barked, "DON'T MOVE!"

Kami tightened her grip on S'Graow, containing her anxiety at the appearance of the enemy as she whispered, "Remember the briefing." Esek and she had prepared for this eventuality, having created false identities for the pair of them, and the cubs, and wiping away any traces of the truth from all records, even setting up S'Graow as the Matriarch in the Caitian Clan Registry. They had hoped that this wouldn't be tested before they found a safe haven elsewhere.

If hopes were bricks, we'd all have palaces... "May we help you?"

The lead Ferasan fixed a narrow, unflinching gaze on her, striding up onto the veranda. Unlike the others, he didn't have his weapon drawn, and based on her own studies, the insignia on his Klingon-like uniform marked him as the head of something called the Umber Tail Pride. His leer and superior attitude confirmed it. "I am Pridemaster Ishme-Dagan, in charge of security for this Province. Where is the Master of this house?"

Kami began to respond- but then her aunt beat her to it, stepping forward. "I am S'Graow Shall, the Matriarch of this house. Why have you come here-"

The Ferasan shot a paw up into S'Graow's face- not touching her, but silencing her, as he responded, "I'll ask the questions here." Now he turned to Kami. "And who are you?"

Kami steeled her expression. "I'm Mleni Dal."

He nodded, stepping forward. "And do you live here, Mleni Dal?"

She stood her ground. The last time she had met a Ferasan was in space, on one of their own ships, and they had nearly killed Esek and Sasha and herself. She was not prepared to let him see her shaken. "No, I live in Kamar-Taj, with my husband and cubs."

"Then what is your business here?"

Now, as she studied him further, she understood his reaction: he wanted her to be intimidated by him, a meek little female unaccustomed to dealing with Ferasans, and her self-control was unnerving him. So she changed her tactics, let slip out some anxiety, like she was some naive, vulnerable cub. "I- I came for the Memorial for Ma'Sala Shall... Sir. We're related, through my mother's cousin."

Ishme-Dagan grunted. "Ah yes, Ma'Sala Shall... the cowardly war criminal." He stared at S'Graow. "And what is your relation to her?"

S'Graow stared back. "We were sisters, Pridemaster, but I hadn't seen her in years. In fact, I haven't been back since this cub," She indicated Kami, and grew animated as she continued. "Was tail high. I never got along with Ma'Sala, she was always so high and mighty, acting so superior for being in the Planetary Navy. And what did it get her, eh? What did it get her?"

Ishme-Dagan smirked. "It got her blown into a million pieces, if that's any comfort." He walked around the veranda, as if he was looking to purchase the property... then he signalled to his fellow Ferasans, several of whom entered the front door.

"What-" S'Graow started, until Kami raised a paw to cut off any further protest.

The Ferasan looked to them. "You don't mind if we do a quick search of the premises, do you? Ma'Sala Shall may be dead, but there are others in this family of yours of interest to us." He approached S'Graow again. "Our Intelligence reports mention the Fleet Captain's daughter, a Kami Hrelle. She's in Starfleet, along with her husband, a Captain with a notorious history of violence against my people. They're not here, are they?"

"Those two?" S'Graow crossed her arms, affecting an annoyed air. "They're off Mother Knows Where in their starship, no doubt sticking their snouts in where they don't belong. Why Caitians can't just stay at home where they belong, I can't for the life of me fathom."