Surefoot 63: Red Flags

Kami kept neutral, but inwardly admired her aunt's ability to cope -- no doubt her questionable history of skirting on the edge of lawfulness helps -- but then her attention drew to commotion from within the house, as her father Mi'Tree emerged with Sreen in his arms, the male roughhoused by two Ferasans. "What in the Seven Hells do you think you're doing?"

Kami froze. Please, Papa, play along, like we discussed-

Then he continued. "S'Graow! Mleni! Will someone please tell me what's going on? The infant was just dropping off for her nap!"

"Who are you?" Ishme-Dagan growled, staring intently at Sreen... who was hissing back at him, the afternoon light reflecting off the exoframe compensating for her disability.

"This is Mi'Tree Shall," S'Graow explained. "Ma'Sala's former husband."

"Oh? And are males in the habit of acting as... nursemaids? Have you no real job?"

Mi'Tree harrumphed. "It is an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to care for cubs on our world, especially those of our own family members! Besides, since your... arrival... my series has been put on hiatus. My audience anxiously awaits my return."

"My uncle is a very popular and beloved actor on Cait," Kami informed them. "Uncle Mi'Tree, why don't I take Sreen and you can show them your awards?"

She moved, but the Ferasan raised a paw to stop her, before pointing at Sreen, who hissed again at him. "What is that... thing? "

Kami tensed, stepping closer... you touch her, and I'll rip your throat out... "My daughter Sreen. She's disabled, please don't disturb her."

Ishme-Dagan guffawed. "Disturb her? She's already disturbing enough as it is! We throw away crippled garbage like that before it ever gets to the teat!"

The other Ferasans laughed, until a new voice spoke up. "RUDE!"

All eyes turned as Misha dropped the seashells he had been collecting down at the beach and strode up the path around the Ferasans to join the others on the veranda, stepping in front of his mother and sister, glaring up at the Pridemaster and pointing a finger at him. "You disrespect my sister! You be nice, or you fight me!"

Kami rested a free paw on her son's shoulder, drawing him back and sending calming purrs running through him. "Pridemaster, this is my son, Misha. Please excuse his outburst."

Ishme-Dagan laughed as he continued to regard the cub. "Excuse him? Why? He has bigger balls than any of the Caitian adult males I've met here!"

"You Fearies!" Misha accused, his little tail twitching in anger as he slipped out of his mother's touch. "Big teeth! Little tails! You go! My Papa fight you! He Starfleet Hero! Big Cat!"

"Misha!" Kami immediately smacked the back of her son's head.

He looked up at her in shock and horror.

She forced down her own shock and horror as she stabbed a finger at his snout, channelling her revulsion at her unprecedented act of violence into maternal anger. "I've told you time and again about making up stories! There's nothing wrong with your father being a chef! Now go to your room!"

Misha's eyes welled with tears, and his snout quivered as he began to cry.

Sreen, still in Mi'Tree's arms, began mewling, and it took nearly all of her effort to ignore it as she pointed to the front door. "I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Misha was sobbing now as he obeyed. Mi'Tree cradled the now-crying Sreen as he fixed an angry gaze at Kami. "Mleni, you've gone too far! So what if the cub is a little imaginative? They're only stories-"

"Stories that have gotten him into trouble at school and at home, more than once! Mind your own damn business, you interfering old cat!"

Mi'Tree growled. "This is still my house, young lady! I'm going up there and offer some comfort to that poor cub!"

He started, but then Ishme-Dagan raised a paw. "Hold it! No one else is going anywhere!" He scowled at the still-crying Sreen. "Silence that mistake before I silence it!"

Kami swept Sreen up in her arms now, cradling her protectively while she offered her subliminal purrs as well to calm her down. "There's no need for threats, Pridemaster-"

"Shut. Up." His suspicious gaze looked to each of the three Caitian adults in turn. "Your husband, Mrs Dal: identify him and his location. Immediately."

She raised her muzzle with mock indignation. "Everyone knows Resh Dal, one of the finest chefs in the city! Our restaurant The Fat Cat's earned a Five Moon Rating in last year's Guide!"

"Perhaps my niece could offer you and your men a discount if you're in Kamar-Taj?" S'Graow suggested. "Resh makes an exquisite shuris tikka masala."

Ishme-Dagan ignored them, perusing a Ferasan datapad in his paw. "Your identities check." He looked up again. "Does your restaurant serve live food?"

"Live? Uh, no. But I suppose we could branch out into that for... new customers."

The Pridemaster grunted and lowered the datapad. "Under the Protection Act, citizens are obliged to report the sightings of any members of Starfleet or the Caitian Militia. Should you be contacted, you're required to report them to the authorities immediately." He signalled to his males to follow him onto the path, barking an order into a comm unit on his uniform. "Return us!"

Seconds later, they were enveloped by their transporter beams and disappeared.

"Good riddance," Mi'Tree muttered. "Are you alright, my dear?"

She drew up to him, offering him a calmer Sreen. "I will be, after I see to the son I just traumatised and beg his forgiveness..." She looked to S'Graow. "Thank you for your help."

Her aunt nodded back. "Happy to help the family. And to be a part of it again."

*

Mroara-Lnee Industries, M'Restir Province:

When Jnill had been a tail-high cub, more decades ago than she cared to remember, her father brought her to the family's shipyards for the first time, and she entered the Assembly Complex, an immense domed building bigger than most towns, where the ships their company constructed slowly came to life, their shells swarmed over by articulated arms, drones and workers on antigrav platforms, occasionally glowing like lumiflies from their laser torches or tractor fields.

Of late, she had lost that childlike wonder. Her daughter had chosen not to follow Jnill in the family business, and though there were nephews and nieces who were potential successors, still, she felt like everything would eventually pass onto their stockholders.

Now, however, she feared that it would never even survive the coming weeks.

She stood in the office of the Operations Manager overlooking the assembly of the latest vessel, her Head of Security, Shikor, an ash-furred mountain of a female nearby, but she was now focused on the holoschematics brought up by the owner of the office, K'Misil. "And look here! See? These changes the Ferasans have ordered! The system upgrades required go beyond the original specs-"

"Yes," she agreed, her bemusement and anxiety growing the more he showed her here. "We'll need Type-40 Interocitors incorporating X-C condensers- we don't have those in stock, do we?"

"Not on site, Madme. I'll have to contact Supreme Electronics for the replacements."

Jnill's eyes moved over the holoschematics, and the list of discrepancies her trusted aide had identified. "Do it. And light a fire under their tails, I'm not taking their usual excuses for delays."

But he didn't respond, not until she faced him, and he asked, "What about these changes? These aren't what they originally asked for-"

She nodded sympathetically. "I know. When our... clients... next appear, I'll have words with them."

Just then, the intercom above announced, "Ms Mroara-Lnee, Pridemaster Ubar-Sin has appeared in your office."

She grunted. "Speak of the Devil."

She left the office, Shikor following... and grunting to herself as if she'd had some bad shuris.

Jnill knew the other female long enough to recognise the prompt. "What is it?"

"He treats you with disrespect."

"Are you referring to the Ferasan, or K'Misil?"

"Both. They're both dishonest. You should have got rid of the old bastard years ago... and let me arrange an 'accident' for the Rat-tail."

They both hopped into an autocar to the Main Building, Jnill once more feeling quite small sitting next to her Head of Security, and noting dryly, "Why not just arrange an accident for both of them at the same time?"

Shikor grunted again. "Because then K'Misil's family would be entitled to Enhanced Death Benefits."

Jnill smiled a rare smile, sending Shikor to her Department while she proceeded to her own office, where the Ferasan awaited her... with her inebriated rake of a brother, Hrulish, there, helping himself once more to her drinks cabinet. She drew herself up. "Welcome back, Pridemaster. I was just speaking about you."

The tall, slate-furred Ferasan smiled coolly at her. "Fondly, I hope." He indicated Hrulish. "Your brother has been most accommodating, telling me all about yourself and the company's fortunes."

Hrulish raised his tumbler of Aldebaran Whiskey to her, grinning inanely.

She ignored him. "I'm happy that my brother has made himself useful; it's refreshing." She approached. "I have questions about the changes to the ship designs you wanted."

Ubar-Sin smiled again. "Ahh, my apologies, but there are certain... political exigencies, completely out of my paws. Hopefully they will not be insurmountable."

"You've increased the passenger capacity, life support, structural integrity and warp propulsion requirements of the transport vessels you've ordered," she observed. "You asked for Class 4 planetary medical transports to ferry the victims of Metremia to and from the treatment camps you're setting up. But these are more like specifications for Class 6 transports... with interstellar conveyance capability."

The Ferasan's eyes widened with ostensible innocence. "Really? What a strange notion."

"Then why make the changes?"

He shrugged. "Well, we have to think about what they might be used for once the Metremia Threat has passed. We fully expect to open up tourism between Cait and Ferasa Prime. Just think of the opportunity for your people to visit the planet where you came from?"

Jnill's expression tightened as she regarded him. "And the security reinforcements to the passenger sections? Do you intend to treat your tourists as prisoners?"

Ubar-Sin regarded her for a moment, and she saw the change in him, something she'd seen with government officials and opponents around the negotiating table. He took a step closer. Just one step, though it was enough to make her tense and force herself not to step back instinctively, as he growled, "Madame... you are in an extremely fortunate position among your people. At a time of great change and instability, you have a chance here at security and prosperity, for yourself and your family. As the old saying goes: 'The one who keeps his claws sharp in the morning, will be ready to feast in the evening'."

He drew closer still... before stepping around her. She followed him with her eyes as he stepped up onto the raised dais leading to the way out... but he turned around once more, offering, "I like working with you, Madame. I would hate to see our budding relationship sour."

Then he transported away.

Jnill's heart continued to race.

"What in the Seven Hells..."

She turned, ready to chastise her brother for his inebriation... only to see him move and react with acute sobriety. She stared at him. "I thought you were in your cups."

Hrulish set aside the tumbler, tugging nervously at the lapels of his jacket. "As it happens, I had only just arrived when His Lordship appeared without warning." He looked at her now. "I thought it more advantageous to let him think he was dealing with a drunkard."

"Clever." And how often have you pulled that trick on me, Brother? "What was he asking you?"

"Just like I said: the company and its fortunes... and your health. If I didn't know any better, I'd expect a hostile takeover."

"Look around you; we've already had that."

Now Hrulish pointed at the spot where Ubar-Sin had beamed away. "What was all this about changes to the medical transports?"

She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked to the balcony, where the Assembly Complex dominated the landscape, feeling her tail flick agitatedly behind her. "We're not building medical transports to ferry the sick around Cait. We're building prison ships, to take Caitians back to Ferasa Prime."

"Prison ships? But who are going to be their prisoners? Militia and Starfleet?"

"No. With the 'modifications' they've asked for, the transports can carry upwards of a thousand people... and we're building thirty of them, here and in our subsidiaries around Cait. There's not enough Starfleet and Militia left on the planet for that. And why would they take them away in the first place?"

Hrulish drew up beside her, his scent thick with anxiety now. "The Metremia Threat-"

"-Is a falsehood. Our own industrial sensor network here and at the subsidiaries is designed to warn of potential particle contamination; there are the expected fallout particles from where their destruction of the Militia bases, but there's nothing about any background increase in metreon isotopes."

"And no one else has noticed this?"

She shivered. "If they have... they haven't been around long enough to argue it much." She watched her breath ghost on the glass before her. "Hrulish, what are we going to do?"

He drew up closer to her, his voice dropping. "Survive."

She glanced at him. "What?"

Her brother's expression hardened to match her own. "Say nothing, carry on, take their money. Survive."

"Are you serious? If they're preparing to abduct large numbers of our people, for whatever reason-"

"What's going to happen is going to happen. Just make sure it doesn't happen to us."

Jnill stared at him in disbelief. "Hrulish-"

Now he reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, tightening his hold. "If you ask too many questions, we won't be around long enough to argue it much. And then someone else will take over. You have a granddaughter about to come out into a world radically different from what we knew of it, only a few weeks ago. We're not government. We're not military. We're not responsible for what happens to others."

She had been prepared to argue him further, explaining their responsibility as Caitians towards their people, their world.

But she didn't.

Instead she pulled out of his grasp and looked out again at the business again. The business, and the thousands of Caitians depending upon her.

"What are you going to do?" Hrulish asked.

"What's necessary," she finally replied.

*

Shanos Minor:

Mreia Furore stared aghast at the bedroom screen. "You can't be serious, R'Nus."

Her firm's Senior Partner frowned back at her. "You think we want to just stand by and not protest what's happening around us? Mreia, practically every contact in the First Attorney's Office is gone! People we've worked with for years are missing from their homes! No one is going to be stirring up trouble now for your ex-husband!"

She leaned forward, her hackles raised. "Then what in the Seven Hells are we good for? I've had to tell my son he can't go out and protest what's happening, but maybe I should be out there with him!"

The older female frowned. "Mreia... don't say things like that in an open call."

Mreia began to demand what she meant, when she heard an unfamiliar female voice from the living room, one that wasn't one of Shau's student friends. "I have to go. And I'm continuing my leave of absence until this matter is resolved."

R'Nus nodded gravely. "Please be careful, Mreia. You and your son."

Mreia nodded back and ended the call, before rising and exiting her bedroom. She had given Shau and his friends space in the living room, in lieu of his being allowed out.

But now she saw Shau and his friends missing... and a stranger in a jet-black cloak and hood stood there in the foyer. "Ms Furore?"

Mreia glanced around, her heart racing. "Where's my son? Who are you? What have you done with him?"

"I'm sorry, Ms Furore, I don't know where your son is." As the stranger reached up to draw back the hood, Mreia saw the furless, pale-skinned hands, and realised this was a human. Seconds later, the hood was drawn back to reveal the face of a young, narrow-nosed woman with striking blue eyes and hair that was dark to strawberry blonde in colour. "My name is Lieutenant Sasha Hrelle. I believe you spoke with my kin-mother Kami earlier about Jhess?"

Mreia started, recognising her from the description Jhess had given of her before he had been detained: the human raised as Caitian, the granddaughter of the late Fleet Captain Ma'Sala Shall, and an alleged member of the Kaetini Order, a company that few have ever met in the fur, though they possess certain legal powers and immunities dating back almost a thousand years. She had never met a human before; the scent was strange, but not as unappealing as she imagined. "How did you get into my home uninvited?"

"I beamed in directly from my flyer; I'm sorry, Ma'am, but the situation being what it is, it's safer for someone like myself to minimise being seen in public." She opened her cloak more to reveal loose-fitting black clothes, but with boots and padded, armoured sections around the joints and vulnerable areas. "I'd come to reassure you and Shau that my father and I are about to help Jhess and the other Militia being detained at Agana Mount."

Mreia's heart raced that much faster. "You are? How? What will you do-"

"It's better if you maintain plausible deniability, Ma'am. Excuse me, Ma'am, but you sounded as if you were expecting your son to be here."

Mention of Shau snapped her back. "Yes! He was planning on going to a student demonstration in Liberty Plaza this afternoon! I told him he couldn't go, it was too dangerous, but..." Panic began to rise within her. "I have to go get him-"

She moved to the door, but Sasha raised a hand to stop her. "No. You stay here. I'll collect him."

Mreia narrowed her gaze at her. "You? No! He's my son! Didn't you just say it was dangerous for you to be seen in public?"

"Yes... but I'm also more capable of getting myself out of trouble if I need to. Have you a recent picture of him?"

Mreia stared at her. She didn't seem that many years older than Shau... and yet, she looked like she had decades' worth of experience behind her.

"Ma'am?" she prompted.

"Oh- Oh yes." She moved to the living room table, retrieving the image she'd taken of him three weeks before when he was participating in the Hsova Run, and brought it to Sasha. "Here."

Sasha took it, regarded it with a slight smile. "He has his father's eyes." She produced a small device from her belt and passed it over the image.

Mreia frowned. "Why are you helping us? I'd have thought you would have been trying to leave Cait, and get help."

The human returned the image to Mreia and her device to her own belt. "We're not likely to safely escape the system, given the forces we've already detected. And I think Starfleet is aware already of what's going on; if there's help to send, they'll send it." She removed something else from her belt, a thin silver cylinder.

"The Provisional First Minister says that Starfleet, the Federation, has fallen."

Sasha adjusted some bands on the pen-like cylinder, muttering, "The Provisional First Minister can take his lying lips and kiss my furless ass." She handed the cylinder to her. "Hold onto this for a second."

Mreia complied; the device beeped. "What is it?"

"Well, now that it has been keyed to your DNA signature, if anyone else holds it, it's a music player. If you hold it, it's a secure audio communicator to me-" She frowned to herself, and reached up and pressed the fore- and middle finger of her right hand to her temple. "I know, Dad. Stand by."