Surefoot 67: The Only Good Ferasan

Planet Ferasa Prime, Forty Years Ago:

The newborn infant wouldn't stop crying.

His parents, his Pride, tried everything: soothing music, massage, scented candles, doctors, even sedatives. They worried and argued and demanded and postured and fretted amongst themselves about what was wrong with him.

He was of course too young to understand, let alone tell them: that what was wrong was the constant discordant Noise from their thoughts and emotions, as they worried and argued and demanded and postured and fretted amongst themselves about what was wrong with him. And the more they did all that, the worse it got for him.

It had started when he was still in his mother's womb, but at least in there, it was dark and warm and wet, and his brain and its near-unique abilities were still developing. By the time he emerged into the Outside, however, the Noise was louder, more defined, a relentless din that allowed him no respite.

And all he could do in response was cry. And all that the sedation did was prevent him from expressing his pain and despair.

He didn't comprehend their talk of him being a Defective, like so many newborn Ferasans those days, and how it would be better to just euthanise him and try again.

He didn't comprehend the intervention of another Ferasan, a stranger, who inexplicably found them and offered to take the infant away, never to be seen again.

He didn't comprehend how readily they accepted, already having given up on him as they planned for another.

He didn't comprehend anything... not until the Stranger had taken him out of the city, taken him far away into what remained of the Wilds, hundreds of sestares away from other Ferasans, other minds and emotions. It was only then that the Noise had subsided, leaving him swaddled in a blessed pacific silence, allowing him to focus and enjoy the new sights, scents and sounds of the forests and the animals.

And the comforting single voice of the Stranger somehow projected into his head: Rest easy now, Cub. I felt your pain, your anguish from far away; it was what drew me to you. But our solitude out here will give you a well-deserved peace, and allow me to teach you to shield the thoughts and emotions of others whenever you're forced to be around them. And once armoured with such skills, I will teach you how to live and thrive here in the Wilds.

The newborn infant still didn't comprehend anything. But he did sleep, truly sleep, in the Stranger's arms, for the first time in his fragile little life.

*

Planet Cait, Capitol Building, First City, M'Mirl Province, Today:

Melem-Adu, Master Governor of the Occupied World of Cait, stood at one end of the Mission Table, feeling angry and helpless and angry and impotent and angry and confused. And angry some more. And as he looked and listened and argued with those around him, the only comfort he could take at this time is the knowledge that, despite his insufferably oily demeanour, the Vorta Weyos was almost as frustrated as Melem-Adu.

Though Weyos still continued to bleat from the same tired old Dominion propaganda sheet. "The Jem'Hadar are the finest warriors in all the Quadrants of the Galaxy. Perhaps even beyond."

"Mmmm," Melem-Adu moaned in apparent agreement, the Ferasan crossing his arms, ignoring the Jem'Hadar at the table who looked up at him, as if believing he might be mocking them. "Then there will be a reasonable explanation for how four of your attack ships blew up over the Free Seas of Cait?"

The oatmeal-coloured humanoid fixed his soft purple eyes from his side of the table at the Master Governor. "There will be one, of course. We ran very thorough scans of the area-"

"-And found nothing, I know, we've been over this often enough. Maybe it was some Caitian monster from the depths of the oceans that swallowed them whole?"

Weyos' gaze narrowed. "That is hardly a helpful attitude, Master Governor, if I may be so bold."

No, you may not. All that you may do is scream your little lungs out while I eviscerate you and see if your insides are as grey and shapeless as your outsides. He looked to the Jem'Hadar First standing beside Weyos. "Rurid'alok, the Caitian military employed a cloaking device they call a Prowl. The intelligence we were provided on them allowed us to overwhelm their Navy's forces when we first arrived in their system, but the Caitians must have made improvements to counter us."

The apple-green, pebble-skinned reptoid nodded curtly. "That is reasonable. The Caitian flyer which passed over the port of Sekuro on its way to sea dropped off our scanners, even with the compensatory improvements you supplied us."

Melem-Adu nodded; he would much rather have been working directly with Rurid'alok from the start, then having to go through the shapeless bag of smarm that was his Vorta leader. "No cloak can be perfect; there was a leaked report some years ago about Starfleet employing a tachyon net to detect Romulan ships crossing the border. You can perhaps engineer something similar to-"

"No," Weyos interrupted.

Melem-Adu looked back at him. "What did you say?"

"I said No. Master Governor, the Dominion forces are meant to be present here in a minor capacity; maintaining a presence on the outer edge of the Caitian system to prevent incursion from Starfleet, while we watch and assess your performance as a measure of your suitability to join us. Yes, I indulged your desire for helping in tracking down Captain Hrelle, but our further direct involvement will only skew that measurement... and might cost us more ships and personnel in the process." He paused and smiled. "I am terribly sorry, Master Governor, but I must respectfully refuse your request."

Melem-Adu glared back in disbelief, slowly baring his teeth as his thin tail snapped behind him like a whip. It was all unravelling. He had lost two of three sons to this misbegotten rock, entire Prides were being slaughtered by the monstrous Caitians, the transport ships were behind schedule, the Caitian sheep were resisting in masses, and his own forces were stretched thinner than sinew.

And now this bland eunuch is denying him his Jem'Hadar soldiers and their advanced ships and equipment. If Rurid'alok was here alone, he would surely agree; they may have been clones as well, but the Jem'Hadar at least shared the desire to strike back, at making opponents pay for their deeds-

"Father?"

He spun in place, offering his last male offspring his full fury. "What do you want?"

ThirdSon drew back slightly, fear in his scent, but otherwise stood his ground. "Father, the courier vessel carrying the Hunter Prime has arrive, and they are prepared to beam him down-"

Melem-Adu drew up and swung out his fist, striking the younger male across the stunted snout. "Wretch! I am trying to maintain a hold on this paltry planet, with the very Universe against me, and you come to me with this triviality?" The contempt and hate he felt now, with being left this pale cub, something little better than the Vorta, while his more beloved sons were dead, bubbled over. "You miserable pile of afterbirth! Enam-Bel and Hap-Tek, two worthy sons, dead! And yet you still live?" He struck ThirdSon again. "Why, Wretch? Why can't you manage this one little task without my participation? Come on! Tell me why, you worthless little bastard!"

He swung out a third time -- but ThirdSon caught him by the wrist before he could connect, fury in his eyes and scent, teeth bared and hissing hot breath as he practically shook in place. "Because... I have not been Named... and for the Patriarch's Hunter Prime to be met by a Nameless member of our Pride could be seen as a grave insult, and could bring us all down." His nostrils flared. "Not that you're not doing an effective job of that on your own, you pitiable old fool."

Melem-Adu's whole body tensed. His third son had always been a poor shadow of the first two. Never brave or reckless or even conniving or cowardly. Just... there, in the background. Even females made a better impression than him.

Now... now he openly insulted his own father, in public.

Melem-Adu smiled. "The Hunter Prime will be greeted by Nusum-Adu."

ThirdSon reacted, with unexpected bemusement. "I- Who is... Nusum-Adu?"

"You are. You are no longer Nameless. Regrettably circumstances prevent us from holding a ceremony or celebration at this time, but perhaps later."

The younger male frowned, still holding onto Melem-Adu by the forearm. "But it- a name is usually only awarded after an act of bravery."

His father's smile widened. "You finally stood up to me. No mean feat." He shook off his son's grip. "Don't make a habit of it, though. Go, see to our guest, give him whatever he wants, just keep him out of my fur."

The younger male straightened up, recovering from the shock of suddenly rising considerably within the hierarchy of their Pride, and nodded with gravitas. "Yes, Father. I will!"

As he departed, Melem-Adu returned to the Mission Table, looking out once more at all the red spots representing areas where the Caitians were causing difficulties: protesting, shutting down key facilities, blocking traffic, openly demonstrating. Their conquerors couldn't run things as well without their compliance.

"Well, I must say," Weyos cooed, framed with a simpering smile. "Watching you take the time from your plethora of more important problems, to repair the damaged relationship with your remaining son like that, is unexpectedly heartwarming."

The Ferasan never looked up from the board. He had to make a show, a demonstration of force. If the Caitians were determined not to live within the lies spun, then he'd give them the brutal truth. "Well, I must say, listening to the opinion on family from a sexless creature cloned and grown in a tube, is expectedly tail crinking. If you're not going to assist us in our work, why are you still here?"

"I told you before, Master Governor, I am assessing your performance. How you manage the Occupation will determine whether or not the Ferasan Patriarchy becomes part of the Dominion." He paused and added, "So much responsibility on your shoulders. Can you handle the burden?"

"Watch and learn," Melem-Adu ignored him now, feeling bolstered by his growing certainty over what his next action against these Caitian animals should be.

*

Nusum-Adu. Nusum-Adu. Nusum-Adu.

He kept running it through his head. He was Named. Just like that. Incredible.

As he strode back to the Operations Centre, a part of him acknowledged that his father had probably done it just because ThirdSon -- Nusum-Adu -- had been the last of Father's male offspring, that he just wanted to get rid of him to deal with the new arrival, rather than face the humiliation directly.

It didn't matter. He was Named... and with the same direct Patronymic Suffix, a particular honour! His personal authority, his personal power, had now risen considerably. And those males in their group, younger males who had been out there and won Names and responsibilities for themselves, and who had looked down on him... well, now they had to kiss his tail. And mean it.

He stepped into the open area, barking, "Pay attention!" As everyone turned toward him, he quickly adjusted the leather and armour plating of his clothes... conspicuously removing the Nameless sigil from his left shoulder plate and casting it aside. "From this moment forth, I am named Nusum-Adu, the Master Governor's Second! Ensure all records, all personnel, acknowledge this!

The Hunter Prime, the Patriarch's personal executioner, has arrived to assist us in dealing with the Caitian terrorist elements! And as much as I am certain we do not need him here, we will still offer him all the respect due to his stature!" He nodded to one technician. "Signal our readiness for his transport!"

Nearby, almost forgotten, the pathetic figure of Renthri Lessade, a cowardly Caitian male and former governor of some misbegotten part of this planet, whom the Ferasans has elevated to serve as the ostensible First Minister, though in reality he was nothing more than their puppet spokesman, and a piss-poor one at that, rose from his seat. "Is there- Is there something I can do, Sire?"

Nusum-Adu barely glanced at him. "Yes: crawl back into your wine bottle and stay silent." As the technicians complied with his orders, Nusum-Adu ran through his head what to say and do. Ever since he was a cub, he had more than a little youthful hero worship for the Hunter Prime, reading all the stories about his superior strength and senses, his matchless skills and unparalleled success in tracking and killing not only the most ferocious beasts on Ferasa Prime, but the enemies of the Patriarch.

But that was a lifetime ago. Now, he had to be an adult.

A red quantum transporter cloud shimmered into existence in the centre of the room, coalescing into the largest Ferasan Nusum-Adu had ever encountered: standing two metres tall, at least a head higher than the tallest Ferasans present, broad-shouldered, tan-furred with sabreteeth longer and more prominent than most, parts of his mane braided behind him.

He wore a black unmarked utilitarian all-weather jumpsuit, boots and gloves, carried several black bags and cases in his right paw... and on his left forearm, perched on a padded surface, a large, rust-plumed dragonhawk opened its curved beak and hissed, looking ready to launch itself and fly around the enclosed space of the Centre.

Nusum-Adu swallowed as he focused on the new arrival, instantly feeling like he had been assessed and judged in a single glance from those ice-blue eyes. Wanting to regain his sense of authority, he stepped forward. "Hunter Prime, I am Nusum-Adu, son of Master Governor Melem-Adu. Welcome to the Ferasan Territory of Cait. I have prepared a briefing of the current security situation-"

"Window," the visitor interrupted, his voice more a growl of warning than an announcement.

"Excuse me?"

The Hunter Prime looked around with mild annoyance, indicating the bird. "Nyx was confined for too long on the starship. She needs to fly. Take us to a window. Now."

Nusum-Adu bristled, but bit back the urge to respond to the obvious disrespectful response from their guest. "There is an open balcony in your quarters in the upper levels."

*

Nusum-Adu kept glancing at the bird as they proceeded into a lift to the upper levels. "A handsome pet. I thought they were extinct?"

The new arrival never answered, never even acknowledged the comment, having no desire to engage in small talk.

"Did you have a good journey from Ferasa Prime?"

"No." He offered nothing more, silently hoping the fool would take the hint.

He didn't, of course, making an amused sound, as if trying to show he was in on some sort of banter between them. "You know, I've heard a lot about your exploits, but very little about you; I was almost beginning to think you were more legend than real."

He made no response.

They stepped out into a curved corridor, Nusum-Adu leading the way. "So... do they just call you 'Hunter Prime', or do you actually have a name?"

His guest breathed in, knowing where this would lead. "Valtiri."

The curt response prompted Nusum-Adu to ask, "That's... it? What about the rest? Your Patronymic Suffix? Your Pride Name?"

"I have neither."

"That's- That's not possible! Surely someone must have Named you?"

"I Named myself. I am Prideless."

The answer made the other male stop in his tracks and face him, frowning in indignation. "Is this some joke? You can't be Prideless! Where are you from?"

"I was raised on the Tundra of Forochel, where I still reside."

"Forochel? That's... Peasant Country! No Ferasan from the likes of Forochel could rise to become the Hunter Prime! The Patriarch's own Assassin!"

Now Valtiri bared his teeth, having expected this from the start. "I did. I have never possessed influence or connections, just merit and muscle... but this more than sufficed for me. A fact that seems too difficult for smaller minds to grasp.

Still, if my humble nomenclature offends your sensibilities, you may continue to address me as 'Hunter Prime'. Or 'Sire'."

Nusum-Adu bristled at the suggestion, continuing down the corridor once more, thinking, I'll never call you Sire, you ignorant low-bred peon.

Never knowing that Valtiri heard the thought as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud.

The quarters were as Valtiri expected -- spacious, soft, decadent, and therefore alien to him -- but he approved of the open balcony, and the thick, balmy air that wafted in. He felt the eagerness of his companion to take flight, after being cooped up for so long in the starship that carried them to this new world, and set down the belongings carried in his other paw. Go, my friend, stretch your wings and explore.

The dragonhawk heard the thoughts he projected into her head and complied, launching herself out into a cobalt sky darkening into a golden fire with the setting sun. Valtiri followed out onto the balcony, drinking in the scents, sounds and sights of the city below. The gravity was slightly heavier here, the air tinted with more oxygen. But he would soon acclimate.

"Was that wise?" Nusum-Adu asked from further inside. "What if your pet can't find its way back to you?"

Valtiri looked beyond the city, to the surrounding mountains, carpeted with lush dark green forests. He had read as much as he could on Cait to prepare for his assignment here; unlike Ferasa, much of this world remained pure, untouched, blessedly untarnished by the grubby paws of civilisation. "Nyx is my partner, not my pet. And dragonhawks have remarkable navigational abilities-"

No- Please don't touch me-

The anxious thought had slipped unbidden into Valtiri's mind, making him spin around to face a third figure in the guest quarters: an ink-furred Caitian female, short, petite, a cub barely out of her first Season, standing there wearing next to nothing, flinching as the other male stood closely behind her, pawing her as he asked, "Like her? Fresh off the farm, she is. No previous owners."

Valtiri strengthened his psychic shields; the fear and shame he felt from her was almost palpable. "Who is she?"

"Part of your Welcome Package. She was marked for the Breeding Camps, but she's all yours, for the duration of your stay. Split the little virgin open. Beat her to a pulp. You can even kill and eat her afterwards." Nusum-Adu chuckled lecherously as she began weeping at his words, licking the side of her muzzle as he reached around to start undressing her. "Here, inspect her for yourself-"

Quickly, more quickly than anyone would expect for one of his size, Valtiri drew up, grasping the other Ferasan's forearm to twist it away from the female, shoving her aside as he clamped his other huge paw around Nusum-Adu's throat, lifting him up off the floor as if he weighed nothing and easily keeping him suspended.

Nusum-Adu hung there, dangling like a piece of meat, trying in vain to free himself, as the Hunter Prime leaned in closer and hissed through bared, gleaming teeth, "Never touch her again. Never touch any female on this world again. If you do, I'll know, and I swear you'll end up a doormat outside my cabin back in Peasant Country. Do you understand?"

Nusum-Adu snarled, eyes and scent filled with outrage... and fear, his words strangled out of him. "You- You can't-"

"You're not listening, you bullying little cur," the Hunter Prime whispered, increasing the pressure. "I asked you if you understood."

"Y-Yes!"

"Good." Valtiri let him go.

Nusum-Adu collapsed with a cry and crawled backwards, coughing and sputtering as he caught his breath, before helping himself back to unsteady feet, tail drooping, clutching his throat and forearm, breath whooshing from his nostrils as he glared back. "How- How dare you? When- When my father hears of this, he'll-"