Surefoot 69: We are Shanos Minor

The Caitians started, cried out, turning to face the Pack, as the Leader stepped forward, raising his voice. "Pay attention, Sheep! I am Puzur-Sin, the new Pridemaster of the Evercrest Fur Pride, following the callous murder of my father Ubar-Sin!" He pointed the blaster at the top of the Main Building. "I should be mourning his loss! But instead I will focus on my duty here!" Then he lowered his blaster to the crowd, making them draw back several steps. "As you Sheep will focus on your duties! You will return to your work, and double your efforts!

And unlike my father, I will not be so lenient with poor performance! There will be true deadlines..." He pointed the blaster at each of the Caitians in turn. "As in those of you who fail us will die! You, and your loved ones!" He chuckled at their reactions as he aimed at the viewscreen. "You heard the Master Governor up there: are you gonna be smart, sensible Caitians? Or are you gonna be like Shanos Minor?"

He fired at the screen, shattering it and banishing the view of the destroyed city.

Puzur-Sin holstered his blaster and pointed at the fire suppression trucks. "Now! Get those out of here!" As he watched Caitians hurriedly move to the cabs of the vehicles, he turned to the remaining Caitians, resting his hands on his hips. "And as for the rest of you: I want the supervisors of every department of this misbegotten company in my presence in the next ten minutes, with status reports on the construction efforts of the transport ships."

He raised his voice as he heard the trucks starting up in the background. "And I promise you, here and now, that for every hour of delay caused by you lazy, ungrateful Sheep, one hundred of you will be selected at random and slaughtered before the rest! You'll wish you had been in Shanos Minor when we turned it to shit-"

Puzur-Sin turned as he saw the trucks drive up, accelerating hard and fast as they slammed straight into the Ferasan Pack, sending some tumbling like tenpins, others ground beneath the huge wheels. The Pack Leader was one of the former, sent sprawling, bones breaking as he tumbled along the pavement, lying there, looking up into the sky, not at all certain what had just happened.

He was certain of the crowd of Caitians swarming around him, blocking out the light, various tools in paw, finishing the job of the trucks as they screamed at him, "WE ARE SHANOS MINOR! WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!"

*

USS Surefoot, Sickbay 1:

Murphy stood back from the biobed, from all the rest of the activity in this part of the ship. He never liked being here, especially at times like this, when the medical staff here were still dealing with the wounded. It always brought back memories from his own serious injuries on the Sherwood, not that long ago.

But it was better now. The memories were still there, but he had grown and healed enough to recall just the memories, and not the traumatic feelings that those memories used to trigger within him. He was moving past that... and, soon he hoped, this temporary assignment would end and he could finally assume command of the Messenger, maybe in time to help contribute directly to the War effort.

He was drawn from his reverie, as Doctor Masterson left the nearest biobed and approached, the rugged, square-jawed human male's accent like something out of an old Terran movie about the American Wild West. "Well, our Caitian friend here won't be line dancing anytime soon, but he's not ready for a dirt nap, either. No idea how an officer of the Caitian Planetary Navy got so far out here from his home territory?"

"No, Doctor, though we suspect he came looking for our ship, maybe in a small warp pod to avoid detection, got caught up in the battle, and we automatically detected his fading lifesigns and beamed him onboard."

Masterson nodded at that. "Based on his radiation damage, malnutrition and respiratory depreciation, I reckon he might have been travelling alone, in something cramped, for ten to twelve days." He held up a small transparent vial, which held a tiny black object. "We found this embedded under the fur and skin on his right paw. I think it's a data memory device."

Murphy accepted it. "I'll get it examined, thanks-"

An alert from the biobed, and Nurse Eydiir's call, brought Masterson and Murphy back to the patient, who was coughing and sputtering as he returned to consciousness, trying to sit up until Masterson pushed him back down again. "Anything y'all want to say, Pardner, you can say on your back, y'hear?"

Murphy stepped closer. "I'm Commander Dominic Murphy, XO to the Federation starship Surefoot-"

The mention of the ship's name made the Caitian's golden eyes widen as he gasped, "I- I made it? I- I had- I had hoped-" He began coughing again.

Masterson looked to Eydiir. "Prepare a sedative, Kayolane, 10cc-"

"No! I must- I must speak!" The Caitian focused on Murphy, the desperation thick in the young male's eyes and voice. "Is your Chief of Security still Lieutenant C'Rash Shall?"

Murphy held back responding instinctively. "How about you answer a couple of my questions first? Like, for instance, identifying who you are, and where you come from?"

The patient coughed again, nodding in weak acquiescence. "I am Petty Officer C'Ria Ctuuri, of the Caitian flagship Mother's Fury, commanded by Fleet Captain Ma'Sala Shall."

Murphy nodded back in recognition. He had no personal connection to that world or its people, but its identity, its nature was suffused into nearly everyone and everything onboard the Surefoot, from the Caitian representatives still onboard, to the ubiquities of the Red Paw emblem, one of the recognised symbols of a vessel operating under the Interstellar Aid Registry.

Even T'Varik, seemingly as composed and implacable as any other Vulcan he had known, was under its influence, due to her marriage to the Caitian Chief Security Officer, and her working relationship with the esteemed Captain Hrelle. He hadn't met the officer -- yet -- but he hoped to have the opportunity to do so, if only to let him know how superbly his ship and crew have performed in his absence. But he was certainly aware of Fleet Captain Shall. "You have my condolences as to the loss of your CO and ship. Did you escape its destruction to come here-"

But Ctuuri shook his head. "You don't understand. Fleet Captain Shall and the Mother's Fury survived the Ferasan assault. But they -- we -- need your help.

The Motherworld needs your help..."

*

At that moment, in a cafe on the outskirts of Illehull, a beautiful seafaring town in Hria Province, a small group of Ferasans sat at one of the outdoor tables, sampling the coffee that made the region famous, as they looked out on Illehull Bay, and watched the waters roll in lazily from the Sea of Hetash, as if still half-asleep.

The Ferasan Pack Leader, Psi-Naches of the Iron Winter Pride, liked this posting; it was quiet, the locals were friendly, and accommodating -- with some persuasion -- and the coffee was as satisfying as the cliffside view the cafe offered.

He and the others had awakened to the news of the Shanos Minor bombing, and had worried about the response from the Caitians around them... but they all seemed in shock, moving silently, sullenly. He supposed that was an understandable reaction, under the circumstances, and he did have some sympathy, at least for the people of Illehull, who might have grumbled here and there over some of the changes his people had imposed, but who otherwise were nowhere near as vocal or rebellious as those cubs in Shanos Minor. Still, he was sure it was ultimately for the best that an example had been made

He turned in his chair to call into the cafe. "S'Irina! How about a refill? Make it a hot one!" He looked back to his friends as he heard the middle-aged female owner of the cafe approach, the scent of the coffee in the pot she carried travelling ahead of it. "So what do you think? Reassignment?"

His Pack cousin FourthSon grunted, wiping his muzzle with his leather wristband. "They'll move us on to Camp work in the East. No point in keeping us here, nothing ever happens."

Psi-Naches made a sound of agreement. This was too good an assignment to last. He lifted up his emptied cup and turned, ready to let S'Irina refill it-

He wasn't ready for the contents of the pot of scalding black coffee to be flung in his face. Agony shot through him as he fell backwards to the cobblestone street, his pain blocking him from seeing the other staff of the cafe appear behind his friends and slit their throats with bread knives.

He was coherent enough to be aware of S'Irina, a slight female who had never been anything but completely subservient and affable to him, leap upon him, driving her own knife into his chest over and over and over, screaming, "WE ARE SHANOS MINOR!"

*

"Personal Log, Captain Esek Hrelle, Recording: I've collected Lt Mori and the Hunter Prime's assistant, and have locked up both Ferasans in one of the spare cabins onboard; Valtiri appears correct, at least about his pilot, who doesn't have the stink of cruelty about him that others of his kind possess.

Sasha has recovered, as has Mori and Jhess' son, and we've made contact with the Island, and hope to land shortly, where we will confine our prisoners, tend to my own injuries from my fight with Valtiri, and arrange to converse with the rest of our allies about our response to what's happened to Shanos Minor.

And, as if we haven't had enough tragedy today, Agent Nanjo has informed me of the loss of the Matriarch Jnill Mroara-Lnee, Ptera's mother, betrayed by her brother to the Ferasans, but who still obtained revenge, albeit at the cost of own life. I may not have been a fan of her haughty aristocratic airs, but she had been invaluable in the fight against the Enemy, delaying their plans to leave with our people. I wish I could say that she would be the last to fall, but I know better.

I'm tired of this nightmare. So damn tired..."

*

In the Medical Bay, Dr T'Ana passed a sensor wand over Mori's leg, grunting. "Yeah, it'll itch for a few more hours, but it's pretty much repaired." She made an ostentatious show of sniffing the air between the young male and Sasha. "Just take it easy for the rest of the day. Let Queen Kong ride on top for a change."

As the Caitian doctor walked away, Sasha made a sound. "Yeah, Doc, I get it, I'm an ape; I'm glad you're a decent doctor because you're a shit comedian." She helped Mori back onto his feet, making a show of dusting him off and straightening out his jacket and Starfleet insignia... letting her touch linger. "And I'm also glad you're safe and sound, Mru."

The hazel-furred male shrugged. "Me? What about you? I was only shot! You fought that meshuggeneh Ferasan giant, you had a throwing blade stuck in your chest-"

"All in a day's work." Then something like a smile lifted the corners of her lips. "Wait, 'Meshuggeneh'? Did you look up Yiddish just for me?"

He smiled back, his fur shifting above the parts of the skin beneath that were now blushing. "Maybe."

Sasha laughed, leaning in to rub the side of her face against his in the Caitian manner, whispering, "Damn it, I wish medicine wasn't so advanced, and we could get some bed rest together..."

He purred... until from the far corner of the Medical Bay, T'Ana called back, "I'd say give her a banana, but I'd worry about where she'd stick it!"

*

In their temporary quarters, Ptera Mroara-Lnee clung to her newborn infant, breathing out heavily, the tears welling in her brass eyes, as her husband Mirow held onto her, and Mi'Tree and Bneea, the latter holding Hrelle's infant daughter Sreen as he looked up at Hrelle. "You're certain, Esek? Absolutely certain that there was no mistake?"

Hrelle swallowed; his eye, the whole right side of his head ached from the newly-regenerated eye, skull and tissue... but he suspected it would be aching regardless. "I'm sorry, Bneea, I wish there was a mistake. Nenjo had arranged a link with Jnill's company network to obtain additional intelligence while Jnill was deceiving the Ferasans; it confirmed the final moments." He looked to his bond-daughter. "It would have been very quick, and very painless-"

Ptera nodded hurriedly. "Mama would have made sure to choose the right poison for herself. Nothing but the best." She looked down at her mother's namesake, who was beginning to make sounds of reaction to the grief around her. "I'm sorry you couldn't know her scent, Little One, her voice and touch. She was a good mother." She brushed her muzzle against Baby Jnill's, before looking up again at Hrelle. "Esek, I'll need to contact the rest of the Clan, inform them of our own status, let them know that we're still alive. As the new Matriarch, I have responsibilities now."

He tightened his expression. "If you can select one particular relative and prepare a message for them, one they can forward onto others, I'll see what can be done."

"Thank you." She smiled down at Misha, as the cub drew up to her side and placed a paw on her and began purring. "I feel guilty, mourning one person in the midst of the terrible loss we have all faced with Shanos Minor..."

"No need for guilt, my dear," Mi'Tree assured her soothingly. "And I am certain that Jnill, and that poor metropolis, will soon be avenged." He looked up at Hrelle. "Will they not, my kin-son?"

Hrelle felt his, and other's, eyes upon him, as he had felt since returning to the Island. Everyone wanted a response, and wanted it from him, and now.

All he could do at this stage was nod and affirm, "Yes. Soon. Bneea, if you could arrange to record Ptera's message and get the details of the recipient, please? Please excuse me."

Hrelle left his family, but he found no refuge from the grief elsewhere, as word of Shanos Minor spread among the refugees here, though he was relieved that in the dearth of professional Counselors present, people were doing what they can to help and comfort each other-

"Captain?"

Hrelle stopped and turned, nodding politely at the approach of Captain Majes Biggleshen, the leader of the Caitian Aerobatics Squadron Hrelle's bond-father Bneea had recruited to assist them with ferrying refugees here from various parts of Cait. "Captain?"

The older, ginger-furred male raised a paw, his accent crisp and clear, reminding Hrelle of some Terrans of British origin. "Please, call me Biggles, Captain Hrelle. I'm sorry to disturb you, I know you're extremely busy with this crisis-"

"That's okay... Biggles. I'm sorry I haven't had time to meet you and your fellow Skycats, and thank you properly for your service to date-"

"No need for that, Captain. And it's about that service that I wish to speak with you. I know that my crew and I are old, that we've never really been in battle, that the crates we normally fly are hopelessly slow and out of date compared with Starfleet shuttles and starfighters... but we're relevant. We can fight, just as fiercely as anyone else here. Just give us the chance."

Hrelle was prepared to argue, to dissuade Biggles, and convince him and his people to be content with just surviving all this... a better fate than the people of Shanos Minor have received. Hrelle was prepared to agree that, yes, he was extremely busy, and had no time to consider the request on top of everything else he had on his proverbial plate. Hrelle was prepared to find some excuse to be called away and not have to address this.

Instead, he made a decision. "You'll get your chance, Biggles, you and your people. Your Aerofighters back in Pakui, I know it's been months since you've flown them, but can they still fly?"

Biggles frowned. "Our crates? Absolutely, every bit as well as the originals from the Second Age."

"And can they be fitted with modern weaponry?"

"Yes, with our help, but... Captain, surely our Aerofighters will be no challenge against any of the Enemy's vessels?"

"Don't sell yourself short; under the circumstances I'll be placing you and your people in, I think you'll find you might have a vital advantage. Report to the Tailless uptop in one hour, you and your people; you'll receive further orders after you get back home to Pakui." He paused and added, "Please warn the rest of the Skycats: I can't promise that all of you will survive this. I can't promise that any of you will survive this, truth be told."

The ginger Caitian male bristled. "Captain Hrelle, I've spent a long lifetime recreating the heroic exploits of our ancestors... always yearning for the opportunity to know if I could rise to the challenge, if given the chance. I've witnessed young, stalwart cubs like your daughter, Lt Mori and others face Death, in the defence of the Motherworld. And if Death must have her due in this conflict, she is better to claim it from those closer to the end of their allotted time than the beginning." He held out a paw. "Thank you, Captain. The Skycats won't let you down."

Hrelle accepted it. "I'm sure you won't. Please brief your people and be ready to leave on time."

Biggles clicked the heels of his leather boots, turned and strode away. Hrelle watched him depart, before tapping his combadge. "Capt Hrelle to Lt Hrelle: Sasha, you, Lt Mori and Ensign Osha will collect a dozen plasma cannons, railgun turrets, appropriate power and ammunition packs, and the fittings necessary to be able to mount them on the Skycats' Aerofighters and connect the control systems to their cockpits."

"Dad?"

"Then you'll take them, and the Skycats, to their Aerodrome down in Pakui and help them modify their aircraft. Be ready to leave within the hour; more orders to follow. Acknowledge."

"...Acknowledged, Sir. Lt Hrelle out."

He began walking again, his mind looking ahead, planning, calculating, he needed a few minutes of uninterrupted-

"Captain?"

He stopped again, counted to Three, and turned. "Jhess? How is your family?"

Jhess drew up to him, still clad in his Militia uniform... and worryingly enough, still carrying his plasma rifle slung over one shoulder. "They're trying to come to terms with what's happened. It's going to be difficult in the coming days and weeks... not just for them, but for more than a few others here."

"And in the rest of the Motherworld, too. Thankfully, your wife and son have you at their side now-"

"Captain, what about those prisoners?"

"They're locked up in the Security Bay in the lower levels, so you don't have to worry about them-"

"Why are they still alive?" Jhess suddenly demanded angrily. "That vicious Rat-tail killed two of your Kaetini friends!"

"Three," Hrelle corrected. "He killed a third in Sekuro. And he wounded Lt Mori, and nearly killed Sasha and me."

Jhess drew closer, the anger in his scent as clear as it was in his expression. "I've seen you kill with less provocation!"

"Not from someone who stopped fighting and surrendered willingly. He then saved me, and helped me save Sasha and Mori. He's telepathic, and it looks like he was as affected by Shanos Minor's destruction as the rest of us. He might end up on our side."

Now the spotted male sneered. "And you believe him? How do we know this isn't some elaborate plot to infiltrate our organisation, to learn more about us and then signal the rest of the Rat-tails to take out all of us?"

"Both prisoners were relieved of all their possessions, including any communicators. And the telepath won't be able to communicate with anyone where he is now. As for their intentions, our best interrogator is assessing them even as we speak..."

*

In the lowest part of the facility, Valtiri sat on the floor of a white-lit, windowless, featureless room, adopting a meditative pose, attempting to continue to reach out, out beyond the walls of his cell. When he had found Captain Hrelle hours before, he had promised not to use his telepathy. Then when they reached this fascinating tropical island, with its gigantic prehistoric lifeforms, and took Pilot and him down to his sublevel, placing them in separate cells and offering nothing in the way of information about their fate.